Thread: Oaths Twice Writ, Thrice Sworn (Umbrale & Erit)

Footsteps fell like flowing water, silent upon the polished wood floors of House Memoiri one foot after another. Akasha, while the giver of magic to mages, was not the penultimate god. Nicknamed the Will of it, the being was to most others as humans were ants. But, it was not the creator of magic, only the means to use it in those not born of it. For creatures, both in this world, and the neighboring planes, were birthed inherently of that power, that mysterious energy laced throughout the natural world. Some were called monsters, others called demons, a near-endless rattling of the tongue could name of entity after entity, brought, born, or crafted into this world. For mages that required servants of uniqueness, one could call upon the denizens of other planes, craft artificial life through careful formulas and devices, or form covenants with the races. Although it was more rare, some of the more influential magical bloodlines formed preferences to the beings they affiliated themselves with, and with such contact over the years, that magic would intertwine with the genetic makeup and formation of the families themselves. Totems along the lesser-blood would become more similar, and the expertise in a given span of magic would take new form. The highbloods, that is the more royal of the familiar, would have far more diversity, the latent power supposed in their blood being more volatile than that of the subsequently distant relatives. The familiarity and tradition of such practices with certain familiars and styles of minions would often times lead to the summoning of those beings, into this world. Magic so simply flowing within their veins, at a beck and call unlike the lifeline that mages had to call upon they were powerful pawns in this world. But, unless contracted, they were still born of free will and purpose. Mortal, they weren't alikened to fairy tales and fantasy-novels, if slain, no essence would flee back to their birthplace. Of course, to enslave a being such as that, was to make an enemy one wouldn't want put upon themselves. And if the owner were to die, well, the vengeance of a magical entity upon their family was all the more appetizing for it. With that being the case, such high-blood Houses were often to send with the call an invitation blood a bonding of human and other races into a combination of power and form. The houses that did so thusly infused their bloodlines with power unlike that of Akasha, of totems and Inheritors, giving them the direction connection to the flows of magic so natural to arcane beings. Typically, households lent these blood-ties to a flagship entity, and as to Memoiri, that was the race of Primal Fey. Fey, of course, were nature spirits, born of the latent magic of Earth, and typically intertwined with elements of wherever they called home. Primal Fey, on the other hand, were born of raw magic, creatures of aspects and qualities that they chose, shaping their bodies into forms calling homage to creatures of the natural world, but with no particular attachments to peace, prosperity, and the preservation. While not evil, they were of a more free-willed, individual nature than that of the happy-go-lucky-pixie-dust-fey of nice-ness. Beings of such will and freedom, from the chaos of the magic they were born, lived life for the experience, the rush, the wonder of it all. In being born unto the blood of the Memoiri, the following descendants had varying degrees of transformations to themselves. Tails, horns, wings, animalistic attributes that gave them advantages in many ways, alongside the gift of natural magic. In some they were more profound, in others, not even apparent. Did I not ask for breakfast, specifically, of you, yesterday? A sullenly-sweet voice called from behind the armchair of which Chase used to prop his book-buried nose upon. Of course, there was only one such female that requested such a thing, and her lips twitched up into a tiny, side-smirking curvature. Glittering deep blue pools of crystal opalescence, matched in their deepness by the faintest crackling of lightning on the pupil, twinkled with merry smugness, as they rounded the chair into sight. For one so high-and-mighty sounding, Alesia Val'En Concord Memoiri did not rock the typical sight of high-end life. Rather, much the opposite, were the flannel loose-bottoms and simple white workman's -top any such example. In fact, she looked positively like some lazy bumalbeit without a blemish of dirt, who had found an empty room, took a nap, and then set out to explore. Of course, that was only if someone was blind, deaf, and devoid of smell. After all, it was hard to miss someone who sported twin tails of midnight-black fur, shot through with the thinnest lines of a brilliant azure. Those topped the smooth curvature of a heart-shaped posterior, sitting high on long, taught legs. While such a simple top did little to accentuate or define a form, there was still the definite--although mindfully not large-- mounds of a female chest, but the opposite side of her body sprouted better wonders. For from just behind the shoulder-blades arched out medium-sizedwhere medium was related to about three feet long from top-curve-to-tip, wings of the same strikingly smooth twilight fur. Only along the upper bone structure was there still a strike-through of lightning-tinged blue. From near where those cutting eyes peered, was the smooth crescent curve of a chin and jawline, among a slender and pale complexion, leading to a rather shortfor feminine standards of the time cut of hair, wherein the left side was brushed back smooth, while the other arched to the right in a more brilliant expanse of that stand-outish color. To top it off, from the top of that head of hair jutted two twitching, short ears of the Canid variety. From her presence of opulence and simultaneous casualness, also rolled the soft scent of something similar to cinnamon, if it was dashed through with the sugary-sweetness of honey. And to think, had you not only seem to forgotten, but you so simply recline to read a story?, she teased again, eyes sparkling with the knife-edged jest that was only held when speaking to someone you had the right to boss around. Last edited Jun 4, 2018