Erit of Eastcris
Low-Rent Poet
- Joined
- Jan 10, 2014
- Location
- Elsweyr (California)
Aerin had indeed fled home as soon as the sun had set, taking the rest of his forces with him through the night and back home to his loved one. Aeren and lept into his arms at his return, nuzzling and clinging to him with such fervor that even he could not prize himself free. So, instead, he had resigned himself to carrying her everywhere for the night, and at that moment was in the twins' sitting room, his sister in his lap and humming sweetly to him as she moulded her form to his, draped across her brother in adoration and a want to please. A smile adorned each of their faces as Aerin was petting his sister, both affectionately and sometimes lewdly. Neither spoke a word, simply wallowing in each other's sinful pleasures. After a time, they took to the bed with their regular chorus of lovemaking, and were found laying together beneath the sheets, breathless but not yet satisfied, when their "brother" found them.
Lyceus entered with a prominent scowl further marring his already unsalvageable visage, obviously dissatisfied with Aerin's determination to persist in his unending half-life. The pair of panthers, however, paid him little concern, Aeren smiling to him with a purred "Not now, Lyceus. I am presently engaged with Aerin." She giggled as one of her twin's arms snaked around her waist, the hand attached caressing her firm, full and shapely behind. "Why not find a servant to keep you occupied? Certainly that girl you keep leashed to your bedpost must be good for something." She sighed luxuriously, pushing herself against her favored brother and laying a long, full kiss against his cheek. Aerin spoke not a word, simply watching his brother with a smirk that seemed to say "I win" in a thousand different ways.
Lyceus, though, did not retort; certainly, his expression soured further, but he composed himself and shook his head. "Thif if not about me. Boy, Father callf for you."
Aerin cocked an eyebrow at the other man, stopping his petting and sitting upright; it would take stones greater than Lyceus possessed to lie about Emmanuel's summons. Their father did not take kindly to his time being wasted on false claims. Aerin spoke with the man frequently, of course, as the field commander of the Lacceta forces he needed to report the status of the conflict. But this was out ot time for such a meeting, and that was what conjured a sliver of discomforting dread in Aerin's mind. "Very well. I will prepare and go to him presently." He shooed the other man away with this words and a brief gesture, and as Lyceus left the young-seeming blood-drinker suddenly felt very old, lying back with a sigh. He felt, rather than saw, the worry in his sister's eyes and gave her long ebony locks a playful pull, eliciting a soft groan of enjoyment from her. He smiled down to her, gifting her with a slow, gentle kiss. "I will be fine, Aeren. Father has no reason to be anything but pleased with my work." And with that, he disentangled himself from his sister and dressed, going to meet his progenitor.
Emmanuel could, perhaps, best be described as an ancient. Older than Aerin could know, the true Lord Lacceta managed to look old, weathered, almost frail, yet bear an imposing weight of presence that left all but the bravest or the most foolish shaken and anxious. Their kind grew stronger in mind and body as they grew older, but less powerful with every generation from the original. There were others of their kind in the world, most dormant and aged beyond mortal comprehension, and as far as Aerin knew—which admittedly was not much on the subject—Emmanuel was the oldest of their kind not slumbering the centuries away.
The comparatively younger of the two near-immortals knelt once he entered his progenitor's chambers, easily the largest and most extravagantly severe in the manor, with confident motions belying the nervous anxiety tinging his thoughts. "I was told by Lyceus that you bade me here, my Lord." There was no need to ask affirmation; Lyceus did not enjoy being punished nearly enough to face the penalty for having Aerin intrude on his thoughts. The elder stirred in his chair, faced away from Aerin towards an unlit fireplace; the Lord of House Lacceta did not like light in any form.
His voice was resonant, less a sound than a feeling that reverberated through one's body, a rumbling of the ground that spread through the bones. "I received a most troubling... gift this morning. Beaumont soldiers escorted by my own. The slaves told me of a great battle waged by my prodigal son in which he defended the house of the neutral and, with his own blood, turned the arms of our enemy aside to make them our own. Is this true, Aerin?"
The nervousness receded, but did not vanish. "Yes, my Lord. I was the only one of the Lacceta at the beginning of the strike, but I had turned others to our cause by the end."
(Not done just yet. More multiposting!)
Lyceus entered with a prominent scowl further marring his already unsalvageable visage, obviously dissatisfied with Aerin's determination to persist in his unending half-life. The pair of panthers, however, paid him little concern, Aeren smiling to him with a purred "Not now, Lyceus. I am presently engaged with Aerin." She giggled as one of her twin's arms snaked around her waist, the hand attached caressing her firm, full and shapely behind. "Why not find a servant to keep you occupied? Certainly that girl you keep leashed to your bedpost must be good for something." She sighed luxuriously, pushing herself against her favored brother and laying a long, full kiss against his cheek. Aerin spoke not a word, simply watching his brother with a smirk that seemed to say "I win" in a thousand different ways.
Lyceus, though, did not retort; certainly, his expression soured further, but he composed himself and shook his head. "Thif if not about me. Boy, Father callf for you."
Aerin cocked an eyebrow at the other man, stopping his petting and sitting upright; it would take stones greater than Lyceus possessed to lie about Emmanuel's summons. Their father did not take kindly to his time being wasted on false claims. Aerin spoke with the man frequently, of course, as the field commander of the Lacceta forces he needed to report the status of the conflict. But this was out ot time for such a meeting, and that was what conjured a sliver of discomforting dread in Aerin's mind. "Very well. I will prepare and go to him presently." He shooed the other man away with this words and a brief gesture, and as Lyceus left the young-seeming blood-drinker suddenly felt very old, lying back with a sigh. He felt, rather than saw, the worry in his sister's eyes and gave her long ebony locks a playful pull, eliciting a soft groan of enjoyment from her. He smiled down to her, gifting her with a slow, gentle kiss. "I will be fine, Aeren. Father has no reason to be anything but pleased with my work." And with that, he disentangled himself from his sister and dressed, going to meet his progenitor.
Emmanuel could, perhaps, best be described as an ancient. Older than Aerin could know, the true Lord Lacceta managed to look old, weathered, almost frail, yet bear an imposing weight of presence that left all but the bravest or the most foolish shaken and anxious. Their kind grew stronger in mind and body as they grew older, but less powerful with every generation from the original. There were others of their kind in the world, most dormant and aged beyond mortal comprehension, and as far as Aerin knew—which admittedly was not much on the subject—Emmanuel was the oldest of their kind not slumbering the centuries away.
The comparatively younger of the two near-immortals knelt once he entered his progenitor's chambers, easily the largest and most extravagantly severe in the manor, with confident motions belying the nervous anxiety tinging his thoughts. "I was told by Lyceus that you bade me here, my Lord." There was no need to ask affirmation; Lyceus did not enjoy being punished nearly enough to face the penalty for having Aerin intrude on his thoughts. The elder stirred in his chair, faced away from Aerin towards an unlit fireplace; the Lord of House Lacceta did not like light in any form.
His voice was resonant, less a sound than a feeling that reverberated through one's body, a rumbling of the ground that spread through the bones. "I received a most troubling... gift this morning. Beaumont soldiers escorted by my own. The slaves told me of a great battle waged by my prodigal son in which he defended the house of the neutral and, with his own blood, turned the arms of our enemy aside to make them our own. Is this true, Aerin?"
The nervousness receded, but did not vanish. "Yes, my Lord. I was the only one of the Lacceta at the beginning of the strike, but I had turned others to our cause by the end."
(Not done just yet. More multiposting!)