TIMESTAMP: 16th Cinderfall - Ash - 4572 / 06:07, 16:43
NOTES:
NOTES:
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It was the day after his Bane ritual, and the new Ferrier lay in his bed blankly staring up at the ceiling. He had left his lover’s place of business late in the evening, and he could tell he hadn’t slept much; it was only dawn judging by the way the sun’s rays shone gently through the curtains on the windows on the other side of his room. The elf rolls around for some time before sitting up, frustrated that he can’t fall back asleep…but then, something clicks in his head. Holding a hand palm towards himself in front of his face, he stares at it blankly, with sleepy eyes and a smile as the pathos of sopor begins to form from the center of his palm and drip down his skin. Figuring this would make it work quicker, he leans his head forward and licks some of it– he recoils slightly at the taste. Letting his arm and body drop in tandem, it didn’t take long for him to start feeling the effects and his mind drifted away back into the gentle sea of dreams.
16:43
The pale one awakens and feels both refreshed and as if his body is made of lead. He has no initial concept of what time it is, and before he can really even think about that, he hears fairly loud, excitable knocking echoing up into his room, through the door, and to his ears. It was easy to tell from the way it was muffled that whomever it was was knocking on the door to his study below his chambers. The mage sighs at the realization that he has to drag himself to the door below and open it else the knocking will not cease. This he knew given he recognized the distinct pattern that was repeating itself…over and over and over. Sighing, clearly annoyed, he dresses himself in a thin, black silken robe and moves languidly to descend the spiral stairs leading from his room to the lowest portion of his study.
Arriving at the door, long, graceful fingers grip the knob and turn, opening the door to exactly the face the pale elf had been expecting. With one eyebrow arched in irritation, he begins, “What do–” He tries to speak, but before he can finish his inquiry he is interrupted. The shorter, raven haired man on the other side of the threshold immediately steps forward and up onto his toes, pulling Degare into a deep kiss he would be hard pressed to resist, biting into his lip as he does so. The men stayed connected like this for probably an unnecessary amount of time. “I expected more enthusiasm from you, dear! Did I wake you~?” The question is asked as a playful taunt as he pulls away, knowing the elven man’s tendency to oversleep. He stares at the other with hands on his hips, tongue running over his bottom lip to savor his lover’s taste. In response, the pale one sighs, closing his eyes and reopening them with a much softer, more affectionate expression on lips still lingering open. Beginning with a soft inhale, “Almost. I had been awake for some precious few moments before I heard your knock…but really, I am always happy to have your company.” With that, Averre invites himself into the study and closes the door behind them.
Typical of the smaller man’s usual flair, he twirls around as he moves to place himself in front of his elven companion. “I figured since you usually avoid anything more official that you’d be free today as well, ‘tis all,” he giggles, “I wanted to play with you! …and by that I mean, explore your new skills, get you comfortable with them, and so on and so forth,” speaking with his usual musicality and exaggerated gesticulation. The taller one places one hand on either of the others shoulders, face tilted down at him, gaze still half asleep as he speaks, “I suppose you simply intend to use yourself– or me– as subject, then? Given we need a victim, so to speak…even for allay. Can’t remove what’s not there, after all.” His voice was soft and low, but held warm undercurrents whenever directed at Averre. In response, the other man simply says, “Yes!” With swift, precise movements he brings two fingers to his own throat and draws a line of slickened, oil-black pathos across his throat, wearing a bright, enthusiastic smile. Degare squints at him, “What have you just done…?” The smile on the other man’s face does not fade, no– it grows wider as his expression shifts to something much more impish and he makes a few pathetic noises as he indicates he’s deprived himself of the ability to speak.
The exhausted look that is near omnipresent on Degare’s face seems to sink further into his features as he sighs at the other man’s antics. He watches the sickly ooze of the pathos absorb into his lover’s skin, knowing full well he’d just used hush on himself with the expectation that he’d figure out allay on his own and fix him. Bringing a hand up to his chest, he runs a finger over the shape of the exposed Bane mark as eyes drift closed to think. Taking advantage of his partner’s momentary distraction, Averre quickly steps forward and laces his arms around the other man’s lower back, looking up at him with eager expectation. Degare’s eyes abruptly open from surprise when he’s touched, though his lids return to their usual half-closed position when he looks down at the other man. A smirk is drawn on his face at this point as he brings up one of his hands to hold the shorter man’s chin, thumb resting on his bottom lip. Their eyes are locked in this position for a few moments before Degare appears to remember what exactly it was that he was supposed to be doing.
With that, he floats his hand downwards and grips the throat of his mentor– a man who is looking up at him with a face that is the picture of delight; bright, golden eyes staring upwards with fascination. The elven man sighs slowly, eyes of reddened amber appearing to lose focus as his own shifts to try and feel the pathos that had been absorbed into the other’s skin beneath his fingers. He found that he could, easily. A small smile crept onto his own lips in response to these new sensations. However, due to him being distracted, he doesn’t realize that his grip on the smaller man’s neck had tightened. Averre made zero attempt to resist, too. The newer Ferrier could feel the pathos begin to thin under his influence, breaking down into tiny, fuzzy ashes that would be easily cleared by the body. The more he clears, though, the more his hand tightens. The raven haired man grants the other a doe-eyed look with mouth agape, though no sound comes out, only a strained exhalation. As moments ticked by, he slowly regained his voice, “I…can’t…Degare,” he pleads with a hoarse voice, running quite low on oxygen by now, as he digs his fingers into the other man’s back.
The pale one’s eyes widen as he realizes what exactly he’s doing and quickly drops his grip, hand now resting on the nape of his lover’s neck. A gentle flush diffuses across his cheeks before he manages to speak, “I honestly didn’t notice I was doing that…” voice trailing off, he looks away, slightly embarrassed at his own lack of control. The darker man erupts in laughter, squeezing his arms around his partner. “It made the experience ever more thrilling. If I was truly concerned, I would’ve stopped you sooner~” he trills. “Let’s try something else!” words spoken quickly and he moves before the elf can even begin to react.
His arms snake off from his elven companion as he steps back, deftly pulling something from a hilt on his hip. He spins the knife he’s now brandishing a few times in his hand before swiftly pushing the other arm forward and up, his sleeve falling back to reveal the soft flesh of his forearm. Before Degare can properly register what exactly he’s planning to do, he draws the blade across skin with a flourish, pressing deeper than he had to for any reasonable purpose. Using the hand still holding his knife, Averre floats it a few inches above the wound and yet more pathos drips from his palm onto flesh, blending grotesquely with the free flowing blood. Then, he clasps his palm down over the break in skin as ashes appear to materialize from the air and seal it. He barely flinches as he does any of this, maintaining the type of smile a showman would wear whilst performing. At the end, he winks, “That last bit I showed you you’ll learn eventually; otherwise, you’d have been the one to do it. Alas, it is too early,” he nearly whines. “Anyways, in a moment, I will feel terrible. Fix me again,” he says, a command delivered in a sweet, loving tone.
The waifish elf sighs at the other man’s display and the fact that he now had spilt blood pooling on his floor. This time, his mentor can’t hide the ill effects from his face as his expression twists and his knees seem to buckle. Being a master, Averre’s banes were all far more potent than they would normally be, and the elven man wasn’t entirely sure if he could– or would– adjust the potency to make it easier for him to ‘fix.’ The other’s posture slumps, appearing to struggle to hold his own head up, breathing beginning to sound strained; as if he was being pressed upon by some invisible weight. Squinting now with a furrowed brow, the pale one realizes that he had sapped himself.
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It was the day after his Bane ritual, and the new Ferrier lay in his bed blankly staring up at the ceiling. He had left his lover’s place of business late in the evening, and he could tell he hadn’t slept much; it was only dawn judging by the way the sun’s rays shone gently through the curtains on the windows on the other side of his room. The elf rolls around for some time before sitting up, frustrated that he can’t fall back asleep…but then, something clicks in his head. Holding a hand palm towards himself in front of his face, he stares at it blankly, with sleepy eyes and a smile as the pathos of sopor begins to form from the center of his palm and drip down his skin. Figuring this would make it work quicker, he leans his head forward and licks some of it– he recoils slightly at the taste. Letting his arm and body drop in tandem, it didn’t take long for him to start feeling the effects and his mind drifted away back into the gentle sea of dreams.
16:43
The pale one awakens and feels both refreshed and as if his body is made of lead. He has no initial concept of what time it is, and before he can really even think about that, he hears fairly loud, excitable knocking echoing up into his room, through the door, and to his ears. It was easy to tell from the way it was muffled that whomever it was was knocking on the door to his study below his chambers. The mage sighs at the realization that he has to drag himself to the door below and open it else the knocking will not cease. This he knew given he recognized the distinct pattern that was repeating itself…over and over and over. Sighing, clearly annoyed, he dresses himself in a thin, black silken robe and moves languidly to descend the spiral stairs leading from his room to the lowest portion of his study.
Arriving at the door, long, graceful fingers grip the knob and turn, opening the door to exactly the face the pale elf had been expecting. With one eyebrow arched in irritation, he begins, “What do–” He tries to speak, but before he can finish his inquiry he is interrupted. The shorter, raven haired man on the other side of the threshold immediately steps forward and up onto his toes, pulling Degare into a deep kiss he would be hard pressed to resist, biting into his lip as he does so. The men stayed connected like this for probably an unnecessary amount of time. “I expected more enthusiasm from you, dear! Did I wake you~?” The question is asked as a playful taunt as he pulls away, knowing the elven man’s tendency to oversleep. He stares at the other with hands on his hips, tongue running over his bottom lip to savor his lover’s taste. In response, the pale one sighs, closing his eyes and reopening them with a much softer, more affectionate expression on lips still lingering open. Beginning with a soft inhale, “Almost. I had been awake for some precious few moments before I heard your knock…but really, I am always happy to have your company.” With that, Averre invites himself into the study and closes the door behind them.
Typical of the smaller man’s usual flair, he twirls around as he moves to place himself in front of his elven companion. “I figured since you usually avoid anything more official that you’d be free today as well, ‘tis all,” he giggles, “I wanted to play with you! …and by that I mean, explore your new skills, get you comfortable with them, and so on and so forth,” speaking with his usual musicality and exaggerated gesticulation. The taller one places one hand on either of the others shoulders, face tilted down at him, gaze still half asleep as he speaks, “I suppose you simply intend to use yourself– or me– as subject, then? Given we need a victim, so to speak…even for allay. Can’t remove what’s not there, after all.” His voice was soft and low, but held warm undercurrents whenever directed at Averre. In response, the other man simply says, “Yes!” With swift, precise movements he brings two fingers to his own throat and draws a line of slickened, oil-black pathos across his throat, wearing a bright, enthusiastic smile. Degare squints at him, “What have you just done…?” The smile on the other man’s face does not fade, no– it grows wider as his expression shifts to something much more impish and he makes a few pathetic noises as he indicates he’s deprived himself of the ability to speak.
The exhausted look that is near omnipresent on Degare’s face seems to sink further into his features as he sighs at the other man’s antics. He watches the sickly ooze of the pathos absorb into his lover’s skin, knowing full well he’d just used hush on himself with the expectation that he’d figure out allay on his own and fix him. Bringing a hand up to his chest, he runs a finger over the shape of the exposed Bane mark as eyes drift closed to think. Taking advantage of his partner’s momentary distraction, Averre quickly steps forward and laces his arms around the other man’s lower back, looking up at him with eager expectation. Degare’s eyes abruptly open from surprise when he’s touched, though his lids return to their usual half-closed position when he looks down at the other man. A smirk is drawn on his face at this point as he brings up one of his hands to hold the shorter man’s chin, thumb resting on his bottom lip. Their eyes are locked in this position for a few moments before Degare appears to remember what exactly it was that he was supposed to be doing.
With that, he floats his hand downwards and grips the throat of his mentor– a man who is looking up at him with a face that is the picture of delight; bright, golden eyes staring upwards with fascination. The elven man sighs slowly, eyes of reddened amber appearing to lose focus as his own shifts to try and feel the pathos that had been absorbed into the other’s skin beneath his fingers. He found that he could, easily. A small smile crept onto his own lips in response to these new sensations. However, due to him being distracted, he doesn’t realize that his grip on the smaller man’s neck had tightened. Averre made zero attempt to resist, too. The newer Ferrier could feel the pathos begin to thin under his influence, breaking down into tiny, fuzzy ashes that would be easily cleared by the body. The more he clears, though, the more his hand tightens. The raven haired man grants the other a doe-eyed look with mouth agape, though no sound comes out, only a strained exhalation. As moments ticked by, he slowly regained his voice, “I…can’t…Degare,” he pleads with a hoarse voice, running quite low on oxygen by now, as he digs his fingers into the other man’s back.
The pale one’s eyes widen as he realizes what exactly he’s doing and quickly drops his grip, hand now resting on the nape of his lover’s neck. A gentle flush diffuses across his cheeks before he manages to speak, “I honestly didn’t notice I was doing that…” voice trailing off, he looks away, slightly embarrassed at his own lack of control. The darker man erupts in laughter, squeezing his arms around his partner. “It made the experience ever more thrilling. If I was truly concerned, I would’ve stopped you sooner~” he trills. “Let’s try something else!” words spoken quickly and he moves before the elf can even begin to react.
His arms snake off from his elven companion as he steps back, deftly pulling something from a hilt on his hip. He spins the knife he’s now brandishing a few times in his hand before swiftly pushing the other arm forward and up, his sleeve falling back to reveal the soft flesh of his forearm. Before Degare can properly register what exactly he’s planning to do, he draws the blade across skin with a flourish, pressing deeper than he had to for any reasonable purpose. Using the hand still holding his knife, Averre floats it a few inches above the wound and yet more pathos drips from his palm onto flesh, blending grotesquely with the free flowing blood. Then, he clasps his palm down over the break in skin as ashes appear to materialize from the air and seal it. He barely flinches as he does any of this, maintaining the type of smile a showman would wear whilst performing. At the end, he winks, “That last bit I showed you you’ll learn eventually; otherwise, you’d have been the one to do it. Alas, it is too early,” he nearly whines. “Anyways, in a moment, I will feel terrible. Fix me again,” he says, a command delivered in a sweet, loving tone.
The waifish elf sighs at the other man’s display and the fact that he now had spilt blood pooling on his floor. This time, his mentor can’t hide the ill effects from his face as his expression twists and his knees seem to buckle. Being a master, Averre’s banes were all far more potent than they would normally be, and the elven man wasn’t entirely sure if he could– or would– adjust the potency to make it easier for him to ‘fix.’ The other’s posture slumps, appearing to struggle to hold his own head up, breathing beginning to sound strained; as if he was being pressed upon by some invisible weight. Squinting now with a furrowed brow, the pale one realizes that he had sapped himself.
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