World of Crystals > Solaufein's Hunger

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Last edited by Aurora on 2009-05-30 10:59:26

Solaufein's Hunger

By Aurora

There was a stark silence that was so very oppressive about the Underground. And this Elf, this beautiful red-haired Elf that sat alone at his desk in scarlet silk finery, contemplating a tome by candlelight, was not used to such silence, even now. Certainly, there was the trickle of the underground stream as it deposited its water into pond next to the small tower in which he sat. There was the nightly cacophony of the bloodsucking bats as they flew up through the passage to the surface for their nightly hunt. And there was the occasional sound of subterranean predators vying for dominance or territory nearby. However, those were nothing like the sounds of the forests he had known his entire life. There was a sinister edge in this place, a lurking horror within every low, imperceptible rush of air. And above all, the oppressive dread of stillness. The Elf did not think he would ever grow used to it.

Of course, even if his psyche had not fully adjusted to the change in environment, his body had already had in other ways, for some time now. His already fair skin was growing paler by the day, and his eyes were favoring less candlelight as well. Soon, he would be like the rest of them, cowering from Larenthia's light. He was already spending less and less time in the grove above, during the daylight hours, leaning toward nocturnal sojourns instead.

So be it. He had always rather preferred the night anyway, truth be told.

He dipped the quill in ink and began to take down notes on a sheet of parchment in an exquisite, somewhat ostentatious script, when the front door creaked open. The Elf did not have to look up to know who it was; he'd already felt the familiar aura approaching, that subtle sense of otherworldly sensuality, the smell of musk that so enflamed his senses.

"I have returned, Master," his companion purred in a deep, velvet-like voice, wrapping smooth, slender arms about his shoulders, pale as the stars far above them. The Elf smiled faintly, still engrossed in his studies, but said nothing in reply. A soft hand, crowned by long, glassy fingernails, slid down his arm, and the Elf found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on the book in front of him. The aura grew stronger, filled with yearning and lust, and the Elf sighed. He stroked the hand, but gently removed it from his arm.

"I am occupied with more important things, at the moment." The aura dimmed and there was a faint whimper of disappointment." The Elf smiled once more. "Perhaps later."

"Very well, Master. I shall prepare supper." Then the aura was gone, leaving only the lingering scent of musk stirred in the air by the swish of a long, thin, leathery tail.

The Elf had not truly intended it to be a permanent arrangement, in all honesty. He was a powerful sorcerer, and had been fully intent on spending his days furthering his craft, exploring the possibilities and potential power sources in his new subterranean home. But then, one night, he was bored, and performed a rite of summoning. It was only to last for one night, to sate the baser urges that distracted him from his ongoing work of rebuilding his library. However, the Elf found himself oddly attached to the demon. There was a binding--simple, really, for a mage of his profound ability--and then Valas was his.

He soon discovered that there were other, more practical benefits to having a deeply enamored incubus around. Valas seemed to take a perverse sort of pleasure in the mundane chores his master set for him. Tedious household tasks the Elven mage normally left to cantrips, the creature took up without hesitation. At this point, he was convinced Valas would remain even if he tried to set him free.

And he had to admit, there was something undeniably amusing about watching the demon tending the vegetable garden above, all the while humming to himself the Elven songs he'd taught him.

So the Elf had found a sort of domestic bliss, as bizarre as it was. And, of course, when things got too boring, she would turn up. He smiled at that. She, and her people, was why he had embarked on this very project in the first place. They were his people now, after all, even if they, in their fully justified hatred of his pale skin, could not know it. And she was his beloved Queen, though he could only aid her from afar.

The mage set his quill down, and found himself lingering on a particular passage, even as the delicious scent of simmering meat and vegetables tweaked his growling stomach. The book he was studying so intently was a compilation of Lunarian legends, and had cost him a small fortune. It was worth every piece of gold, however. As a matter of professional curiosity, he had grown to possess a fascination with the magical systems of other races. Theirs were naturally inferior to the magic of the Elves, of course, but could nonetheless serve their purpose from time to time. Lunarian magic in particular interested in him because of the sheer number of artifacts it seemed to have produced. Perhaps it was because they too were a long lived race, but only the Elves had produced more objects of power--a great deal of those destroyed, of course, lost in the Sundering Wars. Therein lay the problem. The Elf, being of his station, had managed to smuggle a number of Elven devices and artifacts with him underground. However, he craved more--to serve the Queen he held dear, and of course bring glory to his own name in the process.

So, like any mage worth his salt, he set about gathering data. Perhaps there was something the Lunarians created that would aid his compatriots. The words that had so drawn him in spoke of a set of crystals. That was nothing new to him, however; even before the Descent, there were whispers of a great power in the depths of the earth. What they didn't know, of course, and would not until the banishment, was that those crystals lay far deeper below that land which they claimed, in the molten depths, and were lodged firmly in the ugly hands of the Dwarves.

No, what intrigued the Elf was that this passage spoke of a second set of crystals. Crystals which held the power of those elements he was far more familiar with: Earth, Air, Fire, and Water. He turned the brittle pages with care, eagerly reading on. Apparently, the way to an even greater power would open, if one united the Crystals of Above and Below.

"Well, isn't that interesting?" he mused absently to himself. With such a power, it would likely be child's play to finally wipe the squat little devils from the lower depths and claim it, if they so chose. They could likely even take revenge on those Elves that remained on the surface. But, that was thinking small.

This Elf never thought small.

He carefully shut the book, then rose from the desk to investigate the wonderful smells coming from the kitchen, in the next room. Valas was bent over a cooking pot on the fire, and in such a position the usual tight leather pants he wore covered even less of his shapely, toned flesh than they normally did, leaving little to the imagination; his legs seemed to go on forever, particularly when sheathed in those boots, which came to his thighs. The Elf studied the paradox of taut musculature and almost feminine curves as intently as any volume in his library, and found the picture not entirely unpleasant to look at. His own breeches of red silk grew uncomfortably tight.

"What do you think, Master?" the demon purred with a vain swish of his tail, and the Elf was not entirely certain which thing he was referring to.

"I think it's delightful. And I find myself terribly famished."

Valas laughed, a rich, sensuous sound that his master rather adored. "Would you like a taste?" he asked demurely.

"I would like more than a simple taste. But, that may do for now," the Elf replied. Valas stood upright, bearing a wooden spoon filled with a thick dark broth. The demon obediently sauntered to him, raising the spoon to the sorcerer's lips. He drained it, and, as usual, Valas had outdone himself. It was rich and savory, with a hint of wine. Where on earth an incubus of all things would learn to cook like that, the Elf had no idea, but even were it not for his other storied gifts, that alone would be worth keeping him for.

"Have I pleased you, Master?" Valas' voice had that faint hint of pleading to it, as it always did when he asked that question, and the Elf found it rather endearing.

"Of course you have, melamin," he answered in approval, lightly placing his hands on the creature's hips. "When have you not? I sup like a king every night."

Valas' pouting lips curled into a sensual smirk, his solid black eyes smoldering as he leaned in close, pressing against him. "Shall I serve you, then? It's ready."

The Elf waved a hand, uttering a quiet phrase, and the spoon returned to its pot. And that simple act took more than a fair bit of concentration, with his senses so overwhelmed by Valas. He lightly kissed the soft lips that were so dangerously close to his own. "Yes," the Elf agreed, letting his hands wander. "And after that, we shall eat the soup."

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