< atton revisited > The information page for Atton has been fully revised and updated with the new map!
< updated calendar > The Fortuna calendar has been updated in the "Other" lore section! This includes a document which displays the calendar for you to see, making it much easier to understand.
< moving map > The first functional map has been released in the News section! This map is also interactive, allowing you to drag and drop between points in order to determine distances. This is the first iteration, and there's more and better to come!
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< human lore update > Humans have been updated with TWENTY-FIVE subraces/subcultures which add numerous options, and a little extra lore and flavour.
< magic lore update > Magical Lore has been enhanced with the addition of a post on Magical Education. From Beginner to Expert, this is how you learn the spells.
< a change to member groups > Member groups are now based on storyline! You can change your displayed storyline by editing the settings in your profile.
Welcome to the world of Fortuna, a land of fantastic proportions. This is an original fantasy roleplay that takes place in a world developed over nearly a decade of work and collaboration. We aim to encourage all participants to have a hand in the stories of the characters here, and the world around them. Your choices are key - so make them with pride. You decide who wins the wars, you decide who becomes King, the world is ours, and together we will bring it to life!
Post by Solana Heiralei on Jan 5, 2018 18:49:02 GMT -7
[googlefont="Josefin Sans"]
show me your
And suddenly, there was a shift in the winds.
Her own hot breath clinging desperately to the moaning flurries was the only deviation in the stark, alabaster landscape; dreary roll after dreary fucking roll she passed, sombre. The surly, turtlenecked elf hardly even managed to look stunning (her usual state of being) with the unforgiving gale tugging at her inky cloak, the midnight wave of her hair, nipping the rose of her cheeks and nose; not unlike an insistent lover, but… colder. Harsher. A lot more damned annoying, if you asked Solana. What was she supposed to get out of this?
Read: It was cold as hell outside; cold enough to burn.
The lithe thing was more than grateful when she approached a frigid little Inn, cocooned by it’s swirling white hellscape, soft mounds atop it’s roof and gates. She wasn’t there yet, this mysterious bar buried in the gales of Aissic, but it was nearly midnight and she’d earned some kind of rest.
God, she hoped they had a stableboy or two.
She was hungry.
They did have a stable, she learned as she tucked her jet horse away, but no boys that she could see; even inside the stifling warmth of the Inn, there were only plain girls near as frigid as the storm outside, too timid to lean over, lest someone get a good look at their cleavage.
Idiots. It was like winning the lottery and refusing to spend the money.
She knew she was intimidating: not in the way men were, no, she was no hulking masculine presence, forever accompanied by the scent of testosterone. She did not walk in a room and inspire fear, or competition. She was intimidating in a silent way, in the way her eyes, like liquid mercury, caught the light, entrancing in the knowledge of their poison. She was intimidating in the way her hips swayed when she spoke or sat or snickered or sneered.
But there was a little blonde slip of a thing, couldn’t have been more than seventeen, who (quite stupidly) showed not an ounce of intimidation, waltzed, oh-so-carefree, up to the dark stranger, and offered her a drink.
Well, the succubus thought, I’m not picky.
Stars, was she loud for a little thing.
Or Solana was very good at what she did.
(Of course, there was no doubt about that).
The girl – Tyanna – let out a gusty breath, one hand caught in a tangle of ebony hair.
“Oh, my – “
“ – My turn,” hushed the impatient vampire, letting her lips guide the trail up, up, up, to the softest part, where neck met shoulder, and there it was: finally, just for a moment, the fear she had been waiting for.
She nearly chuckled.
“You knew what I was, freckles.” Her teeth just skimmed the skin, enough to arise a thin trail of gooseprickles. “Don’t act so surprised.”
The girl exhaled, sharply; cheeks rosy at the nickname (she only had freckles in one place, and it wasn’t a place many had seen).
“Tell me you want it.”
Solana’s fingers knew their dance; a slow tango, and Tyanna’s head rolled back, back arching.
“Tell me.”
“I want it,” the girl cooed.
Welcome enough for Solana.
She was sweet, spicy; like mango with tajin, and Solana had to be careful not to take too much, to leave her with enough to sleep off the blood hangover…
Solana Heiralei would have slept very well that night; if she slept.
Instead, she let the girl claim her five-gold-more-for-the-goosedown bed, taking her meditation on the windowseat, the sticky heat of the room relieved by the chill breeze, catching in her hair and leaving it’s own trail of gooseprickles along the slops of her bare chest.
Slowly, serenely, in the post-coital bliss of lazy thoughtlessness, she slipped into the dreamscape.
N O T E S SMUT POST btw - feel free to set the scene of the dream at this point. She will fit into whatever his subconcious desires, down to the clothes.............. or lack thereof AMIRIGHT
Post by Markus Woodrow on Jan 6, 2018 8:55:52 GMT -7
[attr="class","mwoody"]
[attr="class","mwoody2"]
[attr="class","mwoody3"]A PREDATOR OF THE SEAS
[attr="class","mwoody4"]CURING THIS OCEAN DISEASE
[attr="class","mwoody5"] Markus Woodrow's night had not been as successful as Solana's.
There was a period in his life not months ago that he had a plan for his future. Everything had fallen into place time after time, because his choices were blessed by his greatest Mother, Moann. He had fought to establish the SSPB, and it had grown since then into a power in the world that rivalled his own monarch. He had met Vincent several years ago, and had begun to form the boy into his own perfect right hand, and the man had become just such an unabashed paragon of justice. He had planned to remove piracy from the oceans of the world, and all but one single ship had been sunk and one flag had been burned. Somewhere along the way, however, everything had gone wrong.
It was Tehodis.
She had come into his life and he viewed her as the perfect tool. He knew precisely who she was, the missing fiancee of petulant Imperator Tristan Cowell, and knew that there could be no better bargaining chip to ensure his organization's placement in Eleusia. Had he used her for that purpose, there was a chance all could have been fine... But he had been charmed by her. Those big, bright blue eyes. That timid smile. Her love and dedication towards peace. Perhaps even her past entanglements with Tristan Cowell had only made her more attractive, the idea of winning something away from such a powerful man was surely intoxicating. Woodrow had decided he would do just that, win her, and in that moment of choice... Everything had begun to shift.
Her departure had sealed the deal.
Just as her arrival had begun the steady decline in his plans, the slow undoing of his carefully plotted masterpiece, her departure had run his ship aground. He had lost Vincent over her. He had lost himself over her. He wondered if she was perhaps a siren, and not a woman. If she did this to men over and over. Tristan Cowell had been destroyed over her, had he not? Now he himself was nearing that destruction. The ajatar would be next. She was beautiful, but poisonous... And gone. Disappeared into the sea for who knew how long (he would keep his men looking for her). He could start his plans once more (he would keep thinking about her). Fifty one fifty three would be the year he would secure Acheron, Celestia, and the crown of Submiere (and in which he would find and secure her).
Was this love, or obsession? Whatever it was, it had made the usual festival into a horrid affair. He had spent much of his days since arriving in Aissic plotting movements against all of the locations he predicted Vincent and she would go: All throughout Aissic, back to Submiere, and to Artavia. He had spent most of his nights frustrated and pining when he could have been celebrating and laying one maiden after the other in his bed. They would all want him. The greatest peacekeeper in all the world on the greatest days of peace in all of time. He had refused them, every last one of them, because he was angry.
Even on the final day, the day where other leaders would be attending, his head wasn't about him. Marion Frost had attempted to cajole him into a traditional Aiss dance, which he normally would have enjoyed for the fact that it made him look accessible to the public. Adesola Meixner had desired a chat over Atton, which would have been useful in advancing his interests if he could have focused the way he needed to. The Artavian representatives would have been useful in bringing forth his card with Dunn, but he had instead merely offered them hollow greetings and charming banter. There were so many missed opportunities, and all because of her.
So when he returned to his room within the Aurora Manor that evening alone, it was almost a relief. No longer would he miss opportunities. In here, he could dream away his desires, and then go into the next year with as much vigour and purpose as he had always intended to. If his men found Tehodis, they found Tehodis. If he wanted her then, he would have her, and if he didn't want her... Well, she was a criminal now. So, like all criminals, she could hang.
At least he would fall asleep with a smile on his face.
●▬▬▬▬๑۩۩๑▬▬▬▬▬●
His dream had him aboard his ship, the Noble Eastwind. The sun was sharp and the day was half over, meaning it burned upon the deck of his ship with a glaring warmth. Seabreeze kept the heat from being oppressive, blowing across his face and through his hair as he looked out on the ocean. His ocean. This dream took place after the eradication of the last pirate. In fact, directly after. There in the water, if you looked just right, you could see the face of Merlyn Astra bobbing in and over the surface as one of Woodrow's men fished the corpse out. It would need to be put on display as an announcement of sorts. An announcement that, yes, Lord Markus Woodrow II of Eersaeb had won. Merlyn Astra and The Defiled Grail had lost. The seas were finally safe and what was next? The rest of the world.
"Soon, Fortuna," Woodrow's smile couldn't be quieted, "Soon you will be safe within my grasp." And here, there was no Tehodis to distract him from his success.
Post by Solana Heiralei on Jan 6, 2018 16:59:46 GMT -7
[googlefont="Josefin Sans"]
show me your
A ship.
It had been a long time since the fey was last aboard a ship – and, in truth, her nightly dreamwalks sometimes blended with her waking days. Could she be sure it was even reality when she had sailed the sea? Nearly a hundred years of life left too much of the past in a chilly morning’s heavy fog.
No matter: the feet she wore knew the subtle tumble of the ship, her prim officer’s uniform buttoned neatly to her chin, tails fluttering lightly in the cool breeze. The elf knew certain things about her role in these dreams: she knew the sea was familiar, she knew she was a mild kind, with none of Solana’s affinity for wicked thoughts. She needed no prior knowledge to notice the modesty of her neckline (had she ever worn one so high?) and needed no reminder whatsoever that the dreamer; tall and imposing in her admiring gaze, was an object of affection – and (would you know it when she was wearing a damned ascot?) perhaps a touch of hidden lust.
At least, the way his dream had written her role.
Her hands were clasped formally at the small of her back, heels of proper leathers tip tip tapping across the deck, the almost-tamed shock of chocolate spirals catching in the wind’s fingers. She moved up beside him, curled careful white fingers about the taffrail.
Huh – white.
Not the sunkissed peach of those from regions with less sun than Solana Heialei – white, and shimmering under the surface, like a some milky, tinsel-touched lava lamp. It was breathtaking, to be sure, a constant, breathing tide of magic, tracing tantalizing patterns just too distant to pin with restless fingers.
She’d never played as a Kina before.
She let him see her – Woodrow, the dream whispered – before addressing him, before turning wide blue eyes on his.
He didn’t seem entirely sure what to think about her.
And she knew exactly how to remedy that.
“I’m impressed, Markus.” Eyes – so like the ocean, dark and mesmerizing – touched his; and there was something there, something intentional, spellbinding, something that had never been there when Tehodis looked at Markus Woodrow.
But she was not Tehodis.
“I never imagined I’d be here when it happened. Markus Woodrow – Lord of Land and Sea.” She turned to him, looking just as tantalizing as was possible in a Peter Pan collar and slacks, gaze upturned underneath a fringe of dark lashes, with the barest hint of admiration in the coy pull of her lips. “How does it feel?”
With every word, her cloying voice stroked his ego, the way she caught a chestnut ringlet with her left hand a deliberate temptation.
Solana was no good at subtle, but it certainly was a damned respectable effort.
Post by Markus Woodrow on Jan 8, 2018 8:29:43 GMT -7
[attr="class","mwoody"]
[attr="class","mwoody2"]
[attr="class","mwoody3"]A PREDATOR OF THE SEAS
[attr="class","mwoody4"]CURING THIS OCEAN DISEASE
[attr="class","mwoody5"] Woodrow was going through the motions of his dream, and anticipated that Vincent would appear next, as Woodrow always intended it. Things would change in reality now that the man had defected and gone criminal, but he would hold onto the memory for a little while longer. He awaited the gratification he would feel from the praise, but heard a tapping of women's shoes in place of the droning tone of his apprentice. He looked over his shoulder at what vision his body had decided to use to fulfil him, and felt his heart pound somewhat at the sight.
The siren. Tehodis. He had not planned for her to appear in the dream, and he was very much in control of his dreaming due in no small part to his heritage, and so the appearance was a surprise from his subconscious. It was not as though he never dreamed of her, in fact he'd had her several times this way. It was never satisfying, though. Never real enough. He would always wake up more frustrated than before, and so she had been removed from the lexicon of his semiconscious. Yet... There she was, in perfect form. Full uniform, perfectly pressed as always, hair a waterfall of curls, eyes always so inviting. She stood next to him, wrapped her beautiful hand on the rail and looked out on the scene. This... This was how it was meant to be.
He relaxed happily into her presence as she began her wonder of him, of the moment. He was a goddamn King, a God, and she was recognising it. She was honoured to be here to bask in his glory. It was entrancing just listening to her worship him, and he was happy enough to watch the intricacies of her form, which seemed more perfect than usual. More... Three dimensional, in a way. He almost felt as though if he were to reach out and touch her, it wouldn't be just the memory of touch to intoxicate him. It was a silly thought to have in a dream, but it was the one that consumed him as he listened to the perfect lilt of her voice and got caught up in the way the sea water made her skin shimmer.
She looked at him then and his gut twisted in desire that almost had him skip all pretence of the dream. If his mind wanted to give him Tehodis, why not take it? Why bother with the act, when he knew that no longer would he be tested with these situations in reality? But then she spoke in the seductive kind of innocence and naivete that had built much of his attraction for her, and he realised that this tension was just as important as it's reward. He wanted to need her, and wanted her to need him, too.
"It feels..." He tore his eyes away from her to maintain the aloof act he did not realise he failed at in the real world, and pretended as though he were searching for his next thought. Finally, he smiled into the blue, and then turned to look back into the eyes that matched his beloved ocean so perfectly. "It feels right, Tehodis. As though the Gods designed this very moment for me to experience."
He paused then, just for a moment, and reached out to her. His hand gently tracing her cheek as if he were stealing the caress, but only for a moment. His hand returned to himself in a moment, buzzing with the addictive burn of a woman's skin. Moann, that felt real. He corrected himself gently then, "For us to experience."
Post by Solana Heiralei on Jan 13, 2018 17:23:36 GMT -7
[googlefont="Josefin Sans"]
show me your
Ahh,yes. He was in perfect awe.
It was cute, almost.
He lapped the praise from her eagerly, with all the air of a man who feeds unfulfilled desires in the privacy of his dreams; his Tehodis didn’t care much for Woodrow, Solana figured, but this one did.
And he loved it.
Sapphire eyes lifted to seafoam, unidentifiable glitter under the quirk of a chestnut brow.
“You’re bold.” It was quietly teasing; and he took the bait, like a child with candy, brushing a fingertip across her cheek.
For us to experience, he said.
“Us?” The question wasn’t sharp, challenging, the bite of rejection; it was laced with the subtler art of allure, the coax lying in the voice of a would-be lover, and she slid just a touch closer. She wasn’t used to feeling so… small. But Tehodis was only a hair over five feet, and Woodrow towered a full foot above her.
So he was into that kind of thing, was he?
A thrill ran up Solana’s spine; if the elf was right, he might have some very interesting things hiding in that Captain’s cabin of his.
She turned; back to the water, now, and ran lithe marble fingers along the railing, hips shifting, chin lifting in the barest hint of invitation.
It was an image of Tehodis she doubted Woodrow would have imagined for himself; the shimmering Kina draped against the taffrail of his gleaming ship, the mischievous wind tugging at her ponytail until, finally, it gave; wild waves spinning in the tide of the breeze, rose lips lifted, parted, oh-so-barely…
Or perhaps it was just the image that he would have imagined for himself.
“Are we…” her head tilted, just so, confusion dancing in stormy eyes, “What are we, Markus?”
Post by Markus Woodrow on Jan 14, 2018 11:26:25 GMT -7
[attr="class","mwoody"]
[attr="class","mwoody2"]
[attr="class","mwoody3"]A PREDATOR OF THE SEAS
[attr="class","mwoody4"]CURING THIS OCEAN DISEASE
[attr="class","mwoody5"] Woodrow couldn't look away from her. Every motion seemed completely natural and real as she turned back to the sea, but her voice held a slight come-hither tinge that reminded him it wasn't real. Tehodis was alluring, yes, intrinsically so... But the way she had cooed at him now was of his own creation, no matter how he wished to deny it.
Yet, he questioned that resolve as the wind caught her. The scent he remembered from the real woman filled him completely. Sweet like cinnamon, deep like his mid-day tea, with a hint of the ocean that her time in Submiere had burned into her everything. She leaned against the railing, appearing so naive as to the temptations she provided. The wind pulled her hair free as if he had willed it, but he was not sure that he did. The mass of it tumbled, and blew, falling upon her back in luxurious waves that he imagined burying his face into while lain atop her small form.
He thought of many things then, as she asked her question, and tilted her head. He imagined himself closing the distance between them, and pressing against her from behind. One of his hands would meet her waist and press down upon her hip to tighten her against him. The other would bury in her hair, tangling the two of them together. He would lean in, the scent of him replacing the scent of her, and press his lips to her neck...
And what good would come of that? He had done the act many times in his dreams. Never were they satisfying. They never filled him with the truth that the desire of her could. It was the game of it that drove him to madness, the light touches, and the hidden desires. He wanted to hunt his prey until she could not be hunted any longer, and she gave herself up to him with all of her heart... And her body
"We are..." His voice was sweet, but caught on the true answer. He joined her at that railing, pressing arm to arm but not taking what she had so subtly offered. Something was wrong with the sequence. The setting, perhaps. Whilst it would be easy for him to harden at the sight of Merlyn Astra's water-sodden corpse, it was hardly the same kind of desire that courting his most desired object of affection was. There were other women he had imagined taking on this deck, looking out onto the ocean of his success. Tehodis required something more personal, more romantic.
He still didn't have an answer for her.
He took a deep breath of the sea and thought of the perfect atmosphere, a place more intimate than The Noble Eastwind. He had closed his eyes without realizing, and as they opened they remained on the ocean, but now on a sailboat. It was the first boat he'd ever run alone, and held a vast collection of memories, experiences. It was one he would share for tonight's vision.
Markus Woodrow was dressed more casually now, a loose white shirt, crisp and breezing. The ties at it's top were not completely tied, leaving the glow of his sun-kissed chest to view down to the mid of his pectoral. Snug fitted breeches made up his bottoms, with hand-crafted leather boots to finish the simple ensemble. His long hair was captured in a low and lithe ponytail, but blew along with the breeze as he handled the mast with grace.
He spared a glance over to his passenger, who was also refashioned into the woman he imagined he might be married to. She was similarly suited in casual sailing clothes, hiding less of the detail in her body from before. A buttoned up shirt remained, more firmly fitted to the curve of her feminine torso, with sleeves rolled to her elbows and a single button left undone for the heat. Her bottoms were brown, and high in waist, making her legs look longer, and leaving little to imagination over the form of her ass. Her body was perfectly streamlined, not unlike the vessel they rode upon.
"We're alone," He finally answered her, not the one she (or even he) might desire, "I've always thought that you needed to learn how to sail, Tehodis." He held out a hand for her to join him near the boom, his other arm flexing as it gripped the rope and held the sail steady against the light wind.
He could imagine how this experience would go. He could control it, as he always did... But he willed himself to release control, just a little. He wanted it to continue seeming real like it had on board the Eastwind, when she surprised him. He wanted this experience to satisfy him, once and for all.
Post by Solana Heiralei on Apr 28, 2018 13:45:11 GMT -7
[googlefont="Josefin Sans"]
show me your
When movements were only musings, when actions were left temptations; they were safe, weren’t they? From prying minds?
Ah… not always in the ever-shifting dreamscape.
She couldn’t read his thoughts, no, but they played themselves in her mind, the desperate friction of front pressed to back, a hand at a hip, curious lips under her ear…
Yet she had played this game far too often to be fooled by his imaginings.
Far too often to think him just any man, now; he knew it was a dream, he didn’t let his instincts run away as other men did. He schooled them.
Interesting.
Lord Markus Woodrow sidled up beside her, brushing his arm against hers (as if she was some amateur, to be fooled by that “mysterious happenstance”); and… stalled.
His eyes were closed, but Solana’s were wide, searching, as the dreamscape broke down and shifted, crumbled, the clouds suddenly dust, the waves a sheath of silk being slipped from under them.
It was stark white; blinding.
But only for the barest moment, the canvas of cerulean folding out underneath her, the caramel of a sinking sun stitching carefully into place. She was nude, for a moment, and curiously traced the line of supple alabaster curves, pleasantly surprised at the firm landscape below her ribs, amused fingers toying with the slope of shy breasts.
And then she was clothed again. Sigh.
We’re alone.
She stubbornly refused the hand he extended to help her, but did not refuse the temptation to steal a glance at his arm, tensed into hard lines of muscle, guiding the sail.
He was certainly interesting, this Woodrow.
He saw himself as something of a demigod, it seemed; hard of jaw and will, righteous and all-good, a gentleman and a titan.
So what – who? – was Tehodis? Not a woman who satisfied his desires in the real world, that was painfully obvious, but clearly someone who had earned her place by his side, even with an ego the size of Fortuna inflating his self-worth. An officer, it was clear, by her uniform on the Eastwind.
The one he couldn’t have.
“Why me, Markus?”
Twin, ever-shifting pools were settled on the distant point where sea met sky, reflecting the amber of Fortuna’s dying sun; but turned to him, questioning, guarded.
“Why am I the one here with you? You have plenty of women to choose from.”
And it was almost, almost, Solana asking that question, digging for the truth of Tehodis’ significance to him…
But the fingers catching auburn waves were opal, not russet, and her gaze not mischievous… firm.
Post by Markus Woodrow on May 3, 2018 11:55:53 GMT -7
[attr="class","mwoody"]
[attr="class","mwoody2"]
[attr="class","mwoody3"]A PREDATOR OF THE SEAS
[attr="class","mwoody4"]CURING THIS OCEAN DISEASE
[attr="class","mwoody5"] Tehodis asked him the question in renewed words. This time, it was no longer about them, but about her... And yet, it was about him. Why he desired her above all others. He had asked himself the same thing many times. Other women came easily to him. They would, quite literally, waltz into his bed chamber, warm the space next to him, atop of him, underneath him, and then disappear into the thick of half-remembered nostalgia.
That was not to say Tehodis was the only woman who had ever eluded him. There had been a small handful, like the red-headed soldier in Liesdro, whom he imagined was still rotting in a prison (or at least on the streets) for having the gall to pull a gun on him. No, he had been refused and had not spent a single moment desiring beyond that. So why then, did he still desire Tehodis? She had attempted to kill him. Yet...
He imagined some part of it had to do with the power obtaining her held. She was already marked by another man, an immensely powerful one. Tristan Cowell was a man of greater power than his own, and so if he could take from that man what he treasured most... It spoke to his power, his pride, his virility. He was similarly attracted to Archana Toran, but not in the complete way he was charmed by Tehodis. That could not have been all of it.
Tehodis captivated him for reasons beyond the simple. She captivated him for reasons that were divine, and perhaps that was the why. In some ways, it felt to him like Moann prepared her for him. No, that wasn't quite it, either.
"I don't know," He finally laughed. He shook his head a little, the browns catching gold in the sunlight, and pulled his arms taut. He limited the line of rope, keeping it within a foot on either side to hold the wind, while keeping maneuverable. An easy trick when you sailed alone. He stole a glance at Tehodis, his lips naturally curling to a small smile as he imagined them doing the same in order to steal a moment of intimacy on the boat's deck.
"Perhaps that's just it," He soon added, holding her gaze, "Give me any other woman, and I'm certain I could describe the charm that would draw me to her. With you, Tehodis... It's both everything, and nothing. A siren song calling me to sure destruction, but one that I will happily steer myself into at full sail. You are an unknown I had not desired until I desired you."
Post by Solana Heiralei on May 3, 2018 21:10:50 GMT -7
[googlefont="Josefin Sans"]
show me your
Hm.
That was not the answer she wanted.
These were child’s games, Solana realized, chirping and crooning about love – because that’s what he was talking about, whether he realized it or not. Love.
Disgusting.
But they were not children – they were grown, Tehodis Kitai and Marcus Woodrow.
And so Solana would play a woman’s game.
”Is this what you want?”
Silken ivory digits rose to her second button, the subtle seduction of swaying hips kissing every step towards him, churning with the roll of the boat – and a little bit of deliberate teasing, if she was being totally honest.
They unbuttoned painfully slowly; nail catching the edge of the bone stud, finger slipping across the rounded edge, lashes low over cerulean eyes, the button popped through the slit in her blouse, her lips parted, misty with the spray of seawater.
She was closer to him now than she had ever been, neck arched upwards to meet his eyes, sloped porcelain nose hovering just below his strong one.
And just as she got so close, just as she could feel the heat of his half-bared chest on hers, she spun away; popping the button back in place, hiding Solana’s mischievous smirk behind the cool composure of sweet Kina features.
The figure of Tehodis gazed out at the sea once again, facing tranquil seafoam waves rather than her companion. But damn did her ass look like a snack in these slacks, and Solana knew exactly what view she was giving her imposing shipmate.
”Then why haven’t you taken it yet?” They’re not her normal words; they don’t command attention, respect, admiration, adoration. They are soft, subtle; the hiss of traveling s’s are more for her own ears than Marcus’… he us unquestioningly powerful, physically and magically – the fact that he reigns over his own dreamscape is enough proof of that. And….
The brunette turns back to him, cobalt eyes hiding a swift glance of appraisal behind the demure perplexity so comfortable on unwittingly pretty features.
Well, well, well, he wasn’t sore on the eyes, now that she took a good look at him.
So why hadn’t he won her yet, in his waking world? Or just taken her?
”It’s because of me? Isn’t it?” Another whisper, but this one alluring and conniving. ”What’s stopping me?”
Pearl lips spoke logic, but her eyes were dusky. Indigo.
Post by Markus Woodrow on May 5, 2018 9:40:28 GMT -7
[attr="class","mwoody"]
[attr="class","mwoody2"]
[attr="class","mwoody3"]A PREDATOR OF THE SEAS
[attr="class","mwoody4"]CURING THIS OCEAN DISEASE
[attr="class","mwoody5"] Tehodis shifted before his very eyes. She became the seductress he sometimes imagined, though not quite exactly the same as he would often picture. She reached fingers to the next button of her shirt, and his eyes could not be swayed from their hypnosis, even if he knew that what he could see revealed would be his own dreamings, and not the truth; even if he knew that this was his mind running away with his desires.
Except that it wasn't, was it? He had not willed this. What he had wanted was for her to join him at the sail, and he had wanted to teach her how to control it. He had wanted the subtle touches and the stolen scents of pining. Her undressing, her... Moving close to him, her... lips just under his chin, her... Warmth, none of it was what he had willed. She felt real, despite it being a dream. She moved purposefully, despite it being a dream. Markus felt like his grip over himself was fading as he fell into the pools of this dream's own wants, one of his hands reaching out for her small waist, and his neck leaning as he pressed towards her lips...
She pulled away before he could touch her. Another opposition to his whims. First he had wanted her to act somewhat as herself, to keep herself coy and virginal to his advances. Then, as she took charge he had wanted that, a Tehodis who would tease him and coax the intimacy from his loins. She had given him neither of those selves, and it brought a mild flush and warmth through his neck and to the bottom of his cheeks.
He took his time with a breath as she turned away from him, her form shaped like a wave that he desperately wished would crash upon his shores. She asked him then why he did not just take her, and his tongue traced the inside of his lower lip as he considered the offer. He took a step, two, as if to accept it, before she turned on him again.
This dream was starting to be as frustrating as reality; it was beginning to feel too real; it was intense; it was... Enticingly pleasurable. He stopped as she answered what he knew, what was truly stopping him. Tehodis herself. Her stubborn refusal to accept and enjoy what he attempted to offer her. The ease of life, the beauty of romance, the pleasure of his sex. He had offered it subtly, less subtly, though never overtly, and she had always seemed unconvinced, and unmoved. Here she was now, asking for the answer he had wanted for so long: What's stopping her?
This time though, he knew the answer. It formed at his lips, an instinct he did not wish to admit, but he stopped short at the sight of eyes that were inconsistent with memory. From bright blue like the most perfect Sumish beaches to... Something slightly darker, a sea roiled with storms. He had to stop and wonder why he was doing this to himself. Why was he tormenting himself with her, when he could just as easily have her crawling to him, begging for even a glance from his attentions?
Guilt, His mind supplied, the voice less his own and more something of a Motherly lilt, You know the feeling well. It is the risk of choice. That feeling of remorse and wrong decision. You have observed it again and again, and now, here this woman is to face you with it.
This woman, yes. Tehodis Kitai. A great mistake if he had ever observed one. No. Not Tehodis Kitai. Her. Her? His eyes took in Tehodis once more, the dishonesty of her posture that he had imagined. That he thought he had imagined. "An emissary," He smiled, feeling control rushing back through his mind and the body of his dream. He closed the distance between them in two purposeful strides, and then encircled her wrists, one in each hand, pulling this Tehodis closer, eliminating all of the space between them.
"You wish to know my heart, wish to have me bear it for you? Moann wishes to have me face my choices? Then, certainly, let’s be honest.” He squeezed at Tehodis' left wrist, and in a moment the arm shrivelled and dissipated into a sparkle of white and black mists, nothing left but the stump he had given her only a month before. The mistake that had cost him not only Tehodis, he feared, but Vincent as well. Yet... This was the first thought he had to recognise it as his mistake.
With his left hand now freed, he took her chin in his hands, cupping it and pressing a thumb to one cheek, and fingers to the other in a decided pucker. His nose touched to her's in all of this, and as he spoke his breath was warm against her cheek, "This is stopping you. What I did to you."
The skin OTHERWORLD was made by JAWN of WICKED WONDERLAND.
FORTUNA-RPG was created by MELLIE. Images belong to their respective artists. All codes and scripts belong to their respective coders. Please DO NOT take anything without the owners' permission.
