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Post by Lady Kamille Verlithax on Feb 10, 2023 12:12:32 GMT -5
Maybe it had all been a dream; wishful thinking laced by wine and the sweet scent of the Blood Lily that brought her a vision only meant for the world of the dreaming, never to be fulfilled. The few months spent at the Villa of Lost Souls felt so distant now, and the more she cherished her memories, the more they seemed to slip away, dripping from between her fingers like water. Like the running sand from the hourglass.
Her waking moments were plagued by the visions sent from the realm of the dreams, some of them straight from other people’s minds, taken without permission. Rarely ever she spent so much time anywhere but in the world of the living, but the Dreaming had been calling...
And no one dared to leave a calling like that unanswered...
For someone who trusted the ground beneath her feet and had little time to wander through the stars, Fate had decided to put the Sight in her eyes. Perhaps it was by design, since she dug her roots deep into the realm of the living, firmly placed in reality as to not wander aimlessly through wishes and dreams. The Witch was to dream, while at the same time remaining rooted and anchored; both able to fly and to guide people back to the real world.
And now her anchor seemed less solid than before - only a vanishing memory, filled with sweet words, wine and chess matches that she never won, even when she started cheating. What about the ball? Was that just a dream too?
Was it all just a dream.........?
The storm was upon her, not unlike that night when they first met. Stactic played with her hair, announcing the storm to come would be a violent one, lighting already crossing the skies and showering the night sky with sudden light. Neither the thunder nor the cold bothered her - but to be alone, left to her own thoughts and musings had become quite a dangerous thing. When was the last time she felt like that? When was the last time that she had dreaded loneliness? When was the last time she had yearned for....?
"Mischief... How about a race to the front door?"
The raven cawed at her, taking flight and the advantage. The Witch took a deep breath, the feathery cloak that adorned her suddenly shifting and turning on its own accord. Where once stood a woman, now there was a raven much like Mischief, his partner in crime as much as in the skies. The two ravens cawed, soaring high as they flew towards the house nestled between two hills, in the heart of the Moonveil forest.
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Post by Bellighul//Amilcar on Feb 14, 2023 0:31:52 GMT -5
An intricately carved carriage coursed through the winding dirt road, slinging mud and flames in its wake. Rain breaching the leaves of towering trees above, cascading down atop the carriage's handler who was veiled in a tattered cloak. A single lantern hung from an iron skeletal hand mounted on the hull of the vehicle. A dull green flame emitted from the lantern's cracked glass and outwards in the darkness. The flame danced and rocked as a large horse, likewise covered in a tattered fabric, beating its flaming hooves deep into the earth with an unwavering speed. The strength of undeath propelling the carriage into a large glade with two hills, nearly shaking with the sonic quakes from the blackened heavens above. Lightning, like white hot serpents slithered across the blanket of dark clouds, a flash illuminating the area as the vehicle came to a halt.
"My Lord, we have arrived." A rather posh and artistic voice escaped the driver, who now was drenched as the rain poured down without obstruction. Leaping from the high coach bench, a carved Jack O Lantern appeared as the hood flew backwards in place of a head. The carved simple features mystically expressing concern and moved as it spoke. "Your journey has been an arduous one, allow me to carry your gifts and Ronaldo to escort you up the stairs?"
A small set of steps dropped from beneath the door, carved with all manners of frightful creatures in onyx stained wood. Burgundy stained glass upon the door kept the interior well hidden but as the door swung open, the carriage revealed a plush purple interior of velvet furniture, floor and walls. Though something like a shadow emerged from a corner, blackening the doorway with its tall silhouette. A grim iron mask in the semblance of a skull crowned the figure.
The dark magician known as Bellighul.
His deep sonorous voice echoed into the night, mighty and proud. "That will not be necessary Jacapo...where I have returned from, stairs are nothing in comparison." However, a lingering sense of despair exuded not only his voice, but his mannerisms. His chin was not high and lacking an arrogant swagger, he lurched as he walked from steps, heavy boots and sable robes covered his form. His faithful ghoul, emerging from somewhere beneath the carriage itself, traveled to the back of the carriage and lifted a tarp revealing a basket of gods and bore it over to his dark master.
Bellighul hoisted the wicker basket to his chest and set off towards the steep stone steps upon one side of the hill. "Indeed your Vileness, we await your descent with great anticipation." His Majordomo's voice echoed in the distance as the Necromancer made his way up the stairs towards the Witch's House. A winding river reflecting the storms above like glass. Catching his eye was a raven circling in the flashes of lightning. He remembered well when he first traveled from his tomb in the sands to this home.
To his Kamille.
Only glimpses of her face in dreams and faded memories to accompany him through the Hells in search of his dark mother, guided by all manner of infernal hosts in a nightmarish odyssey into the most bleak and malicious corners of the planes. Upon arrival to her door, his undead heart beat like a war drum from within as he rapped hard against the planks. He had much to explain and further, a tale to tell but mainly, he wished to reunite as they once had when he was frail and weak. When the funerary balms still were strong and not suppressed by the smell of brimstone and devilry he now reeked of.
When the door would finally open, he would project "Exalted...it has been far too long." The goods in the basket were the exact same as when they first met, a number of root vegetables, table salt and pepper, fine Zeinavian wine and a cinnamon plum tea. "Happy Hearth's Day."
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Post by Lady Kamille Verlithax on Feb 14, 2023 16:34:17 GMT -5
Stactic ran through her feathers, ruffling them uncomfortably as the rain weighed her down. Unsuspecting wind currents diverted her path, and she watched as Mischief navigated the winds much easier, his instinct guiding him, telling him what would take long for Kamille to learn. The rain caught her before she would arrive home, but she wouldn’t bother as her eyes got a glimpse of a stranger approaching her house. Upon arrival, though the house looked the same, it would be clear to an experienced magus like Bellighul that a great deal of reality bending magic - even more than on his first visit - was contained in the house. There was a small stone stable near the start of the stairs, from where a curious but cautious fiery mare glanced out, perhaps in recognition to the beast that pulled the fancy carriage.
The carriage, the stranger........ Her heart made a flip inside her chest, a light dizziness throwing her mind into a numb spiral.
Could it really be....?
Mischief arrived first, much like another night very similar to this one. He landed on the small tree to the side of the door, taking a long, silent glance at him. The raven seemed to feel something was off, seemingly regarding him... as a stranger? As a different person? It was different from the warm, mischievous recognition he often offered him, laced by pranks, thievery and light insults. Mischief seemed... wary of him.
Which was more than could be said about the raven that landed behind him on the stone steps. The whiplashing wind made its black feathers ruffle; the flashing of the lightning giving it the illusion of a feathery windwhirl of blackness and... maybe it was not an illusion. Where once stood a raven, now was a figure wrapped in a feathery cloak, not unlike the way they first met; the first time she laid eyes on him. Much like then, he had his mask to hide his traces, and while not causing her the strangeness it did back then.... an unsettling feeling threatened to overthrow the imense joy made her heart pound like a drum. When she pulled her hood back, he could see her expression was a mixture of conflicting emotions, such a cauldron of stirred feelings that she could barely decide which one to chose from.
They pinned her to the ground in the moment, while she tried to decide if that was real or a waking dream summoned by her longing. And by all that was holy, how have she longed... It never ached as it did that moment, right in front of her. Tears burned in her eyes, but the rain washed them away, unsuspecting.
"Happy Hearth's Day."
Kamille finally found her feet, and they took her closer to him while her hand pushed the basket of gifts out of the way. Her arms around his neck, the Witch brought the Necromancer into a tight, warm hug, letting out a muffled sigh.
"I missed you so much.......... Amílcar......"
Another thunder reminded her they were still out there, in the middle of the rain that got thicker by the moment. Suddenly she stepped back, a faint smile curving her lips.
"I....... I was worried.... I.... Let's get inside... There's so much we need talk about......."
Finally acknowledging the basket of gifts, a warm smile of recognition crossed her face before she led him inside the house, which was....... far more luxurious than the last time he had been there, much bigger, her collection of arcane tomes always growing...
Which seemed to be only a side effect of her growing powers.
But that was a talk she didn’t want to have now.
"Happy Hearth's Day, Amílcar... Let's take these to the kitchen..."
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Post by Bellighul//Amilcar on Feb 16, 2023 2:51:30 GMT -5
The stunning Kamille's embrace was welcomed, the warmth of her arms clutching the dark fabric of his shemagh that cascaded down from his bland iron circlet. Yet it was unfamiliar. He felt a strangeness inside his chest, to be amongst the living once again for what seemed like years. He scaled the towering wastelands of the doomed and forgotten in search of his beloved God. Further descending into some manner of hellscape, ton gaze upon the horrors which awaited the damned and the demons which paraded on its fiery terrain. He did not feel comfort nor glee in those times. Thus his emotions were stifled...although his eyes betrayed his emotions, like bright glowing rosettes his optics blossomed in passion.
A black glove, seemingly steaming with a shadowy vapor that licked the stormy air, embraced the Witch's back and brought her ever closer to him. She would hear his heart thunder like the skies above and though he stood tall over her, he lurched to bring his chin about her shoulder.
"I am whole again in your arms Exalted." Was all he could muster. His voice muffled by the mask he bore, a sense of longing and sadness slowly escaped as his words danced off into the distance. Although, the name Amilcar seemed entirely foreign to him. Bellighul was his title, no? At least, in Hell.
Yet something tore at his inner workings, liken to a force within the mind. Another voice, aside his own.
And deeper still, was another. A contrasting but diabolical voice.
Fighting a war on two fronts within, he seemed perfectly happy to be with his paramour this night. Let the demons quarrel in his subconscious, tonight was a night of celebration.
Bellighul followed Kamille into the rather expansive home, indeed it was an illusion on the outside, merely more than a hut to the random onlooker. His phantom like properties seemed to make him float across the carpet, tattered robes gliding behind him in a trail as he approached the hearth itself. Ash and oak roaring in tangerine flames as sparks escaped the precipice of the mantle. Snapping and cracking sounded softly as the storm outside howled and rocked the house to the timbers themselves. His ruby red eyes scanning the tomes, much like when they first met, as Kamille made off into the kitchen with the basket of goods.
His glove clutched the front of his iron mask, skeletal and abhorrent to gaze upon, and as he attempted to remove it, he felt a snare. The mask, no matter the force, clung to his face, and as Kamille set the basket aside, Bellighul struggled to unclasp his visage. Fighting it with all his might, tossing about in the firelight like a madman clinging to his skull. Yet, as she neared gracefully, the clasps seemingly released in unison. A nearly silent howl escaped into the air from the unknown and the mask toppled to the floor. Revealing his pallid and gorgeous face.
His hair flowed like a waterfall in white and a set of cat like ears mounted his head, twitching as they adjusted to new sounds.
"We have much to discuss...yet an apology and explanation is due Exalted. Allthough....no apology has ever been quelled by wine." A somewhat sinister but somehow adorable smirk appeared on his face.
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Post by Lady Kamille Verlithax on Feb 17, 2023 5:07:47 GMT -5
The Witch seemed blissfully unaware of the inner struggle the Necromancer held, keeping a calm facade for her and whispering words of warmth that left a tingling after-taste. His chin on her shoulder, his baritone voice... All brought her a sense of comfort she hadn't even noticed entirely how much she longed for. It brought her back to the ball and the dance they shared, under the light of the lanterns and the Pale Dame high above. Months of absence closed in just an instant, and for a moment, all felt right. Kamille brought him into her home, trying to ignore the strangeness she felt, much like that which she felt when he stepped there for the first time. Much more than before she understood the nature of his magic, all of it thanks to him: at her request, he safely introduced her to the domain of Dark Magic. And still... His whole being was laced with fumes and whisps of black smoke she failed to understand. The Witch assumed there would be a time for it, no doubt... Mischief watched him from afar, at his perch, littered with his baubles and trinkets collected and stolen along the years. There was still some kind of caution in his eyes, as he didn't come to greet Bellighul up and close while Kamille went to the kitchen to drop the basket of gifts. It didn't escape her he had brought exactly the same things as last time, a tribute to the day they met. Even the skies helped recreate their meeting, as lightning showered her house with light that poured from the windows, the thunder that came after making the whole house shake. It haven't occurred to her this would be the first Hearth's day she would spend with someone after she left Court. The thought made her heart start to race unexpectedly. Ever since leaving the Villa she had felt the distance to weight in her heart, just slightly quelled by the few and brief opportunities they have met before that. She missed him. She missed him so much it hurt. And the last time she had felt like that was... The silence on the room suddenly shook her awake from her daydreaming, and she returned to the living room, only to have all of her blood drained from her face. The mask. It was clear now. How could have she missed that? Bellighul behaved slightly different everytime he was wearing his mask - before her, it wasn't that much of a difference, but still she could feel it. For a brief moment he seemed to fight the mask, and Kamille cautiously approached without even noticing her feet brought her closer to him on their own accord. The Witch reached out to the Necromancer, and as her hand raised she heard the clasps of his mask snatch open, allowing a soft sigh of relief to escape her lips. Seeing his handsome face once more brought her more joy than she could have anticipated, even if... not everything was as she remembered. The silent howl of the mask didn't escape her, as she shot a sideways glance towards it on the ground. With the same shameless will as she had first presented him, she quickly closed in the distance between them, barely containing a small smile as her eyes caught sight of his new features. She brought her hands up to softly caress his cat ears, apparently so enthraled by them that she barely considered how inappropriate that closeness could have been. " This is new.......... I love it...." A contained soft chuckle escaped her rosy lips as she smiled at him. Her hands slowly made their way down from his ears to his hair, eventually finding the outline of his face. Warm fingers explored his handsome, cold features softly, thumbs gently feeling his cheeks and lips. She took a deep breath. " Wine is always welcome, though. Keep me company while I make dinner. Come." Taking a step back, she pulled him by the hand back to the kitchen, shoting another suspicious and discrete glance to his mask on the floor. If she could have her way, she would be gone with it. For now, she just wanted him away from it and back to herself.
"I have a lot to explain too, but we could start with your story.... What happened to you?"
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