Rumours [Barding and Moth]
<h1 id="title">Elliquiy Role Playing Forums</h1>
		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Bondage, D/s, S&amp;M =&gt; Bondage: Human Solos =&gt; Topic started by: Barding on 18-04-2009, 16:21:09</h2>
		<dl id="posts">
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Rumours [Barding and Moth]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Barding</strong> on <strong>18-04-2009, 16:21:09</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The rainy season was beginning to dawn that night. It was almost an unofficial equinox of sorts - a pagan Beltaine or Samhain - an embittered farewell to the driving, harsh snow that plagued Naggaroth for half each year's calendar. It was always the way with the changing of the weather. The jagged maw of land, trying as always to devour the sea in its rocky, savage jaws, experienced either snow or rain and such was life. There were almost no exceptions. With the arrival of one, as opposed to the other, thanks begin to float within the air, the streets outside each city's temples running with thick, grateful blood. However, thanks soon turn to curses and a desire for the opposite returns. Naggaroth's climate does not allow simple contentment; only a desire for something more. Always more.<br><br>Talhril Helvieth had seen two bouts of driving snow first hand - white blanks within the opening and closing, continual pulse of the world's heart - and he never wished to relive them. He remembered nights spent in <em>caves</em> of all places, fearful of his resting place's true owners and their eventual return. He remembered one season of rain between the two, punctuating his search and his journey. So much effort and so much time of his long, long life, spent, looking for an ounce of blood with which to stain his forehead. Why such a mark should make a boy a man, he could never begin to understand. What mattered was that he had attained it; clutched onto life and squirmed out of death's stranglehold. He had lost count of the times, in the wilds, he had feared for his life. Naggaroth was a truly unforgiving land and, for the last two years, it had been his only companion and his only bedfellow each night. The land of chill had been his consort and his friend, after much coersion, and yet, finally, Talhril was happy to leave its embrace and renounce its companionship. He had returned home, to Clar Karond.<br><br>Two days had passed since his reunion with his chambers in the family's spire. How the bottles of innumerable liquid potential and the belljars of gaseous delights welcomed him, although few others did. Talhril had had little else with which to entertain himself, after all. The two days were to be spent alone before, finally, he entered society as no youth but a man. The night he did so was, once more, dark, thunderous and heavily pregnant with falling rain. A night of celebrations and returns and one to remember. A celebration all in his honour.<br><br>He had waited in his carriage outside until the jagged horns on the shipyard's lighthouse blew out eleven times for eleven hours. The brief stroll from the carriage door to the huge portal of the Helvieth spire's main hall was a decidedly wet one and the rough woolen cloak around Talhril's shoulders had to be cast aside. Like a shed skin, it lay in the cover of the doors' overhang, revealing the young lordling's slender frame even as the huge portal swung open, letting the music hit him. The scents of revery assailed him. The barest aroma of sweat shed in dance. The acrid delicacy of seared meat and lush, dark fruits tempted his senses. The hall's lights blinded him at first, imitating an aesthete's dazzling heaven to his recently deprived senses.<br><br>As always, he desired more. More of an overload, and so he entered the seething crowds to seek it.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Rumours [Barding and Moth]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Moth</strong> on <strong>26-04-2009, 08:14:58</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<span style="font-family: times new roman;" class="bbc_font">"Ah, and at last, the triumphant hero makes his grand entrance." The idle remark was to her servant companion was tinged with mockery. Yet, her gaze was intense as it fixated upon her dear elder brother. It was astounding to think that such a frail frame could bear the weight of the family patron's ambitions - much less a weapon. And yet he had just managed to complete his rite of passage. With apparent great success, as well. No limp marred his graceful gait; not a single scar blemished the cold perfection of his features. Why, he was almost prettier than she. His long drooping lashes and haughty lips suggested immeasurable indolence. Rumors spoke of a life of pleasurable prestige that she found simultaneously fascinating and repulsive. While her own appearance was hardly lacking in beauty, the full enchantment was a product of countless hours of attendance and skill. She envied this ethereal creature who seemed to exude such careless charm. And those who deserved her envy also deserved her observance. After all, such cautious studies had resulted in a fitting end to several rivals. The fate of one was spelled out in the tattoo that decorated her fan. How fitting that she should possess what remained of the poor girl's prettily painted flesh. <br><br>Others were flocking about the newcomer now. Those who remained at a distance busily whispered their latest spins of gossip. No, this wouldn't do. Proud Helvieth blood coursed through her veins, after all, no matter how much that miserable bitch that passed for her mother tried to quietly deny it. It was her duty to attend to her brother's wishes and make sure that he enjoyed his little debutante ball. With an air of deceptive easiness and practiced elegance, Vespir rose from her seat, curtsied to her neighbors, and began to advance across the floor towards the grand stairway. Even Talhril's flock of sycophants dared not block her approach; her spiteful temper was well-known amongst the females and fully felt with the more delicate male specimens. Yet none of it showed on her features, which displayed only a gracious curve of the lips and an inviting gaze. Behind her clambered the servant lucky enough to attend to her in such a formal setting.<br><br>"Talhril," she greeted intimately in a low murmur. Its softness was designed to make others arch towards her, sometimes so close that they could feel her warm breath against the shells of their ears. "Tell me that the harsh ordeal you have endured has not deprived you of your memory. It has been so long since we last embraced...tell me you haven't forgotten of your adoring little sister." Even as she spoke, faded images rose in her thoughts. Blurred recollections of a few warm moments in the vast darkness of her youth. They had been close once - she could remember that now. But it was so very long ago. "Come. If you would have me, I would be honored by your premier dance of the evening. Custom dictates it." She waved her fan to her servant, who stepped forward and carefully lifted the shawl from the slender slopes of her bared shoulders. Oh, how the women of the room must drool over the sight of the expensive jewels ornamenting the ivory shade of her neck. Gracefully she extended her hand and held it aloft, hoping that he would accept it.</span>
			</dd>
		</dl>
		<div id="footer" class="smalltext">
			
			<span class="smalltext" style="display: inline; visibility: visible; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif;"><a href="https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?action=credits" title="Simple Machines Forum" target="_blank" class="new_win">SMF 2.0.19</a> |
 <a href="https://www.simplemachines.org/about/smf/license.php" title="License" target="_blank" class="new_win">SMF © 2021</a>, <a href="https://www.simplemachines.org" title="Simple Machines" target="_blank" class="new_win">Simple Machines</a>
			</span>
		</div>