The Pain Priest of Mauxxechae... and the boy

*A soft sigh... a pale, elegant, -perfect- hand rakes through short, web-fine ebony hair. Rikky frowns, a delicate gesture made all the more lovely by his inhuman beauty. He removes the psionic recording headset, half-tossing it onto the table top, and pushes back, leaning his slender back into the wood of the chair. For a moment, he just stares at the odd device, tiny, unobtrusive, but so very powerful when used in conjunction with the right mind, and then he flips the switch off, casual flick of a long finger. Eshvan eyes, an odd, rare shadowgold flickers across the room and to the doorway, the egress... and something, some-where- other than his quarters. Thoughts scatter for the tiniest of times... thoughts of harps, Bards, and minstrels. Red hair, gold, elves and humans. It was becoming a welcome distraction, the strange castle he'd stumbled on when he'd followed Sai's patterns to it, and now, without realizing it, he stands in a smooth, graceful motion, long legs and limbs stretching as he strolls to the exit and down the hallways of the GUARD complex and into the teleporter room, a special machine made for distance and mass translocations. With a sly, impish smile and a tiny push to the techie's mind, he's alone, entering the code for his destination which, so far, he's managed to keep secret. Stepping onto a pad, he waits for the timer to activate... and in a blink of light and transferred molecules, he's outside that castle and amid a lovely, lush garden. He blinks slowly, having not seen this area of the castle before, indeed, every transfer brings him to a new location. he raises his brows at the revelation, and glances about, tall, moon-pale, and gorgeous in the softness of the night*

*He stretches, lazily, disentangling himself from her arms, almost gently....Like a cat, breathing in the heavy scent covering the room like a thin mist. His skin of pale gold glistens with droplets of moist in the murky light, his hair is damp as well, and his lips gleaming with kisses yet to come. That skin does nothing to hide the ripple of muscles as he moves, nor does it fail to accentuate the delicious planes and angles of his body. He is beautiful. Splatters of blood upon his torso, a trail of it leading from the door, to the bed. He twists his head slightly on his long neck to regard the sleeping shape upon his bed; the curve of her breasts picked out in shadows and lovely ivory, painted in faint gold is the line running from her small feet, dipping in at her waist, and then traveling up the round shape of her arm to her lovely neck. Her face is peaceful in sleep, with long dark eyelashes shadowing rosy cheeks, and the sweep of her eyebrows clearly as elven as his. Her even breathing makes her chest rise and fall with the rhythm of the ocean's waves, and his gaze lingers there for a while, watching the ruddy marks of burns and bruises upon her body. Like tendrils of darkness his hair has spread out over the bed, curling itself around her almost tenderly, a darker, deeper red than either of their blood had been. With a smooth movement of curling and uncurling his tall frame, he sits up, letting his eyes move away from her to the rest of the room: the blood sprinkled over the walls, the clothes ripped and thrown all over and the different instruments of enjoyment spread out like small trinkets for a noble lady. Ah, but he had enjoyed himself! A lesser priestess she might be, but in no way unable to enjoy the... arts the Mauxxechae teaches. He does not awaken the girl, does not even turn around to watch her again, as he rises to his feet and stretches again, this time thoroughly, feeling the languid pleasure of a well spent morning. As he walks towards the door, still naked, his feet making no sound on the floor now without his sandals, he reaches down briefly to pick up a sliver of torn flesh from the floor, spinning it around his finger.... He would see to it that she was given it as a gift from him. She would enjoy the feel of dried skin between her silken fingertips. A smile appears on his lips, and when he walks outside, he hardly notices as he is clothed, combed, and otherwise taken care of; the servants scuttling about his feet. And he is finished, walking down the stairs with all the confidence that he holds, all the obscene sexuality, all the agony transformed to lust. Upon the walls, men and women hang suspended by chains, and when they see him, they moan in fear, thinking he would turn and do… something to them. Even talk to them. But he does not notice, just walking past, to the enormous gateway standing a little bit off in the great hall, just waiting for him to enter. And he does. A wind brushes playfully by him as he steps out outside the castle, hearing the muted hiss as the gate closes behind him. It is night here. The moon is a heavy stain of silver upon the sky, half hidden with misty clouds, small stars spread out like diamond tears, twinkling lazily. The light, silver and snow, runs like liquid ice down his face, and he stands still for a moment, enjoying its chill. Lovely. The fluidity of his gait, the lazy smoothness of his movements is almost absurd as he sets off towards the garden. No body belonging to such a tall man should be able to move with such a grace. But he does. Birds chirp not far away from where he walks, but end their singing as he passes by, as if in fear that he will walk their way. Some would look at him and see a simple dark elf. A beautiful one, yes, but still nothing but an elf. Others would see his aura, and know about his insanity, and insatiable thirst, his hunger. Very few would see what he is beyond that, the heightened senses, the increases capabilities, the darkness. Few would see how he has become something more than just elven. Something darker, something greater. Something incredibly more dangerous. He pauses, running fingertips over the petals of a rose, then down, feeling how the thorns pierce his skin... He hisses, softly.*

*A hiss... distraction. Tapered, lovely ears twitch at the sound, in its direction; indeed, -before- the hiss, the heightened demonic senses of the youth picking up the disturbance of the gate, the scent of another, even now, even cleaned, Rikky can smell the faint tang of blood. He turns with languid slowness, blinking calmly, unworried. His head tips to the side, pale column of throat partly exposed by the graceful gesture, eyes bright with flecks of gold. Much does he learn by heeding his senses... much indeed. Shields are, of course, up and at full power, and what he gleans from the newcomer is in no way facilitated by his own massive telepathic might. Just his inborn senses. He's met only one elf, knows it -was- an elf only by raping a human's mind, and may or may not recognize this gold man as one, when he sees him. Air displacement... gait... weight of footfalls. This new creature is only slightly taller than Rikky himself, and every bit, it would seem, as elegant. Fascinating. Perhaps one like himself..? But no, the scent is all wrong, and like a wolf or similar attuned beast, Rikky can -feel- a darkness emanating... exuded into the chill night he doesn't feel, evening out the temperature, raising his core to counter the cold. But he -is- demonic, though he knows it not, and this in itself allows him a few observances others, even of his caliber, may not be privy to. He straightens and clasps his hands behind his back, a faint smile tugging on his lips. His eyes narrow, and he waits to see... see if this being senses him, as well...*

*The dark elf pauses, his hair spilling down in heavy rivers over his shoulders, some impatient strands clinging to his artistic features, upon the full lips. Something. Eyes of a deep amber, almost golden, dancing with ruddy flashes, narrow slightly, even as the bow of his lips curves deeper, revealing just the smallest hint of smiles. Tilting his head, only slightly, he closes his eyes and -reaches- out with his mind. Not for other minds. He has learned not to use those skills too often, but for shifts in the air, trembles of movement, of breathing, of warmth... He can 'see' the animals creeping through the gardens, edging away from where he stands... He can -see- , too, Rikky, and thus slowly turns, gracefully, almost as if dancing, eyes opening with the indulgent leisure of a feline, locking upon this -new- person. He notes the pointed ears, elegantly swept back from a pale face of such... beauty... that even Yeeyan pauses, arching an eyebrow, pushing back a few strands of hair from his high, golden brow.*...Mmm... *he half purrs, deep rumble, smooth like crushed velvet, dark like night when the stars are all wrapped up in a protective blanket of clouds...*... Greetings... *he spills, then, soft, sweet voice, and yet almost oppressive in its depth, like an immense weight of water, pressing down upon the diver, as he falls deeper, and deeper down. The smile deepens, to a small grin...*

*Rikky's brows arch smoothly over his wide, almond-shaped eyes... and in them, something like amusement twinkles; little gold stars in the shadowy depths of his hair, the white orb overhead tossing fingers of silver light across his perfect features. He seems so in his element here, as if he were fashioned from all things dark... moonglow and ribbons of shadow. Black, black hair, a cropped curtain of night save for his two flowing locks and the framing wisps of his bangs... the very pale, very silken flesh. Beauty and beauty and beauty. The darkness itself seems to cling to him, draping, shroud-like. Oh yes, he is stretched in his throne even as he stands. Nothing compared, of course, to the Vazdru masters who created his form, or, more to the point, his twin's form, but loveliness that could drive one to madness, nonetheless. At the very least, utter distraction. The humor gleaming in his eyes is from Yeeyan's method of searchings... so very similar to Rikky's own, and this sparks his curiosity. Heat, animals, weights, air currents, scents, sights beyond sights, all this is the telepath's as well as his brother's. And like his brother, Rikky is not unlike a svelte, onyx panther, all sinew and willowy, powerful grace... slender, elegant lines. The man before him is gorgeous, of odd coloring, and he appears to be similar to the bard Rikky met earlier... not exact, but close enough. Elfin, perhaps? Rikky doesn't know. The darkness speaks of a warning... that which surrounds Yeeyan -and-, it seems, the very fabric of the night. Whispers, almost... or something, something... the youth nods slowly, once, a shallow inclination of his head, in greeting. He uses his voice, pitched as Aerik's, all velvet and silk, like the finest of wines, the brush of suede against skin... a caress to the senses, so very sweet, very inviting. Like the rest of him, though his actual voice is not quite so deep nor dark* Greetings. *he smiles again, feels the press of words, inwardly arches a brow, and dismisses it* Are you a visitor as I myself am?

*He folds his arms across his chest, serpentine movement, graceful to the point of being flowing, as if his limbs are somehow differently jointed than those of ordinary mortals. There is a darkening of his eyes, an obscuring of their expression as the sable-vested night drapes its fingers under his eyelashes as they lower... Even in the night his umbrageous disposition can be seen, the way the slender hips tilt, inviting and alluring, slide of dark leather over his shape as he shifts, whisper of nightly red locks of hair over his shoulders. Oh, but he does take in the astounding sight that is Rikky, take in it, and fully enjoy it. So much is displayed in the way those sublime lips slowly twist into another smile, one of apparent enjoyment. Feral, almost bestial... Not the hunted, but the hunter. Not the one to stand silently and idle, while others approach. Even at first glance, at the sight of how those nocturnal kisses drape over his shoulders, and how the muscular body moves, raptor, the look in the eyes, can that hunting instinct be derived. He does not even attempt to hide it. To do so, would to shame his beauty, shame the serpentine grace and attraction, that can only come from those that -demand- and do not care if they are wanted or not. They -make- themselves wanted.*...A visitor, yes... Although I spend a few moments here, from time to time... *he almost purrs, gorgeous voice draping itself around Rikki, like veils of dark silk, smooth and almost obscene, a courtesan's only clothes -doing nothing to reveal the intentions, the wants, and the desires within-. He takes a small step forward, looking up again from under the shadow of his eyelashes, eyes a ruddy colour, almost like darkened rubies, dangerous and beckoning at once*... I am Yeeyan.

*Ah... the grace and fluidity of this individual. Rikky can appreciate it fully. And it seems to resound inside him, in a strange manner, perhaps a tiny call or raising of his demonic nature. He can admire the vanities, the lure, this man's body seems to cry out, like a lover in the night to a perfect touch. And the youth knows, knows very well, he's being eaten up by those shielded eyes, the gold obscured by the black-red tresses that hang so fine and heavy... eaten and enjoyed. He's seen the look before, though this one... this man seems to use the gaze as a physical thing, a press of hands almost. It decides Rikky's actions. Hunter... predator. Hunted... prey. Rikky's lids lower slowly until his amazingly long, thick ebony fringe of lashes skims his cheeks, a delicate pink called to the surface under those lashes to stain so prettily. Demure, his posture, delighted, though it never shifts. His head lowers a fraction, and tips to the side at the same time, baring again the pale flesh of his neck just the tiniest amount, just a glimpse. His action prevents him from seeing Yeeyan's eyes, that dangerous beckoning. The rise of color to the psionic's face is incredible against the white snow of his skin, the pitch of his hair. He's beautiful, even moreso, now... and he knows it* I, too, have visited this place a few times in the past. It suits for... distraction. *his voice has lowered, softened, pitched for intimacy, carrying across the night's skin in a gentle murmur* You may call me Aerik, Yeeyan. *draped in tone, that which comes from Yee's own throat. Rikky smiles, files this away... will make the technique his own later. Powerful and subtle and... a sensation in itself. As Yeeyan steps closer, Rikky holds his ground*

*The smile deepens to a grin, slow and sensual, epicurean, not at all demure.. No, this one knows his benefits, knows them, and uses them to their full extent... He raises his eyes, even as the other lowers his lashes... If the game should be played thus, he will not object. But he knows it for what it is... A game... One adapting to the other... Two -can- be predators, but the hunt is so much less enjoying when that track is taken... But then, it can be explosive, massive, gorgeous... This is a bit more subtle... The dark elf trails a slender hand of burnished gold through his hair, long nails gleaming almost like claws, resting, at last, at the nape of his neck, allowing the beautiful curve, from the waist, and to the elbow, sensual twist, moonlight spilling along his muscles... Pale skin, gold eyes, hair of ebony... Yeeyan can do nothing but drink in the sight, his eyes devouring every delicate line, flowing down like liquid fire, tracing the angles, the planes, the taut muscles... almost stealing it, as if claiming the sight for his, to take, and to tarnish, in which way he wishes... He slides his gaze over the legs, allowing them to, like a caress, dance over the shadows of the inner thigh, the belly, pausing at the hollow of the throat, before, after a long moment has passed, he returns his ruby eyes to the other's, the smile lazy, now, risqué... Embraced by an almost intoxicating scent, drifting out from Yeeyan in delicate, yet pronounced, waves, like snakes wrapping around them, like ropes pulling together*... Aerik... *He breathes softly, but then, perhaps he did not. Perhaps he threw back his head, and roared the name to the skies with all the strength of his musical, rich voice, demanding to the gods that the name shall be written in his annuals, and kept like his for eternity. A soft chuckle resounds, almost the soft thud of a heartbeat, half purred, half spilled from his lips, moist now, as he runs his tongue over them with slow, luxurious, thoughtfulness. *...I am... Pleased... to have stumbled across you, Aerik....*murmurs the lush, sensorial, voice, deep eyes blinking for a moment, almost shielding the darkness within, that by far surpasses any nightly grace that the lunar light wraps around. Beautiful, both, and nocturnal creatures, but so different, that they might as well have been night and day... Nay, say rather, so perfectly fitting, two flowers upon the same bush, different colours, but catching the sunlight in just as marvelous ways, making a watcher seem torn between them, and fingers hover uncertainly in the air, pondering which to approach*...

*One adapting to the other? In a sense, perhaps... Rikky smiles from under the shadowy recesses of his gossamer hair, his gold eyes glinting. And he can -feel- that gaze, like fiery brands to burn him alive, travel over his body. A pause over the hollow of his throat, and Rikky's eyes almost close, his chin lifting, but not in defiance... no, to afford a better view, like a small gift for Yeeyan to feast upon. Scent. Oh, Rikky's been swathed in it from the beginning, his senses far sharper than any animal, and now it thickens, becomes heady. The boy almost frowns. This was... not right, he thinks. Like the music of the collared Bard, something tugs at him, stirs responses he's unused to. And as he did before against the song of the skilled musician, that set to entice him, to make him -want-... he goes inward, touches places deep inside, shuts them all down. There now. Much better. The eyelids raise again, just as slowly as they lowered, the blush still soft on his satin cheeks. No breeze skips across the two men at the moment, but Rikky's locks seemed tossed, or touched... perhaps by night herself, teased, displayed for Yeeyan. He matches gazes brazenly, boldly, unabashedly... amber to blackening rubies. And holds there like a tiny challenge* Are you, Yeeyan? Are you... pleased? *he shifts then, willowy grace, only a hair shorter than the priest, lets the moonthrows dance over him in all their white glory and ungarish softness. It spills over his face, accentuates the planes, the smoothness, the impossible perfection of his features. Another tiny gift, the snowy light pooling in the hollows, caressing the lines of muscle in his throat. While he's very much clothed, the black fabric is tight, sheath-like, showing off his slender, gorgeous physique to full effect... making the mind work, speculate, at the sure beauty covered*

*Like a cat stalking its prey, slowly, as if not to startle it, Yeeyan takes a step forward, predatory... It shrouds him like a cloak, all those wants, and if he senses Aerik shutting himself off from some of the impressions, he does not show it... luscious, almost animal, that man, tall and stately, royal, somehow... A king to be perched upon a throne, with bodies spread out before him, just waiting for his pleasure. Pleasure? Aye, it radiates from him, like the scent. All pleasures, and none. The ecstatic lusts of the flesh, and the deeper, more insistent, wants of the mind... The craving for new sensations, and new ways to explore, to implore, to seek further within, and without, with every nerve and every thought, finding things so few would even have imagined existed. This is not pure, artistic beauty. It is sadistic beauty. In such a way that it almost -hurts- just to look at the man... In a most sensational, wonderful way. To have this beauty denied, would be to have sexuality itself, denied. To never try those new things, to never burrow deeper into the secrets of the mortal body and soul, and the things that go beyond even that. He raises a hand, fingertip lightly brushing over Aerik's cheek, briefly touching a silken, midnight lock of hair, and stroke it back from that face... Like a beam of midnight, instead of sunlight, removed from the pale smoothness of a snowy field. Yeeyan's eyes narrow, lazily, lashes touching -like a spider's legs- his golden cheeks, before they are once more drawn back, like curtains, to reveal a stage filled with actors... all naked, and all abandoning themselves to lusts they were not even aware they possessed*...Of course I am... How could I not be... *he murmurs, voice dropping lower, until it is a natural force, a disaster veiled in sweet desires, a landslide, an earthquake, shuddering through the air with intense, rich force.*... Are you not?

*For his own reasons, Rikky allows the touch Yeeyan bestows on him, the gracing of one of those hands to his cheeks, the brushing away of night-stroked hair. Tall, yes... stately, royal, all this Rikky sees, concedes to. But king? That would mean Rikky would have to submit himself, lower a shield of pride. At the touch, his lids fall to half-mast, not covering his gold eyes, smoky-dark, but blocking a bit of them, like a small torture. Wants of the mind? Rikky -is- the mind, and his shields are fully up. Craving for new sensations.... oh, Yeeyan has /no/ idea what it is he has before him. /Who/ he has before him, the beyond-lovely youth who smiles now so softly, almost sweetly, and betrays not an iota of fear or discomfort. He doesn't move under the caress, nor removes his eyes from the challenging lock, but holds his gaze steady, his stance unswerving. Sexuality itself denied... or not yet awakened. How could he not be pleased -indeed- to meet Rikky, to feast upon the altered demonic perfection of such a creature, to rake with eyes, brush with flesh. Scrumptious, this young man. Smooth, completely smooth, skin, so soft and silky... rare. Priceless. Untouched and unspoiled. As yet. Not a drop of human here, nor elf, nor even the common demon. He is all his own, one of a kind, even his twin not quite like him. And he almost whispers the response, Yeeyan so close, its all that's needed, this gentle touch of voice in its web-like tones, snaring, catching, trapping... holding* Oh yes. I am quite pleased... Yeeyan. * a mere breath, the name, tumbled from full lips, slightly parted* Quite pleased. *and a tiny smile, just the tug of corners, full of meaning*

*The touch withdraws, the warm fingers no longer brushing across that silky skin, one instead placed atop Yee's lips, gold crossing gold, almost thoughtfully. He lingers where he stands, not moving closer, the dark leather that covers him gleaming as if he is clothed in nothing but blood... Shields, yes... Yeeyan has shields, as well, but none he cares very much about... The shields are not all his, after all... He does not need to waste his talents upon such. He is not defensive. He is the one to stalk, to attack, to take. Not the one to back away, and throw up his arms to protect himself. Shields, yes. Burning in their strength, closely wound around his mind. Mauxxecha. Divine. Again, that tongue moves out to wet lips already moist, sliding across golden skin with a promise, a temptation. Yeeyan is no demon, but he is friend of demons... He is no god, but the servant of one... But then, few could call him elven, any longer... Merged, melded, changed... To become something more... And what?... Who could know. Perhaps the changer, perhaps the one that found that infant elf once, and saw within him the promise of the delight that today stands before Rikki. There is nothing demure about this elf, nothing careful, and nothing considerate. Not one to -care- about what others think, nor about what others want. He cares about himself. Sometimes, he is pleased by pleasing... At others, only by being pleased... For now, he has not yet decided. Not decided upon anything but the fact that he -will- hunt. And he will have. If he should not... Time will tell of his reactions. He tosses back his mane of obtenerated ruby, some strands still clinging, with the desperation of a virgin, to his brow, like slow trickles of blood down those exquisite features. Tilted eyes are open, even honest, in their expression, but there is nothing pure and untainted about the expression therein. If obscenity, and debasement is not viewed at as something of innocuous quality. Where Rikki might give an illusion of, if not innocence, than the kind of beauty that is pure... Then Yeeyan gives the impression of one so completely fallen, and sinister that, if possible, he is more beautiful than he would have been if still kept clean. His colours, his manners, all reminding of how skin can slither against skin, and bodily fluids wrap in a scent of immense pleasure*... Mmm... There are, of course, many ways to be pleased, Aerik... *he murmurs, deep voice interrupting the silence in which he had regarded the other man. Beauty upon beauty, so perfect. Almost impossible to imagine, a merging of the two.*...

*And so they stand, within reach of eachother, and perhaps slightly more alike than either realizes. Neither knowing, in truth, what they are anymore. Oh, Yeeyan is sure of his place, his position... his god, his power. Rikky not so different... but if Yeeyan is no longer elfin, though once he was, Rikky knows nothing of what -he- truly is. The scientists who cloned him have no clue, and the boy... he is as much in the dark as they. There are few who hold the answers, and all of them tied to his brother, he from whom Rikky was created. Crudeness, crassness, lewd nature, obscene. All this Rikky notes, takes in, files away. Oh, Yeeyan was pure, alright, pure in ways most could not guess. Pure in his directives, his wants, his desires, his debauched self, his hungers... pure as any virgin swathed in blazing white. The youth has no illusions of this, whispers in the night, -from- the night. No, not whispers, simply... something only he can hear, if hear is even the word, things transmuted through the air. His Eshvan nature telling him... warning him? No... not that either. Skin against skin, fluids of pleasure... these mean little to nothing. Rikky need not touch to gain such responses from others should he desire them. Debasement. The psionic has few compunctions himself...* Indeed, Yeeyan. Many ways, possibly more than you can even imagine. I know many of them... and many appetites. *Telepath. Even Rikky has been through minds... ones foul, corrupt, twisted, grotesque. Yeeyan seems to travel within a certain radius of pleasures, a more or less fixed path. An ideal or an idea. Rikky knows better, he knows all the ways... far, far more and numerous than simply the mundane. Indeed, it bores him... too simple, not enough challenge. Too direct. His smile broadens slightly, lashes lower and raise again, posture shifts gently, catches light, wears it like a gown of spun dragonfly wings, his hair a frame about his lovely face*