Blood Rites [Closed] - Printable Version

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Blood Rites [Closed] - Blade - 08-24-2015

<div style="text-align:center;]Ambient Noise Link :: <font color="#00fd14]Dungeon[/font]<font color="#fff5ce] [/font][/align]

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Blood Rites [Closed] - Blade - 08-24-2015

All things change; the world, in its inevitable turning mass of rock and churning inner fire, shifts, grows, and burns—is shaped by those who seek to destroy, build, and mold things as suited to their own tastes. Empires rise, flourish, and then inevitably fall; all eventually die, and those who do not have the misfortune of watching the passing of these drastic differences from one generation onto the next. What doesn’t change, truly, is time itself—its ability to never stop recreating all around it into something new, or old, with its own measured pace.

All the while, there are places forgotten; teetering brinks of darkness and light that have been left behind in the extinction of one era in order to begin anew. Tombs hidden under desert sands, crumbling keeps lost between two steeples of mountainous rock, and underwater tunnels that have remained untouched by human and meta alike for centuries simply because they have outlived their usefulness—because all have either outlived their usefulness or better things arose.

One such place was never meant to be found, to be visited; so unlike the others, one could not reach it without some previous knowledge and acquired skill for the journey. Few would likely care to, given the danger—the promise of an death without suitable preparation. Beyond that, a lengthy warning regarding the release of a dark tome—a tome that could bring ruin and darkness with any promised power—was enough to dissuade even the darkest of mages.

Light dancing along a stone carved bridge, reflecting off the falls beside it and the squared entrance across from it, belies what is within: a labyrinth of molding, dripping, moss-covered, bone-ridden tunnels engraved with runic warnings laden with dying magic. Traps of the magical and physical sense pervade—some riddles, illusions, and others merely a rolling ball of stone down a hall or a series of spikes shooting up from the stone floor.

However, if one makes it to the room holding the promised prize—the imprisoned prize—the first thing one will note is the rounded stone platform that takes up the bulk of the center. Steps lead up to it, and at the top there is book. The color of which is red and deeply so; if one does not look close enough it would appear to more black than anything else—almost abyssal tar; while it might appear to be leather, one with a keen arcane sense would know the binding is anything but human skin despite the color. The closer one gets to it the easier it is to feel the faint tug of dark magic; though it has been asleep long enough to be unnoticed by those not gifted with such a sense. The only symbol on the front face of the medium-sized text is that of a white snake biting its own tail.

It one tries to remove the book, or open it, one will not be able to. Rites, after all, must be performed.

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Blood Rites [Closed] - megs - 08-26-2015


<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span>    </span>The oracle to whom he was speaking was blind, but that didn't stop Elliot from frowning at her. He had traveled quite a long way to see her, because she had made him very grandiose promises of power and wisdom, but so far all she had given him was doubt. And disappointment. Elliot did so hate to be disappointed. Large hands smoothed, unnecessarily, over the impeccable lapels of his tailored suit. </span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span>    </span>"So that's it?" he said, glaring down from where he towered over her. "There's no catch? No ultimatum?" He sounded suspicious because he was. The things he wanted never came without a price. </span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span>    </span>"That's it," the seer repeated, not bothering to pretend to look at him. Clouded eyes never drifted from the scattering of obsidian shards in front of her. Elliot leaned forward, bracing himself with one hand against her table, and the other on the back of her chair. "If you are lying to me," he murmured, low and deliberate against her ear even though they were alone, his own green eyes scanning the room in front of him. "I will come back for you, and I will kill you with my own hands." </span>[/align]<div style="text-align:center;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]?</span><span style="font-size:10pt;]?

</span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span>    </span>"So, that's it?" Decland asked, giving Elliot a taste of his own medicine for once. Had he known the phrase was so annoying he might not have uttered it. Or maybe it was only annoying when Decland said it. </span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span>    </span>"One would usually expect a bit more enthusiasm when in the presence of a tome of dark magicks," Elliot responded, instead of answering the question. </span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span>    </span>"Yeah, but it's just a book." Decland moved the torch he held higher, attempting to light the room better. "You have a fuckton of books," he continued, complaining all the while as Elliot ignored him. </span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span>    </span>"What were you expecting?" Elliot shot back, breaking out of his thoughtful posture to gesture at the lynx. "Like a fucking fairy? Or some kind of magic well?"</span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span>    </span>Decland glared back at him, Elliot scoffed and turned his attention back to the intricate grimoire. "It took me months to find this place," Decland started again, Elliot groaned in a very obvious 'oh god, not again,' way; a gravelly noise in his throat. "There were fucking trapdoors and shit. I had to answer fucking riddles, Elliot. RIDDLES-"</span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span>    </span>"And I am sure it was very difficult for you," the prince interrupted, intentionally missing the point of his guardsman's speech. </span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span>    </span>"I had a spike through my foot, Elliot."</span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span>    </span>"Yes, and I thank you for the thousandth time for your suffering, but would you please just shut the fuck up for five minutes so I can concentrate?"</span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span>    </span>Decland closed his open mouth, but didn't bother looking happy about it. Elliot mouthed words of gratitude, looking beyond relieved as he circled the podium that the tome rested upon. Not quite leather in the color of coagulated blood. Insofar unable to be retrieved, but with each attempt the spirit lingering in the back of Elliot's mind pushed and twisted in violent protest. He hovered fingers over the faded ouroboros. </span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span>    </span>"What the fuck are we looking for, now, anyway?"</span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span>    </span>"Oh my fucking god, Decland. I swear if you say another word I will kill you."</span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span>    </span>They weren't looking for anything, they were done looking. Elliot had found the book, and he knew what he had to do to get it. But he was still hesitant. A wealth of power was at his fingertips. Power that had been ill-controlled and sealed away; the prince wasn't exactly looking to be another victim. Rushing into this would only end horribly for him. </span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span>    However, h</span>e had never been scared of a risk before, and there was certainly no need to start now. Weathered parchment was pulled from his pocket, and unfolded to reveal ancient runes that he had spent months translating. Scanning the symbols he'd already committed to memory, Elliot descended the platform and closer to Decland. The lynx only raised a brow to him in response, since he had finally taken shutting up to heart. </span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span>    </span>Elliot pulled an intricately engraved athame from the sheath against Decland's thigh and held out a hand expectantly. The other man obediently draped his wrist across the prince's palm. He didn't bother rewarding acquiescence with gratitude as he drew the knife across Decland's skin, already blemished with the marks of rituals past. </span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span>    </span>Blood stained the blade and spilled into Elliot's open hand. When he was satisfied, he pulled away, leaving his guard to tend to his own wounds. Returning to the top of the dais, Elliot smeared the blood he'd collected around the circumference of the book's pedestal. He then sliced is own finger, kneeling to draw the runes from the parchment closer to the base. Finished, he straightened his posture, using the knife one last time to lengthen the cut from his index finger, and across the lifeline of his palm. </span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span>    </span>The blood was a ritual, not a sacrifice; a binding, not an offering. The words he chanted were a contract, not a plea. </span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span>    </span>There was very little Elliot would not do to get what he wanted. </span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
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Blood Rites [Closed] - Blade - 08-26-2015

Death was a lot like sleeping, Xiah had long ago concluded. If you died under plaguing and painful circumstances you were wrought with those feelings upon your journey into the afterlife and wherever that led—be it as a wandering ghost with unfinished business, or, in some confounding purgatory. He couldn’t remember what came after, but he could recall the unending bout of emotions that had not ceased in his short period there. Sleep, in much the same way, became festered with the same repeating nightmares you held dear just before succumbing—willingly or unwillingly.

For him, there was nothing but the darkness—black, unending, and uninteresting. And if not darkness, every so often a terror of slumber would plague him; the same repeating memories laden with paranoia, betrayal, and faces he had forever burned into his mind. He’d grown accustomed to this; grown accustomed to what would feel like mere minutes when he awoke finally—if at all. Because surely, if one were awake for centuries of silence, one would have simply gone mad. Xiah was not the maddening sort; calculating, perhaps, but madness had never suited him despite claims to the contrary.

Unlike his siblings he could not see the world outside of his book; he could not hear it or learn from it. He would not be able to even glean the scent of an argument from the men in the resting chamber Cedric had chosen for him so many ages ago.

That is, not until all those barely bubbling burning desires became rekindled with the stench of… freedom.

As the two men watched on, final rites stained along the pedestal, a metaphorical finger within the tome twitched; a jaw clenched; eyes moved behind a curtain of black lashes and skin. Inside the pages, a man on a throne draped in black Asian silk and sashes—adorned in silver and gold jewelry—lifted his head as if it had been lulled to one side too long. At the same time, the blood writ on the stone began to sink into the crevices, the cracks where one piece of stone block pressed against another; it moved up the podium in trails. When the tendrils reached the flat top from varying ends they all twisted just so before moving up along the book itself—sinking into the pages, the ouroboros, and the cover itself. None of it remained.

As his eyes snapped open, black laced with brown and pupils dilating before becoming smaller, so did the book snap open. The stiff leather-skin cover smacked against stone and pages fluttered—three or four—revealing an pen-sketched image of the very man waking up. Lines moved like badly running ink for brief moments as Xiah finally got a view of the world before him—looking out at the man above him. His eyes narrowed noticeably before he stood up, colorless image walking towards Elliot while everything cleared. It was fuzzy and his limbs felt anguished with disuse; being contained in such an ill-fitting prison didn’t help with that. Which is likely why it was no surprise when the book became covered in an over-pouring of black smoke—something akin to thick smog from a one of those machines at a club. It spewed out and swept the room. If someone reached out to touch the book then nothing would be felt—gone. But the thick smoke that looked more like liquid than smoke would coil to one side of the room after it covered it in a three foot height—Elliot’s left and good five or so feet away from the elevated podium. It became solid slowly, appearing more like thickening blood and tar as it took on a sheen. The form of a man, sweeping black and red silk of a long coat that left his chest bare, and billowing black pants with leather boots remained. A soft thick curtain of straight black-brown hair fell just under his chest—tickled the hard plane of flesh there that was hairless and unblemished aside from a circular and jagged scar. The latter was slightly pinkened against his olive-pale skin.

Eye remained shut as he inhaled deeply and made a fist with one hand. Distinctly Asian features appeared almost peaceful for a moment—gratified and even sated; like one looked before waking up after a too long rest. And then he reached up, cracking his neck and flexing his jaw widely--making jewelry on his ears and wrists clank together; jemmed rings blinked in the reflective firelight on his long fingers. As he was finished with this his eyes opened slowly, focusing first on the one on the podium dressed in…. strange things.

It was impossible not feel Cedric’s dying magic all around him, withering like a tree being suffocated by parasite—unwilling to go and reaching for survival.

How long has it been…? he wondered as his lips twisted into a grim scowl. This he did not direct at the man on the podium, but rather at the room—at the etched runes he knew all too well even if this was the first time he’d seen this place with his own eyes.

At the same time he felt the tug of limited time—limited time before he was returned to a book once more. He didn’t have the luxury of focusing on his goals, not when he was free and could—possibly—accomplish them easily enough.

The one in the dark clothes that seemed to fit him too well to actually move in appeared European—a bit Anglo-Saxon; though, with far less hair on his face than he was accustomed to from those with facial hair in the English Kingdoms. Was this some new style? He didn't quite imagine how it was functional; then again, many of the adornemnts kings wore were far from functional.

As such, he decided to try speaking to him in one of two tongues he knew and what would now be called Old English (though he would not be aware of the latter). «I am Xiah,» he began in a accented and slightly deep tone of one who was from Asia—what would now be known as Korea more specifically, «Are you the one who has summoned me?» This he asked of Elliot.

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Blood Rites [Closed] - megs - 09-13-2015


<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span>    </span>The two men could only watch at the ritual completed itself. Elliot with masked amazement, and Decland with his best attempt at controlled tension. It didn't take long for the guardsman to position himself in front of the prince as an ethereal smoke began to fill the room, ready to pounce at the first sign of any danger. Decland could sense the magic. He could smell the bitter pull of the Umbra, and feel the small hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention. "Elliot, I-" Decland couldn't get a word of warning in before the prince shushed him with a distracted wave of his hand. Decland frowned, his displeasure obvious, but quieted nonetheless.</span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span>    </span>A wicked grin had spit across Elliot's tanned features as the book reacted to the ritual. Magic continued to flare around them, and Elliot reveled in it. Proud of his discovery, and of his apparent success. It was always satisfying to witness an endeavor reach a climax. </span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span>    </span>But eventually, the sorcerer realized that something was amiss. As the figure materialized Elliot was able to determine this was not the simple tome that he'd been led to believe. Oh, no this was something much more. And perhaps, something better. That however, didn't mean there was not an oracle that he would have to kill. He wouldn’t stand for being misled, in any context, and it wasn't hard to tell that he had been sent on an intended suicide mission. Unfortunately, for his sister's supporters, he was very hard to kill. </span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]    When the din had settled, when the smoke had all but </span>dissipated<span style="font-size:10pt;] and Elliot's grin had faded, he watched the apparition solidify from over Decland's broad shoulders. The guard-captain was still steadfast and hostile - separating his charge from the dungeon's newest occupant. Elliot tried to push him out of the way, to assume a position of power and authority, but the larger lynx wouldn't budge. When Xiah first spoke, a growl resonated, deep, through Decland's chest; one hand still held the torch that lit the room, as the other hovered over the hilt of the knife at his thigh. </span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span>    </span>Decland couldn’t understand the stranger, which was the cause of his defense, but Elliot could. Words long forgotten with an accent that didn't match. A singular, dark brow perked in curiosity, as he stepped around his bodyguard instead of continuing to fight his weight. </span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span>    </span>Elliot huffed. «It seems I am,» he answered, evenly, tugging the ends of his tailored jacket back into something resembling order. He didn't bother masking the surprise that laced his modulated tones. «I am Elliot Wilder. Prince Regent of the Veridian Isles and this is my guardsman, Decland,» he gestured idly to the captain when he spoke his name. «I must admit, this is not what I was expecting.»</span>[/align] <div style="text-align:justify;]
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RE: Blood Rites [Closed] - Blade - 11-21-2015

Brown-black orbs narrowed on the growling beast of a man-creature that stepped in front of other. Was he expected to be afraid of such a show? Of such a being posturing in front of him? Internally, he was rolling his eyes; on the outside his mouth slowly curled into a smile. His lashes lowered further—casually wrought with something sinister and sensual, perhaps a little wanting. It was as though he was saying, ‘I dare you.’

Instead, he said in clipped tones laden with accent, «Have you the intention of drawing that? Please do.» And then he snorted, looking to the side just so as if to say the other man wasn’t worth the ounce of power his pinky finger contained. His hands moved to rest on his hips, in the process drawing the silken fabric of his jacket back and revealing more of his abdomen.

Soon enough, however, he turned to look back at the other man as he introduced himself and stepped around the guard—Decland, apparently. His brows rose, thin black lines arching curiously as he spoke. A measure of relief swept through him that he could be understood. He was not sure how much time had passed, but it had to be a great deal that he could not recognize what Elliot was wearing.

«I can’t imagine I am,» he murmured as his brows lowered and his schooled his features. The Veridian Isles? Ah... yes. He had a vague recollection of such a place. Lynxs. The brat guard... he should have known. He laughed within his own mind, but revealed nothing of the humor externally.

So, a Prince Regent... A man of temporary power then, but much better than he could have hoped. Then again, anyone who had managed to get past Cedric’s wards and traps was...well, not impressive by Xiah’s standards, but certainly nothing—no one—that should be overlooked. Beyond that, he had managed to figure out how to untrap Xiah from the book—no small feat.

The Page gave a small sigh through his nose, more of an exhale—something mixed with vexation and resignation. «I don’t have much time before I revert back to my previous form. In order to continue to exist in this manner I must create a contract with you. Then we can discuss what it is you want from me, and I you.

«Assuming, that is, you summoned me with intention using the power I possess for your own means.» Were it in his ability to force their tie, he would. But Cedric had been irritatingly careful in how he ...remade him.

Still, he had his own goals—questions. This man could very well help him achieve all of that. One did not knock on the door of the damned so carelessly, after all.

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RE: Blood Rites [Closed] - megs - 01-02-2016

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RE: Blood Rites [Closed] - Blade - 01-16-2016

Xiah merely smirked at the guard’s next reaction to him. He could not understand him, that the Page knew. Because if he could understand him, then he would have already drawn the blade; that is, if his current actions were anything to go on. When Elliot gave him a warning Xiah refocused his attention. It was not entirely easy to understand, but some of it sounded the same. He really would need to get his hands on a few current language books.

While time was not exactly a luxury at this time, he did take a few brief moments to look over the Prince Regent. Xiah was accustomed to men with and without facial hair. In his native Silla body hair was nonexistant... usually. But in his step-father’s and brother’s homeland it was generally too much or some. Not all men had long hair and not all had short—certainly not as cleanly styled as Elliot’s. It wasn’t jarring, but it was... different. Clean. He couldn’t deny that the man was certainly something to look at—pleasing all the same to behold. Different, but not unattractive.

Which, in retrospect, would make certain things a bit easier.

At the same time Xiah wasn’t unattentive in his attention. He knew flattery when he heard it. He knew what a man sounded like when he said exactly what someone wanted to hear when they wanted to hear it. Xiah had done enough of that sort of manipulation in his own time.

He was smirking now, coy and almost boyish as he drew his hands behind his back in a position of what some might intemperate as command or confidence. This occurred even as Elliot moved close to him.

«Were all magical contracts so easy we would be suffocated with wizards, mages, witches, and warlocks,» Xiah scoffed playfully in reply. «Blood is not required for this, nor sacrifice,» he felt the need to explain, waving a hand beside him. «My maker had... an unusual sense of the old mystics—stories.

«A kiss,» he said simply. «A symbolism of the blinding.» He paused and rubbed his own chin, brow knitting in thought. He should explain further he supposed. No point in getting off on the wrong foot with someone who could potentially deny him his desires with a simple no. «It binds my life to yours, in a sense. My existence is contingent on your own. Without it I eventually run out of power and revert back to the book. You act as a tether to this realm for me, a tie. But the binding takes nothing from you.» Too good to be true? Perhaps. But Cedric had been too much of a damned goody goody to ever go the easy route and use dark magics for a revival of his sort. He supposed he should thankful to him for something, but that would require kindness. And there was nothing within that remained to be kind when it came to Cedric or Xiah’s other siblings.

«Does that sound sufficient, my dear prince?»

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RE: Blood Rites [Closed] - megs - 08-10-2016

Elliot resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The gesture would have been childish and unsightly, but mostly it would have put an expression on his face. Just the thought of his guard and the Page instigating one another like children wore his patience thin. Maybe in a few days they would be at each other's throats; that at the least could be entertaining.

The warlock was aware he was being watched, considered, by the one he had freed. After slipping his hands into his pockets, he began to pace in a steady rhythm. Only a few steps back and forth. He seemed to be thinking in tandem with Xiah's watching.

A kiss. The prince wanted to frown, but he resisted. More than a contract could be retrieved from a kiss. Elliot mentally weighed the pros and cons, and whether he should trust the creature before him. Xiah continued to explain the consequences of the rites, and Elliot couldn't help but to note that it all sounded very suspicious. He didn't even know for sure that the knowledge Xiah contained would be useful to him, or if he would just be another dead end in a series of wild goose chases.

On the other hand it was impossible to refute that Xiah himself was an interesting trinket to add to any collection. He hummed in thought, but otherwise didn't fidget. It was mostly the sound of breathing that filled the chamber, thanks to the temporary silence he had placed upon Decland. Even though he was unable to understand their conversation, the guard would no doubt be voicing all manner of negative concerns.

Removing hands from his pockets, Elliot continued to think, letting his eyes fall over Xiah, observing and critiquing all the while. Perhaps, it was a stall. If time was on his side he may as well use it to his advantage.

«Sufficient,» he repeated, a smirk pulling at a corner of his mouth. «I suppose it will do. For now.» At the very least it would allow them to leave this dreary cavern and take up space somewhere a bit more comfortable. Perhaps, a visit home was in order. In another lifetime it would be possible to suggest he was homesick. He ascended the few remaining steps, moving closer to Xiah and offering his hand to the page, palm up and nonthreatening, as if asking for a dance. Pleasantries in exchange for pleasantness.

«A kiss it shall be, then.»

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RE: Blood Rites [Closed] - Blade - 09-14-2016

There was no way for Xiah to know what Elliot was thinking, but the pacing was quite telling—so was the humming. He could only hazard to assume the prince regent was considering his offer. There was the possibility that he was weighing the pros and cons of something else entirely, or, trying to confuse The Page; though, Xiah doubted it. The offer would sound too good to be true even to Xiah’s ears, and, were Elliot anything like himself—he supposed he might be—then Xiah would be surprised at a lack of hesitation. However... the seeming lack of knowledge did give him pause... but not visibly. It made him wonder, once again, how much had passed since he’d been imprisoned. Perhaps his brain was finally starting to settle, to force him to really notice things beyond a change in fashion in those present when compared against when he’d last been awake.

Had Cedric, with all his great affinity as a man of the mystical arts, been forgotten—dead? Then what of Rhys, Bard, and Christian? How much had the world changed that a man—who seemed to have an interest in the dark arts, who had the capacity to free him—would have no knowledge of The Pages? Had they all been forgotten? While it was true that in his own time the average lay worker knew nothing of such things, it would have been laughable for someone of magical means to have not heard of The Pages.

How much time had passed? This he questioned again as he glanced at the dying runes on the wall—evaluating them more closely with narrowed eyes. Their glow had diminished to the point of darkness. They barely provided enough light to see, wouldn’t on their own.

If Cedric were dead... he needed to reconsider a few things. Later. For now he needed to secure his own tangibility in the world.

His gaze slid back to Elliot as he responded—finally—and came closer to him with an open hand. Xiah exhaled through his nose, smiling easily in what could be called a practiced expression. He took a step forward in kind, accepting Elliot’s hand. But even as he slid his grip gently into the other man’s, as he invaded his space in a way that was unavoidable for what was to come, his other free hand came to rest on Elliot’s cheek—fingertips just barely sliding over and ear and into dark strands. He paused only for a moment, lips inches away, speaking quietly enough for only Elliot to hear.

«And so it begins.»

Then dark lashes fell, curtaining darker eyes, as he pressed his lips to Elliot’s. As he began, the pressure both gentle and soft, tongue licking once across the seam of the other man’s mouth—seeking entrance, the weaving began. Like an invisible kaleidoscope of a thousand threads, he could feel it. Something old, ancient, and something he’d never had the pleasure of feeling before. Cedric had been, after all, his one and only former tie to the tangible world. And that ritual had not required as much.

But as the binding began it also occurred to Xiah that the man in his grasp was one who held more power than the mere title of regent. He’d been able to sense some of it before; however, now it became a bit more clear. But then, Elliot would be able to sense that about him as well—a dangerous creature, one with whom it would not be wise to underestimate.

The Page had not chosen unwisely. Perhaps there had been some benefit to Cedric making his prison practically impossible to get to. In the end it meant the most viable and powerful candidate would free him.

He embraced the irony.

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RE: Blood Rites [Closed] - megs - 09-29-2016

Elliot’s expression remained impassive as Xiah brushed fingers across his face. Digits skirted across the shell of his ear, into his hair and if he was at all off put by how quickly the distance was closed between them he didn’t show it. The warlock had to lift his eyes to hold Xiah’s gaze and he was petty enough to note that the height difference annoyed him; slight as it were. He still held the other man’s hand, and was unsure of what to do with his other. It went to the small of Xiah’s back. The barest of touches, mostly hovering, even though it seemed the most natural place to rest.

The prince tried not to focus on how ominous the other man’s words sounded to his ears. It did begin, but he didn’t even know what it was. Not yet. He’d followed this fool’s errand and found the tome he sought, but also more than that. Elliot had had a plan when there was only a book with untold mysteries involved, but now there was a man and a contract upsetting all of his careful strategy.

The kiss caught him off guard. Constantly lost in his own thoughts and only pulled back into the moment at hand by the press of a mouth on his. The instantaneous swell of power was undeniable, and Xiah’s magic buzzed against his lips. He could feel it in his fingertips and it resounded in his chest, where the page was pressed against the line of his body. Elliot was want to deny the press of Xiah’s tongue, ultimately uncomfortable with the power dynamic. Because, for the time being, he was not in control of it.

Unwilling to dash his efforts before they’d begun, Elliot’s lips parted, and the kiss deepened with little prompting. This book, this man, this power that he held in his hands was a new and unique feeling; more treacherous than any magic he’d pursued in the past.

He could practically feel Decland fidgeting behind him, uncomfortable with some aspect of the display. The swell of power left Elliot hyper-vigilant of his surroundings, even the smallest of projections from his guard distracting him from his task at hand. The seal of their mouths was broken with a shuddering inhale; entirely more enamored with the waning sorcery than the kiss itself.

«And so it is done,» he murmured, pulling away from Xiah all at once. Hand immediately went to the lapels of his jacket. Green eyes skirted across the lithe form in from of him before flickering away with the turn of his head. “Decland prepare to leave.” The next he said to Xiah. «Is there anything else in this forsaken prison that would be worth our time?»

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RE: Blood Rites [Closed] - Blade - 09-30-2016

He had to give the price regent credit. If the act of Xiah invading his personal space and pressing his person upon him—his mouth of all things—bothered Elliot, he wasn’t giving it away. This wasn’t a test, and Xiah wouldn’t say he wasn’t the ‘testing’ type; he could be, given the right situation and leverage. However, Elliot’s stoicism in the face of untested power—insofar as the other man might be concerned, because he truly seemed to know nothing of Xiah or The Pages—was... well... admirable didn’t seem like the right word. Impressive? Attractive? Perhaps there wasn’t one that encompassed all of meaning he required.

And it told The Page two things:

One, he dealt in high stakes, even if the possibility of payoff was limited or had little guarantee; and two, he was willing to do nigh on anything to accomplish his own goals, whatever they were. It was always possible that Elliot was simply too full of himself or stupid. The former could be true based on what he’d witnessed thus far, but Xiah didn’t even entertain the thought that this creature was stupid.

Interesting.

He was unable to forgo smiling a ridiculously wicked smile when the other man allowed him to deepen the kiss. Hubris was reckless for a wizard, but he just didn’t give a damn and didn’t want to when it was impossible to deny his own nature. Thus, when Elliot allowed him as much, Xiah’s fingers slipped further—curling along the other man’s scalp just so because he could. But as quickly as it had begun, it was over. A pity, really; especially given the way the prince regent inhaled—breath shaken. Xiah exhaled in the same moment, his smile now muted, but devious all the same—looking a little drunk on power while at the same time knowing something else entirely.

He smirked, eyes half hooded, as Elliot briefly gave him a once over. The Page met his eyes for scant second before Elliot turned to his guard dog. As he prince regent spoke to the beast Xiah took a moment to lift his hand; black fabric slipped down his sleeve, gathering like a curtain at his elbow as he eyed the appendage. Fingers uncurled as his gaze beheld it with satisfaction.

Power. His.

As Elliot’s life force was tethered his own, as it was now bound, he felt gratified with the knowledge that all was as it should be. Even as Elliot spoke to him he did not seem to listen. Rather, he spread his hand outward and looked through the slips of his spreads fingers at the dying runes on the walls. That same power suffused into him, releasing outward to do as he bade. Slowly, the blue-white runes on the wall changed—became brighter while at the same time becoming a dark red that lit the room far better than Cedric’s waning light magic. He exhaled through his nose as he lowered his hand, gratified with both the small taste and a flex of his muscles.

The corner of his mouth quirked as he met Elliot’s gaze finally. «Nothing you have not already obtained, Elliot.»

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RE: Blood Rites [Closed] - megs - 11-01-2016

Decland frowned at Elliot, resisting the urge to shrug his shoulders like a pouting child. He didn’t know what exactly he was supposed to do to 'prepare for their leave' when he had not the magic to make it so. Inherently, he knew that the warlock just liked finding reasons to order him around. Showing off for his new toy, he’d bet. “Ready when you are, Lord Wilder,” was Decland’s lofty response. The Lynx considered, if he were lucky, the new toy would keep the prince regent occupied long enough for Decland to have some much needed time away from him. And the decrepit and dangerous dungeons that he oft refused to traverse himself.

“Excellent,” Elliot declared with a clap of his hands. The words pertaining to both the Page and the guardsmen. Grinning, he moved closer to Xiah, but only enough to put a firm hand against the middle of the other man’s back. With a careless wave of his free hand he opened a portal.

The magic resembled a tear, as if the space around it were simply cloth someone had pulled a knife through. Teleportation was easy enough magic for Elliot and his two-hundred and fifty years of practice. A view of their destination shimmered in pieces on the other side.

Decland, tired of waiting for the warlock and the book to finish whatever it was they were doing, disappeared into the portal without a second glance; eager to be home. Or at least back in Laine, which would be home enough.

«Teleportation magic,» Elliot explained to Xiah, as that firm hand on his back ushered them both closer to it. «I’m sure you’re familiar. I’ll be taking us back to my home, which you’ll find is quite the upgrade from this damp hole.» As he spoke, he did not exactly give Xiah enough time to accommodate the information of their aforementioned travel were he not familiar with portals. Leading him towards and through the tear all the while. Elliot was not known to be a patient man.

The Wilder duchy was grand and expansive, which befit a man who himself was grand and expansive. Almost needlessly so. It was a meshing of ancient, as it was still formed of the same stones it had been molded in hundred of years ago, and modern given its electricity and lavish decor. It was nestled on the largest plot of land in Laine, the third largest of the Veridian Isles. It was the most northern of the islands; a boreal forest that was covered in a blanket of snow of varying thickness year round. It was quite cozy on the inside however, if one had a taste for the extravagant.

Elliot removed his hand from Xiah’s back, moving further into the room that he’d brought them to. The room functioned as an office, circular with a large cherry-stained desk in the middle. The outer rings of the room were decorated with various magical trinkets, on shelves and behind glass. It was a museum curator’s dream; if they dreamed of dark and often dangerous magics.

The warlock pushed fingers through his hair and unbuttoned his suit jacket as he moved towards the door, hanging half-ajar from Decland’s hasty retreat. Throwing it open, Elliot glared down the empty hall. The whole of the castle was kept in check by a full staff that was almost never seen lest the fall victim to Elliot’s temper.

All save for one.

“Eden!” he barked, and his voice carried across mosaic stones. It was that one word, a name, simple enough that would bring him exactly what he needed.

Closing the door once more, he turned to readdress Xiah. Pulling off the jacket he carelessly let it fall onto one of the chairs in front of the desk as he skirted around it to sit in the larger chair behind it. Steepling fingers together, he assessed Xiah, much as he had been since their initial meeting. «Why don’t you tell me about yourself?» he suggested.

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RE: Blood Rites [Closed] - Blade - 03-15-2017

Xiah quirked a brow as the two men exchanged words, words he still could not understand. That would need to be rectified as soon as humanly possible. He did not enjoy being kept in the dark, even if the topics of discussion were no more interesting watching paint dry.

He didn’t quite startle when Elliot placed a hand on his back, but he couldn’t say he’d been expecting it either. And, he wasn’t certain, just then, if it bothered him at all. He was not a man accustomed to being led about, much less ordered. He did not want to set some sort of precedence the prince regent would come to expect.

But he didn’t feel inclined to linger in Cedric’s cell either, so stepped forward regardless, right through the tear and just barely out of Elliot’s reach.

He couldn’t say he was impressed with the show of magics; teleportation was—had been in his time at least—simple enough to learn. Youngling wizards and mages acquired the skill as one of the many firsts—usually for escape measures to ensure safety. Who knew how things were done now... whenever now was.

«I am,» was all he said of the magics finally as he gazed about the room, observing and taking in every curious thing. There was lighting... but he could not feel the usual power humming from any of it. He eyes narrowed at that, wondering if something were wrong with his ability to sense. But no... that wasn’t true. He could sense magic in the room, just not from the light sources.

He didn’t jump or turn around when Elliot shouted for someone named Eden; at least he assumed it was a name and not a command. This thought rolled around in his head as he stepped towards a window, brushed curtains aside, and looked out at the snow-covered exterior. He only looked towards Elliot, one hand on his hip, as the other man asked after him.

«First... I should like to know when it is I have awoken,» he said instead. «For a magic user of your caliber not to know of the Pages...» he mused aloud, lips quirking only slightly, looking back out the window. «Much time has passed, I imagine.» Then, perhaps, he would answer Elliot. That is—if—the other man told him what it was he wanted from him. «And then I shall require a book on your language.» Because that was going to drive him mad if not dealt with quickly.

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