Wolf Play : iconium x urux

Although the young man had rarely received the solitude that he so desperately yearned for, it was still rather surprising to the dual heir that someone would have the conviction to follow him. The clacking of heels on the stone floor echoed all around him, causing his brain to fog at the level of auditory stimulation he was encountering. He’d spent much of his time off, alone, and with little other than nature to break the silence he was comfortable living in. He struggled to adjust to what felt like an ambush of interaction after having so little, and especially with a sound so pointed and irritating like the one that was currently flooding his senses.

“You are supposed to be dead,” came the voice, sweeter than he was anticipating and more delicate. He knew that even the sweetest of things could be deadly, however, and this caused him to hold onto the distrust in his heart.

“Am I?” He replied, the slightest expression of amusement falling across his otherwise harsh features. He turned to face her, noticing how her formerly polished appearance had become disheveled in the stumble she’d taken moments prior. The sprinkling of dirt and dust that stained her clothing indicated the haste she’d taken in her pursuit of him. Was he really that important to her that she would abandon the ceremony in pursuit of answers? Was she really willing to risk her life to do so? While the woman herself did not particularly pique his interest, there was a certain mystery about her infatuation with him that caused him to stop in his tracks and give her a moment of his time.

“Why are you here?”

“Some ghosts don’t rest,” he answered cryptically, turning his head to one side to study the woman in the dim light. Finally, after a long pause, he added, “now, a question for you: why do you care about my presence when ten other heirs are trying to destroy yours?”

Before she could respond or even contemplate the question, another pair of footsteps were heard encroaching on the space the pair occupied. Without a second thought, the dark-haired man evaporated back into the shadows, making his way down the corridor without drawing attention to himself or his efforts.

…

Although Misha had initially taken a rather negative stance toward the prospect of attending a formal event, he’d settled into the idea by the time a few hours had passed and he’d done the hard work of making his own arrangements for the ball. He’d first had to uncover the mystery as to who or what was supplying the formalwear for the other heirs, and, although he quite enjoyed sewing as a pastime, was relieved to find out that there were a group of individuals who had been tasked with the job of creating clothing for the event. Despite this, no one had accounted for the kingdom of shadows to supply another heir for the event so quickly after the death of Anastasiya, Misha’s sister, and this caused the remainder of his afternoon to be spent making alterations to a piece of fabric that was supposed to belong to her. He thought that the loss of her should have made him feel some level of devastation or sadness, but it didn’t. He wondered why, other than the simple knowledge that he had lost and been lost to her long ago.

By the time the festivities arrived in the late evening, Misha was feeling rather receptive of a social event considering that the stimulation of the morning’s events had caused his brain to spin endlessly for several hours. He was glad for a break from himself, and part of him would have liked to drink anything he was offered if it wasn’t for the looming threat of death that hung over him like a thick blanket. Students were technically not allowed to cause harm to each other at all, at any point in the competition or beyond, yet the officials turned a blind eye to this. They always had. And, while the informal rule was to obey this command until the actual commencement of the competition, it certainly hadn’t stopped some from killing in the past, and it hadn’t stopped them now, either, if his sister’s demise was any evidence at all. Decidedly, Misha wouldn’t drink or eat anything that he hadn’t seen made with his own eyes. He’d made it a point to visit with the kitchen staff earlier in the day to ensure that no deals had been arranged between the staff and the other heirs, nor that they would be so indifferent to him as to willingly allow him to suffer at their hands so soon. While they were not receptive to his presence in the way he had hoped, he wondered if his lack of malicious behavior would have any effect on the impression of him they had already made up in their minds.

Having been one of the first to arrive, Misha was almost surprised that no one had executed him right on the spot. Yet, no one knew that he had not discussed any of this with his father, nor that his father was not and had not been part of his escape nor his return. They assumed that, if Misha died at their hands, the king of the most powerful realm of them all would feel justified in causing a war that he had already been quite desperate to start. When Misha had escaped, his father had used his lack of knowledge of his son’s whereabouts to begin a conflict that allowed their kingdom to swallow up three other lands which had formerly been other kingdoms. Everyone at the academy knew that keeping Misha around was terrible, but killing him would have worse consequences overall.

While he wasn’t necessarily looking for a fight, the dark-haired prince would have no trouble in creating one if given the opportunity. He kept this in mind as the heir from Marmoor descended the stairs into the large space, dressed elegantly in clothing that almost made her look innocent. He’d learned during his errands of the day through the subtle art of being in the right place at the right time that she’d been the one to bring about the end of one of his brothers’ lives. She’d caused him to go insane, to fall from grace without a chance of redemption. And, though it seemed to him to be an inherently bad idea, Misha wondered how close of an allegiance he could form with a competitor like that before she attempted to destroy him, too.

iconium x urux | fantasy 1x1

October 25, 2024 11:52 PM

Urux

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The long archway ridden hallway was unlit, shading the majority of the walkway into darkness, the smallest peppering on sunlight from outside dotted across the ground. Even though he had turned to face her, his features still remained clouded at their distance, she kept her eyes trained straight for his own. Until she watched his eyes glance over her figure, Andromeda knew what he was piecing together in his head. If she really wanted to, she could reach out a gentle caressing touch to that mind and coax its thoughts into her own. There was no point in making the effort, his current thoughts meant little to her. Although, as his head tilted to the side and his eyes continued their analysis, the young woman tensed her shoulders.

There was a breath of time that passed after he spoke finally, breaking his ghoulish silence. Then he was turning and vanishing into the dark, the sudden soft tap of footsteps behind her made Andromeda twirl around to meet them. Matching her eyes with the Alderburn heir, a wash of relief came over her. At least it was her and not the other more haughty heirs. The woman stopped in her tracks like a deer in headlights, a small sound coming from her lips as she froze up.

“I hope I didn’t interrupt something, Andromeda.” Her tone was as pure and as kind as the day they had met. Andromeda lifted a hand in a soft dismissal of her concern.

“It’s fine, Mira.” A slide long glance over her own shoulder, no trace to be found of Misha. “I was just heading back to my quarters.” With that, she turned on her heel and began to walk steadily down the arches. Her mind had linked together what Misha had said. I can deal with them, you are different.

“Oh, well I shall see you later tonight then.” Mira chirped, her voice vibrating off of the old stone.

Andromeda had no quarrel with Alderburn, they were a nonviolent group of people, inevitably proven by the heirs that came to compete in the tournaments. Always kind-hearted and willing to help anyone. For that very reason, Andromeda had warped the pretty little head of Penelope Whitten in her first tournament. Not enough to kill or change the direction of her life to demise, but enough to haunt and linger with a feeling Penelope could never shake. The spy trainee had targeted an Alderburn boy, luring him into her web before striking. The poor man had been so trusting and under the impression that Penelope needed help. His scream was silent, but Andromeda had felt his thoughts halt, felt his presence slip away.

A large portion of her afternoon was spent sprawled across the four poster bed in the Marmoor sector of the tournament housing. The entire room was blazen with their crest, wispy ethereal whites and silvers throughout the entire space. Not a single hint of black to be seen, it was rather confronting actually. Having arrived the previous day, Andromeda’s belongings had already been slotted away into their various temporary homes. All but her dagger which lay on the bedside table, just to the left of her head.

The return of the mixed blood heir would pose to be difficult. She had no doubts about duping the other heirs, spinning their little heads until they were quacking like a duck or husks of themselves. Misha would be a problem. With an irritated groan, she turned onto her side and stared at the dagger. She had lost last time, her kingdom could not afford another loss. Not this year.

After hours of plotting and whining to herself about the spanner that was Misha in her works, Andromeda had resigned herself to the bath. Letting the warm water relax the tight muscles in her back, allowing her to begin to think a little clearer once more.

The dress that had been assigned to her was different from the last two, that being said they were still a gossamer white with sleek silk. It always was. Floor length as per the requirements of the event, as were the accompanying heels. Gods, she couldn’t wait until tomorrow. When all this silly imagery of purity could be set aside for functional clothing options.

As she approached the courtyard once more, Andromeda took a moment to pull the large white fox fur boa around herself. Letting it sit on her arms as she turned to descend the steps down towards the mosaic stones. The moonlight mixed with the soft orange glow from the ambient lighting of the courtyard dappled the area. Creating an abstractly brilliant view from afar, Andromeda admired it as she took her first step down.

Tonight would be ideal for weaselling her way into the minds of the other competitors. Alcohol often made people blind to her psychic advancements whilst she toyed in conversation with them. Top priority would be Ales, he was sure to have his teeth bared and aimed for her throat. But, with the arrival of Misha, that changed the dynamics.

With the final step down towards the stone pavers, Andromeda caught sight of the man himself, peering over towards her. With narrowed pale eyes, she continued her advancement into the courtyard. Taking her sweet time to make her way across the expanse, she could hear others behind her. Making their arrival known well before they rounded the corner to descend the stairs.

If he was not back for revenge, then perhaps she was safe on that front. The only issue being, did he care for his half-sibling that she killed, albeit indirectly. Then, did he care enough in order to kill her?

Her eyes left Misha as she arrived at the temporary bar that had been built for the event, the beginnings of smooth classical music flowed into the stone arena from the platform. Leaning one hand out towards the woman behind the counter, palm turned skywards.

“Neat whiskey.” A moment later, the short glass was placed into her waiting palm. Andromeda graced the woman with a thank you before turning back to look out towards Misha. Perhaps he would be a good weapon against Ales, a distraction from her previous indiscretion against the Ice Kingdom. Her pointer finger tapped on the wall of the glass as she lifted it to her lips, drawing in the amber liquid and feeling the familiar warmth flood over her tongue. At the stairs, she could see heirs dotted amongst the arriving graduates, notably Mira as she all but skipped down the steps in her whirling flurry of a dress, decorated in small butterflies. Another stereotype the academy likes to align to Alderburn females, not that Mira seemed to care. Andromeda did not look away as she gestured to the bar again, tapping before she received another glass of the same liquor.

After her prolonged stalking, Andromeda pushed away from her spot and began her approach. His eyes were trained elsewhere for a moment before catching her form making its way towards him. Once she had closed the distance, keeping at least an arm's length between them. She raised the new glass, fingers holding the base and directly it up to him.

“Care for a drink?” She all but cooed, holding her hand still for him to take if he so wished. If he did take it without question, then he wasn’t as smart as people claimed him to be.

Edited at October 26, 2024 02:20 AM by Urux

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