RP:A Cursing Slave

From HollowWiki

Summary: Irenic sideseps his way around the curse with the assistance of his Master.

House Dragana

Towering over the abyssal forest, the dark mass of House Dragana is no less eerie than the vegetation, or lack thereof, in which it stands. The mansion's outer perimeters are flanked by the twisting trees and there are no gates to prevent the seemingly less desirable denizens of the forest from trespassing upon the property. A sleek, obsidian walkway runs from the house's entry to the path. The only source of light without comes from wrought-iron lanterns that are placed on either side of the walkway, spaced perfectly from one another. Within them, an eldritch glow of a deep, verdant hue flickers. Those brave enough to approach House Dragana's doors will be greeted with iron knockers bearing blackened skulls, their eyes set with emeralds that glow with the same light from the lanterns. Within the house's walls, there is no shortage of decadence. Only the most elegant of furniture is placed throughout its rooms. A grand staircase of blackened wood leads to the upper levels, where rooms for those that reside within the house can be found. Midway up, the stairs split to the left and right, spiraling upward. Here, there is a landing with a set of double doors that leads to a large ballroom. The lower level of the house plays host to a dining area and kitchen, though rarely used, a grandiose library filled with grimoires and tomes, and a small museum of artifacts collected by the house's residents. Though there appear to be no candles to light the way, an ethereal glow floods the innards of the house, providing ample reading light - undoubtedly arcane in origin. Dark magic is weaved into the house's existence as a measure of protection.



Irenic lay on the floor of the library without a shirt and breathing heavily while laying on his back since he just shifted, painfully, again. What fresh hell had he experienced day in and day out, but it was a peculiar thing how this could pain him so, since Larewen ripped his eyeball out and he didn't even groan, whimper and scream this bad. Last he checked he was home alone with maybe a servant or two, but they were used to it and maybe one of them would be by later to sweep up the heap of ivory feathers he left behind. His knuckles run into his bloodshot mismatched eyes as he gives himself a moment alone on the floor in his misery. Sitting up after his long moment was up he started to gather the feathers into a pile until he picked up one that didn't match the rest. It was pristine and white and didn't feel velvety like the others, but something told him to keep it. Among the heap was a ledger he picked up since he discovered his memories being a jumble every time he shifts into a more human looking form. He read the word Meri with a smirk and two names associated with her’s; Cal and Lita - Rynvale - Daytime. He was too tired at the moment to try and make the journey to cenril and catch a boat there, but he tucks the pristine feather away on the safety of the folds of his ledger.


Larewen | The necromancer is not expected to be home, and yet so it is that the elf entering her library to find a half naked avian upon her floor. Not that she knows this, anyway. In fact, she discovers Irenic's presence by kicking a foot against him and then falling. She swears loudly, lifting herself from the floor and turning toward what had caused her fall. A hand reaches out to touch the avian, confused. Emrith's smell wafts off of the male and her brow furrows. Her left eye, the one that had matched Irenic's, is gone. A gaping socket oozing black blood stared out at him. The elf could not see him. "Emrith, why are you in the floor?"


Irenic did not intend for someone to trip over him, but Larewen did. Why? Once he eventually stands and takes the sight of her in he let out a concerned sigh, “À quel problème vous êtes-vous mis maintenant, maître?” If she focused on the bond they used to share she might understand that he was asking her ‘what trouble you've gotten yourself into now, master?’ He pulls a leather eyepatch out from his back pocket and gently takes her hand so he can place it in her palm if she wanted it. He answers her question regardless in trying to explain he just went through another shift, “Je me suis déplacé à nouveau.” She could easily remember seeing and hearing how painful it was for him. This is a man who was conscious through getting his member cut from him, his eye taken then replaced and was near death, but that shift sounded painful than all put together. The exhaustion was evident in his voice even if she cannot see his bloodshot mismatched eyes.


Larewen blinks at Irenic, the sound of his familiar voice unexpected. It isn't the first time her lack of sight has caused her to misidentify the avian as another, though. Damned bird blood! She does not take the eye patch, but rather instead knocks it from his hand. "I don't want that," she nearly hisses. "What caused this?" The transformations, she means. There is no sympathy in the cadence of her voice, indicative of the elf's return to a more natural mannerism.


Irenic picks the eyepatch back up and slips it over his chocolate colored eye. He gently teases, “I see how you take care of things I gift you.” She was onto a different subject and he now picked up his ledger book and flipped through it for a small moment trying to remember while explaining what he knows, “it's a curse activated by love.” He said with a near groan as he doesn't even remember her now. “Ah,” he found what he was looking for, “I've come to the conclusion that it's from the time I grew up in the orphanage of my homeland. They marked me with the crest of Monstre, which was the name of the organization.” If she allowed him to guide her hand so he can show her where the crest was among his tattoos he would place her hand where his heart would be. The skin slightly raised on the shape of a crest and since his change took place so recently she would feel that it's almost hot compared to the usual warmth of his skin.


Larewen | The necromancer presses her lips into a thin line. No words can demonstrate her vexation and so the remark is allowed to slip past her. A dark brow lifts. "You are not supposed to love. We discussed this before. Even with your memories wiped, it is still active?" There's a low growl in her throat and the voices, poisoned by her own corruption, within her mind begin their bickering once more. Her lip curls, the coldness Irenic would know best from quite some time ago taking hold. "You are pathetic," she hisses. The magic emblazoned into the sigil allows her remaining eye to see it clearly and she begins reading its magics. "You fool. I suppose I ought to help you."


Irenic scoffs lightly, “someone seems hungry again.” She seemed to always be cranky when she was hungry and she could always take what she wanted from him, but he could be wrong. He blatantly smirked with arrogance in her blindness while mismatched eyes take her in. “Yeah?” He gently pushed some of her ebon locks from her face with a caress, full expecting her to slap his hand away or retreat from him. “I'm so exhausted from this… And I could be of better use to you with a clear mind.”


Larewen | For a moment, it seems as if the elf is leaning into his caress, as if she is accepting the tenderness. It is only a show though, for as her face continues to turn against his hand there is a flash of fang. Without warning, the elf's pearly eye teeth tear into the flesh of his wrist and she drinks deeply. So much so, in fact, that, assuming she's successful in the first place, he may become concerned that the necromancer intends to kill him. Gods, his blood is heavenly.


Irenic let out a grunt that nearly sounded pleasured by the bite because this was the only type of pleasure he could feel anymore since she cut it off. His free hand nestled up into the nape of her hair and he gently pushed her deeper with a stifled moan from him. He couldn't help it as he positioned himself behind her and pressed his form against her backside while his free hand slid from the softness of her hair down her shoulder, arm and wrapped around her waist while she drank deeply from him. He was too tired to care if she intended to kill him.


Larewen turns with sudden alacrity, ripping her fangs from his wrist as she faces him. Without a word, curved fingers suddenly seek to tear into his flesh, ripping the skin upon which the cursed sigil is emblazoned from his chest. There is no concern for him, for the pain he may suffer as she does this. If successful, words with flow from her mouth, twisting and corrupting the curse he bears with darker, necromantic magics.


Irenic’s jaw tenses and the sharp sucking of air through his teeth was the only sound he offered… I mean, this pain isn't comparable to what's been happening and Irenic isn't quite the dramatic type. He feels a shifting within him and even a sort of tickling sensation in his brain, but he was too weakened and too tired to even care as to what exactly was happening. A lazy swaying from in and timber for the nearly seven foot joke for an Avian male was starting to fall. He would probably sleep for at least two days if she allows it.


Larewen | The elf pays little mind to the suffering avian, even as she completes the manipulation upon the curse. Before he can fall, she grasps him and presses the torn skin back to the gaping wound. Again she calls upon the dark energies she commands and corrupted magic knits the sigil back into its place upon his breast. The curse is dormant once more, now to be activated by the necromancer's own will: his freedom is only for as long as she wishes it to be. Without another word, she releases Irenic and allows him to fall to the floor. She turns and leaves.