isardis The angel would hover within the gloom of his soul, lurking somewhere within a world of sinister tarnish; mind bustling with dark desires, only briefly oblivious to the rising of midday sun. Pale lashes would begin to flutter, a supple awakening from the depths of ambitious lumber. An unfamiliar world would unfold before the fiend, tapered rocks slowly declining out to the ever-shifting shores of an elegant beach. Cute. Silver monster would rise, lengthy tendrils of extended tail swirling gracefully about conical hocks; a rare image of beauty, of perfection, and he would linger in the moment that was his just long enough to be appreciated. Then, waltzing and swirling, the enchanter would fall gracefully from his stone-bed, sprawling forelimbs across sandy earth in a wholehearted stretching of sinew; cherry lips gaping open as tongue would curl into a robust yawn. But what creature would disturb the king from his solitude? Cravings of company stirring within the chest of the beast as he would rest upon his haunches; satisfied by the seemingly approaching stench of an unfamiliar.

. . .

Shall I tell you tale of a traveler? There could never be anything more sweet than the world opening up before your paws, the horizons spreading out in every direction, the winds fighting for your affections, each begging you to follow. The wanderlust born and bred of a line of wolves with many miles logged, all concentrated into one giantess. Ere her first birthday she felt it - the need to escape, to run, to adventure, to fall, to get back up and keep going. For moons upon moons she was on her own, taking what beatings or joys might pass her way and growing stronger for it, so that by the time she was in her second year, she was a force to be reckoned with. Yet the wanderlust never changed. Life was a game, a journey, everything that came her way was all just a small part of it. Including a great Grey Lady who asked her to join a pack. The giantess, after some thought, complied, and for a time she knew what it was to be stable, to be dependable, and to be helpful. It was a fun game, and it had earned her a few friends. But the game ended and they all lost. The pack was taken away, and the Grey Lady was seen less and less.

Champion didn't know what to do with herself. Which was odd in and of itself. She always knew what to do - whatever she wanted! But since joining Amenti that had changed. She did what needed to be done. A different side appeared to the fae - the one born of her military upbringing. The respectful, no nonsense Beta that did whatever her Queen asked of her. From it, there was a certain level of satisfaction and honor and fulfillment to be gained, but it wasn't the same as when she had been on her own.

Being in a pack meant that when danger came, it didn't just go after her. - That she was fine with. No, now it came after those she cared about. Those she was supposed to protect. It broke her heart to see Newt cast down. What if it had been one of the pups getting hurt? Or Vioxes? Life stopped getting fun, when you started having to worry about other wolves. Mainly because other wolves didn't see things her way. In her mind, death was just a piece of play ground equipment. She was used to pain and loss and recovery. Nothing phased her. Except seeing her packmates hurting and afraid. In her heart of hearts, she wanted her old days back.

And that was why she was wandering now. She was seeking answers that only solitude and miles could bring. Vaguely she followed the scent of salt, until she came at last to a tucked away bay of cliff edges and waving trees, and choppy waters. Beautiful. A swim was just what she needed. The giantess carried herself to the edge of the rock face, studied it for a moment, and then plunged herself over the brink. The wolf the size of a bear, then began to show off her footwork. Massive white paws, gripped stone with claw and pad, going from one shelf to another, zig-zagging and leaping or even falling when neccisary. The tempo increased the farther she went, until she seemed a blur upon the ridge. Once or twice the stone crumbled beneath her paws, but it was never enough to make her stop, she just fell a little farther before catching herself and carrying on. At the end she hit the ground like a metor, sand flying up from the impact, but she'd landed squarely, and her massive legs recieved nothing more than a stubbed toe. A second later she was trotting again, legs prancing, the sun gleaning off her golden 'arm guard' markings, her massive tail curled high over her back like a bear-dog's.

Of course, long before she reached the water's edge, she realized that she was not alone. A ghost of a figure was coming, gliding across the sand. From a good tweny yards away Champion could pick out a pair of marvelous pink eyes - a shade rare enough to rival her own wine colored gems. Champion paused in her pace, at some level entranced by the graceful movements. Whether the white wolf coming was friend or foe, she would wait and greet him. Unknowingly at the time, she had made quite an entrance for herself, now she would let the strange male make his own.

. . .

isardis Alas, the awaited company would not come; and it would be several minutes later that Isardis would come to the realisation that the unfamiliar was instead hovering the shores of the Oasis, feminine stench curling pleasantly within pale nostrils as he watched in sheer entertainment. The lady would bounce between pillars of stone, her sheer size and power evident even from where the hushed man stood. Her striking colour, a palatable mix of pallid and gold would flash with alluring temptation as she moved, thick tail curled exotically over feminine hips. The angel would need to further invitation, a wry smirk beginning to tiwtch the corners of his lips as he would float towards her; extended tail sweeping a path of sand behind him as he waltzed. Aware of her dedicated gaze the cherry-kissed albino would calculate floating movements in a show of apparently effortless grace, body swaying with rythmatic ease as he sought her direct company. The heavy-boned temptress was a picture to prosper, fizzing against his pores as a shudder of pleasure would rattle the knuckles of his spine. Her beauty was that of difference, he had never quite seen a creature of such size, of such perfectly in sync splendor. Desires clawed at his chest, pulse rising as the snowy monster battled his very soul; loosely combating the temptation to wrap his cadaver around her own, to fulfil his aspirations by making her his personal accessory. He wanted her, and in that concise moment, he made a promise to himself that some day he would have her. He simply had to. The lustrous doll would be remembered. He would bring himself to a hesitant stop, limbs pausing squarely beneath him, tail fluttering lightly about tapered hocks; still, that ominous smirk of temptation would crease cherry lips, ruby eyes devouring her magnificence with everlasting vigor. ?A splendour to brood over, my lovely,? silky vocals would purr from rosy lips, ?You are.? The albino would sway on the spot, a lustrous desire still pushing mercilessly at angelic flesh, quaking his mind as sinister thoughts would tumble his psyche. Oh, what life they could produce; imagine the power, the beauty, the perfection of such little warriors. No, big warriors. Salmon tongue would lash at pallid maw, temptation luring him a dangerous step closer to the enchantress and her blossoming essence. Youth was excreted from her pores, and yet it only made him yearn her more. Her first litter? Would mother-nature truly dare deny the seamless couple such a gift of flawlessness? She would be a fool to. A deep inhalation would expand broad chest, flooding his lungs with the untainted bouquet of her femininity.

. . .

Champion watched the male come, rather enjoying the sight of his movements. He was tall by any standard but her own, and yet he touched the earth without sound, and with barely any pressure. Only the slightest grains of sand seemed to shift. A true gift. One that any observing fighter would envy. She wondered instinctively if he had prowess to match his grace, or if he was lightness of paw was a sign of gentility only. She could see his eyes roving over her, and not for the sake of gawking humorously at her freakish size. Far from it. Was that... longing in those pink orbs of his? At the very least it was appreciation, and Champion found that she didn't mind being on display this once. It seemed the male found her as enjoyable to look at as she did him, and proof came in the form of purred words. Splendor? Lovely? Champion's gold sculpted ears perked forward. Her pink nose dipped down as she trained upon the male's face, seeking to read it for sincerity. He had taken a step closer, but she didn't mind. Not at all.

"You would be the first to say so," she told him, dryly, but with a hint of a pleasant smirk. Sad but true, in her birth pack, which denied woman a place or training as warriors, she had been looked down upon -figuratively of course- by all the males her age. It shaped her mind early on that she did not need the attention of a male. In the past the only ones to show any inkling of flirtation in her direction were rogues turned Amenti warriors - who thought that crude words and lewd glances would win them the heart of anything that moved. They were idiot children seeking rebellion and attention in any way they could, and as Beta, Champion had wished to the stars that she had been allowed to smack some sense into them, or kick them out for good. But Newt would not have it. She tolerated them, or, rather, they entertained her. Jesters to preform in the Queen's court. This male didn't seem that sort, however. Perhaps he was more suited to run the court than play for it.

It was Champion's turn to look him over. He was shorter than her by a good five inches, almost a whole head, but she didn't mind that - just about everyone was shorter than her. Burgundy eyes glistened as they landed on smooth, supple legs, coral colored features, silken fur, and a tail unlike any other. "You're not so bad yourself, sir ghost." Indeed, he was as deserving of those words of praise as she was. But to her, looks were only half the battle, ability was equally important, and she wondered if she would be graced with a glimpse of that too. All in good time. First to sate her curiosity on another matter: "What brings you to walk the realm of the living?"





. . .

isardis She would stand above him with physical vigour, her heighted presence one to esteem, to dwell upon. He would brood over the prospect of her womanhood, the endless thoughts of her flowering fertility beginning to plague his mind like a ravenous rat. Were she aware of how her body taunted him so? It was true, Isardis was drawn to any woman capable of child-bearing, but this vixen, this monster, she was a diamond amongst the rough, a glowing gold coin upon the washed out and greyed pavement; the kind of unexpected and valuable discovery even the most honest of souls would not hesitate to pick up, to grasp with excited palms and store in a glass cabinet. Beside him, her splendour would be tripled, and their shared blood? Oh, It would be pure magnificence. She perhaps lacked the silent grace, refinement, elegance that Isardis boasted so proudly, but she were but a mere stepping stone towards the ideal; only obtaining her would grant him far more of a leap. He would venture a few metres closing, daring to sever their detachment until the floating ghoul was but a half-body from her own. Lungs would inhale once more, ruby gaze fluttering with taunt as her youthful perfume soaked his lungs, absorbed his conscience. He had to have her, and he would. The imp hovered perilously near to her fa?ade, salmon tongue easing from cherry lips to circle achingly at snowy maw, wits still buzzing with possibilities as he marvelled endlessly over her alluring mass and beauty. Of course, the devil would never care for the interior of a wench, his attachment would lie only within her outer-shell and the children she would gift him. Female?s were expendable, barely trophies of self-worth to stroke his reputation and fulfil his ambitions; once they had been used, it were more than easy to discard them, toss them heartlessly amongst the wounded souls of those before. Though the albino angel would be drawn to this lady in a way he had perhaps never been drawn to another. Oh yes, she would look splendid paraded about his kingdom, womb swollen with life as she tore others down around her. Soon, it would be more than a fickle fantasy. Her words would encourage a bemused chuckle, murky bubbles fizzing from pallid lips as enchanting tail would soar simultaneously at thick-set hocks. ?Delicacies such as yourself, m?belle,? lyrics would coo free of quivering pipes, suggestion beginning to curl hungry fingers about craving syllables, ?We do not have such glorious feminine rarities where I was birthed.? The truth within his words were vague, those within his direct family line would undoubtedly boast of higher calibre; but still, the male would bask within the amity of the dove before him; the itching desire to overwhelm her physical being growing stronger and stronger by the minute. Her suggestion of his other-worldliness did not bring forth surprise but rather expectation, his rare colouration and undeniable significance had previously drawn such a reaction from youth. It pleasured him. Daringly, the king would reach a forepaw forward, significant weight leaning toward her own; skull stretching ambitiously for the proximities of her weapons as a heavy breath would flurry towards her nostrils. Would she attempt to cease his efforts, or would she allow him the daunting closeness he so craved? The unknowing elated his core, shuddered his flesh.

. . .

The lash of the male's tongue against his his muzzle, the almost hungry look to his gaze, the grace with which he brought his form forwards, Champion's wine colored eyes didn't miss a trick. With those orbs of hers, she tried to catch his own, wanting to mingle the shades of red in every quiver of emotion that might run through them. Of course, she didn't need to stare into the windows of his soul to see the white hot desire that was fueling his every movement. What a strange, terrible rush it gave her. Having a male so entirely fixed upon her - to be wanted - it had never happened before. Her inner reaction, however, was not one of desperate surprise, clinging to the rare attention, it was more 'well its about dang time.' The attention was most welcome, but it was not blinding. She sensed that the male was hardly in a mood to be denied. There was something in his gaze that could unsettle a less solid soul. And unlike other suitors and roving 'lovers' who spouted out compliments in return for flings, this male's every shift of bone and flesh spoke was driven. He had purpose.

His words, which came when he had brought his form a half-length from her own, were perhaps a tad vague, but they told her enough. For the most part they confirmed what she had already begun to guess at. Mainly, 'delicacies', plural, this man wanted to mate, but he was not the sort to go searching for a single life partner. But what was his game then? Did he seek a different beauty for each night and move on, like other rogues Champion had known... or was they more at play here? The sense of the unknown, perhaps even of the danger about this male, was far from repulsive. When left to her own devices and her own will, Champion was the sort that was so fearless it occasionally bordered on the suicidal. Anything for a little fun. Why live at all, if you weren't ready to accept risks and push past them?

Then it was that the ghost of a wolf came closer. One paw snaked out, nearer her own, the movement quickly tearing away a good chunk of the distance between them. Champion was experienced in the wold, and a rather mature soul, but for all that she was only two. She had only reached her full maturity the past Autumn, and had her first taste of the strange, vague desires that were nature's way of increasing the population. She hadn't understood it or liked it, and had done her best to ignore it... it was only now that she was beginning to see what it was for. The male's closeness was beginning to bring some of those feelings back - sublte and controlled, but certainly there. Champion had been a warrior all her life, and she had never shied away from the approach of another, unless it was because she was about to whip around and sink her teeth into some other bit of flesh. There was no swaying backwards as the male brought his muzzle closer, in fact, if anything, Champion seemed to lean in, and down, just a hair. She felt his hot breath upon her sensitive skin - far too hot for any ghost - and saw that shudder that rippled his fur. To her surprise, the fur along her back seemed to be doing the exact same thing. Such closeness like this with another stranger, had only ever meant fighting. Her warrior's instincts within her demanded that she tuck her chin to guard her throat, open her jaws, and plunge forward to pound his pretty pelt into the sand before he could try anything similar on her. But there were other instincts at play here; much older, stranger ones.

Champion reveled in the sensation, her own breathing becoming warmer as it escaped her pink-brown nose. The air of the two creatures was let to entwine and hover in the air about them. While they were so close, each inhale and exhale became a kiss. The giantess let her neck lower, sliding her head forward, and letting her muzzle come along side the male's ear. "Pretty words from a tempting spirit, but mortals such as I must deal in substance.-" Her voice was soft and strong and lilting, but she noticed it came out a touch raspier than she had intended. "-Surely word-craft is not your only skill?" This meeting was proving to be a promising one. Champion had never met a male with such presence and elegance - such potential for absolute speed and agility. But was that all it was; potential? Champion's own, legendary abilities had already been put on display, and now her words were a vague, open invitation to see the male's.

. . .

isardis Perhaps the wench was not entirely different, and perhaps she were hardly deserving of such a rare offering of a title; of course, she bore the same clock-work as every other hormone-driven female, and probably lacked as much of a brain. However there was something particularly appealing about her, something that screamed of potential, of quality, and although she seemed more the clumpy, barge-everything-that-stood-in-her-way kind, Isardis couldn?t resist the thoughts that begin to tumble tirelessly within his mind. No fae ever truly captured his attention; it was more a show of false-hope as he would attempt to lure her into a bottomless trap. But alas the female managed to make him feel a sense of weakness within his usually rock-solid ways, and although the connection were barely emotional or caring, it was enough to make him consider showing her a sprinkled ounce of meek deference. After-all, her mass and vigor was probably something to be wary of? he would watch where he stepped. Hair-curled towers would flick restlessly atop dazzling skull, ruby gaze meeting her own as she tranquilly absorbed his breath with compliant lungs. Her own would return, and the individuality of her aroma would be gifted the rare opportunity of a permanent place within his twisted intellect. He sought to be wary, to save his toes and tred lightly; but the smouldering desires to overcome her only grew stronger, and it would be but a matter of time before he would become overwhelmed by baleful intention. A demon coiled within his angelic interior, forever pushing at his skin, attempting break free through the splinters of his ribcage. It?s fingers would pry between the bar?s of his chest, and if one were to look closely, sometimes it could be visualised reaching through his bevelled flesh. For now though it would wait with a dwindling patience and the albino?s psyche would fight to maintain composure within the vixen?s presence. Her skull would lower to his ear, the heat of her lungs prickling his pores and encouraging hairs to rise along the slopes of his pallid spine; though not all reasons were of good. For a few moments he felt she had far too much console within his presence, and her decision to crawl closer sparked the desire to put her back in her place. He would invade her space, not she his. Lip would curl, a fragile display of warning drowned out by the sudden fizzing of a crazed titter, tongue curling behind incisors as if a personalized attempt of self-restraint. ?Your confidence is admirable, does the unknowing of my capacity, my intentions, not fright you?? voice box would rumble instantaneously after her own, momentarily disregarding her lyrics as pink maw would suddenly be thrust to her nape; nostrils attempting to press deep within her fur, though jaws remained painfully clenched. ?I crave nothing more than to subdue your vivacious being, though something tells me you may not be so? effortless, hm?? voice but a furtive whisper, and again a wicked bubble would fizz from coral orifice, amused by his shadowed suggestions. ?You may have to stick around long enough to observe m?dame; for I am not one to impress on another?s schedule,? his words would be finalizing, his own brittle attempt at suggesting fragile supremacy.

. . .


Champion caught the slight curl of lip and hint of fang as she erased the space between them. Her first feeling was that it was promising; that he too had a fighter's instincts which roared out that bloodshed must be the only reason why two strangers would touch pelts. But that didn't seem to be it. His words, at first pleased and then confused. Champion's oversized maw was gifted with a wry smile. "I'm afraid that fear and I don't get along well. Whenever he dares show his face I charge forward and rip his heart out." It wasn't that she didn't ever feel fear, just that she had never let it stop her - she saw it as a sign that she was living her life to the fullest. She shrugged a pair of massive shoulders, a movement which quickly turned into another shudder of delight. Despite her initial confidence, however, she was a little less sure of the male now. Did he... want her to be frightened? Perhaps she had misunderstood, but that was the vibe she caught. Odd. Was that just a kinky thing, or was this male before her the sort that only preyed upon the weaker versions of her sex, more given to giggles and gasps and fearful looks of wonder. Yeesh. If so, Champion was about to be quite put out. This pale wolf had caught her fancy and held her attention in a way that no male had ever managed before. Would he bring her to the edge and then leave her hanging just because she was too much woman for him to handle?

Then came the new rush. The white head of the male was suddenly pressed into her mane. His cold pink nose against her skin sent goosebumps down her spine. With the movement and the touch at so sensitive an area- her only instinct was that she was under attack, as that she ought to go for his throat, held so tantalizingly close; Before he could set tooth her flesh she ought to rip past his fur and keep going til his coat was stained the color of his eyes. The unknowing of what it was the male desired, made her all the more dangerous now to toy with. And yet, she made no such mar upon his form. She only sought touch for touch. He'd buried his nose in her neck, she brought her muzzle lower down and close to his. A tongue as pink as primrose,came from parted jaws in an attempt to drag itself across the male's pulsing throat; a move to please both the lover and the fighter within her blood. It was the only answer she gave his words.

She couldn't help but feel expectant. To feel that all this was building up to something. But she was to be disappointed, or at least, once more confused. The male's words held an invitation for her to remain in his presence, and a denial of that which would secure her affections. Champion could not see his features from where her skull was among his silken neck furs, but she didn't feel she needed to. Her ears twitched and she began to withdraw her muzzle. "Pity," she murmured as she pulled back to stand once more in her own untainted space. "Here I was thinking we had all the time in the world."

With Champion's bear-like paws in the sand, and the salt winds playing and entangling her fur, she looked as though she were merely a part of the surrounding nature. Like she belong there in that cliff guarded cove, forever a part of the sand and surf and sky. Her eyes strayed to the waves for a moment, their slow, powerful turn from black-blue to white, calling her. Perhaps, she thought, perhaps she had made the male uneasy. A bit of performance and demonstration of skills sounded like fun for Champion, but to a proud creature, perhaps it was too much to ask. The truth was he had already impressed her greatly, but what he sought did not come easy. She would give him another chance, she decided. As she gaze at the sea, one ear was always turned to the male, and now her words were turned to him as well. "I come here when 'schedules' become far to tight." She granted her lungs a deep breath of sea air, and finally set her ruby gems upon the male once more. "Would you join me in the waves, sir ghost?" If he was not the sort to play for her, perhaps he would play with her. The thought of dancing around with him in the water, of chasing and leaping and seeing his form rippling in action was so promising... but would she be denied, again?


. . .

isardis Still, she would seize his interest as if she were the palm of curiosity itself; ruby gaze restlessly gliding from golden contours to colossal paws, so famished for her contact, so desperate to fulfil his desires. She would hover with guiltless presence, pinning the duo close, the heat of her breath sending his pores into endless flurries of ecstasy as sinister thoughts would continue to brew. The extreme anxiety to overwhelm her growing stronger and stronger by the instant, his body denying the wisdom of his mind; the tiny reminder that would warn him of the banshee?s looming significance, impeccable splendour. Though he could not be deterred by hazard, not now. A pale tongue would reach for contact, sparking with imaginary friction against the pulsing of his jugular; simultaneously he would growl, the chasms of his throat rumbling with fluctuating differences, boasting of both pleasured electricity and unfavoured objection. Coral lip would curl against the seamless surfaces of polished weapons, flashing with momentary hostility before the beast would plunge deeper within her nape, searching to grasp skin and flesh, to hold her in his grasp, to both cease her efforts and persuade them concurrently. He wanted her. He needed her. He would have her. Though the undomesticated banshee would falter in her ways, a flaw beneath her surface slowly rising as she would draw them apart; perhaps in disapproval of his denial, a frail attempt at claiming a feeble and non-existent hierarchy. Isardis would begin to shake, trembling as if her distance had stolen his warmth; disapproval evident within the venomous gape of his eyes, a supernatural hiss crawling free of shuddering jaws as he would be denied of her contact. Anger would surge his heart, pulse his veins, rattle the cage of his internal monster as it attempted to break free, only to be loosely subsided by the sanity of his mind. Carelessly he would ignore her request, crawling forward like a wounded Doberman, guarding his pride with dripping fangs. Again he would attempt to draw them together, to push his nose within the crevice of her cheekbone, and eerily the ghoul would whisper, still shuddering with demonic want beneath his skin; ?I do not fancy being denied of the possessions I desire, seraph,? previously seamless lyrics would tremble half-heartedly, tainted by the wrath that poisoned his system, ?And I cannot declare I have ever yearned a demoness so extremely as I yearn for you.? A deep inhalation would mark an attempted conclusion, though thoughts were unable to be restrained, "You would look ever-so-lovely wearing a crown in my kingdom."

The seas wine red; This is the death of beauty

this is the time and this is the place to be alive

. . .


Champion waited for a reply, but the male was silent. No, no, that wasn't quite true. She had heard the earlier hiss, which had been both warning and so inviting. This one was a hard one to figure out, but then, so was she. And at that moment neither seemed to be getting anywhere with the other's riddles. Champion watched him creep forward once more. Everything about him spoke of how indignant and perhaps even injured he had been that she pulled away. And how angered he was by it. Then again, when he'd licked at his neck hadn't anger been exactly what he showed when he was most pleasured? Champion was half inclined to keep making prints in the sand; to travel into the damper sand and keep herself away. If he would not play any of her simple games, why should she play his greater one? But in the end she chose to remain in place. The truth was, even if she was wanting more out of the male, she enjoyed the touches that he gave. She arched her neck like a fine bred horse and let his pink nose make contact with her cheek.

But though the touch might be gentle, the words that came with it were not so. Champion's nearest ear cupped round. She heard the change in the male's voice, and the lace of anger that gave it it's tremor. Not exactly the gentleman this one. But then Champion hadn't asked him to be. Truth be told she was a strong female who was attracted to strong males. She liked a man to know what he wanted and how to get it. It was natural instinct. All animal's were supposed to seek out that which was most worthy to carry on the next generation. It seemed that the male was of like mind. ...and he had chosen her. His next lyrics of yearning only solidified the observation in her mind.

To be 'possessed' was no strange thing to Champion. In her birthpack, all females were there to be mates, to raise pups, or look after and heal others. The males of the group were warriors who gave their last breath and first hunts to protect them. Sometimes the higher ranking males would make more than one fae - it was not strange. There was no shame in being owned by so grand a creature. It gave purpose and place and power. Champion's only gripe with the system was that it looked down on female's as being capable of anything but what they said they were able to do. Champion was shunned for being an able warrior instead of being more sought after. For once, things seemed to be going as they ought; as nature intended. But did that mean she should snap immediately onto the hook? Champion's mind did not lean one way or the other. Unlike her body - her skull was pressing carefully into his touch, enjoying it as much as she had his earlier one - maybe more. With his deep intake of breath, she had thought his statements over, and she was trying to swim through a hormone veiled mind towards some sort of answer and reply - But then the male spoke again.

"You would look ever-so-lovely wearing a crown in my kingdom."

That caught her by surprise. Was he simply being poetic again, was he trying to tempt her, or was he really making her an offer. Champion replied words truthful enough to work for any of the options. Yet her voice was softer than before, almost a low whine, as though she were pained to bring up what had been proven to her by experience. "With every crown comes its own set of chains, ghost."
she sighed quietly, remaining still. "Don't you know that?" Her voice was little more than the sound of breathing now. "In my short life I have seen great warriors fall, a queen dethroned, and a kingdom topple. Sometimes it seems no matter how high you dream, you are just waiting for a wave of ill luck to come and turn your castles back into sand." Sincerity and sorrow weighed down the slow rollings of her voice. "Please," she prayed, "Do not think me ungrateful. It is merely that I have been disillusioned to the baubles of rank and title. I know the work and sacrifice that comes with them." Deep words for so young a heart. "And I can take on such things; I can. - So long as within the grand design one is allowed the simple, beautiful things. A roll in the sand, a stare at the stars- a touch from a lover." She shivered gently at the last words, and it effected her voice ever so slightly. Until then she had remained with her face broadside to his. She made no claim upon his eyes or features, she'd just hoped he would listen. Now though, she turned slightly, coming let their glorious red gazes meet. This had been her last attempt. She wasn't playing vague games anymore, she was being open; laying out an integral part of her soul to be clearly seen.
. . .

isardis It would not be about the truth the man could exude within each breath, not about persuading a damsel with wholesome promises or granting a brighter future; it was about feeding her what she wanted to hear, pumping her chest until it was swollen with persuasion, until she had no choice but to weigh values and give in to the urging of her intellect. Isardis was not a creature of promises, though he would happily hurl them from loose hinges, it was uncommon for him to keep them; perhaps feeding from the sickening pleasure it gave him when those around him were denied of what he had pledged. He enjoyed seeing others crumble, fancied the personal boost of self reassurance as he watched them sink, and watched them fume. Though that wasn?t entirely to say that the woman before him would not be subject to happiness- oh no, it all came down to her, came down to the opportunities she would seize and what she would make of them. He would not so effortlessly title her his Duchess, no that had to be earnt, but as an Overseer she would tower the other women, fight for her king, give him powerful children and gradually prove that she had what it would take. His kingdom was not for the faint at heart, but something ever so subtle reassured him that this woman was not one to take the easy way out of life regardless. He enjoyed that, he appreciated that, and as they stood in such direct contact, he would crave for nothing more than to have his name stamped so proudly upon her for all to see. The ghost would sway lightly, a finalizing tremble shuddering beneath silver jacket as he would be injected intravenously; soothed by the tranquilizer of his stabilizing mind. A bubble would struggle free of coral jaws, spluttering towards the banshee?s skin in a burst of apparently bemused psychosis. Her words were so profound, crawling so fervently from her home, her heart, her lifesource. His pride would tickle with each syllable, so pompous to have influenced such an emotional disparity, and he would let free a shuddering sigh, watching the colossal warrior as she would withdraw from his touch once more. ?Such wisdom for such youth,? almost as seamless as they had been before, ?I would ask only for your devotion in times of need, my madam, I see your capabilities; would you not thrive beneath purpose?? Though there was one more thing he would add, ?And your body of course? I would entail her too. At least for as long as you would grant her.? A satisfied chuckle would again roll from quivering pipes, ruby gaze wandering from her own to trace her extended spine.

The seas wine red; This is the death of beauty

this is the time and this is the place to be alive

. . .


She had been hoping to feel the warmth and the shivers that came with another of his touches. Their contact was like ice and fire mingling for the first time. The sparks that shot off in her bodice were more than she'd felt in the presence of any male, ever. What gave him such power over her? Instead, of a touch however, she received praise from his lips which in that heartbeat seemed almost as good. What he asked of her, devotion, was something she could see herself giving. There were two sides to her, the soldier and the civilian, neither sought great fame, but the first knew how to serve and serve well. She'd proven that under Newt's rule. Of course, the ghost was asking her for a little more than that. With him, she would fulfill her feminine potential and raise up broods of pups who would contain the grace of a spirit and the strength of the earth.

As the wheels turned her head, thinking things through as best she could, her eyes remained on the male, and she saw where his went. She remembered the desire that she'd seen burning in his pupils earlier, and had heard trembling in his words just a moment ago. If she gave herself over to him, if she agreed to terms he laid down and let him claim her as his own, would he take full advantage of his rights now? She couldn't see herself protesting. All she could murmur was a simple fact, "I have never been with a male before..." Her voice was subdued, even meek. Perhaps that would make more alluring to the male - more his own- but it also meant that she had only instinct to go on, and she knew not how good of a mother she was or even how possible it was for her to conceive.

And all of a sudden, she had a vague vision in her mind's eye - of the future and what it would hold. She'd be going back to a land of snow like her birth home - she could smell the scent on the male. She'd spend her time raising whelps who, unlike her, would actually have a chance to know to their parents. But their father would have no real investment in another but their abilities. She would wheel out her days doing whatever duties were commanded of her - she was apparently dealing with a King after all, and one who seemed he would rigidly hold her to whatever promises she made. How could she do this after she'd only just came crashing down with the last tower she'd tied herself to? This male had impressed her with his presence and his drive but little else. He had no clear personality, no heart, no soul - not that he'd let her glimpse anyway. What she'd done for Newt, she'd done for a friend. She didn't even know this male's name.

She had let her soul through her maw to paint an honest picture of herself; Of her fears and strengths and of that which made her heart keep beating. She had waited, breathless for what the male would say in return. But his reply had only been about what she would do. What she would give him. Not how he would help or join her in any of the moments which she considered true living. He wouldn't play. He didn't know how to. For some reason that stuck in her mind. Vioxes had played with her. He was something between a pet and a friend, but he'd shown Champion that there were other wolves out there who knew how to enjoy things. To life to it's fullest. She hadn't seen her companion in weeks, and idly she wondered where he was and if he was alright. Back to the matter at hand though: Whatever fueled this alabaster prince's soul, it wasn't even related to what fueled hers. Both powerful, but in such different ways. Too different. Champion saw clearly that all that was leaning her towards the male was pure animal attraction - not a sin or anything in her book, but it wasn't enough to sell her life away to. She understood the side of her that would "thrive" under his watch... and though... though perhaps in the years to come she would look back on herself as foolish and headstrong, she just couldn't do it. She'd only come here to play at the beach...

How hard and how hot the battle raged within her soul would be impossible to say. She wanted the ghost, it was undeniable. But she could see that he didn't want her, not all of her anyway. Her will to live and to act for the moment was too strong. Her body had been brought up to nature's prime and yearned for a male's touch. But when had she ever listened to her physical shell? She was a warrior! All she ever did was disregard it's pain and keep going. She had had moments of daring that bordered along insanity and perhaps this one was just another to add to the list. "I'm sorry," she said, suddenly letting the lash of her paws carry her back. "You'll have to find another fae; I can grant you nothing." She had no illusions, she knew how explosive that lurking anger might turn now that she was tearing them assunder for good. Gods above... it hurt her too. A part of her had been so ready to welcome the male as her mate and master. But no, the dutiful soldier was only a small part of her, in the big scheme of things, what she was, was free.

The words had barely left her maw before, quick as summer winds, she ran. -Or, with her size, perhaps 'quick as a hurricane' was more accurate -. It wasn't like her to retreat, and she knew she could've very well held her own in a confrontation against the smaller wolf who seemed to be build for nothing but persuasion. But she didn't want to fight him. Didn't want to hurt him. Just because she couldn't accept his offer didn't mean she wished him ill - Though the plain truth was, if she'd been able to glimspe half of the darker thoughts swirling around his head, she would've left ago. - As it was, she made the peaks in a couple of bursting strides and was scaling the walls with the speed that only comes with a birth in the mountains, and the strength that only comes with one of her size. It was a different corner than her decent had been at, but though this one offered a few more purchases, it took all of her height and strength of limb to reach the top. Somewhere along the stones she'd ripped out a foreclaw and left a splatter of blood. She ignored it as she did any physical pain she'd ever felt. With that one last display of prowess and beauty, she vanished into the woods and brush among the cliff tops, her ears just keep enough to catch any last pleads, or -as was far more likely- curses that the male howled after her.

--EXIT--



ooc: :[ I sorry Yumpy, ooc wise I really would've liked this to work, and it almost did, but Champion is a character who writes herself. Good luck to Isar with the other girls though.

. . .

isardis And thus the tides of reality would once again shift, his progress so bright, the woman within his grasp; still he would find himself marvelling within her presence, craving her no less as their meeting progressed. She had seemed so eager to share, so willing to assist, though as she fell into a whirling globe of listless thought, it would become rapidly evident that the beast would not give in to her previous hungers. Her words of refusal would seer like blades, slicing his lobes in consistent thrashes of insubordinate pain as she would fall away from him; her splendour crumbling beneath her as the male would scowl, a brewing anger fleeing his chest in fluctuating bursts of fervent adrenaline. She would spin, the male?s mind still clouded by rage, trembling beneath his leather as demons would erupt from his jaws in violent growls; though he could not move fast enough, the banshee would leap from his grasp and retreat as rapidly as she had come; leaving the male snapping desperately in her wake, a half-hearted lurch towards her tail as hungry jaws would clash, though he had no hope. Not now. Anger continued to seethe from his pores, a bark of enraged desperation chasing after the speeding wench and dribbling down to a finalizing scowl of frustration. She would not be forgotten, and some day, some way, he would have her. -- doneskies! Aww it?s okay clash <3 the thread was fun while it lasted anyway!