Thread: Blood by the Cross (Morathor/Hamadryad)

Her knock was answered by a melodious voice. Come in. As she opened the door, the man continued, It's Adalene, isn't it? The Baron's chambers were darker than even the rest of the Manse, lit not by torches but by rows of candelabras along the walls, plus one on the writing desk that stood opposite the door. The desk was piled high with books and ledgers, two of them open in front of the heavy oaken chair that was, at the moment, vacant. Against the wall behind the desk, between two of the candelabras, was a tall bookshelf, packed tightly with what looked to be more ledgers. To Adalene's right was a second door. She did not have to go through it to know where it led a month in the Manse had given her a good enough sense of where she was, and besides, she had seen the other side of it. It led to the ballroom, the very one where the Baron had hosted one of his magnificent parties the night before. Adalene had been called on, very briefly, to bring wine to some of the guests she had not seen the Baron, but the head maid had intimated that the Baron had seen her, and had as a result inquired about her, requested to meet her. She did not seem to see this as a good thing. On the left half of the room, the wooden planks gave way to smooth stone tiles--black marble, with swirls of light grey. There was a recess in the floor, in the near left corner, with steps leading down into it. From the vases, towels, and bottles massed around it, as well as the dampness of the floor at the bottom, it seemed to be a bath of sorts. It was easily large enough for five people to lay in it at once. Of a similar size was the bed in the far left corner. It was enormous, round, and draped with shimmering crimson sheets. Just looking at them called to mind an impossibly smooth texture sliding across the skin. This was especially easy to imagine, as the sheets had slid from the two figures laying in the bed, showing quite a lot of milky skin. The discarded finery around the bed told Adalene these had been guests attending last nights party, who had apparently attended the Baron a while longer. But the Baron himself was nowhere to be seen. At least, not until the door swung shut behind Adalene--not with a creak and a bang, but with a quiet swish and a sharp click. And then the Baron, or a man she had to assume was the Baron, circled around in front of her. He had to be over six feet tall, a tower of a man. At first glance, the paleness of his hair might have put doubt into the rumors of the Baron's youth, but on closer inspection it was a pale, glossy blond, nearly white--not silver, but platinum. It hung in loose locks, shorter at the front around his temples, falling to the nape of his neck in the back. His features were indeed youthful and delicate one might go so far as to say girlish. It seemed Adalene's choice of a risque dress was a wise one, if the Baron's own garb was any indication of his tastes. His white silk shirt hung open, completely exposing his chest and stomach. Although his physique was lean, each muscle was so clearly defined it might as well have been cut with a chisel. Combined with the paleness of his skin, only a thin sheen of sweat distinguished him from a work of marble, lovingly sculpted by some Florentine master. Below the waist, the Baron wore black breeches, and no shoes. Large brown eyes, nearly black, peered down at Adalene from his pale face. A gentle smile played on his lips, but those dark, inscrutable eyes made his mood impossible to decipher. Finally he said, Welcome, Adalene. His low, steady tenor seemed to invoke a clarinet, more than a human voice.