Dumah & All These Harlets
"Milord,' One of the Gilded Dragons spoke beyond the throne room with the privacy of Whisper. 'Another tribute of the flesh."
Dumah lifted his head just a bit from his resting fist. The Lord of the Northeastern mountains and all it beheld, blanketed of Turel's ashes, opened his eyes from his recline. The sculpted figure of war is etched on his tall form. The black of gauntlets and sabatons barely reflected a glint off the braziers, bare-chested and clan's mantle upon his broad shoulders.
His jaw popped as he considered. One hand retrieving a chalice of blood from a proper waiting servant, drinking deep from the glass-weaved skullcap. "Mmm, bring them in." He commanded, already feeling the vitae roll through his dark veins.
And when they came in, he looked at four fine women dressed rather sultrily that they could have been mistaken for children of Vorador. His tongue soured a certain way. They had that natural beauty of bloodlines that manage to survive even into this age, not of the clans' selective wants. Daughters of fools who believes themselves of noble blood and one looked more supple and fit a farmer's daughter.
He preferred meat and strength on a woman more often than not.
They looked over various ages but close to their eighteen and further summers. Only one had the appearance of close to forty and it suited her refined edge. Dumah squinted, despite her humility before her vampiric betters, there was a certain felinid pride in her eyes. One of those matrons seeking favour, perhaps?
However, all of them paled in attention to that fifth member in this recent tribute. Dumah may have been a...vigerous taste of the flesh, but the number of carnal troupes that approach him was mildly amusing. Was it Raziel or Zephon that sent them his way?
Almost hiding behind the oldest woman was a young man that looked almost sixteen. Even with the growing line of a dark beard along his slim jaw and a complimenting mane of curling flows, not too slender but still had worked tone. Eyes looked everywhere in fearful curiosity. Goosebumps of fear on pale skin.
Dumah grinned as he leaned back. These were experienced women, that young man was not.
A glance at the matron and the boy, he knew they were of relations. He remained silent. The whole throne room was silent until they were prompted to stop a pounce's distance. Dumah tapped his index talon on his cup before speaking with a voice devoid of anything but authority.
There was no hesitation, so awe-stricken and well-trained, the whole troupe did so. The matron, in her scarlet dress and gleaming silvers, could easily be a daughter of Raziel if she had such fortunes. Her hair was made to flow along her shoulders and back, tamed by a brooch of gold dotted in emeralds. Whoever this troupe was, they were brave and had protection to travel this far into Dumah's land without harm from brigands that he allowed to prowl. Just out of entertainment value.
Dumah didn't give much value in the other women. They were typical and had similar barings. Enough flesh to entice but enough to not show everything. From one's curves to another flush freckles, a third's interesting tattoos and licks of abuse - or masochism. All flavors of a candied box, a human might call it. Even the beauty of soft chocolate upon one of the younger women, she had a ferocity culled by the presence of Dumahim. She may make a better warrior than a courtesan.
He allowed them to bask in his presence and the humility of being on their knees and hands before clicked his talon again. "You may speak. What brings you into my court, fair travellers? What have you to give to Dumah, Third of His Glorious Chosen? Are you another of the countless flesh to be offered upon my lips, are you messages of exoticism or...beautiful killers?"
On that, Dumah's dark lips curled in a smile lined with warrior's humour.
Perhaps sensing that to be a joke, the matron made a sound of beauty. A humming chuckle with fingers brushing on her full red lips. "Nay, milord. We are certainly not killers of any malevolent sort. We are mere benefactors of the flesh and precious blood to give to you or those who may partake. Whilst you may have countless in your bountiful treasury and vaults of bloods, we pride ourselves in ensuring the finest tastes that you might find vexing for a time. Perhaps nothing to your great eternity but..."
"Oh?" Dumah questioned, giving the appearance of interest. How many of these troupes have given him such things, this one at least a certain flair to it. "And why do you bring him? Is he attached to your hip?"
On that, a few of the Dumahim warriors in the room chuckles and caused the boy to flush. Dumah could see him wanting to defend himself but his lips were pursed and brows furrowed just a tad. Cute.
His mother didn't give such indications, no doubt questioned that countless times before. "No, my liege. He is apart of this troupe by his own willingness. Despite being nineteen of summers, he proves a capable defender to our travels and just as capable entertainment."
A few of his descendants snorted at the notion. They gave no indication but whispers were made, provocative no doubt. Dumah simply rose an edged brow. "Oh?" He questioned, stroking on his jaw and feeling his trimmed dark beard. Facial hair was a short lived amusement for vampires that were restored from a life without it. It can be willed by a mere direction of blood's flush.
"Perhaps I will test that."
That brought a sweet tickle of fear. There are none in the empire that didn't know of Dumah's affinity for his gladiatorial entertainment. The countless that have died in his colosseum, it is perhaps the one thing that he and Turel had in kinship.
"H-He..." The matron cleared her throat. "He wouldn't be suited for such a great visit into your colosseums, milord. He is a mere guardsman for our travel, not a warrior of that grand scope."
Dumah smiled a little more. "Without the right training, no."
Next to him, the faeish Fredrick tilted his head with a glint of mischievous wine-red under his shroud of red hair. How he brushed through one of Dumah's courtesans' hair and whispered into her ear. The vampiress perked and giggled in turn. All of this was a play on their food, there was nothing quite like making them squirm...