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Post by ShyDivinity on Jul 27, 2016 11:04:13 GMT 8
Phara'Sythalis - Region of Naur... Capital City.
Xavien had awoke that morning feeling refreshed, rested, as he slid from the large oversized bed, parting the red shear curtains and placed bare feet against already sun-warmed marble tiles. The room was open on four sides, large heavy curtains of a blood red were drawn open and allowing the morning light to stream in. A glance over his broad shoulder had confirmed that Niire must have left before he woke.
The mental image of her sleeping soundly the night before had brought a smile to tanned lips. Moving to a deep basin of water, leaning over and dunking his whole head into it. Droplets flew as he snapped back his head and pushed his fingers back through his soaked hair. He dressed himself in a pair of Arabian style pants, black with red and gold designs running vertically down the side of his legs. A pair of worn leather boots. A black sash around his waist. A simple pair of gloves that only covered his thumbs, ring and pinky fingers. Leather gauntlets that sheathed his forearms, and a leather harness that crossed his chest and back.
Leaving his quarters, he took to the streets of the main market district. Making his rounds through the mass of gathered Naurians who were going about the daily aspects of their lives. His smoldering eyes swept through the crowds. It was still early. He was suppose to meet up with Niire later for lunch, but that was still some time away from. Time to kill. Life was very different now after the destruction of Pinquelek.
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Post by Winter on Jul 28, 2016 11:43:39 GMT 8
Nym-Niire, the last Alu Val Istar, former archmarge of the Kingdom of Water, stood silently upon the harbour bridge, leaning lithe form, clad in her traditional Aluian blue garb, close against the sturdy railing, cerulean orbs staring out into the looming horizon, past the armada of Naurian ships, swaying proudly in the gentle waves, seemingly menacing in signature red and black.
The sounds and smell of businesses awakening in the early morning pulled her reverie away from incoming ships coming to port, bringing goods from all over the realms. A slow deep heave of breath ensued, visage of Pinquelek’s grand port began to play in her mind. Great white and blue sails beckoning upon regal schooners and barges, sailors and seamen in their perfectly tailored suits going about their daily tasks undaunted by the gathering crowd.
A morsel of a smile was allowed to appear at the memory of looking out at the majestic harbour from her window in the towering citadel of Forenya before the realization that it was all gone, robbed her lovely features of the fleeting emotion.
Wisp of cold air escaped dainty nostrils then as eyes grew darker from the thought of her homeland. Pinquelek was destroyed by the Dark forces a fews prior. Fingers resting on the damp railing curled into fists; blue tinged tiers pressed hard against each other. I must never show emotions! I am Alu. She chided herself; willing the sting of fluid stabbing at the corners of cerulean orbs to disperse back from whence they came. Chin would rise defiantly against the warm breeze. “The time will come.. Light will overcome Darkness”. Her mind whispered as she continued her quiet observation.
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Post by Xenith Ahrimal on Jul 28, 2016 12:08:17 GMT 8
It did not take Xavien long at all to make his way toward the harbour. He caught glimpses of a sea of black and red. Oranges and yellows. The rippling material of the sails moving with the motion of the breeze rising up off the salt tinged water. He came to stand, leaning against the eastern entrance to the bridge, smiling, as he figured he would find Niire here. Drawn by the water, her natural element. It brought a pain to his soul to know she felt saddened by the loss of Pinquelek.
He stood there a moment longer, regarding her with those crimson eyes, taking in the beautiful sight of her lithe form dressed in shades of blue. She was stunning. Gorgeous. Even after all these years. It still took his breath away just to look upon her. Xavien placed his right hand upon the railing of the bridge and ran his fingertips over its smooth surface as he made his way toward Nym-Niire. Stopping about half way and dropped a coin to a passing vender and picked a long-stemmed fire orchid, and continued on his way to her.
Moments became like eternity and finally he came up from behind her, quiet and stealth-like fashion. His right arm came around her waist; his left held the flower up in front of her eyes, as he leaned in and kissed the side of her neck, just behind the ear. " For you," he said with a casual tone. Light and full of energy. He knew her feeling of loss. And Xavien did what he could to ease her suffering. The affliction of losing all that she had held dear.
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Post by Xenith Ahrimal on Aug 3, 2016 4:57:37 GMT 8
Elsewhere...
In a realm of Eternal Darkness. A place in which was nothing and everything. A realm created out of Hatred, Darkness, and Despair; where even thoughts held weight, a great power stirred from upon a throne of twisted and jagged shards of black obsidian. This power has been called many a names.. the Dark Devil, angel to some, demon to others. The Dark One. Tindomul, the Twilight Prince. Diabolique Harlequin.. and now he was the sole heir, Lord and Master of the Primal Darkness...the Angellis Ater; the Black Angel.
From atop a great spiralling citadel; violet eyes awakened as if from a long slumber. His mind stirred from fading dreams, which sent immense ripples through the aetheric atmosphere of his night-dark realm. Long and slender digits of blackened soul-steel talons clicked out the passage of time with meticulous motion. A cracking of pale lips brought an inhalation of breath...and exhaling brought a surge of tremendous power. His voice was like a thunderous roar with merely a whisper... " Come to me my Dark Warriors..." he said.
His insinuating command oozed from his Realm of Darkness. It filled the shadows with his every spoken word. Those who bared his mark would feel the power of compulsion. Summoning his servants back to the heart of Darkness. Though his words would reach out to others, one in particular, who knew this creature on a more personal and intimate level of creation. His awakening would be like a great and darkly powerful beacon pulsing from the world of shadows.
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Post by Xenith Ahrimal on Aug 3, 2016 4:58:50 GMT 8
Elsewhere...the Realm if Eternal Darkness...
The first of these Dark Warriors, stepped from a portal that lead from the Realm of Night, from a city known as Black Onyx. It was a small shadowland that benefitted from the perpetual darkness of its surroundings. The city of Black Onyx is monochromatic, and all of its buildings were made from carefully sculpted bones that are as white as chalk; the same color of the heavily scarred skin of the warrior known as Kir-Lanan.
He appeared inhumanly beautiful; his appearance was like a creature out of a fable --- the magical, luminescent and gently dangerous elven-like Fae of a childhood dream. His visage, however, was a lie. The Raksha have no predetermined shape, not even a protoplasmic one. In this Realm of Darkness, he must take on a solid shape, and it is only natural that he look like the creatures of dreams. But as a Raksha, he is a flowing, vicious agglutination of essence patterns, an indescribable congeries of passions and the elements of nightmares, coagulated around the five fixed points of himself that keep him from dissolution. One of those is his heart. Two or three were containers for his spirit energy. The remaining points were for his fanged virtue of a maw.
Kir-Lanan took shape from the fear and agony of those souls trapped within the Realm fashioned and created by the Dark One he served. Pulling together a lean, muscular shape. Tall and deathly beautiful. Scarred skin of a ghastly white. Hair like silken threads of falling snow.. and eyes the color of a red rose. Kir-Lanan knelt down on one silk clad knee, his bare hand resting on the obsidian surface beneath, head bowed.
" I am here, M'lord. What is thy bidding?". He spoke in the language of the Rakshastans, but to the Angellis Ater, his words were as common as if spoken by a mortal 's tongue.
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