the   half-beast   seemed   moulded   from   a   different   cast   as   he   had   a   stance   uncommon   to   those   performed   by   most   beings.   prominent   veins   and   complexion   enamelled   by   the   sun,   he   radiated   energy   and   wrath,   dominance   and   power.   it   made   him   more   like   a   king   than   the   bastard   boy   he   was   once   named   ㅡ   with   both   loyal   lieutenants   standing   close,   there   were   few   who   dared   to   come   closer   and   engross   in   a   short   interaction.   apparently,   the   newcomers   were   not   quite   the   same.   ❝   it   depends   on   whatcha   want,   in   the   end.   ❞   his   mountain   peak   cheekbones   appeared   chiselled   into   shape   by   godly   hands   albeit   his   vox   seemed   composed   by   the   most   atrocious   hellish   form.   ❝   gold?   reputation?   stress   release?   vengeance?   the   list   goes   on   and   on...   and   there   are   always   reasons   to   return.   ❞   prominent   veins   decorated   limbs   crossing   upon   his   chest,   little   heed   being   paid   to   the   figure   occupying   unwanted   personal   space.   ❝   whatever   is   your   cup   of   tea.   the   question   is...   do   y'   think   you   have   what's   needed?   ah.   ❞

"There's so many beautiful things in this world. Food, art, magic.... ME. What happened in your life to make you so cold?" He scoffed, keeping an eye on the other. "Keep that lantern away from me, that shade of green would look awful on me."

It starts quietly. In through her parted balcony doorway came the dewy glow of moonlight. The milky brilliance spilled through the crack, illuminating her bedside. It was a picturesque bedroom, one of marble white and ivory décor, only with the splashes of gold and touch of cobalt here and there. It gave a sense of openness and light, even in the dead of night--and with the balcony available to her, the starlight would heighten everything with its luster. That included the mystifying glint off her beloved etwahl which stationed itself beside her bed, near to the balcony, as if it were safeguarding its mistress while admiring the perfect vista of an unblemished night sky. And then something shudders. The door would slip shut, and before the etwahl has time to alert the maven, a breath echoes in the room. It’s a wheeze, a threatening cadence, one that does not lack in malevolence and deviancy. From where she had laid prone, Sona immediately tears herself from her slumber and sits straight up, body stiff as a board. The shadows grow, the hazy plume coalescing and giving life to something obscene and unnatural. Sona watches in the now dull light how darkness threatens her abode, swallowing her up in a world of black mist and nightmares. At once she feels her heart seize up, terror striking the very core of this maven’s heart. Instinctively, the etwahl flies from its perch and is positioned above the bed, just before Sona. It was as if it’d shield the woman from any harm, or that it was prepared to fend off this foreign threat once she was ready to dispatch it--but what was this threat? How did it arrive at her bedroom, targeting the woman solely? Why not the Prince, or someone more auspicious such as a Crownguard, or even her mother? Doubt gnashes its teeth from deep within, questions she fears she won’t have the time to answer. Instead, Sona watches with both dread and awe in features as this creature weaves itself into reality, revealing a skeletal-like terror from the mists. Petrified, Sona was only reminded to breathe when the etwahl gave out a warning trill. “Wh-Who are you?” Sona calls out, not daring to care about decorum or secrecy. This thing--this being--was not natural. It was beyond her comprehension and it surely went beyond her understanding, which spoke volumes as a woman born to the mystical First Lands. Eyes narrow, then widen again, magnifying the brilliant glimmer behind her cerulean eyes. “W-Why have you come to me? I seek no quarrel with you...” Was it curiosity that kept her speaking albeit stuttering? Or was it an innate fear to budge a muscle, as if daring herself to not move lest she incur an unsavory reaction? This thing had her dead to rights, cornered on her bed with the look of a prey caught in a trap. Surely she would have to fight her way out of this, for this...thing...how slim it would be that it would appeal to diplomacy and civil discussion. But for now she waited, too terrified and morbidly intrigued to accelerate the situation.

His voice had not carried curiosity, but an outstanding anger. He absolutely knew where Isolde was. And all the time she had spent inside of Senna. With that, he could conclude where Isolde must have gone the moment Thresh took Senna for his own indulgence. Viego’s temper could remain so patient, as he had hoped that he was wrong. That he had no reason to be angry towards Thresh. That it wasn’t treachery, or better yet, he wasn’t aware of his possession of the Queen herself. 

“I’m not running,” he replies casually as the screams fade behind him. It’s just maddening silence now.

"I don't know. Usually I enjoy the festival with the rest of the mortals, I love to sing during the midnight ceremony and get the attention of a couple of souls but this time I was thinking that, perhaps, I should join the rest of the entities and chase them. On the other hand, I'm pretty new, so I'm not entirely sure if I should or not. I’m not as strong as uncle pony, nor can I control the undead magic like dad.”

@sadistic-thresh

“I would much rather not have my life quite taken from me yet. I already lost it once in a duel, I would like to keep this one before I move to another. If it’s souls you wish for then fine, just stick by for when I am given more missions, that is when you can feed.”