I L C A R R O

Sayujya was a Queen in many instances but a King by true title. Casther was his to command and he stood just at the threshold of its might. When he finally met the man again, their language was so overwhelming that the very earth beneath their feet would’ve caved at the tremendous force they wield and in an instant, Sayu tried to cast the enchantment that he’d try to tuck away. He inhaled softly when physical contact was made as if he dared the admiral to continue and surely he left a subtle gesture just before his vista. The flower was taken from his cuff and he let the soft petals gently feather across his broad chest, drifting between his own pecs before inhaling gently. The beautiful fragrance distracted him for a moment. The tantalizing aroma drew eyes closed and the softest of sounds fluttered from the titan. There were moments when the King was a delicate sight. But the moment his eyes open, there was a glint of something else. A hint of the seductress beneath the fabric that was outwardly expressive of what they’d assume his behaviors should’ve been.  

Sultry. 

Sayu approached him. Challenging every article of the man’s reservation as he lets their closeness dangerously collide. His rich brown eyes drowning the man in their pools as he slowly lets his fingers twirl the fabric of Zahir’s shirt. He didn’t force anyone to respond, he just offered invitations- in the most intricate ways. His posture was relaxed and he softly speaks, breaking his silence yet again. 

“Should you feel so inclined, Admiral. I do not require such vivid manipulations of what could be. I do not want you to feel pressure in the sense of forcing one’s self onto another- though pressure would be still present.” His gaze grew sharp, intense. His tone as light as the air at their fingertips. “A plan, perhaps. There would be more than just being pressed close, I am afraid. The flame of a pit wouldn’t be able to stand the heat from us. Stallions wouldn’t have the stamina to compare. And I’d only find worship and submission in shouting the name of the one who draws me weak- if you could ever find such power behind those lips and those mighty arms.” Sayu backed away, turning back to his flowers and draws them into his cradling arms. “That is if you are bold enough to find the strength to part Terran’s blessing. Alot of man stands before you. Surely, I do have plenty of resources to plow.” 

Zarandhal remained silent—seems that privacy came assured. That where Zahir could have been better off with his guard present, he yielded to comfort. Maybe he even yielded to the danger that he was courting. Temptation came easy within the veil that kept him away from the rest—to be able to relish things on his own. And how the His Majesty seemed to shed off what reservations that kept him resolute before the grandeur of his court, it was all the more a fire that taunted at Zahir. Something hungry. Something greedy. Temptation to be the mere lone man as privy to such a sight where gleaming eyes spoke of a different depth of copper against the morning light certainly plucked a cord. Touch lured him closer—where idle fingers met the swell of Zahir’s own chest as he let the crisp air fill the cloy of what song found its way within his core in a steady beat of heat where it came further with the words that melted into his ear like silk --------- of flames shared, of submission foreseen. An offer—hm… a challenge. Of course. Their Queen had always been discerning—and wisely so. That where sudden winds come, so did the sudden caress of a breeze that followed upon their parting. Zahir smiled then, watching the Queen tend back to his blooms as if nothing of the sort had just happened—except that it did; some private invitation to be between the two of them. Now it would be just rude to not present with the same graciousness --------- in a huff, a hand moved to reach though not cling. It was as if the tips of his fingers merely tried to slide up along the Queen’s waist as he settled against the other with his own chest now being the one pressed against the Queen’s back.

“Then perhaps, I should count myself fortunate—” Zahir began, voice low as he dared to come close that he could practically feel the shell of the Queen’s ear against his lips. “—I’m no son of Casther’s heart… I’m no man of its fertile land—though I still know how a mountain feels like…” he hummed on, breathing on, while his other hand slid gently around as if to settle against the other’s belly, though his thumb was stretched up enough to trace along the underside of his breast that Zahir could feel through silk that he could only hum on very softly in appreciation. “I’m no farmer, but I know what bounty feels like… in all its swell and generous spill… of seed buried deep within her earth...” his hand moved higher, curling on as if to threaten against the heave with the impending need to just grope him. “And though I may be the bastard of Lamasca—the mockery of my father’s vows… I’m a lord still. Your High Admiral...” a smile goaded at his lips, humming on against the Queen’s ear as Zahir pulled themselves closer. Pressed flushed. That where he sought the other’s warmth, he sighed against what bared skin of the other’s neck he could let his lips graze against. “I’m the son of sea. Son of salt. Son of storm --------- I dare say I’ve long parted from Terran’s blessing, Your Majesty…” his voice slithered on, crotch lining against what swell he could feel against it. “--------- but I’d try again. To pry Terran’s blessing open and indulge...” Zahir hummed—and with a sigh, it was his turn to finally ease away and release the other from his touch.

         “--------- where His Majesty wants me tonight, it shall be where he’d find me...”

rogan was a well learned man in many subjects. it was hard to find a subject he hadn’t dabbled in at some point. and the topic of sailing and sea-faring was no different. he didn’t know much, but he did think it was important to learn the ways of the navy trade between kingdoms as well as the shadier dealings that happened upon the high seas. if he were to protect his kingdom from threats, it only made sense to understand them better. 

he watched, a bemused smirk resting easily upon typically hard features, as zahir came to inspect his handiwork. it went without saying that he was more than proud of what he’d been able to create. he sat back in his chair as he felt the other’s hands come to rest upon broad shoulders, a deep chuckle rumbling from within that powerful chest. “——it’s something that has taken me many years to CREATE. i’ve come into ownership of numerous naval maps in my studies and travels. integrating them into this scroll was quite the daunting task, but now, this remains to be the only copy of these particular maps.” though he decided to omit that rogan had also taken the extra step of burning the original copies himself.  

the court mage tipped his head back ever so slightly, shoulders rolled back in the man’s grip with a subtle flex of powerful brawn, “tell me this first—–” his head turns just enough to catch sight of the other from the corner of his eye, “—–what exactly are your intentions with this information??”

Many things. Hopefully. The more he learns, the more he’s assuaged into moving forward with the various endeavors that he had in mind—knowledge is power after all; and the Lord Magus of Sollia holds much at the moment more so since he was rather proud to admit that the map was the only thing of such in current existence—the fool’s map at least. Zahir hummed then, squeezing on as he let his eyes linger down onto what he needed an answer for the moment—one that was at least easier to share. “—restless comes the sea,” Zahir began, nodding as he let his fingers dig into flesh once more for a squeeze before finally daring to slide it down where the pads press along where the swell of the mage’s breasts began just under his collar bone. “The tides stir… the waves howl—and after the incident in Valtolia, seafarers seemed convinced that old curses from the deep seemed to be hungering for their own quarry too,” his tone was lower then—focused. He managed to wrest his gaze away from the heave of the other’s chest as he looked on and saw where his leads could overlap amongst the old writings of the map --------- already, he found a couple of leads. He finally moved his hands down to try and cup each within the spread of his meaty palms.

“And so, here I am—I wanted to know if there are routes to seek that would serve better in the event of things…” his voice trailed off then as he let the rest of his senses weigh on to the other at the very least; to fell the smooth swell of such ripe slabs—how warm. Firm. Supple. His fingers curled as it to test if the man would be willing to let such a touch go on. His eyes finally moved to look down onto the other, seeing to every little squirm that he could catch.

An ambassador to the Casther sounded reasonable, but that still didn’t explain why he was in the Valtolian forge, where he otherwise had no business to be. Ramsden’s vigilance was down, but he wasn’t quite ready to lower his guard fully. He owed it to Valtolia to take every possibly threat seriously.

“Sometimes I prefer to work alone,” Ramsden says simply. “Not in battle, obviously, but I like to enjoy my isolation when I can. You seem to be the same way. Are you?”

The other’s words… and maybe what mischief that sparked within the pirate’s mind was enough to goad him on into a nod ---------- a regard to the other’s weapon that gleamed within the cozy darkness of the forgehall with the unmistakable edge that had surely found home in flesh and blood one too many times. “One’s sword had always been one’s business,” Zahir’s lips curled on into a bigger smile, obviously playful—but just as obviously void of any threat nor malice. The man was right, after all. “—as I am, that much is true --------- let yourself linger in court long enough and you only remember how the breathe the moment you found yourself out of the bowels of great halls…” Zahir admitted with the shrug as he took another idle step, this time to walk into the space even deeper that he had moved past the man as if letting his back face the other was nothing too consequential.

          “--------- your smiths have a stash here or….”

Ramsden kept on guard as the handsome stranger approached nearer. “You certainly look like a lover, but I know better than anyone that sometimes wolves dress as lambs,” the knight said, sizing up his guest. With faces like his, it could’ve truly gone either way, and Ramsden wasn’t willing to find out which it was. 

“Well, clearly it’s not that any longer, but a place for weaponry instead,” Ramsden continued, striking the metal of his sword for punctuation. “Where have you hailed from? I know many Valtolians, and you aren’t one of them.”

A wolf in sheep’s’ clothing --------- now Zahir had found himself accused of veiled malice as it seemed. Though in his defense, a part of him would argue that there is nothing wrong with the were notion of finding a clever way to survive and live another day. With how rugged weary wore the other, Zahir could assume that the other might at least see such a point of view. But for the other’s defense, he was really just a knight through and through. Deceit within his charge was sin—it’s fair to see him tense. Zahir continued on with his idle sway, the light now catching the silver sigil of the manticore that adorned the long tunic that he had on him.

“Me? An Ambassador to Casther—helping hand,” Zahir nodded on into a bow before he moved closer to a rack where a set of swords were laid gleaming under what light managed to flood through the windows in stark beams. Treacherous solemnity—almost as if that day didn’t happen. “--------- and it seems like you need one too—you sure you weren’t punished?” he nodded on to distract himself, regarding the blade that the other was sharpening alone like the whole barracks asked him to do it all by himself.

there was an   ALMOST   playful roll of sparkling green hues at the other’s teasing. thankfully, it was just amusing enough for rogan to not regret allowing the other access to his more….intricate maps. “———it would be foolish to not be afraid, that much is true,” he returns with an almost playful ease to his voice. it was always good to know that people still understood the immense ( and potentially dangerous ) powers of a mage. 

as the other unrolled the scroll and commented on what was ( or was not ) written on it, this time the eye roll was accompanied by a smile. “how charming——” he then stood, giving a flourish of his hands and watched as the map floated effortlessly from the other’s hands to lay perfectly aligned atop the other map. the parchment was just thin enough that the images of the ocean map could still be seen beneath. “——but i’m sure you’re smart enough to know i’m not toying with you.” 

and with that, rogan looked down to the map, muttering a few ancient words, along with a time period ( a few decades back, just for good measure ) and watched as the blank parchment began to shift and swirl with various designs and images. almost like the ink appearing on it’s surface had come to life, he watched as lines were drawn between kingdoms. they were trading paths that didn’t match the current routes, spots where ships had been lost to the wrath of nature, even spots to indicate the previous homes of certain, sea-dwelling beasts. “—-i believe any, if not all, of the information you seek can be found with the help of this tool. all you need is the year you wish to study and the command word.” a smirk then came to settle on his features, “and all i need is my payment for such a gift.”

Of course he knew. Zahir was a pirate more than an admiral of Casther’s navy—when they weren’t trying to route their escape from a vessel bound to catch the Wailing Damsel, they study maps of a more different nature. Way south of Casther, they call it the shabkhatra --------- and among some of the pirates of Bergia, they secretly call it the prizdrozken… while the fancier merchants that were just as sleazy would sometimes call it a fae vellum. Some mages call it a charter alchema. And for the common tongue in most ports? Simply a fool’s map—or a fool’s vellum if one prefers himself spared from having to hear an unnecessarily arduous diatribe about proper regards from a reliquary scholar. Different configurations Various make. But in the end, they were used for the same reason time and time again: usually clandestine writings… but in a case as such, a secret map --------- a secret map that shifts.

“Seen a couple—but not this old,” Zahir finally admitted as he let his eyes dart to the man and back down to the sheet, now filled with the snaking trails of coastlines that came and went along with the traces of trade winds as if it was history teeming with life. “—nor this intricate…” Zahir continued on with his voice low as if it was a secret that they share between them, more so as he moved closer that their arms brushed. He chuckled then, an obvious marvel with his eyes transfixed—though not at all dulled to forget the other’s words. To think that he was about to try his luck with the library. The pirate hummed then, finally easing away from the table as it to take a better look at its entirety --------- a good enough of an excuse to stand behind the mage’s chair and put his hands against both of his shoulders to give it a firm squeeze --------- as if it was a bold attempt to goad the other to bare his breasts once more. 

          “---------I... how did you chance upon it?”

Whenever possible, Gervasius tried to see hope in wherever he looked. Hope for the youth of Valtolia, of Metia, to grow so tall that the shadows of war seem beneath them, a memory, a history to read but not recall. Hope that the adults and rulers of the kingdoms could at least learn to breathe a little easier around one another.

“Honestly, I feel I spent more time in the front than the castle, when the war was truly joined.” Though he did always have the castle to return to. “But it’s the people that we were fighting for. And now, Lunan keep us, we no longer have to.” Vas completes the thought before turning towards the visiting noble entirely.

“Your king has promised aid from Casther, whether we needed it or not,” Vas offered, grinning. “I turned down coin, on the thought that the grain of your land and strength of your arms alongside our own would make proof of the promise we’d all signed.”

As cynical as he was, Zahir agreed to such a hope just as much—or maybe it was because he was selfish; war had been easy to him them given that his father was the one that their king and his father before him had relied upon. That while Zahir had more freedom then with the more suspect endeavors that the chaos had practically hidden away from sight, he was just an heir then. The next war would demand him to take his spot befitting of a lord—of Avarre’s High Admiral—and that was one thing that he isn’t as keen on taking on; he’d like to be the wind in the sails, not the hull that crashes against the shore.

“And good ale, Your Majesty…” Zahir teased as he added on. It was wise, really—food is the true currency on everything. That with the realm having enough men and mortar as it was with steed and stone, it was only prudent to provide them with what they need to give them strength to do such a mighty task. Bread and barley. Meat and mead. “… and let me be the first to say that you are very much welcome to partake in it too as I had His Majesty in mind…” Zahir continued on as he straightened back up and turned to the other.

          “--------- I’d dare assume that this sudden storm had kept you tense and restless…”

through the open window of his study, rogan was comforted by the rumbling snoring of his sleeping familiar. with a chuckle that almost echoed the sound of his bear’s slumber, rogan pushed himself away from the wood of the desk. fingers came to undo the copper clasps of one of the large scroll cases. with practiced ease the map slid into the palm of his hand, a small gold string tied around it’s middle. 

“oh, it may be much more fruitful than you could even imagine, my friend.” rogan adeptly unrolled the map and laid it flat across his desk before moving to recline in his seat once more. his arms bulged as they came to cross over the curve of his broad chest, bronze skin practically glowing as the clouds parted to allow a few rays of that beautiful sollian sun to beam through into his private study. it cast the perfect light for the other to view the map he’d chosen. this one was a simple map, a teaser one might say. it showed the kingdoms and their various islands. the major cities and their ports as well as the more common and modern trade routes. a sly smile tugged ever-so-slightly at the mage’s lips, “considering you’ve come to me, i would assume you don’t have an aversion to magicks.” he sat up in his chair, the heft of his broad form moving like human poetry, graceful and light. “and considering what it is that you seek, i have something i think you’d find quite interesting.” and with that he gave a nod to the second of the two scroll cases. within was the more interesting of the two scrolls he’d pulled from his shelves. to the untrained eye ( i.e anyone who wasn’t rogan ) the scroll inside was a blank sheet of incredibly thin parchment and nothing more. the mage’s smirk grew just slightly “——go on, i’ll let you do the honors this time.”

“Well, I got lost—” Zahir teased the correction as it was not at all serious, and again, not something that he minded considering current company. “ --------- though I’d say it depends in the situation, really—I’d take it as a general rule of thumb that I’m not averse, but I’m still afraid of it,” Zahir replied. It was an admittance that came easy, really; Zahir knew very well that he wasn’t even close to what a mage could do—and he wasn’t foolish enough to claim to hubris, either. They are powerful—and he is mortal. It’s the truth. And just as his admittance came to pass, his smile softened into something more curious that for a moment he had wrested himself away from the image in his mind of how the other’s slightly bared breasts swell up and push against each other with how his arms crossed under his chest before he offered this other... relic.

Now, not that he would admit to it—more so as it was probably obvious with how his own brawn tensed upon receiving it—but there was caution that sparked. Though still, curiosity. That will a careful nudge from both ends, brown parchment came under the bathing light from the massive windows --------- ironic since the light apparently wasn’t needed that much considering that the scroll… was a big blank. “Ah—” Zahir quipped, eyes moving up to the other, as he snorted out a little chuckle. “ --------- of course... see? Beyond magic, it’s the uncharted sea that I still fear the most... they say that Maren’s deep heart can drive a man into utter insanity... and it seems like even sea monsters didn’t survive this side of the current...”

“Very well. So it shall be word and word shall be bond.” Sayu met the man’s gaze. Beneath the surface was gratitude that the admiral had finally considered the weight his breathe to be valuable. But, there was also a hint of relief. He let his eyes seek the basin of Zahir’s lips to fully grasp the context to which both men had set. To understand the meaning of his words as if he had gone deaf. He studied them for a moment. Letting the richness of his tone ease his worry. The smoothness of his lovely skin providing a decent distraction. He lets his part, just lightly wetting them with his tongue before gazing into his eyes- finally. He offers the man a full smile, slowly crossing the path of the Admiral’s physical space. He smiled, letting his head drop just enough to hide his expression. That was until he crossed his right and began to arrange the new flowers. Perhaps the King should be less enticing but before the eyes of a handsome man, he was spent. 

“Admiral I’d suggest providing me a few hours to arrange the best provisions we have to offer before you busy yourself with countless searching through the same items,” Sayu smirks. His grin grows as he leans upon the vertical surface. He slowly turns to face Zahir. His eyes venturing toward space next to him as both men were to have little distance to familiarize themselves. “I could give you plenty of plans but do you desire to meet them?” Sayu prunes the leaves, taking the unhealthy abundance of growth and sets them aside. “I’d also add that you may not want to share as close of a tight space with me. Some can’t handle the burden.” 

Even in endeavors that didn’t demand fury and conviction, the Queen had always wielded a kind of ardor that made his claim to the throne unquestionable; a steady and ready gleam behind those amber eyes as if a blade half-pulled into its unsheathing --------- one that certainly yielded into something more curious as Zahir watched the other indulge into something more frivolous. Something lax. Something gentle. Something soft. Now, Zahir never really knew how to do it—nor know much about flowers, but at least he knew that it was quite the sight to see the Queen among such beauty. Befitting. And through its grace, Zahir at least tried to lose himself in it and take a breath --------- and let perhaps indulge in what he knew at least. The Queen wanted a banquet for him after all, he might as well try and a be more appreciative of His Majesty’ generosity.

Without eyes or ears, fingers found themselves pinching at the tender green where his gentle pull plucked a flower out of the shrub. And where he found a button on the other’s silken cuff, he reached. He carefully took the Queen’s hand onto his to slip its stem into its hole and let the bloom find its home along the Queen’s wrist. 

          “Perhaps I should be bold enough to ask                     --------- do these plans involve us pressed close and flush?”

once again, rogan began to rummage about through his things, acting as though his attention was anywhere but on his guest as zahir spoke. he pulled open a few drawers of his large desk and set a couple small scrolls across the surface. their parchment was yellowed and aged in places, tied with a simple piece of white string. the man then stood, seemingly doubling in size from his seated position, before heading over to one of the bookshelves to zahir’s left. 

with a powerful arm, rogan began to push at the side of the bookshelf, and like a sliding door, the entire wooden structure moved to the right, exposing another bookshelf hidden behind it. instead of books however, this one was stacked with various leather scroll cases. he began to peruse his selection and pulled out two similarly sized cases. as he moved back to his desk, rogan set them down and leaned against the smooth wood, eyeing his guest. “——i think you’ve forgotten that YOU have come to me for information. did you not come with some sort of offer in mind?” a brow quirked upwards, “seems like a piss poor way of negotiating, don’t you think?”

To see the mage from a distance was enough for Zahir to discern the size that the mage had on him. But to have him come close, to have him stand close, the admiral let himself revel into that pause --------- even more so to appreciate the teased bareness that was almost right on his face that he could almost smell the sweet musk that mingled with the fragrant drink that he indulged him. If he didn’t know any better, it could’ve been Solan himself, really… close—more so with what bronzed skin still let the sun come to kiss it into showing off his size and swell. And apparently, it wasn’t at all the end of it --------- that with how the shelves shifted into its low groan and creak as it offered a little more storage for even more scrolls that came as a welcome torture to Zahir. Ah, to be able to lay his eyes on such old maps that came aged with their stories, the other was just as much of a sight still; more so with how his mighty form loomed over the surface of the rather opulent desk that his arms bulged against the sleeves of the robe and almost had him be a part of the carve. And where his wide back led into a curve, Zahir let his eyes wander to the twin globes that even his silk and skirt couldn’t hide. He smiled then, taking nothing of such words as an insult as he too, moved to the desk. “I’d be inclined to agree,” Zahir smiled, he’d play along and take such defeat and let his chest swell for a sigh that put himself more into ease.

“ --------- but at the very least, I’m in your wise presence... you can teach me the ways of proper relations or maybe I’d just think of something...” he nodded then as he teased on while he let his eyes move up to meet the other’s. “After all, considering as this search seemed to be fruitful, I might be at your disposal for the entire afternoon, Lord Magus.”

“ah, no need t’ go an’ hurts its feelins,” maddox chortled as a heavy hand came down to stroke back the baby griffin’s head. it seemed too preoccupied with stuffing its beak to pay the heavy-handed pats any heed, so maddox went on to rearrange its broken wing and fashion a tighter splint around it. he then fetched his guest a bowl of the mince and tatties, seasoned to perfection with the variety of spices that casther had to offer. “you or ah won’t do much plowin’ on an empty stomach,” maddox chuckled as he began eating, never one to miss out on a meal or eat like it wasn’t his last. he slurped up a chunk of meat and a cut of fat, waving his wooden spoon at the nobleman. “ah got ye a good piece o’ manticore ass in there,” he burst out laughing, no trace of the tough witcher left in his bright smile. 

“how goes sailin’ the seas for ye, any stories?” maddox asked, curious about the other male’s explorations overseas.

Some homely fare. Secret comforts --------- the kind of craving that Zahir couldn’t really take out of his guts since he had lived a life where an empty stomach loves such simple warmth… well, especially one used to gruel and hardtack. Though with the other’s question, it was almost as if he already forgot such flavors that he had a fleeting craving for them as well. Or just the salt air. The rise and fall. Of sails swelling full with the wind --------- or the wood creaking as they ride through a storm. But what they had pouring on them was bearable still—just as everything was surely so. That with Zahir taking his own place on the humble dining table, he relished at what could’ve been the same distant comfort that there is in sailing; to be far off from the constant rabble in lofty halls.

“You’d think I’ve traveled enough to know for certain what some beastly meat are, but here we are… with me as an unwitting recipient of it..” Zahir finally hummed with a smile, playing along the tease as his broad chest swelled on to take in the scent of the food. “--------- but I suppose that’s better than being the meat… sail north enough and you’d find yourself rolling over coals,” he chuckled on, eyes narrowing. 

          “--------- ever heard of the Man-eaters of the Bone Shore?”