Give into the sacrament

[wretched-sacrament]

embcrn​:

katri stepped back slightly and nodded her head in respect slightly. “i am called katrinka, your holiness. but those who have earned my favour call my katri.” she curtsies deep, looking up at him as she rises back to standing. “you may call me katri.” she hopes she’s endeared herself to him enough to allow her entrance into the sanguini. “what work do you have for me?”

“Your holiness... That’s a new one.” His voice is low, smooth, pleased velvet as his eyes dance with mirth at that title, and her presence beside hiim. Perhaps he should be called holy, he thinks. Perhaps the doom isn’t just an unexpected reaction of biological chaos, but a miraculous occurrence meant to reveal true gods. And together, they could be such divine beings. He wouldn’t allow the doom to take advantage of anyone who sprouted fangs, were shunned from sunlight. Gone were his days of succumbing to monstrosity, instead, he wanted to create an environment where those inflicted with these capabilities could also feel hope. Nothing would stop in such a pursuit.

“Katri.... please, call me Lysander.” He eyes her, smiling slightly- though he conceals it by pressing his lips together and then gestures her to follow. “In the lead up to this battle- people are vulnerable. Thus, Katri, I would greatly commend you if you could... procure new recruits. Whether it’s biting, or turning people into blood fiends, or gathering enough willing donors to keep our supply at our base. Could you do that for me?”

[wretched-sacrament]

embcrn​:

her breath leaves her when he snatches her hand and she’s mesmerized by him. his power, his strength– that’s exactly what she seeks. in a moment of sheer confidence and intrigue, she slowly unfurls her fingers and brings his hand to her lips, slipping a finger into her mouth. “i would like nothing more,” she says softly, looking at him with wide eyes as she sucks.

“Careful, madam, once you live amongst our kind, you truly will enjoy it too much.” Lysander prefers to be caught offguard - on occasion. So many fear him, he’s used to thriving off of it like lifeblood. The meek, the careful. But he takes pride in spontaneity, his own glare of a gleam only sparking whenever promising prospects  presented themselves. Risked poor reception from the sanguini leader, faced the chance to be remembered, or discarded. 

He smirks to himself, however faint, as his eyes dare not drop her own. Smirk softens as he stifles a breathy laugh. She’s trouble, he knows this, and all he can do is note, “Then let’s make a deal...” He can’t help it, pressing her knuckles to his lips again for one more kiss before he lightly grazes his fangs against the back of her hand. Gently letting it drop. “But I must know your name, miss, if we’re to move forward.”

[wretched-sacrament]

closed starter for @morcfcrarum 

The sanguini leader had eyes and ears that travelled through Arella like rats, ghosts, guardians. It was in his best interest to discover potential souls to trap into his own web of ambitious endeavours. And why not, he wondered, discover how to incorporate someone who - at least he’d noted - struggled to recall her own past?

And so, he played his part well. Stepped down a narrow walkway he knew she’d step through. And, gasped as they came face to face. Had to step back, as though shock had overwhelmed him enough to render him speechless. “You-you’re alive!” He breathes, his words wavering as his dark brows bounce up with hope. “My niece- missing from us long enough to mourn you, but I---” he raises his hands to the sky for a flourish, “While the world shuns the gods, I thank them! Thank the divines, you’re safe!”

[sangcine-a-deactivated20210712]

𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑: @wretched-sacrament​​  𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: lysander’s home

          the blood fiend walks through the streets, daylight showing his true colours for all those to recoil in fear. blood soaks his clothes, hands still vibrantly red up to his wrists, and there’s glass amongst his curls. there’s gasps, whispers, parents hiding their children. but arlo is so lost amongst his thoughts he can barely hear them. dark hues glazes over, lost- so very lost.

     demelza is gone and by his own hand. he’s sure he will lose lucia and loras too- there’s no possible way to find forgiveness for a monster and the actions he has taken. their new home was not weighted with a ghost, the study stained with a tragedy, arlo can no longer stay there. all this time arlo has been trying to protect his family from death… when in fact he was death all along. there’s only one place he can go. there’s only one person who won’t hate him for what he has done. lysander.

     his feet already know the way, having spent many hours within lysander’s home talking of their kind and the future. his bloodied hands leave marks on the door as his fist connects, heat in his eyes as tears form again when he catches sigh of the one father figure he has.  “  i will join you- i will be by your side. i’ll do anything you ask-  “  he voice cracks but fearing weakness has long since passed.  “  just- please protect them. protect my family because i cannot.  “

[wretched-sacrament]

Lysander was having a ball of a time. The morning- though he detested mornings as much as he detested dehydrated donors- consisted of music, scarce meetings, and space. He could happily house his most trusted bloodfiends in his abode and shut them out from the world as those uncursed or unblessed panicked away whatever time they had left. But until then, he’d turn to his projects. Bask in whatever successes were reported to him.

“Enough for now-- that’s enough sir-” he waved off his musician, a lute player who was instructed to play the same song too many times, tossing him a gold pouch as the door resounded across the hollow hall. A guard was about to grab it, though Lysander waved him off, smirking to himself as he squeaks the heavy entrance door open. Alas, he had to play the part of concern. Hide the glee twinkling in his hollow gaze. A gasp, to accentuate his acting skills. “Arlo Malafronte, my boy... you have come home. The only place that will welcome you home.” but his gaze roamed down the assassin’s for, noticing the blood. Eyeing those in the streets who marvelled at Arlo in fear, as though he were something very special, indeed.  Concern strewn upon his brow, though he held no worry, only pride. “So, welcome home, son.” And with that, he nodded, a silent deal bound as he pulled him in. “Are you being followed? What sort of trouble did you stir?”

[wretched-sacrament]

embcrn​:

her eyes lit up at the mention of tests, as if her entire life had been spent waiting for this moment. she bats her eyes at him and looks up between long lashes. “i can ace every test you give me, sir, but i can already tell you where my expertise lies.” she walks around him, trailing a hand across his shoulders. “bringing men into my bed, sucking them dry, then taking them for every piece of gold they’re worth.” she smiles as she stands before him. “and women, too, but they, on a whole, bedmates i’d rather keep alive.”

She’s beautiful, like a painting that even the divines would pale in comparison. Perhaps he should commission her. But his eyes hold onto hers as long as she’ll stare back at his- for his eyes were hollow, losing soul and  humanity as months dragged onward. He grabs her hand as it flutters across his shoulder, his movement eerily quick, before he raises it and presses a kiss against her knuckles. “I’ve no doubt your... expertise, as you say, can be incredibly effective.” He quirks a brow, before tilting his head in consideration. “And if I asked you to drain the kingdom’s most... influential threats?  In exchange for a place within the Sanguini? You would want for nothing.”

[wretched-sacrament]

sangcine​:

𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑: @wretched-sacrament​

         the wraith lets dark hues roam those suited for battle but far too many looked as if they had very little chance of surviving. a war with the divines and many who chose to fight were commoners, no training and carrying swords for too heavy. this will be a slaughter, the ground will be soaked… ekanta is almost excited to witness the soil be rebirthed in crimson. it means more walech will die and hopefully the damn royalty with it. the blood fiend walks up to lysander’s side, a familiar face, though not friendly. cold calculating business is much preferred, like the steal of a blade.   ❝   have you come to witness the show also  ?  i must say, they all look utterly pathetic.   ❞

Lysander laced his fingers behind his back, as though he were perusing the market stalls for Sunday dinner treats instead of watching citizens scramble to prepare for a likely ruinous outcome. “A constant spectacle, my dear,” He hums, a bored drawl as he looks flatly at those who decided to gear up and face the divines. “Whilst I agree- indeed, pathetic -if you look closer, what else do you see? Scared leaders. Frightened business. I see a chance for our kind to shine, in lieu of these lacklustered soldiers.” He glances back at Ekanta, studying her fine features a moment as a lopsided smile grows. “And you? How will you be doing your duty, as of late?”

[wretched-sacrament]

sangcine​:

⚜      “  it is… less of an urge and more so an ache. almost like a limb that hasn’t been stretched in a while… it’s dark, cold…  “   arlo’s eyes drift to the side, clouding as he turns more into himself to feel the way his body has turned and twisted since the doom. blood magic is like a dark whisper, begging to be used but arlo has been fighting the urge to give in. it;s as if his own shadow has become the enemy, another voice within his mind. training hasn’t been at the speed in which he’s sure lysander would hope. but with training comes hunger, with hunger… arlo loses himself more and more. it reminds arlo of the sea when he was a child, when the skies were grey and rain threatened. the water would chill to the bone in a way no child would ever forget.

     “  how do i use it and… and not lose myself to it  ?  i know it’s there, it’s strong, i threw a temple full of the undead flying just from a small cut. “  running a hand through dark curls, arlo exhales a breath before glancing to donors and feeling his fangs ache. most in arella had already claimed him to be a monster, some even before the doom. plus this wasn’t about him… this was about his family.   “  last time i fed near so many eyes i landed behind bars.  “  his words are spoken more to himself, tongue tracing fang when he’s finished before sighing.  “  they’ll lock us all away eventually, pick someone for me.  “

“It’s takes practice. Build up, like any healthy training. Over time,your body will consider blood magic to be like another muscle function. A necessity that doesn’t bother you if you keep it conditioned. Think of it like any other training for your profession.” Lysander was well aware of the effects blood magic instilled upon those who used it. He wasn’t about to detract Arlo away from using such powers-- he would not speak of those who wasted away to blood magic, or those who changed just to continue feeling that rush. No, he remained faith Arlo was an answer, like his other gifted recruits, and he wasn’t about to let such a valuable asset out of his grasp. Particularly, if he could even render a temple of undead defeated with just one, small cut. “And if I told you, Arlo, we won’t ever be locked away again? If I promised you security? Drink.”

He eyes a woman- young in this world, shy, who catches Lysander’s eye. Flushed cheeks, pink with life. “There. A proper option.” He gestures to his men, who- as if on cue- usher several people out of the area. “And, for your comfort, seclusion. You need strength. Particularly, before this damned battle.”

[wretched-sacrament]

embcrn​:

leofric struggles not to sigh. they could not wait on the coin from walech during these times, nor could they wait for men. in the interim, he would have to take aid from lysander. “alright.” he stood looking at lysander stonily. “i require both men and coin until those we have sent for from walech can arrive. enough to go up against the gods.”

“My soldiers and fighters have enough capacity to help ease your fears. My coin will help your people with the proper supplies, and you can dread the gods a bit more soundly.” Lysander soothes, though he’s already thinking. Mind now stuck on the potential, the possibility of allowing the sanguini to have such power- even in times of crisis. No, he wouldn’t stop at friendly assistance. Not at all, if he had any drive, he would see his people establishing authority and presence unparalleled.... all he needed to do, was to gain trust. “Consider it done.”

[wretched-sacrament]

ignisetciniss​:

          arlo initially flinches from the hand placed on his shoulder, far too use to touches ending in violence and pain. though his mind soon puts forth that this is lysander and his shoulder relaxes a miniscule amount under the hand.    ❝   i know i do, i use to carry only one but- time has changed and so have i.   ❞  lysander’s words seem to carve themselves into arlo’s own skin. while there’s some apprehension at being unable to leave once the agreement is shook upon… arlo would sell his twisted excuse for a soul over and over as long as it guarantees safety for his family. he will always protect others before he protects himself, he has been this way since he was a child and the years that have passed have only cemented this. he still does not view what he is as a blessing, being cursed is more fitting for the actions he has taken- the lives he has cut short. the blood fiend’s fangs practically ache within his gums as he thinks so lowly of them. but where he deserves nothing- his family deserves everything. he always knew he’d never grow old, he’d never become a father, or a man who lived humbly in a small house with a respectable job. he was a killer, the scum lining the bottom of the barrel, the darkness people feared so they turn on a light. a cold hand is offered, a deal with no safety or hope for himself in mind.   ❝   i say we have a deal.   ❞

“Changed, perhaps you have, my boy... but from here on out, we only change for the better.” Match lit, business made, and as Lysander rolled his tongue against the tip of his own fangs beneath his closed lips that presented a gentle smile, ruminating over the potential that lay before them and their cause, the sanguini leader felt pure thrill that Arlo made the right decision. The only decision that made sense, as this world crumbled around them. But even with Arlo’s agreement, he wasn’t satisfied. Already hungry. There, wasn’t it incessant? This growl in the pit of his stomach, growing more animal than man each month that he gave into this curse? Hunger of a new kind: too curious to see the might of the young man he had only hoped could help him, and his collection of gifted blood fiends, change the way their world worked.  He patted Arlo’s shoulders, eyes alight with renewed energy. 

“Do you ever feel the urge to slip into blood magic? Does it grow? Could you... feel it now? If you ever have--- don’t push it away. That will make suffering only worse. Besides, I see quite a few potential donors nearby. Now, may I suggest, you take things when you fancy it.” 

[wretched-sacrament]

ignisetciniss​:

𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑: @wretched-sacrament

          ❝   lysander-   ❞   there’s a slight nod in greeting, bringing his chalice to his lips and letting wine slip over his tongue. he will need it if the man before him decides to rant and rave of the cursed and his little collection he is making.   ❝  what can i do for you  ?   ❞

“So polite, you are, straight to business. Now ‘how are you, Lysander? How do you find this weather? I like you...” He muses, wiggling his brows as he rolls his shoulders back, laughs light. “I’m in need of you... Planting secrets into documents. I need to help the public mistrust all they thought they knew. Position me and my troupe as those who are only seeking to help.” He mutters, shifting as he gestures for Malachy to follow. “That, my good man, and- deeds. Are you able to forge some old deeds for me? For several local business scattered about this wretched town?” 

[wretched-sacrament]

ignisetciniss​:

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒: closed 𝐅𝐎𝐑: @wretched-sacrament​

          ❝   you can verbally wank off every god you want they’re still not going to bed you. they’re too busy trying to fuck us in another way.   ❞   merek raises a brow at the man, swiping his ale to take a sip.

“So... poetic. Truly remarkable.. Are you going to chant that little protest during battle, sir?” Lysander growls, flat, squinting up to the heavens as he raises his chalice in a little cheers. “Rumour has it you turn a bit more beastly when faced with a threat. Is that true? Who says the gods have any chance against you?” He prods, aiming for flattery. “I’m sure the gods envy your power.”

[wretched-sacrament]

embcrn​:

“i can repent, if you like. i’ll even go on my knees.” she grins wickedly. “for i have taken part in the most debased of cursed desires.” she lets her fangs show, then covers them, quick as a flash. “i have need of work. i heard you have needs of devilish hands for devilish deeds, and my hands are wicked indeed.”

A low, dark laugh erupts from the cult leader’s throat, crackles like winter- dry, cold, but retaining a lively bite. Though his brow bounces, head inclines and his eyes- flashing red as he is always hungry, always growing with that need for blood.The need to feed, unyielding as his own greed festers, as he gives into his blood magic tendencies. His stomach aches, turns into itself, and he flashes an impatient growl at an attendant who - lurking just steps behind them - hands him a flask. “You want for work, yes? Fortunately, miss, you’ve arrived at just the right place. But I’m afraid there are a few tests you must partake in, to prove you can keep up. What sort of cursed desires do you hold? Pray, tell...”

[wretched-sacrament]

embcrn​:

“nothing in life is free, i am aware. it pleases me that we are both men who know this fact, despite the current worldly turmoil.” leofric levels a gaze at lysander as he sits behind his desk. “walech may accept aid, if the strings are not too taut. tell me, what aid do you promise?”

“Coin. Enough to feed the hungry, or comfort, or however you wish to use it.” His lips curled into a little smirk as he drawled, slow, as though he had all the time in the world. “And I have quite a force for security, you see. But what is it you need, most? Something feasible you desire? Indulge a moment and tell old Lysander. Pretend I’m a fabled fairy godmother. Go on, I’ll listen!”

[wretched-sacrament]

starter for @maledictiis​

Gross. Daylight. Lysander could only roll his eyes at the sun that dared to shine at a time like this - a nuisance, truly, as he rose from the depths of the darkness below. But as the townspeople flocked and feared and prayed, Lysander was too busy planning. And so, the sanguini leader arrived where he hoped to find Baptiste. Always followed by two or three of his men, who held back, but adamant to hear from his faithful, respected blood fiend. “Do you think it crude to host a dinner party before this battle, Baptiste? A feast, ralllying our new recruits?” He asks, raising a hand as he glances around them. “Or does it appear too indulgent, too gluttonous a vibe, to gather a few dozen donors at a time like this?”

[wretched-sacrament]

ignisetciniss​:

          ❝   time has never been a friend of mine.   ❞   arlo can practically see the stars lamenting a countdown to those who dare look up to view them. blinking dots of hot fire promising to fall when the divines come. life was slowly finding meaning again for the blood fiend and yet- it is to be snatched away so quickly. he takes the flask without question, a small swig allowing his senses to know just what is slipping over his tongue. so many years of blood on his hands and thus punishment being in the need to drink it to continue on. though his feeding isn’t as often lysander would approve of. taking a couple more mouthfuls, he offers the flask back and licks whatever crimson dared stay upon his lips.  ❝   i had a large family- sickness took them. it was slow, they’d fade more and more as days passed and because they were sick no one dared approach. i had to bury them all- i though it was just me and my baby brother- but now my family is growing again. my aunt, my twin sister, thalia- elektra and antigone- my love… you. they grow and i can’t- i can’t protect them all. i need to protect them because i couldn’t before. they died and i couldn’t do a damn thing.   ❞   panicked dark eyes turn to lysander, a rare begging glint within them.    ❝   i know i’m losing time- i’m always losing time, lysander- i’ll go to any lengths, do anything. i can’t lose any more family.   ❞    

“No, I’m afraid you couldn’t do a thing, Arlo. It’s cruel, but  this is the way of the world.” Lysander repeats softly, moving his hand to rest on Arlo’s shoulder, as though he were consoling despite the words spilling out like silken honey didn’t sting of hard truth. Though he was deeply impressed that Arlo had included him as family- a bond that Lysander would hope to only bind him to in time. He notes those who Arlo holds dear into his memory, though he grabs the flask with a little reassuring smirk, raising the silver before downing another thick gulp of ruby red, still-hot life. “I fear for you. Truly. I can hear the fear in your voice. If you want me to tell you truthfully, you carry too many vulnerabilities. But, your heart is full for them, and so... So, tell me now, you’ll serve me at your rightful place, won’t you? Live in the bloodmagic, and it will reward you tenfold. But once you agree to joining me, it is binding. My gifted ones only benefit from this agreement, however--- you’ll only gain a larger family. And you? I see nothing but greatness in store for you. A place of power and influence. Where your loved ones will be looked after by your kind. Our kind. Arlo. I want you to seek solace in your curse. It’s a blessing. Embrace whatever it makes you feel or do. Let it consume you. No more talk. Begin today. What do you say?”

[wretched-sacrament]

embcrn​:

for @wretched-sacrament​

katri was new to being a blood fiend, but she’d learned what to do fairly early on. drink blood, charm men, steal their money. as much as she loved the thrill of it, it was becoming a bit stale. and with sabina gone, she didn’t really have anyone to spend it on.

“forgive me father, for i have sinned.” she said with a smile as she swanned up behind lysander. “isn’t that what you’re supposed to say? or do i have it wrong?”

“Oh, dear-” His eyes rolled to the heavens, though a bemused little tight-lipped grin of subtle approval tugged on his lips as the esteemed blood fiend turned on his heel to face her. “Do you think I’m a saintly figure? One the gods deem a sweet, shining light on this ridiculous earth? Shall I ask you to repent?” 

“What do you seek, then? It takes a bold soul to find me, and approach me.” He drawled. “Therefore, make your case.”

[luthienne]

Sarah Kay, No Matter the Wreckage; “Postcards”