Men who play games of war and soldiers born from circumstance...
MAIN
PROFILES
ALBUMS
STORIES
EXTRAS
LINKS
 |
Scroll 02 : 06
|
Kso’ppghiel’s head swims in a haze, throbbing pain intermixed with nausea. The room is spinning and someone needs to tell it to stop or he is going to kill something to make it do so. White eyes flutter open and the light instantly causes him to cringe, making the pain that plagues him resurface harder. After several long moments, he tries again and opens them very slowly to find his surrounds working their way into focus yet unable to quite accomplish the task. The Harbinger attempts to rise, crying out as the sudden shock of pain that shoots through him spanning from his head to his wings and he struggles for a moment longer before falling back down against the plush mattress below. His actions send his surroundings spinning even harder than before and the nausea that hits him from the motion is nearly enough to overwhelm. “When will you learn, Kincaid?” Io’fayl’s voice calls him quickly back, seething anger pushing past the pain at the sound of her voice and he attempts to rise again. He doesn’t care if he’s killed in the process, so as long as he takes her out with him when he goes down. Kso’ppghiel only gets so far though before he finds that he has been strapped in place by his waist and wrists. His strength fails him as he attempts to break free, all movement swiftly becoming too much for his weakened state until his breathing strains through the mask that binds him. That fucking mask. A growl of frustration slips free as he attempts to clam himself down, realizing that there is nothing he can do and no real action he can take against her until he has fully healed. All of his efforts are wasted and soon delicate, claw-tipped fingers push through white-blonde strands, causing the Harbinger to jerk away on instinct only to instantly regret the movement a second after it had been made. “Kill me.” His voice comes out as a rough whisper and he has to force himself not to flinch again when she pushes the hair from his eyes. Io’fayl simply smiles in response to his request. “No, my dear, this will be a lesson for your insubordination… One of many so learn it well.” The restless anger builds up quickly again and pushes Kso’ppghiel to thrash in his binds. He is suffocating beneath it all, but it is not enough to bring him to an end. The smell of blood reaches his nose as the movements he makes causes his wounds to reopen, the warm fluid soon running down the side of his face from his lacerations and the room once again growing unclear. Quiet words vaguely reach his ears and the weight of the mask is mercifully removed, the Harbinger almost gasping for air when it floods into his lungs. “Sleep…” Io’fayl pushes him back gently, her lips meeting his to whisper a small spell directly into his mouth. Letting Kso’ppghiel go, his head falls back and his white gaze rolls up to find his swords once again mounted above her bed like a trophy. The Harbinger struggles hard to maintain his focus even as his mind begins to go numb. His swords… for that alone he will kill her. Despite his best efforts, memories and images soon flood in as he is finally forced into unconsciousness…
 Sav’real was right… something has gotten into him, something he’s unsure he likes. It’s dangerous for him to have an interest in his Mistress’s newest Harbinger and even though he knows that interest to be nothing more than a wish for that rematch on more equal terms, it’s still too risky for him to continue interacting with the other man the way that he has been. He hadn’t had this problem with the others, there had been nothing in them that he could bring himself to take an interest in… but this one is different. He’d thought at first that it was a simple curiosity to the intrigue that surrounds him and his Queen, but even after learning the facts behind that intrigue, the blonde continues to persist in his thoughts. He doesn’t like it and yet for the life of him, he can’t seem to get it to stop. The tall Captain can only hope the Harbinger finds a way to push past his pain, find a reason to live again so he can convince his Queen to allow them an opportunity to meet in battle and give him the satisfaction of what he’s sure will finally be a worthy opponent in because at the moment, he feels it may be the only true way to quell the interest he’s taken in the one laying broken and chained on the levels above. Until then, he’s going to have to find a way to distract himself because his interest might very well lead him to his death…
 He hates the rain; it reminds him too much of home. Something shifts beside him, pulling the Harbinger’s attention instantly to the source and he winces in pain during the movements he makes. Newly added charms clink against the metal of his mask, the magical weight it bears on him quickly coming to the forefront of his mind. Kso’ppghiel does his best to quell the anger rising within him as white eyes shift to gain his bearings only to find he had not been moved from his previous spot. The mask, however, has been refitted with even stronger charms and placed while Io’fayl lies sleeping at his side. A low growl of frustration leaves him in finding that the opportunity to both kill her and leave this place has been removed by the restraints that still chain him to her bed. Even if he were free, he knows that he still would not have the strength. With his wings splinted and bound behind, he is unsure of their state. Even knowing, the Harbinger would not risk flying in this weather, as he truly does desire to live beyond the escape itself. A large bolt of lightning flashes outside the terrace, instantly followed by thunder loud enough to shake the very ground. Kso’ppghiel’s gaze moves to the one beside him, woken by the thunder long enough to turn over and settle against him is if he were her mate. His lip curls in disgust beneath the mask and he wishes he could rip her throat out and watch the blood slowly drain away. It would actually make him happy for the first time in far too many years and the Harbinger has to force himself to keep still, knowing that waking her to the point of consciousness will only give her another chance to taunt him in his current state. Rain begins to pour down in sheets outside the terrace, the water hitting the silk pillows still strewn out on the open balcony to soak them instantly. He frowns at the noise; the sound each drop makes never failing to lull him back into sleep. He really hates the rain …
|
