Consolidation King Under the Night

[Harrul Ulfbitenn]

"False and foul, is the blood of yours, King of the soft-skinned devils"​

The Fey, hunched and drenched in moss cackled, her long claws piercing through the carrion that rested against the black stone.

"Seek, you, play she, and so the darkness revels"​

Just by existing next to the likes of the Fey, twisted in their eons of corruption by their corrupt gods, filling them with promises of vengeance for the sake of their corrupt world, caused the King's cold blood to turn thick in the vein. His encounters with her kin were short and usually drowned in blind threats and needless cursing from the Fey, always constrained by the wicked magicks and the savage hierarchy that for now held them stray from enacting to their barbaric plans for Eirelunn.

Spawns of all things dark and corrupt, these Fey held yet the keys to magicks so perverse, that gave birth to the Abhartach breed. Part of him wanted to commit to the eons long hatred between Men and Fey in Eirelunn, simply to purge the possibility of yet another abomination such as himself found pace in Terra Firma. A feeling quite apparent, in his mind, and yet impossible to express beyond a simple phrase, thanks to the circumstances:

"I have nothing to tell you, Fey. Where is She?"

The Fey chuckled. Her head, disproportionally bigger than what would fit between her skeletal shoulders, twitched, giving in to what could only be described as a tick.

"Rushy, are we, King of the Soft-skinned? Ye time long is, to wait for the Void to spill her out again, and yet now want ye the talk? How petty... How petty..."​

The King grinned his sharp teeth; His black eyes spat the rage that consumed his thoughts. "Kill" the Beast Within urged the hands of the Abhartach. "Kill". But the King did not yield. He reached to the pommel of his sword sheathed by his leather belt and held it tight, glaring to the creature before him with contempt.

"I shall hear her words, and none else's. Be gone, fiend, if you shall aid me nought."

 

[Réalta Folaithe]

Cold was the shrouding mist that reigned over the sharp stones of the ravine. The long claws caressed the edges, cutting the hanging moss in their touch, as the ethereal pacing of the feather-dressed She-Druid brought her out of the narrows, to the openning where the hunched Fey squatted over the small stream, drenching its claws in and out of the mud around it while observing the many shapes the water painted on the nearby rocks. An ancient shamanic way of scrying, practiced by the Fey of Eirelunn long before their descend to the bidding of their now dark patrons. Her; Patrons.

"Wish thee not, suffer now, King of gold, not King of Night, yet craving...."

Her voice echoed in the proximity, causing the fey to form a wide smile on its face, letting its long fangs to be exposed to the humidity.

"Search thee, no soul nor harm, yet wish, thee, not?"

The She-Druid approached the cloaked Abhartach, her talons reaching out for his shoulder, as if the sense of him was still unclear to her, whether such was physical or astreal vision, brought forth through arcane means.
Her pale face turned to the side, observing the Abhartach. A well-crafted deed of her own making; A slave, chained by bondage of servitute through the angel that was planted within him.

Oh, yes... She could hear the Beast Within roaring to be brought forth from the fleshy cage it was now bound to. So many years had passed, and yet Harrul had not pursued the unimaginable power it could grant him. He was still in denial... He was still afraid.

Coward.

"Blessed be thee, not of flesh but Night, but Night though mind thinks nought. Be such, yet Night called as Kingdom for King as you to rule... King, call thee thyself, envy driven; Night of her's King thee shall not be..."

 

[Harrul Ulfbitenn]

"I am here not for act or threats." the King declared, turning to face the she-druid, rightly called the Queen of Crows. There was no Sire to spawn the Beast Within him, yet it was she, who through her witchcraft had nitted the chords of reality and the will of the cursed Fey to have him live as an Abhartach. Her will, in many ways, far exceeded many among the Night Court, for it was she who in a single stroke could change the balance of all, with a new Pureblood spawned into the world. A Blessing.... huh... a curse, to his eyes; Damned forever to carry the burden of the power he never thought would have to pay for, as many before him.

"You promised a weapon. I am here to collect."

The King stood his ground, wanting to offer no sight of weakness before the Queen of Crows. Any such evidence could be an openning to her horrid games out of which he rarely make his mind. Her corruption was so heavy, little of her humanity was left in her being. An entity more fitting for a herald than an angel. And yet, she was the one who promised him Wings and Red Rage, with which to ascend. And so far, she had not delivered, regardless the bloodletting and the offerings performed by his cult.

"War is coming. War in which many shall perish. They can do so, in your name... Like they did, in Suthra... But my offerings have a price, and that, you know of."

 

[Réalta Folaithe]

The Queen's head tilted to the side, as the King's words were spoken harshly. Her pale face expressing no mortal emotion, to their echoes. Her black eyes no longer having pupils with which to focus the vision that now travelled beyond the reaches of matter. Her hearing no longer made of flesh, embracing echoes from the Beyond and Terra alike.
Wings flapped, and claws grasped on stone and rotting branch.

CAW CAW CAW

Crows gathered all the more the King spoke, blasphemus as it was for such a being even to pace in these feral trails reserved for Eirelunn's blessed creatures of the eternal night. Her talons caressed his fabric-covered shoulder, tapping their way to the bronze circular medalion that held his cape connected before his throat. There, the Eagle of the Ulfbitenns was carved on in the style of the Eirish culture.

"Wings wish thee, blood in blade and soul has nought, to have wings." Her voice echoed in from the ravine, in synchrony with the cawing of the crows above. "Wings, shall thee, have with fangs and claws and all wish thee, price be paid in coin of red and small and great the same all"

A freezing feeling usurped the air around the two, making the squatting fey to reach with its claws over its head and duck, bursting in a maniacal laughter.

"Oh, hide, hide hide little ones! HIIIIDE little ones!" the Fey cried out, hopping to the side until the stones of the ravine covered it. "Scream not, cry not, hear shall he ye!"

The Queen's head once again tilted to the side. Black mist emitted from beneath the black feathers that formed her dress. She remained still, with the ever increasing unnatural tension connected to the King's Beast Within further added to the arcane cold.

"One for the Jaws, Two for the Claws, three for the Eyes...."