#v.roulemet

[shroudkeeper]

“You, sir, are the most phantom-like of all: you are a mere dream.”

[ebonstar]

“Sir, would suffice.”

[shroudkeeper]

Personality Quiz - What type of villain are you?

No Moral Compass

You are cold, analytical, and you strive to be as objective as a person of flesh and blood can be. Either don't understand the concepts of good and evil, or you understand it perfectly and think it's a load of bull. Some may call you selfish, some may call you unfeeling, but you're just doing what you believe will yield the best results, plain and simple. Why bother with petty ideals of right or wrong when you can do what will actively help those you give a fuck about?

Your goals may be selfish or noble or anything in between, but you will not let anyone make you feel like garbage for going after them. You couldn't care less about what people brand you as. You just care about getting shit done by any means necessary.

this fits Roulemet perfectly, who is not a villain who uses violence to get his work done, he manipulates and plants the seed of corruption by analyzing his target, studying them, getting in their heads, and making them malleable to what he needs of them. Then disposes of them. He doesn't care if it is wrong, as long as it provides him with the results he currently seeks. I saw @archaiclumina do this so I wanted to jump on it for my main man here. The quiz can be found here for anyone else who wishes to do it!

[shroudkeeper]

I am through with you..

[shroudkeeper]

I alone love you I alone tempt you

[shroudkeeper]

[ebonstar]

[shroudkeeper]

roulemet | rivienne

When you move I can recall somethin' that's gone from me When you move Honey, I'm put in awe of somethin' so flawed and free

Leather groans, stretching around dexterous fingers made outstretched to the small of her back. The gloves sink through the gossamer, finding the source of heat radiated from her sun-kissed flesh. She tenses, her body is against his own, and her parted lips release a sharp breath as her chin is taken by his other hand. “I will lead.” The deep rumble from his voice fell from his lips and briefly brushed over her divorced lips as he stepped backward, guiding her body to move in unison. On her toes, he pulls her strong form across the earth, where white blooms rose from their dormant state to greet them both.

Violet eyes stare in the smoldering heat of the sun behind her dark lashes as he steps to the side, sending the star-speckled coat sweeping to the side when he turns. From her chin, his hand finds her awaiting hand and her feet finally gain traction, and naturally, she follows along with his graceful sway. The wind sighed, joining the night’s symphony that plays at this hour of their union. He is wide instep, a waltz that turns her along with him; his stoic expression remains intact though he appears to be humming. The hem of her sheer gown rises as a hand took possession of her thigh and he suddenly stops to lean forth.

He supports her lower back while forcing her back to surrender and bend backward, against her thigh she feels the steady control of his hand to coax her leg to rise, the arm runs along its length as she is dipped lower, her vision is clouded by white hair that falls beyond his gaze, a veil of shielding the stars painted upon the dark tapestry of his visage. His shadow spreads upon her, possessively; the intoxicating perfume of her floral crown ensnares his senses and he breathes in the aroma sharply.

For a few heartbeats, he holds her there, watching the world around her react, for under the waning moon the jasmines come to life in her hair, underneath her form as her fingers lightly brush the soil. He waits for a protest, a pained sound, the satisfaction comes to him with her silence. Languidly, he brings her body upright, chest to chest, hand in hand, his eyes sought the power behind her gaze and Rivienne meets his, unblinking. But, one glance down, beyond the slope of her naked neck, he could see the hasty rise and fall of her chest.

“Again.,” he spoke again, but this time, she takes the control and releases the grip of his hand and takes a step back, leading him under the tapestry of the heavens, away from the shelter of the trees. With a dip of his chin, he begins to stalk forth slowly, the dark vest is thrown open with the brush of his fingers against the brass buttons, revealing the runes and stars upon the canvas of his chest. He feels the heat of her hand, the surplus of aether just from the contact of her palm against his skin. Roulemet comes to an abrupt stop and looks down to her steady hand. She held no fear of him, no tremble.

Violet eyes become dilated and he suddenly looks to her glare, meeting the wolfish sight found in her golden eyes.

And his fingers take her wrist firmly, pulling her to spin until her back is to his chest. The contact of her curves, the perfume of her flesh dizzies him, he samples the maelstrom brewing underneath her skin. There is a soft growl that is swallowed in his throat like a lump, the hunger rises within him as her hair fell against his shoulder; an arm snakes its way around her waist and he takes control again with a sway, keeping her wrist in his hand as the tip of his nose brushes her silver tresses. Her freed hand underneath the length of her hair and found the purchase of his neck, a warning he receives well, though she needed little words, he noticed, to get the point across.

She spins in his arms and faces him anew, eye to eye, sharing a breath.

“..again.” hoarsely, he repeats, finding that the metronome beating of her heart is near defeaning.

[ebonstar]

con·trol

authority tasted so sickenly sweet, it is an acquired taste.

[shroudkeeper]

the archmage roulemet. @ebonstar​

[shroudkeeper]

I'd suffer Hell if you'd tell me What you'd do to me tonight

@ebonstar

[shroudkeeper]

[shroudkeeper]

My two boys in one photo.

Lanceloux de Marcellus and V. Roulemet.

[shroudkeeper]

When the moon’s face was in full view, and the heavens allowed no cloud cover to tarnish the curtain of light to wash the earth, he found her here. Naked feet stained with dirt, between her toes the moss thrived; she sat there for bells, still as death, yet her eyes harnessed the fire of the sun and were set ablaze at the sight of him. 

He tasted divinity as he pressed his lips to her leg; his hands chart their course along the length of her thighs, indenting the flesh with the tips of his fingertips. His knees fell to the ground and he muttered his hallelujah as he found his home between her thighs. The shadows spread over the blooms, blanketing them darkness as he whispered, the heat of his breath forcing goose-flesh to appear.

“When wast it last that another has dared to touch heaven and found hell awaited them,” his eyes were cool, a bright amethyst that met her gaze steadily. His smile was hidden as he kissed the side of her bare knee.

“Beyond your flesh, the soul remains unclaimed - untouched.” His hair fell around his features, and for a moment, one could see the stars, that peppered his dark skin, give off an emission of light. Darkness coiled around her ankles and he leaned forth to kiss the inside of her left thigh, taking in the scent of spring and the heat of summer she radiates. Ah, but he goes no further, instead rests his head there on her thigh, arms coiled about her form with the strength of a serpent claiming its prey, restricting movement. Fingers snagged the fabric of her garment, threatening to rip it away.

Her body ached to move, but her muscles would not respond, nary a sound came from her lips in protest. Though he felt it, the rage building up within her, for the earth gave a tremor, and the winds viciously tugged at his long hair, causing his cloak to snap in the violent gusts. Her anger was manifesting around him, delighting him.

He wanted more. But, push her too far and she would become exhausted. No, he needed her awake. 

A smile tugged on his lips but neither love or charm were reflected there.

“..now now, beloved.”

[shroudkeeper]

.the euphoric taste of death

Fingers dimple the flesh of her thighs and he barely contains the desire to chart the course of her legs, to find the swell of her naked hips, the dip of her waist. She was soft, he could not feel her with his bare hands, but he knew. Sunkissed, golden and radiant, yet mortal so very mortal. Her warmth taunts him through the leather of his gloves, against the fabric of his pants, upon his lips slightly made ajar as her fingers dig into the hollow of his cheeks.

For one who harbors the majesty of summer’s torrid embrace, her auric stare is frigid whilst leaning into his frame, shielding him in a curtain of golden and silver hair. Her body is a testament of endurance, with scars that had come to fade and others his fingers wished to trace over the history of its making. There is passion etched upon her, he wished to taste the war desire waged upon her, but he was not one to surrender to the temptation, found in this garden of Eden, made of her design.

Yet she was upon him, the strength of her thighs pinned him, and the softness of her lips dared him to savor death.

“M’lady, who dwelleth underneath these darkened trees, she who may grant me bless’d death, what shalt I give to thee,” he sank his fingers into her, eliciting the drawn out sigh he wished would have graced his ears with an earnest craving for something beyond his touch. But her words were venom and he found ambrosia was mingled in her poison.

“Thy life shalt serve as penance for misconduct, but the woods hath yet whispered of any offense made,” an arm, draped in threads of gossamer, stretched behind her; fingers unfurled from her palm, one by one, until they spread wide underneath the gathering of aether that took the shape of a dagger.

An all too familiar sight.

Her threat drew a smile from him, and he brazenly found the hollow of her throat, where his breath seared her flesh. There were specific tools to use in the art of seduction; she was the canvas he wished to create a masterpiece upon. He painted his desires with his words upon her skin.

“And what price shalt I pay for offending thee, wilt it be thy blade of light? Shalt it pierce mine heart?”

Roulemet’s words gave a caress against the length of her neck before his hands free themselves of her legs and found the hem of his mantle of stars. With ease he withdrew it away, revealing his chest to her with ease, for no worries plagued him. He knew well where her moral compass pointed to, and it was not in senseless killing. Yet, she was a woman who forged her own rules and he would not put it past her to conjure a reason to end his existence. The thought, however, thrilled him - for he would not face death so easily, nor would he allow himself to fall by her deadly hands.

The candelabras around had candles that desperately clung to their flames, but darkness crept upon them, as if swallowing the source of light that filled the parlor with a golden glow. The only brilliance he could not take away was the aether that was aglow, a lance of light, bathing their bodies in what he defined as punishment from the divine. But, where there is light, there is shadow; one that he commands from his being. His aether scales the walls, becoming an infestation of voracious darkness encircling them both. 

Soon, the bench that seats them both, succumbs to his aether, a frigid touch snakes around her legs then and the moment he touches her, the fire ignites in her eyes, he sees that flicker of her rancor, the offense has been made. With this she draws back her hand; the lance of unadulterated light is giving its target: him  ---

-- and..

[shroudkeeper]

The Shadow and the Sun