[PLAYED] Game 16: Master vs. Lantis

The confluence of time meant little to his kin and kith, the inexorable crawling grasp of the seasons and even the days wearing into a habitual monotony he no longer observed. Indeed there was but one cycle he would ritualistically immure himself within, that being the progress of day into the night. He was nocturnal, the hold the dawn of the eve had upon him inevitable. For centuries they had been entwined within the chill sheath only their partner the darkness could possess. It made sense for predators such as they to move undetected, slipping through the cracks for reality, through the perforations within the fabric of darkness to snare those of less wary sense where nought would suspect their hasty departure. It was thus that the man would be made to wait, as the influence of the sun dwindled in its submission to the lunar, gentle platinum falling where once golden strands pierced.

It was then he appeared, stalking with grace only another predator could truly appreciate, almost soundless as between the umbra he slipped effortlessly. Fragile digits touched upon paled lips, an expression of faint amusement drawn across the masculine countenance. Against the rounded tip an ivory razor was pulled, tantalising the flesh as he drew his fang upon it. So strong a palpitation, a cacophony of life that surrounded him; inviting, tempting him to snatch away at the deafening din and still yet one more heart. To kill. Yes, he would enjoy that, the rapture and ecstasy death would endue to his senses. His spine arched at the mere thought, his abused digit trailing down the chiselled edge of his jaw. The predatory gleam within the daunting sapphire orbs only intensifying upon identifying the man.

The chill of azure crept over the heat of garnet, at once such orbs evocative of emotions deep-seated within the would-be attacker. Digits clenched, flinching almost as a desire overtook even that that tainted his veins, weaving its insanity within his every waking moment. The desire to pluck those eyes out of their sockets. For a second he revelled in the depravities of his psyche, the squelsh of the fragile orb between his fingers, the inevitable fade as crimson glass replaced the vibrant hues within.

Ire, however, was not displayed upon the nonchalant façade that otherwise portrayed his emotions, though ire was definitely wrought upon his form. It was not towards the man though that such abhorrence would be unleashed, rather to the lascivious figure that represented his sire. Such torment wrecked his form, such rending upon his delicate state of consciousness. He had lain dead at his feet and he had done nothing to prevent it. In the name of his submission his master had seen fit to tug upon his fragile psyche, to further drive the pain of his loss within with endless visions of his death. The death of the only creature that had matter to the man since he had been turned.

It was hopeless, the man’s mastery over him was irrevocable, it had been as pointless fighting it as it would have been trying to turn the world from morn to eve as just one man. So he had submitted to his dominion once more, to every whim and desire that his lord dictated, the use of his body, of his mind and whatever he saw fit to demand. It was thus he had been ushered forth to seek prey, to ensnare some unwilling creature into their bed of sin. In the only resistance he could offer to the over-ruling male he would not return live prey should it have crimson colouration within its irises in tact for his pleasure. He would not allow that his sire, to observe crimson orbs glassed in pleasure as their prey writhed between them. They would be removed in the memory of his chylde. Of course this practice mildly disgusted the man who was so intent on the inherent beauty of all things, to gaze into the lifeless sockets no doubt chilled him to the core, which perhaps satisfied Lantis, if only a little.

In comparison he was the much more lithe of the two, neither holding astounding height nor musculature, instead only topping 5’10’’ and being rather more slender than buff. As a prerequisite to his sire’s almost Toreador nature he was also extremely handsome, to the point of beautiful even, that indeed what had caught the otherwise non-committal creature who had lead a rather taciturn existence before the acceptance of his chylde. Ivory flesh was flawless, unblemished despite the obvious skirmish his posture indicated, dilute of the flush of life that had been stolen from within. Ebony silk jostled about his countenance, rather unruly sheaves of hair falling around his eyes, two longer strands reaching down to his shoulders, at the back cut neatly into his neck. His garb was somewhat simple, though crafted from fine materials, perhaps assuming some affluence from his sire, both of whom had been terrorising the general community for a number of centauries. A fairly non-descript linen shirt of ivory hue and flared cuffs was hidden below a well cut double-breasted jacket, juxtaposing the ivory with its stark ebony colouration, perhaps suitable for lurking within the umbra un-noticed. About his throat was a simple silken stock cut of a sapphire that accentuated his eyes whose shade it mirrored. He wore simple trousers, matching the jacket and finally a set of comfortable leather shoes, looking for all the world he inhabited like a fairly respectable high-class businessman. Completely unassuming to the untrained eye.

Digits twined about obsidian metal, the delicate caress one of reassurance as the object was unfurled from the recess of his garb. Perhaps much to his would-be preys surprise the identical shafts of steel ushered forth did not appear to be a weapon of great note. Slowly with a fluid motion the length of steel were released, each new sheave of metal slipping silently across its counterparts as around the fulcrum his weapons spread, a pair of razor-edged fans. Lips parted though not a word was spoken, not imparting words to the man stood before him for he could not, even if it would have pleased him to. Instead only wisps of mist caressed his lips as the weave of the night’s frigid air worked over his form, a slight breeze tousling ribbons of raven hair. It was not his usual intent to render physical harm upon his prey; he was a seducer and inherently disliked over-exerting himself too much in the quest for sustenance as it seemed wasteful to expend too much energy on such a task.

(( *Bows and apologises for rustiness.* ))