Moments Interrupted
15th Day of Afefe in the Fourth Month of Wind's Sway
4380 A.G.G. (253 Years Ago)
The Great Citadel of Lumå’įl, Raröԋӕnga
The Eighth Territory of the Dæmönic Plains of Brŭmal
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It should be understood that some of the following passages may not be entirely accurate as they weren't transcribed as they were spoken. They've been translated here for ease of reading. Because of this, unfortunately, some things may be lost in the translation from the original dæmönic to common.
Translated passages will be indicated by the use of bold print.
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On the Subject of Intimacy and Dįvįnë Beings
Coitus. Congress. Physical companionship… Sex. A powerful act in the world. Both the living world and the worlds beyond. Even the most casual commencement of the act between two people forms a bond that’s not easily broken nor easily understood.
It’s beyond physical. Beyond spiritual. Something that transcends time. It’s…something more.
Medicinal in every sense of the word.
It helps one to forget pain and loneliness; to alleviate stress and heartache.
And if enough passion and desire is behind it…if the love is real enough, it can be binding. Indeed, it is believed to be the first, and some believe the rightest, form of True Heka. After all, is life itself not born of it; the very essence of the Magick of Creation?
In particular, it’s an especially potent thing when it happens between Ångëls; its power compounded in nearly every sense.
Even the Holy Daughter Så’Ħdënåħ had been birthed from the Goddess’ own womb after being physically intimate with the once-God Lumå’įl when She could have just as easily formed her from the ether or pulled a fruit from the Tree of Life as She later did with every other race.
The Dįvonësë love in a way and with a ferociousness that I could scarcely do justice to describe and that most mortals could scarcely imagine.
Ångëls lack an understanding of trysts, short forays, one night stands or labels such as “friends-with-benefits”. Intimacy for them is never taken lightly or entered into frivolously. It’s very nearly a joining of souls. For two Ångëlįcs to bond in such a way is for them to become two halves of the same whole. It ties them together for the entirety of their existence…and sometimes beyond.
Sad were the times of Ångëlįc conflict when Dįvonësë literally died of grief over the loss of their paramours, or they simply stopped wanting to exist. Of course there were always those such as Åmbrosįå Herself and, sadly, Zåkÿntħos, who had the strength to move beyond the loss of their other halves and continue on. But rare was the Dįvonësë who could. And it wasn’t without its share of pain when they did.
A pain I would come to be all too familiar with. A pain that I’d wish on no one.
I like to think, knowing everything I now know, that this was the reason Lumå’įl and His treacherous daughter were allowed to live after the failure of the Great Rebellion. That it wasn’t just Så’Ħdënåħ’s pleas that halted their blink from existence, but Åmbrosįå’s love for them both that stayed Her hand when, in the face of all they’d done to Her during their fall from grace, killing them would’ve been wholly justified.
…Or maybe I’m just naïve.
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Tįlåtħ
Tįlåtħ let out a sharp cry of pain in response to her bare back suddenly hitting the wall of her and Dåÿvįåd’s chambers. But, it was a welcome pain. A desired pain. And as the world before her eyes cleared from the daze that had overtaken it after the impact, the first thing she felt was Dåÿvįåd’s fist closing slowly about her neck…
…Wait. Not yet. I need to go back a bit.
The tension around Lumå’įl’s citadel had been at an all-time high for many mortal months. Just walking about its hallowed halls had become something of a chore. The very air seemed weighted with anticipation of something unknown; unspoken. The Fallen were being tasked to walk the world with increasing frequency and council meetings in the Tower of Foresight had become far more numerous as of late. And Tįlåtħ had begun to suffer greatly the effects of a string of long weeks with little to no sleep.
Even a Drågoon can only stay awake for so long.
Her back was tight with agitation. Both of the day and of a particularly irritating dæmön who’d gotten very close to making her come outside of herself and fall back into being “the old her.” She was overwhelmed with stress. Her nerves were frayed. She felt as if she were on the cusp of coming utterly undone. Then her beloved Dåÿvįåd walked past her in one of the inner hallways. And it was immediately understood that his day had been running along a parallel course of unease to hers. She could sense it in his tired stance. She saw it in his weary eyes.
And by the time they were both done with their duties to their Lord and Lady later in the evening, they were together so wound up, on edge and in need or each other that nary a word passed between them as Dåÿvįåd took Tįlåtħ’s hand in silence and led her through the citadel corridors to their suite.
The pair of Fallen Ångëls tore off their clothing in a fit upon returning to their quarters; scattering them in a haphazard trail from the room’s arched entry to the foot of the low lying bed where Tįlåtħ allowed her lover to throw her onto the accoutrement; his lips pressing hard against hers after she landed on her back. As they began to sink deep into their thick velvet and woolen blankets their bodies squeezed themselves together so tightly that it was as if they were trying to become one.
Sometime thereafter, after tumbling, grinding and tossing this way and that, Tįlåtħ found herself face down in between Dåÿvįåd’s legs as he sat at the bed’s edge, throat deep on her lover as he started roughly grabbing her short black hair and controlling the speed of her fellatio; her split tongue caressing him in ways that a whole one never could. And the feeling of her adze-like teeth lightly grazing him had pushed him to the very edge of tolerance by the time he forced her down to choking by her horns, as she was unable to fit the whole of him into her mouth.
Then, with a sudden change of mood, or need, he used those same horns to forcefully pull her head back, leaving a thin stream of spittle from her lips to his abundant thickness.
Now Tįlåtħ sat on her knees, naked before him. Her dark complexion an alluring divergence from the whites, creams and golds of their bedding. Rife with sweat from the heat of the moment and the warmth of the fire in their personal hearth, her skin glistened like oil in the clear afternoon light which shown through the chipped stained glass of their heavy arched windows.
Dåÿvįåd tugged again on her hair. This time ever so slightly, forcing her to look into his eyes. He wanted her; wanted to feel the warmth inside of her. And the part of him that identified him as a man twitched inadvertently of its own accord in anticipation.
He moved his free hand to caress her cheek, watching the movements of her slim body as it heaved seductively under labored breathing; her mouth parted just enough for her sharpened teeth to show; allowing her to take in air, and exhale the lust that wrapped itself around her heated breath. He followed the curve of her cheek with his fingers to her delicate chin, down her neck and over to the edge of her shoulder, where he encountered her most invasive permanent scar; the gift imparted to her by the wrath of Mįssħåël’s Ǻngëlic sword in the final days of the war.
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On the Subject of Tįlåtħ's Near Death and the End of the Ten and Five Year Wars
The blood infused heka that Tįlåtħ used to protect herself from death in concert with her full body armour in the final fight of the Ten and Five Year Wars ended up doing only that; protecting her from death. If just barely. The ethereal wall she constructed, although immensely powerful, was unable to completely shrug off the power of Mįssħåël’s down stroke. And the blade that the Ǻngël wielded still managed to tear through Tįlåtħ’s body gruesomely. A wound that would’ve killed her had Mįssħåël the time to have taken her wings.
As it stood, however, Fate determined that his attention, and the attention of the six Ǻngëlįcs that fought beside him, be taken up by the dæmönŝ that came to her aid led by none other than her lover as her wings, now fully exposed to Mįssħåël’s attacks, tried desperately to heal her broken body.
She was quickly spirited away from the field of battle as quickly as Dåÿviåd could reach her in those moments; neither of them able to continue to general the conflict in the face of Mįssħåël’s might. The war was lost for them shortly thereafter.
However, the war’s loss wasn’t shouldered by Tįlåtħ alone. Not by far. Even with newly born Dark Drågoons on their side and the bloody losses that those beings inflicted on the living world, the conflict had failed to continue to move in Lumå’įl’s favour for the previous two years. Truly, battle by battle, Åmbrosįå’s Ǻngëlįcs had slowly been turning the tide for a long while.
It was a war that was lost by inches. Tįlåtħ’s defeat was simply the match in the powder barrel; the final stroke. One of the last in a long line of things gone wrong.
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The scar in question, to which all the skin about it seemed to pull inward, reached from just shy of Tįlåtħ’s collarbone and cut a path through her right breast; splitting the nipple in twain. It continued over her stomach and ran down just above her feminine hollow where it, thankfully, veered into her left leg; extending nearly to her knee.
She was fortunate enough to be spared the loss of all that made her a woman by mere inches in the cleaving. But the whole ordeal left her feeling like she’d lost it all regardless. Tįlåtħ had never been vain or condescending to others about her natural beauty. She simply knew that she was beautiful. That she was desired by many who met her.
But despite that, she never really wanted anyone other than Dåÿvįåd. Their relationship was her foundation. She needed it. And even in light of the intimate bond they shared, she’d never really realized how much until she was mauled.
After the wounding; after she finally awoke, she instantly felt that foundation crumble within her heart when she beheld the scar. A deformation that even with an age of recovery, would never fully heal.
I’m…hideous. she’d thought to herself. Mįssħåël has undone me utterly. How could Dåÿvįåd want me like this? How could anyone?
As she retreated into herself in shame and self-consciousness, she began to wish that she’d allowed the strike to end her. She wished that Mįssħåël had taken her wings.
And here, now, as Dåÿvįåd’s fingers gently ran across her dark, mutilated breast; teasing her as he lifted her up to straddle his lap, she wondered if he was reflecting upon those post war years as well. She always felt that he did when he gazed upon her body.
And as he began to knead and suckle her, she wondered if he remembered how she’d refuse to look upon him in embarrassment. She wondered if he remembered her tears.
More importantly she wondered if he knew how much she appreciated that he’d always refused to leave her side. How he cared for her as she slowly recovered and healed.
He carried her when she couldn’t walk. He fed her when she was too weak to feed herself. He loved her when she needed him the most.
It was during those times that she realized how truly blessed she was to have had him traveling beside her since time immemorial. And the irony of that realization wasn’t lost on her.
None now existing knew her in this way, save for him. None had seen the full extent of the pain that lay beneath her clothing save those who rescued her from the battle. And she’s wanted no other eyes to lay upon her body since. Only his.
She reached down and ran her hand over his dark hair and onto his horns. One whole and beautiful with deep carvings in Ångëlic; placed there by the Goddess Herself as it was with all of the Fallen. A binding that forever tied them to their sin. The other, shorter by half. Shattered and broken as he struggled to save her from Mįssħåël’s wrath when he failed to dissuade a blow from the General Dįvįnë’s blade from impacting his skull; never to be whole again.
A sudden flood of euphoria rushed through Tįlåtħ’s body as Dåÿvįåd’s tongue brushed lightly across her areola, leaving her awash with goosebumps and causing her to squeeze his good horn spontaneously.
Her thoughts were broken.
Dåÿvįåd lifted his eyes to her and smiled as he continued his tongue-play. She couldn’t help but smile back as she slid up and down his shaft slowly in wanting. Urging him on. Making him slick with her moisture.
No longer focused on his horns, her eyes fell across what she could see of his body. Taking in every scar and imperfection with love. His left arm drew her attention almost immediately as it always did; ever covered in a thin rope of elvish crafting upon which were displayed a great number of small, polished shards of bone. All different sizes. Some white, some with a greenish tint and some carved with hints of runes. All of which held meaning to him. His way of carrying the weight of their sins and regrets.
He rarely, if ever, talked about it. But he didn’t need to. It was a weight that she too felt, even if she didn’t literally wear it on her sleeve.
Leaving her breast alone, Dåÿvįåd continued to slowly trace her war wound with his fingers until his hand rested just below where her belly button would be on someone who was naturally born. Like the Goddess or Så’Ħdënåħ…not on beings like them or Lumå’įl.
His fingers veered off in a southerly direction between him and Tįlåtħ, creating space between both of their sundry regions where he started to caress her both inside and out. He looked intently into her eyes and watched with immense pleasure as she shook off all restraint and let her body react of its own accord; back arching. Fingers digging.
“Your eyes are so beautiful when you cross over.” She heard him whisper to her.
Her irises must have gone from their natural smoke-like onyx-coloured state and solidified into their heightened form; black orbs highlighted with glowing white flakes. Eyes that were rolling back into her skull as her eye lids trembled with ecstasy. Her desire fueled by the sensation of two of her lover’s fingers moving inside of her swollen lips while his thumb massaged the very center of all of her pleasures.
She was dewy wet to the touch and she could tell that Dåÿvįåd was reveling in the feeling of her wetness on his fingers. It wasn’t long before he was able to cease his hand movements as Tįlåtħ’s hips began to slowly rock against the pressure of his hand. Almost of their own volition.
“Oh my Goddess. Oh my Goddess-” she exclaimed under her breath as she began to grind harder; approaching her climax.
As her swearing to Så’Ħdënåħ increased, Dåÿvįåd ordered in a seductively commanding tone- “Not yet. Not until I have had you. Completely.”
She loved this side of him. She loved the roughness that he would bring to bed; the flavor and personality. It had excited her when they still lived amongst their family in Ëmpÿrë. It excited her now. And it would continue to excite her until the unmaking of the universe.
And he, in turn, loved being rough and commanding with her. Teasing her.
“I’m almost there.” she whispered under her breath. “I’m almost-”
But Dåÿvįåd apparently cared not that she was about to explode inside as he removed his hand from between her legs; slick with her thick white moistness.
“Would you have me prostrate myself for you?” she asked wantonly.
“No. Not this time.”
She tried to speak but he lifted her firmly, caringly, to her feet by a fist full of hair and horn and he walked her to the end of the room.
Tįlåtħ let out a sharp cry of pain in response to her bare back suddenly hitting the wall of their chambers. But, it was a welcome pain. A desired pain. And as the world before her eyes cleared from the daze that had overtaken it after the impact, the first thing she felt was Dåÿvįåd’s fist closing slowly about her neck. She needed this release so badly it was nearly unhinging.
Luckily, the feeling was mutual.
“Hurt me.” she pleaded.
Dåÿvįåd continued to tighten his grip about her throat; holding her fast in place per her request. Unbeknownst to him, his smokey brown eyes had shifted just as hers did and had solidified. Chunks of radiant bronze flakes shone brightly within them. And his teeth had lengthened to match hers.
She couldn’t help but imagine how they must have looked. Like a pair of adze preparing to drain each other of blood.
“Did you ever doubt that I was going to do anything other than that?” he asked in response to her request for pain as he slowly continued to cut off her air supply while simultaneously using his free arm to lift her damaged leg by the thigh.
And as he did, Tįlåtħ watched with pleasure as he allowed himself to drink in her pink center with his gaze. Her eyes widened with excitement…and lack of oxygen, as she began to feel the pressure of him sliding into her. The fullness. The warmth of him slowly moving deeper yet stopping short before his whole self could be sheathed; not that she’d ever been able to satisfy him by swaddling him entirely. There was simply too much of him to take in.
To her mind, her beloved Dåÿvįåd had always been heartly endowed. And loving him, while always eventually pleasurable, was also always slightly uncomfortable during the initial stretching until she got used to him. Despite the fact that he was always as gentle as he could bring himself to be with her.
And as she stood pinned now, it felt as though he were nearly touching the absolute depths of her. Only for the feeling to become shallow again as he backed out. Over and over. Their skin, different shades of chocolate, becoming one dark whole as he did. She struggled to breath deep as he slowly stretched her just so. Tight and snug. Almost to bursting as he whispered to her to open up to him more; that-
“I want more.”
I can’t possibly…
But she didn’t allow that thought to keep her from trying. She welcomed every stroke with a squeaking would-be moan from her constricted throat. She could feel Dåÿvįåd with every quivering muscle in her body as she continued to open up in ways that she sometimes forgot she could; releasing all of that anxious tautness she’d had knotted up earlier.
The only person to ever know me this way. the former fem-Ångëlįc thought to herself joyfully. Her body conformed to him. Knew him. Accepted only him. Just as it always had for millennia upon millennia.
Weather from the rush of ecstasy or the attack on her throat she knew not. But her back arched and with a violent, yet nearly silent explosion of atmosphere that displaced all of the smaller nick-knacks and loose clothing about the chamber with a rush of air as her Drågonesque wings manifested themselves in response to her ongoing sexually-induced trauma in an attempt to keep her conscious.
Her breaths escaped her in ever shallowing wisps as snow white colour consumed her hair. She dug her sharp, lengthening nails into the dark flesh of Dåÿvįåd’s choking arm as he began to more forcefully thrust himself in and out of her body; his wings willed into reality from the ether in his excitement with a similar atmospheric displacement. The only relief she felt from the pounding being when he held himself still inside of her without moving. Feeling him throb inside of her body with ecstasy before he resumed the slightly painful, but immensely joyous exorcise.
Before the two could elevate their play to the next level, a heavy knock could be heard at their door. But with a shared look, the Fallen couple silently resolved between themselves to snub the noise as they continued the tempo of their intercourse.
Despite their best efforts however, the knocker refused to be ignored and simply doubled over on the weight of the knocks.
Dåÿvįåd obviously didn’t enjoy the idea of being disturbed during the scant time that he and Tįlåtħ were able to share together. Especially after long periods apart. He looked deep into Tįlåtħ’s wide eyes with annoyance at the situation; his gaze filled with apologies as he slowly released his grip. Touching his forehead to hers, he slowly slid himself out of her; obviously attempting to feel her as much as possible for as long as possible before he completely separated from her. His sex covered in her desire.
Without his grip holding her fast, Tįlåtħ slowly rode the wall breathlessly to the stone floor; gasping for air.
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Dåÿvįåd
Striding over to the entryway with not a care in the realm save for wanting to continue being with Tįlåtħ, Dåÿvįåd grabbed their double doors’ heavy brass knobs and flung them wide without thinking about anything else.
Before his eyes stood one of Lumå’įl’s personal messengers; a lower ranking dæmön as Dåÿvįåd could tell by the shortness of his horns and the feel of his spirit.
“Why do you disturb us?!” Dåÿvįåd yelled at the lowly messenger.
Heavy bronze coloured vapors giving off the mixed smell of wisteria, jasmine and rose escaped every pore of Dåÿvįåd’s brown frame, while barely perceptible smoky wisps of the same kind escaped his eyes. The claws at the zenith of his massive wings, reminiscent of the Drågon that bore him, were gripping either side of the doors’ frame behind his lean, overly defined body. And his long bushy hair had fallen stark white.
Standing there staring at the naked Fallen Ǻngël, the messenger, who had apparently died young when he walked the living world given the youth in his face, was struck by bewilderment and fear. In full Drågoon form, anyone would be awe inspiring. And Dåÿvįåd as such was nothing short of fear evoking.
Not that any of this was on his mind of course. Dåÿvįåd could see little past his own anger in this moment.
Feeling a light scratching behind one of his wings, he moved the appendage’s grip on the door frame and Tįlåtħ, still rubbing her neck from her rudely interrupted experience, stepped slowly into view from behind him. She was also still in her full Drågoon form. However, unlike Dåÿvįåd, she used her wings to encapsulate herself; carefully guarding her body from view.
Tįlåtħ rubbed herself gently against Dåÿvįåd and he turned to face her.
Her short cut white hair. Her dark skin and glowing eyes. So beautiful. he thought as his anger began to melt away.
She bumped him again and nodded. Bringing to his attention how exposed he was. Taking her cue, he followed her lead and slowly wrapped himself in his wings. A leathery cloak of Drågon flesh.
She then nodded in the direction of the courier. “Pay attention to him darling. Not me.”
Dåÿvįåd nodded his compliance.
“Well?” Tįlåtħ ordered from her lover’s side hoarsely; involuntary tears still running down her cheeks. “Speak!”
“I’m…I’m sorry my Mistress.”
The young dæmön, shaken from his staring stupor, quickly fell to his knees and put his forehead to the cold stone floor. Dåÿvįåd knew that he’d only been doing as he was told; that he wasn’t expecting to disturb or anger them. Yet now here he was, in fear for his shadow of a life.
“Please forgive my impertinence.” he begged, still face down. “I only came to tell you that you’ve been summoned by our Lord.”
Dåÿvįåd forced himself to calm further as he reined the remainder of his anger in. His intimidation was unwarranted. However, he didn’t allow himself to regress back across the ethereal boundary of power. Neither did his beloved. “Stand before us.”
The messenger did as the Dark Drågoon told him, but he kept his eyes cast to the floor.
“Did Lumå’įl say what He wanted?” Dåÿvįåd asked.
“No my Master. Only that he wished to see the two of you. He asks that you both meet him in his private quarters.” the messenger replied.
“Not that what He wants is of any import when it comes to such things.” Tįlåtħ reminded her consort. “That we’ve been called upon by Him is enough to warrant haste.”
“True enough.”
“It wasn’t just by Him.” the messenger added. “The request wasn’t just His alone. Lady Så’Ħdënåħ shared in the asking.”
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Lumå’įl’s citadel was a place of quiet awe, even in its ever-deteriorating state. It was odd. Off kilter. Dåÿvįåd could never quite bring himself to get used to it, even though he’d never known it to be anything else other than ruinous. It was, after all, conceived as a perdition; as was all of the Dark Kingdom. It had never known any “better days”. It simply was what it had always been; a place of utter bleakness contrived of the saddened hand of the Goddess, and slowly worsened by the maddened mind of its master.
Its eight territories were each little more than an assemblage of ramshackle brick and mortar houses and crumbling manors. Punctuated here and there by aging castles within the decrepit walls of ever more dilapidated hold fasts, all surrounded by dead or dying woodlands, stagnate lakes and shallow rivers. Many of these structures were incomplete, or littered with holes in the walls and ceilings. The conditions of which worsened as you sunk to lower realms within the Dæmönic Plains; from the mostly complete structures in the lands of Lumå’įl’s citadel within the most lauded of territories, to the point where “houses” consisted of little more than foundation remains and fireplace stacks by the time you approached Brŭmal’s furthest reaches.
Dåÿvįåd always imagined that anyplace deeper than the second territory of the Plains all most likely stank to high Ëmpÿrë. The look of it all drove him to imagine that if the cold didn’t so completely assault the senses, then alongside the blunt smells of mold and decay, the lands would smell utterly of corrosion, pestilence and sickness.
But nonetheless the citadel, even in its ever-rotting form, was a study in the beauty of ruin. It was largely intact and very livable; vastly protected from the harshness of the winds and snowstorms of the land by the mountains that rose like great stone walls, reaching to the heavens about the vast valley which cradled the crumbling citadel. Ages old banners lined the cracking walls of the formal halls. And old plush carpets held in ambient heat from the many hearths to be found about the place in an attempt to keep the airy space warm; a warmth that even allowed for smell from time to time.
For better or worse.
But it always smelled rather clean here, if not a little musty from age.
As the dark couple continued through hall after hall, passage after passage, Dåÿvįåd’s eyes cast themselves about the high ceilings which held large rusty chandeliers aloft. And they perused the large murals on canvas in differing stages of decay that adorned the walls.
Never had Dåÿvįåd spoke openly about how it all got under his skin. How it was a ruin, yet not a ruin. How things always seemed to be falling apart at their foundations yet, they never did. A state of perpetual decomposition.
It was the very definition of stagnant. It was the very definition of madness.
But while it may have only been a shell of real luxury, living within the halls of Lumå’įl’s central-most chambers with His most loyal and trusted Fallen was a far cry better than laying your head anywhere else in the Goddess forsaken realm. It was always cold in the Dæmönic Planes; but within the innermost realm of Brŭmal, the seat of Lumå’įl’s authority, it was nothing that couldn’t be tolerated. Especially if you were inside warmed buildings.
Moving through the courtyards between buildings proved to be quite the affair as they made their way to their destination.
This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.
Ice.
Snow.
Coldness.
But things could always have been worse. Better to deal with the elements alone than suffering both them and our Lord’s personal guard. Dåÿvįåd thought to himself.
For standing watch near each set of gargantuan doors going into, and leading out of each yard were equally gargantuan beings to match them. The fabled Unbroken; tasked solely with the protection of Lumå’įl and Så’Ħdënåħ. Known throughout the Dæmönic Realm for their power and fierceness. They were the very definition of violence.
They were creatures borne of fire, ash and blood; the children of the Magick of Creation…or, at least, a twisted version of it. As there was nothing beautiful about the “birth” of them. And there was little more to their existence than pain; both in the giving and receiving.
Despite their fierce reputation, neither Dåÿvįåd nor Tįlåtħ envied their postings in the sleet. Even for pitiable creatures such as they without a soul, it had to be miserable.
Standing topless in the muddy slush, showcasing their massive chests and arms, they were as still as statues. They never complained. Never tired. They were ever vigilant and powerful. Yet, they still thought and, Dåÿvįåd assumed, felt.
Did they not deserve better than to stand in the bitter cold? Guarding a dying ruin that was in no need of such a show of force? Who would ever amass a force powerful enough to breach the veil between the living world and Brŭmal? Who could assault the very heart of Lumå’įl’s kingdom that He wouldn’t foresee coming long before they arrive? The very land here obeyed their Lord’s every command. The mountains were His spine. The trees were His fingers. The wind was his breath. It was a silly thought.
I truly pity the Ångël foolish enough to attempt to strike at the heart of this place without anything less than the full weight of Her Dįvįnë might behind them. Dåÿvįåd would often say.
Maybe it was just a display of power. Maybe these mighty homunculi didn’t matter to their Lord. Maybe nobody mattered.
Is He any better than the Goddess we fought against? Dåÿvįåd pondered. Yet he said nothing of these thoughts as he and Tįlåtħ drifted past these Unbroken, following the cracked stone walkways towards the main hall in silence. Some things are better left unspoken.
As they crossed the final threshold from the third courtyard they’d passed through to arrive at the cusp of Lumå’įl’s sanctuary, a pair of Ma’Jong greeted them and, unbidden, helped relieve the couple of their over garments; removing their weighty fur accented overcoats and hoods to reveal the heavy boots and weighty clothing that they wore underneath.
Dåÿvįåd wiped the excess moisture and slushy snow from his horns as he handed off his coat to one of the ever timid fox-people; one whose fur and hair was all but completely grayed with age. His dæmönic horns were infantile in size. Not unlike the horns of the boy who’d come to fetch them from their chambers on Lumå’įl’s behalf. His tail wrapped tightly about his waist; the way all of the fox-people wore the furry appendage when in public and not among family.
Focusing his attention just past Tįlåtħ to examine the opposing servant to whom she passed her garments. Dåÿvįåd noticed that this Ma’Jong was female, with an orange tinted coat of fur, naturally red hair and pale skin.
He watched her movements just as he watched those of the older fox-person he’d given his clothing to a moment ago. He listened to the way she spoke. Noticed how she carried herself. It never ceased to surprise him how much sharper than most of their ilk the servants were that worked closer to the Lord and Lady. As much was to be expected of course.
Their more distinguished clothing set them even further apart from their peers. Signifying that these two were probably in line to be moved to a more supervisory role among the other lower classed dæmönics under Lumå’įl’s roof. The old ones, from what he could remember, were ousted on Lady Så’Ħdënåħ’s orders. She was displeased with them in some manner or another.
To be a servant in the Great Citadel was a slightly more privileged, albeit more precarious position than the title would imply. But its precariousness did little to scare off those who aspired to the station. After all, would you rather be beholden to others’ whims, but warm, fed and somewhat comfortable, or would you rather freeze and starve for eternity experiencing never ending discomfort and pain?
The underappreciated chamberlains bowed and curtsied low as they accepted the belongings of the two Fallen Ångëlics; their gazes cast downward from the moment they came into their presence. And they continued to look towards the ground ever afterwards. Never once daring to look at the dæmönic couple eye-to-eye.
Overlooking the sad dispositions of the downtrodden help, Dåÿvįåd chose to focus on the supple movements of Tįlåtħ’s lithe body as she brushed herself off and he allowed her to fill his thoughts.
Even under the layers of clothing she wore, she still exuded a strong yet delicate air. Very fitting of the Ångël she was...Fallen or otherwise. He admired her perfect form. He gazed at the kinky curl of her short boyish haircut which had long since returned to its natural raven colour once they’d both calmed down before leaving their quarters. He beheld the smoothness of her skin; its deep hue which was that of the darkest chocolate.
Dåÿvįåd didn’t appreciate being pulled from…enjoying her as he was before their moment was so rudely interrupted. He was still feeling rather randy and he liked to imagine that she was as well, despite her appearing to otherwise.
To those observing her from the outside in, she was a silent aggressor who wasn’t to be trifled with. Cold and calculating. Distant even. She inspired a certain level of fear and reverence simply due to her status as one of the Zåståru-Måpånols; the highest of high among the Ångëlic Orders before the fall. Matched only by himself and surpassed only by Lord Lumå’įl.
And that was all before she managed to surpass even that by way of the Ċwjv Dgfvő and becoming a Dark Drågoon.
But, as her steadfast companion, he knew her differently. Aside from her outward appearances she was sweet, thoughtful, loving, attentive…submissive. Behind closed doors, she was the woman that she always had been from their long lost days in Ëmpÿrë when they still walked side by side with Åmbrosįå.
Oh, the things that she did for him…
...“Hurt me.”
...“Did you ever doubt that I was going to do anything other than that?”
Just thinking back on it was enough to cause him to feel the heat he had for her. He ached slightly to feel her against him. I don’t know what’s more maddening, this place, or this situation. He thought to himself.
As if reading his thoughts, she turned to face him. Her smoke-like eyes seeming to confirm what he was thinking. She seemed to say “It’s both” without saying a thing.
Dåÿvįåd looked at her intently for some length of time until he began to notice that her horns suffered in a similar fashion as his had from the cold; melted frost dripping from their tips behind her ears and falling to her shoulders.
And before she could take care of them herself, he was already unconsciously reaching over to rub them dry.
Such interactions between the Damned were tantamount to mortal displays of intimacy. Exactly how intimate was dependent on the length, slowness and tenderness of the interplay in question. And as far as the physical and ethereal dæmöns that stalked the halls about them were concerned, with the way he was caressing her now, Dåÿvįåd might as well have been parting her lips with his tongue.
Tįlåtħ didn’t seem to care though. Or, I should say more accurately, she didn’t seem to care much. Why should she have? Who would stop them? There were precious few in the frozen wasteland that held a status equal to theirs. Even among other Dark Drågoons. But, she did tend to be the more levelheaded of the two, and she usually saw it as her job to keep them both from overstepping their bounds. She was Dåÿvįåd’s anchor of sorts when she wasn’t his commander.
“So emotion driven.” she commented to him as he continued to absentmindedly rub her outgrowths long after they’d fully dried.
She looked deep into his eyes. “And there it is.” She whispered. “That ever-present willfulness and headstrongness. As much as I love that, you know that you can’t be this brash. I enjoy a bit of unexpected foreplay just as you do but-” she paused thoughtfully. “This isn’t the time nor the place.”
Dåÿvįåd could tell by the tone of her voice that she was a little saddened by the fact that they shouldn’t, or couldn’t, continue.
If only we had the time…
He saw her eyes drift to his half-horn again. Just as he’d watched them do during their love-making. A horn he’d lost in protection of her; protection from what could’ve been a devastating strike from Drågoon Jënfįr’s blow.
The late Drågoon Jënfįr. She’d seen to that personally.
It was not a decision he’d ever regretted making. And it’s a decision he’d make again without hesitation for her to his death.
As much as he tried to figure, he knew not what was in her head in that moment as he knowingly fondled her horns. But regardless of what it may or may not have been, she ended up placing her hand gently over his and halting his strokes. “I think I’m okay Dåÿvįåd.”
“I know.”
“Do you? Then you’re…doing what exactly?”
He moved a little closer to her. “I haven’t made up my mind yet.” His ebony fingers had worked their way to her short hair; combing slowly through the slight dampness of it.
The servants who’d been taking their garments still held their eyes low. Not wishing to cast any questionable looks their way for fear of some hellish punishment or another. And they looked as if they were doing their best to adjust themselves to not even have their bodies face in their direction; not wanting to turn their backs to the couple but also fearing leaving as they hadn’t yet been dismissed.
The inner door guards, who the Fallen couple all but ignored upon entering, seemed to look past them as if unaware of what was happening. Par the course for the emotionless Unbroken; present in the moment but unaffected by it. Never did they pay any mind to business that wasn’t theirs.
Non-servant passersby however were a different matter. Far more nosey. And they stared sporadically as they continued about their way up and down the outer halls.
“You’d like to have me now?”
“I would Tįlåtħ. I would.”
“Such playfulness. Maybe Lumå’įl should interrupt and summon us more often. I’m not dressed for it unfortunately. Far too much clothing.” she deflected teasingly. “Besides, time grows short and They await us.”
Dåÿvįåd felt his gaze harden slightly despite himself when she said that. And his hand moved deftly back to her horn which he jerked in what would have appeared to be a violent motion to those who didn’t know their form of intimacy; bringing her roughly into his arms. She found herself gasping a bit against her better judgment. An exasperation made out of excitement, not fear.
Dåÿvįåd’s mouth was so close to her that she would have been able to feel his flower scented breath on her face. He cared very little about their multiple layers of clothing at the moment. He just wanted to feel the weight of her body against him.
Regardless of the fact that she was verbally defiant, she was still slightly pressing herself into him; allowing herself to be handled.
An unbidden fit of lust was pushing him forward. It spewed insubordination from his mouth. “I think we should go elsewhere for a few moments and-”
“-To what end Dåÿvįåd? You know we can’t right now. I understand how you feel. Believe me. It’s hard for me to say no to you…and this isn’t helping.”
The sexual fervor.
The intimate anger.
Dåÿvįåd always took great care to treat her tenderly in the midst of his heat. Her compliance made it a difficult needle to thread. He knew that if he kept at it, she’d cave for him, but that’s not what he wanted. Not really. He knew he needed to stop lest they both incur Lumå’įl’s wrath over something so petty.
But just Tįlåtħ being herself made it so hard for him to back down.
“My love,” she attempted to influence in a soft, but firm voice; trying to persuade both him and herself. “I’m yours when you want me. This you know. But right now-”
Her hand found his again as her words trailed off and knowing that he’d taken things too far, he instinctively released his grip on her horn slightly at her touch.
“Yes. Right now we must do as we’re bidden.” he agreed. “But later-”
She came in closer and whispered into his ear, interrupting him. “Later, I’ll let you pull my horns as hard as you like. Pull me down to my knees and into your servitude if it pleases you.”
Dåÿvįåd couldn’t suppress the smile. “Yes, that would please me.”
“Master Dåÿvįåd, Mistress Tįlåtħ, on behalf of Lord Lumå’įl and Lady Så’Ħdënåħ, I bid you welcome.”
Surprise startled the couple out of their moment of bliss and they turned to the source of the gravely deep voice which greeted them. There they saw another of the Unbroken standing in their presence, dressed and framed as all of its people always were, save for those that he would have identified, at least physically, as female; with thick coverings and armour on its legs yet topless.
Every muscle in its body was sharply defined and massive in ways that you could scarcely imagine. Dåÿvįåd had often forgotten how big they actually were until he stood directly next to them. The goliaths universally stood upwards of seven foot. And even the smallest of them were easily twenty and one stone of muscle and fury.
And this one was not among the smallest of them.
Although the Unbrokens’ skin tones varied vastly from one to another and reflected every natural shade found within the realm of Mundus, this particular one was rather fair with damaged blood vessels framing its green eyes.
Or at least, Dåÿvįåd thought they were green…or were once green.
Heavy armour, which resembled that of the Goddess’ Zåståru-Måpånols, covered its feet and the tree trunks that were its legs. The blood red langoti dangling between its legs which proudly displayed the seal of Brŭmal; an image that resembled a sword piercing a sphere drawn of a single intertwined line, completely encircled by the symbols of the principal plains, hung from the creature’s midsection to the floor both in front and behind it. These were suspended from a massive armour plated belt that spread out to protect the Unbroken from its waist to the center of its pronounced abs. Nothing save for the thick metal bracelets wrapped tightly around its biceps were above that.
As a rule, they remained topless as they didn’t believe in upper body armour or clothing in general as they felt that to protect themselves overly much was a sign of softness. Their broad bodies were, within their belief structures, a glorious instrument of Lumå’įl’s wrath and representative of His presence. And to hide or cover its magnificence was as shameful as it was weak.
Imperfect and hollow though they may be, truly their strength, power and fearlessness were both something to be feared and something to be admired. Impressive seeing as how breathing life into the lifeless was unknown knowledge to the Old God. Harnessing True Heka; that was the Goddess’ domain. Hers and Hers alone.
Lumå’įl’s hekas of the blood were a poor answer to Åmbrosįå’s creation of the Ǻngëls. Though Dåÿvįåd valued his wings too much to ever say so aloud.
The Unbrokens’ frames were literal roadmaps of suffering. Whether from the unnatural nature of the blood weaving used to mold the creatures or constant torture no one really knew. All their bodies were covered in grotesque scars and burns that never seemed to fully close and heal. Every bone in their bodies were rumored to have been broken time and time again. This training for the war to come was pushed to such an extent as to render them nearly pain-deaf and their bones resilient to all but the most extreme stressors.
The Unbroken were not so much living beings as they were walking experiments. Asexual monstrosities. Flesh without a soul. Failed attempts by the Dark Lord to harness the power of creation; attempting to create life without the Goddess’ power behind Him.
How many have been bled for this…madness? he wondered to himself.
“Our Lady awaits your arrival.” the Unbroken stated.
“And our Lord?” Dåÿvįåd inquired.
“He’s leaving a previous meeting as we speak my Master.”
Dåÿvįåd nodded.
Tįlåtħ meanwhile jerked her head upward quickly in an acknowledging gesture. “Lead on then.” she commanded.
The mountain of a man-being complied, and began to lead them deeper into Lumå’įl and Så’Ħdënåħ’s sequestered area of the stronghold. The group wound up staircase after staircase, moved down hallway after hallway and maneuvered through room after room; all within various states of decadence and decay. A veritable citadel within the citadel. The logistics of it all nearly seeming to defy all logic, it was so vast.
After several long moments of the same, they arrived at Lumå’įl’s personal quarters.
As they crossed the final threshold, Dåÿvįåd took a long look at their escort’s horns. All dæmöns and Fallen had them regardless of their origins. The collective curse of the Goddess placed upon all who had a tie to the cursed lands. A representation of their everlasting failure to Her.
All were roughly the same; the differences lying in their thickness, shape and length, determined by their status in Brŭmal. How close they were to the Original Sin and by their gender. A males’ outgrowths tended to be thicker and spaced slightly away from the skull while females’ tended to be slightly more svelte and they hug the head more closely.
The Unbroken were different however. Theirs were more intrusive. The shape of their horns were much more akin to those of a ram and they were much thicker than was normal. Their shape took them out from the sides of the head, almost as if they were an extension of it. And traveling directly behind them, they completely spiraled into themselves behind the ears.
While all of this was far from new to him, what Dåÿvįåd noticed was that, unlike the majority of its brethren, this particular Unbroken didn’t carry the blessing of Så’Ħdënåħ, which was usually burned into the left horn in dæmönic script. This meant that this particular Unbroken most likely hadn’t gone through its final proving yet. However, given that it was being allowed to guide them directly to the side of their patrons, it must’ve shown great promise among its peers.
“You must be an impressive sight on the field.” Tįlåtħ complimented. Apparently noticing the same thing.
“You honor me Mistress.” the bald warrior replied. “But I’m only what my creator made me to be. Nothing more.”
Tįlåtħ shrugged. “Perhaps. Nonetheless, it’s a great honor to serve so directly.”
“The honor is mine.”
Dåÿvįåd closed his eyes and shook his head. Its modesty was almost sickening. If it were an actual person, Dåÿvįåd would’ve taken it for some fashion of brownnosing. But in this case, it was a most honest state of mind. Possibly bread into them. Who knew? He didn’t know what was more pitiable. The fact that this being with all of its fearsomeness was little more than a slave, or the fact that it didn’t seem to mind being so.
It was all a sad reflection.
The two were pointed in the direction of a grand set of double doors forged of wrought iron and darkened glass that stood twice the height of a man. Doors that opened to the Lord and Lady’s bedroom suite. Flanking either side were more of the topless Unbroken; these two being darker of complexion than their guide. With locs pouring from their heads like a kinky waterfall.
“When you enter,” the Unbroken informed them unnecessarily, as if they’d never before crossed into these chambers, “continue with the lady’s maid through the study to the sitting area. Our Lady is already within. Our Lord should be arriving shortly if He’s not already there.”
Nodding their confirmation, the two entered a book laden smoking room and were greeted by another of the fox-people almost immediately. This one had a nice athletic body. She must’ve been very active in life, maybe even freeborn. However she looked terribly young. Almost as young as the messenger who came to their room. She couldn’t have seen more than 30 years when she died by whatever means.
She had a very pretty, gaunt face; perky gauged ears standing out starkly from underneath kinky hair which fell weighty and natural behind her, her full tail wrapped around her waist; heavy and gleaming. She looked…kind. Dark skin and eyes to match the plushy-thick panther-like coat of black fur which adorned her. Infantile dæmön horns poked out from her forehead and her freeborn status was affirmed once Dåÿvįåd noticed that she still had her claw-like finger nails which were well manicured. He imagined that the claws on her thick, powerful inverted canine legs were still intact and pedicured as well.
Her ears slicked themselves back as she curtsied low to greet the power couple, never taking her eyes from the ground.
“My Master, my Mistress,” she greeted with the hiss-ridden dialect of her people, “Lady Så’Ħdënåħ this way. Please come.”
Even her voice was nice. Although her dæmönic was very rough around the edges. It seemed that she was still trying to grasp it. Regardless, this one was no doubt a cut above the rest.
Even though she wasn’t to his taste, underneath the heavy leathers of her long dress and high-necked servant’s top, Dåÿvįåd could still see how fetching her shape likely was and his eyes kept following the sway of her hips beneath her wrapped-up belt-like tail as she walked ahead of them.
I wonder what it was that she did in life that was unforgivable enough that she should spend eternity here. Probably a cutpurse turned cutthroat of some sort.
It was probably true. Most Ma’Jong tended to lean towards roguish lives. Whether this was due to their natural predator-like stealthiness or their down trodden position in mortal society wasn’t really known to him. Maybe it was a bit of both.
Regardless, Dåÿvįåd continued to think to himself, I can see why They keep this one as a personal servant. A tasty little treat of a girl. “Girl?” he asked aloud. “What was your name in life?”
“Ra’Ahnassi master.”
Typical name for a Ma’Jong.
“How did it happen? How did you die?” He couldn’t hold in the curiosity.
“There was…accident?” she half-asked, as if she wasn’t sure if she were saying the right word. “Something that was…not to happen?”
“Yes. Accident.” Tįlåtħ confirmed.
“Yes. Thank you my Lady.”
Dåÿvįåd waited for more to the story, but it didn’t come. He could have demanded further explanation. It was his right. But she obviously didn’t want to say. And he didn’t push.
They continued their trek silently through the sizable study. Papers and all manner of scroll lay scattered about haphazardly in piles against the walls; obviously often-used. Eventually, they found themselves in the kingly open air sitting room that the Unbroken had mentioned. It was completely exposed to the elements via a snow covered balcony; the only dividing line between inside and out being a “wall” comprised of old yet elegant open archways. At either end of the long room stood two more Unbroken; both larger in size than their escort had been, their horns blessed by Så’Ħdënåħ. “None can break that which has already been broken” the dæmönic writing on them stated.
Light from Brŭmal’s low hanging evening sun poured into the space and caressed everything beautifully. The snow flared like diamonds in it. The single sun of this place lent itself to the one interesting characteristic of the frozen wasteland.
The cleanness of the light that bathed it. So much more breathtaking than on Mundus. Stunning.
It reminded Dåÿvįåd of home; of Ëmpÿrë.
Not that he hated the suns’ light of the mortal world. It just wasn’t his. Mundus’ three suns; The God’s Eye, as the mortals called the blue dwarf, The Eye of the Drågon, being the red giant, and The Goddess’ Eye being yellow, whether due to the mixing of their colours or the way that light shatters when it all washed across the world’s sky, created a light that was always oversaturated in a golden colour. It was even beautiful after a fashion when he thought about it; to see the world through golden filters. Everything looked a bit…heavenly there. Dįvįnë. More so than the actual Dįvįnë sometimes.
But here, in the Plains and in the Realms of Ëmpÿrë, the light was, for lack of a better word, clear. It reflected off of the snow with blinding brilliance and the purity of it could almost have been considered stunning.
The deeper you traveled into the domains however, the less spectacular it all became. And the less Dåÿvįåd cared for it. White snow eventually gave way to muddy brown slush and the light became dimmer. This was, after all, a place for the souls of those who’d passed from the world of Mundus who didn’t have the Goddess’ favor. Those who had sinned in ways that were unforgivable and they were damned to spend eternity with those Ǻngëls who’d fallen during the time of Original Sin by rebelling with Lumå’įl and Så’Ħdënåħ so long ago.
On the lower plains, such as Suffering and The Wildernesses, where the cold was nearly unbearable and the light was low, it wasn’t uncommon to see the souls of the tortured masses frozen to near death. But, since they were eternally deprived of the reprieve of a death beyond death, they were simply left in a state between everlasting life and eternal demise. Never ending pain and torment. No amount of fire with no degree of heat could keep the chill from cutting through to your bones there. Hasty structures always collapsed under the weight of the never-ending snowfall. And the depressing temperatures prevented anyone from being able to construct any type of permanent protection from the ever-persistent elements.
It was a literal hell. And Dåÿvįåd had often wondered if his lover felt the same.
Out on the sitting room/balcony facing away from them, seemingly absorbing the sunlight, stood a fine figure of a sunset elf, the top of her feet lightly covered in the snow.
The first sunset elf herself. Sin incarnate.
As her head drifted about slightly under the sway of the light winds which blew the snow this way and that, the air was filled with the sound of her elegant crystal earrings which were encased in silver rings, perfect in their roundness, as they jingled lightly from the fallen queen’s long ears. Ears that shot out sharply from the cradle of her prominent horns which were completely covered in deeply carved Ǻngëlic script (supposedly in the Goddess’ own hand) broken up by raised reliefs of an almost tribal fashion. The majestic outgrowths curved behind the ears and wrapped around the lobes, following her cheekbones to come to a point near her elegant chin which much like the ears they embraced, were decorated in grand fashion; coiled in roped strands of isilivere which were formed into numerous fitted cuffs and beautiful hanging chains and adorned at their points which had been drilled through and gauged to accommodate a set of horn rings that complemented her earrings perfectly.
She was covered in queen’s regalia. A hefty white and gray ballroom-esque gown of heavy wools and silks. High necked and sleeveless, it was masterfully cut and fit her body as perfectly as any dress possibly could. Fitted, weighty white gloves with a delicate overlay which gave the illusion of lace rose up from her hands to her biceps, which were covered in silver bracelets. As for her full gunmetal gray hair, while draped and falling to the sides of her head in stylized locs, the lion’s share of it was tied into a massive kinky ball behind her head which was held fast within a form fitting sphere-shaped crown of silver spikes anchored by a silver halo. The crown’s elegant protrusions reached out and around like fingers to cradle the large ball of hair and help hold its shape. Others which seemed interwoven with the mane itself reached up and outward; high through a second suspended halo.
Dåÿvįåd oft marveled at the sheer mass of the hair and thought that it had to be extraordinarily heavy. Well, certainly not heavy for the Daughter-Goddess Så’Ħdënåħ in general, but to others of the sunset race; the first race who were created in her image. After all, they are not Dįvonësë by nature, but simply long-lived mortals who in reverence of she whom they resemble rarely, if ever, cut their hair.
Very strong necks. Dåÿvįåd supposed to himself.
Tįlåtħ said once that she always felt it was a little sad the way Sin clung to the illusionary halo-esque crown regardless of what she wore; clinging to that which she’d long lost.
And Dåÿvįåd wondered if Tįlåtħ ever realized the hypocrisy in that; that she too had something that she subconsciously refused to let go of. They all did. Lumå’įl had his obsession with recapturing the power of Creation without the Goddess, Sin had her halo, even Dåÿvįåd himself was held to the past by his bracelet of bones. And Tįlåtħ had her short-cropped hair which she cut on a daily basis; retaining the look that she had during her final years before her fall.
The Ma’Jong who’d guided the couple into the room dropped to her knees and placed her forehead on the floor. “You require me of anything, My Lady?” She was obviously struggling to say the sentence correctly, but had apparently put in enough practice with that particular phrase to say it relatively smoothly...if not backwards.
“You may leave.”
She stood promptly and left without another word.
Turning from the lightly falling snow, Lady Så’Ħdënåħ walked into the room from the balcony and moved to stand before a sizeable hearth which shared the space; its warmth filling what would otherwise be a very chilly area.
Dåÿvįåd watched her intently as she floated about. Although Så’Ħdënåħ was considered somewhat voluptuous, it was only because she was little more than proportionate for her sunset frame.
That was to say, she was quite svelte. Even by eluvian standards.
But, that being said, her body was still full, very firm, and desirable. Her dark skin, nearly comparable to the tint of his beloved Tįlåtħ’s, was flawless. And her oversized elven irises nearly blanketed the whole of her eyes leaving much less “white” to be seen in them than in other mortal races. Tar-like in their darkness were their colour, accentuated by captivating starburst patterns that fluctuated between shades of emerald and shades of gray depending on the light cast upon them, much like her Father’s. So hard were they that they seemed to contain the very essence of steel within them.
She was beautiful in a way that none, save for Åmbrosįå Herself, could be beautiful. Everything about her exuded it. There was nothing within or about her that didn’t at least pique the interest of every man or mer who saw her. It was the type of beauty that could inspire millions to do great deeds. Or incite millions to wage war. She was nothing short of heartbreaking; the Queen of the Fallen.
It was a beauty such that, even in all of his faith to Tįlåtħ, that even Dåÿvįåd wanted to have her.
The nature of the raw need that was stoked in Dåÿvįåd for Så’Ħdënåħ however was…dark. Primal. Almost violent. As much as he wanted her, he wanted to violate her. He wanted to hurt her. But not in the same way that he occasionally hurt Tįlåtħ when they made love to each other. He wanted to choke Sin while he took her against her will and watch as the life drained slowly from her black eyes. She was too much. She was too perfect. It was a type of beauty that didn’t seem as if it were meant to exist. The side of him that loved being gently violent with Tįlåtħ when they were together wanted to destroy Sin in a fit of lustful fury. A fury that rivaled the rage that he felt when Tįlåtħ wanted to destroy Athel so many years ago as she struggled with the hate of Lumå’įl’s half-saber.
Placing his hand on his chest, Dåÿvįåd bowed. Tįlåtħ curtsied, keeping her head low.
“My queen.” they greeted in unison.
“Welcome children.”
“My Lady, where’s Lord Lumå’įl?” Dåÿvįåd asked once he raised his head. “Weren’t we summoned by you both?”
“Our Lord comes at His own whim. Rest assured Dåÿvįåd, He’ll arrive when He arrives.”
“I see My Lady.”
“He doesn’t often sit about idly waiting for people to come to Him. Even when it’s by our own request. His is a restless spirit. Always has been.” Her lengthy ears moved about and twitched intently in concert with her emotions. An almost involuntary action.
She was touchy today.
“Of course not my Lady.” he replied. “I meant no disrespect. We were informed of His prior meeting. I simply assumed that He could’ve been here by now.”
“I know Dåÿvįåd. My words were not meant to chastise.” She sighed and her ears relaxed to a more natural position. “I think that, I’m just missing home right now. Our real home.”
“We understand My Lady.” Tįlåtħ added. “We all do.”
“Oh! To see it again, as opposed to this damnedable endless snow.” Så’Ħdënåħ pined.
Dåÿvįåd smiled. It was always nice to know that others felt as he did. Especially when it was the queen.
“Can you at least tell us what He requires of us My Lady?” Dåÿvįåd dared to probe.
“What He has is for Him alone to tell you. However, I can tell the both of you that the time for us to go home is approaching.”
“Truly? We’re sounding the horns of war again?”
“The horn never stopped blowing Tįlåtħ. What made you think otherwise?”
“I never thought otherwise My Lady. It was simply a turn of phrase.”
“Hmm. I see.”
“Tįlåtħ does bring up a point in that however.” her lover concurred. “It feels as if we’ve been rather…lax as of late. We have done nothing to solidify any manner of hold on the realm of Mundus. Nor have we endeavored much to once again locate the Great Tree.”
The Queen of the Fallen smiled deucedly. “I know it may seem that way. But you two, of all who have pledged fealty to us, should know better. Our touch, much like Åmbrosįå’s, is never far from the world of men and mer. And the seeds we have sown into the world; seeds of which you’ve been wholly unaware, are starting to now bear fruit.”
Dåÿvįåd shook his head almost against his own will and he felt his eyes blink rapidly in surprise. “I’m at a loss Lady Så’Ħdënåħ. What do you mean by that?”
“What do you think I mean?”
Tįlåtħ looked to her paramour. She too was confused. There were none that sat higher within the Lord’s counsel than they. It didn’t make since to keep information of any magnitude from them. Dåÿvįåd became visibly angered. Lumå’įl had long been known to keep His own council from time to time. Such a thing was His prerogative. But that still didn’t mean that it made sense.
“Did we offend in some way?” Dåÿvįåd asked.
Sin studied the duo for a minute. Almost as if she wanted them to stew in the thought for a moment. Then a power with the weight of a thousand worlds seemed to pervade the room; the strength of it nearly overwhelming. Sin’s eyes seemed to spot movement as she looked past the duo briefly, then returning her gaze, she simply responded with-
“Not yet.” Quickly lowering her head and spreading her arms in greeting, Så’Ħdënåħ addressed the unknown being. “Welcome back My Lord.”
Spinning around, Dåÿvįåd and Tįlåtħ fell instinctively into their respective bow and curtsey and spoke in unison as they had with the queen. “Greetings My Lord.”
“We can do away with the formalities, I think.” Lumå’įl commanded in a powerfully deep voice.
There was no mistaking that Så’Ħdënåħ was the daughter of this man. They shared aspects of the face, as well as the dark complexion. Yet, at the same time, they were undoubtedly two very different looking beings. He shared no eluvian traits with her whatsoever. Like Åmbrosįå, He favored the dark-skinned people of Khanas and Hesijua in his appearance.
It was a popular topic of private discussion among the Ǻngëls as to how the two had parented such an alien looking woman between them. But, then again, who could say what the outcome could be of two Gods becoming one in the flesh? And who could say what further children may have looked like had they not separated from one another and fallen out of love.
Like His daughter, the celadon coloured starbursts within Lumå’įl’s otherwise pitch black eyes were strangely mesmerizing; seeming to subtly shift from an astounding solid gray to a dense and vibrant green depending on the brightness and angle of the light. His remarkably thick black hair was wound into close, impenetrable rows on the top of His head, but was allowed to flair out into its wild and natural state towards the rear; the kinky mane continuing to fall down from there freely. Very nearly to the small of His back. His majestic horns were both covered in the same Ǻngëlįc carvings and reliefs as His daughter’s. And they sported decorative fitted cuffs; again, much like His daughter’s save for the gauged tips. Wide, thick white gold bands were wrapped about them decorated in all manner of tribal design.
His commanding framework was sculpture-like in its hardness and tone. He was covered in heavy, intricately designed white and gray wool clothing with leather accents. His overcoat of matching weight, colours and tribal design was of masterful quality and draped by a beautiful fascia. It drug on the stone floor behind Him like the train on a bridal gown. Kingly in every sense of the word.
He held out one of His massive hands, which looked as if it were made solely for devastating men’s skulls. Complete with sharp, manicured nails and a rather horrid scar that crossed its palm; supposedly from attempting to openhandedly block the strike from Mįssħåël which sent Him reeling from Ëmpÿrë at the conclusion of the war. It was an invitation for His daughter to come to His side.
As He awaited her, Dåÿvįåd’s attention was momentarily waylaid by the eight uniquely crafted and intricately carved rings Lumå’įl always wore that seemed to come to life under the light of the hearth; twinkling like stars on His fingers. Spread across both of His hands, there was one for each of the eight lands of the Dæmönic Plains. Each wildly different in design from the last. None of which he was ever known to remove; wearing one each on his thumbs, middle and pinky fingers with the ring finger of His left hand displaying two.
By the time Dåÿvįåd’s attention had returned to the present, Så’Ħdënåħ had crossed the room happily and taken her place next to her father; her ears twitching in joy. She looked offputtingly short standing there next to Him given that He stood nearly a head taller than most other Dįvonësë. Despite that, they made a visually powerful pair; complementing each other wonderfully.
The glory of them together was soul crushing.
“Never fret my dear children.” Lumå’įl said reassuringly. “I only ever keep what’s necessary to be kept from you. And never for longer than what’s absolutely needed.”
The Lord of the Fallen looked heavily upon Dåÿvįåd and Tįlåtħ for a moment; the emerald colour of His eyes seeming to take precedence over the gray and forcing into Dåÿvįåd a fear he rarely felt. And for a split second, he wasn’t certain whether Lumå’įl was going to strike him down on the spot or not for his insolence.
“Never again question me to Så’Ħdënåħ. Simply accept what you’re told. For what will continue to be necessary to be kept from you’ll continue to be so, make no mistake.”
The two knew better than to say anything further. His word was law and His doing was the doing of fate itself.
Neither Dåÿvįåd or Tįlåtħ knew how long He’d been standing behind them before He allowed Himself to be sensed and Så’Ħdënåħ bowed. He was far more adept at masking His spiritual energy with His blood heka than any other Dįvonësë known. He did, after all, create said heka and use it to mask Himself from the Goddess Herself on occasion before the failed Great Rebellion.
“Of course My Lord.” Dåÿvįåd spoke uneasily.
“By your will My Lord.” Tįlåtħ added. “What is your pleasure Lumå’įl? It must be of great import to hasten us so suddenly.”
“That’s of no doubt my pretty child. You’re both to be made privy to some of these afore mentioned ‘seeds’ my daughter spoke of just now. For the time has come for you both to make your marks in my name. Come, the rest of the Choruses await us.”