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Considered one of the most mysterious cities in Mizahar, Alvadas is called The City of Illusions. It is the home of Ionu and the notorious Inverted. This city sits on one of the main crossroads through The Region of Kalea.
Why? That refrain lingered on the edge of his mind, vaguely insistent, slightly baffled. Why not? The sting of her fist was yet on his chin, but he wasn’t overly perturbed by the needle of death that poked at his neck, drawing a large red bead from the flesh. Do I see my death in her eyes? No, he just saw himself. And a cerulean fury, harshly snarling over her shoulder, only kept at bay by the waver of his thumb, an unspoken order.
Savages, he grunted.
“But you’re not.” Ulric grinned crookedly, as though he didn’t care how she chose, despite a pang of doubt. Don’t do it, he urged, a tad concerned that he’d wagered everything on a crazy jungle mucker. “Don’t you see,” he chuckled, that infernal rapture smoldering again in his eyes, “I hunger for the same tang on my lips, the heady crush of bones under my fist.” Ever so subtly, he shifted his hips so he could enter her again, arching his back as he thrust upwards. “You could sink that knife into my throat, but I know why you falter. You want me inside you. You on top one instant and me the next. Like animals rutting in heat, even as they tear at each other. That is the meaning of savagery.”
You carved your mark in me, you daft cunt, he thought, thrusting harder now. Don’t think you’re escaping with nary a scratch. The thumb wagged. The blur of blue shifted uncertainly. The thumb wagged again, and then he could see over the savage’s shoulder, to where the warped beams, grayed by dust, vanished into a sea of plaster.
"This is not just about your cock, godling." Naama growled. But the heat returned to her loins, rough and rhythmic. She moved against him, any thoughts of slicing that grin from his lips dispelled by the sheer feral passion that now consumed her.
In the corner of the room, Squirt shifted on his makeshift mattress as their combined voices had stirred the boy from sleep. He brought a fist up to rub at his eyes, yawning, but halfway through the motion he paused, blinking the blur from his vision. The debauchery was something Squirt was well aware of as he sat up with a rehearsed stare.
"You must be good. She never makes this much noise." The boy said bluntly.
Naama paused, glancing behind her with a piercing glare, "I am this close to slicing that witty little tongue from your mouth, Squirt."
"I'm just saying!"
"Shut it and go back to sleep."
"But I'm not tired."
Squirt puffed his cheeks out defiantly but Naama had since shifted off of Ulric disappointedly. "That's the third time, Squirt. Third time. You're honey cake priviledges are over."
"What!? Why? You can keep going, I won't look, I promise!"
"That's final." She snapped.
Last edited by Naama on November 24th, 2011, 7:38 pm, edited 1 time in total.
“Faster,” he grunted, his pulse quickening, fingers clawing at the contours of her collarbone. But then the boy had to wake up. Didn’t matter, though. Just made things more tricky. Though his prick didn’t wither, he felt it slide from Naama’s cunt and slap wetly against his belly, raging. Desank, put him to bed, he grumbled, hands falling away dismally.
“Uasb adfon afdbf weon ubda?” The Gasvik gave him a strangely intent, vaguely lascivious stare, face screwing up in fashion that he didn’t enjoy. Behave, or you’re going in the pit, too. Ulric reached for the tankard, took another long, lingering slurp, palm rising to check any thoughts of his Gasvik dealing with the problem. Squirt probably didn’t know what he was doing, the arbitrary waver of his chin speaking of a deep inebriation, his tongue incisive as ever, though confuscated by a silky slur.
“I’m rusty,” he grunted, casting a sly wink at the boy. “I haven’t been milking my eel very often, it seems.” He shifted, leaving the embrace of tawny flesh, so he could lean against the cask, turning the tap to send a wash of amber gurgling into the empty tankard. And where’s yours? The bloody face twisted into a savage, wolfish grin directed at the breaker of mugs. Oh wait, you broke it. No more for you.”
“Honey cakes?” Ulric chuckled, a deep rumbling in his chest, even as he licked his lips. Why didn’t she bring me any?“You feed him that shyke? Perhaps that’s why he’s so scrawny. You’ve been coddling him, eh? I’d wager he doesn’t even know how to fight.” He held up a blunt finger. “Squirt, if you want to hang around us, you’re going to require a wash, and some tender, thwacking care so you become a proper warrior, unlike those prancing twits at the Sun and Stars. Suffice it to say, your life is going to be rather horrid for a decade or so, but you’ll thank me later. If you live that long,” he gave a wry shrug.
“Also, the next time you catch me with my cock in her,” he jerked his jaw at Naama, “Just pretend to slumber, we can learn sign language so we can talk without her knowing. Based on her rudimentary grasp on petching against walls, I suspect she’s going to get boring.”
The knife sailed across the vacant space between she and Ulric, sinking into the crumbling wall a foot from his head with a dull thump.
"Petch," She growled under her breath, "I was aiming for your face."
"Why didn't you just punch him, you two like doing that so much?" Squirt commented. Naama shoved the boy's head down roughly. "Hold your tongue, and I'm not boring. That's an affront to my dignity. Now I'm hurt."
"She doesn't coddle me," Squirt continued, ignoring the Myrian, "She makes me steal stuff from fat men and people who aren't looking. I never wanted to do it!" Naama thwacked his head. "Now you're just being dramatic."
"See, she hits me too!" Squirt complained, rubbing his head, but the notion of learning combat perked his interest, "With swords? Can I be a knight someday?"
Naama's gaze softened. That was ever what she hoped for him. The unspoken hope that he would live and learn and be what he wanted to be, regardless of the obstacles in his path. I hope he makes his parents proud someday.
Daft cunt, Ulric snarled, leaning away from the knife, and glared at Naama. Why can’t you just go to sleep? You’re only making me grumpy. The flap of your tongue is like a moth caught in a lantern, never ceasing until the wings burn away. Grunting, he took another amber gulp, eyes bare, smoldering gashes over the dented tankard. Not caring for the dregs, he reached down to top it off, vaguely wondering if the savage and her monkey were always going to raise this sort of clamor. You hear that? Ulric cast a mocking grin at his Gasvik. They keep this up, we’re throwing them in the pit.
“Uain adbfu nnn adbf ubfa?” Desank just peeked at him absurdly, nearly making him laugh. You need to bring back the tusks, anything but this, he thought, the tendrils remind of him of some huge, grossly hinged cyan squid. You’re disgusting.”
Ulric got up, heavily, for everything was wavering before his eyes, and began to walk to the edge of the pit. “Hurt?” He glanced up, stared at that tawny face, gave her a wink. “If that’s what you want.” He lashed out, jerking at a tress of her inky hair, and hurled her toward him, driving his fist into her gut, his head into her cheek as he swept a leg around, took out her legs. “What did fat men ever do to you, anyway? Eat up the pigeon pie?”
Grin widening, he strode to Squirt and tousled his hair, though under the fog of his own inebriation, he nearly poked the lad’s eye. “Knight? Why d’you want to be a knight?” Ulric gave a snort. “They just sit behind their ramparts, lazy and fat, their armor catching dust. I was there, lad. I saw them, the bringers of peace, tending to their parchments, to their crops. Doing nothing.”
“They are not of the winter, when the frost grasps cruel fingers around your heart, and every breath is agony. They aren't tempered by the crucible. If you want to be a knight, seek them out. If you want to fight, and banish the world of betrayal, bide with me.”
Naama thumped onto the ground, bruised and raw, clutching her stomach with a grimace. You just had your cock in me and then treat me like a punching bag. Petching foul play. "You best watch those mugs," The myrian muttered darkly, fresh blood on her tongue. She limped toward Squirt's assembled bed, nestling herself into it with a drawn out sigh.
Squirt on the other hand watched the exchange with nary a flinch. He glanced from Naama to Ulric, "But I want to learn how to use a sword! And anyhow, if I learn from you will you stop hitting her? I don't think I'm going to get sweets if she's stuck in bed all day." The boy pouted, then sauntered over to settle down beside his guardian. His eyes followed Ulric, watching curiously. "Someday I'll make the whole world tremble."
“You stay away from my mug,” Ulric grunted, a vaguely impotent fury in his eyes, and thrust a finger at her. “You just… stay away, if you know what’s good for you.” Not caring what she thought, he scrambled to where it lay. Nobody breaks my petching mugs, he thought with a fervent snarl. Nobody.
And then, clutching it jealously to his shaking chest, he bent to gather up the forlorn fragments of the poor, redly smeared mug so lately, so callously destroyed by her wrath. “Don’t fret, lad,” he forced a chuckle. “I might even buy your very own sword, if you behave.”And don’t break my petching crockery. He fumbled for his trousers, unsteadily forcing his legs into them.
Was that so much to ask?
Quietly, he drank down the rest of his ale. The door creaked as he left, undoing the bolt, and sat on his rickety bench. The square had vanished, and now they were nearer the seas, a tang of salt in the balmy air, the distant crash of breakers. The hint of frost lingered, cold on his bare flesh.
There was a scratch of dark, stony ground, from which tufts of pale beaches grass and weeds sprouted, and it was here that he began to dig, his fingers pinching against the grit, clearing a cleft. Tenderly, he set the clay fragments down, and then, with a last, loving caress, he covered them somberly. Farewell, you faithful, beloved trinkets of my new life, he rasped, sullenly cursing that tawny face, though his mind kept wavering treacherously to the sway of her hips.
“So, here we are,” he grunted at a tiny flower, wending up a gnarled stem of vine. “Caught up in a vast charade, ever striving for our fates.” He gave a harsh laugh. “Ever wonder if the stars are just lost, departed souls, watching us from their seat of misery?”
“Who are you talking to?”
“Never mind that,” Ulric growled, having neglected to discern that Squirt had sneaked away to join him. You’re s’posed to creak, you wretched door.
“Can-”
“Shut your face, you petch.” Ulric flung an arm out, tousled those stiff, dirty locks, and then wished he hadn’t. “Bide with me for a chime, eh? And yes, you can have sword,” he frowned. In any event, I have to buy a mug – or maybe a hundred mugs, just to be safe.
“Squirt, you just saw some… shyke in there,” he said, casting around for the proper word. “It’s not proper to beat on people that are weaker than you, ladies in particular, unless they hit you first. If that ever happens,” he winked, “Just make sure you hit them harder.”
"And can I have a dog?" Squirt bent down to pick up a round pebble, then leaned his arm back to toss it as far as he could. The pebble skipped and plodded along the surface of the mottled ground before disappearing in the chaos of rocks and grass, swallowed by the earth. He frowned disappointedly.
"But she's stronger than me. Anyway, you're the only one she ever got beat by. Usually she sends the bad guys running home or smashes their faces in." The boy kicked up a shower of sand. "Say, you were saying something about betrayal, what do you mean? Did someone lie to you? I know lots about lying, I do it all the time. Well, when I want something, like a coin... or bread. They never gave us much back in Lhavit."
A dull thump echoed from within the shack, followed by a muffled curse. Squirt glanced up a moment, then shrugged and squatted to trace a finger through the dirt. "Must be the nightmares again.. or maybe she found a lizard!" Suddenly excitement surged in his small frame and he beamed like an idiot.
Wow, a wonderful thread! I was blown away by the amount of detail in it, and as you can see I picked out a LOT of experience. Needless to say I am impressed, especially with Ulric's personality and history. I shall have to look into this further haha. Is it just me or does Ulric get really poetic when he drinks . Naama seems to be really good at controlling her emotions, and I an curious to see how the two work together in future threads. On a side note, I gave Ulric persuasion because of his use of torture to convince Naama to submit. I was more inclined to persuasion since it the torture itself was short lived and not overly brutal. PM me with concerns.
![[Featured thread]](./images/medals/Featured-Thread.gif "[Featured thread]")
. Naama seems to be really good at controlling her emotions, and I an curious to see how the two work together in future threads. On a side note, I gave Ulric persuasion because of his use of torture to convince Naama to submit. I was more inclined to persuasion since it the torture itself was short lived and not overly brutal. PM me with concerns.
