MoldaviteGreen
The world’s upside down here…
- Joined
- Dec 7, 2018
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As Above, So Below [Ace of Hearts & MoldaviteGreen]
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MoldaviteGreen
The world’s upside down here…
- Joined
- Dec 7, 2018
The most amusing thing about a Fae promise, was that it stretched out into the infinite abyss of forever, so very much like the extension of a welcome to a vampire born of the Old Curse. Neither could be broken, forever existing once whispered. Not that anyone would ever learn of that likeness; a secret beheld among ancient, undead kin. It had the corner of Miovska's mouth curling upward in a devilish smirk as he lingered upon the threshold of the Fae household, against an invisible barrier that had not truly held him for the last three centuries.
The broad, bare of his chest rose in a breath; a motion forcefully taken, that left his stale, unused lungs trembling with the rush of the cool, night air. With the backward tilt of his head, storm-dark eyes swept upward overhead at the sandstone façade. Miovska could appreciate the beauty of this place, could understand why the Fae had made the Museum of the Arts their front. What he could not appreciate was being made to wait.
"Well?" Miovska lowered his sharp chin, glaring down at the quivering pixie that still clung to the brass of the door handle as if that mere, pathetic grasp could ever keep a beast such as he out. "Shall you make us remain out here all night? I was under the impression your Queen wanted my presence." A flash of fox-like fangs in the moonlight, the silver glint of a predatory, reflective eyes, and the smooth, Slavic-like lilt of Miovska's voice lowered. "Was I mistaken?"
"N-No," the pixie stuttered, their knuckles turning white.
From beside Miovska, towering over him like a brute, his favoured underling bent down. An awkward display of hunching shoulders and folding bulk, but one that earned the pixie's shaking knees and had Miovska smirking. "So," the underling, Oryn, hissed, "invite us inside."
The pixie's fear, Miovska knew, was steeped in not only his coven's reputation, but Miovska's own. How could the pixie be blamed, when another body had washed up on the river's muddy banks the night before last; the selkie's skin carved free of the corpse and vasculature utterly dry? As the little, cricket-winged pixie stammered the welcome, Miovska ran the flat of his tongue over the front of his teeth, sweeping inside the Museum's grand gallery.
He needed no escort, no guide to draw him through the corridors, for Miovska knew the layout of the Museum of the Arts well enough to know how the shadows fell precisely at midnight. He'd been there for its grand opening, after all, in a time of industrial revolution and war among humanity. Silent, the vampire swept through the wide corridors, twisting hallways, before finally shoving through the mahogany doors of the Lower Chamber. No need for welcome, when he'd already been invited inside.
The doors burst open with enough force that they slammed against the sandstone walls and trembled. The hinges groaned on the recoil, a shrill ring within Miovska's otherwise silent skull. There, he stood in all of his dark glory; damp curls hanging beyond the sweep of his collarbones, the olive of his chest dusted in chocolate hair, revealed by the gape in his leather, biker-style jacket. He wore nothing but leather and denim, the jeans clinging to the thick muscle of his thighs just as dark as his jacket, and matching leather boots. Most frightening of all that Miovska wore was that sinister, upward curve of a sly smirk that revealed two sets of fangs; a glimpse into his heritage. A Sire. A vampire of ancient, so wickedly free of the metaphysical laws that constrained those made within the New Age.
"My, you've all started without me," Miovska called, letting his words carry about the space and echo off of the Grecian marble statues, absorbed by the colourful, hanging tapestries. As he lowered his arms, drawing forward, he set the dark of his gaze upon the teal face of the unglamoured Queen of the Fae. "How awfully rude of you, Lilavati."
The Fae, for all that they enjoyed grandeur and dramatics, had all bristled. Seated upon their plush, artesian cushions, drawn over the Arabic, woven rugs splayed across the marble floor, they'd all stiffened with the vampires' sudden presence. Yet, they knew, it was only one presence above the rest which saw the warmth suffocated beneath a sudden, deathly chill.
Some regarded Miovska with a cursory glance before pretending to return to their conversations. Others stared, cautiously watching how the man moved with feline-like grace across the space to lean against a pillar holding a depiction of Icarus' fall in marble. The Fae Queen, her eyes a sunflower yellow, regarded Miovska with a brave contempt.
Brave, because it was Miovska's scrawled name that had drawn them all together, begging.
"We do not work on a schedule according to you, Miovska," Lilavati raised the rim of her crystal flute glass to the indigo seam of her lips. The look she cast him was one of barely restrained frustration. It if was not for her desire to see her people safe, she'd have sooner torn up the proposed peace treaty than send her pixie to invite him inside when he'd had the gall to arrive late. "You've missed a great deal, but I cannot be bothered repeating it." Lilavati waved a hand towards a haggard wench. "Paisley shall catch you up to speed."
Miovska, still leaning comfortably against the statue, crossed his arms over his chest. "No need." The sharp angles of his face had been schooled into cool neutrality. "You shall find my seal upon the treaty once you give me what I desire most."
The broad, bare of his chest rose in a breath; a motion forcefully taken, that left his stale, unused lungs trembling with the rush of the cool, night air. With the backward tilt of his head, storm-dark eyes swept upward overhead at the sandstone façade. Miovska could appreciate the beauty of this place, could understand why the Fae had made the Museum of the Arts their front. What he could not appreciate was being made to wait.
"Well?" Miovska lowered his sharp chin, glaring down at the quivering pixie that still clung to the brass of the door handle as if that mere, pathetic grasp could ever keep a beast such as he out. "Shall you make us remain out here all night? I was under the impression your Queen wanted my presence." A flash of fox-like fangs in the moonlight, the silver glint of a predatory, reflective eyes, and the smooth, Slavic-like lilt of Miovska's voice lowered. "Was I mistaken?"
"N-No," the pixie stuttered, their knuckles turning white.
From beside Miovska, towering over him like a brute, his favoured underling bent down. An awkward display of hunching shoulders and folding bulk, but one that earned the pixie's shaking knees and had Miovska smirking. "So," the underling, Oryn, hissed, "invite us inside."
The pixie's fear, Miovska knew, was steeped in not only his coven's reputation, but Miovska's own. How could the pixie be blamed, when another body had washed up on the river's muddy banks the night before last; the selkie's skin carved free of the corpse and vasculature utterly dry? As the little, cricket-winged pixie stammered the welcome, Miovska ran the flat of his tongue over the front of his teeth, sweeping inside the Museum's grand gallery.
He needed no escort, no guide to draw him through the corridors, for Miovska knew the layout of the Museum of the Arts well enough to know how the shadows fell precisely at midnight. He'd been there for its grand opening, after all, in a time of industrial revolution and war among humanity. Silent, the vampire swept through the wide corridors, twisting hallways, before finally shoving through the mahogany doors of the Lower Chamber. No need for welcome, when he'd already been invited inside.
The doors burst open with enough force that they slammed against the sandstone walls and trembled. The hinges groaned on the recoil, a shrill ring within Miovska's otherwise silent skull. There, he stood in all of his dark glory; damp curls hanging beyond the sweep of his collarbones, the olive of his chest dusted in chocolate hair, revealed by the gape in his leather, biker-style jacket. He wore nothing but leather and denim, the jeans clinging to the thick muscle of his thighs just as dark as his jacket, and matching leather boots. Most frightening of all that Miovska wore was that sinister, upward curve of a sly smirk that revealed two sets of fangs; a glimpse into his heritage. A Sire. A vampire of ancient, so wickedly free of the metaphysical laws that constrained those made within the New Age.
"My, you've all started without me," Miovska called, letting his words carry about the space and echo off of the Grecian marble statues, absorbed by the colourful, hanging tapestries. As he lowered his arms, drawing forward, he set the dark of his gaze upon the teal face of the unglamoured Queen of the Fae. "How awfully rude of you, Lilavati."
The Fae, for all that they enjoyed grandeur and dramatics, had all bristled. Seated upon their plush, artesian cushions, drawn over the Arabic, woven rugs splayed across the marble floor, they'd all stiffened with the vampires' sudden presence. Yet, they knew, it was only one presence above the rest which saw the warmth suffocated beneath a sudden, deathly chill.
Some regarded Miovska with a cursory glance before pretending to return to their conversations. Others stared, cautiously watching how the man moved with feline-like grace across the space to lean against a pillar holding a depiction of Icarus' fall in marble. The Fae Queen, her eyes a sunflower yellow, regarded Miovska with a brave contempt.
Brave, because it was Miovska's scrawled name that had drawn them all together, begging.
"We do not work on a schedule according to you, Miovska," Lilavati raised the rim of her crystal flute glass to the indigo seam of her lips. The look she cast him was one of barely restrained frustration. It if was not for her desire to see her people safe, she'd have sooner torn up the proposed peace treaty than send her pixie to invite him inside when he'd had the gall to arrive late. "You've missed a great deal, but I cannot be bothered repeating it." Lilavati waved a hand towards a haggard wench. "Paisley shall catch you up to speed."
Miovska, still leaning comfortably against the statue, crossed his arms over his chest. "No need." The sharp angles of his face had been schooled into cool neutrality. "You shall find my seal upon the treaty once you give me what I desire most."
Those dark, narrowed eyes slid to where a Fae nestled among the rest of his folk. There, Miovska would meet the Gancanagh’s gaze; bold and brazen. It mattered little if the man sneered at him, for Miovska’s own gaze would shimmer with predatory delight.
"And what is it you believe you desire most?"
A sudden, rip of silence tore through the room. Fae held their breath. Lycans bristled. Witches paused their shuffle of cards. The coven of vampires at Miovska's back lingered within the edges of the long-drawn shadows, silent but pacing.
"The Gancanagh."
Last edited:
Ace of Hearts
Moon
- Joined
- Aug 27, 2024
- Location
- New York State, United States
It was a most shameful thing that it had all come to this. A need for meetings, carving out promises of peace between their races, all due to the way in which they had begun to treat one another. Only they were certain that the deaths falling upon the members of most clans and covens present were being committed by one in particular. The most feared clutch of vampires, the sire of which was all but known beyond the shadow of a doubt to be the most vicious and violent of all fae.
Kaldrielle sat at the table, silent as his queen spoke to the gathering. He was merely here as one of her most trusted agents, having secured so much for her and the other fae within her kingdom. If it could be counted as such, though he had the opinion that their numbers were far too little to be considered one of great power. At least when you compared it to the brutality in which others conducted themselves, taking from one another in the most vile of methods. Not that they were above that. It wasn't long ago that they had ripped into a mountainside, taking on trolls and goblins alike, all in the name of securing fortune for themselves.
As soon as the individual they had been waiting on arrived, he felt himself grow cold. Nobody trusted the vampire king, and all of them were ready for some kind of an attack upon them once he would be brought to their meeting. Yet he felt that that was not something that would be happening today. Whatever it was that had been written upon the breeze rumbling through the land had the Gancanagh feeling uneasy, though he could not put his finger onto what that was.
He looked towards the witches, shuffling their cards, trying to see what was to come. As if they could actually give a proper reading with those damn tools in what little time they had left. They frowned as they bent over their cards, shook their heads, and started again. What they needed was a true Seer among them, and yet failed to have one amongst them. Magic seemed to be fading out, with less and less witches being born. Something else targeting them perhaps.
Far too soon did he sense the malevolent presence of the vampire coming down. He straightened up, his queen taking note. She cast about a look around the table, and everyone stilled just before the doors slammed open.
One positive thing that could be said about the man was how good looking he was. Even Kaldrielle could not scoff at such a fact and suggest that he was nothing in comparison to his own supernatural allure. Perhaps that was something about beauty within their world. It was thrust upon those with abilities and personalities found within the most abhorrent of them.
Many began to converse amongst themselves once again, and Kaldrielle looked towards his queen. She was remaining as cool and collected as she had been, and the Gancanagh did the same, waiting for things to truly begin.
Lilavati spoke, drawing the lines and setting forth the fact that just because they waited for him did not mean that he was the one that held the entire meeting. She was the one that had pulled this together, and she would be in charge. Regardless of just how desperate they all may have been to secure the safety of their numbers from the one they all believed to be the trust master of death, deciding who would die and when, and executing such a decision on his own whim.
Something in the way that they were speaking brought about another feeling of unease within Kaldrielle, and he stilled, eyes fixated upon the vampire. There was something to this. Miovska clearly wanted something, and had every intention of utilizing the treaty in order to get it. And as he looked upon the terrible man of darkness, misery, and death, he felt a shiver run up his spine. But not to be taken as weak - for he was not - he steadied his own gaze upon that of the other, immediately understanding what was being done, and wishing to instill some kind of doubt upon the vampire.
It did not work.
"How dare you?" he hissed, eyes narrowing. "To suggest that I be used as a bargaining chip, as if I am nothing more than cattle to add on to sweeten the deal for you."
The Gancanagh looked towards his queen, his insides writhing. She didn't look at him, her eyes remaining upon the vampire. And then his insides stilled. Because he knew exactly what was going to happen. It had seemed that the warning winding among the land and finding its way to him was one meant specifically for him.
"My queen. Please. You must not allow this to happen."
He could feel everyone's eyes shifting between him and Lilavati, many of them unable to believe that she would do such a thing. And some of them eager to just have this done with so the rest of them could leave the room knowing that they did not need to worry about their own lives being ripped from their throats by this vampire. And still, the queen did not look at the subject being requested as payment for Miovska's signature upon the treaty.
Kaldrielle sat at the table, silent as his queen spoke to the gathering. He was merely here as one of her most trusted agents, having secured so much for her and the other fae within her kingdom. If it could be counted as such, though he had the opinion that their numbers were far too little to be considered one of great power. At least when you compared it to the brutality in which others conducted themselves, taking from one another in the most vile of methods. Not that they were above that. It wasn't long ago that they had ripped into a mountainside, taking on trolls and goblins alike, all in the name of securing fortune for themselves.
As soon as the individual they had been waiting on arrived, he felt himself grow cold. Nobody trusted the vampire king, and all of them were ready for some kind of an attack upon them once he would be brought to their meeting. Yet he felt that that was not something that would be happening today. Whatever it was that had been written upon the breeze rumbling through the land had the Gancanagh feeling uneasy, though he could not put his finger onto what that was.
He looked towards the witches, shuffling their cards, trying to see what was to come. As if they could actually give a proper reading with those damn tools in what little time they had left. They frowned as they bent over their cards, shook their heads, and started again. What they needed was a true Seer among them, and yet failed to have one amongst them. Magic seemed to be fading out, with less and less witches being born. Something else targeting them perhaps.
Far too soon did he sense the malevolent presence of the vampire coming down. He straightened up, his queen taking note. She cast about a look around the table, and everyone stilled just before the doors slammed open.
One positive thing that could be said about the man was how good looking he was. Even Kaldrielle could not scoff at such a fact and suggest that he was nothing in comparison to his own supernatural allure. Perhaps that was something about beauty within their world. It was thrust upon those with abilities and personalities found within the most abhorrent of them.
Many began to converse amongst themselves once again, and Kaldrielle looked towards his queen. She was remaining as cool and collected as she had been, and the Gancanagh did the same, waiting for things to truly begin.
Lilavati spoke, drawing the lines and setting forth the fact that just because they waited for him did not mean that he was the one that held the entire meeting. She was the one that had pulled this together, and she would be in charge. Regardless of just how desperate they all may have been to secure the safety of their numbers from the one they all believed to be the trust master of death, deciding who would die and when, and executing such a decision on his own whim.
Something in the way that they were speaking brought about another feeling of unease within Kaldrielle, and he stilled, eyes fixated upon the vampire. There was something to this. Miovska clearly wanted something, and had every intention of utilizing the treaty in order to get it. And as he looked upon the terrible man of darkness, misery, and death, he felt a shiver run up his spine. But not to be taken as weak - for he was not - he steadied his own gaze upon that of the other, immediately understanding what was being done, and wishing to instill some kind of doubt upon the vampire.
It did not work.
"How dare you?" he hissed, eyes narrowing. "To suggest that I be used as a bargaining chip, as if I am nothing more than cattle to add on to sweeten the deal for you."
The Gancanagh looked towards his queen, his insides writhing. She didn't look at him, her eyes remaining upon the vampire. And then his insides stilled. Because he knew exactly what was going to happen. It had seemed that the warning winding among the land and finding its way to him was one meant specifically for him.
"My queen. Please. You must not allow this to happen."
He could feel everyone's eyes shifting between him and Lilavati, many of them unable to believe that she would do such a thing. And some of them eager to just have this done with so the rest of them could leave the room knowing that they did not need to worry about their own lives being ripped from their throats by this vampire. And still, the queen did not look at the subject being requested as payment for Miovska's signature upon the treaty.
OP
OP
MoldaviteGreen
The world’s upside down here…
- Joined
- Dec 7, 2018
The Gancanagh’s snark, his bite of words, had Miovaska pressing the pink flat of his tongue against the sharp point of his double fangs. A smirk threatened to pull at his lips, but, instead, twinkled with a twisted delight within the dark of his eyes.
The Sire pushed away from the pillar, the Grecian marble statue wobbling a little from the movement but never falling, as his footsteps came eerily quiet over the floor. If the people before him were blind, if they’d all been plunged into darkness, none would have been able to guise where Miovska stalked. He’d had centuries to learn the art of silence, and he practiced it now as he crossed lazily towards the Gancanagh.
“Whom do you refer to as cattle?” Miovska purred, lingering close to the table with which the man sat; the Gancanagh near his Queen. A finger dipped into the syrup drooled over a fruit tart, the stickiness smeared between fingertip and thumb. “My beloved blood whores or yourself, for even they would not dare to speak as you have. In fact…”
Miovska drew the pad of his syrup-coated thumb across his lips, dipping it into his mouth to lick it clean as he held the man’s gaze. When he was done, he smirked wickedly. “…they would beg me to take them to sweeten the deal; beg me to fuck, fill, and drain them, before thanking me.”
The obscenity of his suggestion had the humans glancing away, a handful of lesser Fae gasping, and the witches whispering. Miovska spoke so crudely, was being so crass, before the Fae Queen, and he didn’t care at all. For all whom he cared to shock, to anger, to strike shame into the heart of was the man whom held his absolute attention. The Gancanagh he so hungrily wanted as his.
“You will be thanking me too, soon enough, Gancanagh,” Miovska promised smoothly, his words caring a double edge. You shall be thanking me for draining you, like the cattle you mention. But you shall also be thanking me for fucking you.
“That is enough.” Queen Lilavati would only bear the vampire’s crassness for so long. She could not stand to hear Kaldrielle spoken to so shamelessly. Not after all he had done for their people, for her. Not even if everything wasn’t enough to have her refusing Miovska’s demands.
Unable to look at him, the Fae Queen held her eyes upon Miovska whom smirked cockily from the other side of the table. He knew that he’d won, and she’d known that she’d give in to whatever he demanded. Their game of wits was a farce when everyone but this coven was desperate.
“The Gancanagh is yours on one condition.”
Miovska’s dark brow rose, curious. “I do not believe you to be in a position to make conditions, Lilavati.”
“Swear that he shall remain alive so long as this treaty remains true,” the Queen stated regardless. “So long as your name remains bled into this parchment, that this treaty still stands, he shall remain alive as he is now.” As he is now, not undead.
“I swear it.” Miovska spoke the words easily, because he already knew a loophole. The termination of the treaty, via whatever form, would see his promise forfeit. He’d have thought the Fae Queen better at making trickier bargains.
As a haggard little wench teetered over, carrying the parchment that already held the signatures of all others, Miovska found the Gancanagh’s fiery gaze. He edged away from the table, drawing space between them so that the Gancanagh could not reach him without walking to him.
“Come,” he summoned. “You wish to see your people safe, and you harbour a newfound hatred for me, I presume by the way you look at me now.”
The quill was plucked up from the wench’s offering hand, sharp enough to pierce flesh. Blood was what would solidify this pact between people and tether together the treaty. It was held out in offering, Miovska’s mouth pressed into a line. The dark of his eyes betrayed his depraved amusement.
“Come, and see to them both,” he lured. “Make me bleed so I may forge my name into this treaty.”
The breaths of many within the room were held. All of it—the treaty, their safety, the cessation of killings—hinged upon Kaldrielle. The Fae Queen was playing checkers, while Miovska had always been playing chess.
The Sire pushed away from the pillar, the Grecian marble statue wobbling a little from the movement but never falling, as his footsteps came eerily quiet over the floor. If the people before him were blind, if they’d all been plunged into darkness, none would have been able to guise where Miovska stalked. He’d had centuries to learn the art of silence, and he practiced it now as he crossed lazily towards the Gancanagh.
“Whom do you refer to as cattle?” Miovska purred, lingering close to the table with which the man sat; the Gancanagh near his Queen. A finger dipped into the syrup drooled over a fruit tart, the stickiness smeared between fingertip and thumb. “My beloved blood whores or yourself, for even they would not dare to speak as you have. In fact…”
Miovska drew the pad of his syrup-coated thumb across his lips, dipping it into his mouth to lick it clean as he held the man’s gaze. When he was done, he smirked wickedly. “…they would beg me to take them to sweeten the deal; beg me to fuck, fill, and drain them, before thanking me.”
The obscenity of his suggestion had the humans glancing away, a handful of lesser Fae gasping, and the witches whispering. Miovska spoke so crudely, was being so crass, before the Fae Queen, and he didn’t care at all. For all whom he cared to shock, to anger, to strike shame into the heart of was the man whom held his absolute attention. The Gancanagh he so hungrily wanted as his.
“You will be thanking me too, soon enough, Gancanagh,” Miovska promised smoothly, his words caring a double edge. You shall be thanking me for draining you, like the cattle you mention. But you shall also be thanking me for fucking you.
“That is enough.” Queen Lilavati would only bear the vampire’s crassness for so long. She could not stand to hear Kaldrielle spoken to so shamelessly. Not after all he had done for their people, for her. Not even if everything wasn’t enough to have her refusing Miovska’s demands.
Unable to look at him, the Fae Queen held her eyes upon Miovska whom smirked cockily from the other side of the table. He knew that he’d won, and she’d known that she’d give in to whatever he demanded. Their game of wits was a farce when everyone but this coven was desperate.
“The Gancanagh is yours on one condition.”
Miovska’s dark brow rose, curious. “I do not believe you to be in a position to make conditions, Lilavati.”
“Swear that he shall remain alive so long as this treaty remains true,” the Queen stated regardless. “So long as your name remains bled into this parchment, that this treaty still stands, he shall remain alive as he is now.” As he is now, not undead.
“I swear it.” Miovska spoke the words easily, because he already knew a loophole. The termination of the treaty, via whatever form, would see his promise forfeit. He’d have thought the Fae Queen better at making trickier bargains.
As a haggard little wench teetered over, carrying the parchment that already held the signatures of all others, Miovska found the Gancanagh’s fiery gaze. He edged away from the table, drawing space between them so that the Gancanagh could not reach him without walking to him.
“Come,” he summoned. “You wish to see your people safe, and you harbour a newfound hatred for me, I presume by the way you look at me now.”
The quill was plucked up from the wench’s offering hand, sharp enough to pierce flesh. Blood was what would solidify this pact between people and tether together the treaty. It was held out in offering, Miovska’s mouth pressed into a line. The dark of his eyes betrayed his depraved amusement.
“Come, and see to them both,” he lured. “Make me bleed so I may forge my name into this treaty.”
The breaths of many within the room were held. All of it—the treaty, their safety, the cessation of killings—hinged upon Kaldrielle. The Fae Queen was playing checkers, while Miovska had always been playing chess.
Ace of Hearts
Moon
- Joined
- Aug 27, 2024
- Location
- New York State, United States
Disgusting. And cruel. He had heard enough of the stories to know that he was not going to be treated as anything more than a plaything and a blood doll. And Kaldrielle had so much more in plan for himself, he was not going to allow himself to be traded away like a piece of meat. Lilavati would surely not actually consider this to be a reasonable price for the vampire's promise to not harm anybody in the fae realms again. There were other ways to ensure their safety, such as putting together a strong guard composed of multiple men and women from the differing tribes. Even vampires couldn't possibly go up against such a host, if they were able to agree to it and take on that risk.
The words that fell from the sire's lips brought about a curl to the Gancanagh's upper lip, his face taking on the visage of one who was filled with nothing but contempt for the other and the things that he said. He was not going to start throwing himself to the vampire's feet anytime soon, nor would he be laying himself out with his legs spread for him. What a most vile thing to even consider. Kaldrielle had far too much respect for himself to do that, no matter what sort of condition he may be in. If the vampire was going to get anything from him, it would be his blood, by force, and nothing more. And that was certainly not going to happen. Not so long as his queen realizes what a waste it would be to let him go for the pact.
His face fell and his blood ran cold. The queen to whom he had pledged his allegiance to was agreeing to the proposed deal. And sadly, the Gancanagh's oath to his queen had meant that he actually didn't have a choice in any of this himself. If she was going to offer him up for this deal, then it was something that he had no choice but to follow. Up to a point, anyway.
What he wanted, more than anything, was to rip the vampire's head right off of his shoulders. Watch him turn into dust that would be swept away. Maybe he would get that opportunity some day. If he did receive such a luxury, he would not hesitate to take it in hand and see to the end that was a terrible blight upon the peoples in the realm.
Fury unlike anything he had felt previously erupted within him, and he stared the sire down. His eyes held the promise of some form of retribution for this. There would come a day where he would be able to get some form of revenge. If there was anything that Kaldrielle could promise himself, it was that.
As much as he would have liked to have been able to walk away from this entire situation, he knew that he couldn't. So long as that bond remained between him and his queen, he had no choice but to do as she wanted. And that bond would not be broken until the treaty was signed by the sire, and he was released with the promise made between Lilavati and Miovska. Then he would instead be the vampire's property. But at least that only meant so much. Of course it was enough that the Gancanagh had to be careful, lest he find himself broken and used. Because there had been no promise that no harm would come to him. Only that he would remain alive, in the same way that he was right now.
Lips pulled together in a thin line, he stared at Miovska, not wanting to do as he was told. Wishing to draw it out. But one sound from his queen, and his gaze was broken, instead falling to her. She gave him a look and he flinched before looking away. She had just given him up, so easily. Did he really want to serve her any longer, after she had just betrayed him in this manner? No. But he certainly didn't want to become mere chattel of the vampire's, either.
Teeth grinding together, he moved forward, eyes back on the man who was soon able to claim him as his own. He plucked the pen with the razor edge from his hand and looked down at the vampire's hand. Knowing that this may very well be the only chance he would get in quite some time, he grabbed hold of the appendage and pressed the pen's blade against a finger, slicing across it. Far more than he needed to. But he wanted there to be no mistake about it. Kaldrielle was not okay with this at all.
The words that fell from the sire's lips brought about a curl to the Gancanagh's upper lip, his face taking on the visage of one who was filled with nothing but contempt for the other and the things that he said. He was not going to start throwing himself to the vampire's feet anytime soon, nor would he be laying himself out with his legs spread for him. What a most vile thing to even consider. Kaldrielle had far too much respect for himself to do that, no matter what sort of condition he may be in. If the vampire was going to get anything from him, it would be his blood, by force, and nothing more. And that was certainly not going to happen. Not so long as his queen realizes what a waste it would be to let him go for the pact.
His face fell and his blood ran cold. The queen to whom he had pledged his allegiance to was agreeing to the proposed deal. And sadly, the Gancanagh's oath to his queen had meant that he actually didn't have a choice in any of this himself. If she was going to offer him up for this deal, then it was something that he had no choice but to follow. Up to a point, anyway.
What he wanted, more than anything, was to rip the vampire's head right off of his shoulders. Watch him turn into dust that would be swept away. Maybe he would get that opportunity some day. If he did receive such a luxury, he would not hesitate to take it in hand and see to the end that was a terrible blight upon the peoples in the realm.
Fury unlike anything he had felt previously erupted within him, and he stared the sire down. His eyes held the promise of some form of retribution for this. There would come a day where he would be able to get some form of revenge. If there was anything that Kaldrielle could promise himself, it was that.
As much as he would have liked to have been able to walk away from this entire situation, he knew that he couldn't. So long as that bond remained between him and his queen, he had no choice but to do as she wanted. And that bond would not be broken until the treaty was signed by the sire, and he was released with the promise made between Lilavati and Miovska. Then he would instead be the vampire's property. But at least that only meant so much. Of course it was enough that the Gancanagh had to be careful, lest he find himself broken and used. Because there had been no promise that no harm would come to him. Only that he would remain alive, in the same way that he was right now.
Lips pulled together in a thin line, he stared at Miovska, not wanting to do as he was told. Wishing to draw it out. But one sound from his queen, and his gaze was broken, instead falling to her. She gave him a look and he flinched before looking away. She had just given him up, so easily. Did he really want to serve her any longer, after she had just betrayed him in this manner? No. But he certainly didn't want to become mere chattel of the vampire's, either.
Teeth grinding together, he moved forward, eyes back on the man who was soon able to claim him as his own. He plucked the pen with the razor edge from his hand and looked down at the vampire's hand. Knowing that this may very well be the only chance he would get in quite some time, he grabbed hold of the appendage and pressed the pen's blade against a finger, slicing across it. Far more than he needed to. But he wanted there to be no mistake about it. Kaldrielle was not okay with this at all.