Promise You Won't Be Mad

This is a little awkward. (Duvalyon Hellebore)

(This is a thread from Mizahar's fantasy role playing forums. Why don't you register today? This message is not shown when you are logged in. Come roleplay with us, it's fun!)

A surreal cavern city inhabited by Symenestra where stones glow and streets are reams of silk. Cocoon like structures hang between stalactites and cascade over limestone flows in organic and eerie arabesques. Without a Symenestra willing to escort you, entrance is impossible.

Promise You Won't Be Mad

Postby Laszlo on March 6th, 2012, 9:12 am

Duvalyon's explanation of their relationship, as it were, didn't help lessen Laszlo's confusion. Think of me like family, he'd said. Despite having no blood relations in the strictest technical sense, it wasn't as if Laszlo didn't understand the concept.

Over these past two years, however, the difficult associations Laszlo had formed with others had left him disillusioned and cynical. Friendships formed were usually conditional; Seven and Victor became tied to Laszlo through a financial agreement. Siofra was an Ethaefal, and possibly the only reason he'd paid her any attention. Ifran was always conveniently present, though there had been the potential for something deeper and stronger. Though some of these relationships were dearer than others, Laszlo had thought of none of them like family. That concept had become something more like fantasy.

For Duvalyon to insinuate himself as such was deeply flattering, though Laszlo was not about to say that much. The source of his confusion wasn't about the notion of family, but rather what Laszlo had done to deserve that level of inclusion in Duvalyon's life. Really, the Ethaefal had almost literally just fallen into the doctor's lap, and then followed him around like a lost puppy.

Then again, there had also been Dor. It was amusing, if not absolutely ridiculous, to think of Duvalyon as having an emotional soft spot for azo strays. Laszlo almost laughed, then.

Laszlo's question remained, but he sensed that Duvalyon had no wish to continue clarifying what he meant. The Ethaefal decided to simply accept it, appreciate it, and move on.

"Alvadas gets under one's skin," Laszlo explained, as if Duvalyon had never been there. The Ethaefal felt a juvenile need to defend his choice of friends, remembering that not all of them had tried to kill or injure him. "Even those who immigrate there become part of the illusions. The greatest one being that anyone there is trustworthy." Including Laszlo. Not even he was immune to the hex of Ionu's city. Everywhere else in the world, he was Ethaefal. In Alvadas, he became another lie wrapped in a glittering enigma. Even when Abalia decided to love him, he became her killer. Hopefully, now that they had escaped the Gaping Maw, the world would regain a bit of logical consistency.

A long, slender hand reached out and carefully lifted the cup that Duvalyon had served him. Lifting it to his face, Laszlo sniffed at it once before taking a tentative sip. He allowed the flavor to mature on his tongue before an eyebrow flicked upward in apparent approval. The flavor was enjoyable, and more importantly it was alcoholic, but just about anything tasted delightful on an empty stomach. He was sure he didn't want to know what was in it. "Thank you," he said simply, holding Duvalyon's eyes for a passing moment before taking a longer drink. He hoped the Symenestra understood that he was grateful for more than just the drink.

Duvalyon seemed to be avoiding referring to Abalia by name, which didn't escape Laszlo's notice. That was the physican's job, to avoid humanizing or sympathizing with his patients. Although he understood, his indifference still stung. Laszlo was consoled by the knowledge that Abalia was not by any means simple, and fully expected that she could disarm Duvalyon the same way she had done to him. The thought came and passed to defend her, quickly realizing there was no need. The doctor would see her for himself. Although…

"I will. Don't worry. She's been unimpressed with my friends so far." And family, he thought warmly, then felt childish for doing so. He took a sip of from his glass. "Though I'd be cautious about using pain. If you aren't careful, she may end up more fond of you than she is of me."

The trip to Lhavit sounded mercilessly less grueling and eternal than months-long "adventure" to and from Alvadas. Laszlo nodded, relieved. He was already growing very comfortable with the idea of traveling there, despite knowing next to nothing about the place. The Cribellum would probably offer some information, if it was that close.

Duvalyon's question struck him by surprise, though it shouldn't have. Laszlo cringed, as if he'd swallowed something bitter, then looked down. Duvalyon had forced Laszlo to abandon the casual reverie of ignorance. As long as he pretended that Abalia wasn't carrying what was potentially a death sentence inside her, he found it much easier to operate. "Um." Sharply adorned fingertips felt at his forehead as he tried to think back to early Winter. "Since the… the eleventh, I think. Of Winter. You wouldn't know it, if you looked at her."

Goddess. That had been such a beautiful night. She had been so stubborn and offended, and Laszlo had been so stupidly awkward about the topic of monogamy. All this seemed like such an unfair price for the passion they'd both rightly deserved.
In the daytime I am one of Syna's fallen.
At night, I am Symenestra.
User avatar
Laszlo
Team Imass!
 
Posts: 846
Words: 635811
Joined roleplay: September 3rd, 2011, 3:36 am
Location: Lhavit
Race: Ethaefal
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Scrapbook
Medals: 5
Featured Character (1) Artist (1)
Overlored (1) Extreme Scrapbooker (1)
2011 Mizahar NaNo Winner (1)

Promise You Won't Be Mad

Postby Duvalyon Hellebore on March 7th, 2012, 7:42 am

When Laszlo suggested his companion had a taste for pain, Duvalyon crooked an eyebrow but said nothing. The trait did not impress or titillate him. If they enjoyed pain, it took away the savor of bestowing it. And if he did not intend to hurt or shame someone, he couldn't imagine any delight at being begged to do so.

If pain gave her pleasure, he thought, she would be in ecstasy in two seasons time.

The subject of birth and surrogates shifted Duvalyon's mind to a more vicious place. Before the Symenestra's thoughts could darken further, he was saved by pragmatism and Laszlo's answer.

"The Eleventh?" A quick calculation, "Then it's likely she will carry the child til the end."

The surrogates usually lost the children only within the first season. A disappointment to all but the surrogate. Their relief did not endure long. Duvalyon would find them in his care again soon after. Symenestra were resolute, if anything.

His observation brought up a new branch of the situation. Duvalyon looked into his glass as if it was a scrying mirror. His question was asked in a casual hum, hiding the importance of the answer to him.

"What is to be done with the child?"

He had never heard of an Ethaefal child, though Duvalyon understood there was much of the world he had not seen. Instinct told him this child would be a stranger to both its parents. Born a race they had only tenuous communion with. Would it mean as much to them as it would to his people? Or would it hold a hidden horror for Laszlo? Especially since it would likely be the mother's undoing.

Duvalyon thought of his own birth mother, or his ghostly idea of her. He wondered how much she loathed him in his first moments and her last. Somewhere her family sharpened knives of hatred and cursed him without knowing his name.

He almost smiled, enjoying the furor he caused merely by existing. Not many people had the distinction of being so thoroughly despised so young. It usually took a lifetime to build resentment to a murderous pitch. At only twenty-three, he could think of at least fifteen living, rational people who'd gleefully stab him in the neck. Well, his Symenestra mother had always assured her brood they were special.
Image
User avatar
Duvalyon Hellebore
Team Wrenmae. Bad guys unite.
 
Posts: 240
Words: 141574
Joined roleplay: June 10th, 2009, 11:11 pm
Race: Symenestra
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Scrapbook
Medals: 2
Featured Thread (1) Donor (1)

Promise You Won't Be Mad

Postby Laszlo on March 8th, 2012, 2:14 am

The child. Laszlo scratched at his hairline, forehead still nested in his fingers. A stray thumb played at the lip of his cup, pushing around a droplet of moisture leftover from the swipe of his lip. Twin, dull amethysts pretended to be amused by it. His brow furrowed in thought, but it looked more as if he were in pain.

Laszlo could hear, in his memories, the shrieking of newborn Symenestra. Tiny killers, skin flushed and dark from exertion, who turned on their own birth mothers for their first meal. The Ethaefal personally had only seen it happen a handful of times, always at the far end of the room while suppressing the urge to faint or vomit. The true Symenestra were unperturbed, even looking on it with a deep sense of fraternity; they had all began that way.

Abalia wouldn't die that way. The child. There was no child, as far as Laszlo was concerned. Only a cancer, slowly eating away at the one person he had grown to need, in need of a cure. Admitting that Abalia's condition meant there was now a third person to consider in all this, was to accept the gruesome fate that awaited her come the beginning of Fall. To acknowledge the murderer that would claw its way out from her decaying husk.

Would the infant even be Symenestra? It could be human, or a small, perfect Ethaefal with tiny horns budding in its temples. It didn't make sense to Laszlo for Syna, or Leth, to grant the ability to reproduce to their ascended children. Then again, it hadn't been Syna's fallen son who had held Abalia that night, but the Widow he'd once been.

Gray lips parted to prepare a reply, but hung silent for another moment of thought. There was a feeling of déjà vu that cautioned Laszlo to choose his words carefully. Family or not, Duvalyon was still Symenestra, and his people were dear to him.

"I don't know," he admitted finally. Laszlo lifted his cup to take another drink, but stopped when the smell of it made his stomach churn, so it merely hovered near his face. "I haven't discussed it at length yet with Abalia, but we have touched on it. It's some sort of cruel irony that she has given more thought to becoming a mother than I have toward becoming…" the words clung stubbornly to the skin of his throat. "… A father," he mumbled, then took a drink. "It's only mid Spring. There is plenty of time to make arrangements." Whatever those would be, whether it involved Laszlo buying a pram and a bassinet, or leaving it wrapped in a basket at someone's doorstep.

If, a cold, angry thought rose to the surface not for the first time, the creature was even born.

Laszlo finished off his cup, setting on the table as he rose to his feet. This entire conversation had to end now, before he lost the fresh contents of his stomach. "If you don't mind, I would rather discuss this later. I only arrived in Kalinor a bell or two ago. I'm very tired, and Abalia is alone at the Meadows. The mercenaries I hired are with her but I did not pay them to watch her. I don't mean to be stubborn, but I'd like to ensure her immediate safety before I think about this any more."

The false Symenestra rolled his head toward the home's opening near the ceiling, implying his sense of urgency, then turned back to Duvalyon. Laszlo's expression became grim, instead of tired. The dull lavender of his eyes sharpened severely. "Is there anything else, before I bring her here?" The bitterness of Laszlo's question added what he failed to articulate. Is there anything else I should know that you don't want her to hear?
In the daytime I am one of Syna's fallen.
At night, I am Symenestra.
User avatar
Laszlo
Team Imass!
 
Posts: 846
Words: 635811
Joined roleplay: September 3rd, 2011, 3:36 am
Location: Lhavit
Race: Ethaefal
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Scrapbook
Medals: 5
Featured Character (1) Artist (1)
Overlored (1) Extreme Scrapbooker (1)
2011 Mizahar NaNo Winner (1)

Promise You Won't Be Mad

Postby Duvalyon Hellebore on March 8th, 2012, 3:46 am

For the first time since they met, Duvalyon laughed.

The sound had all the shadow and texture of his speaking voice but was marbled with sly amusement.

It was his instinctive reaction to the sudden bitterness from his visitor.
"I should probably keep a better face," the Symenestra admitted as the sound diminished to a chuckle.
"But unprovoked tempers tend to entertain me."

Duvalyon leaned back in his chair and thoughtfully tapped a claw on the table.
"Perhaps you think my race is the root of your difficulties and it is easy to transfer the sentiment to me."

Suddenly and smoothly, the medic was on his feet.
"Do as you like, I am immune. I can only hope it cheers you."

Despite a lingering quirk to his mouth, there was sincerity in his phrase. Duvalyon wasn't the tortured soul, he'd let the besieged Ethaefal flail a little. For now, that was. It did neither of them good to let a morose temper go unchallenged interminably.
Image
User avatar
Duvalyon Hellebore
Team Wrenmae. Bad guys unite.
 
Posts: 240
Words: 141574
Joined roleplay: June 10th, 2009, 11:11 pm
Race: Symenestra
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Scrapbook
Medals: 2
Featured Thread (1) Donor (1)

Promise You Won't Be Mad

Postby Laszlo on March 8th, 2012, 4:04 am

He laughed.

Oh, well, glad this was all so very comical to him.

"Caetszo," Laszlo hissed as his bitterness flared, his lip curling and briefly baring a fang. It was a gesture he would not even consider performing if the sky was presently dominated by Syna. This was something ingrained in his Symenestra mannerisms. Though his temper was understandably short, pushed to the edge by ungodly amounts of simultaneous stress and physical exhaustion, Laszlo was vaguely aware that he may be prone to being irrationally irritable. It was really just a matter of his not caring.

The poignant meaning of the insult did not go without Laszlo's notice, but with some afterthought, he decided that he didn't mind. Duvalyon wouldn't be laughing if he were the one waiting to give birth to his venomous ender.

To Symenestra men, the world must have been such a pitiable place, rather than terrifyingly deadly.

With a light bound off the floor and a disturbing shuffle of long limbs, Laszlo brought himself up the side of the wall and to the opening again, disquieting even himself with his inhuman movements. Before pulling himself through, Laszlo hesitated. He hung there, defying gravity relatively effortlessly while his clawed hands and heels did most of the work. Part of it was practicing; he wanted to be better at using the ropes in Kalinor. Mostly, what Duvalyon said was bothering him.

Despite what the medic thought, Laszlo hadn't once blamed the Symenestra for their destructive nature.

"It's my race, too."
In the daytime I am one of Syna's fallen.
At night, I am Symenestra.
User avatar
Laszlo
Team Imass!
 
Posts: 846
Words: 635811
Joined roleplay: September 3rd, 2011, 3:36 am
Location: Lhavit
Race: Ethaefal
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Scrapbook
Medals: 5
Featured Character (1) Artist (1)
Overlored (1) Extreme Scrapbooker (1)
2011 Mizahar NaNo Winner (1)

Promise You Won't Be Mad

Postby Duvalyon Hellebore on March 8th, 2012, 5:35 am

The severity of Laszlo's insult made Duvalyon's indulgent look fade. There was nothing to be read anymore in his visage. It was a body part made only for mechanics, no more expressive than a shin or elbow.
He followed the rapidly fleeing Ethaefal up the wall and onto the ceiling, and listened to his final protest.

When Laszlo professed oneness with the Symenestran race, Duvalyon looked away. When the Ethaefal felt the dread of mortality, the burden of the harvest and the fealty of blood, even then he should hesitate to make that assertion. There were other Symenestra Duvalyon would even like to strip the privilege of brotherhood from.
Three years of living and Laszlo claimed to achieve what even Duvalyon still struggled to fulfill.

Laszlo was of the race, once, but that season was over. The Orthilia web could testify to that. The Ethaefal would taste the some of the race's pains, but he would not drink the whole cup.

And why would something so miraculous want to masquerade as one of them? It was a poignant kind of mockery. Duvalyon was never so reckless as to say he understood the tragedy of the fallen kind.

"If you were my virsas you would never utter that term to me in earnest," Duvalyon's voice was low and taut, "It is because you are not that I am not incensed."

The Symenestra let the air thicken between them, while Duvalyon's pride and cynicism jeered at him for plucking up a stray and giving it the privileges of blood.
Image
User avatar
Duvalyon Hellebore
Team Wrenmae. Bad guys unite.
 
Posts: 240
Words: 141574
Joined roleplay: June 10th, 2009, 11:11 pm
Race: Symenestra
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Scrapbook
Medals: 2
Featured Thread (1) Donor (1)

Promise You Won't Be Mad

Postby Laszlo on March 8th, 2012, 7:21 am

It was as if the air in the room had grown colder, sucking away the warmth Laszlo had thought he felt moments earlier. Duvalyon's words stung, as they often did, and at first the Ethaefal waited for it to fade into cold logic. Usually, or at least as far as he recalled, he could simply absorb the medic's criticisms and move on. But things had changed. Alvadas had tested his sanity and Abalia was testing his heart. Laszlo had no more patience to withstand further abuse.

When the sting didn't fade, he let go of the wall and dropped to the floor again. His balance was imperfect as he landed, and he stumbled backward briefly. The drop before had been luck, but Laszlo's grace was not guaranteed. He had not lived a childhood of climbing walls and furniture and repeatedly falling as he learned to understand his lissome body and long limbs.

A hot, sickening well of anger grew in the pit of Laszlo's chest, and he knew immediately that it was not entirely for Duvalyon. A million tiny reasons were breeding in his head, why he should hate the Symenestra sitting so casually in front of him, but it was not him Laszlo was angry with.

At the very least, he was glad to rid the maddening smirk from Duvalyon's smug, ashen face.

"I'm tired," Laszlo repeated, perhaps as an excuse for poor judgment, or a future apology. The heat in his eyes had dissipated, and now he looked more desperate than anything else. "Since I have fallen, I have tried so hard, and repeatedly failed to replace the fraternity and the peace that I've lost. I'm rewarded with resentment, expulsion, and corpses. Even when I met my 'brothers' in Alvadas, there was only emptiness and despair. I have taken a life, Duvalyon, and it was Ethaefal. I watched the light drain out of her eyes while she stared at me."

It was the first time Laszlo had openly confessed to his accidental murder, without conveniently omitting information that would incriminate him. Self-defense was the justification Laszlo claimed when his compatriots at the Sun and Stars tavern had eventually dug the truth out of him. Yet, while he remembered fearing for his life while he struggled to wrest a dagger from Siofra's hands, he also remembered when his rage had mounted and his arm had thrust forward.

He paused, taking a moment to glance around the room and all its little decorations, the nooks in the wall, jars of viscous liquid and the gentle glow of opalgloams. "Here I feel the pull of the brothers and sisters I knew before I felt the warm of Syna's realm. Even though sunlight will never touch this place, Kalinor will always feel like home to me. As long as I am alive, and that may be for a very long time, the Symenestra will be a part of me. I may be azo to you, and everyone who looks like you, I may no longer belong to this cavern, but in my heart you are still my brethren. Give me that, Duvalyon. Allow me denial, if that's how you see it. I need it, if I'm not to hate my own offspring. My son or daughter, who will slowly devour the woman I tried so hard not to love."

Laszlo inhaled, suddenly feeling light. He took several steps back, placing a clawed hand to the wall as he readied himself to leave again. "You are the closest thing to a brother I may ever have. I may not be Symenestra, but your race is still precious to me. No one's cynicism, not even mine, will take that from me."
In the daytime I am one of Syna's fallen.
At night, I am Symenestra.
User avatar
Laszlo
Team Imass!
 
Posts: 846
Words: 635811
Joined roleplay: September 3rd, 2011, 3:36 am
Location: Lhavit
Race: Ethaefal
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Scrapbook
Medals: 5
Featured Character (1) Artist (1)
Overlored (1) Extreme Scrapbooker (1)
2011 Mizahar NaNo Winner (1)

Promise You Won't Be Mad

Postby Duvalyon Hellebore on March 9th, 2012, 1:33 am

"Precious are we?" Duvalyon asked.

"Interesting."

The word was colorless as his now infuriatingly smooth expression. One would feel they could say anything and it meant nothing to him, because they meant nothing to him. Words had no more semantic power than the slap and hiss of breaking surf.

He was not wholly convinced by Laszlo's argument. Duvalyon had never seen a Symenestra in Kalinor so uneasy with its own body or wary of its Web. Laszlo was a new creature, but was struggling to live as such. Duvalyon wondered if Kalinor and his kind were the default of a weary Ethaefal instead of an active allegiance.

Perhaps Laszlo believed he valued the race, but wherever it cast a shadow on his happiness it risked rejection. Time would tell if his reactions would become habit, or if his hopeful ideals would overcome the gall of inevitable disappointment.

"It seems your sorrows are many and varied," Duvalyon announced as he turned to gather the glasses from him table.

But then the Symenestra wavered a moment, reconsidering the whole of the conversation. A motion for the glass hovered mid-air, before resuming at a more languid pace.

"Leave, Laszlo."
He had turned to face the Ethaefal, his hips leaning slightly against the table.
"Go to the Meadows and sleep beside your pretty companion. Fatigue makes wretches of us all."

Duvalyon began the short path to his pantry, but paused at the woven door.

"I am due at the Purging by third bell. If you have the inclination to display your mastery of Symenos terms tomorrow, you will find me here past the sixteenth bell, a captive audience."
Image
User avatar
Duvalyon Hellebore
Team Wrenmae. Bad guys unite.
 
Posts: 240
Words: 141574
Joined roleplay: June 10th, 2009, 11:11 pm
Race: Symenestra
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Scrapbook
Medals: 2
Featured Thread (1) Donor (1)

Promise You Won't Be Mad

Postby Laszlo on March 9th, 2012, 3:11 am

Cringing, Laszlo's eyes fell to the floor. He rubbed at his shirt, trying unsuccessfully to alleviate the sudden lump of deep shame that had settled in his chest. Duvalyon's annoyance and disappointment in him hurt worse than he could have imagined, and part of the Ethaefal hated him for that. But it was only a hatred in the sense that he'd ever hated Abalia for smashing down his selfish facades.

Laszlo shouldn't have said anything. The jumbled rant that he'd barked at the undeserving Symenestra was genuine in only its desire to have substance. An Ethaefal belonged nowhere in Mizahar. Even if he felt the yearning to chase after his lost lives, they didn't entitle him to a sense of fraternity, just because he wanted it.

'Precious' was returned with a note of skepticism, and Laszlo realized his error. Duvalyon hadn't been the proper recipient for those words. Abalia may have been more willing to understand and analyze their underlying meaning.

Now it looked as if Duvalyon had rescinded his offer to allow Laszlo and Abalia stay with him. What about Lhavit? No, it wouldn't be like Duvalyon to renege on something of that magnitude, but he was probably beginning to regret the suggestion. Laszlo should have just nodded, thanked him, and left.

"Duvalyon, I—wait." Laszlo didn't dare approach the Symenestra. He'd been asked to leave, and Laszlo had overstepped his boundaries enough for the evening. "Damn it all. I'm an idiot." He was still tired. Was it really a good idea to continue spewing words? "I wasn't trying to… I don't… I don't really know anything. I only wish I did. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have just… I'm just… lost. I've had no one to rely on, no one to tell me when to stop. I'm so determined to take what I deserve and justify my existence that I'm killing my own lover and insulting the only man who's ever offered to help me."

Laszlo moved toward the wall, reassuring Duvalyon of his intent to leave. This conversation should have ended minutes ago. "Forgive me, Duvalyon. I promise I'm not here to torment you. I do value your friendship." Or whatever he'd like to call it. "Considering the past few seasons, it's just difficult to believe that you don't have a dagger hidden behind your back, as everyone else seems to. I'm… terrified. And pathetic. I don't want to be alone."

Abalia was still waiting at the Meadows Public House for Laszlo's verdict. It was the first time he had been apart from her for perhaps an entire season. She was waiting for Laszlo to confer with a friend when she knew the sorts of "friends" he had kept in recent history. It must have been so difficult for her to continue hoping, especially now that she was out of her element and entirely dependent on an infant Ethaefal who had almost no idea what he was doing.

Not even twenty, Abalia was too young to be facing down her death. Here was Laszlo, consulting advice from a man barely older than she was.

"I'll behave myself." He was a child, groping out for parents. Syna was too far out of his reach.
In the daytime I am one of Syna's fallen.
At night, I am Symenestra.
User avatar
Laszlo
Team Imass!
 
Posts: 846
Words: 635811
Joined roleplay: September 3rd, 2011, 3:36 am
Location: Lhavit
Race: Ethaefal
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Scrapbook
Medals: 5
Featured Character (1) Artist (1)
Overlored (1) Extreme Scrapbooker (1)
2011 Mizahar NaNo Winner (1)

Promise You Won't Be Mad

Postby Duvalyon Hellebore on March 9th, 2012, 8:05 am

Duvalyon had the courtesy to wait when Laszlo asked, but his body was still poised to leave. After Laszlo began a new torrent, the Symenestra stood as if he walked on a slim cord, liable to totter in either direction.

The depth and feverish quality of the apology began to alter the medic's seemingly implacable mask. First came doubt followed by a series of nervous tics. He looked down, cleared his throat and his one free hand momentarily rubbed the back of his neck. This was far too many emotions to be heard in such a brief time, most of them crudely cut with raw, seeping edges.

"By Viratas," there might have been something close to a flush in Duvalyon's temples, "Just stop-- I forgive you."

Without preface, he momentarily fled to the other room. Breaths later, he returned with empty hands.

"Gods."

Something was supposed to follow the low utterance, but Duvalyon misplaced it. The Symenestra was notoriously unyielding and collected under cruelty, insults and demands, but this plaintive and mildly pathetic confession gave him little recourse.

"Worse than Melia," he mumbled, "I wasn't going to abandon you or pitch you into the gorge."

He looked around his home, wondering where he was going to tuck two more people. There hadn't been time to prepare.

"Go get her." He said, resigned and quick. "The pair of you here- before I alter or you say something especially ignorant."

The conversation seemed to be over, but with a tone betraying something like youth, Duvalyon added, "I don't have things ready, but if she's clean, your companion could always share the bed with me."
Image
User avatar
Duvalyon Hellebore
Team Wrenmae. Bad guys unite.
 
Posts: 240
Words: 141574
Joined roleplay: June 10th, 2009, 11:11 pm
Race: Symenestra
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Scrapbook
Medals: 2
Featured Thread (1) Donor (1)

PreviousNext

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 0 guests