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thedarknesssings · 1 year

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Prompt 1: Inheritance

Prompt 1: Envoy - FFXIV Write 2023 Characters: Arafel de Courcelle, Noctine de Sarmantoix, Seviere. Content Warning: Murder, torture, blood, cursing.

The metal of the locks and hinges screamed before giving way. The doors slammed open, dangling from their hinges. The eyes of the older elezen standing in the hallway bulged at the sight of the man straightening his clothing on his doorstep.

Something about the calm veneer of this stranger’s appearance sent a chill down Noctine's spine. A black suit tailored to fit his form to perfection garbed the man. A white, lace cravat blossomed at his throat and leather gloves creaked as they folded over the top of the silver octopus handle of his cane.

“Ser Noctine de Sarmantoix, I presume?” The man smiled, a slight curl at the corner of his lips. The expression never touched his eyes, leaving them as crisp as his voice. “My name is Arafel de Courcelle. May I come in?”

Noctine straightened his spine, a scoffing sound coming from him. Pure bluster as his hand shook when he gestured to the old housekeeper standing a few fulms behind him. “Get my sword.” His gaze came around to lock on Arafel, the blue of his eyes dull pin points. Noctine wasn’t a handsome man, not anymore. Age and anger etched his face in hard lines. “How dare you come in here like this! Get out of here before I call the guard.”

The old woman scurried away. Arafel stepped forward, over the threshold. Noctine backed away a pace.

“I never said you could come in. Get out! Get out! Villain.” Noctine spat out the words, red rising up his throat into his face. Spittle splattered from his ample lips. He backed away further, ducking into the parlour. The only weapon his hand found was the fire poker.

Arafel laughed, mirth finally creeping into his crimson gaze. “Unlike some, I don’t require manners to be met before I walk in your door. He’ll be here soon. We can all chat.”

“He? He who?” Noctine stepped behind an overstuffed armchair, using it like some sort of shield from the handsome man wandering into his parlour. One might think Arafel there for tea by the leisurely way he strolled in, cane ticking lockstep.

“Why,” Arafel tipped his head up to peer at the large framed picture above the fireplace. Noctine in his prime, garbed in armour, a once loved soldier and decorated knight of the Holy See. “Your son. You see, He’s been in my care for sometime. Recent events caused me to realize just how much he means to me, like the son I never had. Time is a cruel master, Noctine.”

“That scum? Selfish and spoilt. I should’ve tossed him out years ago.” Noctine hissed the words out, pure venom lacing his voice. “He’s not welcome here.” The poker thumped down on the top of the armchair to punctuate his words.

“Toss him out?” Arafel’s eyes widen, his gaze darting around the room. “Of his own house?”

“It’s -my- house. Mine!” A sneer stained Noctine's face.

Arafel shook his head, the cane rising a notch off the floor. The rubies inlaid as the octopus’s eyes glowed as he channeled aether through them. Fire exploded across the portrait, hungrily devouring the oil paint and scorching the canvas beneath. “Not for much longer.”

“Arafel?” A voice whispered behind him.

Arafel turned to find a pair of black and white eyes staring at him. The bard’s mouth was agape, teeth chattering with the anxiety riding through his system. Seviere crept closer to him. The nearer he got to Noctine, the more the bard seemed to curl into himself. Anger flared in Arafel’s gaze.

“He’s not welcome here!” Noctine exploded, forgetting himself enough to step out from behind the armchair toward Seviere. The bard flinched back, taking refuge behind Arafel’s form.

Lips peeled back from pearlesque teeth. “I say he is. Forever more.” Arafel’s smile was full of jagged teeth, sharp like a perfect predator.

The poker raised above Noctine’s head, his furious pace toward Arafel halting at that smile. “What the fuck are you?” He growled, his arms jerking like he was considering his options. Fight or flee.

Arafel gave him no choice. The man launched himself forward. One arm caught Noctine by the hair, the other snatched the poker out of his hand and flung it away. The strangled sound Noctine let out accompanied the bone snapping in his arm when Arafel grasped him around the bicep. A ragdoll in a puppeteer’s hands. “Shall I make him suffer, Seviere? Like he has you.”

“N-no!” Seviere stuttered the words out. The bard fell to his knees, hands planting on the carpet. The poker was lodged deep in the wall just beyond him. “No, please, Arafel. Not like this.” Tears choked the words in his throat. His gaze jerked between the vampire and the man in his hands. “Please. He can’t hurt me if you’re around.”

“I’ll see you pay for this, Seviere! How dare you! How dare you bring your filth here!” Noctine screeched. His feet kicked at Arafel, trying to find purchase to pull away. The one good arm he had still punched into Arafel’s chest repeatedly. Anyone else and Noctine’s fight may have found success.

Arafel clicked his tongue in reprimand toward Noctine. “Such vicious things to say to such a sweet lad. How he turned out so well is beyond me having heard so much about you, Ser Sarmantoix. Consider me an envoy and I’ll have peace in your family. For once.”

“You fuck—“

“No!”

The crunch of teeth breaking flesh filled the room. The copper scent of blood rushing from the gaping wound silenced the obscenities on Noctine’s tongue. Arafel wasn’t neat or kind. He yanked his teeth out, splattering blood along the way. His bite had just missed the artery. Noctine was in no danger of bleeding out yet.

“Disgusting. You taste as foul as your personality insists.” He spat the blood out on the carpet.

His grip shifted from Noctine’s hair to around his throat. No mind was given to the bard tugging at Arafel’s coat tails, the soft sobbing pleas answered only by the gentle pet of his hand over Seviere’s hair and cheek. Blood smeared over the pale skin and the white parts of his hair. Noctine struggled to extend his legs long enough to reach the floor, toes skittering and dancing across the carpet.

“Somehow, I’ll force myself. For Seviere’s sake.”

Noctine’s body landed heavily in the arm chair, a grunt torn from his throat. Arafel’s hand lifted, the poker in the wall shuddering prior to dislodging itself from the plaster and faded wallpaper. He caught it and propelled it forward into Noctine, pinning the man into the armchair through the soft part of his abdomen. Again, nothing that would kill him outright.

“Arafel, you don’t have to do this.”

“It’s long overdue, Seviere.” Arafel’s red eyes glowed, full of rage and hunger. His hand streaked more crimson across the bard’s black and white canvas. “Now watch as I put your nightmares to rest.”

The housekeeper never came back. Seviere knelt on the floor, trembling and crying, unable to pull his stricken gaze away from the scene of Arafel dismantling his father. Noctine’s cries, the sound of bones cracking, flesh rending, and the scent of blood ever growing eventually took its toll. He never saw the moment his father died or had any memory of how he climbed to his feet and fled from the house through the shattered front door.

The cold of the night was forever worse than the cold of the day in Ishgard.

#FFxivWrite2023 #Prompt 1 #writers on tumblr #ffxiv writers #elezen #ishgard #Seviere #Arafel #Noctine #death #murder #blood

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phoenix-darkmoon · 11 months

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Beyond Eternity Chapter 2

“I was born to house Torghym. At that time, our house was, like so many others, strict followers of Lolth, but my mother and several of my aunts had begun secretly following Kiaransalee the drow goddess of undeath and vengeance.” She glanced up at Astarion. “Make no mistake, she's just as evil and insane as the demon spider bitch, but at least her favor isn't so easily lost, and her blessings are much more appealing than the twisted forms of the driders Lolth prefers.” She took a sip and stood, going to the window to gaze out at the debris being cleaned up below from the battle just the day before. “Do you remember your mother, Astarion?” She asked and crossed her arms over her chest as she cast her gaze back at him still sitting at the table.

“I can't even remember what color my eyes used to be” he admitted.

She nodded silently in acceptance. It didn't matter if he was telling her the truth or not in this moment. He had been honest with her more than she had with him so far. “I barely know my mother, even to this very day, and I don't know my father. I'm sure my mother knows who he is, after all lineage must be tracked for our houses, but it's not important for me to know.”

“Why do you barely know your mother?”

Vasxyra's eyes narrowed at the wine in her goblet as she carefully planned out her words. “Drow children aren't raised by their mothers. In my case I was raised by an older sister until I was seven and then I was raised by my aunt when my affinity for necromancy was discovered." she said, choosing to omit the how and why her affinity was discovered, but recalling in her mind's eye the poisoned blade in her hand, her elder sister's blood choked gags as she had feebly crawled down the hallway and how in a panicked state she, as a child, had somehow managed to make her sister's corpse rise and walk again, fearing that she would be punished for slaying her caretaker and thinking if the corpse would just move again no one would notice she was dead. She closed her eyes and took another drink to drown the memory, but the wine tasted metallic in her mouth and she nearly choked thinking it had turned to blood but calmed herself when she realized it was the metal of the goblet she was tasting. She swallowed heavily and continued. "When I was ten I was sent away to the Underdark's equivalent of a wizard's academy to further my studies. It's done that way to keep us from forming familial bonds. Kindness, compassion, empathy, they're all weaknesses to my kind, especially the Lolth sworn.” There was a haunting sadness in her pearlesque eyes when she cast them back in his direction. “The words of love you so easily grant me wouldn't even dare to be whispered in the Underdark. The moment such sympathies are known, you become a target.” She took an uncomfortable sip “and for one of your station they would attempt to take you from me in the most painful ways possible.”

“My station?” Astarion said, and Vasxyra closed her eyes against a wince, avoiding looking at him, staring toward the window again and the growing noises outside. There it was. That tone. She didn't need to look at him to know that tone. It was the same tone everyone had when they found out this particular fact about drow culture. The reactions afterward were different but the tone before was always the same. She wasn't ashamed of her people. In fact, she enjoyed this part of her culture most, but the surface races didn't hold the same mind set as her people.

Steeling herself, she strode to the table and set the goblet down heavily. Then reached out and cupped his jaw gently in her fingers. “Yes, lover. You are a male, and a prime example at that. To my people, males are chosen for their breeding stock and little else. Their station is little better than the slaves. We females choose them. They cannot deny us. Relationships begin and end at our leisure and if the male displeases us in any way it is a simple thing to have him executed or sacrificed to the bitch spider queen.” She saw Astarion's eyes darken with anger and she released him, turning away and flicking her wrist feigning nonchalance. “If you doubt any of this, you can ask Halsin. He spent three years chained in the bedchamber of a noble house's matron mother. “You can already guess why.” She said, baiting him even more and turned back toward him only to find him standing right behind her. It actually caught her by surprise and she had to stifle a gasp, her pulse leaping at the fierce look on his face.

“Is that why you won't consider becoming mine?” He asked, his voice low and dangerous, his body stalking slowly toward her and she took an instinctual step backward trying to put a bit of distance between them. He saw her retreat and his arm shot up, his hand grasping her neck in a hold just firm enough to stop her. “You are the noble and I am the slave, is that it? 'Trade one master for another.' Weren't those the words you used when you tried to talk me out of making a deal with Raphael when that was exactly what you were trying to do this whole time? Of course you can't become my spawn, because then that would put me in control. A slave, over the master.” He practically snarled the last few words and his grip tightened, his pointed fingernails biting into the tender flesh of her neck almost painfully.

Vasxyra's eyes glimmered with righteous fury of her own. “You were trying to manipulate me in the beginning too. You admitted it yourself." She hissed. "A target; isn't that what you called me? A victim. Easy. Naive.” Her eyes narrowed at him, the anger in them making them appear to shine like silver. “Do you still think I'm so naive now knowing we were both playing the same game?”

The sound Astarion made as he pushed her backward into the wall behind them was animalistic and feral, the movement so fast she braced herself for pain, but to her shock he barely thumped her into the solid surface. Despite her best efforts to restrain herself, her hands flew to his at her neck but before she could even try to pull it away his other hand grasped both hers and pinned them above her head. She gasped, not in fear, but from the sudden rush of heat that bloomed in her abdomen at this side of him. She had only seen it one other time; when they had confronted his siblings in the flop house and he had held his brother in the sunlight to burn. She had felt a similar stirring then, just not this intense. She couldn't help it, even when the aggression was directed at her, it made her hot for this man, especially when it was so abundantly clear he was making an effort not to hurt her. This was a show of intimidation, nothing more. Her skin flushed a few shades darker as her blood rose to her chest and cheeks and her breath came in short heaves making her breasts rise and fall rapidly. “I can take anything I want. I should have made you a spawn just to teach you that.”

Goose flesh erupted all over her body at his words sending a shudder of anticipation along her spine, and still Vasxyra lifted her chin defiantly. “Then do it.” she challenged him, in a sultry whisper, snowy eyes staring boldly into crimson. “You love me, right? I'm not a victim anymore. Not a target or a night it's better to forget?” She leaned toward him as much as her positioning would allow “So, show me, Astarion. You accused me of trying to trick you into trading one master for another, but I never commanded anything of you. I always told you to do what you wanted, so...” Her tongue darted out and she just managed to catch his lips with its tip “take what you want.”

“Gods damn you.” He growled and pressed his lips to hers. She couldn't suppress the moan that escaped her as she responded to his kiss with her own, her mouth opening to welcome him. Her tongue brushed against his fangs and she shuddered again aching to touch him, but the way he was holding her arms above her head made it impossible so she lifted one of her legs and wrapped it around his waist to pull him in close. As quickly as it began, it ended. Astarion dropped her hands and pulled away, leaning heavily on the table they had been sitting at. Caught off guard, Vasxyra stumbled and caught herself, blinking in confusion at his back. “Is this to be it then?” she heard him ask, his voice husky.

She took a calming breath and straightened her robe before approaching the table to sit at his side. “I'd prefer if it wasn't but as always I leave that up to you. I already told you I want us to work this out. You offered me eternity and it is an appealing prospect, but I have my own goals I have to achieve first, things my matron mother sent me above ground to accomplish for my house. It would be a lot simpler with you at my side to aid me.”

Astarion's shoulders sagged “So, you are no more free than I was under Cazador.” he said, looking at her with sad eyes and laid his hand on hers. Finally, he sat back down with her. “Tell me what you have to do, my love.” Vasxyra actually smiled a small smile and gently squeezed his fingers with hers. It was a great weight off her shoulders to still have him at her side and it wasn't until this moment that she realized just how much she was dreading the idea of possibly losing him and having to continue her journey alone yet again.

“When I was fifty and had returned home for my house's annual grand sacrifice to Lolth my mother and several of my aunts staged a coup. I wasn't an adult, obviously, but I participated at my mother's insistence because of my necromantic abilities. My mother succeeded and killed my grandmother, the ilharess, and took over as the new matron mother of our house. Anyone loyal to Lolth or the former ilharess was executed. My mother raised my grandmother as a golem that still serves as a servant to this day, just to show her power. As for myself, I was moved from the wizard's academy to the temple of Kiaransalee for the next fifty years and my mother severed our house from Lolth worship entirely and dedicated us to Kiaransalee. At eighty I left the temple and thought I was free to pursue my own interests at last and I did for twenty years. I took lovers, experimented with my necromancy, made my offerings to my goddess each night at midnight. I even entertained the idea of having daughters of my own, but during The Graverending of my hundredth year the ilharess demanded that I come to the surface and I have spent the last seventy years pursuing her demands. Among my people your own personal accomplishments mean nothing, it's all about what you can contribute to the house.” She reached forward and finally picked up her goblet again, taking a large gulp and savoring the deep flavor of the alcohol as it burned its way down her throat. She pulled the goblet in close to her chest and met Astarion's crimson eyes. “Most drow dedicated to Kiaransalee eventually become priestesses in her temples and over time she will bestow them with the ultimate form of undeath to continue their servitude to her, but my mother wishes for me to achieve that without being restricted to a temple. Rather, she wants me to be the house's guardian. Noble houses attack one another regularly as they vie for places of power in the Underdark and those that don't worship Lolth are even bigger targets, but who would dare attack a house with a Lich at their beck and call?” she smirked at him, but there was no arrogance to it, just a cynical acceptance of her fate.

“The task your mother gave you was to become a Lich?” Astarion clarified.

“Indeed.” Vasxyra confirmed and finally emptied her goblet. “Who would have thought our misadventure with The Absolute would become my greatest advancement toward that goal.” At that she placed her empty goblet back on the table and went to her traveling chest, opening it and reaching inside, taking out several pieces of velum, and a blood stained leather bound book. He heard glass clinking against itself so knew she had more stored inside but she closed it with a thud and came back to the table with just these few items. “Do you remember the menacing book with the face on the cover that could only be unlocked with the dark amethyst?” She asked excitedly as she spread her treasures out in front of him.

“The one that whispered dark nothings into that sweet head of yours? How could I forget? I wanted it for myself.” He purred.

She ignored his jest. “When I read it, the knowledge it gave me was....indescribable, but with it came an understanding of necromancy and undeath I had been lacking in all my studies at the temple. It told me, exactly what I needed to do to achieve lichdom.” There is a spell that has been lost to all but the greatest arcane minds, and that book told me who has or rather had it.“ Proudly she laid her hand on what looked like a simple pamphlet labeled 'Volo's Guide to All Thing's Magical'.

“Volo? The idiot bard who got himself captured by the goblins?”

“The very same.” she said, “but my greatest find was at Moonrise towers. " Her fingers danced over the bloody book. "Balthazar and his notes on soul cages are going to prove invaluable to my pursuits. The fool even has a lichnee potion recipe.” She spun away, her fingers twisting together as if seeking jewelry that wasn't present and she paced away. “I'm so close. But I need more time, and somewhere safe to continue my work.” Now she stopped and looked out the window again, this time nervously, her eyes searching every dark shadow and alley. “They'll use this chaos to infiltrate the city. I was too lax, but I wanted just one night.” She moved back to the table and scooped up her prizes, hastily moving back to her chest and safely tucking them away.

Astarion stood and followed after her. “One night for what?” he asked, suddenly uneasy by how anxious she had become. It was as if she were trying to escape some unseen enemy or danger he had yet to sense.

She closed the chest with a thud and turned back to him, laying her dark hand on his pale cheek, “To be with you, you simple fool. I've already told you I've longed for last night since we disposed of that wretch Cazador. Halsin was fulfilling, but he's not you, my love.”

Astarion chuckled and took her hand in his, lowering it to their side as he stepped closer. “My sweet, no one will ever be me. Now, you need somewhere safe, yes? How about we move this party to the crimson palace?”

She fought against the urge to tease him about sequestering themselves away from the world but as soon as the thought entered her mind her smile faltered. She still wasn't sure where their relationship stood. “ Could I kiss you?” she asked haltingly.

“There is nothing I'd like more.” He said and moved forward, wrapping his arm around her waist as he pulled her in close. The kiss was slow and deep, comforting and reassuring that the damage done to their bond was being repaired. Slowly, they retreated from one another, each reluctant to be the one to release the other and he smiled down at her. “I never get tired of doing that, you know.”

#baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate fanfiction #drow

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