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Post by Bellighul//Amilcar on Jan 16, 2024 13:48:27 GMT -5
The clamor of birdsong once resounded throughout the emerald canopy but had grown eerily quiet unexpectedly. The shadows of branches danced above the forest floor. Heavy with snow and adorned with icicles upon the bark of its trees. Yet, a crunching noise grew louder, the weight of a beast upon the landscape. A stream of visible breath bellowed out from a large maw as it entered view. Saliva, red tinged and dripping from ivory fangs danced downward. A large wolf, silvered hair encasing its muscular frame, searched and scanned about. The moonbeams breaching above in sparse places, though seemed dim compared to the burning red eyes of the creature. Peering deep into the old growth, it's eyes narrowed as movement from beyond alerted it's twitching ears. Then, in a silver blur it rushed towards the source. Weaving with haste between the trunks of towering oak, the wolf hurdled over a patch of gnarled roots and into a small clearing.
The moonlight was soft and hazy, now illuminating the wolf while it accelerated only to be enraptured with shadow. Deforming it. Like a black veil it twisted in absent wind, warping the canine's silhouette into a stream of dark ichor.
Yet, the transformation was brief.* The ichor twisted upward wildly into a humanoid form and into the light as a pale face emerged with eyes like twin burning coals. A dreadful howl echoed in the night, escaping pallid blue touched lips as the form took shape and color. A man. Tall and gaunt yet hauntingly handsome; a debonair and sorcerer. His hair was nearly the length of his back, tousled and a brilliant crimson while the ichor settled into position as a magnificently long robe. Darker than most shadows cast.
"Well...this is new." His voice boomed, baritone and regal.
He gazed in the glory of Kamille's house, now towering on chicken-like legs and, like a colossus, strolled about the grove. Then, moving without haste, his posture was arrogant and pompous. Strolling with supernatural grace, his robe's tattered and frayed edges dragging some four meters behind him. Like a onyx stream. A hand ornamented with several rings of precious stones and winding gold pressed against his cheek and cupped his mouth slightly, calling out into the night.
"I have heard tale of the Witch of Moonglade and seek audience...for she is said to be immensely powerful. Yet her paramour's absence has made her carry a widow's sorrow. For even though my dark sorcery could not be felt from afar...though, I hoped the thunder of Bellighul's heart could find yours."
*Shapeshifter's Plate
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Post by Lady Kamille Verlithax on Jan 17, 2024 4:52:00 GMT -5
Weeks have given way to months, and the months piled up like the swirling snow. The cold found barrier to enter in the deep forest, green crowns of leaves blocking the way most of the times - but the cold always find its way. Hopelesness always find its way. At first, every visit to the Villa of Lost Souls was carried out with a heavy expectation, her heart filled with hope that this time it would be different. But all she ever found was silence and overgrown bushes of roses, her memories long lost in those walls. Only memories now, with no expectation that they would make part of her future. That he would make part of her future. It took time for hope to die, an agonizing, delayed death - but eventually she stopped going to the Villa. There were no more shards of her heart to be left there, and realization finally set in. The worst has come to pass, she wondered, a detached, tearless feeling of void washing over as she took a piece of him back home to remember him by. The black roses now lined the outside of her windows, neatly tended for. As much as she wasn't a skilled gardener herself, she made sure these survive and flourish on her gardens. The house itself felt like an oddity that belonged, a strange appearance in a forest filled with strange sights and nightmares once the sun went down. Yet it was still her. And that she refused to forget him. Whether the house - or its mistress - had heard the plea, it stopped. Silence sat heavy, the wildlife seemingly holding its breath in anticipation, or merely scared off by the presence of the two great sorcerers. For in no time, the soft whisper of feathers cut through the silence, as the raven flew off of one of the windows in a black flurry. However, what landed on the ground a few feet from the man was not a raven, but the wind whirl of black feathers shaped a raven-haired woman [1]. Glossy black locks dancing in the breeze, not a day had fallen upon her complexion - time had no power over that one. But even if the skin was smooth and pale as always, the stars that gazed back at his scorching rubies felt different. They felt more distant, unsure, tinged with a hint of long set desperation. Perhaps surprisingly, her features were taken with a distrust and hesitation that were unlike the Witch of Moonglade. " .............Amílcar?" Trembling, not unlike the leaves fighting against the cold wind, her voice was hesitant. Speaking his name was to breath life into the hope that had just been buried. A step forward was hesitant, but the step back was more determined. "What a cruel mind I have... To play me tricks so lifelike..."
[1]Shapeshifters plate
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Post by Bellighul//Amilcar on Jan 18, 2024 15:13:58 GMT -5
Amidst the small flurry of snow that now cascaded down on the ground, twin beings stood, clad in black. A grim, almost haunting feel slowly took over the forest. Their pallidness is similar yet, this man seemed almost devoid of life. Blue-hued veins and sunken eyes yet when he spoke, from beyond bloodless lips a pair of fangs hung like ivory scimitars. A Night Walker. He stood within what seemed little more than an arm's reach of her. Silent. Chin high as Kamille's voice carried off into the forest. He did not reply immediately. He surveyed. It was only her voice and memory of her face that kept him company in the dark. Locked away for months as the sole denizen of a seemingly endless cavern. Damned. As she stepped backward, he smiled widely, only to extend his ornamented hand out towards her. Long dagger like nails piercing the hair between them. His hair obscuring his face due to a light wind, ever alit by his own crimson eyes. "Come closer Exalted....grasp the hand that longs for your cheek to caress. Do you not feel it calling out...it has only known soil and stone and steel. Only when you feel the chill of my undeath, will you know Amilcar has returned." The vampire remained still, like a monolith. Only fabric and fiery mane danced. Yet, his twisted soul was dancing as well, liken to the Ball of many moons past.
"I am no illusion...I assure you."
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Post by Lady Kamille Verlithax on Jan 20, 2024 18:35:28 GMT -5
As if laced with a spell tailored to her, his voice had her heart racing. No matter how much suspicion or caution her mind tried to advise her on, her body reacted regardless. She had been tricked before by the promise of his whereabouts, her enemies knowing full well of her affections, even before she had the opportunity to let them be known to the Lord of Ghouls himself.
The world went on, despite of them. The wind played with their hair, her black locks revolving wildly around her like a crown. A tense stillness took the two figures, as the Witch's mind wrestled with her heart. This kind of caution wasn’t like her, often too reckless - arrogant, even - to think anyone could stand against her. But things have changed, and the world had humbled her down, if only a little.
Yet, a smile was all that was needed, and suddenly they were back to the ball of the Black Harvest. A smile, and all caution was tossed into the wind, unceremoniously.
A smile, and she broke.
".......Amílcar? Is it really you?"
Her feet acted on their own accord, and she found herself closing in the distance between them in a heartbeat. Reaching out, her inviting warmth found the chill of the grave, as his hand naturally found its way to her cheek. The complexion of the Lord of Ghouls felt a bit more gaunt than she'd remembered, a hint of the hardships he had endured. Her hand brushed the curve of his features, feeling the shape of his sharp jaw on her palm, not unlike the way she had done many, many moons past, when he had just recently dug his way out of his grave.
His image shimmered, as the tears welled up in her eyes. A couple more steps and she found herself where she had yearned to be for a long time, wrapped in his arms. As if the time that set them apart meant nothing, she rested her head on his chest, where the tears finally started to roll freely, overwhelmed by the feeling of finally seeing as her hope was not in vain. If the time had weighed on her spirit, she was just as she had been and not a day older than their last waltz, the perfume of midnight jasmines still embbebed in her hair and lifting from her chest neck. Eager hands closed around his vest, pulling him closer as if fearing he would once again vanish for months on end.
"Amílcar....! I missed you so....!"
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Post by Bellighul//Amilcar on Jan 24, 2024 13:41:00 GMT -5
The cold wind upon his back caused his robe to spiral and dance wilding in the wind's course. Flailing madly like a torn sail. The uproar of black against the snowy scenery was like a rift in time. Time. A concept Bellighul wished he was master of. For he would never miss a moment with his beloved Kamille. Yet, even in the warmth of her embrace he found sorrow. Many moons had waxed and waned without her. Lightless. A heartless existence. Surviving by any means...and unleashing his worst nature upon Charon because of it.
He tried his hardest to just feel the moment. His longing now vanished. Yet, on the tip of his vile tongue were secrets. Deadly and monstrous were they. Blood. An altar of blood and consumption.
Kamille's words rang in his ears like a thunderous crescendo, from his pallid ears to his blackened heart. Her words, melodious as her tears ran down his bejeweled and ornate vest. "I've missed the sun...even when it burns. I've missed wine...even though it drowns my mind." He lifted his head up for a moment, taking in the scent of jasmine in her hair and to gaze deep into the stars. "I've yearned for this day Kamille." Returning his face towards hers, the jet black of her hair flowing. "One does not know darkness...despair. Torment. Until the one thing in this world is not within reach. I've gazed into the Far Realm and its abberations. I've mingled with cackling devils in mirrors to the Abyss. I've known Hell intimately. Isolation. Yet, they pale in comparison to that chasm....and the nothingness without you there."
His adorned hand reached through the sea of her hair and clutched her head as he brought her deeper into his chest. "I called out to all the infernal powers...and finally, one answered. Releasing me from my prison of stone and ruin. Yet, It was not the Night Bringer. My Mother of Moons."
He was evidently distressed. Worried even. His eyes glossy with a red tinge as a slow steady stream of blood, like tears, traveled down his cheek. A bargain which even a Necromancer regretted.
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Post by Lady Kamille Verlithax on Jan 25, 2024 13:11:30 GMT -5
The Witch's heart knew nothing but turmoil and trepidation, a bittersweet rollercoaster that left her without action. Nothing, but the silent roll of tears.
Bittersweet, as she found herself back into her beloved Lord of Ghouls' arms, and it appeared as the necromancer had suffered their separation as much as she did. It had tormented her the possibility that Bellighul didn’t want to be found - that he had grown tired of her and wished to see her no longer. Felt like the worst of outcomes, even worse than the eternal slumber.
"I had feared for the worst... I thought the earth had claimed you..."
The lack of closure was killing her. One day, he simply wasn’t there anymore. She had gone to the Villa so many times, she had gone above and beyond to find him...
But eventually, he found her, as it ought to be. A weightlessness took her heart for a moment, as it became clear he still held her dear to his heart. Even through teary eyes, she rejoiced at the knowledge he still thought of her, even through his hardships. A hint of shame washed over for a moment, as she knew fairly well that her hope had died at one point, and she stopped looking.
Yet, there he was.
There was much they needed to talk, and his whereabouts and journey were only the lesser problem between them. Kamille listened intently as always, yearning for his voice as much as he told her a tale of suffering and despair. Her expression grew worried as he followed on his story
What had happened to her Dark Lord during the time they were apart?
His embrace was welcome and found no resistance. Much the opposite, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her body against his, the feeling reminiscent of the days they spent at the Villa. Looking back at it, she now believed she should've stayed. Kamille had left a lazy life of studies and readings in the company of the necromancer... for what? For the promises of the whereabouts of her father? To search for a man that ultimately tried to kill her?
Again...?
"I used every resource I had at my disposal, I searched everywhere I could... And you were nowhere to be found. What happened to you, Amílcar? Where have you been?"
Mentioning the Dark Maiden brought a stiffness to the Witch that she couldn’t mask. That conversation had been in the back of her mind since the happenings at the Arid Mesa, and she dreaded the moment it would come.
Not tonight. Please, not tonight.
She pulled back just enough to face him again, taking her hand to cup his face, her thumb delicately wipping at blood red tears.
It didn’t come as a surprise that Lunala wouldn’t answer his call, for she knew what had transpired thousands of years ago. Still....... someone answered.
"Amílcar... What happened? Who... who answered your summoning?"
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Post by Bellighul//Amilcar on Feb 7, 2024 11:30:48 GMT -5
What unspeakable horrors lurked within such confines of that cavern? Visions or warped reality could not conjure what Bellighul perceived and bested in the months of darkness. A time that felt like eons. A time without Kamille. To return to her arms and have her words heal his battered soul and bludgeoned mind. No less, he emerged from the dark insatiably hungry, and changed. His mind, shredded with a thousand torments in his descent, dabbled in madness now shoved away but lingered within reach ever still. Yet, his soul was another matter.
For what is a Necromancer, if not a dealer in souls and recycler of corpses? Though Amilcar was a powerful sorcerer and respected within certain circles for his prowess…he was eclipsed by many. Kamille, especially, who had become god-like in his absence. Further still, there were beings beyond flesh whose might was majesty. His powers could not aid him in the chasm. However, some power had.
“Mother Night…she was silent. I thought to myself, perhaps it was penance or punishment. That I had failed her and she abandoned me for a moment.” His eyes twinkled with some adoration, his piousness had been unwavering. “Then I heard someone call out to me.” He released Kamille and backed away several paces. His robe curled like some enormous serpent and his footprints laid bare. His hair danced in the light breeze as he took a moment to collect his thoughts, gazing at his left hand. The gold and silver rings contrasted the deathly paleness. The lines of his palm had changed dramatically, to follow a new path.
It was not only his hand that had changed.
“It was not Lunala nor you…I heard the thunder of what I called a false God. It was he that laid the path for my return."
Bellighul laid his eyes on Kamille, a cherished smirk on his handsome visage. "Ziev...Ziev in his grandeur gave me strength. Power. Purpose." Amilcar extended his hand outwards again, eyes aflame, and mouthed to the Exalted One to come closer.
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Post by Lady Kamille Verlithax on Feb 13, 2024 9:13:32 GMT -5
Not tonight. Please, not tonight.
Her heart ached for a moment with the Dark Lord, yet a part of her knew he couldn’t be separated from his faith. And dread filled her in anticipation - if the revelations Charon had in the last few months shook people to the core, she could only wonder what such knowledge would do to the Lord of Ghouls.
That moment couldn’t be delayed any longer, it would seem.
Though Amílcar must've expected another reaction when revealing his Mother Night didn’t answer his pleas, and instead...
"Ziev...? This can't b-"
It was a mixture of fear and sadness that took the eyes of one of the most powerful Witches of Charon. It was a statement that, whatever it was that left her shocked, it wasn’t to be taken lightly. For as much as she yearned for a warm welcome and to fall asleep on the arms of her beloved, on the fur rug by the fireplace, that image felt more distant now.
But the necromancer seemed enamored by his awakening and powers that came with it - that came with Ziev. The name summoned the memories of the encounter at Arid Mesa, and moreover to the unusual dinner at the deserted glades of snow and frost.
More than from anyone else, Kamille couldn't hide much of her turmoil from Amílcar. She looked conflicted, fearful and anxious. When she rose her eyes to him once again, she slowly approached to take his hand, gently pulling him.
"There’s... so much we need to talk... and Fate has decided it can't wait."
She interwined her fingers with his.
"Come inside, Amílcar... Let's... Let's talk... So much has come to light in these months you were away. Grave news, but I have faith in your wisdom..."
Foolishly, perhaps.
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