Recent content by Maveriel Valthoras

Trials. Rewards. These dead dread beasts, senseless in their sentience, not given to the depravity of sapient creatures, had met clean ends, after a manner. In their ferocity or voracity they had pounced and were put down. Others, however, some in their midst, were those angular elven faces...

The figure, a woman, elven, mentioned wrongs that must be answered for as an answer to the question of forgiveness sought. Mave repeated those words back to herself in her head, reflecting on them for a second, suddenly feeling like their positions were reversed, and it was this other woman who...

Whatever her motivation, her reason, her purpose, she had been driven to these ruins, and ‘she’ was more than one woman. Whispers in the camps. Stories. Haunted forests. Blighted environments. Truthfully they were nothing too new to her at least. To either woman, potentially. Cautious in her...

Vampires. Murderers, many would say, and many would not be wrong when it came to Mave. In a way, sitting before this man, naked and exposed to his gaze, despite the previous night, was dangerous. Even offensive. To many, his kind was killers by nature, by design, by intention or perversion or...

If only she knew. If only she knew whether her very own question was one borne of fear, of curiosity, of morbid fascination, of a subconscious desire to become a vampire, or even of some diversion from conversation where her perverse nature wanted to just further explore Kerrick from his skin to...

Whether this man was lying about his desire to realize his story in these lands, or there was more to said story, it sounded simple and honest enough to Maveriel Valthoras. In a way, she hadn’t left her own lands, not really. She could go back and stay any day. She visited. Her home ventured...

Two elves from Falwood. North. South. Whatever. Didn’t really matter to her. Mave gave her name. He didn't. Not yet, anyway. That may change within the moments. For now, however, she sat on the tree as she intended, whatever his offer. She bit into her fruit. Listened to his lute. Didn’t look...

Danger. Warning. Caution. It was like every fabric within Maveriel Valthoras’ body, every particle of her very essence, was beckoning her, pleading with her, to look away, to turn away, from him, but she didn’t. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. Whether she should. She hadn’t the previous evening. Was...

Taking him in, the first thing she noticed was the scarf around his head that further covered his right eye. She didn’t stand far enough away to not notice that mark on his face. A scar that ran to the corner of his lips. She could only imagine what did it but she didn’t. It wasn’t her business...

Monsters. Even amid the cradleland of the elves, monsters were most certainly no mere fables. In the vast verdant forest of Falwood, for all its exquisite charm, its beautiful beasts, there were fell beasts aplenty ready to do harm. This was a certainty that she had experienced since childhood...

Was it expected? Even poetic? That simple movement. One motion. One turn of the head. As if she had beckoned him back to bed without even knowing it. Subconscious. A wicked aspect of Mave’s brain. Yet she wasn’t unconscious. She was awake. And she hadn’t sent him away. Had she played? Was this...

Bliss. That’s what they called this. Complete. Utter. Total. Bliss. If it was an instrument then it was the sweet serene violin, the thump of the drum, the whisper and the whistle of the flute. Yet bliss was just as much a kiss on the lips too. On the skin. On the shin. Every inch. Inside...

So, no back alley. Good. Bad. Drat. Damn. She winked back with a smiling eye and hers is amber. His is grey, colder to her warmth, though his bed would surely have sheets as much as covers. Challenge given, challenge accepted, Kerrick went just then as Kerrick was thus bidden. Go. She had...

In the moment, as her lips opened and kissed his neck, unbroken, she might bite his flesh. It is what he may have done to her moments ago as it were. Was it seduction? Sustenance. That need to feed. To drink in this passion. To toss caution into the wind. To feel fabric. Skin. Vampire. Yes. Yet...

A dance. Of celebration. A first for this man and woman. Vampiric. Elven. Yet it was just as much a dance of dragons. For there was fire in their chests, burning, yearning, then in their breath. Yes, their hands were like claws, pointed, sharp, digging, on skin pale and pallid. Their feet were...