[center][img]http://i845.photobucket.com/albums/ab20/XxKayla36xX/Kiara.png[/img]
[i][u]Location[/u]: The Grand Unseelie Ballroom[/i] 
[i][u]Time[/u]: Six Months Ago[/i][/center]

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Life had changed dramatically since Kiara’s return to the Dark Court. Life was easy and free then, one might even venture to say that it was innocent. Of course, one who would say that didn’t really know Kiara that well. Even still, everything was different now. She had grown into something beautiful and terrible. Her elemental powers had manifested in school, where she was able to hone in on them. The magic came in strong, uncontrollable bursts at first, but now it was a finely tuned weapon. The earth was hers as the fire was once her mother’s. And now, she was strong, she was fierce, and she was deadly.

Life as an Unseelie soldier wasn’t all work, though, nothing in the Unseelie Court was. [i]”Passion before duty.”[/i] The code was meant to live and die by, and Kiara would. Kiki still found times like these to indulge herself, and she found them as frequently as she pleased. For the young 25-year-old faerie, war was just as thrilling as a ball, and vice versa. The best days began covered in bloodied armor, and ended naked and tangled up in bed with a pretty thing.

Tonight was one of those kind of wind down nights. Kiara spun around the ballroom floor with a delicious little morsel. He was a human boy, hardly over 18 with hair as fair as the morning sun. A gossamer spider-silk gown barely covered her intimate parts. The fabric clung to her skeletal frame, leaving little to nothing to the imagination. The human was getting handsy with her, and she let him. The scent of lust filled her nose and sated her in ways that a five course meal would stuff him up.

Good things never last, or so they say. Such proved to be true that night. The Seelie had planted an assassin in their midst. The misguided soul attempted to strike at the Black Queen and quickly met the kiss of a guard’s blade. It was one of her father’s men, but not her father; He hardly found time for revels these days. [color=lightgray]”War is brewing.”[/color] he would say. Kiara guessed that he was right. Morrígan’s crow-black eyes were glowing with the fire of Hades as she spoke.

[color=black]”If the Seelie court wishes for war, then that is what they shall get!”[/color] The crowd of fey creatures of every shape and color erupted into cheers and chants at the words of their Queen. The energy was electric. That was the first time Kiara truly felt the call of war. The orgasmic vibrations could be felt deep in her bones. She yearned the flavors of pain and suffering… lust and jealousy could only get one so far. The pinnacle of pleasure was out there for the taking, and Kiara would find it in the fields with her father and his iron sword.

[center][img]http://i845.photobucket.com/albums/ab20/XxKayla36xX/cynbel.png[/img]
[i][u]Location[/u]: Dragon’s Reach[/i] 
[i][u]Time[/u]: Present Day[/i][/center]

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Dragons were prideful, that much Cynbel knew. Most races in Faerȗn were arrogantly prideful, hence the unending squabbles throughout millennia. These particular dragons, though, were also very dangerous. The fact could make this particular trip very lucrative, or very foolish. 

The Unseelie generally weren’t very fond of holding their tongue, but Cynbel knew when to pick his battles. This would not be a battle, not if he had anything to say about it. This would be a business transaction, an exchanging of wealth - be that monetary, strength, or information. And everyone knows that dragons love their wealth.

Cynbel took carefully measured steps so that he would be seen as professional and, for the time being, harmless. His beloved wrought-iron Wraithblade hung sheathed at his side. He was armored in fine, leathery hides and a flowing black cape with the sigil of the Unseelie Court hung from his pauldrons and billowed out behind him. The armor was more ceremonial than practical because, as previously stated, this would not be a battle. Silver white hair hung in long, straight strands and blended in with his deathly pallor. If moonlight could be a living thing, it was Cynbel.

[color=lightgray]”I am Cynbel the Iron Wielder, Hand to Queen Morrígan, Grand Field Marshal and General of the Unseelie Forces.”[/color] he began he monologue in a tone oozing with calm diplomacy. Cynbel spoke to the mouth of a cave, where only the glint of light reflecting off of serpentine eyes could be seen through the darkness. A small troupe of men stood behind him as a protection from potential attacks, and as formal witnesses to any deals that might be made this night. 

[color=lightgray]”I come to you in times of war, but not as an enemy. It is our goal to forge an alliance with you and your kin. Your power and might are spoken of all throughout the lands of Faerȗn. If you would honor us with a conversation, I believe that we might be able to up with a lucrative agreement.”[/color] It was a simple statement, wholesome in its brevity and meant to tug at the draconic pride and curiosity. At the very least, his presence alone might seem interesting enough to warrant a sniff.