The pawns of the Game

*Dark... of course it is here, always dark, always night. A little piece of that gentlest of times, when stars and moon circle overhead in their languid dance, pale reflections of garish day, caught here, in this place, forever. A castle, of sorts, elegant, eerie in its loveliness, like skeletal reachings for the sky. Delicate, but holding an overwhelming aura of power... of pleasures best not even imagined, of darkness and soft cries. Willing adoration... tentacles and fire. Through the hidden halls, for only those they /allow/ to find it may be so blest with its sensuous curves, a warm breeze, the quietest of breathes, which follows in rapt attention, love, to the room /he/ wishes... and he wishes, yes, for answers. All of time is his, and hers, and theirs, but he hungers for distraction... for a game. And he knows exactly which pawns he wants sought out. And to that end, he seeks her... one of his dear pets, one of /his/... beloved toy. The breath sighs into her chambers, lingers there, deposits him off the soft, warm tongue of it... in the dark, he solidifies, coalesces, blinks in slow, scarlet rhythm. Sensual motions, each with grace to make a mortal kneel in lust, beg... beauty beyond words, elegance and heated air. He is there, watching... and she will know. Oh yes, she will know with the thrill of him in her veins* Galateia... *sibilant word, just one, a tender stroke to flesh*

** There was a touch of extreme grace to her small motions. Her every coy and beautiful movement. Almost a sadistic nature to her small touches and near noble grace. It could be easily classified as extraordinary, but more than likely haunting. Her flaming raven locks brushing past her delicate hips, and over her porcelain-like skin. Each feature refined, and near hallow looking. Her hands still moving, with the dark seduction nearly dripping form them. Her eyes rivaled only by the purest emerald stone flutter beneath the fine, but very dark lashes. Her body shudders, and nearly beats outwards at her name. Rolling and sliding in and out of the air. She smiled, a near polite, and twisted smile. Her eyes flickering up, like the licks of a small flame. She raised her head, then bowed it once. Keeping her eyes then averted, and speaking in the smoothest, and most tenored of tones.** Yes M'lord... ** Even his voice made her tremble in thoughts and conceptions of what could be. She stopped her conversing with demons and the such, politely excusing herself from their presence. Though it was merely for show, she held no respect for anyone but herself, and the twins.**

*A curl of his lips… delicate, sweet… he was still pleased with his choice of this one, even so long after he’d taken her. Patient, he indulges her almost gentle severing from those she consorted with, the ones she talked to, sought things from so carefully, so charmingly, and his eyes flash a crimson fondness… beguiling, this female, enchanting. Though not so careless, hopefully, to consider her place in his favors assured. Complacency was far more dangerous than arrogance. But he knows this is not the case… she has been their pet for many untold centuries, and never has this come into question. When all the other awarenesses are gone, having been tenderly bidden back to their domains, he speaks again, they now alone in the perpetual, whispering night of the castle walls* Precious heart, I have a use for you… and your eyes. Would you serve me? *quiet, quiet… the warmth of a soft breeze through lilacs*

** She stood then to only offer another extravagant, and sweeping bow. Her fingers delicately curled, reaching for her bosom, hidden beneath the most refined and intricate imported laces and patterns in silk. Her eyes slowly wander upwards, a small brush of a smile on her lips. As she stood, then clasping her hands within each other. Each movement with an incomparable fluidity, and near slowness. Then, her hands moving from each other, over the garment, the act looking as if it were absent, though each small twitch of her fingers, or flowing past her wrist was well intended. Her classical features a cool calm, more pressing than the shadows that shrouded them within the castle walls. ** You know I shall do whatever M'lord requires of me.. my services, my company.. ** Though being a bit too cordial to mention her bed and other pleasantries that ran along those same desperate lines. **

*Her answer pleases him… and he allows this to show with the soft praise in his features, his lovely, pale face… the intense, pulsing eyes, gentled as he looks upon her. Like the contented gaze of a feline, slowly blinking, each motion a sinuous stretch of long limbs and grace. She is, as always, a vision of noble air, of perfect carriage, of feminine delight and entrancement… her smile alone like a sweet blush to her petaled cheeks. He extends a lean hand, silken skinned, palm upward, in invitation. Beautiful, this amazing doll of his… beautiful. The ever night of the room sighs in yearning, darkness dancing about the two… the Taker and Taken, and carries his lilting, caressing voice to her again, velvet cadence, musical* Company and services… together, a delight. And I have use of both, dearest Galateia. My sister has chosen a new game to play. Come… let us set about beginning it. *he waits for her to take his hand, then looks off to the side, and there, in the dark, a shimmer forms. It slowly strengthens into two figures… one of a lovely, tall inhuman, and the other of a shorter, lovely nobleman* I want to know of these two. Particularly, the human.

** Her hand then slides into his. Without an utterance from her pale lips, or an incline of the brow at the new games his sister wished to play. Instead a small craning of her neck, and a steady look. Each of these simply saying to those who had the proper eyes... saying /something/ about these figures. And though rending herself from a superior height. She then stepped towards the figures, looking over each with a careful and intensely critical eye.** Very well M'lord ** Her hand then slipping from his, a small game a /Lady/ played well. She then nodded, her head still tilted to the side as she blinked a few times, and very politely smiled. As if a few rodents, though royal rodents were infesting her space.. breathing her air. Turning back to him, slowly then moving to a darkened part of the quarters. Her palm then facing upwards, the nails relaxed lightly sliding over the flesh there. Motioning for him to follow, moving still. Posture perfect, demeanor cultured. The very way of things revealing many many years of a truly proper upbringing. Even some of the more favorable nobles were in a severe lack of. She walked then her feet making the smallest of steps. Each one so light her shoes made naught one sound. Falling then slightly behind Brimstoan, as a few servants cleared a small path. She dismissed them without a backwards glance, and as if they were lower than dogs. Which of course they were. Then moving, closing a few heavy fabrics she ordered to use as curtains, the room sent to pitches of black. Thoughout several centuries, or was it a millennia even.. to seat herself in a circle, very properly. The writings and inscriptions set the room aglow in the oddest of slants. Colors, and lack there of, as she finally slipped with ease using her power. Her gemstone eyes fluttering up and beneath her lids, as her hands started small circles, ever growing larger outwards. Though she did not /need/ the circle at all, it was tradition. And as every lady knew.. tradition was to be upheld, at all cost. Even if the meanings behind them were lost by the cruel the corroding hands of father time**

*Brimstoan smiles subtley… Galateia’s views on others was always amusing. Her scrutiny of the figures, no matter how fetching they were, was always detached, aloof, aristocratic. Superior. And of course, she is… she is one of theirs. The delicate slip of her hand from his marks an old tradition… he knows she is now intent, preparing, and follows when bidden, though such is not his habit to follow, in this case, he asked for her sight and she would provide it. The other servants in her quarters file from the room, He not giving them a second glance as they do so… low, yes, simple slaves, well cared for. Though the hounds were just as well looked after. She pulls the heavy curtains tight, and the dark room is enveloped in shadows, thick and palpable. A watchful eye, deep vermilion, as she seats herself, and runes and writings glow eerily, lovely… her power being called to the fore. Yes, that is what he wants. And so as not to disturb her, he murmurs in the softest tone, just a whisper, a breath, the sound that tumble silently from the still-born* Precious pet… tell me what they are….

** Her lips curls up, as her eyes roll a bit further back, her voice a smooth and lapping tenor. A washing over with a warm wash rag, and much smoother. ** The taller.... inhuman... is.. one .. of your pets... ** A pause between each breath. Slow calculated. ** one of .. .the stronger.. pets M'lord…a psionic.. telepath.. dubbed 'UNnatural' ** Her voice taking on a more airy tone, more as if a passing sigh, or a soothing summer's wind that was ticking the innermost of his ear. Her hands that were waving over one another soon mellowed, to show indeed the Eshva form of Aerik, reclined, chin up. His eyes half lidded, and very alone. Hands … ivory fingers curled in fists of frustration. Needing. His long fine strands of onyx falling in his face, as he looks quickly from place to place. Fixture. The picture fades from the pathetic creature to focus on Nicky, who was outside. his hand one lazily folded over his chest, the other pointing upwards. As if he were conversing with someone, or something... Her voice switched, slowly, her tongue rolling over and though the words. They seemed not to be so flowing, but a bit more choppy, and a tad startled. ** He... this one... is.. of .. noble decent... Nicholas Laughton.. Earl of Latham...Nicholas Latham... the north.. Andor ... a seer... truth knower.. teller.. he ** her eyes flicker towards the image, that grows ever larger, filling the precipice that now separated the lights of the glowing circle and the image. The image slowed it's glowing and spinning, not more of a projection.** Inviolate mind... false persona... though he would... like to believe it… he is not…above us.. M'lord.. ** The vision elongates, and snaps, shattering like a crystal. Pieces of him falling down like the fractured glass, and bouncing, fracturing further, until they blink out of sight. She says slowly.. still near trance like ** ...is there anything else.. shall I search deeper.. M’lord? ** Her question not one of impertinence. But one, one that was a pure and innocent inquiry. For some games, were more fun to play if the other players were left somewhat veiled. **

*Brimstoan listens sagely, slowly blinking at odd intervals, palm elegantly turned upward and cupping a few strands of darkness, allowing them to slither and play over his fingers, like night cloaked worms, tentacles of shadow. He ignores them for the most part, indulges their dancing, his own beautiful lips slightly pursed in attention, fixing on every word. Latham. Andor. He smiles languidly, shows his white, sharp teeth. His head tips, appearing satiated, fed* ….No, my sweet pet. You have done well. I am pleased. *he dismisses the strands of blackness on his hand to a small squeal of disappointment, and takes a graceful step forward, eyes fixed on his own Seeress, so lovely in her pallor, her weakened state. So much she had given… so much to ponder and work through. Andor… he would send one of his there, to that land, which was not /here/, and have them look it over. Oh yes, well pleased… it sparks in his eyes, in the heat of the room, his sensual appraisal of his servant woman. Long silk of fiery onyx stirs in the breath of the room, snakes and twines about his shoulders, reaches for her, to stroke… brushes by her face, his hair seemingly alive, wanting, as he wanted…* Company and… service. Lovely Galateia, there …is… something else…

** Her eyes flitter upwards, catching his face looming above hers. Breathing out a small.. ** What other way can I serve you M'lord?** Her breath dangles, as the darkness and colors slide, crawling back to the circle, and the circle itself vanishes, leaving the two in a darkness silence and darkness, that was thicker than the air raped and pillaged by light. It slid over and under then in a sweet climaxed moment of seduction, where words could not fathom the anticipation, and even better the simple act of yearning. But she did not advance, his hair, trailing down. She blinked though the darkness, that was alive in it's own way. Though as dormant as the darkness that looms in the room of a new born babe. ** you know I would provide M'lord with anything.. ** The last word didn't need to be said in any other tone.. the meaning was taken the way the ears that heard it wanted. Moving a bit more slowly, adding, though hushed, as if improper to say** I do so like serving you M’lord... **Her words said slower, instead at a normal pace and strained. It was uncouth to do such, and to impair one's voice when one could simply alter it.**

As much as I… *That softest of smiles, tugged on the corners of his full lips, like a drape, so in place there. And the dark, of his element, this loveliest and wicked of odd breeds himself… he and his twin sister, something novel, rare, precious… the night, especially here, on this little planet, all their own, and they /do/ own it… belonging to them. It whispers in their ears, the Master and his Slave, presses against them, rubs gently, heats the pale skin, brushes over their lids, throats, and curves of them. Unknown to mortals, the touch of this male and his servants… his blood in their veins, the fire of it, the exquisite agony and pleasure of his full attention, his caress. Her words are almost brazen, thick with want and desire, he can feel it… and his own matches. For again, no mortal could please this darke creature in any way even close to those he’s altered to match himself. Ancient pull of bloods, of bindings… so sweet, so delicious* …enjoy being served by you, precious heart. *the shadows carry his words, lift them and transfer his velveteen tones to rest on her flesh. That stretching tangle of hair sweeps across her shoulders, a merest stroke, incredibly soft, and heated. His eyes darken, sparkle in their depths. Crimson ebony, his locks, skin such a pale ivory, unmatched. Beauty here, and devious intent… seduction and the fulfillment of it… promise of untold pleasure* Would you serve me? *the quietest of murmurs, dusky in the still room. A reiteration of his earlier question, but oh, so vastly different now…*

**She did not even moan in the thought of the pleasures that awaited her. Her back curled up, arched, as she pressed her shoulders back. Lightly resting them on him. She murmured.. ** But of course M’lord ** Her own terms of endearment would be hushed whispers, saved for the more climatic points to come. A series of silent movements, meshed in the slowly accumulating passions. She uttered a small appraisal of him, her words never implying what her hands were traveling, and doing, ** M’lord, you are truly so lovely, it pains my heart and eyes to look at you.. **Her breathing then a sharper inhale, a harsher passing of words from her lips to his ears. As her lips soon, ventured, slowly towards his. Sliding and pressing herself, and parts of herself, against the more tender areas. The darkness moving it's hand, secluding them both, her though never losing her royal air. The only thing that would even be considered improper was the lack of a marriage, though the blood bondage was stronger than any sacred spoken vows. And she could not fully commit herself to just one of the twins, she was devoted equally to both. A smooth sliding and floating of fabrics as they abandoned their former places, took place, later in the events that were unfurling between them. Around them, ... and within them. Each caress was unrushed, and not lewd as mortals would have had it. Even the most elegant of creatures could not try to compare to the seduction, and the twisted games played within those very darkened chambers. Maintaining very much, master, servant, and each role that was dealt to whom. **

*Marriage… an unknown institution to such as these… brother and sister, lovers… neither ever having been human, and certainly not locked into the social mores and precepts of clergymen. Or any particular religious morals. Demons, of a sort, Brimstoan and his beautiful sibling, and they shared all things, no matter what it was; favored servants, or what not. This was not their way, so tightly bound are they, in life essence and mind. Indeed, its most likely she can /feel/ this… through her brother, and he would have it no other way. To be loyal to one, is to be loyal to the other, and whim to their desires. Surely, Helfyre has taken this one as well… for no such boundaries between genders existed. What demon would care? No… pleasures alone ruled with them… wickedness and games, touch and pain…. As all their servants well know, and adore. And the servants shed the mortal coil many years ago, also unheld to precepts and religious dogma. Humanity burned away in sensual ecstasy and the immortal transformed. Touches of scalding heat… caress of lips and tongue… bathed in the sweetest of fires, blood hot and rushing in the supernatural veins even if the twins’ forms were arbitrary, Brimstoan did, at the moment, choose flesh. Her strokes exquisite, skilled and tempered with time, experience. Oh, she knows what he likes, and knows enough not to continue the same ways, to surprise him anew, delight him anew… and the cloak of shadows falls about them, even in this deep darkness. Like a sheath, a diaphanous film, it gently lays over the two, holds even as they do… aiding, adding its own caress, soft night, a lover to them both*