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Abhorash and the Artist
I GOT HIS DESC YES.
The Font of Blood.
A comforting feeling of privacy pervades the area. A rectangular chamber has been cut into the earth here, extending to the north a ways and lined on either side by blood-filled trenches. Braziers have been placed on stone slabs within the pools all along the walls, their flames doing little to lift the darkness from the surroundings. A narrow path is the only walkway to the rooms center, which expands into a large circular area. Interrupted by a subtle line in the western wall is a small door that leads to an adjoining ritual chamber. The ceiling and walls seem slick in the poor light, and in some place rivulets of blood can be seen trickling down to fill the trenches. A profound gloom rests heavily upon the chamber, almost palpable in nature with only the dripping of the blood to be heard. However, there is a feeling of something here, something felt rather than seen or heard. With each step further into the room a thumping vibration can be felt, almost like the rhythmic beating of a heart. There are 10 wailing banshees here. Protruding from the wall beside a near-invisible door is a small obsidian lever. Massive in size, this onyx throne dominates the center of the chamber. There are 2 colossal Teradrim guards here. Scanning the surroundings with a cool expression, a domineering Carnifex knight stands on watch here. Muttering emanates from behind the cowl of a scion of despair, a tarot card alight betwixt her gnarled, clawed fingers. Resting on the ground is a cube-shaped silver sigil. Humming with energy, a crystal aegis has been attuned to this location. A glowing red flame-shaped sigil has been left here. A sigil in the shape of a small, rectangular monolith is on the ground. Abhorash sits casually upon the massive onyx throne dominating the Font, chin idly propped up by a fist.
(Tells): You whisper psychically into Ardent's mind, "Wait."
(Tells): Ardent's psychic whisper trails through your mind, "They won't let me in."
A figure wrapped in darkness performs a graceful curtsey.
You have emoted: Galilei seems about to move away, but stops - expression growing still.
You perform a graceful curtsey.
A figure wrapped in darkness's gaze flickers to you.
(Tells): You whisper psychically into Ardent's mind, "He... is dangerous. Would be dangerous."
(Tells): Ardent's psychic whisper trails through your mind, "Honey."
(Tells): You whisper psychically into Ardent's mind, "I will come back for you, when I can."
(Tells): Ardent's psychic whisper trails through your mind, "Fine, fine. I'll go to the West gate and behave, for now."
No movement alters Abhorash position, only his eyes tracking your entry. He sits in imperious silence, simply locking his unblinking stare upon each of you in turn.
A figure wrapped in darkness tilts her head for a moment, studying you. Then she quickly looks to Abhorash.
A beam of prismatic light suddenly shoots into the room.
The plane of prismatic light disappears.
A figure wrapped in darkness shakes her head. Her voice breaks the silence. "That never works, here."
Meltas arrives from the out.
He is followed by a white spirit fox.
You have emoted: Galilei's eyes are wide. Unguarded. "I'm not sure what that was."
A figure wrapped in darkness says to you, "I think it was his imperial majesty, Emperor Meltas, come to see... the Progenitor."
A figure wrapped in darkness turns her gaze to Abhorash once more.
You have emoted: Galilei's gaze still darts around the room as though to chase the beam's afterglow, but slowly, almost shyly, returns to Abhorash.
He is a powerful Azudim vampire and stands six feet high, pale as snow and with a slender, powerful frame. Although he is mostly Human in appearance, a few things serve to distinguish his true Azudim nature. His thin fingers end in long, vicious claws, and deadly fangs curl over his lips, which are generally given to a derisive sneer. His face seems as if it has been carved from marble - high cheekbones, a powerful jawline, and a long nose define his visage, and his baby blue eyes sit beneath his tall brow. His blonde hair, cropped short, has been swept back from his face and parted at the middle.
He is wearing:
polished wingtip shoes, worn on the feet
a pair of red formal trousers, worn on the legs
a blood-red military jacket, over the torso
As a figure shrouded by steam enters he inclines his head to those present. then his eyes meet Abhorash's nodding at him. "Forgive me, I had finished my hunt, I thought I would pop by and see how things were," he says softly.
I hadn't expected this.
Too real. Far too real.
Abhorash finally deigns to speak, fixing a figure shrouded by steam with his cold stare. "Were you hoping to find something?"
(Tells): Through the ether, Meltas utters to you, "To be young and to meet Abhorash is a gift few are lucky enough to have. Best to pay your respects to the first. yes?"
(Tells): You whisper psychically into Meltas's mind, "Yes - yes, of course."
A figure wrapped in darkness murmurs to you, "Your grace? Are you quite well?"
You have emoted: "I am, Your Imperial Majesty," Galilei answers, finding her voice again. "Thank you for your concern." Her words are nonetheless hushed, respectfully observing the exchange between Abhorash and a figure shrouded by steam.
A figure shrouded by steam cants his head slightly at the question. "Find something?" He asks. "No not particularly, I simply wished to greet you in the flesh. It's been a long while, Progenitor".
A figure wrapped in darkness lifts her head as a small tremor passes through her body. Her yellow eyes gaze upon Abhorash once more.
"Yes," Abhorash agrees with a figure shrouded by steam curtly. The Progenitor still has not shifted, no movements save for his roving eyes and those necessary for speech. No more comes.
Politely, a figure wrapped in darkness says to Abhorash, "Progenitor, your presence is... rare, and remarkable. I hope you and the Primus had a productive conversation?"
At that, a smirk passes Abhorash's lips. "She is your Primus. Ask her."
A figure shrouded by steam looks over a figure wrapped in darkness but before his body language can change he turns back to look to Abhorash. "Perhaps, with such a rare occasion, you would be interested in a feast to celebrate your return? Assuming you have come back to stay awhile?" His voice unmoving in tone as he attempts not to interrupt the Empress.
(Tells): Ardent's psychic whisper trails through your mind, "If I die, I crossed a line..."
First the auction, now a possible feast before the ball...
What a time to be awake.
It is now dusk on Gosday, the 14th of Chakros, year 488 of the Midnight Age.
(Tells): You whisper psychically into Ardent's mind, "Gods watch over us all."
(Tells): Ardent's psychic whisper trails through your mind, "I asked if he wanted a cookie, directly."
(Tells): You whisper psychically into Ardent's mind, "Perhaps a cake from the Bloodlochian Stakehouse would have worked better..."
"By all means, feast to your heart's desire. I will not be joining," Abhorash replies to a figure shrouded by steam. "That is not why I came."
(Tells): Ardent's psychic whisper trails through your mind, "I have cookies."
A figure wrapped in darkness replies to Abhorash, "She is the Primus, yes." She pauses, "And I will ask her. But you certainly seemed to have a purpose in coming. Is it something that we also might help with, as her childer?" She tilts her head, quelling the tension that seeks to rise in her limbs.
"That," Abhorash says, finally moving - to lean back against the throne, his head finding onyx stone. "Is for her to decide for you. I have communicated my purpose to her. This is not my Dominion."
A figure shrouded by steam seems to think for a moment before nodding slowly.
You have emoted: Galilei tilts her head as she quietly studies Abhorash, a moment also passing before her own silent nod.
A figure wrapped in darkness's lips quirk slightly, which she dips her head to try to hide. "True." She pauses, considering, "And you seem to enjoy sitting upon your throne." She casts a glance quickly at you, checking on you.
A figure shrouded by steam ponders the situation.
(Tells): You whisper psychically into Rebra's mind, "Thank you. It's just... I've never been in his presence, before."
A figure shrouded by steam says, "The Proginator is likely tired, from not feeding since he awoke. I would simply assume he wishes to rest."
A figure wrapped in darkness' comment elicits no reaction from Abhorash. A figure shrouded by steam's comment, however, does. "Do not presume to speak or assume for me," he says - though his voice carries the same low, even tone, the threat behind the words is palpable.
A figure wrapped in darkness dips her head once more. "Apologies, Progenitor."
A figure wrapped in darkness performs a graceful curtsey.
A figure wrapped in darkness says, "I take my leave. Thank you for your audience."
That's not very - The Progenitor is the Progenitor.
Rebra leaves to the out.
She is followed by a war-painted orel.
Beneath the cloak and the steam a faint raise of the lip quickly disappears as a figure shrouded by steam bows his head low, "Of course, I meant no ill will behind it." He offers. "I would never
intend such things."
You have emoted: Galilei steps a little closer to a figure shrouded by steam.
Abhorash waves a hand dismissively, tracking Rebra's departure before his gaze settles back to the pair still lingering. "Is that all?" he says, a hint of finality underpinning the question.
A figure shrouded by steam raises his head once more. "I will like to add that the Guild has been flourishing since your last awakening." He looks towards you "new members, who seem to have proven themselves time and time again." His look going back to Abhorash "things are in motion, and members who present promise, things should be on the rise. The powers of the guild are growing indeed...might not be as fast as we would like, but in time, things will be good."
A figure shrouded by steam murmurs to you, "Where did the Primus go?"
(Tells): Through the ether, Meltas utters to you, "Could have sworn she was still here...haha."
You murmur to a figure shrouded by steam, "She... seems to be resting."
A figure shrouded by steam says, "Things will be better..."
Comprehension flashes across a figure shrouded by steam's face.
A nod is the only reply Abhorash offers a figure shrouded by steam's assurances. No expression betrays his thoughts.
A figure shrouded by steam smiles and says to Abhorash, "That is all, Abhorash. a small update thus far, we will see what happens in the near future."
You have emoted: "If I may." Galilei pauses, as if to draw breath. She manages not to. "Progenitor. Would you be opposed to me sketching you?"
I had to ask!
A figure shrouded by steam’s first reaction is to reach a hand out and stop you. However, he lowers it, moves to the side and allows whatever to unfold take place.
That breaks through Abhorash's disinterested demeanour, the vampire leaning forward with a single eyebrow raised. "Your update has been given," he notes, dismissing a figure shrouded by steam with another wave of his hand.
A figure shrouded by steam inclines his head, nodding to Abhorash. "Very well, I'll leave you two to discuss." He inclines his head, nods at you and takes his leave.
You have emoted: It is clear Galilei wishes to look toward a figure shrouded by steam, perhaps looking for reassurance, perhaps simply wanting to acknowledge his departure, but - again - she holds herself back.
Calm. I've sketched people before.
Meltas leaves to the out.
He is followed by a white spirit fox.
(Tells): Through the ether, Meltas utters to you, "You've got this."
(Tells): You whisper psychically into Meltas's mind, "I shall not embarrass my mentor."
(Tells): Through the ether, Meltas utters to you, "I would think not."
You have emoted: A rather large sketchbook makes an appearance from a brown pack accented with gold embroidery, and Galilei slides a charcoal stick out from within the metal springs topping it. She remains before Abhorash, and at last her gaze moves from the Consanguine's face to assess his seat, the room, then once again him. The first mark she makes upon the paper is cautious.
Macavity strides in from the out, his colossal form sending tremors through the ground.
He is followed by a massive earth and sand elemental.
A nightmarish figure bows respectfully to Abhorash.
Abhorash leans forward in his throne, seemingly about to speak - at a nightmarish figure's entrance, however, he pauses. "Yes?" the Progenitor asks shortly, transferring his stare to the intruder.
A nightmarish figure says to you, "Childe, how are you."
A nightmarish figure says to Abhorash, "It has been many up many of years since I have seen You wake, I simply come to pay respects to the Blood."
You have emoted: Galilei briefly pauses in her sketching, and at last turns her head. "Sire. I am well." Her silvery eyes are very wide when they find a nightmarish figure.
"They are paid," Abhorash replies dismissively, his stare roving pointedly back the way a nightmarish figure came.
A nightmarish figure bows respectfully.
Macavity strides away to the out, his colossal form sending tremors through the ground. He is followed by a massive earth and sand elemental.
I do hope I'm not in danger...
You have emoted: One charcoal mark here, another there, a faint line drawn to guide her, and lengthening sketches. It would have been peaceful for Galilei, had it not been for the knowledge that she is with Abhorash, and the unspoken words still seeming to hang about him.
The slightest hint of exasperation colours Abhorash movements back against the throne. He lifts a finger from atop his perch; in response, the horde of banshees spring forth, blocking entry - and exit - from the Font.
"An unusual request," Abhorash continues once the two of you are left in peace. His lips tighten in a severe line as your tools find paper, though he does not otherwise object. Yet. "Not a talent I have witnessed nurtured among many of the Blood."
You have emoted: Galilei blinks slowly. The movement of the banshees had briefly stolen her attention, and now Abhorash's words. Not wishing to make a smudge, she pauses during her answers. "I... was unaware. Though I have seen artists in different mediums among the Dominion."
"Are you skilled, Grand Duchess?" Abhorash asks, now drumming a finger against his lips - tap, tap, tap, the rhythm slow and steady, each chasing the next with precision.
You have emoted: A careful circle sketched, a cross, and quiet scratches of sketches mark the outlines of Abhorash's face upon paper. "Truthfully that would depend on the eye of the viewer," Galilei says quietly. "I give my all to what I create, Progenitor, and the rest is for the beholder to decide."
Abhorash considers the reply, the rhythmic taps persistent and deliberate. Finally, he settles back against the throne, hand falling from mouth to armrest. "Then decide the beholder shall," he declares, his stare finding the banshees blocking your escape for a brief moment before returning to you. A slight incline of the head prompts you to continue.
I really hope I haven't dug my own grave.
You have emoted: Galilei looks from paper to Abhorash, paper to Abhorash, fixating more and more on his visage and the perfecting of her sketch. A pinprick line appears between her brows after a misplaced line, but she schools her movements into unhurried calmness while she reaches for her piece of bread to rub the offending mark out. A lengthy pause, while she inspects the sketch - she holds it away from her briefly to take in the angles, then raises her eyes to Abhorash to study his face as she had her drawing, tips of her ears pulsing rose all the while. Her expression, and verdict, is unreadable, and she goes to sketch the rest of his form with the same amount of deliberation. The piece of bread still makes its appearance from time to time.
Abhorash watches your movements without expression or movement, utterly still. Nothing betrays the vampire's thoughts - only the burning intensity of his never blinking stare.
An artist is like a healer... The subject is only a subject.
It is now midnight on Closday, the 15th of Chakros, year 488 of the Midnight Age.
Today is the Liberation of Moghedu.
Your connection to your Empress is heightened momentarily as you watch a ruddy essence snake into the area only to envelope you and sink into your skin as an aegis.
You have emoted: Galilei's silvery gaze, a little wider and brighter than her usual, roams over the seated Abhorash for the sake of her sketch, though the flush of her ears firmly remain. Thankfully, her work is pulling her back in now, and the younger Consanguine is furrowing her brow, without particular emotion, as she works on the folds of Abhorash's jacket and the curve of his shoes. It takes a while, but her hand slows, the inspection she gives the sketchbook lengthens, and she is looking back at his face. "Merely a sketch - I shall need watercolour to properly capture everything, but it is done."
Midnight brings with it a rare smile from Abhorash, the vampire quietly reveling in the moment
before fading into neutrality once more.
If only I could have captured that smile.
No. I can try. Later.
As you declare the finish, Abhorash responds with a commanding crook of his finger, beckoning you to approach.
You have emoted: Galilei nods quietly. Her work seems to have calmed her somewhat, and the sound of her shoes ring out a steady rhythm upon the floor with her approach. She stops two paces before the throne, and lifts the sketchbook toward Abhorash, where his charcoal likeness also sits. Sharp shadows upon his face, cast by his frame and his garments upon the onyx throne - more shadows the throne itself casts upon the ground and the walls. He leans there in his seat, a lone Consanguine reclining at the top of the world, and his colourless eyes are hooded and pensive. His lips, however, bear the faintest of curves, either from the might of midnight, or Galilei's own wishes. Faint enough to be missed, should the viewer be distracted by the careful shading of Abhorash's garments, or of the proud frame apparent beneath them.
(Tells): Through the ether, Meltas utters to you, "Did you get to do your sketch?"
(Tells): You whisper psychically into Meltas's mind, "Yes." She sounds slightly breathless. "He's looking over it now."
Abhorash's stare burns through the charcoal representation, taking in each line, each stroke with silent scrutiny. After a long, pause, life imitates art - the shadow of a smile, resting in the slightest hook at the corners of bloodless lips. "Graceful, Grand Duchess," he decrees, eyes leaving the sketch to settle back upon you beside him. "What is your plan for your work?"
You have emoted: Galilei's slender fingers tighten a little at the top of the sketchbook, the flush spreading to her cheeks for but a moment. "I had thought to refine it, Progenitor," she says, her low voice nevertheless steady. "Perhaps colour it in, should you allow me audience in the future. Though mere depictions cannot quite do you justice, I think I would like to leave a number of mine in the world, to enlighten my line, and others."
(Tells): Jhin tells you, "Ally me."
(Tells): You whisper psychically into Jhin's mind, "Allied."
Jhin arrives from the out.
Abhorash accepts the words with a nod. "As you will." His stare finds the blockading wall of banshees - they fling to either side, parting to allow passage to and from the Font once more.
A vague silhouette kneels onto one knee, demonstrating his humility and respect.
A vague silhouette says, "Your Imperial Majesty, hello, I am Prince Jhin of Emperor Meltas."
Wry amusement crosses Abhorash's face - the moment the path is clear, someone barges in.
You have emoted: Galilei closes her sketchbook, a flutter of paper briefly revealing what appears to be a design sketch. Only the lower parts of dark boots and a coat are visible before the cover comes down.
Abhorash's piercing attention falls off you, finding a vague silhouette now. "Titan. The Primus spoke of you."
You have emoted: Galilei quietly steps away from the throne, tulle whispering over satin, and retreats closer to a vague silhouette.
A vague silhouette tilts his head toward Abhorash, his core rumbling a soft rhythmic tone. "I hope all good things, Your Imperial Majesty. It's quite the honor to meet you. I've only read stories of you in the library."
(Tells): You whisper psychically into Abhorash's mind, "I do thank you for the opportunity, Progenitor." Faint washes of colour bloom on the aethers. "I shall take my leave - and it is an honour."
You have emoted: Still holding her sketchbook to her chest, Galilei bows respectfully to Abhorash before making her exit.
(Tells): Abhorash decrees his will upon you, "Go well, artist."
The Font of Blood.
A comforting feeling of privacy pervades the area. A rectangular chamber has been cut into the earth here, extending to the north a ways and lined on either side by blood-filled trenches. Braziers have been placed on stone slabs within the pools all along the walls, their flames doing little to lift the darkness from the surroundings. A narrow path is the only walkway to the rooms center, which expands into a large circular area. Interrupted by a subtle line in the western wall is a small door that leads to an adjoining ritual chamber. The ceiling and walls seem slick in the poor light, and in some place rivulets of blood can be seen trickling down to fill the trenches. A profound gloom rests heavily upon the chamber, almost palpable in nature with only the dripping of the blood to be heard. However, there is a feeling of something here, something felt rather than seen or heard. With each step further into the room a thumping vibration can be felt, almost like the rhythmic beating of a heart. There are 10 wailing banshees here. Protruding from the wall beside a near-invisible door is a small obsidian lever. Massive in size, this onyx throne dominates the center of the chamber. There are 2 colossal Teradrim guards here. Scanning the surroundings with a cool expression, a domineering Carnifex knight stands on watch here. Muttering emanates from behind the cowl of a scion of despair, a tarot card alight betwixt her gnarled, clawed fingers. Resting on the ground is a cube-shaped silver sigil. Humming with energy, a crystal aegis has been attuned to this location. A glowing red flame-shaped sigil has been left here. A sigil in the shape of a small, rectangular monolith is on the ground. Abhorash sits casually upon the massive onyx throne dominating the Font, chin idly propped up by a fist.
(Tells): You whisper psychically into Ardent's mind, "Wait."
(Tells): Ardent's psychic whisper trails through your mind, "They won't let me in."
A figure wrapped in darkness performs a graceful curtsey.
You have emoted: Galilei seems about to move away, but stops - expression growing still.
You perform a graceful curtsey.
A figure wrapped in darkness's gaze flickers to you.
(Tells): You whisper psychically into Ardent's mind, "He... is dangerous. Would be dangerous."
(Tells): Ardent's psychic whisper trails through your mind, "Honey."
(Tells): You whisper psychically into Ardent's mind, "I will come back for you, when I can."
(Tells): Ardent's psychic whisper trails through your mind, "Fine, fine. I'll go to the West gate and behave, for now."
No movement alters Abhorash position, only his eyes tracking your entry. He sits in imperious silence, simply locking his unblinking stare upon each of you in turn.
A figure wrapped in darkness tilts her head for a moment, studying you. Then she quickly looks to Abhorash.
A beam of prismatic light suddenly shoots into the room.
The plane of prismatic light disappears.
A figure wrapped in darkness shakes her head. Her voice breaks the silence. "That never works, here."
Meltas arrives from the out.
He is followed by a white spirit fox.
You have emoted: Galilei's eyes are wide. Unguarded. "I'm not sure what that was."
A figure wrapped in darkness says to you, "I think it was his imperial majesty, Emperor Meltas, come to see... the Progenitor."
A figure wrapped in darkness turns her gaze to Abhorash once more.
You have emoted: Galilei's gaze still darts around the room as though to chase the beam's afterglow, but slowly, almost shyly, returns to Abhorash.
He is a powerful Azudim vampire and stands six feet high, pale as snow and with a slender, powerful frame. Although he is mostly Human in appearance, a few things serve to distinguish his true Azudim nature. His thin fingers end in long, vicious claws, and deadly fangs curl over his lips, which are generally given to a derisive sneer. His face seems as if it has been carved from marble - high cheekbones, a powerful jawline, and a long nose define his visage, and his baby blue eyes sit beneath his tall brow. His blonde hair, cropped short, has been swept back from his face and parted at the middle.
He is wearing:
polished wingtip shoes, worn on the feet
a pair of red formal trousers, worn on the legs
a blood-red military jacket, over the torso
As a figure shrouded by steam enters he inclines his head to those present. then his eyes meet Abhorash's nodding at him. "Forgive me, I had finished my hunt, I thought I would pop by and see how things were," he says softly.
I hadn't expected this.
Too real. Far too real.
Abhorash finally deigns to speak, fixing a figure shrouded by steam with his cold stare. "Were you hoping to find something?"
(Tells): Through the ether, Meltas utters to you, "To be young and to meet Abhorash is a gift few are lucky enough to have. Best to pay your respects to the first. yes?"
(Tells): You whisper psychically into Meltas's mind, "Yes - yes, of course."
A figure wrapped in darkness murmurs to you, "Your grace? Are you quite well?"
You have emoted: "I am, Your Imperial Majesty," Galilei answers, finding her voice again. "Thank you for your concern." Her words are nonetheless hushed, respectfully observing the exchange between Abhorash and a figure shrouded by steam.
A figure shrouded by steam cants his head slightly at the question. "Find something?" He asks. "No not particularly, I simply wished to greet you in the flesh. It's been a long while, Progenitor".
A figure wrapped in darkness lifts her head as a small tremor passes through her body. Her yellow eyes gaze upon Abhorash once more.
"Yes," Abhorash agrees with a figure shrouded by steam curtly. The Progenitor still has not shifted, no movements save for his roving eyes and those necessary for speech. No more comes.
Politely, a figure wrapped in darkness says to Abhorash, "Progenitor, your presence is... rare, and remarkable. I hope you and the Primus had a productive conversation?"
At that, a smirk passes Abhorash's lips. "She is your Primus. Ask her."
A figure shrouded by steam looks over a figure wrapped in darkness but before his body language can change he turns back to look to Abhorash. "Perhaps, with such a rare occasion, you would be interested in a feast to celebrate your return? Assuming you have come back to stay awhile?" His voice unmoving in tone as he attempts not to interrupt the Empress.
(Tells): Ardent's psychic whisper trails through your mind, "If I die, I crossed a line..."
First the auction, now a possible feast before the ball...
What a time to be awake.
It is now dusk on Gosday, the 14th of Chakros, year 488 of the Midnight Age.
(Tells): You whisper psychically into Ardent's mind, "Gods watch over us all."
(Tells): Ardent's psychic whisper trails through your mind, "I asked if he wanted a cookie, directly."
(Tells): You whisper psychically into Ardent's mind, "Perhaps a cake from the Bloodlochian Stakehouse would have worked better..."
"By all means, feast to your heart's desire. I will not be joining," Abhorash replies to a figure shrouded by steam. "That is not why I came."
(Tells): Ardent's psychic whisper trails through your mind, "I have cookies."
A figure wrapped in darkness replies to Abhorash, "She is the Primus, yes." She pauses, "And I will ask her. But you certainly seemed to have a purpose in coming. Is it something that we also might help with, as her childer?" She tilts her head, quelling the tension that seeks to rise in her limbs.
"That," Abhorash says, finally moving - to lean back against the throne, his head finding onyx stone. "Is for her to decide for you. I have communicated my purpose to her. This is not my Dominion."
A figure shrouded by steam seems to think for a moment before nodding slowly.
You have emoted: Galilei tilts her head as she quietly studies Abhorash, a moment also passing before her own silent nod.
A figure wrapped in darkness's lips quirk slightly, which she dips her head to try to hide. "True." She pauses, considering, "And you seem to enjoy sitting upon your throne." She casts a glance quickly at you, checking on you.
A figure shrouded by steam ponders the situation.
(Tells): You whisper psychically into Rebra's mind, "Thank you. It's just... I've never been in his presence, before."
A figure shrouded by steam says, "The Proginator is likely tired, from not feeding since he awoke. I would simply assume he wishes to rest."
A figure wrapped in darkness' comment elicits no reaction from Abhorash. A figure shrouded by steam's comment, however, does. "Do not presume to speak or assume for me," he says - though his voice carries the same low, even tone, the threat behind the words is palpable.
A figure wrapped in darkness dips her head once more. "Apologies, Progenitor."
A figure wrapped in darkness performs a graceful curtsey.
A figure wrapped in darkness says, "I take my leave. Thank you for your audience."
That's not very - The Progenitor is the Progenitor.
Rebra leaves to the out.
She is followed by a war-painted orel.
Beneath the cloak and the steam a faint raise of the lip quickly disappears as a figure shrouded by steam bows his head low, "Of course, I meant no ill will behind it." He offers. "I would never
intend such things."
You have emoted: Galilei steps a little closer to a figure shrouded by steam.
Abhorash waves a hand dismissively, tracking Rebra's departure before his gaze settles back to the pair still lingering. "Is that all?" he says, a hint of finality underpinning the question.
A figure shrouded by steam raises his head once more. "I will like to add that the Guild has been flourishing since your last awakening." He looks towards you "new members, who seem to have proven themselves time and time again." His look going back to Abhorash "things are in motion, and members who present promise, things should be on the rise. The powers of the guild are growing indeed...might not be as fast as we would like, but in time, things will be good."
A figure shrouded by steam murmurs to you, "Where did the Primus go?"
(Tells): Through the ether, Meltas utters to you, "Could have sworn she was still here...haha."
You murmur to a figure shrouded by steam, "She... seems to be resting."
A figure shrouded by steam says, "Things will be better..."
Comprehension flashes across a figure shrouded by steam's face.
A nod is the only reply Abhorash offers a figure shrouded by steam's assurances. No expression betrays his thoughts.
A figure shrouded by steam smiles and says to Abhorash, "That is all, Abhorash. a small update thus far, we will see what happens in the near future."
You have emoted: "If I may." Galilei pauses, as if to draw breath. She manages not to. "Progenitor. Would you be opposed to me sketching you?"
I had to ask!
A figure shrouded by steam’s first reaction is to reach a hand out and stop you. However, he lowers it, moves to the side and allows whatever to unfold take place.
That breaks through Abhorash's disinterested demeanour, the vampire leaning forward with a single eyebrow raised. "Your update has been given," he notes, dismissing a figure shrouded by steam with another wave of his hand.
A figure shrouded by steam inclines his head, nodding to Abhorash. "Very well, I'll leave you two to discuss." He inclines his head, nods at you and takes his leave.
You have emoted: It is clear Galilei wishes to look toward a figure shrouded by steam, perhaps looking for reassurance, perhaps simply wanting to acknowledge his departure, but - again - she holds herself back.
Calm. I've sketched people before.
Meltas leaves to the out.
He is followed by a white spirit fox.
(Tells): Through the ether, Meltas utters to you, "You've got this."
(Tells): You whisper psychically into Meltas's mind, "I shall not embarrass my mentor."
(Tells): Through the ether, Meltas utters to you, "I would think not."
You have emoted: A rather large sketchbook makes an appearance from a brown pack accented with gold embroidery, and Galilei slides a charcoal stick out from within the metal springs topping it. She remains before Abhorash, and at last her gaze moves from the Consanguine's face to assess his seat, the room, then once again him. The first mark she makes upon the paper is cautious.
Macavity strides in from the out, his colossal form sending tremors through the ground.
He is followed by a massive earth and sand elemental.
A nightmarish figure bows respectfully to Abhorash.
Abhorash leans forward in his throne, seemingly about to speak - at a nightmarish figure's entrance, however, he pauses. "Yes?" the Progenitor asks shortly, transferring his stare to the intruder.
A nightmarish figure says to you, "Childe, how are you."
A nightmarish figure says to Abhorash, "It has been many up many of years since I have seen You wake, I simply come to pay respects to the Blood."
You have emoted: Galilei briefly pauses in her sketching, and at last turns her head. "Sire. I am well." Her silvery eyes are very wide when they find a nightmarish figure.
"They are paid," Abhorash replies dismissively, his stare roving pointedly back the way a nightmarish figure came.
A nightmarish figure bows respectfully.
Macavity strides away to the out, his colossal form sending tremors through the ground. He is followed by a massive earth and sand elemental.
I do hope I'm not in danger...
You have emoted: One charcoal mark here, another there, a faint line drawn to guide her, and lengthening sketches. It would have been peaceful for Galilei, had it not been for the knowledge that she is with Abhorash, and the unspoken words still seeming to hang about him.
The slightest hint of exasperation colours Abhorash movements back against the throne. He lifts a finger from atop his perch; in response, the horde of banshees spring forth, blocking entry - and exit - from the Font.
"An unusual request," Abhorash continues once the two of you are left in peace. His lips tighten in a severe line as your tools find paper, though he does not otherwise object. Yet. "Not a talent I have witnessed nurtured among many of the Blood."
You have emoted: Galilei blinks slowly. The movement of the banshees had briefly stolen her attention, and now Abhorash's words. Not wishing to make a smudge, she pauses during her answers. "I... was unaware. Though I have seen artists in different mediums among the Dominion."
"Are you skilled, Grand Duchess?" Abhorash asks, now drumming a finger against his lips - tap, tap, tap, the rhythm slow and steady, each chasing the next with precision.
You have emoted: A careful circle sketched, a cross, and quiet scratches of sketches mark the outlines of Abhorash's face upon paper. "Truthfully that would depend on the eye of the viewer," Galilei says quietly. "I give my all to what I create, Progenitor, and the rest is for the beholder to decide."
Abhorash considers the reply, the rhythmic taps persistent and deliberate. Finally, he settles back against the throne, hand falling from mouth to armrest. "Then decide the beholder shall," he declares, his stare finding the banshees blocking your escape for a brief moment before returning to you. A slight incline of the head prompts you to continue.
I really hope I haven't dug my own grave.
You have emoted: Galilei looks from paper to Abhorash, paper to Abhorash, fixating more and more on his visage and the perfecting of her sketch. A pinprick line appears between her brows after a misplaced line, but she schools her movements into unhurried calmness while she reaches for her piece of bread to rub the offending mark out. A lengthy pause, while she inspects the sketch - she holds it away from her briefly to take in the angles, then raises her eyes to Abhorash to study his face as she had her drawing, tips of her ears pulsing rose all the while. Her expression, and verdict, is unreadable, and she goes to sketch the rest of his form with the same amount of deliberation. The piece of bread still makes its appearance from time to time.
Abhorash watches your movements without expression or movement, utterly still. Nothing betrays the vampire's thoughts - only the burning intensity of his never blinking stare.
An artist is like a healer... The subject is only a subject.
It is now midnight on Closday, the 15th of Chakros, year 488 of the Midnight Age.
Today is the Liberation of Moghedu.
Your connection to your Empress is heightened momentarily as you watch a ruddy essence snake into the area only to envelope you and sink into your skin as an aegis.
You have emoted: Galilei's silvery gaze, a little wider and brighter than her usual, roams over the seated Abhorash for the sake of her sketch, though the flush of her ears firmly remain. Thankfully, her work is pulling her back in now, and the younger Consanguine is furrowing her brow, without particular emotion, as she works on the folds of Abhorash's jacket and the curve of his shoes. It takes a while, but her hand slows, the inspection she gives the sketchbook lengthens, and she is looking back at his face. "Merely a sketch - I shall need watercolour to properly capture everything, but it is done."
Midnight brings with it a rare smile from Abhorash, the vampire quietly reveling in the moment
before fading into neutrality once more.
If only I could have captured that smile.
No. I can try. Later.
As you declare the finish, Abhorash responds with a commanding crook of his finger, beckoning you to approach.
You have emoted: Galilei nods quietly. Her work seems to have calmed her somewhat, and the sound of her shoes ring out a steady rhythm upon the floor with her approach. She stops two paces before the throne, and lifts the sketchbook toward Abhorash, where his charcoal likeness also sits. Sharp shadows upon his face, cast by his frame and his garments upon the onyx throne - more shadows the throne itself casts upon the ground and the walls. He leans there in his seat, a lone Consanguine reclining at the top of the world, and his colourless eyes are hooded and pensive. His lips, however, bear the faintest of curves, either from the might of midnight, or Galilei's own wishes. Faint enough to be missed, should the viewer be distracted by the careful shading of Abhorash's garments, or of the proud frame apparent beneath them.
(Tells): Through the ether, Meltas utters to you, "Did you get to do your sketch?"
(Tells): You whisper psychically into Meltas's mind, "Yes." She sounds slightly breathless. "He's looking over it now."
Abhorash's stare burns through the charcoal representation, taking in each line, each stroke with silent scrutiny. After a long, pause, life imitates art - the shadow of a smile, resting in the slightest hook at the corners of bloodless lips. "Graceful, Grand Duchess," he decrees, eyes leaving the sketch to settle back upon you beside him. "What is your plan for your work?"
You have emoted: Galilei's slender fingers tighten a little at the top of the sketchbook, the flush spreading to her cheeks for but a moment. "I had thought to refine it, Progenitor," she says, her low voice nevertheless steady. "Perhaps colour it in, should you allow me audience in the future. Though mere depictions cannot quite do you justice, I think I would like to leave a number of mine in the world, to enlighten my line, and others."
(Tells): Jhin tells you, "Ally me."
(Tells): You whisper psychically into Jhin's mind, "Allied."
Jhin arrives from the out.
Abhorash accepts the words with a nod. "As you will." His stare finds the blockading wall of banshees - they fling to either side, parting to allow passage to and from the Font once more.
A vague silhouette kneels onto one knee, demonstrating his humility and respect.
A vague silhouette says, "Your Imperial Majesty, hello, I am Prince Jhin of Emperor Meltas."
Wry amusement crosses Abhorash's face - the moment the path is clear, someone barges in.
You have emoted: Galilei closes her sketchbook, a flutter of paper briefly revealing what appears to be a design sketch. Only the lower parts of dark boots and a coat are visible before the cover comes down.
Abhorash's piercing attention falls off you, finding a vague silhouette now. "Titan. The Primus spoke of you."
You have emoted: Galilei quietly steps away from the throne, tulle whispering over satin, and retreats closer to a vague silhouette.
A vague silhouette tilts his head toward Abhorash, his core rumbling a soft rhythmic tone. "I hope all good things, Your Imperial Majesty. It's quite the honor to meet you. I've only read stories of you in the library."
(Tells): You whisper psychically into Abhorash's mind, "I do thank you for the opportunity, Progenitor." Faint washes of colour bloom on the aethers. "I shall take my leave - and it is an honour."
You have emoted: Still holding her sketchbook to her chest, Galilei bows respectfully to Abhorash before making her exit.
(Tells): Abhorash decrees his will upon you, "Go well, artist."
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