Gods Maestoso was such a boring fucking city. The drinks were lousy, the whores were too neat, and if Quinlan was just being picky when asking for a sloppy wet one on his dick, then excuuuuse him for having a little taste. Geeze. This was what he'd left Connlaoth for? Pfft, ok, so he knew why he'd left his homeland. There were no illusions about that, and getting to travel was something most people only dreamed about.

Quinlan liked it too, he couldn't claim he didn't. There was a certain thrill in being in different places, places you thought you'd never see as a child, and only heard of through stories, myth, filtered hearsay. You only found the truth when you went out and discovered it for yourself. Too bad no one rightly expressed the sheer pennilessness that came with being a vagrant, cept for those you'd see in the most dilapidated parts of a city. Quinlan made coin where he could, saved up what he didn't waste of getting more herb or booze and moved on to the next city.

Too bad, he miscalculated how much coin he had in his pocket, and how much it would cost to get the fuck out of this city. It was too bad that hand of cards was garbage and he'd taken that sucker for all he was worth. And it was too bad he and his buddies met up with Quinlan afterward to jump him and take what he'd won.

Quinlan gently rubbed at the bruise underneath his eye, too headache induced to use any blood magic to alleviate much more than the swelling around his eye. Fuck him, fuck this city, fuck everything.  And fuck those fucking bells that were going off around the city like somebody was being murdered. If there was any luck that favored Quinlan, maybe that fucker that took his money back got stuck like a pig and robbed.

Sure he'd still be broke, but the thought amused him nonetheless.

Quinlan pushed himself up from the alley floor where he'd been lying for the last five minutes, trying to figure out his life decisions before cleaning his scarred hands on his pants and brushing his hair back. He staggered out of the alley and looked around, for the nearest bar. Maybe he promised to blow the bartender afterward he could get a fucking drink.  Or maybe just have his head cracked open, that woud save him the trouble of alleviating his headache.

He ignored the bells, that just seemed louder and louder until they altogether stopped, and he fixed his ripped coat, a patched up leather thing that was cruddy and had a pocket inside where he pulled out a small case of rolled smokes, feeling around his body for his matches and cursing when the small box he'd had was empty, and the one he'd hidden in his shoe was wet.  Great.

He lingered under a lantern light, standing just outside of the Skull and Shark, looking around and seeing a familiar shape emerging from the shadow.  ...Wearing a helmet, and bearing a cudgel.  "Did I pray right this time? Am i gonna get my brains beaten outta me this time?" he murmured, holding the unlit smoke between his lips and suddenly grinning when the figure came further into the light.

"Well, I'll be a handprint on a slapped ass. Hello Officer Marchand. What can I do for you this fine evening?" he grinned at her, pulling the smoke gingerly between his fingers, narrowing indigo eyes and grinning up at her.

Hysaeda kept walking, letting her sleep. Kept walking since the soft sounds of her breathing were all the reassurance he needed that she was still alive, that she would be all right. He let her listen to the rhythm of his heartbeat and kept onward as the terrain evened out eventually and beside them a small hillock rose where the roots of trees along the edge of it protruded and provided a small but decent shelter.

Just in time to feel a hand sprawling across his chest, and touch his chin. He smiled and grinned down at her as he checked out the tiny inlet at first and crawled down onto his knees to shuffle inside of it. "You're sorry for how we met? You certainly tried to show me who was boss then. You were a very good mage knight. Only wanting to do your job," he nodded to her.  "I remember the long and painful headache of a journey it was to drag me out of my homeland and to the capital. I wasn't much of a picnic myself."

He chuckled softly and kept her tucked against him, pushing her into his lap and using his legs to scoot himself backwards until his back hit the dirt wall.  "I looked for you after meeting with your friend Quinlan. I wanted you to stay with me...I wanted to stay with you. I'm sorry for the time we could have had together. But I found you now. Adalia, I missed you," he murmured and leaned down to kiss her forehead, grasping her hand with his own and tucking it into his chest.

Mine was @Aeytrious

I introduce to you: The Lumpy Orange.

Mercuxio was far too fuzzy to make sense of what he was doing. His body was heavy and everything was languid, lagging, and his face was exceptionally warm as he tucked his head in further in the crook of her neck and kissed her deeply, hotly, lapping his tongue against her pulse.  He wanted her to feel good, and when the front of her fell, barely kept on her body save for the mounds of her breasts.

"What?"  Wait.  Her thighs closed around his hand and his breath hitched, a small sound of frustration creeping from the back of his throat. Mercuxio tenderly lapped at her shoulder, kissing her warm skin there, and he felt the jolts going through her, his own body tensing and he released a hot breath along her neck.  "Why?"  An empty question that he expected no answers to.

He sat up straighter and kissed at her cheek, trying to coax he head to angle toward him and kiss at her lips this time, wriggling his head to slip in deeper and keeping his thumb rolling over her clit, until she was shivering again. His other hand reached around to grab at her breasts, gripping and squeezing it gently, rolling his other hand over pert nipples.

"We can sleep after," he murmured, breaking that kiss, nibbling at her bottom lip. He nodded to her, and encouraged her to lean further back against him. Mercuxio didn't relent, slipping fingers in deep enough to elicit what other noises he could from her before he shifted them both back against the bed. Pulling his hand away reluctantly, his fingertips glistening with her, and he pulled his shirt off his body,

Mercuxio shifted around and tugged at his trousers, gently pushing them down from his hips and he hovered over her, placing hands on either side of her head, eyes heavy and hooded. 

"Sleep will come. I promise," he breathed and cupped her face sweetly.  "There's nothing wrong with what we're doing," he hissed, kissing at her jawline, dragging lips to her chin.

Her body practically felt like it was on fire the moment his arm slid around her. The thin fabric of all that remained of her clothing did nothing to abate the heat he felt from her. He'd shrugged out of his own jacket the moment they went into the room and although he hadn't been paying any real attention to it, he could feel the pressure in his pants more than a little tense for what they'd been doing only minutes earlier.

His limbs were heavy and his head felt like it could roll off his shoulders. When was the last time he drank that much? Couldn't be damned to remember, but the second she leaned back against him all depressing thoughts swam away from him. Mercuxio blinked ice blue eyes at her, heavy-lidded drooping even.

Her words sent chills up and down his spine and he leaned further against her. It was okay. It was perfectly natural to be attracted to a beautiful woman. He knew then that he'd gotten lucky, he decided. Someone else could have snatched her up, but no, he got the luck of the draw on this one.

"More.  Yeah, good idea," he breathed out licking his lips and swallowing on a dry throat. Also mainly because all the saliva presently was in his mouth, just about ready to fall from his lips.  A noise that resembled a hungered hum emerged in the back of his throat the moment she loosed the ties at her neck.

Soft supple skin, ripe enough to be tasted. So he did, dropping his head into the crook of her neck and kissing wetly at her throat.  "How does that feel?" He sucked gently on that skin, and let his hand slip into one of the loose openings of her shorts, and slid them toward the heat between her legs. It was still largely wet where his fingers slipped inside her, rolling his thumb over that point that made her shiver so.

It'd been going okay. Or so he thought, and perhaps this wasn't the most ideal position to get to know his knew bride in, but if not this, then what? When? After this short respite it was back to life, back to planning, back to war, back to the possibility that it would all be for naught and that made him want to cling to her even tighter.

They were perfect strangers, didn't know each other beyond name or even assumption. And all he could think to do was start somewhere, build that connection. They didn't have to be strangers, they didn't have to let it come down to a marriage solely of convenience. They could be friends, could they not? Mercuxio, at the very least, found he could hope for that.

But soon she twitched, hitched, and moved away from him, and Mercuxio had to blink to collect his vision as he watched her pry off that suffocating clothing. She couldn't be more flushed and flustered. Beet red and the very sight of her peeling off her clothing had Mercuxio shifting over to the bed, sitting at the edge of it amidst her panic.

"Aveline. Are you ok?" he murmured, eyes wide. His hands fumbled only momentarily as he peeled her out of that corset and tugged it off, discarding it to the side. There he remained beside her and shuffled to shrug out of his own jacket. Once she calmed, he eased himself and took in a deep breath.

Was it really so odd?  She wasn't that unaware of what happened when a person was aroused was she?

"Aveline," he hissed, crawling over to her and settling behind her. "That was...me trying to pleasure you."  A flick of his brow and he tilted his head. He slipped an arm around her waist and hugged her back to his chest. "I did enjoy doing it. Did you not enjoy it? It's okay to feel pleasure. Should we try again?"

In another time, maybe before the seminary, Mercuxio would have gotten married and inherited the noble title and position that his father had raised him birth to take over. He would have procreated with his wife to make an heir, a back up, and went about his business with running Bellkrath, securing it in preparation for the coming war.

War would have arrived anyway, regardless whether or not anyone was ready for it. The Church would have anticipated it. People would have died regardless. No one was safe, the nation would still be burning.

A morbid thought, considering what he was trying to focus on right now.  And Mercuxio felt even then it was just easier to let himself go. Just be, here in the moment, with Aveline and knowing all that he had lost, and what he could lose only made him respond to her further. Her little hitches in breath and moans. He wanted her to feel good, and every quiver she made as he rolled and lapped his tongue against her, breathing in deep.

"I know," he breathed against her, in answer to her question regarding whether or not he was aware she was a man. "Now that you told me that is. But I had to make sure that you weren't a man."  He snorted just a little, flicked eyes up at her past the ruffles of her dress, up to her flushed face. The look in his eyes conveying nothing short of mischief, tipsy impetuosity as his hands slipped around the outside of her thighs and pushed her dress further back, gripping calloused hands against her flushed flesh.

"I'll try spelling your name. Pretty sure I can do that right," he challenged and ventured back toward her heat, swiping his tongue upward then back down, starting with the A. He said something snarky, but perhaps it was better that she didn't hear him considering he'd just spelled her name wrong on purpose. Whoops.

He was drunk and if he'd been looking at himself from the outside, he probably would be cringing super hard. Yup, this wasn't at all normal behavior, but somehow he couldn't help himself. Time to be super charming, be super duper extra seductive. Show a little neck, give her a little squeeze, and she'd be his right? That was how you woo'd, right? Yeah sure. He had a lot of experiences with women. Not ...really, no, but the women he knew somehow had been charmed, and now that he was drunk that meant he was extra charming.

Mercuxio was glad though that she'd accepted his offer, and when she finally let him into his room, he half-stumbled after her, closing the door with a decisive click. Mercuxio grinned, unable to contain small chuckles as she pressed her hand to his chest, where his heart raced and his stomach lurched with a pleasing jolt, where his lower belly warmed.

He didn't mind the little touches, the force, even the fed-up attitude that she clearly was putting on. Well, maybe, he didn't know here that well yet. But he wanted to, and he saw no reason they shouldn't start now. With a shrug his jacket came off and pooled to the floor and he gently coaxed her backwards toward the bed.

"Chilly nights up here are probably not all that different than being on the coast," he reasoned delicately. Mercuxio nodded and pressed his hands to her hips, fingers digging into cloth and bunching it in his grip, gently coaxing it up. "All kinds of ways to warm up. Ohh, my darling, you're so cool to the touch."

Merric licked his lips and bit down on his lower one, eyes flicking from her eyes, to her lips, to her bosom and he leaned down on his knees, coaxing her dress up. "I know a poem. I'll spell it out for you," he muttered, and with a swoop her shorts fell, eased down by delicate fingers, and his took a long lapping kiss against the inside of her left thigh, kissing there until her body was as flush as his was.

He listened to her little responses, the small breaths inbetween each kiss and he soon leaned in to lick at her sex. Tongue tricks that left him a little less tied. Even drunk Mercuxio had always waxed poetic.

"I do love you. More than you will ever know," Hysaeda admitted. His voice was low and steady and even though he trembled, clutching her to his chest, as if she couldn't possibly get any closer to him. "I had a dream about you. I followed the vision I saw, followed them to you, and I was scared that I was too late. I'm not too late though, you're still awake, you're still alive. Please tell me I wasn't too late."

She looked closer to death than he would have liked and exhaustion was painted in the lines of her face. He frowned and pressed his chin to her forehead, his own eyes growing hotter and the chill in the air ever present.  "Adalia, dearest, Adalia. We'll find a real place to sleep, a forest is no place for that."

He grumbled lowly and ducked his other arm down to hook beneath her knees, hoisting her up underneath to pluck her from the ground. If she wanted she could sleep in his arms, he wouldn't stop her, but he wasn't going to let the ground chill her anymore. Hysaeda lifted her, and when she was comfortable in his grip, only then did he move away from where he found her.

"We'll find a place to camp properly and I will let you rest in the mean time. I won't let you go. Not ever again."

Weirdly enough, Mercuxio couldn't tell whether she was genuinely offended or just playing with him. Maybe being drunk made him less perceptive than usual. Normally he felt he could read people pretty well. His head did a little swim. And yup...yeah, he was drunk, a little buzzed. And he only chuckled at Aveline's perfectly normal reaction.

"It can be more than an attempt at something if you're curious. My tongue is good for more than just talking and kissing, I could show you, if you'd like," he offered, voice husky, heavy, and he leaned in closer to the touch at his elbow.

"Let's go to bed, Aveline," he growled, breathing in deep reaching to hold her face, cupping a rough calloused hand against it. He could feel the twitching of her muscles underneath that skin, and his eyes flicked to the poutiness of her lips, of her expression.  A grin, and he leaned in to kiss her cheek, letting his breath linger there. It was laden with alcohol and maybe his request was more of a coaxing and his arm slid down around her waist, and he pulled her against him, hooking her waist.

"The night's cold. It wouldn't do to rest up alone."

"I'm okay," she said, yet Hysaeda found no confidence on those words. Outwardly she couldn't have been more flushed, and her opalescent hair clung to her face, and he leaned down to reach out, brush it back, tickle the sides of her face, unsure if she were real or a dream. She spoke again and asked if he were here to take her back with him, away from death. Or through death.

Knitting his brow in confusion, Hysaeda forced a small wry grin. A soft laugh and he carefully reached down to lift her head up and cup her head in the crook of his arm, cradling her against his chest. "I will hold you, but not while you die. There will be no dying today, Adalia. You are very warm, my friend. Sickly?  You're scared, and this place. This is no place to die," he explained his voice barely above a whisper.

"I love you." Those words came easily. More than most. Hysaeda kept every motion gentle and scooped her up into his arms, hugging her to him and feeling a knot tighten in his chest. "Adalia...I'm so sorry I let you get away from me."

Hysaeda didn't stop. He couldn't stop. He was an Umbraeon, a dark elf, and he could run until he near collapsed from exhaustion. He was a fool for leaving so abruptly following a dream. A vision.  That's what it was.

Hysaeda focused on that sensation, and followed it, fosteres it as fhe ground passed underneath him. Adalia was not well... Something was wrong but he couldn't decipher it without being there physically. He had no conscious perception of time, didn't think on how long it took. He just followed where she would be.

When the road deviated from that path, he got off, and walked the rest of the way. And just like a heart beat, that throbbing thu-thumped loudly in his ears and he felt its reverberation through him. Parting through the trees, finding his way and worrying little about the gnawing sensation of hunger in the pit of his gut.

And like a ghost, small, curled up under a tree, she was there. "Adalia..." he breathed and carefully stepped around her. "Adalia are you okay?"

Don't fool me, she said.

Mercuxio made a slight gasp at the comment. Don't fool her. Oh no, whatever was he to do. The fact that it seemed to genuinely bother her, however, certainly made his eyebrows raise to his hairline. Mercuxio squeezed her hand back, letting his thumb run on the outside of her index finger's knuckle. Maybe he was having too much fun with this. Yet the temptation to tease her was much too strong. Too easy to pass up.

He tilted his head, quiet and leaned into her. A taste, a test. And if she didn't like it, she could push him away if she wanted. His head was swimming, and he couldn't think of how much pressure he was using to kiss her with. He just knew when his lips made contact he pressed them firmly to hers, and even let his free hand slip up to thread through her hair.

Merric tilted his head into it, coaxing her lips apart until he could feel her own breath. Sure, it still tasted like dinner, but aside from that it wasn't bad. He pulled away to catch his breath.

"That's what I'm good at. Fooling the unfoolable. Still fooled?"

In the grand scheme of things, a dream was but a dream to anyone else. To anyone else, it was the repetition of what vague events took place throughout the day with little to no cohesion. There wasn't always much stock to be had in them either. They were not visions, projections, or divinations. Meaningless butterflies trapped in a jar, clinging to the top, hoping it would open and set them free.

Yet there Hysaeda sat, jerking upward and panting hard after he woke up. Dreaming meant little to others, but he knew better. Hysaeda wiped the beads that dampened his brow and he pushed away the braids and loose strands of hair that had grown to his shoulders. The grizzled edges of his face, the beard scratching along his chin and jawline, he felt far older than he was.

He was tired and although he wanted nothing more than to crawl back onto his bed of furs and blankets, he didn't and the memories came flooding back to him like a tidal wave. He sighed and tried desperately reason with the whispers invaded. Thoughts of spirits past, of his father, and he took in a deep breath. Focused. A slow heavy breath now and he released it.

"Adalia?" he murmured, focusing on the dream. She was running, from somewhere lonely and cold, as far and as fast as she could. Fear, or panic, or desperation, or all three pumping wild primal blood in her veins. "Adalia."  It was her, it had to be.  There was no one else with that opalescent hair.

Hysaeda carefully rose to his feet, dressed himself and didn't wait to alert anyone of where he'd gone. The quiet of the camp remained that way and years of hunting out in the wilds on his own had left him more than capable of sneaking out unheard. Something told him she was close, much closer than the cold place she had left and so he ran as quietly and as swiftly as his feet could take him.

How soon he would get there he didn't know, and could only rely on the direction of where those whispers would take him. The ghosts of those that walked before him left embedded prints untraceable by others, but he could see them. Go, one of those whispers told him. His heart beat faster and Hysaeda darted onward, until every muscle burned in his body and daylight began to rise.

The invitation was expected. And considering the state of their companion, Theon was quite certain continuing was not really an option. Even in the short time he'd been up here in Hyoite it was quite clear that travel overlong - and in bad weather - was ill-advised. Things tended to follow him no matter where he went.

In this case, however, it was the only available option at this time.

"We'd be happy to accept your hospitality. Thank you," Theon replied steadily, meeting Taich's hesitating gaze. It wouldn't do to refuse. They had no real place to go, and although she didn't seem interested in staying, Theon was weary and with no real direction he'd much rather not end up like one of those corpses in the field of that caravan.

He closed his eyes and Ixtal and Thayal stepped outside.

"You're nervous?" he asked softly and shifted to sit closer to Taich. "You don't look cold. You look...skittish."

That sheer mortification - whether it was real or not - had Mercuxio nearly spitting with laughter. The Duke of Bellkrath snorted and tried very hard to maintain his composure. It made sense, wifely duties. That was what this marriage was for anyway, wasn't it? That was a cold hard fact that he could not ignore. It would be naive and uncouth to do so.

He did his best and let the smirk soften on his lips. "I promise I'll be gentle," he murmured. "But if it makes you so heated then we can wait until our wedding night, as is proper." Mercuxio dipped down and brought her fanning hand between his own hands, pressing the palm of it to his lips in a firm kiss.

"Ok, let's just have dinner then. As husband and wife. Get to know each other.  With clothes and conversation."  He felt himself flush, although the heat from his face came more from trying to hide his amusement than any real shame in the matter.

And into the hallway they went, with dinner prepared and into that quiet conversation as promised. Mercuxio continued to maintain that composure, and the rest of the evening went on without a hitch. He didn't wait to help Aveline to her room and walked with her, with her arm gently tucked in the crook of his arm. "Good night, Aveline," he murmured, flushed from drink. "How are you feeling about your new home so far? Feel free to be candid. It's such a nice color on you."

Mercuxio fought hard to suppress that shiver that tingled down his arm when she grasped his hand bringing it up to his lips. What was it she was going on about again? A glance to her eyes and he stirred, having lost himself in the amber sea of her eyes. And his own blues narrowed, and there it was again, that shiver.

His fingers curled around her chin, just underneath it. Maybe a kiss wouldn't hurt. Except the doors opened and he paused long enough to only hover his lips over hers. Mercuxio instead smiled, a softer grin and his black hair dropping down almost before his eyes.

"Tomorrow night. The official ceremony I mean, and fufilling my husbandly duties. Should I practice first? Since you are quite a woman," Mercuxio made a show of swallowing hard and having his eyes widen, glancing away as if a little nervous. "I wouldn't want to you to be disappointed. Leave you dissatisfied."

She told him to take what he wanted? But what would that achieve? In the inevitable end, the answer was nothing. There was no heaven and hell, only here and now, no eternal salvation, only the brief tender sweetness of connection that could be had here in the mortal plane. A pain that Ghanon only knew too well.

And before he could stop himself, he felt a tear roll down his cheek, taking her lips into a hungered kiss. "No. I will give. Just tell me what it is of me that you want, and I will give it freely," he panted desperately, sucking hard on her bottom lip, tugging on it and legging the sheer force of it keep him closer to her. His forehead pressed firmly to hers.

Within the confines of that blanket, the heat of the fire beside them, Ghanon shifted around so that her form was reclined against his, his arms guiding themselves underneath her and pressing her close to his chest.

Back to form, Roland stood by the door, and although it was closed, it was the cell door that would serve as Charles Brennick's prison for the remainder of his days. Having lost Falkenrath, having lost the duchy, lost his army, starved his people, and the shame of it was evident in the shadows underneath his eyes. Charles did his best to remain upright and back straight, standing at attention even as the Grand Master Mordecai approached.

"I have. Sir Roland is a gentleman, even if he is a usurper," he replied steadily. Eyes flicked over her, the haggard look in her eyes, the way her hair seemed disheveled, and he took could see the war in her visage. No doubt she saw the state of Falkenrath as she made her way through here. "Have you come here to deliver my execution? There is no need. I have no ill will toward the Grand Duke, and failure itself is punishment enough."

"Lord Brennick, we didn't come here to mock you."

"No? Your pretentious vindication is mockery enough. You should have done better than to let me live, Roland. An act of mercy, you called it. Yet I remain here to stew in my defeat, agonized that I could do better for my people, than a knight and his ramshackle army."

Roland grit his teeth together and stepped forward. "Charles!"

"Don't call me Charles. Don't you deign to defer to me by my given name," he hissed and moved toward the desk, pulling out a piece of wood that had been sharpened against stone. It was no blade, but the point was apparent enough. And he bared the point of it against his breast, underneath the ridge of his ribs. The stake itself was approximately 13 inches in length.

"CHARLES! THINK ABOUT WHAT YOU'RE DOING?!

"I am the Duke of Falkenrath. And my honor will be restored," he sobbed, closing his eyes and clipping the tears that rolled down his cheek. Brennick hesitated no longer and instead pressed the stake deep into the soft skin of his belly, pushing upward at an angle and making no sound as he buried every inch of the spike inside of his torso.

She said them again and Ghanon had to blink twice and again and again. And he released a deep throated sound, a moan that came out softly. That touch that kiss he'd been aching for and hadn't known he'd been. He breathed in that scent she gave off and leaned his head in to steal those lips away.

A bite here, a nibble there, and he growled, hungry and wanting that closeness. He only slipped his lips but a centimeter away. He whimpered, still clinging to her form. "How could you love me? I offer you nothing. I've only tried to take...."