Myrobalan Shivana (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
faithlikeaseed) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
middaeg2021-02-23 07:49 am
faithlikeaseed) wrote in middaeg2021-02-23 07:49 am
closed | you were in the darkness, too
Who: Viren, Everett, and Myr
When: Backdated to Feouveuer 10th, in the evening
Where: The mansion of one (1) very eclectic Witch.
What: Everett and Myr are invited to a very strange dinner party. Things escalate quickly.
Warnings: Mind control, Cwyld infection, Resident Viren
[Infiltrating the Evergreen Circle hadn't gone so well for Myr's nearest and dearest.
As of the night before Alder's promised "initiation," Viren had been suborned by the cult's magic, Hector had vanished, Everett was nearly implicated in a kidnapping he'd broken up, and Myr--
--the less said about Myr's problems the better.
The oddly elaborate invitation that showed up on Everett's doorstep earlier that afternoon was only the weird icing on the terrible cake. One Judicael Buckley, making himself out to be "a friend and caretaker of your Dragon," humbly requested both Fauns for a private dinner party on the eve of their initiation into the Evergreen Circle. Would they do him the honor of attending?
Given an opportunity to spring Viren from captivity, could they really not attend?
So: Here they are in Buckley's absurd pile of house, an overgrown and furniture-infested rambling half-ruin full of architectural mistakes and bad lighting. The fact it's apparently been abandoned by all but the master of the house and handful of his servants does nothing for its eerie air.
Myr lets his ears droop as they pass another echoing corridor on their way down the interminable hallway to the dining room. His fingers tighten on Everett's elbow and he lowers his voice to not be overheard by the servant leading them:]
Any sign of our missing Dragon yet, dearheart?
[While he's not optimistic about their chances of breaking the compulsion spell without a Witch's direct help, there's four different varieties of counterspells on paper slips in his satchel and a prayer to the Maker in his heart. They're going to make this work.
They've got to.]
When: Backdated to Feouveuer 10th, in the evening
Where: The mansion of one (1) very eclectic Witch.
What: Everett and Myr are invited to a very strange dinner party. Things escalate quickly.
Warnings: Mind control, Cwyld infection, Resident Viren
[Infiltrating the Evergreen Circle hadn't gone so well for Myr's nearest and dearest.
As of the night before Alder's promised "initiation," Viren had been suborned by the cult's magic, Hector had vanished, Everett was nearly implicated in a kidnapping he'd broken up, and Myr--
--the less said about Myr's problems the better.
The oddly elaborate invitation that showed up on Everett's doorstep earlier that afternoon was only the weird icing on the terrible cake. One Judicael Buckley, making himself out to be "a friend and caretaker of your Dragon," humbly requested both Fauns for a private dinner party on the eve of their initiation into the Evergreen Circle. Would they do him the honor of attending?
Given an opportunity to spring Viren from captivity, could they really not attend?
So: Here they are in Buckley's absurd pile of house, an overgrown and furniture-infested rambling half-ruin full of architectural mistakes and bad lighting. The fact it's apparently been abandoned by all but the master of the house and handful of his servants does nothing for its eerie air.
Myr lets his ears droop as they pass another echoing corridor on their way down the interminable hallway to the dining room. His fingers tighten on Everett's elbow and he lowers his voice to not be overheard by the servant leading them:]
Any sign of our missing Dragon yet, dearheart?
[While he's not optimistic about their chances of breaking the compulsion spell without a Witch's direct help, there's four different varieties of counterspells on paper slips in his satchel and a prayer to the Maker in his heart. They're going to make this work.
They've got to.]
no subject
Everett knows that's not going to be the worst of their host's crimes, but Everett is primed for further disgust. He holds close to Myr, partly out of protectiveness and comfort, part out of necessity to even fit them down narrow hallways too full.]
I suspect he'll be waiting in the dining room. [which is just ahead, as the servant opens a door and stands aside, holding it open for them to enter. A room as misguidedly opulent as the rest of the house, but currently empty. The servant mutters with quick nervousness "take a seat, the master will be with you shortly...", before retreating and closing them into the stuffy space.
Everett taps a hoof, even more hushed that the servant had been.]
Think I have time to snoop about? [likely not, though he goes to the chairs to check them quickly, looking for obvious tells of tampering, but only discovers the "gold" is flaking off. He thinks they're safe, this gentleman doesn't strike him as the clever sort]
no subject
but not this witch.
everett and myr may be attuned to the noise of oncoming footsteps, a rattling of a chain, and an announcement from one of the bowing servants within the room as buckley makes his grand entrance. he values his showmanship, even if it rings hollow much like the rest of the house. within a loose hand he holds the end of a leash, that which he hardly has to pull for him to lead viren into the dining area -
in contrast to the thin, delicateness of the golden chain, the collar about the dragon's neck looks much studier. besides that little touch, he's dressed as much the same as the other servants, but for adornments here and there to his outfit that might suggest him to be a particularly special prize. and of course, all the more alluring to the circle, he remains visibly ravaged by his dark magic use. an arm, the source of where he'd infected himself, is noticeably untreated. thicker lines of black twist over his skin, winding up what's visible of his neck, tainting some of his scales. the air's thick with the decay of the cwyld.
viren's eyes widen as he recognizes buckley's guests and his shoulders tremble - he knew there was to be company even if he hadn't known their identities; this was not a strange occurrence for buckley. having his bondeds near (muted and distorted as its felt, with his infection and other effects of magic) brings a shade of humiliation darkening his expression (he should be proud, and yet). his breath catches, and he quickly shifts his gaze away from the pair. then he swallows, dryly, in an effort to force down the ever-growing hunger. it elicits a shake of his head, much like an animal would to rid itself of an agitator.
and he's silent as buckley begins to speak, forcing himself to stillness with his chin raised, clawed hands kept tucked at the small of his back. the witch begins with a flourish: a gracious welcome, to his esteemed guests! ]
smashes my face!! into this!!
It would have made a better story if Viren's captor were anything but a vainglorious braggart of a Witch, who stuffed his oversized home with things and took people as treasure. It would have been more meet to have found themselves in something that bespoke an essential nobility about its owner, however twisted that nobility must have become to bend a man's mind and force him into service. It would have granted Viren the dignity he desired and deserved, rather than this sickened humiliation.
All of that--one, great jumbled notion of it--flashes through Myr's mind between when he can note the sound of approaching footsteps and the sound of a rattling chain. The inchoate feeling the idea evokes--it would have been better, how dare Buckley be tawdry as well as evil, how dare he shame one of Myr's beloveds--stretches between the two fixed points of his Bonds (disgust, dismay, humiliation), trembling. It is, of a sudden, much too hot in the room, the air much too close and smelling poisoned with Cwyld-scent; it is much too unlike the wilderness where a Faun belongs, and the whole great mass of wrongness of the situation crushes down on Myr's shoulders as Buckley clears his throat to speak.
Run, the stag in him whispers beneath all that weight. Flee, because their are predators here, dangerous ones, the most so the one he's Bonded to. Better to escape the trap and live another day; deny the Witch his prizes (
deny the Dragon his meat). The urge to escape gets worse as their "host" opens his mouth goes straightway from welcome into bragging of himself, his odious mansion, his Dragon--"--you will be pleased to see the fine state I've kept him in, and how advanced the Cwyld's grown; you two must be justly proud of his progress--"
--and something sharper, and older, and harder-bitten than the stag slices clean through its entreaties like a spirit blade through smoke.]
Serah Buckley, [Myr cuts in, reaching possessive for the Bonded he can lay hands on, to take Everett by the elbow. He shouldn't be the one talking--he should leave that to the diplomat, especially when his every remaining sense is crowded out with the raw blood-tinged pulse of anger--but yet: Here he is.] You mistake yourself: He is our Bonded, and we aren't here to hear you brag of him. We're here to take him back.
[Some illusions are intolerable to maintain. This one reached that point long ago, and damn Myr for taking this long to break it.]