Malice

The Doors of Janus [ Malice / Vox ]

Aeris’ sleep that night was deep but not restful. More than once she saw flashes of fire and blood. She dreamt she saw her father, watched him butchered and slaughtered at the hands of the Hudvalri. Aeris reached for him with both hands, flesh and bone, only to have them torn from her by a beast with wings and fangs and scales and an oppressive scent of death.

Though the nightmares had not been real, the anger and sorrow that beat in her chest upon waking were. She grumbled in a half sleep, pulling the blankets closer, as if she might be able to disappear into their warmth, never rising again. Aeris raised a hand to her face, to brush away the errant strands of hair that had fallen there during slumber. Searing panic shot through her, enough to dispel the last, groggy remnants of sleep; though she moved her arm, she felt nothing on her face where her hand should be.

The fear dissipated quickly, as realisation and remembrance flooded her thoughts. It had been years since she had lost the limb, but even now, when she had long since come to terms with it, it still managed to surprise her. The feeling of dread, the sick feeling at the pit of her stomach, while the moments she felt it lessened over time, the intensity never wavered.

Aeris raised her hand, her left one, to her face and found her cheeks damp. She had been crying, she realised, though over what she could no longer recall, as the frightful dreams became hazier and hazier with every waking second.

Aeris propped herself up on her elbow, amber eyes peering into the dusky gloom of the unfamiliar room, her dark hair tousled and the bridal makeup that had been so carefully applied was smeared and tear stained.

So yesterday had happened. For better or for worse, she was now a married woman and the houses of Hudvalr and Qaeltine were united, at least on paper if not in spirit.

There was the sound of someone clearing their throat and Aeris craned her neck, finding Lokkir at the foot of the bed, in what appeared to be a decidedly more chipper mood than she.

Lokkir; her enemy, her husband.

"Mm?" He had spoken to her, but it took a moment for the words to sink in. "Oh, your bindings. Of course," Aeris smiled as she spoke. There was something oddly comforting about knowing her husband, like she, could not let the world see his body. For him, it was his chest, for her the remnants of her arm. Few people had seen Aeris sans metal arm, and those who had were related by either the blood in their veins or the blood they shed together on the battlefield.

To others, they might appear defective, wrong or grotesque, but at least with each other they knew this to be false. Idly, Aeris wondered if Lokkir's body brought him as much mental anguish as the stump on her right still could.

Aeris rolled onto her side, scrambling for the prosthetic she had discarded the night before. With the cool metal in her grip, she sat up, legs crossed on the bed, attaching the limb with care and dexterity. It took only a few moments before there was a soft whirr as she stretched the false fingers, nerves and wires once more connected. She pushed herself off of the bed and padded towards Lokkir, not attempting to hide her nakedness. She had nothing to fear from him, and nothing to be ashamed of.

Aeris took the binding.

"This may be cold," she warned; it was surprising how many people reacted with shock at the lack of warmth in her right hand. It was silly, really. Aeris took the cloth and examined it, before indicating with her good hand for Lokkir to turn around. She wrapped the cloth around his chest, pulling as tight as she dare; while historically she may have wanted to suffocate him, she did not now. "There. Is that okay?" She asked securing the fabric in place.

"Lokkir," she began, picking her words carefully, stepping away from the other, "does it hurt? Your body, I mean. Not being the body you want." Her left hand gingerly stroked the cold, dark fastenings of her arm, tracing the sharp lines with her fingers. "Not being the body you expect to see in the mirror."

⌘Exit, Pursued By A Bear⌘ {//OPEN}

Putting a bump here.

⌘Exit, Pursued By A Bear⌘ {//OPEN}

Bump.

The Doors of Janus [ Malice / Vox ]

**gasp** How dare you. Quick, change them back. >:|

I jest. That's absolutely fine; bit easier to read, actually. I did wonder if I was going mad earlier when I read the reply though, haha.

Don't Fear the Reaper (shy and Malice)

@shylarah no worries, I understand! I'm glad you're trying, but honestly, not rush! I'm not going anywhere and I like this plot enough that I'll still be interested even if it takes you weeks/months to get something written. Don't stress yourself over it! ^_^

⌘Exit, Pursued By A Bear⌘ {//OPEN}

Bump; space for one more!

//The Escapade of True Misfortune\\ [2-3 more players]

I'd be interested in this!

Help! They took her!! (Pathfinder Dungoen Dive - 3 players already in, we need you!)

I'd be interested. I've not played Pathfinder, but I use to play and DM 4th Ed., so I am familiar with D&D/tabletop/pen and paper roleplaying.

⌘Exit, Pursued By A Bear⌘ {//OPEN}

Let's give this a bump, no?

A Royal's New War - EntertainMe & Malice

August walked into the house, arm linked with Lyra’s, with a little trepidation and a little… Excitement, was it? It was not the building itself that provoked such feelings inside him, but everything it represented. By stepping inside he was stepping in to, not just his new home, but his new life.

The first room the couple entered was a tastefully decorated foyer. The prince was impressed by the work the architect and the interior designers had done; it was not just the facilities that combined Angevin tech and Nephalm magic, but the décor itself was a seamless blend. Everything was simultaneously comfortingly familiar and attractively exotic.

August removed his coat, hanging it on a hook by the door, and his boots before exploring the house more fully. The prince followed his future wife in to the first room, which proved to be a living room. August was still admiring how everything had been put together, with designs from both kingdoms, when Lyra guided him towards the fireplace. There was an intricate pattern swirling across the stones, which Lyra explained was more than just decorative.

“So this… It appears to just be for show, but it is actually to prevent the fire from spreading?” August asked, tracing the pattern with a finger, “it looks like incomprehensible decoration to me… Does it mean something to you? Is it something you can read, or do you just know its use?” Perhaps magic might be easier to understand, to incorporate in to his life, if he could see it as another language, as something he did not yet grasp but could learn to do so.

Lyra appeared to be looking for something then and, finding it, pointed to a painting.

“Trigger rune?” August repeated, eyebrow raising in curiosity, “like a switch then? Such as we might use for the lights?” Realising that Lyra may be unfamiliar with the term, he added, “ah, we use switches to turn our technology on or off. I am sure we will encounter some in the house, I will point them out then if you have not come across them before.”

The prince leant forward, inspecting the painting. It was charming to look upon, but August could not help but wonder what other secrets it might hold. Maybe none, or maybe there was more magic than he could comprehend within the delicate brush strokes.

“So I just… Touch it?” August asked, raising his good hand a little hesitantly. He glanced over at his future wife and could both see and hear her excitement. It was… Wonderful. She was already a beautiful woman, but her elation only seemed to enhance the fact. Plus, her joy was contagious, and August found himself smiling in response, despite his disinclination to engage with magic.

August pressed a finger to the sun and, suddenly, as if by magic (for, indeed, it was), the fireplace crackled to life. It began as a small ember, but rapidly grew until it was sizeable enough to provide both heat and light for the whole room. August leapt back in shock; even though Lyra had told him what would happen, he was still surprised to witness it so closely. To witness magic so safely at that.

Glancing down, August noticed the bracelet at his wrist was glowing red, as promised. He lifted his arm, inspecting the jewellery.

“This is… This is remarkable, Lyra.”