Coiled at the Roots [Lilias & echoes]
<h1 id="title">Elliquiy Role Playing Forums</h1>
		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Bondage, D/s, S&amp;M =&gt; Bondage: Exotic Solos =&gt; Topic started by: Lilias on 18-06-2010, 15:54:29</h2>
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				Title: <strong>Coiled at the Roots [Lilias &amp; echoes]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Lilias</strong> on <strong>18-06-2010, 15:54:29</strong>
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				<em>Sin has always been the prime mover.<br><br>It doesn't matter which sin. Long before any meddling philosopher defined the idea, people wanted to go beyond the circle of the light. They wanted more, and were all too eager to fall into the darkness for it. And once fallen, they had to go on dragging others down with them.<br><br>How do you climb out of that darkness? Is crawling and bleeding enough? How do you earn back your soul, that you bartered away for more? Can you ever be whole again?<br><br>Beware of the heart's desire, for things are not always what they seem... And once you get your heart's desire, you cannot turn and say that you don't want it any more.<br><br>We are all bound, and the shackles are of our own forging.</em>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Coiled at the Roots [Lilias &amp; echoes]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>echoes</strong> on <strong>21-06-2010, 19:06:55</strong>
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				The war had ended, but the lingering presence remained. The abattoir of the countryside, the trenches that would dot the landscape like scars, were made off to be far away. The happiness and joy of the city seemed forced, as if accepting what had happened would bring it back, make it real once again. Wounds may be healed, but the keloid tissue will remain, a constant reminder on damp and cold days of the pains suffered in the past. No amount of wine and late night carousing would heal those memories. It was just human nature to try and forget, that way they could make the same mistake again, and again act surprised.<br><br>He was an Englishman in Paris, having served in the war farther South and East of France. The bloody sands made into mud at Gallipoli had been his berth in the War. The misuse of the Infantry, the unconcerned waste of human life had been is lessons. He had served for God, for King and for Country only to be rewarded with his convalescence and the cane that he used to walk with. And now he moved across cobblestone streets, each step a jarring reminder that his wounds would never quite heal.<br><br>The aches were something daily, just a way of life now, but made worse by how much he had walked this afternoon. He had come to Paris in search of answers and questions. He had gotten his fair share today. He had come to Paris to willow his way through the pawn and curio shops, trying to find answers about the strange amulet he carried. The amulet was tucked safe inside his jackets interior pocket, not a thief would not even notice the small item had they been looking. In his free have he carried a book, a small leather-backed and bound book, the writing in Greek was a well faded gold upon the cover.<br><br>He had searched, but he had also been driven. There was a want inside his head, a steady command, a push in a direction that he did not realize. Here, in Paris, was another part to a larger puzzle. Something had sent him here, something about the amulet, the locket he had found on the other side of Europe. With the book in hand he made his way, maybe there would be an explanation there.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Coiled at the Roots [Lilias &amp; echoes]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Lilias</strong> on <strong>30-06-2010, 15:59:53</strong>
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				Paris was trying to forget. Not content with driving the enemy away, it was determined to erase from its memory the fact that there had ever been an enemy at the gate. Partying and celebration had not grown lavish yet; wartime deprivation was slow in repairing itself. But the people were awake, and looking into everything and anything, unwilling to leave untasted anything this world, or any other, had to offer.<br><br>It couldn't be just the morphine, could it? That alone couldn't create the kaleidoscope of dreams that dazzled him every night - and yet remained just beyond comprehension. Women's faces, someone different every night, some strangers he'd met in the streets of Paris, without even exchanging a word; some that he had known years before, his mother, his cousin, even one he was convinced was his sister, who had died of diphtheria at the age of six, now all grown up; even some he could have sworn had never walked the same earth at all. And everything faded on waking, leaving behind more wonder than anything else.<br><br>The antique shop he was looking for was in Montmartre, down a curving side street, just out of sight of the Sacre-Coeur, its dusty window a haphazard assortment of jewels, trinkets and books. The owner, an elderly man, tall and stooped, with an impeccable snowy musketeer beard and penetrating grey eyes behind his spectacles, had the reputation of a great traveller and linguist, one who could have been a member of the Academy, had he been more of an armchair scholar. Perhaps he could have answers - or insights, at the very least.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Coiled at the Roots [Lilias &amp; echoes]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>echoes</strong> on <strong>06-07-2010, 03:21:32</strong>
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				The door of the Curio shop hand been painted a matte black for so long that it had stained deep into the wood beneath. Deep gouges from time and misuse had made the door pockmarked, aged even more than its true age. The windowpanes&nbsp; were old glass, thicker at the bottom from where gravity had pulled it, smokey in their clarity. He opened the door and stepped inside.<br><br>A light haze from an unseen censure hung waist level within, the conflicting smell of ancient papers, velum, spices and rich tobacco gave the shop the feel of a Middle Eastern bazaar. From all nooks and crannies trinket and amulet appeared. Manuscript atop scroll, lithograph beside statue. There was no free space save a small area on a counter.<br><br>The man took care as he moved about, lest his cane catch and send a mountain of of potential doom cascading his way. He was amazed that someone would be willing to smoke inside the building, it was a fire trap waiting for a victim. Something though, something was different, and he looked about. It was if he knew no harm would come to him, come to anyone, while inside the shop.<br><br>This most curious of curio shops. Supposedly the building was built in the late1600 hundreds and was originally owned by a retired officer of Richelieu's Musketeers. Many a tale had circled about the shop since its birth, stories of oddities found within, a certain scholars approach the mysticism and the occult. Never once bothered by the church, never once inspected by the police. The small little curio shop was a name among those who needed to know it, and no one else. In fact, if it were not for the amulet he carried now, he never would have even remembered hearing its name. <br><br>Like calling to like.<br><br>"Excuse me, is some one at the counter today," there was a nervousness in his voice that he didn't recognize as his own. He fidgeted, looked at the surroundings one more and and turned to leave. That is when he saw the show keeper, standing in front of the closed door, just watching him. How he got there, no one could tell. " Sir, is this your establishment?" 
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				Title: <strong>Re: Coiled at the Roots [Lilias &amp; echoes]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Lilias</strong> on <strong>13-07-2010, 17:53:27</strong>
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				The older man surveyed the younger from behind his spectacles, his initial stern expression suggesting an intruder more than a customer. For a moment, it seemed the shop itself was holding its breath, the walls leaning in to listen for some decision. The next moment, as if the decision was made, the old man smiled and the impression vanished. He was a relic from times past, dignified but dated, just like his shop.<br><br>'I am, <em>jeune homme</em>,' he said, his English clear but with that pronounced, telltale rolling R. 'Nathan Dreyfus, at your service.' Just the mention of the distinguished Jewish name seemed to make the shop stand taller. 'Pardon me for not acknowledging you immediately; my hearing is not what it used to be.' He gestured towards the empty space on the counter. 'Are you looking for something in particular or simply here to sift through the past and see what you will unearth? If you can spare a few minutes to have some tea with me, I'd be delighted to help you, Monsieur...' He paused, clearly waiting for his customer to introduce himself. The invitation seemed sincere, and certainly tea was still a luxury after the deprivations of war. The bits of coloured glass that made up the sunburst-like frame of a mirror, hung high up behind the counter, seemed to wink.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Coiled at the Roots [Lilias &amp; echoes]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>echoes</strong> on <strong>18-07-2010, 01:17:35</strong>
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				" Ah sir," he was caught and jumped a bit at the man's voice, wincing as his leg caught and twisted a bit. At first he tried his french, a accent maybe passable on a small island to the South of the country, but it was not a native of Paris for sure. " I am Leftenant....I am sorry, former Leftenant Richard Chambers, once of Her Majesty's armed forces...I," He gave a wry glance and went back to English. " My French is horrid isn't it.<br><br>He looked over to older gentleman and gave a polite bow before he looked about the shop. His eyes moved about as he tried to find the correct words to ask his questions. The name of the curio shop had come to him by chance, and he did not know exactly what had drawn him here, but it had called him. <br><br>"I have a question about an item I have acquired, a talisman, trinket, amulet that I came into. It was found in the Mediterranean, there appears to be Greek writing on it and I was wondering if you may have experience in such items."<br><br>Carefully Richard reached into the jacket and slowly removed the amulet, almost as if afraid the man would claim it as his own. The soft light of the room caught the red gems on the locket, causing them to flash for just a moment. He held the item up, a nervous tremble in his hand as he hoisted it aloft. Richard looked to the other man, watching his response, a delicate hope that he might have answers.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Coiled at the Roots [Lilias &amp; echoes]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Lilias</strong> on <strong>22-07-2010, 00:22:04</strong>
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				The elderly antiquarian smiled, a bit cryptically. 'Do not concern yourself, Lieutenant. My French was not half as good when I came from Russia.' He made no move to take the locket yet; instead, he gestured Richard towards the counter, where an enamelled samovar bubbled softly, half-hidden behind a glass display case full of quaint pieces of Baltic amber with insects trapped inside.<br><br>Only when two cups of tea were set on the counter, the haze of steam making even objects right in front of them appear surreal, did the old man reach for the locket, holding it gingerly in one cupped palm before turning it over to see the reverse side. There were more letters inscribed there, in the same faded state as the obverse.<br><br>'This is a most singular piece, Lieutenant,' he said eventually, peering at the young man over his spectacles. 'It is Greek, yes, but a lot of the inscription is gone and it is hard to decipher. Certainly pre-classical in age. How did you come by it? That may provide some clue...'
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				Title: <strong>Re: Coiled at the Roots [Lilias &amp; echoes]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>echoes</strong> on <strong>22-07-2010, 21:05:12</strong>
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				There was a pause and a look, but it was very odd. It was not a defensive look, like he had just been accused of something and was rising to retort. It was not the look of a man trying to create a yarn, a tale of some great discovery. No, his mouth opened and closed and eyes looked to the older man for an answer to his own question.<br><br>"I, I don't know sir. I am no great drinker, and not one to cavort. I was in the Army and we were stationed in Greece...," A pause and then a longer look to the teacup,"No, not in Greece, I don't know why I said that, it was one of the islands. But for the life of me... I can't remember our billet."<br><br>He took the tea and looked to the older man before taking a drink. The hot and comforting taste of the liquid was one of the few pleasures he still was able to take in the world. Alcohol rarely could bring pleasure and since his release, he had stayed apart from most people save passing them in street or building. He tried to relax, the locket being out of his hands for the first time in months, but it was not easy. <br><br>"Sir I am not a thief, I promise you, but... I must have found the locket and it has become dear. I do not remember buying it, or trading for it. I don't remember exactly where I came into its possession, I mean, well, yes, you know what I mean," his voice plain, honest, a slight confusion in his eyes as he tried to remember."Is there anything you might be able to tell me about its like?"
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				Title: <strong>Re: Coiled at the Roots [Lilias &amp; echoes]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Lilias</strong> on <strong>03-08-2010, 17:21:34</strong>
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				Dreyfus raised his hands, palms up, the gesture obviously conciliatory. 'I'm not accusing you of anything, Lieutenant,' he said. 'Forgive me if I sounded like I was. But I don't find something genuinely ancient every day, and you must understand my excitement.' He took a sip from his tea and held up the locket again. The red gems - rubies? garnets? bloodstones? - seemed to wink in amusement, but that had to be an effect of the steam haze and the otherworldly look of the shop.<br><br>'The inscriptions are in the Aeolian dialect,' the antiquarian mused. 'After the sixth century BC, it was only used in poetry, but if you found it on Lemnos, it certainly matches the local language.' He pursed his lips and continued thoughtfully: 'This is inference, but the obverse inscription mentions a female's dwelling-place, and the master of that place. Why someone else had to manage it, that isn't completely clear.' He glanced at the reverse side, as if expecting to find an answer there. 'This is more deteriorated, but it does mention the lady's return. Have you sought any other opinions on this? Or anything else you can tell me?'
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				Title: <strong>Re: Coiled at the Roots [Lilias &amp; echoes]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>echoes</strong> on <strong>07-08-2010, 02:27:44</strong>
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				"No sir, of course not, I...I just do not have the proper answers that I could give you. It simply came to me and I have not been without it sense. It came through Galipoli with me, and has been my one companion since those horrid days." The look of consternation was honest, the first true emotions that had settled on the young man's face. He took another drink from his teacup and listened as the older gentleman explained some of his findings.<br><br>"A lady, maybe a possession of some noble from area? A gift of some kind?" He mused aloud before shaking his head."No sir, you are the first I have sought counsel from, I did not know who else to go to, and there was no one in England to speak with. For some reason, and I am not sure how, I heard of this place, and of your expertise, but I do not recall the actual discussion."<br><br>For a moment he looked about the shop, saw the history contained within the small walls and how it seemed to surround him. So many stories, tales that were hidden in the curios and items hidden in every nook and cranny of the establishment. His eyes were drawn back to the man, the amulet that he examined, the amulet that had kept his attention and focus for such a long time.<br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Coiled at the Roots [Lilias &amp; echoes]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Lilias</strong> on <strong>01-10-2010, 23:56:47</strong>
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				Dreyfus put the locket down on the counter, gingerly, as if it could shatter. He emptied his cup, refilled it, topped up Richard's, but the frown that knitted his eyebrows didn't smooth.<br><br>'If it has captured your fancy like this, it can't be a bad thing,' he said. 'Gallipoli has scarred so many people who have had no solace since...' He broke off, not wanting to pursue that train of thought in view of Richard's haunted look. 'Tell me, Lieutenant, what do you feel you should do with this amulet? Take it back? Open it and see what it hides?' His chin rested lightly on his laced fingers, as he studied the younger man. 'I'm not looking for logic and reason here, and I'm not going to call you a madman, no matter what you tell me. But I feel that this is one of those occasions on which life hinges, and the road you are about to take depends largely on how you deal with this lady.' He tapped one of the red gems, which seemed to wink in the uncertain light.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Coiled at the Roots [Lilias &amp; echoes]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>echoes</strong> on <strong>02-10-2010, 01:06:35</strong>
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				"I, I want to know why it found me... I mean, I found it." his answer came haltingly, stammered out with an honesty that could not be false. He looked to the elder gentleman with pleading eyes, a look left a thousand miles away. "I want answers to questions I don't know how to ask, and for some reason this piece, this part of me taunts me. Says the answers I seek, the question that are to be asked, come from this."<br><br>He tapped near the amulet, a odd display of nervousness mixed with want. A tremor took his fingers, and shook them with a subtle palsy. He closed his hand quickly, as if realizing how close to a fire he had become. He tried to affect a mask about his features, and failing to do so he opted for the tea instead. he took the cup quickly, spilling a mote against the sauce as he raised and drained the hot liquid in only a moment's notice.<br><br>He set the cup down, suddenly aware of himself, how he must look, act in front of this sober and stoic gentleman. That he must appear to be another victim of fate and the war. He tried to draw himself up, feeling just enough strength in his body to stand straight for a moment. "I need to take the piece back. It is not mine, and very well could be my undoing. It must go home, must find rest or solace elsewhere as I am not the one to give her comfort." His voice was low, a slow delivery akin to the sound of someone waking. An answer not entirely his, but in his words, his mind. 
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				Title: <strong>Re: Coiled at the Roots [Lilias &amp; echoes]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Lilias</strong> on <strong>20-10-2010, 12:08:50</strong>
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				The old antiquarian studied Richard with obvious concern - no longer for the amulet, it seemed, but for himself. He reached out and pressed his hand briefly on the young man's forearm, in an attempt at reassurance.<br><br>'You look like you haven't had a good night's sleep in forever, Lieutenant,' he said, 'and you may not be thinking straight. I doubt she can harm you...' He broke off at that, aware that he had just called a lifeless artifact 'she'. Uneasy, he pressed on, distracted enough to start on a train of thought that he probably should have left well alone. 'Though taking her back to Lemnos <em>could</em> very well be itself your undoing. Have you heard the term <em>Lemnian deeds</em>, have you? No? I'm not surprised. It's not one of the first stories one picks when compiling an anthology of Greek mythology.'<br><br>He hadn't meant to say all that, but it was too late to stop now. He could see it in Richard's fevered gaze, that he would pressure and pressure until he had the whole story. Sighing, he refilled their cups.<br><br>'According to the legend, the goddess Aphrodite placed a curse on the women of Lemnos for neglecting her shrines. Their men turned them down, preferring their Thracian slaves instead, and the women killed all the menfolk in revenge.' He gave a half-smile. 'Then the Argonauts came, and helped replenish the island's population, but they, too went away. There is no record of further punishment, divine or human, but I'm sure the slaughter wouldn't have helped with their reputation.' He smiled, a little crookedly. 'No wonder the place is not particularly wholesome for men, especially soldiers...'
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				Title: <strong>Re: Coiled at the Roots [Lilias &amp; echoes]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>echoes</strong> on <strong>21-10-2010, 06:48:14</strong>
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				"Lemnos...," He let the name roll over his tongue, testing it as if it had a taste. Something about the word, the half sand half volcanic rock beaches. The blue gray swirl of the sea around the cape, the cry of the gulls as if singing a lament as old as time. Yes, the name meant something. "I think I need to go there."<br><br>His eyes had been down, silently staring at the counter-top as the word of the island echoed softly inside his head. He had listened to the story, had heard tale of it while at the university. it was part and parcel with the Greek Classics of the day. But now, now it meant something more, something so much more. His brought his gaze up, a hopeless look without being forlorn.&nbsp; A look that spoke of no choice, a fate predetermined and written in the broadest of strokes, his journey to be the details of the story.<br><br>"I must think on this tonight, I must try to figure out how to return this on I think it will trouble me for the rest of my days. I thank you for your help, for your wisdom," He held out his hand for the amulet first as he looked at the older gentleman one last time. "Do you have any words before I leave, I know I must do something, and tonight, i will sleep on the query, ponder the answer, and tomorrow I must act."
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				Title: <strong>Re: Coiled at the Roots [Lilias &amp; echoes]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Lilias</strong> on <strong>07-11-2010, 18:08:48</strong>
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				Dreyfus straightened up as well, glancing down at the locket as if unwilling to pick it up.<br><br>'Don't do anything rash, Lieutenant,' he warned. 'Ancient curses are nothing to tamper with. Words have power, and linger even when those who spoke them have gone into oblivion.' He paused in thought, then turned to look at a small wheel-shaped poster of the phases of the moon that hung behind him. When he faced Richard again, he seemed to have thought of something.<br><br>'It is the third night of the full moon tonight, Lieutenant. It could be too late, but you can still seek an omen. Put this amulet into a glass of water together with a red flower, leave it out where it will catch the moonlight, and note what happens, whether you are asleep or awake. But if nothing happens, you should not try it again until the new moon at least. And whatever you do, for the sake of your own sanity, don't address it until the sun is in the sky again. I'm not implying that you may have a habit of talking to inanimate objects, but during a working you can never know who might hear - and answer - anything you say. Words do have power, even without intent.'
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				Title: <strong>Re: Coiled at the Roots [Lilias &amp; echoes]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>echoes</strong> on <strong>10-11-2010, 22:27:26</strong>
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				Richard wanted to run, to flee. Every fiber of his body tensed and tried to pull away as the older man spoke, nailing him to the spot. He didn't understand it, the conflicting thoughts and feelings, the way the words echoed heavily in his mind. The time of the month, the admonishment of rash action. What could he do that was rash? He was an invalid, barely able to get about under his own power. By fortune and the mercy of a Doctor he still had both his legs even if one refused to work as the other did. He felt a sweat build upon his spine and pit open inside his stomach.<br><br>"An omen?" he manged out, his voice a hash whisper as he looked to the shopkeeper. "ancient curse? Do you truly believe that this item holds true to the rumors of magic? Is that not just superstition and balderdash? I have seen the horrible effects of science in our world Sir, I cannot imagine that powers greater than science would allow us to push ourselves unto the brink of barbarism, and here we teetered on that edge. No... no magic caused what I have seen, but I might agree that it was indeed a curse.'<br><br>There was a pause and he felt himself still, the fear of the man and his portents flagging as he thought of the many days and nights in the hospital. What did he have to fear that was not already done? His moments of rest were filled with the cries of the dead and the dying. Worse still, the smell of the wars, the antiseptic coated rot that was a miasma in the air. No, he had witnessed his Hell twice and lived, what curse could be greater than that.<br><br>"I will as you instruct, being careful in what I choose. You have been most kind in aiding me," he began as he collected himself. "I am sorry if my mood and my words are ill received and or ill mannered. i do not mean offense, part of my naivete was left on Turkish soil. I can offer no excuse, but I do apologize sincerely sir. I understand you are only trying to help." Richard bowed his head in resignation, sincere in the apology and defeated in a fashion. Come what may, it could not be worse.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Coiled at the Roots [Lilias &amp; echoes]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Lilias</strong> on <strong>17-11-2010, 23:09:48</strong>
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				Dreyfus brushed the apology aside. 'Nothing to feel sorry about, Lieutenant. I do not doubt you have been subjected to horrors that would unhinge lesser men. But keep one thing in mind... Hell is personal, and it is just hellish enough for each one of us. Sometimes I think the Adversary puts every bit as much effort into his chicanery as the Creator into his supreme plan.'<br><br>He watched Richard pocket the amulet again and got up from behind the counter to escort him to the door. 'For the record, Lieutenant, believing in nothing is as naive as believing in everything. I sincerely hope you end up finding the redemption you seek.' Outside, the cobbled streets were wet with rain and the sun, westering already, was peeking out of the shreds of the clouds. It was going to be a clear night.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Coiled at the Roots [Lilias &amp; echoes]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>echoes</strong> on <strong>22-11-2010, 16:09:29</strong>
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				Richard walked with the older man, his leg feeling far more weak than it had earlier, a dull ache to remind him of the strain of simply walking and living each day. His grip tightened atop the pommel of the cane his left hand was forced to carry. In that moment he hated his state, his life as it was. Paris, once a city of adventure and delight was a simple mockery of his folly. His ideal of service, of fulfilling his obligation to Crown and country was broken as much as his body was, and he bit back the biter comments that flooded his mind.<br><br>Dreyfus had been kind, professional and courteous in all manners in dealing with him, he could not repay the man with the harsh words of a damaged soul. He moved slower than the elder gentleman, following and crossing the floor of the most curious of stores. Through the smoked panes of glass he saw the stones coated with the sheen of the rain, an event he had missed in his focus on the amulet. He gave an inward sigh, the trip to the hotel would take even longer than he had expected lest he slip and fall on his journey.<br><br>"Thank you again sir, you have been most generous in your information and counsel," he said by way of his leaving. Carefully he negotiated the doorway, stepping out and down the single step to the sidewalk below. Even with the sun fighting to breech the cover of clouds he felt cold. His right hand came up, lifting the collar of the overcoat he wore to ward his skin from the chill he felt. The patrons of the great city felt distant, taken from him and ghostly in their appearances. He did not try to meet their eyes as he began his long journey back to where he would eventually rest.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Coiled at the Roots [Lilias &amp; echoes]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Lilias</strong> on <strong>27-11-2010, 21:52:56</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Montmartre looked freshly washed, neat and clean in the limpid light, despite the weight of centuries that lay on each stone of the street. It were the more modern parts of the city that seemed shabby, the sidewalks strewn with trampled dead leaves, of which there seemed to be no end, even if the calendar reminded that spring was on its way.<br><br>The hotel was shabby as well, one of those ancestral mansions that had been commandeered during the war and had never returned to its owners. Perhaps there hadn't been anyone left to claim it back... Either way, the high ceilinged rooms, that retained most of their wood panelling and plaster rosettes, made a painfully sharp contrast with the cheap furniture, just like the threadbare carpets did little to hide the majesty of the great spiral staircase and the hardwood floors.<br><br>There was a street florist next to the door, an old man accompanied by a young girl with a pinched face, displaying his wares in buckets: white and blue jonquils in one, white, pink and red carnations in another. Nothing really expensive, but proof that beauty was trying to reassert itself already. They were chatting to the hotel concierge as Richard approached, and paused when he got within earshot. The grown-ups looked on with an air of pity that they did their best to conceal, but the lass seemed hopeful. <em>'Une fleur de bonne fortune, Monsieur?'</em> she chirped, before the old man pulled her back.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Coiled at the Roots [Lilias &amp; echoes]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>echoes</strong> on <strong>30-11-2010, 04:28:25</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The white-domed Basilica of the Sacré Cœur&nbsp; looked upon those who travelled at the base of the Monmartre, even watching over those who did not wish to be seen. Richard was one of those wishing to hide, and his invalid state helped him do so even when in public. Eyes were drawn towards him only to glance away quickly as the cane was seen and the noticeable limp was taken.&nbsp; He was one to be forgotten as the old city tried valiantly to recapture its feigned innocence. It had been decades since Paris had been under siege by a foreign power, and the Prussians, now Germans, had once again been the barbarians at the gates.<br><br>Richard was not one of the barbarians, but he might have well been. He was a survivor, outcast and without home, one who knew the horror of war and very little of the healing after. His head was down, eyes roving over the cobblestone beneath his feet as he walked. To many it would look as if he were judging his steps for fear of falling. Little did they know that his eyes saw the hand carved stones of a long dead race that lay in the sand and the shrubs along a coast. That these stones where scared with the salt of the Aegean, baked in the Mediterranean sun, and would never know the wet shine under the Parisian lights. It was only the voice of the young girl who brought him back to this reality.<br><br>“Non, I….I am sorry, no,” he shook his head, quietly looking away as he slowed before the hotel. The child looked to her father, the man sadly nodding back to her as he drew her away from Richard’s path. Richard missed the amulet that adorned the necklace of the old man. The stylized lozenge that folded back on itself like a snake, the square divided within the circle based atop it holding the center of the lozenge. The Latin phrase&nbsp; “<em>Igni Natura Renovatur Integra</em>”&nbsp; was tooled around the edges. The elder man covered the talisman and placed it under his jacket, just as he pulled his child away from Richard.<br><br>Richard gave a sigh and continued on his way and to his room. Here he was away from prying eyes and pitiful glances. He wanted rest, something to fall into and be lost. He debated the words of Dreyfus, the balderdash and superstition of the day. But something inside of him, something deep within so very much wanted to believe. Richard did not know if it was belief in the amulet, of just the idea of belief itself that he wanted as he opened the door to his room.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Coiled at the Roots [Lilias &amp; echoes]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Lilias</strong> on <strong>14-12-2010, 23:48:12</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The corner room must have been bathed in sunlight during most of the day, if anyone had been in to observe it. Now the light was fading already, red sun hanging just above the high roofs, throwing up their outlines, as sharp as they could be. The moon would rise behind Richard's back, as if watching him. Just past full, and it would be quite clear, the last shreds of clouds disappearing in the glory of the gathering sunset.<br><br>With artificial lights beginning to glow, the city was about to put on its merry face again, once more to chase the phantom of destruction away. Dinner, at the hotel as well as in any of the corner eateries, would be spare, since there was still rationing, although the vegetables could be trusted to be better than anything to be found in England. But the famous Parisian night life, from cabarets to <em>cafés chantants</em>, down to the street prostitutes, all had survived, and affirmed themselves stronger than ever, it seemed.<br><br>What would the Lemnians be doing that night? Round up their sheep and watch the stars? The very same stars and moon that would soon be shining over the devastated city... The amulet seemed to pulse. Just once. What had Dreyfus said to do with it?...
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Coiled at the Roots [Lilias &amp; echoes]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>echoes</strong> on <strong>22-12-2010, 12:42:43</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The room was neither small, nor large, instead that half hovering size that never felt quite right. A simple bed on a wrought iron frame that tried so desperately to appear be more regal than it was. The linens, utilitarian, but surprisingly comfortable, were fixed with a still military precision that Richard had not shaken. A small bureau on one wall, a writing desk with lamp and accompanying chair in front of the window, and his travel duffel, completed the furniture of the room. <br><br>Richard moved to the window, pushing back the off white lace curtain to watch the last of the sun fall far to the West. A sunset on the Empire that England no longer had. The moon would rise soon, and already the lack of the sun caused the joints in his leg to ache. A penetrating cold that had no real reason to exist, and yet eased its way into his body like a scalpel. He moved away from the window, closing the curtains so that all but a sliver of the fading light would appear.<br><br>Dreyfus had been quick with his instructions, and Richard had listened. Something about them brought hope, completely unreasonable hope, to the young man. As if the amulet would be unlocked with this simple charm. Richard moved to the bureau and reached for the ewer of water that rested there. He poured himself a glass, drinking first, slaking his nervousness with the water instead of something more potent. Could this simple and silly ritual really bring him this peace?<br><br>He poured a second glass and set it atop a clean handkerchief on the writing desk, for a moment the water looked a deep orange red, catching the last ray of the sun. Slowly he removed locket, the amulet, from his pocket and held it over the water. It was warm to the touch, heated by his own body, as he held it forth. He did not drop it, instead carefully immersed it into the water, letting it come to rest at the bottom of the glass. It was a sharp contrast to the pure white of the silk beneath. And then Richard looked about the room and almost bit back a curse.<br><br>The flower, the petals, he could have gotten something fresh from the young girl at the door of the hotel. He half considered leaving the room to see if she were still there, but he remembered the look her father had given. No, she would not be. His eyes instead found a trio of roses, stems cut short, that had been in the room when he had arrived. By no means fresh, they still held their red color with a tenaciousness, the colour having changed from bright red to a deep red purple. He retrieved the flowers and moved back to the glass.<br><br>He plucked the bloom of the most vibrant of the three, snapping the stem an inch bellow the blossom itself. He was careless however, and the remains of a thorn nicked his thumb, sending two motes of blood into the water to join the flower itself. He replaced the remaining roses in their vase and took a seat at the writing table. He had time to wait, time to watch and he brought his thumb up to examine the wound. Already it seemed that the blood drawn was enough, and it just appeared to be a scratch. <br><br>The last bit of sun left the horizon, leaving only the dark to watch the amulet in the glass.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Coiled at the Roots [Lilias &amp; echoes]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Lilias</strong> on <strong>15-01-2011, 00:44:38</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Nothing seemed to happen. At least nothing observable, if Richard was expecting something in the fabric of reality itself to shift. And yet, nothing was the same either - again, not in any way one could put a finger on. Was it perhaps Richard was expecting <em>something</em>, all in a mind fevered already?<br><br>Seconds ticked away, stretching out into minutes, while the shadows lengthened and deepened, encouraged, it seemed, by the artificial lights. Gathering in other spots instead of being chased away. <em>There's no such thing as an unshadowed land, and if there were one, it would be hell.</em><br><br>By the time the moon rose enough to reach the glass, the water was clear. Despite the dim light, there was no doubt - no blood tainted its clarity. The rose had sunk to the bottom, a bunch of loose petals now, shrivelled and bleached of all colour. Dead. <em>Long</em> dead. The amulet seemed to wink from among them. Only one of its red gems was visible, like a malevolent bloodshot eye.<br><br>The shadows in the far corner of the room had deepened even more, almost solid. And there were twin gleams among them. Like hovering fireflies... or eyes.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Coiled at the Roots [Lilias &amp; echoes]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>echoes</strong> on <strong>15-01-2011, 03:35:11</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<em>Maybe I'm Mad,</em> Richard let the words bounce inside an empty mind, a head devoid of thought and emotion, <em>How should I know? </em> Would it matter if he were mad, who was he to say that all that had been seen and done matter to anything other than the breaking of the fragile psyche that was part of the human condition. <em>Tell me I'm mad</em> He almost wanted the glass to give him some comic answer that he did not really care about, but at least then it was an answer. <em>I've been here so long.</em> There was nothing, not even remorse for his state. An empty vessel without reason, simply an urge, and even then he could not explain it. <br><br>The room slowly shifted and Richard was unaware. The slight changes in the water and the rose petals were lost to him as he sat in the chair, slumped slightly with unfocused eyes. His body cried for sleep, leg aching with a dull pain that was his all to constant reminder that he was not completely whole. The clothes he wore seemed to hang from his frame, passing him of as some hallow eve decoration or cornfield accessory than a man watching the day seep into night.<br><br>As the shadows deepened and the night slowly announced its presence he did not stir. The chill in the air leeched slowly to his skin and there was an exhale of his breath, a mist appearing before him signifying a temperature much cooler than it should have been. He did not startle instead regarding the mist with cold eyes. Maybe he was not mad, maybe he was far worse, and yet, this did not alarm him, death being a welcomed end to the false life he was existing in.<br><br><br><br>-Credit for the italics to Marllion, <em>Goodbye to all that ii: Mad</em>-
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Coiled at the Roots [Lilias &amp; echoes]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Lilias</strong> on <strong>18-01-2011, 18:01:21</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Most of the hotel had quietened for the night, although it wasn't even midnight yet. Why should all eldritch things wait for midnight to manifest? Something that has the power to bridge gaps of ages doesn't hang on moments. Between a heartbeat and the next, it was there - <em>she</em> was there, in the shadowed corner; the next moment, she stepped forward, between Richard and the stream of moonlight.<br><br>Solid, she had to be solid and no ghost, because the light didn't shine through her, embracing her in a silvery cocoon instead, underlining the pearly whiteness of her skin. Her only cover was her hair, black like the night behind her, that fell in loose waves over her shoulders, somehow enhancing even what it covered. With the light behind her, her features were not easy to make out, but there was no missing those eyes. Dark, wide and wild, wells holding despair and ecstasy in equal measure.<br><br>She stood there for a moment, looking down at Richard as dispassionately as he was looking up at her, then slowly lowered herself before him, resting her elbows on his knees. Yes, solid, warm, human - no. Not human. Whatever she was, human was not it. Nothing with such eyes could be human.<br><br>'You freed me,' she whispered, her voice soft, almost a purr. 'What would you have with me?'
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Coiled at the Roots [Lilias &amp; echoes]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>echoes</strong> on <strong>22-01-2011, 02:40:30</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				He didn’t speak immediately, his own eyes lost and unfocused even as the … the woman? … came into view. For moments, seconds maybe even minutes he seemed lost as he stared at her as if he were not sure if this were reality or some altered state. Inside his own head he saw nothing, it was the same, an emptiness even as a voice, panicked and screaming, begged for him to run, to run as far and fast away from this woman as he could. The depth of those orbs, the consuming swirl of motion, caught him. Human, not human, it did not matter. He had a moment of clarity in which he saw his death, his birth, his salvation intertwined with damnation as its paramour. <br><br>Richard broke his gaze from the woman, his hand reaching for the glass that still held the locket in a now viscous suspension. His hand, shaking with an ever growing tremor of fear took the chain of the locket, dragging it free of the cloudy liquid, his action so violent that the glass was sent to its side, the remains of the liquid spilling to the top of the table, the locket in his hand.<br><br>“Nothing… you are not real, you cannot do anything for me as you are a figment, an ideal of perfected suffering in the form of the divine,” Richard began, finally organizing sounds into words and words into sentences. “You are my imagination made of false hope and despair, I know I have no salvation. You may go, I want you not.”His hand closed tight around the locket, a sharp edge cutting into his palm, coating the edge of the locket with motes of blood.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Coiled at the Roots [Lilias &amp; echoes]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Lilias</strong> on <strong>15-03-2011, 18:24:52</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The woman waited for a moment that seemed to stretch into an eternity, before shifting her position, only to settle back on her heels before Richard, her wrists still resting lightly on his knees. That shift had brought her features into the light: the heart-shaped face, whose shape repeated itself in the arc of her mouth; those stormy eyes framed by thick lashes, perfectly arched brows and chiselled cheekbones; the straight, almost regal nose; the creamy, unblemished skin that went on, down, leaving no doubt that it would be so all over her body. The shadowed valley between her breasts served only to draw attention to the twin swellings, pert and tipped with dark nubs, framed by the waves of midnight hair.<br><br>Figment of imagination or not, she was the kind of thing fevered minds conjured up. The kind that could consume before being consumed.<br><br>'You wanted me enough to summon me,' she said at length, her voice a soft whisper. Not husky, more like the sighing of wind through the trees. 'And all the pleasure and ecstasy I have to offer are yours for the asking.' She leaned forward, awaiting his response, her breasts brushing against his shins. 'What would you have with me?'
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Coiled at the Roots [Lilias &amp; echoes]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>echoes</strong> on <strong>16-03-2011, 02:00:21</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				“Freed you? Created a simulacrum of a woman from fervent dreams that have no purpose…” Richards voice met and matched the emptiness in her early look. Had she been waiting for some great worker of magic, some great enchanter, she was to be sorely disappointed.&nbsp; He did not move, no reaction of lust that would have been the hallmark of a normal man. There was no disgust, no hate, no need, instead a simple emptiness that filled his eyes.<br><br>And yet, as she had appeared, he had retrieved the amulet, the locket, the focus of so much of his attention. His hand was warm about it, a pulse of a still living man gripping the simple piece of jewelry tight within the fist. The links of the simple chain draped over his fingers like a rosary as he sat and looked at the creature knelt before him.<br><br>“Who are you? I will have your name first.” The purr in her voice was met with a hollow command for her title. A voice that once would have been rich, once could have commanded others, instead intoned softly the need to address her.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Coiled at the Roots [Lilias &amp; echoes]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Lilias</strong> on <strong>01-04-2011, 15:13:55</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The woman rose up on her knees, balancing on one forearm across Richard's knees. The movement brought her face closer to his, enough for her breath to brush his skin. She could have kissed him, if she but stretched her neck a bit more. A hallucination wouldn't have warm, sweet breath, wouldn't it?<br><br>'I am called Lasciel,' she said simply. Her free hand ran lightly over his, over the locket. There was nothing eerie about that touch. She may have just wanted to touch the amulet, but it still felt like a caress. 'You called me out of this,' she continued, 'you offered of yourself, of your own life.' Her gaze shifted from the ancient artifact to Richard's eyes. 'And for this I am grateful, and what you ask of me you will have. How can you say you no longer want me?'<br><br>Whatever she was - she couldn't know that the blood in the water had been unintentional. Could she?
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Coiled at the Roots [Lilias &amp; echoes]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>echoes</strong> on <strong>06-04-2011, 02:17:42</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				If Lasciel was expecting lust, she was left sore and empty. There was none there. Not for power, not for flesh, not even the escape that one might have for life. Inside the shell was a fire, it was slow to burn, hotter than one would expect, one would no, but it had no passion. It needed no fuel as it slowly consumed its surroundings. The fire was not sustainable, it was finite, and one day it would consume the shell, consume Richard himself, if nothing was done about it.<br><br>But it did burn, with a heat and strength that was well beyond the simplistic and base natures of a human, of a mortal. Richard had seen things, witnessed the other side, the darkest aspect of humanity and nature, and something deep had been changed, had been forged. Something about the human before her was different. But it contained none of the “human” needs. Yes it slept, yes it ate, but even these acts seemed meaningless. Had a true automaton been made?<br><br>The gaze that moved to meet Lasciel’s eyes held no warmth, no false pretense at love or lust. They held time, lost and haunted within their depths. Not even her beauty could alter the swirl of colours that would have once been described of as warm.<br><br>“I want answers…. What am I to do Lasciel? Can you answer me this riddle that is only half words and the other half feeling? What am I to do?” His words were soft, but without the pleading beg of mercy of a victim. Instead, stated, soulless as a condemned man who knew better than to ask for absolution. “What are you that you appear as you do, am I mad, is this the end?” <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Coiled at the Roots [Lilias &amp; echoes]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Lilias</strong> on <strong>02-05-2011, 16:54:35</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Incredibly, Lasciel smiled at the question. The hand that covered Richard's, over the locket, moved up to caress along the side of his face, tracing the bones, just light enough not to raise fully felt goosebumps on the skin. Finally, her fingertips rested on the back of his neck, just beneath the hairline, a slight tingling sensation penetrating even the muffler of his despair.<br><br>'Do what pleases you,' she said softly. 'What are words and feelings both, if not servants to your own will? What matters madness or sanity, if you want none of the world? Pain and pleasure are but the two faces of the moon for the Dark Mother and her brood, of which I am. Taste the Garden of Sorrows on my lips, and join me there when you're done with this existence that you don't want.' <br><br>She punctuated her words by pressing her lips against his, softly but firmly, for a long moment before drawing back, just a little, to let him savour the sensation. And for that moment, the faded world around truly didn't matter, the promise of oblivion pulling, overpowering.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Coiled at the Roots [Lilias &amp; echoes]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>echoes</strong> on <strong>06-05-2011, 04:00:52</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Richard's lips parted with the automatic response as old as time itself. The mouth opening to savor the contact of another, the time honed and programed reaction to the meeting of bodies. But, if Lasciel hungered for passion, if she were looking to spark the ember of need that may have been buried deep inside the human before her, it was a hollow meal on which she now dined.&nbsp; <br><br>What would it mean to a creature whose bread and wine was the lust and desires of humanity? What would it mean to a creature to have before her a vessel without want, lost and confused where there seemed to be no need for pleasure, no want of desire. Richard's heart did not beat faster at the touch of the demon, he did not display fear, there was no masque hiding his coveting of power. He truly wanted answers, wanted to know something, and sadly, did not know what the question was.<br><br>"My own will," he repeated quietly, staring off for a moment, as if trapped within Lasciel's words. "But you do not taste of sorrow. You taste," he paused, his eyes focusing for a moment, as if seeing lasciel for the first time, as if slowly recognizing the peril he was in, and yet, he still did not run. " you taste of bitter pleasure, haunted and remote. Pain all to real, but now changed. What...Are...You? That is what I want first. " he paused again, eyes slow to burn like a dormant coal that finally caught fresh air. The low burn within his eyes. "My first answer... you will be the first answer."<br><br>Richard's right hand came up, the pads of fingertips brushing along Lasciel's shoulder as if she were made of porcelain. Not a possessive touch, but the touch of someone afraid he might spook a creature, and then, again, be once more left alone.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Coiled at the Roots [Lilias &amp; echoes]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Lilias</strong> on <strong>18-05-2011, 17:41:48</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Lasciel didn't seem spooked. If anything, she seemed a little puzzled. She remained as she was, kneeling upright, only canting her head slightly to the side to study Richard's face with wide, unreadable eyes. Her hair swept over and through his fingers, cool waves, delicate like spun glass, scented with something bitter that he couldn't place. Her breath, though, was sweet, enough to make the head swim after a few moments.<br><br>'What am I?' she echoed the question. 'I am a woman, and more. I am a daughter of the Dark Mother, who tends the Garden of Sorrows. She sloughed off my useless mortality, took my soul in and made me more than human.' She caressed his hand, the one that held the locket, with her free hand, feeling the grip begin to relax. 'I am pleasure and pain in one, the most of each one can endure. Love me and despair, give me your soul and let this world burn away into oblivion... or set me on your enemies and see them perish. You hold me, and with me you hold more power you could dream of.'
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Coiled at the Roots [Lilias &amp; echoes]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>echoes</strong> on <strong>09-06-2011, 02:11:21</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				“I have no use for morality,” Richard began, misinterpreting her words as he was momentarily lost in the sensations about him. The woman, there, so real, so in the present, had his mind’s attention and he could see nothing else. The rest of the room began to shrink around them. There was only Lasciel, and she became the focus of his world.<br><br>“Pain, so you understand pain, then tell me what I have become, what am I to do with the emptiness that feels no happiness, no remorse, and no pain other than the constant physical reminder that I am no longer what I used to be?&nbsp; You speak of love, but do you know how to do without, do you know what it is to remember it like a spring of youth only to have it remain out of your grasp? “<br><br>He closed his eyes for a moment, but the vision of the woman before him was burned into his mind, and she gave him no respite. He saw her as she spoke, her lips lush with the life his body no longer contained. “ What is it that calls me to the shores of a small island far and away from here?”<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Coiled at the Roots [Lilias &amp; echoes]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Lilias</strong> on <strong>01-07-2011, 17:09:20</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Without letting go of Richard's hand, as if she couldn't hold the locket herself, unless it was through someone else's flesh, Lasciel pushed herself upright. She stood there, swaying, looking down into his face, for a moment, then moved to sit in his lap. She felt warm and solid, although she weighed little more than a child, and that scent, that seemed to rise out of her skin and hair, was stronger, almost engulfing, as she rested her head on his shoulder.<br><br>'Love is for mortals, and very much mortal you still are,' she said, finally letting go of his hand to run her fingertips up his arm. 'Do you enjoy your pain that you will not allow your measure of pleasure approach you? Emptiness... how can you fill up on anything if you are not empty first? After all, you called me up and let me out of my prison. Did you do it just to mock me and flaunt your power?' Her tone was wistful, not without a note of accusation. As if an otherworldly creature like her could be hurt by such puny things as motives and impressions.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Coiled at the Roots [Lilias &amp; echoes]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>echoes</strong> on <strong>26-07-2011, 16:28:13</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				He should have responded as a man might, his hands should have come up, pulled the supple and pliant body to his form. Created some false sense of protection,as if the infernal needed protecting from the mundane world. He should have sought her lips, found her warmth and sampled her taste. His fingers should have learned of the texture of her skin, known the feel of her lips and the silken nature of her hair. <br><br>But he did not respond in such ways. He did not respond to her overt sexuality, the luscious body before him did not stir him, he did not rise to the bait. Instead he raised the locket, slowly, her hand still about his as he let it swing like a pendulum beneath the gripped fist.<br><br>"I have stared at your for hours, wondering if you would give me answers, instead always more questions." he began, speaking not to the demon, but to the locket itself. "I wondered if your secrets would free me, send me along my way, answer me why. And I still wait, I know you will teach me eventually, the secret is still inside, and I will find it."<br><br>When Lasciel spoke of pain he slowly turned his head to face her, noticing that she now sat upon his lap. He did not act with surprise, but he was surprised that she was there. <br><br>"No, no I do not mock you. I would not cause you pain. I did not mean to summon you, I am not what you think. Though if you are free of your prison, then that is good." The voice was...polite, simple, quiet.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Coiled at the Roots [Lilias &amp; echoes]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Lilias</strong> on <strong>09-10-2011, 23:54:31</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				'You did not mean to summon me?' Her eyes were wide with genuine amazement now. 'But you have the phylactery,' she gestured towards the locket. 'And you knew the offering you had to make.' Another wave, towards the glass with the rose petals, where no trace of blood could be seen in the water. 'You <em>knew</em>. Or you were chosen.' There was real hunger in the depths of her eyes.<br><br>'Whether you asked for power over me or not, you have it,' she continued, holding Richard's face in both hands, her fingers tinglingly cool on his skin. 'What will you have me be? Your own pleasure? The scourge of your enemies?' Her scent was heady again, thick with promise.<br><br>She must have seen something in the depths of his eyes, because she paused, hesitating for a moment. 'But if you truly do not want me, you can send me back to my prison, knowing you can never summon me again.' Her voice vibrated with sorrow for a moment. 'Or set me free, and we may meet in this world no more.'
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Coiled at the Roots [Lilias &amp; echoes]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>echoes</strong> on <strong>24-10-2011, 21:20:06</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				" I do not remember pleasure, just faint memories." His eyes stayed locked with Lasciel, as her's burned, his remained empty, simple pools with no movement. "Like the dead of winter, wrapped and bound in clothes that offer no warmth, the memories of the past spring are not enough. And I know not the names of my enemies, I was a solider, this was a war. I did not serve for anger, nor glory, I served as my country asked me to serve."<br><br>There was a contradiction, his tone lost, his eyes empty, but beneath the demon, there was warmth. The heart still beat, the body was alive, and even parts of it seemed to respond to the touch of the hands upon his face. His chest rose and fell like any other man, the steady beat that echoed like a solemn drum. There was life still within him, tough it was held within a prison forced up;on it by his mind.<br><br>"I was suggested to watch the fill..., philac.....the," A pause," locket by the light of the moon by the counsel of another. I knew nothing of offerings," The honestly in his words tumbled as easily as he had stumbled over his words. He looked to her as his hands came up, taking her hands under his. There was warmth there, muted, but he was still human, something inside him had not given up, even if he did not see or feel it. He paused for a moment before finally blinking, it was as if recognition struck a match, and he recognized some of the peril he was in.<br><br>"Lasciel," he spoke her name slowly, intoning it with care and a steel in the words as if to make his point. " Go to the bed, draw the blanket about you, see to your warmth. You asked me what would I have you be, and I say to that, first, you will be my answers. I want to know of the locket, the truth behind it, and then of you. I want to know why /you / have called to me, summoned me, because I know now, it has been you who spoke softly, in words I did not understand, all these nights."<br><br>The voice was quiet, but there was the hint of the officer he once was as he detailed his command. An expectancy in the orders to be followed. Truth be told, he had no clue if they would be followed or not, only that she, the demon, the woman, the creature atop him, had caused an ingrained response, something he could not remember feeling since the War. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Coiled at the Roots [Lilias &amp; echoes]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Lilias</strong> on <strong>06-11-2011, 22:37:55</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				If he had expected some resistance, some challenge, none came. Lasciel shifted her weight, wrapped her arms loosely around his neck, as if for support, and slid off his lap, letting go almost regretfully. She swayed before him for a moment, statuesque in the shifting shadows, then moved to the bed, gliding like a cat, the swishing of her hair across her back louder than her feet on the bare floor.<br><br>The old four-poster didn't creak as she climbed up and reached for one of the threadbare blankets. She wrapped it around her like a cloak before settling down cross-legged. Thankfully, in the shadows of the single curtain left hanging, the pose showed only a patch of deeper darkness between her thighs.<br><br>'The phylactery has been my prison for ages,' she said softly. 'It is strong enough to hold me, though not to silence me entirely. I have been calling out for my freedom, but you would not have heard if you were not meant to. If I were not the answer to your own calls.'
			</dd>
		</dl>
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