#lichrisen

     “Is it arrogance or loyalty which brings you here?”

     How bitter the cold can be. His voice is ice chips rattled free from the cavern ceiling in ominous portent of the collapse to come, all sharp-edged warning and unwelcome. 

[gods and deities meme] | @lichrisen

“ Reality  is  what  you  make  of  it,  non? ”  Lestat  sits  cross  legged  on  stage,  his  hand  raised  toward  the  ceiling,  glass  fingernails  glittering  against  the  stage  lights,  a  chandelier  at  his  fingertips.  In  the  amber  electric  twilight  of  this  vast  theater,  he  admires  himself  just  as  much  as  the  occasional  glance  admires  her  too.  A  dark  horse—a  mystery  to  be  unraveled,  or  undressed,  caressed,  and  explored.  Treated  in  any  which  way  she  prefers,  so  long  as  she  prefers  him.

He  is  persistent,  a  doomed  romantic,  fated  to  make  the  same  mistakes  over  and  over  until  a  stake  is  driven  through  his  black,  aching  heart.

‘Or  a  blade  across  my  throat.  Ah,  the  sting—a  phantom  sensation  of  betrayal  that  lingers  to  this  day…’

For  the  first  time  in  over  seventy  years,  he  is  more  than  just  whelmed—he  is  challenged.  He  is  allured,  amused,  smiling  not  bitterly,  but  curiously.

Hungry  for  more  Nylinda  Laurier.

“ What  is  real  to  you? ”  He  pats  the  arm  of  his  chair,  inviting  her  to  come  closer.  He wants to feel the tension rise like the New Orleans heat in the middle of summer.“ Is  it  St.  Domingue—the  way  your  body  feels  remembering  it?  Is  Suncrest  real?  Is it truly tangible, visceral and feeling? Our  sky  is  carmine  red  with  ivory  streaks in place of clouds.  We  answer  to  Charis,  but  does  she  listen? ”

He  pauses,  grey  eyes  absorbing  light  and  color,  growing  with  intensity  the  longer  silence  shrouds  them.

“ Is  she  real,  my  friend,  or  is  she  just  another  dead  God  to  worship  in  a  savage,  soulless  world? ”

The question caught him off guard, finding himself looking to Nylnysa for clarification after she had spoken. It was such an odd question, considering what they were. Knights of the Ebon Blade were no strangers to combat, and he had already been to battle under her orders! Perhaps this was just another way of confirming her choices? But she had never required such reassurance from him before, why would she seek it out now? Strange, how five little worlds sent his mind into a buzz, questions rattling around inside of his skull that he would not ask, and all in the space of a few moments. But despite the questions, he already knew his answer.

Nonverbal RP Starters // accepting

An amused smile spread across the dead Night Elf's lips. "Well, aren't you my knight in gleaming dark armor." Xathael purred, fingers gently pressed under Nylnysa's chin. With one arm underneath her knees and the other on her back. The Death Knight held her up effortlessly. Xathael didn't mind, in fact she quite enjoyed it.

"He looked tasty, I only wanted a bite. Just a little one." She must feed soon. She could feel this body wasting away, cheeks becoming more gaunt. "Ah, you did not trust me not to soil the dress Lysirae gave to me. Ye have little faith."

What was it? Ahh yes, something about not wearing black 'rags'. Something with at least with a little color and so it was crimson, just like her eyes. It would be a pity. She did quite like it.

       The horror, twisted mockery of flesh. Its frame deathly skinny yet hulking as it turned. Sensing the presence, smelling a new perfume of death. Rich, juicy and and oozing magics of death like a ruptured cyst. Within its jaws was the remains of a Kaldorei male. The horror growled as its pit for eyes, like orbs of the richest rubies. Burning and glowing hellishly, cutting through the dark shadows of the high cavern celling. 

       Lowing its head, it dropped the body, snapping its mighty jaws. The sound loud, echoing within the rocky, enclosed space. The corpse, the once druid perhaps, was immortalized in a frozen face of pure terror. The puncture wounds oozing blood as the creature let out a roar. Opening its maw wide as a hand, ashen and covered in saliva and blood reached out from within the depths. Fingers curling around large fangs as it or rather - a female - pulled herself out. Obsidian tresses, clung to her skin, face, breasts and arms as only her torso emerged. Appearing just as emaciated as the horror that she crawled out from. Starving with equal red pits for eyes. Somehow beautiful, a queen of blood and death, draconic horns like a crown. 

       The entity smiled as her long fingers, tipped in deadly claws dug into the chest cavity. Slicing and breaking bones to get to the organ she wished to share. Pulling it free, holding it as if it was the most precious thing. Still so warm, rich with blood. Drawing it closer, black lips parted to reveal large, carnivorous teeth. Sinking easily in the flesh, sucking the sanguine liquid. Biting it as she pulled away. Smiling with blood stained teeth. Chewing as she offered the organ as the eyes of the beast still blinked. Yet its body was unnaturally still. It did not breath.

       “Feast...with...me...”

unprompted ask // always accepting !! the pinpoints of glowing eyes lock onto the beast of a man, ghostly trails emitting from their corners as her gaze follows his stride. she says nothing, merely observes until she can view the muscle in his back, flicking her attention below his waist to linger and up again. dark lips press together to let out a low whistle, both appreciation and for his attention. "you look like you could reach down a man's throat and pull his spine out of his mouth....such a pretty thing you are." ( @lichrisen​ )

her    presence    spiralled    around    him    like    invisible    strings    ⸻    as    if    those    cords    were    made    of    future    exhilaration    and    ecstasy,    of    what    they    would    come    to    signify    to    one    another    without    grand    sentiments    involving    the    attachment.    her    aura    was    akin    to    crushed    velvet,    soft    to    the    touch    and    reflective    of    the    dim    light    around,    leading    to    an    attraction    that    became    a    tangible    thread    in    the    air    before    one    of    them    could    speak    a    single    syllable.    at    that    very    moment,    be    it    for    internal    frustration    or    fury    boiling    from    a    tremendously    infuriating    day,    he    could    rise    from    the    flame    when    everything    was    ash:    her    brazenness    brought    about    a    tantalizing    melody    sugary-coated    with    a    fine    layer    of    ache    and    he    was    ultimately    brimmed    with    the    desire    to    wrap    himself    up    in    every    single    word,    indulging    in    that    searing    moment    for    as    long    as    possible.