Peace, at Last

[Baleron87]

The bright sunlight once again assailed his sight as they stepped outside into the crisp, cool air. The sun sat heavy in the sky, slowly dipping down toward the horizon again. In a few hours, the island would be blanketed in darkness. He imagined that the islanders, who were probably all still in the full swing of the party, whether it be divulging in physical or mental pleasures, only intensified their activities in the cover of nightfall. With the air of the island backing them, the guests would more than likely let their inhibitions loose at nightfall, if they had not already fallen victim to the sensations this island provided to them.

His own thoughts became caught up in the hedonistic acts that everyone enjoyed here. With Caela once again at his side, the overwhelming urge to join in on the fun was precariously balanced. With every touch that his queen provided him, and every kiss she graced upon his skin, his hunger became more and more difficult to control. At this rate, he would quickly find himself in quite an interesting position... or perhaps quite a few positions. It had been quite a long year of searching, after all. If not for the simplistic fact that he had bottled up all of his emotions for that one painful year, Caela would have truly realized just how much he had really missed her.

In his mind, he silently chided himself for the growing number of lewd thoughts, hugging Caela closer to him and resting his head against her temple. His lips brushed over her earlobe, leaving a gentle kiss and a warm breath against it. "If this is a dream, then my imagination has certainly become quite elaborate and confused in a short time. I think I'll just take this as reality and stick with that viewpoint for now. Eventually this island air will be inducing me with some crazy dreams as is." He nibbled playfully on her ear for a quiet, happy moment, content to have someone he loved and trusted in his arms.

His gaze rose up past Caela, looking out over the bright blue ocean that ebbed and flowed all around them. Thin clouds passed by slowly overhead, and with the trees of the island, the call of the birds, and the simple fact that Caela was once again with him, this place had transformed from an annoyance to a paradise. This place was so much more peaceful then any place left in the world, and not even in Rivenfelde had serenity such as this been presented to him. He wouldn't mind if he could spend the rest of his days here with Caela. It seemed so perfect to have a life where he, Caela, and her children could live without the constant fear of fear or pain, and where there would be no fighting...

No fighting... Such a thought scared Baleron. For a man who was trained to protect innocent lives against evil, who held both emotional and physical scars from countless battles, who had seen murder, rape, and utter annihilation, a place that held no conflict concerned him. With no one to fight, and no one who needed protecting, what would his place be in the world? Even earlier he had wanted to fight the noble, even if it was for selfish reasons, but a place such as this that supported all sorts of acts seemed to be a place where violence of any sort was naturally condemned. He found it odd to believe that every native islander was truly happy with their lives, and not even one was capable of even thoughts of violence.

So many thoughts were quickly silenced as Caela pulled his arms tighter around her and offered one of her loving smiles to him. He smiled in turn, although it was utterly flawed by his current mindset. He had truly changed a lot if the smile of the woman he loved could not make him offer the wide, silly grin that used to make her laugh. It had been a long time since Rivenfelde, indeed. With his head against hers, he could feel the warmth from her cheeks as she had blushed, and he let his head fall onto her shoulder, his hand brushing away her hair as he laid a warm kiss to the crook of her neck, nibbling on her soft skin for a moment for good effect.

[Vylrath]

He could feel his daughters pulse move underneath his skin like a tainted shadow. Her emotions constantly fed into his seemingly void existence- it was like a poison making him mad. Did the bitch really think she could live without my presence? Vylrath thought to himself. He watched the two enjoy each other’s company- the sight of their closeness awakened a dormant anger.

Instead of pursuing what caused his frustration, Vylrath decided to maul her mind with his touch. The advance of his presence would startle her…maybe even frighten. He hadn’t seen his daughter since the Yuurei had made sport of Rivenfelde. Good riddance, he thought miserably while he glared into the back of Baleron. The place had been set in his sight for destruction when he had landed on the godforsaken place years ago. It was his original plot to destroy the peace-loving kingdom, but some freak alien had done that for him. So, now he was left to wander, it was just his luck that he had felt the virgin power of this place.

The power had intoxicated him, much like his daughter. He literally breathed in the essence of the force that lived under the serenity surrounding him. When he walked, it was as if the power flowed around his own inner strength like a cocoon. He could easily take it, but first he would have to find it. He hadn’t felt such power since he had been created- which was thousands of years ago. Vylrath was ancient, something everyone had accepted. He was immortal, but he could still be killed. Demons had a weakness just like every other immortal creature.

He remained hidden from their view, but he allowed them to sense him to the fullest. He decided to speak to Caela, while his eyes remained on the confident Baleron:

Replaced me already? He chortled in their heads. Invisible fingers caressed Caela’s shoulders and to the shapely form of her waist. The sensation stopped there. It would leave her with an abrupt tingling across the surface of her skin.
He stepped out from his hiding place. It was not unheard of for a demon to abuse his powers. He wondered how she would react to seeing her father in full – he had changed dramatically. His once muscled body was now lean and fit from his constant travel. His face had softened and his eyes darkened, but showed a hint of strange light. He wore common attire: long jacket, boots, etc. He carried no weapons. He was fearless and abrupt. He wanted to be known again.

Vylrath felt as though he had risen from the dead.

[Jen]

At first it felt like a small prick at the very base of her skull. Just a tiny little thing easily ignored in the heat of what could only be passion on the Island. Caela continued to smile at Baleron and played the ever doting young lover, ignoring the prick of warning. Ever the fated Sleeping Beauty, Caela's ignorance often lead to far greater pain.

It wasn't a slight increase, a little physical push, or even a shove in the right direction toward pain. It felt like a red hot branding iron had been shoved into her skull the very moment Vylrath decided to part the haze of the island and impress upon her his very presence. Caela's knees buckled from the sheer shock of the pain she hadn't felt in what felt like years. Every scar imprisoned by flesh on her body seared to life just beneath the frail layer of protective skin. Baleron would not be affected, he wasn't tied by blood, he wasn't even a demon as far as she knew. Blood had always been a thick substance.

Caela felt her knees hit the sand. Distantly, she was mildly amused at how such a small detail could even register in her warped mind, and then it was gone. Caela dug her fingers into her hair and bent her head to her knees, pressing the cool sand against her forehead in a vain hope to block out the pain. Vylrath had this effect on his daughter when he wanted to surprise her. She had learned to live with it when she was younger, but she'd grown soft in his absence.

"Replaced me already?" The casual nonchalance of the voice, so familiar, upset Caela far more than she realized it ever would. How dare he come here now looking, and for what? What could her monsterous father ever hope to gain? Caela realized, with her head buried tight against her knees, as she knelt at Baleron's feet in a tight ball trying to get rid of the pain -- that she had tears rolling down her cheeks. The young woman's heart beat frantically against her chest, a caged animal seeking release from the inevitable torture. Her whole body felt as if it were on fire, and she was sure that some of the wounds on her back were opening back up. The amount of pain in her body could not simply keep itself hidden, could it? Could Vylrath open old wounds? He had never left any long enough to practice, Caela clamped down on her thoughts like she had learned to do in childhood. Vylrath used her own mind as torture until she learned to block him out.

There was fear, oh Vylrath would smell it. He knew she feared him because he had taught her, trained her, bred her to fear him. She had known from the ripe age of four to fear him above all others. Sure, she could put on a brave face, but when she was alone with the man -- what good would that serve? What would she be hiding from him with that pretty, sad, brave little face?

Fearing to inhale sand, Caela sat up. The light hurt. It hurt very badly, even if it was just the sun that she had enjoyed so much earlier, dying as it neared the horizon. Her face was stained with tears and twisted in a hateful but dreadfully beautiful grimace. A broken sob escaped her lips, swollen from biting back the screams of pain she was enduring. It took a moment to control her thoughts, to grab onto motor functions beyond primal urges, and to focus her eyes on her father.

Vylrath.

Vylrath...

"Welcome back, Father."

It came out as a shuddering gasp. Baleron wouldn't know what had hit her -- but he would know that name and understand. The pain was written all over her face.

[Baleron87]

Baleron couldn't have reacted faster to what happened next. The moment Caela started to fall to the ground, he had knelt down to catch her from falling too hard. His ability went to work immediately, his eyes glowing blood red as he searched within her for injury. He discerned nothing from his scan, and gave Caela a little room as he began to scan his surroundings. His immediate thought was that somehow the island was doing this. Given how little he knew of this place, he didn't think it was impossible that the energy of the palace could harm as well as help.

However, as sudden realization dawned on him, he didn't require his ability to tell him what was really the cause of Caela's insufferable pain. He whirled himself around toward the cause, coming eye to eye with the problem. At first his eyes did not want to believe what they saw, but Caela's words brought out from him the urge to spill blood. It was the only logical way he could have reacted to the vile demon's return. The air of the island seemed to falter around him, and the paradise that Caela and he had shared for so brief a moment disappeared.

Baleron glanced to his side briefly, making sure the Caela was at least starting to regain herself at the sudden entrance of Vylrath. He had no words of comfort to speak, nor any way to help her. He knew little of the atrocities that had gone between her and her father, but he knew quite well the effects it had on her. To see her in such a state for even a moment was more difficult than the year he had spent away from her, and he knew exactly what he had to do to in order to avert the problem.

His palms seemed to explode upwards with blood as he channeled his powers, his orbs of blood forming into twin swords, both much heavier than he would normally be able to handle if they were not made of his very life force. Tendrils of blood still swayed from his fingertips, and even more of the red liquid dripped down onto the beach below, staining the sands crimson. He had become a vision of hell itself, but it didn't matter to him how he looked to anyone. He had returned himself into the shield where his emotions and feelings were trapped inside, and this was completed physically as the tendrils wrapped around the right side of his face, fashioning over it a demonic mask. His voice no longer held sympathy or feeling. It was now devoid of anything remotely human.

"You're not welcome here, demon. Either you leave now, or I throw you into the ocean in pieces. Your choice."

[Vylrath]

Vylrath let the pain cease in his daughter naturally, until something else had caught his attention: blood. His eyes switched from the brilliant silver, to an opaque shade. His muscles tensed and balled into uncontrollable forces of pure physical energy. He was ready to snap at any moment and the sight and smell of blood didn’t help the matter.
Baleron would be in for a rude awakening- it was like awakening a dormant God inside the chest of Vylrath. This violence hadn’t been touched since he had left the origin of Rivenfelde. His passiveness would be tested and his sanity brought to such extremity. Caela would know how to protect herself, but would Baleron be able to test his limits against an ancient man like Vylrath?

The man had basically brought ruin to a nation, women to their knees, and even made infants fear him before they left their mother’s womb…what chance in Hell did he have?

Voices ricocheted against the walls of his skull, like a torrent of thunder that only he could hear.

Vylrath tried to reach her and warn her. (It was a hell-u-va time for his paternal instincts to kick in.) She might hear a trickle of his voice, but it would soon fade like a quick buzzing in her ear.

Caela…forgive me…

His entire body froze, but not before he ceased control of Baleron’s apparent supply of blood. Vylrath watched the blood congeal with his new sight. I offer thee sacrifice. I offer this mortal's blood to aid thy manifestation in this place! He could watch every molecule obey the transformation with his whim- the blood that had been formed into weapons, would now be dead weights. They would literally root Baleron in his place.

His body didn’t freeze in fear, but in power-it trembled with animosity. When he moved his feet, the blood seemed to tremble in fear to their new master. It rippled like the ocean surrounding them and even began to mimic the heartbeat of Vylrath.

By this time, Baleron would have been in shock from the sheer onslaught of power. His body had just been let go of its own natural substance. What he had once always controlled, was now in the enemies possession- a position that Vylrath never planned to be in!

He made sure that Baleron could not move. He spoke to the blood, asking it for service. He could feel the man’s pulse and racing heart and how weak this blood magic was making him. Mortal’s should never lose that much blood, even in defense.

“Do you still defy me?! Do you want to see what your actions have caused you?!” Vylrath moved fluidly toward Caela. He was not the same as he was a few moments ago. She would feel paralyzed with fear, maybe even envy, but he doubted it. He caressed her and pulled her toward him. When he felt that she was close enough, he let his power feed into her. It would be like a person getting pummeled by the waves- they would need to catch their breath in order to survive the next.

“Call me your Lord if you want her to live!”
Baleron could still talk- he hadn’t denied him that right, but he would deny him the right to protect Caela. He began to fondle Caela and undress her in front of Baleron. Her scent drove him mad and the blood brought him to a new height of full awareness.

“I am already your Lord…aren’t I, my sweet?” whispered Vylrath. His tongue licked across the neck where her vein pulsed violently. He would bite it, if that served a purpose except pleasure. His canines punctured her flesh and he sucked in her sweet juices. Her wound would heal, but Baleron might think her dead from the sight. Blood covered every available inch and soaked her clothing with its pigment.

The world around them seemed to react to the injustice. The once pure sand was now red with his daughter’s blood. The act of a hero was now frozen in place like a memorial to a forgotten legend. The waves fell against their bodies, but Vylrath was completely impervious to the nature around them.

[Jen]

Blood.

So very much blood for one demon to play with!

Caela's awareness came back with a vengence as her eyes focused. The blood smelled sweet to her. A soft muddled confusion fell over her as she looked around. She didn't remember any blood being spilled and it smelled fresh. A groan escaped her lips as she looked at Baleron. To offer a demon as old as Vylrath the chance to use his blood magic...

There was a moment, fleeting at best, when Caela felt remorse flood her. It only added to her confusion as she struggled to her feet, weak from the onslaught of her father. He had let her go, it had always been a sport for him -- to attack her and keep her ever on her guard. She grimaced as she rubbed her shaking arms with trembling hands. Her whole body had been contorted, muscles strung taut in an effort to obey and recoil from the powerful figure of her father.

"Baleron..."

Her voice was weak, and it was the only thing she had to say to him before Vylrath had his arms around her. She was too weak to resist him, barely a ragdoll in his arms as he began to undress her. She felt the power pulsating into her, forcing her heart to beat erratic, and her breathing to quicken. Blood was Vylrath's forte, it was something he had honed, it was something he enjoyed torturing his daughter with.

She resisted. What else could she do. She put her hands weakly against the strong lean muscle of her father's chest and pushed. Vylrath would laugh at the attempt if his mind wasn't so completely aware of the blood. As weak as Caela was she could do nothing against her father's advances, even if he hadn't used the residual waves of the blood power to further unseat her ability to function. He was a demon and he took pleasure in her pain, in her own blood, and in her protest. She felt his hands on her body and every muscle in her body recoiled, her mind screamed, but she was helpless to him. Her head lolled to the side as Vylrath's arms drew her close to him.

His voice made her tremble. He would feel that and he would know she feared him above all others as he had taught her. When Vylrath asked her a question she fought hard with reason and awareness. She should answer him if she wanted the pain and suffering to stop. Her half lidded eyes fluttered, soft red lashes glaring in the dying sunlight and haze of blood.

"Yes, Father." She wasn't exactly sure what she had answered, or if her voice had even managed to make her answer heard. Her eyes slowly began to close as she gave in to the dark void that was opening beneath her. It was safe in there, if she could just make it that far. The sweet darkness would erase the feeling of her father and his pain. It was only then that she felt his tongue and teeth.

Caela's eyes snapped open as Vylrath bit into her neck. The white dress that was now partially off one shoulder would soon be ruined by the steady flow of blood pouring from the wound her father had inflicted. Violently she pushed away from him, her blood splattering against the sand in her desperation. Dark rivulets spread down along her chest, sticking the once white garment to her young and supple body, plastering crimson against the otherwise pristine pale skin of her chest. Her shaking hands groped at her throat. She wouldn't die, they wouldn't possibly let her die, she had children! Frantic, Caela beat against her father, her small delicate hands sharp and hard against his lean chest. She could hurt him, she had to, the children!

The harder she struggled, the more blood she began to lose, and soon the entire front of Caela's dress was drenched in her own blood. Her knees gave and she buckled against her father, the warm skin of his chest pressed against her face. He smelled like blood. He always had, even when she was a child Vylrath had smelled like old dried blood. Caela's eyes began to close. She wouldn't die, she'd just bled too much. Before her eyes fully closed, however, she grabbed a handful of her father's hair and yanked sharply to get his face closer to hers.

"Your son will not be pleased." His son was a full demon and pledged to protect his mother. There was no sign yet to see what traits Vylrath had bestowed upon his fledgling son. Caela smiled briefly as she looked at her father and then felt her body relax as she slipped into total blissful unawareness.

[Vylrath]

Vylrath released Caela, only to see the horrific plot that had been forming in his mind:

Without hesitation, he forced the weight on Baleron’s body to slowly break apart every tendon, muscle, bone in his body. Screams would not be heard, since the man had been completely paralyzed. His eyes might tell the story though, for this would be one of the most painful deaths a man could conceive.
He didn’t utter a word, not even a single incantation for pursuing this horrible act of murder- he simply let his powers take the form of a vice ripping apart Baleron.

He smiled inwardly and outwardly. His smile turned into a snarl with barred fangs. The sight and smells were intoxicating and he was quickly made into a hapless killer. The Earth even seemed to change. The ground became soaked in the blood spill and the skies darkened for their current Master. Once the deed was complete, this would certainly be deemed as an unholy ground.
Vylrath cringed in pleasure, rather than fear, but he was sure Caela was doing just the opposite. Limbs began to fall on the ground like falling fruit that was too ripe. He acknowledged the severed torso and relished in the fear that still riddled the face of his victim.

Once Vylrath was complete, he walked over to the corpse and began to remove any remainder limb. The head, he would save for last. The arms and legs came off easily and any tendon hereafter. He found that his powers only made the victim’s suffering easier. It would have been a quick death. He was disappointed.
With a limb in his hand, he brought it over to Caela and spoke gently. He was still under the blood’s power.

“This is the hand that would have saved you…” said Vylrath. He bit off one of the fingers and watched the blood spray into a ruby fountain that painted her face. The color and scent would never bore him. While he ate his victim, he began to feel the man’s source of power go into him. He knew that Caela was weak and that she would also have to feast upon her “hero”.

“Eat, Love. Tonight, we dine in Hell. We should not waste such good flesh!” He would never remember his words or his actions, but he would always feel the new power that coursed in him. Now he would have the power to control blood, but he would know its weakness.

OOC: I have given "Baleron" plenty of time to respond. I have even spoken with him in Pager and he has not followed up on a post. Me and Jen have been waiting patiently. I gave him time to defend his character and even gave him an open opportunity with my character being demented. Please contact me under Yahoo Messenger for any questions. I will not have this thread bombarded with arguments.

[Jen]

It was the blood that brought her back from the void. Caela felt the warm sticky substance all over her face. A dim reminder of what happened flickered to life in her mind, but she couldn't remember the blood ever reaching her face. A soft groan escaped her lips as her eyes opened slowly. Caela had no desire to wake up, but the blood was like a lifeline to her. The island made everything primal come to the forefront. It was something she considered very hard to control even without the properties of the island. Caela had, though, controlled her demonic urges for the greater part of her life.

At first all the world was shrouded in a haze of red, but as she blinked, the red faded into the blood red hues of evening. Caela didn't realize that tears filled with blood were sliding down her face and into her hair as she lay in the sand. Her body was contorted in the strangest of positions, having been dropped by her father in his sudden lust for blood and power. A groan escaped her lips as she untwisted her body and sat upright. Her whole body felt as if she'd been pounded by heavy stones repeatedly, unceasingly, and with dire purpose. The blood all over her was mostly hers and it was stiff, binding the fabric of her dress to her skin.

"Wh...what's going on?" Her voice sounded hollow and devoid of emotion, weak with the loss of her own blood. Dark circles were already apparant under her bright feverish violet eyes and she looked like pure hell. It was only when she lifted her head and saw the vicious bloody scene, her father eating her once lover, that Caela realized what had woken her. There were vicious, hateful, horrible emotions filling her that she couldn't stop. There were things in her mind that she just couldn't control. The blood smelled so good, the flesh even better, but it was the hatred of her father that fueled any primal desire in her.

"What have you done?" Her voice croaked, as she swallowed past the dry lump in her throat. Covered in blood like she was Caela could have been the very image of a thirsty blood sucking vampire. The thought made her shudder. Those creatures couldn't appreciate the power, only the thirst. It was their way of life, it was a demon's choice. Demon's were their forefathers, the whispers in their dreams. Caela smiled a wicked, awful, contorted smile as she looked up at her father. They were better than vampires, but they were never able to stick together for very long.

The pure emotion would come out later, when she realized that Baleron's death was real. She had loved him greatly, he had been the one person not to attach himself to her to better his position. He had been a simple man with simple desires. He would have taken her children and fathered them. She felt her emotions threatening to overwhelm her. She realized, once again, she was seeing red.

"How could you?!" Caela was on her feet in an instant, picking up what appeared to have been Baleron's arm, and waving it at her father -- intent on flogging him mercilessly with the limb. She was incredibly weak, but in that moment her emotions were in control. The demon was in control.

[Nayt]

Offtopic: 'scuse me, just picking up the laundry.

"Excuse me, could you please set those down?"

A masculine voice, yet an effeminate and aged one. He had called out to them quickly, simply to alert them to lessen the progression of lost limbs! That which was eaten could not be regained, 'less a stomach was dissected, and that was a very troublesome and annoying task!

In no time at all, the two--three, if the former warrior was counted--were surrounded, almost exclusively by men and women--who all refused to speak, oddly--clad in dark cloaks, eclipsing every inch of skin. There was one not covered, however, one he refrained from such frivolous behavior--the one that had originally called out to them, no less. He, the good doctor, was an old man, a creature from some nether region in Hell that not even Sentinel himself must have heard of. The balding, frail old man stood at four feet tall and seemed devoid of any semblance of muscle or fat--skin and bones, in the most literal of senses. His face was sunken, his cheekbones were visible, and the only gaps between his skin and his bones were the wrinkles that covered every inch of his body. His eyes were shut and never seemed to open and his ears were long and drawn back to extraneous length. The good doctor was even hunched over with a bad back, and it had been quite a long time since he walked without his cane--which was, admittedly, taller than he.

Despite his obvious state as some sort of ancient, he spoke with the enthusiasm and vigor of any young man, albeit a bit higher pitched than most men, but not blatantly feminine.

The thing was, though . . . they weren't here to fight Vylrath for the obvious murder. Nope. That wasn't the intent and all. It might have come to that if he didn't oblige them, but of what use would that be? Actually quite preferable! Two corpses in one day? The old doctor could only hope for such an advantage! But alas, it was both unlikely and in the best interests of all parties involved, really, for this to go smoothly. What good was this dead body to them? Certainly none, not when considering the whole picture!

Nonetheless, they weren't here to arrest or execute anyone, they were here for the body. The remains of Baleron held interest, it seemed.

"It is not everyday that a foreigner dies on our soil, and I'd very much like to make use of this!" he remarked as a jovial observation as he motioned for his cloaked cadre to progress.

There were a lot of lives on this island, and fair ways to feel those hearts beating. And just as there were so many hearts pumping, there were so many men and women waiting for those hearts to stop. Why? Science. It was their duty to study--to study the corpse, to study death, life, and even the process of perverting Death's unholy gift to man! This land, Persistencia, was their home by choice--they came here like pilgrims escaping religious persecution, here on this amoral pleasure island to fulfill their duties to science. There were no totems to erect for their god, no statues to chisel, but they had their holy books, and the WORDS of God for they who sought refuge on this island could be summarized into three simple terms: logic, mathematics, and opportunity.

The good doctor did have a stone statue of the "number" pi, though. It hardly counted as a totem or religious product, but it was pretty neat.

He paid them no heed, in the end. Regardless of their response to his and his team's presence, the good doctor's intentions were the same: the collection of the corpse. A heart stopped beating, and they mobilized rather quickly--and here they were, dark coated men intruding on the scene to, quite literally, take hold of every limb they could hold, especially the head, for that was the most valuable! And they did . . . quickly. The whole process was rushed, really, but they were very . . . thorough. No limb would be left behind if the good doctor had his way, even if he personally had to commit to a tug of war with the demonic female for the arm of the former warrior!

"Oh, apologies for the interruption. We can be out of your way in just a moment, once we have those remains. If it is a meal you were looking for, I assure you that we have vastly superior dishes for tastes like your own. Perhaps even an inclusive brandy, if you will! I'm quite certain that there is no better taste than human thigh meat spiced with peppers and slow cooked in margarine, vinegar, and garlic cloves!" the old doctor exclaimed enthusiastically, "And, of course, as you know, there is a party within the Palace of Vice celebrating the re-birthday of our dearest Eroina. If you inform the chefs of Doctor Geraldign's order, our best chefs will deliver to your table our finest human meat delicately cooked, with an forty year aged bottle of brandy--yours to keep, I might add! Now, if you'll excuse me, we'll be taking those remains."

[Vylrath]

Vylrath felt the heaviness of his deed: he began to see the world turn into utter darkness and voices seemed in another place and time. His old self was slowly returning and with that came his exhaustion. His body fell limp when the men descended upon his destruction of Baleron.

He fell into a darkness that he could not fight- he was having conflicts with his demonic force. Caela would have to speak to the strange men requesting the remains of Baleron. Vylrath wouldn’t care. The old demon had gorged on the power infesting Baleron. Like a great python, he had had his fill. The power was slowly becoming accustomed to its new Master.

His veins pulsed with a great newness. Baleron’s power not only gave him a surge of strength, but it also affected his appearance: he was getting younger. His face was no longer of an old man, but slowly it contorted to a version Caela would not recognize.

Was he becoming a full demon, finally? No. It was something different, something he had never experienced and maybe these men, this Doctor, would have an explanation.

Demons didn’t riddle in Science or common sense. Demons only took what they could- they relished in the idea of pillaging village after village and gaining influence and power. Maybe this new “Science” would interest Vylrath, but the answer would have to come from his daughter who relentlessly beat him with Baleron’s “good” arm.
He lay in a useless pile at Caela’s feet. It would appear as if the old demon slept in content.

[Jen]

The shock on Caela's face would be priceless. It was a mask of a disgruntled demoness, horrified lover, and one incredibly confused woman. Her mouth was parted, just slightly, inhaling the fumes of the blood and gore. She barely had enough strength to weild the arm of her lover, and then the tiny wisp of a man appeared. Just appeared, out of what to her seemed like nowhere! She eyed the little man as if sizing him up, but with less aggression than she showed her father...whom promptly collapsed at her feet. Caela pursed her lips. Men! Gods, but what good were they for anything?!

Her attention, once divided, now diverted to the doctor. He was cute, in a morbid skull loving sort of way. He had a power about him, an authority, and a sense of his own limits that made him very interesting to the young woman. Caela could have gotten on her knees and fallen just shy of the old man's chin -- he was that small! As it were he barely came up to her breasts, and the idea amused her greatly for no other reason than she could feel the tension unravelling in her bones and muscles. The little man was so very interesting to her that Caela could deny him nothing and, with the oddest expression on her face, walked over the few steps toward him and plopped Baleron's useless hand -- with the extension of his arm of course, into the old man's hands. It was a sort of morbid, if highly amusing, hand shake of sorts.

Suddenly aware of how she must look, Caela blushed -- though it might be hard to see any of it under the spray of blood covering her face, neck, and entire front. Her dress was ruined thanks to her no good lout of a father. She felt quite a fool for this whole scene and was dimly aware as she watched the old man, seeing the reflection of his hooded assistants in his eyes, that the gore was being cleaned from the beach. She felt she should say something but the old man's offer, in a quite jovial and grandfatherly sense, of food found her mouth hanging in a very inappropriate manner. She worked her jaw a little, her lips trying to convey what her befuddled mind had to offer. Of course, just when such things like speech are truely needed, the brain completely disconnects from the ability!

"I-I-I.." Caela stuttered and shut her mouth. Good grief, what a bumbling fool she was making of herself! Attempting to give herself some semblance of dignity, she bowed from the waist to the man. She let go of Baleron's arm in the process, realizing she still held it in her grasp. The effort of her bow, however, dislodged some of the stuck on dress her father had so lovingly torn from her body. She felt the fabric start to slide to expose her chest, but the blood had dried true and the fabric stopped -- exposing a great deal of Caela's clevage. Mortified she straightened and tried to piece the ruined dress back together.

"Oh for the love of..." With the last bit of fight draining from her, Caela sat in a huff on the sand at the good Doctor's feet. Tears welled up in her pretty violet eyes. "You must think me a great big fool. I do apologize for this mess my father has caused." Caela gestured at the heap of Vylrath, unceremoniously drooling in the sand. He was younger and more handsome now, but the comprehension of that would dawn later. At the moment he looked like a drunk lunatic having a go at a young woman and her lover. Except the lover, well, he didn't fare so well.

"I don't eat human flesh, I am sorry you got that impression." Looking quite miserable Caela looked up at the old man and had the oddest urge to just hug him. She wasn't sure why, but she attributed it to the essence of this strange island.

[Baleron87]

Baleron was gone from this place. In another place he now rested, but it seemed as if higher workings had plans for him, and death would not keep him from his destiny. All that was him was laid strewn on the beach, currently being collected by the stead-fast devotees of the island. It would have been the last time the thought of Baleron would ever cross Vylrath's mind, but the manner he died in subjected the demon to in unavoidable curse, the same that had plagued the sorry young teenager when he had first come into his power.

What Vylrath would feel was nothing. That was how it had manifested for him, and it was how it would manifest for the demon now curled on the ground. His skin would not change, but Vylrath's sense of touch would disappate. His mouth would dry, but he could not taste. His heart would close, and he would not feel. For a human, the memories of love, hate, and those emotions considered human would be still retained, and could therefore be acted upon. But, those afflicted by the Blood Curse had no true, real feelings. How this would affect a demon, who acted upon instinct alone, was yet to be decided, but it went without saying that Vylrath's way of percieving the world had been drastically changed due to his inability to foresee the consequences.

The bearer of the Blood Curse, now Vylrath, and once Baleron and countless creatures before him, could not help but notice and feel one distinctive pang of regret as the power closed in around them.

They were now truly alone.

[Nayt]

Whilst Caela collapsed and addressed the good doctor, he merely ogled her pleasingly! What a peaceful ogle he had, a content, benevolent, yet curious stare that begged for more information. Whether or not he ogled her while her shirt was down was undecided, even to himself! Following this, he passed a glance and a smile to his associates, who busily collected the fallen parts of the former warrior. This was to be a fairly expansive task, all things considered. It seemed he had quite a bit of parts, and Vylrath had been fairly effective in dislodging and removing them all! While it made collection a bit of a bloody mess, experiments were simplified by this.

They took everything. If it was covered in blood, wasn't bolted down, and wasn't another living person (Vylrath and Caela, of course!), it was fair game for them. This included all of Baleron's belongings, which were scattered around him at the time of his untimely semi-permanent death. One of which was his bag, an article of his which contained numerous documents of research regarding a vast number of things! Well, not really. As one of the hooded assistants sifted through it with gloved hands, he found that Baleron wasn't all that well read of a man, and may have, in fact, been considered eternally unintelligent in comparison to the good doctor!

Then again, so were most everyone else. But he was a humble man--and a good man!--and boasted not of his intellect. Everyone in pursuit of science were equal in his eyes, and everyone who did not pursue science . . . well, the scientists could at least make a neat gun for them!

Baleron did have a fair amount of research and reading material on this blood curse (and corresponding "blood gift") concept, and figuring that it might prove either interesting or useful, the hooded assistant kept it on hand. He also had Baleron's hands--one of which had been handed to him by the good doctor, and having this bag and two hands in his own hands had the potential to become awfully handy!

Unfortunately, that was the old demon Vylrath's only hope of ridding himself of a recently obtained talent and linked flaw--but alas, such was life!

"Ah, I see, I see! Well, I certainly suggest giving it a try!" declared the old doctor to Caela, regarding the topic of . . . eating . . . human beings . . . "There are quite a variety of exquisite flavors throughout the body! Yes, yes, for example! Do you see this?"

For example's sake, he pointed to Baleron's torso, held up by one of the numerous hooded assistants. As if knowing exactly what the good doctor spoke of, he turned the headless, armless, legless, hipless torso to show its side, and ripped at the clothing enough to reveal the side of the ribcage, covered in muscle and skin. Baleron was a well fed and exercised man, that was for sure!

"You see this part of this body? It always seems that no matter what you do to it, it is as tender as any prepared meat can get! Simply apply a few slight spices, slow cook for three hours within a bath of mixed vegetables, herbs, and very mild spices, and it you won't go back to pork again! Simply a delicious combination of flavors! If you like, I can have an assistant provide you and your companion a book of recipes I composed. I call it "How to Serve Man." Yes, yes, a wonderful set of recipes I have."

For a moment, he thought of nothing beyond that, going silent to think of some of the more obtuse recipes he had collected over the years. Between his pursuits of science, the good doctor Geraldign had sought out and tasted so many different foods, and hadn't gained a single pound from all of his efforts. All the food he wanted without the guilt!

"Doctor Geraldign," one of his assistants called his name to get his attention.

"Oh, right, right! The party! I get so carried away in conversation sometimes! Once again, I sincerely apologize once more for the interruption," he'd have bowed if it wouldn't have broken his back, "But now, I must adjourn from your good company to return to the Gala. You are sincerely invited to join, yourself and your companion. I do suggest cleaning up a bit first, though, but we have facilities for that!"

[Vylrath]

He was slowly waking up from the constant voices around him. His eyes fluttered wildly and he sat upright wide-eyed. The flesh before him became mouth-watering and he had to hold himself back. The woman next to him was unfamiliar. He didn’t recognize her scent, or even her face.

“Did my Mother send you? Who are you? Have you come to work for my Father?” asked a young, scared Vylrath. He realized in shock that he was not in his mother’s safe house- he was stranded on some strange land. The odd men collecting the tantalizing flesh, spoke as if he understood him. It was a strange and comforting realization- was this person someone he should know?

“Where am I? I demand an answer!”

In Vylrath’s mind, he was still home and awaiting news from the outside world. His uncle had just launched an attack on their kingdom and his father was forced to fight. His attention quickly turned to Caela, whom he realized was creating the awful stench.

“Is this the best scum my father could afford? You’re nothing but a half-naked wench! Did you just come off the battle-field?” He scoffed at her and peered at her awkward clothing. Even though he had been a short man when he was grown, he was now even shorter- he was just below the height of an avaerage sixteen year old.

[Jen]

Peculiar, thats just what the island was! Caela tilted her head, her eyes averted to the doctor's face as he explained the finer points of cannibalism. Of course, Caela had no interest at all in eating her once lover, but it was very hard not to listen to the old man. He had an air about him that just begged attention. The young woman attempted not to stare but, well, he was cute for an old wrinkly skeleton of a man. His intelligence, Caela finally decided, was what made him seem so enticing. Not edible, heavens no, that old man wouldn't go down right with a vat of butter and grease. He was far too bony and angular for that. Caela found her thoughts drifting to where his were and shook her head. He did have quite the presence about him.

"I will consider your proposal, sir. And...well...if I might ask. What are you going to do with Baleron's body?" Under normal circumstances it would have fallen on her to gather all the pieces, big or small, and bury them in a ceremony of sorts. She had loved the man after all. She didn't exactly want him to become the next course set before ravenous patrons.

"Sir, I apologize again for keeping you." Caela smiled as she turned her attention back to the doctor. She rose to her feet, towering over the old man, and feeling quite self concious about it. He could, well, sit and see straight up her torn dress and all. Considering his fragile body she wondered if he sat at all, or if he broke any bones when he did so. Caela smiled at the man again, sure that this island would drive her mad eventually. "I have children to tend to, but I may make an appearance at the event."

It was then that Vylrath woke. Caela pressed her fingers to her forehead in an attempt not to slap his freshly youthful face off his skull. Even as a young man he still had the sour attitude of someone without any manners at all. The fact that he didn't know her, recognize her scent, or desire her in any way was almost a relief to the young woman. She squatted in front of the half demon that was her father and patted his cheek, rather roughly one might notice, and then spoke. Her voice was like honey and she was acutely aware of how much taller she was than him. He smelled good for one such as her, he was of her own blood after all.

"Well, it seems you've lost your mind finally. Its good that you don't remember any of this. If it weren't for the good Doctor having to clean up your mess, I may have added to it. I wouldn't want to make a scene though." Was there any doubt as to why Vylrath had lusted after his daughter? Even covered in blood she was the picture of beauty and elegance, even if highly seductive. She was, for many a purpose, simply a succubus -- she just chose not to feed off the souls of men. She was better than that, better than her father. Although his soul was incredibly tempting and his life was just within...

Caela moved her hand from her father's throat and rose to her feet. She dusted her hands off on the remains of her dress and bowed to the Doctor one last time before excusing herself and beginning the walk back to her room with her children. Before getting far she turned to Vylrath and quirked one slender brow perched above excruciatingly beautiful violet eyes.

"Well, are you coming?" The question was directed at Vylrath. He was obviously with her -- even if she hadn't bothered to tell him anything about himself or fill him in on the milennia that had passed.

------

"Excuse me."

A small voice behind the large group of gathered people spoke up. When no one in particular paid the voice any heed, it coughed, and tried again.

"Excuse me!"

It was a small but very commanding voice. Its host was a rather tiny creature with long wheat blond hair, bright green eyes, and skin the color of fresh cream. It was a very fine specimen of what appeared to be a seven year old child. She had a long green linen dress on and a pair of matching shoes. For all the world she looked as if she'd just stumbled out of the woods, in fact there were a few leaves in her hair.

Her eyes got huge when they surveyed the scene, as if she'd never seen any sort of carnage at all, but then for a girl of only seven summers -- why should she? She cleared her throat and took a few steps forward into the gathered group, averting her eyes from the bloody sand. At least the body parts were gone and she couldn't see them.

"I am looking for Vylrath Xanathi." It was a simple statement and the little girl looked quite bewildered to have found herself on a beach, near blood drenched people.

"Kahlan Lothair, Queen of Ulster, has sent me. I am his daughter Igraine." The little girl blinked matter of factly, as if all the world should know this.