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Edling & Urux

Please do not post.

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Reigning Families:

➼ House Dietrich ▻ Vampire heritage

➼ The New House of Dietrich ▻ A detailed snake mark that encircles the marked's neck, consuming itself.

➼ House Leonatus ▻ A simple rune meaning protection. Can be located anywhere on the afflicted's body but always the size of a palm. Leonatus rule the docks and port, along with Ironbolt Prison. Fae heritage.

➼ House Cazador ▻ A mark of Cazador is always obvious. Pressed onto the forehead of the marked is a single black diamond shape. The size can vary, it depends on how obvious the marker wants it to be. Cazador has links with all the underground crime in Kreah, no matter the circumstance he had a finger in every pie.

➼ House _____ (Niemir mark) ▻

➼ House Bataille ▻ A intricate crown with a pair of feathered wings sitting carefully on either side, with the wingspan extended enough from the back of the neck to be seen in near alignment with the lobes of their ears. Siren heritage.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ───

Active Characters:

Sorren Warwick

Calliope Leonatus

Niemir Archambeau

Inka Yakovna

Samael Dietrich

Anjou Dietrich

Loïc Sante Bataille

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─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ───

Kreah: The great city of Kreah, known for it's dark underbelly of crime. Where corrupt merchants rule the streets and have the royal family in their pockets. Within this dark city is where they will find what they desire.

Kreah was created by the outcast magical members of society. No matter how human someone looked, if there was a lick of something else within them, they were sent to the island city. Initially banished by human society for a rebellious revoult, machinery and numbers quickly quelled the war. Soon enough, those that were left were escorted to Kreah and left to rot.

Except, they did not rot. They thrived, adapting to their new city with eagerness. A land to dominate with their own laws, or lack there of. The ruling families are the be all and end all of Kreah. Owners of gambling halls, taverns, fighting rings, Kreah families count on the human tourism not only to fill their coffers but to feed its inhabitants.

The lording houses have endless power and control in Kreah. Bending all to their will via their magical marks. If one turns to the powerhouses for help, then expect to be indebted to them for years if not your entire life.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ───

Notable Locations:

➼ The Late Moon Tarvern ▻ A ramshackle tavern in the seedier side of Kreah, frequented by many Marked and few humans. With two floors of flowing alcohol and bar fights, the following three floors consist of small inn-like rooms that can be rented out by effectively anyone.

➼ Slumside bridge ▻ A bridge that connects the two halves of the city, often a meeting point for many individuals. It sits above the canal that runs through the centre of the city, home to small row boats and the occassional river home.

➼ The Mausoleum ▻ The cemetery, or lack there of in Kreah due to its high population density, is a lovely cremetorium run by fire wielders. The dead are turned to ash and taken by their families or released into the wind. Very few are buried, mostly the lordships and they are laid to rest in their own grounds.

➼ Diamond Row ▻ A long winding street with giant houses, mansions, spaced out from each other. This is where the wealthy reside with iron gates, roaming guards and an absurd amount of magical protections. Many lordships reside on Diamond Row, but some may opt for a more out of the way location.

➼ Butcher Way ▻ The complete antithesis to Diamond Row, Butcher Way is where you can find the darkest individuals of Kreah. Many tiny, tall apartment style housing units stacked unceremoniously on top of each other in the slums. If you want to find a person to carry out your dirty work, this is where you go.

➼ Ironbolt Prison ▻ The only correctional facility on the island. Often housing the roughest criminals due to the nature of Kreah's inhabitants. Sometimes humans are sent there from the mainland if they have commited particularly horrid acts. It is a large off shore castle like structure made from heavy grey brick and iron, a literal stronghold.

➼ The Eternal Flame ▻ A well established blacksmith in Kreah with various locations and specialties. Magical metals are no problem for these blacksmiths to bend to their will.

➼ Soothing Dose ▻ A popular apothecary and undergrown doctor's quarters that are frequented by all that live in Kreah that cannot afford the traditionally trained medical assistance of the upper circles of the city. It is owned by Inka Yakovna. The interior is made of a dark mahogany wood, vintage decorations and endless glassware, dried herbs hanging from the ceilings with a constant incense aroma.

➼ The Voyage ▻ One of the three biggest gambling halls. Made of white alabaster limestone, it is a bright beacon in the streets of Kreah. Lined with golden statues and trimmings, The Voyage coaxes in the wealthiest human tourists making it a popular thievery spot. It is run by the _______ family. The white scheme is acompanied by a subtle nautical theme with gemstones and beautiful paintings. Here the most popular game is roulette.

➼ The Labyrinth ▻ Another of the biggest gambling halls. A darker theme emits from the large space, deep earthy tones made from wood and stone in the walls give the space a more ancient feeling. Enchanted plants poke out from the walls and dangle from the roof. It is owned by the _________ family. The most popular game here is bare-knuckle fights and the lovely betting that accompanies it.

➼ Space saver for 3rd gambling hall - thinking dark gothic, black, red etc ▻

➼ Venton Reef ▻ A portion of the shore that possesses a beautiful coral reef beneath the dark murky waves, home to many aquatic species. A popular walking spot for human tourists near the port.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ───

Festivals /Holidays:

➼ Day of the Phoenix ▻ A festival that celebrates the first supernatural and magical people that landed on the island that Kreah was founded upon. An uplifting celebration of the progression, a time to take pride in the kingdom's heritage. Often accompanied by the biggest houses and lordships placing ornate flower arrangements on the various statues of Kreah's founders.

➼ Winter + Summer Solstice ▻ Both are celebrations of the beginning of the seasons as decided by the shortest and longest days accordingly. A variety of corresponding feasts. The streets are lit up with magical lights and people are dancing through the streets and courtyards.

➼ The House's Birthdays ▻ For each of the main houses, the head of the house will celebrate their birthdays with extravagent displays of wealth. Often involving gigantic ballrooms of people dressed to the nines, free flowing liquor, endless food and perhaps substances of slightly more illicit natures. Each house will hold one of these celebrations on the Lord of the House's birthday, each house will perform these celebrations differently but all are just as dramatic and intoxicating. An invitation to one of these events is badly sought after, also a great location for thieves.

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Calliope Leonatus

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The city had never looked so delightful, the dim lights shone from the city beyond with a gentle mist snaking its way through the near empty streets. The dregs of drunken tourists filtered out into their hotels, singing off-key in many languages after they had just gambled away their savings at one of the renowned gambling halls. The cobbled streets were slick with early morning moisture and the street lights were still emitting their soft orange glow from the candles inside, soon to be extinguished by the magic imbued within them.

Viewing from the windows high above the squalor of Kreah, Calliope sat with her spine pressed up against the cold wall of the windowed alcove. Her head twisted to peer out into the early morning sunrise as it began to crest over the horizon. The Dietrich house was beginning to stir with activity, through the walls she could hear the dull footfalls of other house members as they began to stir in their own quarters. For Calliope, the morning sun had never looked so beautiful. It may have been the mixture of tantalising orange and pink, or it may have been the knowledge that she would be leaving.

Beside her, resting on the wooden floor was a case of belongings. She did not require much, only her favourite clothing and perhaps a few sentimental items. The rest could be purchased once they had made their departure. In all honesty, if Samael had told her to come in nothing but her nightgown then she would have, but he was kind enough to allow her to bring bulky luggage along with them.

It had been in the works for moons, with each wax and wane her anticipation only grew into this festering need to leave. The walls of the Dietrich manor felt like they were closing in on her, inch by painful inch, but today they would be leaving.

Softly, Calliope turned from her seated position and set her bare feet onto the floorboards. Shoes would reveal her destination, she could deal with discomfort for now, her feet were hidden beneath her long merlot red and black gown. Elegant and almost scandalously form fitting, but in Kreah it was modest in comparison. Sleeveless with a dipped neckline, the corseted torso held her firmly. Her hair sat in its usual flowing cascade along her spine, if she was going to make a grand exit then she was going to look good doing it.

Carefully, she picked up the leather case in one hand and began to step towards the door to her room. It was time for her to meet Samael.

He told her to meet him at the entrance hall at the break of dawn and as she clicked the heavy door behind her the room broke out in the early morning light. Her footsteps were calculated and well placed, avoiding the known creaky boards. After decades in this home, Calliope was well acquainted with the little quirks of the old manor. As a young woman, she had found herself succumbing to the allure of a vampire with ever so enticing words. His silver tongue lulling her into his ranks, despite the outrage she received from her own family, Calliope had dedicated herself to this role.

The Leonatus house was also a well-known powerhouse in Kreah, manning the ports and controlling Ironbolt Prison. A hallmark of control and corruption. So when Calliope eloped to another house, the shock was shattering. A scandal amongst the higher houses. Although the majority of the shellshock had subdued by now, there were still utterings as she passed by some specific members of both households.

Upon reaching the entrance hall, Calliope’s eyes shone brightly with recognition as she spotted the lovely silhouette of her muse. Her footsteps quickened ever so slightly as she tried to reach him that fraction of a second quicker. He looked as delightful as the morning had been, no he looked wholly ethereal. The candle light of the hallway brought a luminance to the edges of his pale hair, setting a ring of fire around his head like a crown.

Her dark-red painted lips split into a sharp smile as she peered up at Samael, all the excitement in the world glowing in her yellow eyes. Without her usual heeled footwear, she stood significantly shorter than her male counterpart, having to crane her neck back to look up at him.

“Good morning, Samael.” She all but purred. “I am ready whenever you are.” Calliope stole a short glance down the long hallway, she thought she heard the click of dress shoes but perhaps she was being overly cautious.

Calliope knew they were headed somewhere, Samael was always prepared with something when he concocted these endeavours. However, this was the most daring of the lot. Founding his own house, pursuit of power over the entire city of Kreah. Their elongated lifespans would almost ensure his success, even against the vampire relatives of Dietrich. They lacked the ambition and lethality that Samael possessed, that was exactly what drew Calliope to him like a moth to a flame.

His brother, Anjou was a little more…lacking in his dominating presence. While the similarities were evident, the way he carried himself paled in comparison to his younger brother, at least in Calliope’s opinion. She was not a blind woman, she knew that both were gifted with incredible beauty and they used it to gain whatever their heart or mind desired. It was how Samael used this skill set that set him apart from Anjou, a brilliant mind.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ Inka Yakovna ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

The previous night had been absolutely atrocious, the stream of Kreahan citizens that required her help seemed to never end. Even with her little helper, Inka couldn’t seem to quell the queue of people outside of the shop door. So much so that the poor woman had fallen asleep on the main floor of the shop, slumped backwards in her wooden chair with pale blonde hair falling over her features as she softly snored.

The shop had been in darkness, the gentle aroma of drying herbs and incense permeating the air in a way that brought comfort to Inka. It reminded her of safety, a homely smell of her own shop and domain. A respected safe ground between all battling gangs and alliances, no harm should be carried out in Soothing Dose. It was almost sacred ground, it was where all the less than fortunate injured came to get their battle wounds fixed. Not to mention Inka was certainly not opposed to slicing a few necks of her own if it came to that. No one messes with her shop.

Only as the gentle morning light became a glaring shine through the front windows and landed in streams across her form did Inka stir with a gentle groan. Her body fought to re-enter sleep, she was exhausted from the previous night. Even her muscles shouted in protest as Inka stretched them out, hearing the gentle pop of the joints. No matter how tired she was, there were always injured people at her door in the mornings. Waiting for the door to be unlocked and then they could bleed all over her floor.

As if on cue, Inka’s sleepy head lifted and turned to the door as she heard a quiet thud against it. She barely had time to wake up before she was disturbed, her nose scrunched up in annoyance before reluctantly she picked her way across the shop to the door.

The Soothing Dose was a wooden building with a low ceiling, from which hung endless drying herbs and bundles of plants. Almost every surface had some kind of tincture resting on it, all at different stages of manufacture. Rows upon rows of glass jars were lined up behind the main counter, they seemed to go on forever with small handwritten cursive labels that made the text almost illegible. In the far corner another door sat nestled under the staircase that led to her quarters. That was where her little helper lurked, he never liked to poke his head out when he wasn’t required, at least during the day.

Inka opened the door, the old oak creaked as she did so. Her eyes met the broad expanse of a chest and her hunched form slowly tilted her head back and back until she saw a familiar face attached to the muscles. Though, no smile etched into her features instead she huffed out a sigh and without a word turned back into the shop. Leaving the door open behind her for Loic to follow her into the dimly lit space. Her narrow form skirted around the edge of the store to a corner where a stove and kettle were already simmering. With an idle flick of her hand the flame beneath it roared and the kettle began to squeal.

“What happened this time?” Inka’s voice was gruff with sleep, a contrast to her usual smooth tone. Her hands moved to pour into two intricate porcelain cups that sat on matching saucers, letting the herbal tea meet the rim before she placed the kettle back down onto the now cool hob.

Twisting back around, Inka carried the two cups towards the counter and slid one along the sanded wood towards Loic. Immediately, she sank back down into her chair and lifted her cup with one pinky poking out. Peeking over the top of the pottery at him.

Her head cocked to the side as she analysed him, so many times Loic had come staggering into Soothing Dose with a horrific wound. Bleeding into the wood so deeply that Inka would have to spend hours coaxing the liquid out with her magic after the fact. For years she had danced this dance with Loic, endless repairs and endless freebies. She never charged him. The poor man had enough on his plate, Inka didn’t need money. She had enough of that from simply selling silly little enchantments. Love potions, luck charms, you name it somebody wants it. Inka would sell it for the right price.

“You don’t look deceased, so what happened?” She pressed, sipping in another mouthful of tea before she leaned forwards to set it down on the counter. Her loose linen shirt flowing forwards with the movement, exposing her skinny shoulders and collarbones with the beaded necklace laying on them. More often than not, she was in the same outfit. Magic did wonders, cleaning clothing while wearing them, incredible.

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Sorren Warwick

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The tavern below was quiet, a few drunkards strewn across the floor or over tables, sleeping away the previous night. A soft sunlight filtering into the wooden hollow through the paper-thin curtains that hung, tattered over the lead framed windows. Casting a warm glow into the tavern, almost giving the room a welcoming appearance.

In the far corner of the bar room, a stone fireplace crackled with dying flames, eating away at the wooden planks that had been dumped there in the early hours of the morning before the barkeep had scurried off to their own quarters.

Sorren had heard Esme slip into her room sometime before dawn, the soft creak of her door stirring him from his slumber. It did not interrupt him for long, as the half-demon fell straight back into the dark embrace of slumber soon after. It was when the first light of day had pierced through his singular window that Sorren lifted himself from the tiny bed. A bed that his entirely too tall frame did not fit into at all, long tail and legs drooping off of the end of the mattress and touching the floor. Some nights, the splintered floorboards looked more appealing, but he had yet to try that.

The flames in the fireplace suddenly struck back to life, roaring in the stone prison surrounding it. The ashen planks of wood splintering into tiny pieces as Sorren strode by, ducking under the low ceiling beams. His hand had flicked out towards the fire and with a quiet click, the fiery contents had been given life once more.

He crouched down, backwards facing ankles pointing out towards his tail that twitched behind him. Carefully, Sorren slid fresh wood into the pit, paying no mind to the searing heat that came from it. Afterall, he was fireproof.

The Late Moon tavern was always closest to silent in the mornings, when the trouble and chaos of the night before had been forgotten. The memories of drunken endeavours returning to the afflicted that spent the night in the bar room as they blinked bleary eyes open.

Sorren rather enjoyed the softness of the mornings, even if the adrenaline of the night was what he truly lived for, he could appreciate an antithesis here and there. He made his way with silent steps up behind the bar and began fiddling with the antiquated coffee drip that was hidden beneath the gold and yew wood bar. His head cocked to one side as he bent down at the waist, awkwardly trying to crease the tight boned corset that was strapped to him.

He was draped in a loose, white tunic shirt with the strings hanging limply on his chest, the corset of silk with a black paisley design. The dark hue matching the pant that enables a wide range of movement but were cuffed up at his ankles, exposing his strange feet and backwards bones to the world. He didn’t need to hide in Kreah.

Sorren had not been born in Kreah, not at all. He had ventured from a kingdom beyond on the mainland where magical creatures were certainly not normal. His father had raised him, a human man, alas that did not help the fact he was giant and purple. Not to mention the horns and long ears that pointed at the tips. Oh yes and the tail of course. Dreadful really. Well, to some he was a beauty to behold but that was only in Kreah. Elsewhere Sorren would be struck through the heart with a stake or an attempt at an exorcism. Ridiculous.

“Ah-hah!” He mused as the coffee finally began to drip into the mug he held beneath it, the lovely aroma filling his nostrils and drawing a gentle purring from his throat. Once the mug was half full he heard the small bell at the front door jingle and a musical laugh drew from his throat.

“Leaving so soon, Markus? I thought you -” Sorren had lifted his head up above the bar to look at the door, assuming the most irritating regular was departing to crawl home to his upset wife. Except Markus was still asleep on a nearby table, no a different man stood in the doorway as the wooden thing clattered shut behind him.

Sorren’s tail froze, almost pointing straight out as he scrambled to turn off the coffee drip, finally managing it and he rose up to his full height. Steeling himself, you never knew who was after what in Kreah and Sorren had not seen this man before. At least, he thought he hadn’t.

His ears folded backwards and his plumed tail tip flicked from side to side as he strode his way around the bar, coming to stand in front of the man. The golden jewelry with all its chains and dangling parts that decorated his tail and ears clinked together as they moved. Leaning back onto the bar, almost sitting on it with one ankle crossed over the other. A delicate hand lifted his coffee mug to his lips but he did not take a sip. His amber yellow eyes peered over the top, suspicion burning within them. The early morning sun setting his eyes alight, dappling his lilac skin, the pearlescent nature of the small scattering of scales at his wrists and nape catching the light more so. Without the perfect light these scales were barely visible, a fact he quite preferred.

“It’s a little bit early for a drink, no?” His voice dripped from his tongue, smooth and deep with a hint of sharpness to the syllables. As he spoke, he made sure to curl his lip ever so slightly to bear his dual fangs.

Either this person simply wanted their fix, to rob the place or he knew Sorren and was here to enact revenge. Either on behalf of their marked house or because Sorren had swindled them. The weight of black diamond on his forehead burned at the thought. He had stolen from that noble family a week ago…Albeit on Cazador’s orders. Not that the Dewberry’s would care about that tidbit, no they would just want his head on a silver platter for stealing their family heirloom.

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Niemir Archambeau

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The shop had been overflowing with customers the day before, an absolute nightmare. The noise, the demands that were being shouted from across the wooden shop had made his ears ring so badly that he had departed early into the night. The sky was splattered with a string of stars that gently illuminated the streets of Kreah, the moon barely a sliver in the midst of the cape of stars. The night was always comforting to Niemir, even before his very nature turned nocturnal. It had an air of calmness that seeped into his busy brain and slowed his thoughts down to something manageable, something he had always struggled with. Ever the chatterbox, most people couldn’t stand him.

He had not set out to locate himself a meal, but when that woman had all but thrown herself at him, he couldn’t resist. She had been draped in elegant silks, fixed to her body via golden cuffs that held the weight of the true metal, no mere plated steel. A woman of high class, a human. Niemir had always enjoyed human more than other creatures, perhaps that was due to the fact that they were so helpless. That and most other species had a terrible after taste, especially sirens with their rotten fish scent. Or werewolves with an overpowering musk that made him want to vomit.

Marissa had been her name, that he had learned when she twirled her way out of a bar and into his arms. Colliding roughly, Niemir had caught her quickly, stabilising her in his suited arms and peered down at her. Blue eyes were hazy with intoxication and a dozy smile was aimed up at Niemir and he knew he had found a particularly lovely meal.

Niemir drew his hand to hers and raised it to his lips, placing a delicate kiss to her knuckles, green eyes flicking up through long dark lashes towards Marissa. It had drawn a girly giggle from her lips. A tale as old as time, she snaked her arms around one of his and Niemir had coaxed her into the alleyways.

A maze of corners, he made sure she had zero chance of slipping away before he whirled on her. So quickly that her breath had hitched as Niemir pinned her against the crumbling stone wall of the abandoned warehouse. That breathing only became heavier as he rested his temple against hers and drew in her scent. Alcohol always tainted blood, but beggars could not be choosers. Especially in Kreah.

Rouge flushed cheeks soon drained of colour as Niemir pierced her neck, strong hands restricting her movements as she attempted to push against him to escape, but he was an immovable force.

A syrupy flavour mottled with the salty aftertaste all blood held. Surprisingly, Niemir found himself rather enjoying this particular specimen. So much so, that when she finally fell limp in his arms, a low snarl of annoyance pulled from his throat. His hands flew back to his sides and Marissa collapsed to the floor in a crumpled heap.

The polished suit Niemir had been wearing was untouched by the crimson, his spine straight, he began navigating the twisting turns back out of the alleyways as the sky began to lighten. Inka would be waking soon, meaning he had work to do.

He slipped into the small office space at the back of the shop through the back door that led directly into it, the wood creaking closed just as he heard the front door open and muffled sounds of voices drifted through the air. Niemir perched himself on the desk chair and arched his neck backwards to listen, he could hear Inka complaining but it took him a minute longer to piece together the masculine voice. Loic. An interesting man to say the least, and in Niemir’s opinion an idiot for dedicating his life to a house that used him in such vulgar manners.

Niemir waited patiently until he deemed the moment perfect, sliding his way into the main shop he peered across the cozy environment and locked eyes with Inka who merely gave him a glance before she focused back on the larger man.

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Calliope Leonatus

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The clicking steps she had heard were in fact not a figment of her imagination, her head swivelled to catch the tall figure of Anjou as he stomped his way down the hall towards the pair. Her caramel eyes narrowed in hostility, the hand that secured her grip on the leather case tightened and the handle made a small strained sound at the pressure. The flare of malice that had been lit inside her only roared larger as Anjou snapped his harsh gaze upon her, her upper lip curled slightly with a not so subtle threat. The entitlement that this particular Dietrich held was tangible in the air around him, like a cloud that never left his vicinity. The woman kept her post beside Samael, unflinching at the veiled hostility that was being uncovered, refusing to let herself be demeaned by this man.

Anjou was but a mere shadow of his younger brother, scrambling to grasp a hold of the infinite glory that Samael was destined to achieve. A validation starved brat with too much money than he knew what to do with, too many opportunities laid out for him on silver platters. Whilst he remained in this awful manor, attempting to appease the family name, Samael would be making history. Ripping apart the rules and forging new ones that he would enforce without mercy. That was who he was, a man on the frontier of possibilities, a prodigy alone on that expanse of evolution.

The touch at her back pulled Calliope from the unwavering focus she had held on Anjou for the entirety of his pitiful whining, her lip twitched once more with a sliver of her fangs being exposed before she turned. Her eyes wishing murder upon Anjou as she whirled herself around to walk to the doors, guided by Samael’s hand and dip of his head to continue outside. She knew he didn’t need her to match his brother, in any circumstance, Samael would be the victor. That she had absolutely no doubts about.

The carriage awaiting her matched the dark lacquered wood that favoured her room, a delightful change from the almost gaudy appearance of the remaining quarters of the Dietrich house. Calliope held her case out for the waiting man to slide into the storage, not sparing the marked man a single glance as she ascended the small steps into the carriage. Settling herself into the plush seat, one leg crossed over the other at the knee, Calliope’s eyes cast back out towards the house as Samael began his approach. Behind him, Anjou’s furious silhouette lurked like a stray dog begging for praise and nourishment, until the heavy door closed and her heart grew lighter with the knowledge she no longer had to live under the same roof as that brute.

They needn’t share any words with each other, there was little to speak of. He did not require her input, so her lips remained sealed. Instead, her head remained tilted towards the window, watching the scenery pass by in silence. Her breathing barely audible under the heavy hooves that thundered against the ground outside. They were headed out of the bustle of Kreah, far enough from Diamond Row that the debaucherous activities of the city’s regular inhabitants could be seen in snapshots as they passed. A mugging in an alley, a child alone in rags sleeping on the street. They were never uncommon when one descended into the true heart of Kreah. What made their route most curious was that they were moving away from the city centre all together, the sounds of machinery and heavy labour fading into the distance. One might have wondered where exactly Samael was taking them, Calliope on the other hand had no such questions. He would take her wherever he desired them to exist, be it on the mainland, across the continent, another country. No matter where he transported her, she would never question their destination, Samael knew what he was doing.

Only when the carriage drew to a smooth stop did Calliope’s eyes meet Samael once more, drawn to his voice the millisecond his lips had parted. Her chest tightened in anticipation with his words, she knew she would love it, as did he. She could be led into a half ruined wooden shack and she would exclaim her adoration for their new home. Like clockwork, Samael stepped out of the compartment first and his waiting hand held itself high for her to grasp onto. Sliding her hand into his gloved one, Calliope ducked as she exited after him. As her bare feet met the ground, her gaze lifted up past Samael and she was met with a towering structure. The very essence of the architecture drew her into its aura, the alluring intimidation that it exuded dominated the land it sat on. Classical. None of the new build nonsense that sucked the life from the purpose of the great family’s manors, it spoke of true power. Befitting Samael, almost too perfectly for it to have not been built solely for his use.

Her lips split into a thin smile as her eyes roamed the brickwork, allowing herself to be led up towards the door. With each step, the intricate bricks became more lovely to behold. Stained with time, dark and timeless. The golden knocker that sat in the centre of the door gleamed out from the aged wood with a polished shine that would draw any eyes to it immediately. The curling snake beckoned those that dared to disturb the occupants. A hand slipped its way up towards the metal, taking the time to let her fingers rove over the engraved detailing, testing the weight in her palm. Finally, Calliope let the heavy weight fall against the door two distinct times.

“I could not have picked something better myself.” She cooed, giving the metal a last graze of her finger before the door opened before them and Samael’s indebted ones welcomed them to their new dwelling with avoidant eyes.

Merely stepping into the foyer produced a soft hum from her throat, almost feeling unworthy of being granted entrance to the beautifully antiquated halls. Her head had tipped back as she walked in a slow circle of admiration, appreciating the way the sound of Samael’s steps echoed around the room. At his voice, her pacing halted and her head returned to be level with her shoulders. The intensity from the moment she stepped out of the carriage unfading from her pale eyes as they honed in on the encroaching man, her chest tightened once more as his hand moved to tilt her head back up. Not once did she break her eye contact with him, only when his own gaze trailed down with his finger did she dare to angle her eyes downwards, not that she could see his hand any longer.

She did not move, allowing her body to only be moved by Samael’s own hands, a doll in that moment as his touch cast down her shoulder.

For Samael, Calliope would do anything.

“I would suffer unimaginably. Eternally,” Her voice came out a ghost of itself, breathy as she held herself steady despite the lingering trail that his touch had left down her skin. It was a blessing, a true gift to be so close to a creature such as Samael, any acknowledgement was a moment to be grateful for receiving. “Endlessly, if that is what you desire, Samael.” Calliope’s eyes had almost hazed over as she received the attention, lips parted with bated breath as her chest rose and fell steadily.

The touch that came next drew another soft sound from her throat as the cold flesh wrapped its way around her neck, the tendons beneath pulled taut. Dark lips sliced into a cruel grin as she waited for whatever was to come next. Perhaps he would break her bones, throw her to the lowest filth of Kreah, to banish her from his home. Merely saying she meant nothing to him would be enough to plunge the woman into a spiralling demise, not that it would deter her from clawing her way back into his good graces. No matter the context, the situation or the pain she suffered, Calliope would return to Samael.

The sensation had begun as a mild discomfort, a heat permeating her dead flesh like a soldering iron piercing through the muscle. Splitting the fibres without care for the damage it may leave. It drew a sharp gasp from her lips, however it did not last long. What came next made that heat pale in comparison. As the heat reached her very bones, it shot like electricity through her body, exploding in the bundles of nerves that lay along the trail of touch Samael had so dutifully graced her with moments before. The grip on her neck tightened as the sensation intensified, pulling a strangled cry from Calliope, her legs almost buckling under the pressure that was pulsing through her.

Her muscles felt as though they were going to strip themselves from the bone, peel away and leave her disfigured and suffering for the rest of her existence. Honey brown eyes were stretched so wide that the whites almost dominated the area, pinprick pupils bore into Samael’s own eyes before they blew wide. The blackness taking over her iris almost entirely as her body fell limp in his hold, the distressing cry transforming into a sharp scream of pure unadulterated pain. A sound that would be ripped from the throats of dying animals upon their final moments as their killer descended upon them. The skin along her arm seared with white-hot fire as ink black lines forced themselves into the flesh and bone.

Calliope’s manicured hands had found their way to Samael’s forearm, digging the nails into his flesh without fear of harming him, the agony being placed upon her way too great for her to take any precautions. Eyes wet with tears that had begun to fall from the outer corners, clotting the long lashes to each other with the volume that was being secreted.

Eventually, after what seemed like ten lifetimes her body was allowed to crumple to the floor in a heaving pile. Her palms had slammed into the floor, fingers splayed and twitching with her spine bent over so her head hung lower than her shoulders. Hair dishevelled and hiding her from the light of the foyer as her ribs strained with the effort to combat the remaining bursts of tortuous pain that lingered along her arm and up to her neck where it encircled the delicate area with a crushing force.

Calliope’s head tipped back, crashing backwards as she lacked the energy to hold it up without it simply resting backwards to gaze up at Samael through glassy eyes. A heartbeat later, her parted lips took the form of a sick, lazy smile. A coarse and breathless laugh being pulled up from her lungs as she looked vacantly up towards him, pleased to have served him whatever this had meant. Whatever purpose he had for doing this to her, Calliope was proud to have gifted it to him. Stark against her skin lay a freshly placed mark, a snake which beginning at her wrist encircled her arm all the way up to her shoulder where its sleek body continued to travel up to her nape. This is where the head wrapped around the back of her neck and finally back around to rest its fanged skull between her collarbones.

“Thank you.” Calliope’s voice was ripped raw, she could taste her own blood at the back of her tongue as her ruined voice box forced the words from her lips. Expressing her gratitude for the experience he had bestowed upon her, an almost intoxicated glaze lay over her expression as she awaited Samael's words.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ Inka Yakovna ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

The soft click of the door behind her alerted the woman to the arrival of her lodger, his silent approach simply greeted with a brief glance over her shoulder. Dismissing his appearance for the time being, the pressing issue at hand was the weeping wounds that criss crossed over Loic’s entire arm. Deep enough to have caused a small intake of breath as he had removed his coat.

“No longer than your hand– Loic your hand is massive!” Inka spoke quickly, disgruntled. Her hands pressed the sides of her face and dragged the flesh down momentarily as she stared at the wounds dejectedly. The man always had a way of explaining his injuries in such nonchalant manners, mere scratches to him were enough to fell many men, if not all, in Kreah’s toughest industries. The nature of his indebtment to Bataille often implied many gruesome assignments, ones Inka did her best to avoid the details of and Loic was happy to oblige that desire.

With a soft sigh, the wispy woman rose to her feet and waved the hands from her face in dismissal. “Leave it on the counter, I will deal with it after you stop bleeding onto my floor.” Inka’s eyes narrowed as she observed him, glancing over the wounds. He had come in with far worse, life-threatening even, but this was a milder visit. One the apothecary was grateful for that particular morning.

Gliding around the counter, her blonde head vanished beneath the wooden bench as she sought out a small handful of vials. The sound of gentle clinking echoed around the space as the glass vials jostled in her grasp before she laid them out on the counter and returned to Loic’s side.

Without a word, Inka’s hands slipped down to lift up Loic’s arm, close enough so that her breath was disturbing the small hairs. Attempting to decide the appropriate action to take, it should be simple enough but then again it was Loic, he could be about to say it was laced with poison or that he actually had a giant gaping stomach wound as well.

Her fingertips ghosted over the cuts along his forearm, a warm pulse emitting from them. Eyebrows were creased in effort as she attempted to seal the flesh back together, the skin quivered under her ministrations, resisting the pull her magic was coaxing it with. Inka’s blue eyes almost seemed to glow in the shadow her body had created, the morning sun a blinding backlight behind her, the ever present dark bags under her eyes only accentuating the sharpness her eyes held. Her lips split in a frustrated hiss as she drew away from his arm quickly, the cut she was attempting to seal bouncing back open and it oozed fresh blood.

“Niemir, fix me something to eat, would you?” Inka called out towards the vampire absentmindedly, not a moment more spent on him before she began fiddling with the vials and small mortar and pestle. The speckled dark stone roved under her hand, the finger above it spinning to make the pestle grind the concoction she had sprinkled into the bowl without touching the cold stone. Her dark lips were uttering something under her breath, certainly not the usual tongue of Kreah, a more nuanced and ancient language. As she continued, the substance in the mortar flashed briefly, only a second before she dropped the pestle and gripped the bowl.

Her loose clothes billowed behind her messily as Inka swiftly slid back into place beside Loic’s arm, plunging her two forefingers into the paste she had created and dabbed the smallest amount onto the centre of each slash. The movement causing a soft jingle of metals and beads of her various jewellery, pale hair flicked back by the quick movement.

Inka held little care for the abilities of this man, he was not exactly praised in the streets. A warmonger of the Bataille family, a stone-faced brute that the cold-blooded sirens sent out to do their dirty work. Not unusual for the prominent families to use powerful marked to carry out their darkest desires. What made Loic’s case particularly tragic was the manner in which he had come to be in this position. Many times Inka had run her hands over the broad back muscles, the dark harsh scars in the flesh stood out like a sore thumb. Cruel and permanent in their meaning.

Once the mustard yellow paste had been expertly administered to each wound, her slow healing began. Beginning at his bicep, picking out the largest gashes first, that same heat flashed down from her fingertips and brushed against the raw flesh. With the aid of the salve, the torn fibres began to stitch themselves back together, slowly but surely closing themselves over. Her work never left any scars, unlike those hacks that paid their way through the universities, Inka was a master of her craft.

She spent little time socialising, a tome on obscure magic was far more compelling than the drunken guffawing of the bars and gambling halls. Niemir was often her only social interaction outside of her work, most days it was only his voice that she replied to without the hint of professionalism her customers received. Loic, well Loic was different.

“What rabid creature were you strangling to have received this?” Her words flew from her mouth, her voice taking on her usual accent through the groggy dregs of sleep that were slowly evaporating from her mind. An accent with bold intonation, sharp with a harshness that could only come from Northern colonies, though beneath the hard consonants were vowels that were practically purred in comparison.

Her eyes only lifted from her work for a heartbeat as Niemir quietly slid a plate onto the counter beside them, careful to keep it away from Loic’s coat. “Thank you, leech.” Inka offered, the nickname holding no hostility behind it, which only drew a gentle eye roll from the man before he sank down into the chair opposite Loic. His green gaze scanning over the large male, calculating something behind the narrowed eyes.

“Why you don’t seek out a way to leave those people, I will never know.” Inka’s words were breathed out in a soft sigh as she turned her attention to the next injury, eyes hooded as she crouched down to focus that little bit more as she watched the sinew flick itself back together.