Shadows Walk Among Us (Open!)

[ByAnyOtherName]

A warm feeling filled the air, granting the room a serene atmosphere, almost sublime in its inexplicable wonder. A voice carried it through a gentle hum, deep and full, mapping out the tune of a hymn to Inima. Oh bearer, give us harmony, and balance in our thoughts, let us see clearly, and listen as we ought, to the unity of living things, the cycles of life, let us know truly, the ways of no strife... The words slipped through the mind of Dominus Famem, the source of both the sound and the feeling, and despite his lack of faith he found them pleasing. Many Thanati hymns were lyrical, with melodies that, although basic, worked well with variations. It seemed a fitting tune to sing here, in a temple, and it seemed best to keep his voice active, as he was expected to sound at his best at all times. While he was currently free, having just been released from a client who had wanted cultured accompaniment at a business meeting, it wouldn't do to ruin his reputation by sounding uncouth in a chance encounter.

Famem, currently going by Fale Lisu, ran one slender fingertip down the edge of the page he was reading as he scanned it for any information that sounded true. The book contained the tales of a powerful cat demon, who had, among many other exploits, succeeded in infiltrating the temple, and he wished to know if he had to watch out for other demons that would most definitely be capable of detecting him. It was also an entertaining work of fiction, and the delicate paintings of the white cat in her orange silk, embroidered with blue clouds and purple birds, fit well with his current persona. He felt strange with white hair, as though he carried his own bane upon his head, rejecting the shadow of his natural dark hair, but it was considered attractive in these parts, and he couldn't stand to be unattractive. It was in his nature to be compelling, but a certain level of grooming didn't hurt.

Currently, his hair was in two braids that started at his scalp, wrapped around his head, then twined around each other down his neck, ornamented with red beads. His eyes were outlined with kohl, partially to make them resemble the natives' eye-shapes, but otherwise he didn't bother with cosmetics. What need did an incubus have of such things? He had dressed in a light linen robe, dyed bright red, with purple and turquoise beading winding around it like snakes and vines. The robe was knee-length, and open at the chest, and underneath he wore calf-length turquoise breeches.

Row upon row of books surrounded him, and Famem knew that beyond the walls of the room were yet more books, books kept secret by the temple. He supposed that a theft was a possible diversion, but he preferred his knowledge alive. Dead knowledge could be so dull; it was quite unlike him to spend his time in a place like this. A room full of dead plant matter, with a few breathing souls wandering between the shelves or sitting quietly on couches or cushions, all absorbed in their own worlds. It was quite insulting, really, how they were all ignoring him, even though he was expending energy projecting his best sense of calming bliss for their benefit. With this in mind, he ceased to hum - it was likely considered impolite anyway, although no-one had interrupted him, possibly believing the sound to originate in their own thoughts. The book was lifted with an elegant movement, then he rose from his seat with as much grace as he could muster. He had a lot of grace to muster.

It was time, he rather thought, that he had a little entertainment. Something fun to regard. Carefully, he placed his book back in its proper place, then he called upon two of his powers in unison, using his shadows to form naked figures standing motionless by the shelves, and gently nudging the minds of all those nearby to be slightly more aware. His nature being as it was, it was more a sexual awareness, but it would help them to notice what was going on. The drain on his energies was considerable, as influencing many minds, even in so minor a way, without contact was no easy task for a incubus with little skill, but he was hardly having difficulty finding willing prey. It was no trouble, really. Then he let the shadows move, shifting slightly, sinuously, before stepping forwards. Each mirrored the others perfectly as they began a simple dance, one of the first that he had learned, only shifted slightly, so that it was just shy of familiar. Uncanny, he believed the word was. With everything in motion, he stopped browsing books aimlessly, and turned his head to smile charmingly at a man seated nearby, ready to catch everyone's reactions. Perhaps they could play a little game...

[Simon Rae]

Simon had arrived at the temple's library just as the sun kissed the earth. He had been awake all night, antsy, because of a client that had kept him a bit longer than the scheduled time. The woman had paid in full, and more, after kindly requesting that he accept her terms. In the end, Simon had stayed as the sole entertainment at her wedding celebration until the earliest of morning. The sun had not yet even risen. The celebration was grand. He had sung and danced, laughing and drinking with the guests and hosts as they all thanked the goddess for such a fortuitous occasion.

After leaving, the Maoin headed home to get cleaned up. He did so, replacing his elegant and colorful clothing with something a little simpler. He had changed into a long vest of sorts; sleeved and buttoned to show from his mid-stomach down. The vest was a very deep red, made of a local Thanati's great silk. Beneath this he wore pure, white pants that left much room for movement (baggy, you could say), as they hung low on his hips and featured a very simple, silver snake pattern down his left leg- the favored fauna of Thanatos. His hair was equally as simple, tied at the nape of his neck to hang in a low, deep vermilion tail.

What had possessed him to, he does not know. He was never so whimsical as to dress without planning to, and yet...

He found it was because he could not sleep. The gathering had left him feeling mentally energized, despite being so physically drained. His thoughts were running, running- he could not settle upon one. So he left.

Twenty minutes after beginning his walk in the dark, Simon began to head to the temple's library. Reading would be just the thing to calm him.

At the time of the apparition-like dancers, Simon had been sitting in one of the wooden chairs, intently focused on a rather risque novel. It had been a while since he'd any sexual contact, and the book had caught his thirsting eyes.

Something had prompted him to raise his head. Two nude, still people had begun slow movements. They were dancing. A gasp of shock rang. When did these two enter? Why did every face around him appear so surprised? Had no one caught their entrance? Simon quickly gauged the reaction of a few people around him, looking for an answer to this odd occurrence. A man more elegantly dressed, standing, had the most fox-like smile curling his lips. He surely looked as if he knew what was happening. Had he arrived with them? Simon keeps his book open on his lap, eyes entranced by this newcomer, rather than his exhibitionist acquaintances. His dark emerald eyes drink in the form of this new face, unashamed of his lengthy stare. A sight for the sore eyes..., he thinks unwittingly.

[ByAnyOtherName]

Famem tilted his head back, shadows slipping over his face and pooling in the hollows above his collar bones in a way that wasn't quite natural, highlighting the bold and stylised lines of scarification that ran along his neck and curved into wicked points on his cheeks. His eyes slipped gently closed as the atmosphere of the room changed entirely, shocked gasps ringing in the air as people noticed the phantoms in their midst. He could feel their surprise, their fixated attention, the rising coils of interest inside of them through his shadows, the taste and texture like rich, dark chocolate. He hummed low in his throat. Not quite his favourite flavour, but oh, attention and desire were two things he liked very much. Curiosity was a bonus seasoning, and part of him craved more, more attention, more arousal, all fixated on him and not his proxies. Personally, as a vaguely rational being, he prefered to watch and encourage the development of a more sophisticated cocktail of emotion, preferably with something of more interest thrown in, but there was always that deeper side of him that had more simplistic ideals.

In a room caught in the phenomenon of his shadows, the close attention of an individual on his form was as easy to pick out as it was to identify. Slivers of purple became visible again as he dropped his head and opened his eyes slightly, not even bothering to look unsuspicious. A slender figure, clothed simply but in rich fabrics and colours, was staring at him from his seat, seemingly not bothered by the idea of being caught at it. The man's hair served to further distinguish him from his duller fellows, along with his considerably finer features. Had it not been for his manner of dress, Famem would have deemed him a Maoin, though not of his own house. His eyes were equally as dark as Famem's own, and his attraction was blatant enough to be palpable to his senses. What a handsome catch he could be, what a lovely player if he figured out the game. Of course, Famem almost always won his games, because without rules or aims they were played entirely on his terms. That was half the fun in them.

He wished he had left his hair loose, uncultured as it may have been, so that he could tilt his head and let it fall in a distracting wave of midnight silk. As it was, he sufficed himself with an unmistakeable wink and a flicker of a more devilish smirk. There was no need to rush things along. On a whim, he widened his eyes as he looked up at the rest of the library, artfully and entirely unconvincingly innocent, noting which shadows were closest to his observer. A delicate twist of thought introduced a new vein into the dance, allowing the shadows more access to his minds and instincts so that not even he knew fully how they would react, beyond mirroring the hidden desires of those who watched them more closely. Someone had called for the temple guards - how amusing. He would dearly like to see them flustered. A more precise pressure on a shadow close to the red-haired man shifted it to a shadowy likeness of his own form, its face more defined than those of the others, that danced closer, slowly, then reached out to run its ghostly fingers along Famem's jaw as he watched it, the face of his mimicry turned towards the one who had caught his interest.

As it did so a new flavour caught his attention, darker than human, almost demonic. Without doubt, it originated with his admirer, and he had no doubt that the entire room noticed when he realised he was not, in fact, dealing with prey, as his shadows' fingers flashed to cruel claws, his features contorting in an instinctive snarl. A moment was all it took for his face to smooth again, one arched eyebrow in the other demon's direction the only sign of his reaction. It was not a taste he was familiar with, after all, and most demons tasted of ash and rust. This was far more pleasing than that.

[Simon Rae]

The man before him was inhuman, Simon quickly realised. This lithe, almost cat-like figure was the puppeteer behind the dancing dolls. The Servus demon's green eyes widened the slightest in surprise at the color of the other's eyes. Purple? They were only accented by the kohl surrounding them, yet Simon was positive the man would be equally as attractive without such things. He watched as the shadows and light of the room seemed to dance upon the male's neck- teasing, tasting, touching. Touching, his mind echoed.

A wink. The exquisitely dressed man had winked, followed by the ghost of a most sinful smirk. The intricate beads lining his silky white hair gave reason to believe this man a Maoin. Simon observed his clothing again half-heartedly, taking note of the especially eye-catching decorum. Yes, he decided, the man must be a Maoin, for he had seen no priest or templemen dress so elegantly, yet with the obvious intent to allure. He had to stifle a warm chuckle as at the same moment, the mysterious magic-maker had turned the most innocent eyes to the library's great architecture.

Ah, it seems that I've been caught!He allowed a small, impish smile to curl his lips in response. How pleasing.

He did not stir at the call for guards, no. He was far more entranced by the figure who, almost lovingly, ran a finger across his interest's skin. His eyes followed the pale digit momentarily before catching the path of the lines which ran about the man's body. Oh, the desire to admire those scars from a closer perspective seized him! But the most odd thing occurred as he witnessed the sudden twist in facial expressions. Simon took a deep breath, mind whirling as he made decisions and planned. Friend for foe? Ah, or perhaps a game-mate? T'is my desire to play out a battle of wits or will with this delectable creation at the very least, for his abrupt display of inhuman heritage gives me the impression he... Simon's smile had long dropped, and had been replaced by a frown much resembling a childish pout. ...would rather not participate in my idea of fun.

Regardless, it was not in the demon's blood to give up so easily- and this treasure especially interested him. But talking would suffice for now, he decided. That is, if the other was as interested as he appeared.

Simon folded his book, highly aware of the scene this man had made, and stood. He left the book on the wooden chair's stained arm. He straightened his shirt with several small tugs at its hem and met the eyes of his 'captor' from under thick lashes. His hands placed themselves behind him as he strode toward the handsomely-dressed man with a timely pace. The guards were approaching, and as thrilled as his dear puppeteer seemed, Simon rather'd to snatch him up now for himself.

Pleasantly and with a hint of hurried air, Simon stood before the man and bowed low; one arm sweeping with the gesture. He dared not meet the man's enthralling amethyst eyes just yet, opting for a quick escape. "The highest pleasure, meeting you. But I am quite sorry to express my selfishness at the moment. And what is a man to do save submit to such desires?" He joked finally, expressing with his tone great apology. "Pardon my haste, but lest you've a finer idea- would you fancy escape? I'll try my utmost to be as thrilling as these positively irksome guards, but I make no promises."

His heart pounded as it did every time he began another such quest (or when serving a new face), and it is that rush of adrenaline- Will I be denied?- that kept him interested. The game thereafter was only ever more of an excitement. The guards were ever closer, and he nearly wished the rest of the room dead- if only to be rid of the haste of the moment. How troublesome. Ah, but to willingly cause such an uproar... the Maoin before him must have been quite unique.

[ByAnyOtherName]

Famem's uncharacteristically withdrawn expression, fixed in place by his instinctive suspicion, eased into something a little sharper, a smile with a razor edge, as the man with the bright hair pouted in a way that reminded him of the Fae. The tang of alarm that had pierced him faded into a sense of challenge, of thrill. That was not the reaction of a hostile entity, but rather an indication of interest that smoothed some of his ruffled edges, even as it displayed a temperament suited for games.

He allowed himself to lean back against the bookcase behind him, and watched closely every minute movement of the other demon as he neatened himself and made brief eye contact. Famem seared the colour of his eyes into his brain, the habits that spoke of decorum, and the signs of haste in his form as he walked. All oh so very human, compared to those he had developed amongst. Not at all displeasing, either; there was a pleasure to be had in tracing the lines of him as he moved, although it was sadly dulled by Famem's own unquelled disquiet.

He allowed himself to be soothed by the other's display of respect, the deep bow and words that, though entirely courteous, once again sparked his interest in their play. He shifted himself away from the bookcase and into a similar bow in one, fluid, exquisitely graceful movement, then straightened equally smoothly to regard his new acquaintance.

"Oh, but I hardly agree; surely it must be the highest pleasure to look upon me - perhaps almost matched by that of regarding yourself." His lips curled into a smile, his eyes glinting, and his voice was like a brush of velvet; teasing, soft, and luxurious. "Do not bother yourself with morals overly much," an elegant hand gesture expressed his disdain for such things "after all, your own 'selfish' desires are of great interest to me - though I must remind you that haste is an awful waste of mortal time." He put on a mockery of a scolding tone as he reprimanded his companion's lack of patience, fully aware of his statement's irony. It was a shame that the demon, or man, or whatever form of being he was, didn't seem to have the time for a more lingering conversation, but it seemed that the guards, who were growing increasingly more entertaining as their inability to deal with the 'threat' grew more apparent, made him want to leave. Cowardice didn't seem fitting for this particular jewel, so perhaps he could ascribe it to feeling possessive. How flattering.

Once more fixating his attention on his partner in conversation, he tilted his head to glance through his lashes in faux-hurt. "The guards were my better idea. How simply terrible of you to assume that escape was my desire. I could indulge you." The shadows around him flickered, extending over them subtly in a slight cocoon, his double fading a little as he focused the innate charisma of every incubus to draw attention and desire in much the same manner as the brush of lips against one's ear. He did so hate to be cliched, and how better to avoid being so than to use abilities most never encountered? That wasn't to say that he didn't make eye contact with lowered lashes and sinfully deep eyes, and a smile that spoke purely of possibilities. "I like how you say thrilling, but you'll have to offer me a little better than a dressed up maybe."

How unfortunate it was to have to sacrifice one game to play the other. He could see the guards circling his approximate location, having successfully identified a vague poihnt of origin around which the shadows unwittingly orbited. Their faces were flushed, to a man, and the interest Famem felt flare within at the thought of taking them apart from afar, playing a bystander and watching as they fell to pieces before him was delicious. The rest of the library's patrons had long since ceased to interest him; they were all too dull, too scared to desire fully, too suppressed to take action. Save of course, for his darling predator-prey-opponent, fair of form and manner and voice, who appeared to simply long to play a game. Perhaps he could move himself to haste, if he just took the time to finish with style.

Firstly he loosened the shadows around him and restored his double, unconcerned with the dance it took up with the return of some free will. It took a push to shift the other figures from normal shadows molded into human forms to the darker, hungry shadows which inhabited his soul, but once transformed they tugged at his control, aching to consume. He let their dance grow wilder, unwilling to end this quite so soon. He drew them to spin and writhe, accelerating and moving uncontrollably throughout the room, pulled inexorably to people's body heat, until they twisted around them in a sudden movement, impossible to anticipate, then faded. Famem's personal copy walked into the lithe man that stood opposite him, melting away before it made contact. The rest of the room were marked with strange lines, in reality runes of desire, cut out of clothing where it covered skin, forming red marks where skin was exposed; thin layers had been utterly devoured. Naturally enough, the guards went wild.

"I suppose I'm at liberty to go." Having made a grand finale, Famem's smile was more than a little playful, tinged with mischief. The extended impact of his little trick would undoubtedly amuse him in the future. In the mean time, he had an engagement that promised to be far more enthralling.

[Simon Rae]

He did not voice his agreement, opting for a coquettish smile. '...the highest pleasure to look upon me,' the man had stated. Ah, a refreshingly self-aware piece he was! Simon relished in the sound of his conversational partner's soul-reaching voice, feeling most favored by the goddess to have glimpsed such a gem. He waited as the man continued, aware that- unlike Simon- the man was in no haste. It was quite clearly him pulling the shadows, even if one were unaware a moment before. The way with which they moved much imitated the laid-back persona of their master- swaying as they had.

Simon had to chuckle at the attractive one's not-so-hurt expression. "I am guilty of such assumptions. And, my, how criminal of you to tease those mindless men." He glanced at them for a moment with dancing eyes. "But, oh, how strong our great country's defenses stand against a little power!" He paused for effect, also taking to the man's words concerning haste. Hinted promises are not enough, eh? Then I would be wise to be a little more...

"...Despite such a display, I feel very much that my own strengths could be far more pleasing to watch- oh, hmm- or perhaps to test for yourself?" One pale hand raised with the intent to touch the man's upper arm with a feather's weight; both to ease the ache for contact and to better portray his words. Thinking twice, he spoke again, more serious, "When your taste for such things has been satiated, what will the guards here do? No magic lasts a lifetime- thus any power you may have to evade them will eventually fail you. A disruption of peace- as illusory as it be- is quite a dangerous thing to play for." All seriousness eased from his face slowly. Simon observed the dancing mens' unpredictability, eying a very life-like image of his interest as it stepped closer, closer; yet before he would know the pleasure of the touch, it faded utterly.

The man had produced a fine finale as he announced he would entertain Simon's whims. All at once the red-haired demon shuddered lightly in anticipation. His features smoothed into a relaxed state with his pleasure, though his awareness of the dangerous situation had him strategising. There were a number of people in the most distressful state, and within moments they would rush out to cause fuss. Unable to mimic such distress, Simon brought a thumb to his silky lips to nibble upon. He considered the man before him, his own state, and quickly came to the conclusion that they would best remain out of sight for the time being. The Archives, then.

Simon threw the man a sly expression before reaching to flick his chest playfully. He turned swiftly. "I feel favored by the goddess to have your attention for even this moment. T'would be an honor to have you follow me."

He begins to swim through the ancient, intimidating bookcases with a look of remembrance gracing his features. His steps were swift, but faltered once when he turned the first shelf or two. I am disgusted with myself. As pleasing as his song-like body may be, I seem to have forgotten my manners. Introductions would have to come after he had gotten them to a place hidden, for he would not take risk in being identified as one of the only visitors unaffected by the terror (thus painting him a very, very bright target). Again Simon contemplated the route he needed, for it had been at least a year since his visit there. Iyael, I thank your cautious ways for giving me such a location.

[ByAnyOtherName]

Famem's alarm was already shifting back into the currents of his shadows, easing back into the soothing darkness of his soul. Recalling the shadows he had set adrift to play eased his mind and body, his muscles entirely unwinding to a state of languid ease. As the semi-sentient veils of darkness settled back inside of him, the slight aura of smooth, dark pleasure that hung around him as his natural scent withdrew also, leaving him once more the Maoin, not the demon. At once he was more aware of things with his physical senses, and less with his other senses, and he felt a pang at the loss of his companion's sweet attraction. The memory of the lithe man's fae-light touch on his arm (not that all fae were gentle), and his offer of pleasure, were enough to ease some of the ache of disconnection, but already he could feel the nagging edge of hunger brought on from using his powers and teasing his shadows without truly eating.

Now that the distraction of his, final entertainment for his unsuspecting audience was no longer occupying his thoughts, he took the time to dwell on the similarly inhuman being's words. Oh, he thought that watching would be perfectly fine, with perhaps just a little, audience participation. Whyever would he want to explore everything on offer all at once? There was so much, after all, to see and feel and taste. A flicker of annoyance that had previously been suppressed by his own fine focus momentarily gripped him with the kind of petty irritation that could easily lead to vast unpleasantness, at the mere suggestion of his power fading. He was Dominus Famem of the shadowlands, ancient being of power. He was far from the most powerful, but before there was light there was shadow, and when the last light went out the shadow would remain. That was the shadowlands legacy. The imminent danger of his ruffled feathers faded into amusement as the certainty of shadow wound itself into his mind. What mattered it if his otherwise delightful partner did not fully comprehend the nature of him? It wasn't as though he yet knew anything of the other, though he fully intended to.

All activity in the library had been second to Famem's swift indulgence in thought and memory, but the hint of a snake's aspect on his fellow demon's face brought a lazier echo to his own, eyes half-shaded but fully alight. The light impact of flick on his upper torso brought a slightly raised upper lip, an indication of playfulness drawn from the idea that showing one's fangs indicates a wish to play fight, and a slight tilt to his head that caused the library's lighting to highlight the gleam in his eyes. He would not be moved to haste again, but all that meant was that he'd changed the rules. The other player's free advantage – that of haste, had been used. It was mildly vexing really, that he didn't know the rules to recognise when they changed, but that was the price one paid for liquid regulation. "The honour, I truly believe, is shared." Light and smooth as golden honey, his voice was different, aside from its allure, belonging as it did more to Fale. Not all customers considered his deeper tones quite appropriate, which he took to mean that they liked them too much. Was it really his fault he permanently sounded like he should be in a bed? Well, of course it was.

The wooden shelves surrounding them smelt slightly of warm and delicate spices that almost recollected to him a name, but it shrivelled on his tongue. It took no such knowledge to appreciate that perhaps the owners of the temple were capable of some good choices. While he had previously worn sandals, he had slipped them off as he sat reading, and now his feet were bare to the sleek polish of the cool floor, the sensation lulling. He was rather in a mood to find everything lulling, though the sharpness of his mind wouldn't suffer for it. He stepped silently after the other player, caring little as to their destination, instead identifying the different shades of red in his hair as candle-light and moonlight were cast upon it, casting his eyes over the exposed skin on his back, wondering distantly what the other would say if he shared the opinion that those trousers did nothing for him. He did rather have a vendetta against that colour, for all his hair was stained with it. Focused as he was on observing every trace of his passing before him, the falter in his guide's footsteps came easily to his ears, but he didn't feel the need to comment, merely accelerating to fall perfectly into step, walking so close that if it weren't for his natural grace and co-ordination they would surely stumble over each other and fall. He was close enough to feel the heat rising from the other's skin, to inhale his scent, but he still couldn't make a guess at his specific species. Quite possibly he was something unknown to him. How wonderfully exciting. It was always a pleasure to find new forms of beauty. When he spoke, his words were unplanned and lyrical beyond his normal vocalisations. "What then do they call you, who is unknown to me? By which road do you walk?" If his eyes seemed yet darker than normal, it was merely an indication that he had called his shadows closer to the surface than typical, and felt the corresponding reduction in self-control. A thought eased them back as he awaited a reply.

(OoC: The roads thing is my attempt to refer to elemental affiliation without being so blatant, although to Famem it is a really blatant question. I don't know whether Simon would know this or not, so I thought I'd say. Also, if my posts get too unwieldy just say and I'll start cutting them down.)

[Chronicler]

((It says open thread and you two have really caught my eye so if you don't mind I think I'll join in. I must applaud your loquaciousness.))

Thin, pale fingers traced across yellowed pages. Abisynnia had spent years mastering the subtle spell which illuminated texts to the passing of her fingers. So few books were produced in the etched writing which allowed the blind to read them, and hiring an interpreter for days on end was prohibitively expensive for an ascetic mage.

One of the secluded study rooms had been reserved for her use, and the large table was scattered with a variety of books. The pale healer seemed a source of her own light in the dimly lit, unremarkable room.

Her fingers ceased their movement as the touch of demonic magic affronted her senses like an acrid odor. Though she could not see, the handicap only served to heighten her other senses, including her sensitivity to magic.

She reached for the polished staff carved from some dark red wood, which lay beside her, and carefully made her way back to the center of the library, counting her steps and probing the path with her staff for any unexpected obstacles.

Noise assaulted her ears. Wild cries, the clang of metal, the stomp of booted feet. The guards then, utterly unprepared for the dark energies which lingered like a fell smoke through the room.

The light of the rising sun, filtering in through the high windows in the east, brightened suddenly. Whether because the sun had finally ascended above the trees outside, or for some more mystical reason was unclear.

Abisynnia stepped into the light, raising her hand and the blood colored staff she wielded. As the rising sun burns away the fog, her presence began to dispel the demonic energy, her light flooding the senses of the library's patrons with an air of peace.

((It is courtesy to let you decide how effective she actually is.))

[Chronicler]

((I am thinking that she will dismiss the guards and usher everyone out on the reasoning that they're obviously not prepared to handle demons. I am also rather thinking she's biting off a little more than she can chew here.))

[ByAnyOtherName]

While it was undoubtedly true, to the point where notable historians could prove it with the many examples scattered throughout history, that Famem preferred to exist in a state of languid ease, exerting no more effort than was required for entertainment and sustenance, there were, of course, exceptions. He had an abiding, passionate, voracious dislike of true light. The foul touch of such a magic whispered over his mind, shadows stretching and bending to avoid contact with such a destructive force, showing, as ever, no mercy to the fluttering, half-conscious remnants of demonic shadow. He had no way to detect magic, it was not one of his skills, but oh, the sensation of cataclysmic light was all too familiar. It taunted him. The brilliant flash of savage joy that his companion was not prey, was, he fully anticipated, more than capable of his own defence, and possibly Famem's offense, was only offset by the chance that he would side with the light, seduced by its promises of peace and some nauseating sense of morality. As though light was in itself a moral thing. He could remember a time when the wielders of light had been so feared that the powerless had sought aid from the darkest ones, and the Fae, to shield them.

Practically without his own permission, his left arm had slipped almost imperceptibly quickly upwards, long fingers resting a bare millimetre from his fellow player's back, a gesture as possessive as it was warning, as much a show of concern as a proposal of combat, had the vermillion-haired creature noticed the threat that rose behind. A threat to Famem at least. The gentle stirring of his soul, composed as it was of many partially-independent shades of shadow, settled, waiting for killing intent. There was a point. On the brink, the edge, the precipice. Teetering precariously on the line between demonic savagery, and demonic style. A familiar serpentine smirk settled across his lips. He could outplay, without resorting to such dull and plebeian crudities. Such a light could not kill him, unless massively focused, and with a regretful sigh at the (hopefully brief) termination of what had been developing into a highly pleasing scenario, the pleasures of desire and discovery bound together in a strategic exercise that would surely have proven to be most stimulating... He focused his power for the first time in several years.

There was a difference between releasing and shaping shadow, using what was already there, and harnessing his own strength. He left the former two for amusements, and latter for a demonstration of his strength. The scent of the wooden furnishings was so much more vivid with the physical and metaphysical areas of his strength both focused, and as it disorientated him with the sheer joy of inhaling it, a flush of want heated his blood at the massively intensified perception of his erstwhile guide. How tragically unfair that they had been cut short. The sensation was a little like being a coiled spring, or a fountain restrained by willpower alone, or a snake readying itself for the strike. Venom dripping from its fangs. Famem rather thought he might retain the use of the snake as a prominent symbol, even after he had left the culture in which it was revered. A deep welling up of desire to lay low and wait, to note the unknown form of demon's powers and abilities, had he any (he had no doubt that they were there, but knew not how deeply they lay), surged, then met and was overcome by the rushing force of his urge to confront the threat.

With an unyielding focus he set his shadows as a constant pressure against the light emanated by a figure, or artefact, or other distasteful magical source, as unrelenting as the tides. Shadows that had fled crept slowly back, moving in an entirely unnatural manner, sinuous and curving like glutinous snakes, dark as pitch. Why force himself ito a direct confrontation when he could gather information from her, inferring the nature and intent of the light and its source through its interactions with what he had set against it. Besides, he rather liked it where he was. He could watch the fascinating being at his side from here. A deep purr of a plan was weaving itself from silken strands of shadow, the intention less to pursue combat, than deception and traps and utter, sweet, ruination. If he had the time to spare from his other, current interest, that was. How incredibly inconvenient to have two such sources of possible enjoyment present themselves to him at once. Truly, it was most discourteous, and unconscionably distracting, not to mention inspiring of haste. It was of the uttermost importance to revel in what one could, to enjoy things, completely, slowly, with total focus of attention. Yet somehow, a small, instinctive part of him, the part that, ironically, was the most impacted by those he held deep affection for, only desired to enjoy the brief intensity of willing savagery and the blind, fierce joy of victory. A flicker of thought set his smirk widening, halfway to a predator's grin. He supposed, therefore, that his actions were entirely dependent on those of the other players.

[Chronicler]

Abisynnia reached out to find the guard nearest her, placing a hand on his shoulder. Renewed strength and a sense of purpose flowed through him.

"Gather the patrons, clear everyone from this building," she said softly.

"What about you?" he asked.

"I will be alright. Go. Now."

After a moment of hesitation he nodded and moved quickly to carry out the orders of the priestess. Whatever had just happened, there was dark magic involved, and he had no desire to confront it again, they would simply have to trust in her.

The priestess could not see the movement of shadows through the halls of the library, but she could feel their dark presence, and in the dark of her own sightless perception, she could sense their source.

Her staff leading in front of her, she moved toward Famem and Simon. The reach of the magically summoned light slowly diminished, until it seemed only to be the white of her robes and pale skin reflecting the natural light of the room. Still, where the shadows reached to touch her, they burned away in the subtle glow.

"I have no interest in conflict, I will not harm you," she called loudly. "But I cannot stand by while you endanger the innocent."

[ByAnyOtherName]

OOC I just want to note that while what he uses in terms of Incubus powers is probably classed as demonic magic, Famem's shadows are the direct use of an element, which in my mind is slightly different, although whether Abisynnia regards them both as magic is your choice. Also, I notice that you assumed that the shadows were actually going near her. I apologise if I gave this impression, they were meant to be just regaining territory in the room and hanging around her without getting too close, to see what she would do. I know she's not glowing much at the moment, but I figured Famem would be sensitive, hence why he can see the glow even though he can't see her. Sorry if this isn't particularly well written for Famem, I wanted to post, but I'm a bit tired to get properly in character. A proper confrontation naturally makes him act differently as well, I suppose. UPDATED: Yeah, I think I'm just going to put this back in as I found it – I haven't heard from Rae.

A vocal confrontation? He supposed that she'd likely instructed the guards to leave them to it, she already seemed like that kind of incredibly boring light practitioner. The kind that liked to protect people, and make non-violent negotiations. Frequently without compromising to the other party's nature. How annoying. Somehow, he didn't think he'd bother replying. Oh, he knew that she wouldn't hurt him, and her protection of the 'innocent' was hardly his concern. Famem could not yet see her, but her voice was unmistakeably feminine, and there was a soft glow beyond one end of the hall that suggested that she was seeking them out, likely by tracing his shadows. Already he knew that she could perceive his shadows separately to their physical nature; likely she could sense supernatural energies in some manner. The bristling agitation was becoming harder to fight down, spiking at the edges of his consciousness, insisting on rational thought and action, when really, where was fun in that? He supposed that it might be somewhat interesting to use his knowledge of the hidden passages and winding back corridors of the temple to evade her; the limit of tracing his shadows directly was that they in no way revealed his path. It would hardly be a hassle to suppress his nature so as to not leave traces. He had, after all, lived a couple of millennia among humans, and other races that had little regard for his kind. He in no way intended to be caught out. This strange, disruptive influence would have to in some way be dealt with, unfortunately.

Stepping away from the intriguing gem that he'd had the good chance to be approached by, Famem submerged himself entirely in his own soul, thick, writhing binds of liquid darkness wrapping around him, waves of ravenous shades flowing in delicate patterns, weaving thoughts and illuminating emotions, then deeper, to the part that was all desire and intrinsic understanding of human lust, then again to his source, the little half-conscious point that had first formed in the shadowlands. In places he surrendered to his own instincts, feeling from a distant point his physical form beginning to shift, the heaviness of the air around him. He'd learnt this from Lamina Tenebrae, his mentor, and although it was easy to turn feral and wanton from the fervour of the inner circles of his mind and soul, he knew how to retain his current level of sanity. Thus centred, he drew everything in, all of the hunger and the lust, all of the deeper darkness, the shadows he had unleashed, then wove the lighter shades of shadow around the central point in a parody of the average human mind. Construct complete. He felt as though he were wearing a corset, only in a decidedly less entertaining way. When he opened his eyes, having closed them unconsciously, he was decidedly better disguised.

This was of course the perfect time to invite the man accompanying him into an adjoining room, but that would be to bind them together should they be discovered, and besides, Famem fully intended to be honest with him. It was always fun to do that. It was less fun to have to think ahead, but what could one demon really do against the forces of light and forethought that plagued the world? That was probably something he should never say to the aptly named Praevalens Potentia, even if he were a cross-dresser. His powers cut off from him for the time being, he swiftly (far, far too swiftly for his own comfort) tucked a simple calling card into the waist of his companion's trousers *, then lifted a hand to run a sensitive fingertip over the planes of his face, melancholia seizing him for a moment. He wasn't accustomed to making sacrifices, and although he in no way meant to, it felt much as though he was sacrificing the other being's company in order to keep himself out of trouble. On the other hand, maybe his human construct was affecting him.

Thinking was slightly different with his mind so rearranged, and it took less than a moment to recall what he knew of the layout of this place, garnered through at least mostly legitimate means. It was tempting to let the hum of remembered pleasure, of wine, a satisfied and satisfying customer, and little-known information being shared freely, overtake him for a moment, but for once hedonism was not the ideal, and he focused his mind on a rough target. Oddly enough, despite his distaste of hurrying, he was fit and healthy, and therefore, a rather fast runner. One right along that corridor, then a partially hidden door on the left, then through that route that he knew more due to how rarely it was lit than through anything else, and from there the options split. He did hope he was followed. Whichever option he chose, after the run through the dark he would no longer be identifiable as Fale Lisu, and he would not limit his actions to be him. Betrayal was such a common thing, evil was unmasked all the time, the revelation that Lisu was a demon would only be entertaining in isolated, individual cases. The discovery of a shadow dragon in the inner temple would be ever so much more pleasing. Or else another rare and fêted breed.

*OOC: I couldn't think of a decent way to write this in an open way, but as it's an action directly to another character, the result is up to Simon Rae.

[Chronicler]

((I'll wait a bit for Simon, but I am concerned with the fact that his last post here was his last activity and it's been over a month.))