OOC: Mature trigger for mature content
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It started off as a big bang, a wicked explosion that threw all of Reajh into a panic. The former Grand Duke had resigned, the reasons unknown (but there had been great speculation), leaving an empty seat, a vacuum of power. Many nobles had spilled into the center, mudslinging and left winging in hopes to fill the void, all the while men were barking and arguing over the sins of mages. You see, it happened quite suddenly, the former Grand Duke had resigned, and not even a day later he was killed. He was exploded, to be more precise; as a giant fire ball had erupted and destroyed the entire keep he had been taken residence at the Grand Duke’s Palace. Naturally, mages were to blame.
There had been letters found, threats and brands of magics, traces even detected by the mordecai. It was hard to say how that much power could have gotten past the mordecai on guard, but as the rumors spread, Blaith Harmond only smiled, his eyes simmering sinisterly as he leaned within his bench as the meeting proceeded. So many dukes were barking furiously, throwing up their hands as what was to be done. It amused him terribly to watch, though when the calming voice of a certain man, a certain other Duke, Duke Calent of Allar, to be precise, stepped forward and began a debate, proposing to raise the stakes and laws against mages, it tipped the argument in his favor, generating support that this Duke Calent would be a great candidate as the New Grand Duke.
The idea, of course, had Blaith Harmond fuming mad, but the only indication was the faint flickering within his cool, blue eyes. This was not exactly how he had planned it to be. Duke Calent should not have taken lead on the conversation, but it seemed the men would rather hear Calent's ideas over his own, and so after long winded, vein popping snaps of debate, Blaith had gone quiet and let the conversation break down. The flood gates were already open, and he bit his tongue until it bled. After all, if he hadn’t argued so furiously and radically with this Duke Calent, he would not have given him the proper fuel to take the reins and popularity of their conversation, of this debate.
This was day two of the great debate on who would become the next Grand Duke. Rumors were already spreading that Calent of Allar would take the seat. It was a hard fact to swallow, so when Blaith returned to his room, he stared with some disdained towards the four whores still dead on the floor. He had left them there after he killed them by having sex. After all, a man with his certain type of power and ability, it left it difficult to touch a woman without killing her, and it took four in all to sate himself after his victory from earlier when he had killed the former Grand Duke. Now he found himself pissed off at the world and kicking in their dead heads and screaming out in rage, turning over the tables and tearing the room completely apart. It seemed Duke Calent had won the battle, but he’d hardly win the war. The seat of the Grand Duke was meant to be his, and he would make sure that his title for it would be secure- even if it meant he had to kill again.
He was still weak, however, not just from the sex the other night, but also from the killing of the former duke. Taking in so many lives by his absorption, he had become an emotional wreck, fighting off the pitiable memories of the four dead whores on the floor. The memories from each woman plaguing him, fighting at his brain as he cowered into a corner when he should have been continuing to rage. And there he simply wept. And cradled one of the four blonde whores into his lap, the one that most looked like his sister and held onto her as if she were a child, hot tears streaming down his face as he brushed her hair aside and sealed his lips to her cold dead ones. Then in another burst of insanity, drew out his knife and began to cut off her hair, like his sister had done and left for him the night she had disappeared. He held the freshly cut perfumed hair to his chest and sobbed.
“Kella, oh sweet Kella.” And he did this for hours, unmoving from his floor until his own madness overtook him again and he was making love to a corpse.
Reajh. It was here Kella Harmond had found herself finally reaching the capital of Connlaoth on foot during her journey south. Despite the fact she was trying to avoid her brother, she found, much to her dismay, he was there, and the Grand Duke was dead. The entire place was in an uproar. One day he resigned, the next day he was dead, and there was already rumors about who would take the seat next.
Politics mattered little to her now. She had run away from her life as a lady, and with it, taken on no name at all, moving from town to town in attempts to find her way in any other place but here. She was terrified of her own power, of her brother, and of what consequences it might have on the world. Oh, it seemed Angsar had been right and these wicked powers of mages were just so cruel, especially when she heard the news it had been a mage that killed the former Grand Duke and left all of Connlaoth sore.
She wasn’t sure why she was still wandering the streets, she needed to get out of this town and fast. Fixing her hood about her face to conceal it better, she peered around curiously to the masses and kept to herself. She felt queasy, knowing there were dozens upon dozens of mordecai about. Her power was fickle that way, in that the forcefield of a mordecai made her ill, her mind race and the powers within her fight amongst themselves to burst free. And then it had happened so suddenly, an entire garrison of mordecai paraded into the city, so that now her powers were screaming, nearly bursting inside her head. She felt her skin burn with fever, becoming clammy beneath the thick leather gloves she wore up past her elbows. And she was growing light headed and dizzy. She needed to get outside of Reajh and fast.. lest she…
But before she knew it, she was collapsing in the middle of the street, in the middle of the crowds of people all spilling around, becoming trampled underfoot, but being too weak to cry out or ask them to stop. Did they not see her or care? So many passed her by just to see the rags that she wore and nothing more. Nothing else mattered to them. Reajh was in a state of panic. They needed a Grand Duke, and everyone that was anyone was spitting out facts about who they believed was best for the seat and this and that, ignoring any of the meager street beggars and rats. Her mind whirled and everything around her was curdling into shadows and shapes.
It was then she accidently bumped into a man, one wearing fine clothe and shoes, and he grew upset, calling the guards. She knew not what to make of this, but soon guards were spilling around her and she peered around at all of them, clutching on desperately to her cloak.
"No, please, you don't understand!" she begged. But they didn't listen. They didn't care. THey wanted to keep the beggars off the street while the wealthy were all in town, and soon she found herself dragged off, tossed aside into the chaos of the alley ways.
The beggars and thieves quickly swarmed around her, pressing themselves up close so that even she was having trouble flinching away.
"What a pretty face to be thrown into the streets," one man told her, a man who only had one eye and a fat lip as he leered.
Another at her left came up and took her by the arm.
"It's a pity she doesn't have much hair," he began, tearing off her hood to expose her short, golden hair. "It could have caught us a fine price!" the man laughed.
Kella was terrified and tried to pull away, but neither men was letting go.
"No, please stop! Don't do this! You shouldn't touch me! Please let me go!"
But the men didn't listen and laughed all the more, grabbing at her arms and tugging at her gloves. SHe panicked, shaking her head. "No, please don't!"a nd once one was removed, she reared back in fear, only to have her exposed arm be clutched by one of the men- and he was soon screaming out in pain.
His memories rocked through her, in one heavy, electrical shock. She felt his life, his energies sucking in through her skin, blistering and puckering inside her as she gasped, dropping to one knee as the man let out a scream again.
His friend did the only thing he could think of, and he knocked Kella out, leaving her to crash face first into the cobblestone, her temple running with blood onto the cold stone streets.
But after an outburst like that, it cleared up the alleyway around her, leaving Kella alone, face crumpled, unmoving, beautiful.