VIOLENCE & MADNESS

[ivoryacdblood]

penned by celine * more under the cut

The impulsive Crown prince of Maharaj Karikalan and Maharani Hirabai. He wants to be a noble reformer but has violent rages when things don't go his way. Tried to outlaw ivory one day, and stabbed a tiger the next.

[ read more here. ] & contact via discord for plots!

[moonvcils]

sumitra turned away from the prince's gaze if only to make sure he did not see the way she rolled her eyes under her mask. sometimes she forgot the man she was dealing with, and his constant changing temper and attitude. one she had centered herself - or really, mentally prepared for this conversation to continue - sumitra turned back to look at him, her playful smirk back on her face.

"oh i am sure there is plenty we can get up to. we're trapped within a palace full of nobles with years of history and conflict. one word could potentially cause an interaction so intense and entertaining, we would not be bored the remainder of our time in here." noting her glass was empty, sumitra replaced it with a filled one from a passing staff member. "if we can figure out their triggers, that is. which i feel confident tonight could help glean some insight on that."

at the mention of a funeral, she made sure to take on the visage of a mourning wife. the black attire she wore could imply such a thing, when really she knew it was what looked best on her. "yes it was held before we came here. and i made sure to decorate it to his liking. while the day was difficult, he is finally at rest." thank goodness.

[ivoryacdblood]

Navghan let out a short, amused snort, arms crossed as he regarded her. "Huh. So you did it. Decorated, mourned, all that nonsense. Fine. Rested, whatever. Doesn’t really matter to me, does it? People die, things get done, that’s all that counts.'

He shifted his weight, leaning slightly forward, eyes narrowing as he studied her. "I suppose it takes some skill to manage all that… pomp and nonsense, keep it looking proper. Not that I care about the details, but… points for effort, I guess."

A crooked grin tugged at his lips, one that only appeared for show now that he noticed people glancing in their direction. "Just make sure none of it slows you down when there’s actually something worth handling. Nobles squabbling, palace politics… that’s the real game. Everything else is just background noise." He was assured that he had made himself ever so clear.

He straightened again, chest forward, voice carrying easily across the room. "So keep your head straight, figure out what actually matters, and don’t screw it up. That's all." A faux smile decorated his features, a friendly curt response that was layered with a thinly veiled threat.

[amritavalli]

The timber of his voice sends a small burst of current down the synapses along her spine, and her body quivers before she can stop it. She feels the heat of Navghan's body against her skin dancing with her own, the invisible wisps of their souls tangling themselves into a singular entity. Warmth pools just beneath her navel and she's distinctly aware of him — of his physicality — all at once. The sharp, rugged planes of his countenance cast in chiaroscuro from the light of a lone candle. The subtle shift in his jaw as he clenches and unclenches it. The flutter of his eyelashes against his dark complexion.

You want a God who bleeds for you. Who suffers because of you. Don't you?

What is a God ruined by the touch of a human? And how would it feel to be the very mortal body to which such an indomitable force mellows and yields to?

She imagines him on his knees, face pressed into the soft flesh of her belly. Imagines his hot, trailing breath leaving condensation on her skin as his fingers dig into the back of her thighs, almost begging. Imagines running her fingers through his hair with a tenderness — then tugging his head away by the wisps of his hair with a sudden, strange, and sickening cruelty she could never conceive herself capable of in reality.

Instead, she settles for reaching out with measured slowness to tuck an invisible strand of hair behind his ear. Good boy. In the momentary lull of his anger, she can trace the outlines of her beloved husband again, his beguiling sentimentality shaped like a hopeful promise — one she clings to with fervent devotion. One powerful enough to render all his infractions meaningless in the jury of her mind. In all of its complexity — ugly and beautiful, harsh and gentle — his tyranny concedes such a lovely home for a ruined heart, she thinks.

You'd burn down the whole kingdom just the be sure the flames still kissed your skin. But damn me, if I don't love the fire.

And if she wanted to set the kingdom on fire, would he not light the match for her? Wrongs already forgotten, forgiveness already handed out without question, she leans in, letting her fingers splay out against the side of his skull, her touch so light she wonders if it tickles.

"My, better not let our neighbours hear you," she murmurs, applying a gentle pressure on his neck to pull him closer, until their noses brush and she can see her desperation in the reflection in his eyes — the visceral desire to stand in the heart of the fire and relinquish everything worldly, to let her body fold under the pressures of his designs.

With the smallest tilt of her head, their lips meet, though barely. In the fraction of hesitation as she holds his gaze, she seeks not permission, but finally, complete and utter submission.

[ivoryacdblood]

Navghan didn’t move at first, letting the scant breath between them stretch taut like a drawn bowstring. Her touch in his hair, the tilt of her head, the ghost of a kiss; it was deliberate provocation, and he could feel the pulse of it under his skin. His gaze held hers, dark and unflinching, the kind of heat that didn’t just threaten to burn but promised to. Like the ebb and flow of crashing waves, it was as if the fire had been quelled by lapping water.

"Patni," he said, his voice low, roughened with something unguarded, "you've got a talent for lighting fires you can’t control." His hand came up to cup her jaw, fingers rough and certain, thumb brushing the line of her cheekbone with deceptive care. Old habits died hard. The manner in which the weight of his palm was distributed told a different story, this was possession, not mercy. Yet ... there was still a lingering tenderness that was unspoken between the pair.

He leaned in until their foreheads nearly touched, his breath mingled with hers. "If you want submission…" His grip shifted, fingers threading into her hair, holding her there. "…take it from me. But I won’t make it easy."

Only then did he close the gap, his lips caught hers in something slow and deliberate. Not a kiss so much as a claim. He drew it out, letting the pressure build, letting her feel the full intent behind it before deepening it. His other hand slid to her waist, fingers splayed, pulling her flush until her body fit against his like it belonged there. The kiss was heat and restraint tangled together, his mouth moving with a hunger that tested the line between control and surrender. He felt the hitch of her breath, the faint give beneath his teeth when he pulled back for just a heartbeat; only to find her again, as though returning to her was inevitable. This was always how the unraveling began.

When he finally pulled back, their lips still brushed, his voice dropped to a near-growl. "I'll burn it all with you," he murmured, words vibrating against her mouth. A faint, almost dangerous smile curved at the edges of his lips. "Make no mistake. I own the burn you crave."

[sharvanibhatti]

Oh, great. The psycho had arrived. The only thing lacking from Navghan's sudden appearance had probably been the blaring sound of warning trumpets, alerting the poor, unfortunate souls to his arrival. How Amrita put up with him without resorting to more unsavory acts had been a surprise to her. But, perhaps he had been good to her sister -- she just did not think most men capable of being decent. A scorned woman made even the devil run from her sight.

she tolerated the Nasra'il men for her sister's sake, though she'd long wished to flee their wretched court.

"Poison, most likely." Sharvani retorted, dark hues fixing upon the speck of black soot, glistening with a crimson undertone. That did not appear healthy. Or safe. Ah, it spoke again and she had been reminded exactly as to why she had disliked the male. But, her smile remained as approachable and friendly as ever, a serpent too accustomed to play the venomous games. "Amrita does not sulk and she certainly does not hide. If she had a vanishing act performed for you, there ought to be a reason." Amrita could probably deal with his annoying temper -- Shiva beloved, why did men always thing the earth's axis tipped to their favor, rotating around the Sun's scorching orb just to please them and perpetuate their measly lives?

why were men so boringly predictable and egocentric? perhaps because they lacked true intelligence to see their own lack of worth.

The saccharine smile returned to her softly painted lips. If the council asks for a boon, she already knew the name she'll be jotting down as a willing sacrifice. Well, in fact she had had quite a few number of individuals she wouldn't mind selling off to whatever malevolent energy the -- what was his name again? Malnoctio? Maleficio? -- was. Did it even matter what it had been? Maybe he would be her salvation. "We might. Or we might find this be a humane jest. I am not inclined to think highly of these cardinals. They seem a bothersome ilk. As if they know more than they wish to say." Sharvani did not trust them as far as she could throw them.

then again, she trusted no man.

[ivoryacdblood]

Navghan hummed, clearly not absorbing half of what she'd said, or maybe he had, and simply didn't care enough to acknowledge it. "Mm. Poison. Sounds dramatic. I like it." He brushed ash from his sleeve, eyes still tilted toward the sky as though the rest of the world existed on a different plane entirely.

"Cardinals, divine jests, whatever; none of them matter if they don't bleed." He crouched again near the bloom, fingertips ghosting over its edge. "If the heavens want to punish us, I'll make sure they send someone worth my time. God, devil… doesn't matter. I just want the fight to be interesting."

His tone barely shifted as he added, "If Amrita's gone, she'll come back when she's ready. Or she won't. People do that. It's not complicated." He flicked the leaf aside, gaze sharpening for a fleeting second. "And as for the court? I don't care if it collapses under your feet tomorrow. I’ve never been here for the scenery."

With that, his eyes wandered skyward again, the faint curve of a grin tugging at his mouth, like he'd already moved on from her presence entirely, fully fascinated by the ashy snow that fell non stop.

[ivoryacdblood]

location: somewhere within the castle walls, near the alcohol ... ? with: @gildedcrownx

"Have you ever considered it?" Navghan said with such blatant disregard for the man before him, "the whole sacrifice thing, it could be a good thing," he almost laughed. "I mean, better than being stuck with Deva," his sister was an annoying little gremlin from the netherworld. Certainly this would be a palatable solution for Mahadji that would also solve the whole issue of whatever the hell was going on in the world.

While most other people were seemingly panicked and certainly anxious with anticipation for the worst, Navghan didn't paricularily bat an eye at the developing events. Rather, he found it amusing and had made it a game to test if certain things would burn in the moat. And so far, he could see that all of it did. He considered his trials, methods of his final confirmation that nobody was leaving anytime soon. If this truly were to be the end, then so let it be. He had been happily guzzling whatever wine there was available.

"Whatever the fuck is going on here has nothing to do with our Gods at least," that he was convinced of. This sort of ordeal was very western, and very barbaric - if the entity were any wiser, it should've at least offered a better deal. "What say you?" His voice lazy as he rotated his wrist, sloshing the drink with boredom drawn onto his features.

[moonvcils]

"yuvraj navghan," she greeted back, bowing her head to him as he came to join her right as she left a conversation with a few old faces. as he spoke, she did not try to interrupt him. sumitra had found, after three past marriages and many interactions with men, they generally enjoyed hearing themselves speak. eventually they grew bored of the one sided conversation and then would pause long enough for her to get a word in.

with navghan's ego, she suspected he could talk all night and never get bored.

at the mention of members coming up in their court with ideas and plans, sumitra turned to the prince and finally met his gaze. "i see, do you have any extra information? faces or names i should take care to remember... conversation topics that may be interesting?" she had no problem finding information for navghan. for it allows her to stay on the good side of the crown - keeps her valuable - but also continues to give her plenty of leverage if she were ever to need it.

"i suspect i can find out plenty while we are sequestered within this estate for the next... what was it? thirty three days?" a soft chuckle left her lips as she continued, "lest we all succumb to the pressure early." she had a very good feeling that's exactly what would happen. at the end of the day humans were selfish. no one wanted to be offered up in place of another, that she was certain.

[ivoryacdblood]

"No," he responded flatly. What kind of deluded question was that? He was not the one to ever provide more in depth information, for that was not his job. Rather, the rumor mill provided itself surely enough context that if she were to play her role properly, she would certainly find something ... that is if she was adept. He held his tongue, deciding against his own arrogance for once (surprising really), "it certainly would be ideal, can't imagine what other shit any of us can get up to in this pigsty of a country," he lowered his voice low enough so that passing cardinals couldn't hear him insulting their beloved nation.

"Did you conduct a funeral by the way? I heard it was more lavish than the last one," nonchalance coated his tongue. Even in death, it appeared that she held over the top events. In his head, he wondered how she'd out do the next one. It was certainly entertainment that passed his time. Who'd be the next poor unfortunate soul in her conquest of devouring men and their gold?

[ivoryacdblood]

location: the halls near the banquet somewhere with: @chamberedhxarts

"Lady Sumitra," Navghan greeted, voice smooth as silk but twice as cutting. It was easier to address her by her first name rather than her last, after all, he lost count of what her titles her with how quickly she went through husbands. "A pleasure. I heard from the servants that the last gift I sent was... precisely what you needed. How fortunate." He had helped her with her problems from time to time, never out of kindness but out of usefulness. She was a wonderful tool to be utilised at court as needed. He remained pleasant, knowing the extent of her reputation. Not that he believed she would but, he didn't intend on being so arrogant as to underestimate everyone within his court.

He also didn't bother to hide the satisfaction curling at the edges of his mouth. Gifts from him were never aimless. "I do hope it served you well. Quiet solutions for loud problems, I find it is good to have a friend who understands discretion."

His tone dipped, casual but pointed. "And speaking of understanding… there's chatter in the court. New players testing their luck. Should any curious names come up, ones too eager for power or proximity; I'd appreciate being informed. Call it a favor returned. After all," he smiled, all teeth and charm, "I only invest in those who know how to stay useful." That was always the deal. A favor for a favor, now it was her turn to ensure their deal was fulfilled.

[amritavalli]

It's almost pathetic, the glowing sense of victory mixed with adrenaline that courses through her — like the afterglow of successfully teetering on a cliff edge, bold enough to tempt Death, brilliant enough to cheat it of her soul. A crooked smile finds its way onto her lips. His read of her amuses her, because he has mistaken his desires for her own. It is not the steady hand of assurance she seeks; it is the ghost of a push as she stands on the precipice, the weight of a blade against her neck. It is precisely her own fragility that drives her to find these moments of superposition where her weak, mortal flesh finds itself fraught with the same high-strung tension in the milliseconds before a die's fall.

Devayani would have known that, Amrita thinks, before she can shutter the thought. It leaves an unsettling taste at the back of her throat, not because of the taste of truth, but because it feels as though she has defiled Deva's name to think of them in the eye of their brother's storm.

Amrita knows she shouldn't push it, but a reckless streak has taken hold of her, and she isn't particularly inclined to shake it loose.

"I never said I wanted to die," she retorts with a lick of her lips. She imagines the curl of his fingers inwards, digging into the animal of her body. Imagines the draw of ichor, the sharpness of pain that will offer itself to an acute awareness of the physicality of her being. A clearing in the sky, drawing her out from the fog of her own existence.

"Why are you worried, darling?" she challenges, narrowing her eyes. "The people will recognize a true king. One of compassion, of courage, and most importantly, one who knows the shine of his name cannot be tarnished by anything except his own actions. And you, jaanu, are a true king, no?"

[ivoryacdblood]

He laughed, but it wasn't kind. It was the sound of glass cracking under pressure: sharp, breaking, inevitable. "Of course you didn't say it. You never say what you mean; you just dance on the edge and wait for someone else to shove you off." And yet that was the very thing that kept him quenched of anything else. He never wanted to admit that, yet there was some kind of twisted sick humor in behaving the way he did, because she offered some semblance of leniency that coddled his hubris.

He stepped forward, voice low, strained like it hurt to admit. "You want a king with compassion? Courage?" A scoff. "No, you want a God who bleeds for you. Who suffers because of you. Don't you?"

Navghan’s eyes found hers, pupils wild, cutting and absolutely unguarded. "I see you, patni. The part of you that wants to feel alive by daring me to destroy you. You'd burn down the whole kingdom just to be sure the flames still kissed your skin." He can see through it, or perhaps it was some kind of delusion that he dreamt. In the chaos, and the madness of every flame, it too could be softened. When rage subsided, there was still a lingering warmth. It was difficult to access whether it would grow into rage once more; but this was a pause in the flames that softened enough for air to be shared between to breathing bodies.

He stepped closer, his voice dropping. velvet over a blade. A breath. A flicker of something that might've been tenderness, if only because it hurt. "But damn me, if I don't love the fire."

[evcrfallen]

Devayani sleeps through the servants carefully setting the food in front of her. The sound of the first bite being taken. The awful noise of Navaghan’s yelling. And while the chair splitting against the wall disturbs her rest, it is the goblet that startles her awake.

“You fool. That was a gift to mata.” The light reflects off the gold exterior, and Devayani discerns the rim is no longer circular but oblong. She sighs, “They must have thought offering it to you would keep them in your favor.”

Devayani does not rise from where she is nestled in a pile of pillows she acquired for her chowkis. She only reaches out a delicate hand to one of the many splinters of cedar that has made a home on the ground. Although she was not harmed in the altercation Devayani is aware that it was not intention that saved her but sheer luck. Still, she can’t help but laugh.

“Should we warm your slop in the pyre of your destruction?” She quirks one eyebrow at the mess he’s made. “Naukar, bring me his food and I shall see if his anger is unwarranted.”

With fearful reluctance the servant peels themself off the floor and brings her the still unharmed bowl. She scoops up the khichdi with her finger and plops it into her mouth.

It’s warm. Not hot. But not cold either.

“Bhrata, is this really worth it?” Devayani pushes the food away from her and rolls onto back and closes her eyes. She’s tired.

[ivoryacdblood]

Navghan held his tongue in silence - and it was that very silence that was more terrifying than his rage. His jaw clenched so hard, the muscles that traveled from his chest to his throat looked like they were about to burst. His hands curled once more before he deliberately uncurled them. Slowly. The storm was suppressed by willpower. Navghan's head swiveled to Devayani like a snake scenting heat. That face of hers, that conceited smugness. The gall.

Then came the laugh. Dry, short, hollow. It was like something inside him had snapped and whatever spilled out was something feral, broken and full of teeth. Ready to devour. He stepped forward, slow and deliberate as if the war drums were readied for battle.

"Mata's gift?," he echoed her words laced with venom. "Mata's gift was my existence. Your gift was to waste it." The fervor in which he spoke almost looked as if he were about to spit on something, or someone. He wasn't done. His hand struck the table besides her, no warning, and the brutal slam of his palm sent the metal ceramic clattering off the edge. It teetered but didn't fall. He seized it.

His attention turned back toward the servant. "Do you think this is funny?" He hissed. "You think my hunger is beneath your entertainment?" Then his attention flicked back to his sister, "You lie there like a lotus eating whore in your pile of pillows while I - I am handed lukewarm insults disguised as food?" His fists curled once more. "DO I LOOK AMUSED?" Spit flew, voice almost shaking the walls. The servant flinched, another one whimpered and another was holding back their sobs.

He addressed Devyani with his usual egotism, "do not dare protect the servant who failed again. I swear to every God in our bloodline, I will find the exact point where your smugness ends and your fear begins." His breath was ragged, he stepped back with his chest heaving. His silhouette framed against the firelight like he was poised for ruin.

He snapped his fingers, "bring me hot food." The servants began to scurry, "I swear to whatever is listening, if you fuck it up again. Your pyre will burn hotter than any oven in this damn palace." He sounded short of being a feral beast.

[amritavalli]

His fingers feel like a charged force against her skin, electrostatic attraction buzzing in the wake of their touch. She leans into his heat, gaze into his own piercing stare never once wavering under the threat of violence — this was their little dance, a careful waltz on the line between repulsive hatred and unwavering love. Or perhaps, there was no line at all, merely a muddled puddle of obsession and madness underneath their feet, disguised as a something far greater than it was worth.

But is value not what you make of it? An arbitrary weight that yields to the buyer's demands, a proposition that promises to deliver. And the heavens know she needs it, needs the shock of adrenaline to her heart, the stoked flames of a dying ember in her soul, some semblance of what it means to feel again. In the space between his tenderness and his rage, the equilibrium point in the phrenetic oscillations of his temperament, holds her anchor to her sanity, her elixir to life.

She reaches up to grasp his wrist hovering over her lips, then tugs it down towards her neck.

"Kill me, then," she whispers, pressing his palm against her jugular, daring him to clasp his fingers against her fragile skin. Two can play this stupid, selfish game; cat and mouse, but who is cat, and who is mouse? It's sad, she thinks, that sometimes her own husband forgets who she could have been. Who lies dormant beneath the sheen of who she inhabits now. Navghan may think he can make her beg and keel, but she's always been the architect of the altar at which she kneels. "If you're so intent of ridding yourself of me, do it with your own hands."

[ivoryacdblood]

His fingers curled against her neck but didn’t squeeze; instead, he tore his hand away from her like she burned him. Navghan laughed, a cold mirthless guttural laugh, jagged at the edges, "Of course. Of course you'd rather die dramatically than admit you were wrong." His gaze locked with hers, sharp enough to cut.

"Always so desperate to prove you're unbreakable, even if it means offering your throat like a dog." He leaned in, voice dropping to a snarl, breath brushing her ear. "If you want to die, beg me properly. On your knees. Like a good wife."

His fingers ghosted over her neck once more, featherlight, almost tender. It was a mockery. It wasn't hard to imagine the atrocities he could commit. Bu he didn't want her blood. Not yet. No, he wanted her broken. Bowed.

"Apologize. Then submit."

[sharvanibhatti]

location: garden, by the greenhouse. open starter to everyone.

The flowers still smelled wonderfully, in spite of the thin layer of red ash coating them. It felt like ash, it smelled like ash, but she wasn't entirely sure it was ash. At least once she dusted the petals of a rose, she found the flower possessing its usual fragrance. She was still in the middle of processing the events -- the demonic voice hissing at the from the above had been center figure of her worry. Though, she couldn't quite say why she had been so worried -- the pope's disappearance and the conclave panicking about this affair had not really been her problem. If Shiva wished to see their end to restore the better humanity, then so be it.

Footsteps had drawn her attention from the lush, evergreen flowers and trees. A greeting smile upon her lips, Sharvani turned towards the intruder. She had longed for some solitude after such a long sail and ride to Santicarno, and the bath she took did little to truly relax her. At least the change of clothes had been welcome. Still, she did not mind the company, once provided. "I would have thought the ash to harm the blooms, though I am happy to see they've been spared of divine wrath. Have you come to enjoy the scenery or escape the anxiety in the room?" she asked.

[ivoryacdblood]

"Neither," Navghan murmured, brushing a finger over a leaf as if he were testing it. He found the red fascinating. Whatever dotted the sky in such a crimson color could be a valuable resource. "Though if it's divine punishment, I wouldn't mind bottling it. Might make a decent weapon, or perfume, depending on the market."

He crouched near a bloom, rubbing ash between his index and thumb, then flicked it off like it had offended him. "Have you seen Amrita?" He asked very casually, almost with indifference. "She does that thing where she vanishes when I start yelling," he shrugged - as if it were just another day in his normal routine. "Thought maybe she's slipping out here to sulk or hide, or commit a little casual treason." Every word came out lightly as if he were simply musing about the weather, not the collapse of diplomacy or divine order.

"Hard to tell with her lately." His attention was drawn back toward the sky, eyes glazing out a bit. "You think we'll see God like this? Or the devil?" A part of him was starting to smile. He always wanted to see if he could fist fight God ...

[ivoryacdblood]

location: private quarters with: @amritavalli warning: ⚠️ for lurkers ... big red flags.

His jaw was clenched so tight, it nearly ached. The words she had tossed so frivolously and carelessly earlier burned like poison beneath his skin, scalding the depths of his soul where his insecurities bred like centipedes. How dare she laugh and toss her head to the winds, bragging to those present in court how adept she was. Amritavalli dared challenge his position and his place - how could he bare to tolerate her audacity.

The temples of his forehead hurt with the reminder of her carelessness. How dare she? How dare she mock him, treated him as if he were a spectacle to jest. In his twisted mind, her reckless thrill seeking had its limits and today, it crossed the line where his control and his pride was threatened. Her behavior was an outright question of his ability to keep the kingdom and his own crumbling ego intact.

The door slammed, a common sound which followed Navghan wherever he went. And his gait matched his temper, his aura felt like an impending storm, fists clenched with rage, looming with something darker. "Do you think I'm a joke?" He snarled, voice low, cutting and sharp like blades being sharpened against each other. "How dare you parade around like you own the court, flaunting your chaos like a crown. I am suppose to be the future Maharaj. I am suppose to command respect. And instead, you made me look weak." The truth clawed at him, the terror that beneath all his bravado, beneath his crown and well worn fury, he was deeply afraid. Afraid she was the only one who truly saw the cracks in his armor. Afraid that if she walked away, everything he was building would collapse.

"I could sacrifice you," his words hissed between his teeth, barely louder than a growl. His jaw clenched tighter, a storm brewed beneath his darkened eyes. "I want a divorce," his voice low and deadly. His voice was low, final; not a request, but a sentence.

His fingers brushed her cheek, soft but with a grip that promised possession and pain both. "Unless you’d rather beg." A breath. A warning. "Or don’t." His touch lingered just long enough to remind her: he could be tender in gesture, but brutal in intent.

Then, lower, rougher, a vow disguised as a dare, "say you want to leave me." His thumb dragged across her bottom lip, slow, claiming. "Lie to my face." He leaned in, breath hot against her skin, voice a rasping promise. "I’ll still fuck the truth out of you."

[ivoryacdblood]

location: house nasra'il's eating quarters with: @evcrfallen

"ONE JOB," he was roaring, raging and fuming as per usual. He made one very very simple request. Fucking, heat up the damn food. That was it, he was courteous, he had extended his patience. And yet what did he get? A bowl of cold slop again. Had he not already been magnanimous and generous? So what the fuck was this disrespect?

Something within him snapped, and once the anger began - it raged like a fire until he got tired. Most of his servants were accustomed to his volatile temper and knew well of his fury. Yet this one, whoever this servant was, clearly was beyond incompetent.

And then it came.

The flying chair - it tumbled through the air, barely missing the attendant's head. The legs broke upon impact, sending bits of wood flurrying around like a storm. The lethality in which he used his full strength to chuck it, if it had impact, would have severed their skull from their neck. Immediately, the attendant was whimpering, on the ground on their knees, mumbling forgiveness and the likes. "My fucking food is still COLD. IT'S STILL FUCKING COLD," and he proceeded to fling a goblet in the same direction, the water splashing onto the ground leaving a mess. He was beyond incense, his wrath at an all time high.