332 → Preferably someone she'd know, but anyone in Salsola is welcome!
Artemisia had spent a majority of the day running back and forth between her mother's side, and kneeling in a bed of trampled grass to watch the fluttering of birds that hadn't gone south. Only when the waning light of day warned her that it was time to return home and eat did she do so, noting with quiet disdain that her father was absent. Evening without her asking, Eris seemed intent on sating her hunger for knowledge, telling her that Larkspur had been helping out today with the barn expansion. Had he not been her father, she most certainly would have been driven insane with jealousy at his ability to help where she could not. At only eight months, she was typically regarded as useless when it came to large things, and so spent most of her time with menial tasks.
The man from whom she took her entire build—most of her physical attributes, really—returned shortly after dinner, explaining with a peculiar mirthless tone that he'd lost track of time despite the obvious lack of light left in the day. She paid little mind to his excuse, and instead excused herself from the presence of her parents and siblings. With a sideways glance upon her exit, the dark girl enviously studied the girly faces of her two sisters, and thought to go and look at her own reflection in her mother's motorcycle mirror, but then decided against it. The last thing she wanted was for anyone to start thinking her head was full of vanity and nothing else.
Slipping out into the night to admire Borgata Colotl, she noted both the clear dark sky, and the brooding mist that was spreading along the floor; it was almost so think that she couldn't distinguish her feet from the underbrush. Due to her persistent vigilance however, the girl would come to no harm by her own clumsiness, and picked over crumbled rocks that would surely send her sprawling to the ground.
Dark tendrils curled about his paws, wisps of mist forming cool fingers that parted for huge, wicked claws. The monarch rarely used his four-legged form - His adoration for the civil, gentry two-legged shape served a deep favoritism for civilization, for progression. But the steed he often rode in that form, a silvery mare that appeared to be made of moonbeams and air, was heavily in-foal and un-ridable. Thus, his fastest form was in use.
The shadows clung to his dark, dappled pelt, like a cloak. In this form, Sirius was a strange-looking creature; A bizarre mixture of coyote and wolf blood. He was tall, taller than most wolves, but rather than retaining their thick musculature, was long and lean. He was a creature made up of sharp angles, of bristling pelt, huge paws and ears, and glowing acidic eyes - Like a lanky hell-hound, fearful in appearance when he lingered in the dark. But, to many of the Family, the sight of the King was a precious thing. For, in spite of his strange anatomical mixture, Sirius was undeniably regal in carriage; His satellite ears were held high atop his crown, the short tuft where a long, luxurious tail had been held high also. His huge paws were silent were they walked, leaving behind big prints in the soft, marshy soil.
The King was headed towards the residence of his Auxiliary. Eris held a strange spot within the man's twisted heart - She was invaluable, precious, undeniably the closest thing to true family that he had in the thistle realm. Her flaws complimented his own, and thus their rule was strong. The thistle king commanded his people with serpent's fangs; beautiful, and yet deadly, and for this it seemed he was respected. Eris, however, commanded them through some form of sickly love; Salsolans far and wide seemed to adore her, and her ghastly, twisted ways.
It was rare that he sought the woman out at her residence, but they had much to discuss. Since the Sequoians, Sirius' mind had constantly been turning over. He needed more fortification within their ranks, needed more weapons, needed more livestock to maintain their growing numbers, needed to discuss an idea he was forming about one of their neighboring packs--
The train of thought was cut off suddenly, as a scent curled around his black nose. The king stilled instantly, his eyes scouring the familiar territory. Slowly, large paws carried him toward the scent, revealing the smaller form of a girl. Not bothering to conceal his presence, the thistle monarch's large ears lifted forward, and a thoughtful purr thrummed like a growl deep within his chest. The sound permeated the relative silence, finally oozing out his maw in a deep, caramel voice. "And who have we here?" He knew instantly, by her sight and smell, that this was a daughter of Lark and Eris. He did not, however, know how much she knew of him - This was one daughter he had never had the pleasure of meeting directly. She would know his scent, surely, for he had frequented the area about her den often enough - Perhaps, she would know his appearance too, from the times that he had come to speak with her mother or father.
525 → Oeoeoeo, yay. <3 Also, I do believe your post was 5+ m'dear!
The mist curled, wraith-like in it's movements, across the floor in a pattern of movement she could not discern. Later, maybe, she would have to ask her mother why it appeared only at certain times, instead of remaining. The approach of someone—or something, her wary conscience reminded her quickly—did not take long. Salsola was full of the most arcane, discreet wolves to exist, and yet the footsteps weren't muffled. She decided that if it was a person, they weren't making any effort to hide their presence. Perhaps it was her mother, come to fetch her back home. That wouldn't make sense, though. Hadn't she just left? Her vibrant orange eyes, tainted somewhat with gold, flicked toward the sound just as her king appeared. The sound he emitted reverberated against her mind like thunder, like it might come crashing around her at his whim.
Sirius was one of few she knew by name and sight without him knowing the same. Eris refused to let her wander around in absolute ignorance. Thus, she'd made a mental note to show all the correct formalities should he appear in her presence as he just had. Bowing awkwardly from the waist and kneeling down to one knee, she wondered briefly if he'd prefer she join him in her secui form, but relished the use of her thumbs far too much to suggest it. Surely, if he wished it, he would make the request. Then she would have no choice, which was slightly disheartening.
Glancing up only to momentarily study the harsh angles of his face, she wondered what percentage of his heritage consisted of coyote blood. Her mother was his second, but thoroughly disliked coyotes for a reason she did not know. Whether she would ever know, or bother to ask, was unknown. In an attempt to be clever or thoughtful in her answer to his question, she waited a moment before answering but thought of nothing witty to say. Choosing not to answer seemed unwise, so she turned her head to the side slightly in order to look in the general direction of the home she shared with her mother and two sisters. "Artemisia Eternity, Re," The latter was the only word in all the Italian world that she knew; King. From the top-most strand of her dust colored hair, to the tips of her clawed toes, she emanated Larkspur's appearance and understood without question that Sirius' question was somewhat rhetorical.
Arte hardly expected it to be her that he'd been looking for, but also it also stood to reason that he hadn't ventured out this way without some sort of compulsion. Then again, maybe he was as enthralled with the mist as she was. The thought instantly seemed foolish and childish, so she kept it to herself. Instead, she swept her hair off her forehead. "If you were looking for someone, I'd be most eager to help." She supplied hopefully. Her eagerness was not blind, though. Uselessness was not something one wanted to be labeled as, even if it was because of their too-small arms and legs that they were rendered as such. Her mind was strong and capable, though.
Luminous eyes took in the youth before him. She was not spectacular to look upon - Not a ravishing beauty, still beholden of the awkwardness of semi-adulthood. Perhaps she would blossom into the same sensual appeal of her mother, or perhaps she was destined forever to the stocky, practical build of her immense sire. Both options were heavy with value, and as such, Sirius was pleased by her existence either way. The offspring of his Auxiliary and Arbiter were always wonderful specimens, worth great amounts through strength or allure, or in the case of her older sister Salvia, both.
Upon sighting him, the girl lowered herself into a somewhat awkward bow; Her instincts to show reverence, and her newness to this two-legged frame, clearly clashing against one another. Black lips twitched up in cold mirth. Eris had taught her daughters well - The monarch was pleased by her display of respect, although his still expression revealed little of this. His words still hung, deep and imposing, over her turned head; For a moment, it seemed the girl might not answer at all. But then her voice, clear and clean with what he immediately recognized to be intelligence, voiced a name familiar to the king. His large coyote ears perked forward, catching the sounds; Two titles, followed by a word he had not heard in quite some time. Surprise stole across the wicked monarch's dark features a moment; Only a moment, before being concealed beneath the deep calm once more. That she knew the Italian term for his title was unexpected, but pleasing nonetheless.
Her voice piped up once more during the silence of his thoughtful pause, this time in offering. Narrowed pupils, thinly massed by acidic olive, sharpened their gaze. The dark beast stepped closer, the shadows drawing back from his pelt as he neared the youth. So, too, did this nearness reveal something concealed before - The tall, lanky brute's right foreleg was marred with an angry red gash, and he favored it with a slight limp. The bleeding had long since stopped, but the scar had yet to seal, and was large enough to provide substantial discomfort. He would not be able to change back into his other form until it had knitted satisfactorily.
Again, the monarch's deep caramel voice thrummed forth, this time alluring and warm. "How very kind of you, Erischild. Artemisia, is it? Such a strong name," Tenor tones swelled forth, and his lean frame prowled about her in a half circle, emanating predatory prowess. Black lips parted to reveal yellowed teeth, sharp as knives, as he spoke. "I would like to see your mother. Perhaps you would accompany me? Your home is not so far from here, and I should like to know more of you, dear girl."
Her heritage had blended oddly within her; she would not, she'd guessed, grow to be the beauty her mother undoubtedly was, but maintain the sturdy, strong build of her father. Instead, she'd inherited her mother's cunning wit and sharp tongue. It only loosed itself when necessary, however, and this seemed to please the dark-haired woman whom Arte held in great respect. She admired no one more than the pack's Auxiliary and with good reason. The child already carried a ghost though, a shifting of darkness. She could not, it seem, let down her guard even when she wanted to. Terrible, horrible things would happen if she did.
A bolt of fear struck her in the moments of silence after her words, mostly concerning her use of the term Re; had she misunderstood the user, and it wasn't as she'd originally thought? That seemed painfully unlikely to her, but then again... Anything was possible. If her mother could look into a fire and see things she couldn't, it was also possible she might be confused as to the use of a foreign word. Only when he replied in kind did she dare to breathe, or relax her muscles in the slightest. Even so, she remained alert. Theirs was a feral, dangerous word, worse so amongst those they considered closer than most. The Family was a dangerous group, and she had no intentions of underestimating anyone.
He'd drawn closer, and she took the moment to eye him in full. From the glimpses she'd seen of him on the occasions she'd been awake and caring enough to come see, he hadn't changed much since her infancy—except, she noted, the garish wound on his leg. Wrinkles of displeasure threatened to form along her muzzle but she withheld them at the last moment, deciding to avert her gaze instead; had it not been a movement that might be interpreted as fear, she might've stepped away as well, but didn't. Suddenly the ground was much more interesting. She could, however, see him in peripheral vision. Sirius continued, giving reason for his sudden appearance. He was here to see her mother, of course. His glaring, violent teeth did nothing to allay her feelings of suspicion. Instead, the only hint that she'd heard him so far was that she nodded and turned her foot to head in the direction of home.
What was she supposed to say about herself that might interest him? That she was practicing her alphabet, and helping with the weir? No; that was boring. If it weren't for her lofty aspirations within the pack, she probably wouldn't have bothered with the former, but it was a necessary endeavor. At long last she deigned to cut through the pretenses of secrecy. "What would you like me to tell you?"
sorry for my tortoise-slowness ;; >> wordcount: +3
What a strange child. His narrowed eyes examined her carefully, drawing in each exquisite detail, making instinctual mental note of every movement, every expression, every scent she gave. His mind was wicked machinery, gobbling up the information with reckless abandon, like a ghastly factory filled with soulless workers. His genius was the thing of rumors, said to border the madness that fuelled others to destruction. Only briefly could that gaping pit of insanity be seen; In the flicker of a pupil, engorging itself on light.
She was right to be wary of him, but even so, the girl's apparent anxiety seemed to border on the paranoia of one meeting a true stranger, a possible foe; Not one's King. He was, after all, supposed to be the shepherd of these souls - Their protector, their guide. And yet, her wariness was justified, for Sirius Revlis was no merciful monarch, beloved by all kinsmen and subjects alike. Oh, no; He was a much fouler creature than that, a serpent crowned by thorns and adorned with feathers of the peacock. His vanity was, perhaps, the only thing that rivaled his intelligence; Within this was the innate tendency for off-hand cruelty. He had the cold heart of a businessman, and even without the bloodthirsty love for carnage that some fellow monsters harbored, one would be foolish to think of Sirius as harmless, or even reasonable. He played by no rules beyond his own, and even these were fluid, at best.
Thus, although he willed her no harm, the girl's mistrust of him was viewed with a mixture of surprise and cold-hearted curiosity. She was a valuable item, as most of the spawn from Larkspur and Eris were; He held no animosity for her, or her brethren, within his withered heart. If anything, they were favored for their likeness to their parents, privileged from birth to a life of higher class than those who were unrelated by blood. Her downcast gaze was respectful, but he sensed deeper thoughts behind it than the mere instinctual tug of subservience. She turned obediently at his suggestion, and the prowling beast fell into step beside her, his own fluid gait hindered only by a slight favoring of the wounded foreleg.
Sweet, childish voice asked a light question. The beast's tall ears dipped to catch it, his thoughtful expression devilish in the brittle half-light. A ponderous sound, like a purred hum, rumbled deep in the King's chest before oozing out his maw as a low chuckle. "Tell me what you like to do, Artemisia. What are you good at?" It seemed to be an innocent enough question, but her answer could dictate her entire value within the pea-green gaze of the King.
A deep-rooted paranoia of pain and suffering directed at her family stemmed from... Her. Her mind, her potential faults. Never had anyone told her what would become of the Eternity family should she fail to become great, to become useful, but her mind had filled the gap with terrible truths (as she knew them, anyway).
What are you good at? Came his inquiry, and clockwork machinery in her mind quickly began to move together in order to churn forth an answer. Unsure whether to truly boast her skills and sell her wares so to speak, or be demure and maintain a sense of modesty, her hesitance to respond in earnest was obvious. Another obvious problem were where her true skills lay. For someone already so tall, surely she should delight in the physical aspects of life, but didn't. She watched, listened, and stored information away for a later date. Surprising maybe, but sadly true. In an attempt to dash her mind against his for answers to her questions the child sent her orange-gold gaze toward his merciless green. There was nothing there to help her. Knitting her fingers together behind her back as she walked, she turned her eyes back to the walking path in front of them.
He was the Mad King, though she knew nothing of this. His insanity was only second, perhaps, to her own mother, with her coming up fast behind them. Youth couldn't protect her mind. Searching for a reasonable response, the tan girl's shoulders sank slightly when she found nothing of great consequence. Honesty, then, would have to be her savior. Not my hands, or my back... But, my mind. I am a slave to it, She noted in quiet, husky closer to her man's than a woman's. It should have been the reverse, as she saw it. Her mind should bend to her every whim, her every desire. It didn't listen, it went where she feared. As if to explain, she untangled her fingers and brought two of them to her forehead. Everything I see... She broke off, to look at him fully now. Her greatest fear was that she would be ostracized by this man in particular, her King. Everything I see, I remember. Whether or not Eris had her suspicions, she didn't know. Nothing escaped a mother's gaze, but not in the same way she experienced things. Her practice of the alphabet was impeded only with her imperfect manner of writing. With practice, it would come along splendidly.
That didn't mean her size wasn't something worth boasting about. Surely he could gather from a glance that she would be useful just by that alone? Something she'd considered was that, if her body could imprison her unruly mind, it might be stronger than she thought. Or maybe that was the entire reason it was given to her, to keep a hidden monster at bay. Artemisia nearly blanched at the thought.
His question seemed to deeply disturb the girl. Acidic eyes watched with raw curiosity as expressions flitted across her generous face; She had not been taught to conceal them, of yet, it seemed. The girl would learn - Such openness was a weakness in a pack bound together by its desire for secrecy, its worship of the cunning and the coy.
Jack-o-lantern eyes, a similar hue to those of his most-trusted servant, did seek momentarily the planes of his own dark facade; Sirius allowed a bemused twinkle to light the deep venom of his gaze, but gave her nothing more. No line would be thrown to those who could not swim - He was not a merciful creature by nature, and if she did not learn to swim before his gaze, then she would drown without aid.
Nervous, anxious energy radiated from her, like the doe, when it became wary of the presence of a stalking predator. It confused him to see such a reaction in one so young - Eris did not normally raise her children to have such inherent instability, such fear. A slow frown began to build on his sharp features, like the swelling of growing thunder-clouds.
Finally, it seemed acceptance gripped her; shoulders dipped in what the King could only take as resignation. The beginning of her sentence only offered disappointment to the King, who from her stature had expected a creature of prolific strength or hardiness; But, then, what was this? Pupils narrowed, and his the entire force of his mind stilled, focusing for once in its wholesome on the girl with the anxious eyes. It might have been a terrifying thing, to have his attention so totally fixed upon her; It was rare that Sirius could still the chatter that continued in the depths of the vast machinery of his mind.
She spoke again, brokenly, seemingly desperate to convey her point to the King. His sharp gaze sliced through her, seeking the information offered in her hesitant words, her genuine expression. For a long moment after her gestures had subsided, the monarch continued to examine Artemisia, his expression unreadable, cloaked in the dark shadow of his mortal disguise. Finally, "How... Curious," came the verdict. It was most unexpected, the genius would be found in such quarter - Eris was smart, yes, and Salvia was cunning... But what the girl spoke of was genius, much alike his own. It had taken Sirius the entirety of his youth to master his own voracious mind - And at a price. At such a price.
He allowed his gaze to slide back to the path before them, his intellect taking in this new information, turning it over and over, deconstructing it. "Do you like to learn, Artemisia?" The white noise was returning to his mentality, mind resuming its multitude of ideas and thoughts, new information being allowed to filter in. But still, the gem she had revealed to him was held in the fore-front, being turned over and over and over.
541 → Here, have a Lorrtarded poem. Maybe then you'll reconsider my love.
The steadiness with which his snakelike eyes settled on her was an alarming announcement in of itself. Had she managed to entrap all of his thoughts for that singular moment? Her eyes widened at the mere idea of it, and her step quickened as if to flee from the overwhelming notion. Then it was gone again, just like that; it might as well have been a trick of the moonlight, or if one had been present, a trick of the firelight. Now she wasn't even sure it had happened at all. Her mind told her otherwise. Already being filed away in a chamber all its own, it carefully fell into place. There it would remain until she called it again, when it would come flying forward.
With her rudimentary alphabet she'd one scribbled on every surface she could reach, in the ruin she so often liked to hide away in of course. If it wasn't the beginning of a spiral into madness, she wasn't entirely sure what to make of it. Of anything. Everything was still foreign, yet she thirsted to know it all. It was a confusing concept, to want to know everything, but when would she know she'd succeeded? Would there ever be a stone she hadn't turned?
She remembered the words more vividly than anything else in the world. Crystal clear and always lurking in the corners of her mind, they dislodged themselves every once in a while to float aimlessly and then fall back in line. These were the sorts of things that kept her awake at night.
Devil’s playground in my head,
Making circles ‘round my bed,
I—,
Can’t be found,
Won’t make a sound.
There’s a chance I could be dead,
That’s exactly what he said,
Crawling across the bleeding ground,
That’s when he sent his hound.
His interest was the most surprising development of the evening. Her King didn't seem upset with her meeting his gaze if just for a moment, but then she didn't mean to be disobedient or fall out of her typically subservient habits. Salvia was his favorite, but eventually she would be turned over for something shinier or more useful. She looked up to the woman more than she probably should have, but then, they looked the most alike when it came to Eris and Larkspur's children. The coffee-colored child maintained a white-knuckle grip on the hope that her muscle might give way to a somewhat womanly figure like hers, but as with everything else, time would tell. And its progress was agonizingly slow. She ached for the day when she might understand, when she could be content.
Still watching him as carefully as ever, her acknowledgement of the mental war going on behind her eyes had done nothing to slow its progress. Only when he prompted her to speak again with a question did she begin to think over the answer again. Choosing and sorting the words she needed, rearranging them, it felt like a large scale scrabble game. I want my mind to be my own. I want information... Yes,I want the world, and if learning could give her that, then so be it. Finally, she prodded him in turn. Why?
<3 From now on, you can just pp/assume that she has lessons with Siri once a week or so, if you want? And steadily learns how to read/write/speak Italian, plus probably some basic geography, and whatever else? Siri would make a good professor. c: >> wordcount: +3
Knowledge was his lifeblood. The King's craft was one of manipulation; the spider hanging from his web, playing puppeteer to all those below the rafters. It was for this reason alone that he was king, for why else? He was no pillar of unyielding earthly strength, nor had he the grace and wisdom of a worldly elder, not the just kindness of a monarch chosen and beloved by the people. No, Sirius had taken power through the sheer wickedness of his mind, through the genius that enabled him to conquer the minds of others. Knowledge was the core of this, always. It was what had made his thrown and crown, and what would one day, unmake them.
With each passing dawn the King's paranoia grew a little stronger. He was no stranger to fear - Rather, he was as close to it as a lover, familiar with it enough to embrace it into his bones like an old friend. Fear was what kept smart men alive. He was afraid of many things; Of his own mortality. Of the mortality of the world. Disbelief in deities came at a cost, one that he sacrificed daily with the acceptance of death being a brutal finality. But most, of late, he feared the shadows in his own mind. There was a sickness there, one that had been passed down to him through the blood of a mad prince. The genius had kept it at bay for so long, and once mastered, the mechanics of his mind had enabled him to feel a sense of immortality - Had enabled him to worship himself as a god, for in that mastery had been total and utter control of all fears, and all things. But of late, in the deep darkness of nights, those shadows had crept closer, grown colder; And the genius that had made him would be his undoing, for he saw the signs for what they were. And thus the fear bloomed forth, a constant poison.
But she was young, too young to know such things that had taken him a lifetime to understand. It alarmed the King to consider that she might be able to grasp such concepts already, might already have the answers that he had killed to reach. It made him uneasy, but such a thing did not show.
Her reply was exactly what he had expected, exactly what he had predicted from the girl. The sense of satisfaction in being the owner of this knowledge was hollow, and bitter. The king's eyes remained on the path, his predatory step light and silent. Her question hung in the air, unanswered, and would remain that way - Perhaps because he felt no desire to justify himself to a mere child, or perhaps because he did not truly know the answer himself. "You will come to me once weekly, Artemisia. Tell your mother I command it; She will excuse you from your chores for an afternoon, surely," He spoke in a soft, absent tone, but it was heavy and ladened if she listened hard enough. "I will be your teacher, and you will learn the things that your heart wishes to know."
