Late night in Poitain

Candlelight flickered, casting dancing shadows onto the sky blue fabric of Jalen's tent. Night's embrace had taken hold of Poitain hours ago, clinging jealously as if in fear of the coming dawn. A calm, peaceful air pervaded, evoking soothing sounds of serenity from the creatures of the night; it was an offering of the night to gain favor over the day. Acting in compliment to the sounds, a mixture of oils and incense burned to create an atmosphere of pure relaxation.



Jalen reclined on a rainbow collection of soft, velvet pillows. They were arranged in a meticulous work of art, each with its place in the greater tapestry of the collection that created a striking, yet pleasing blending of colors. A soft, purple robe draped his shoulders loosely, hanging open in a display of his recently cared for skin, the creams and oils used in treatment shimmering softly in the candlelight.



In his hands was an old tome, the pages brown and stiff, crinkling with each delicate turn. The leather cover bore witness to time's relentless, merciless march, its burgundy surface a pale imitation of its former glory. Adorning it was a bronze ornament crafted into a hideous visage, one that was gaining popularity in recent times as a path to untold power. Whispers spoke of maleficent pacts made with the entity portrayed; those whispers growing louder and more frequent as evidence of their rewards become well known.



"While my magic is similar in form and function to those who call themselves heralds of that entity, I have no allegiance to it." It was quickly becoming rote for Jalen, a reflex at the mention of the accursed demon whose influence in the world took on a shape remarkably similar to his own prowess in magic. It was undeniable, however, the similitude between himself and the Heralds, no matter how much he wished to deny it. The sting of it consistently cuffing him on a daily basis was proving to be more than a trifle annoyance. Eating away at him much like the demon Xotli reputedly ate away at the souls of his Heralds, there was too much to risk ignoring the mountainous evidence. Thus, Jalen quietly began his research into demon lore and legend to sift through and discover the true source of his magic.



A stir from across the large tent brought Jalen from his contemplative reading. A woman of short, wheat blond hair nestled into the bed, curling tighter with a slight shiver that sent ripples through his crimson silken sheets. Her shoulder slipped free, revealing her bare shoulder blades, hinting at what more there was beneath with soft, alluring skin that tantalized to touch. To the side of the bed was her clothing, ripped and torn nearly to shreds a testament to the events earlier in the eve.



Jalen closed the book and slowly stood, his open robe displaying his dark body and framing its urges pointedly. He approached the woman, his eyes locked on her skin and hair, with an almost predatory gaze, studying her intently with an end in mind. Stopped at the edge of the bed, Jalen removed his robe, baring his well kept, shimmering skin, and leaned over to place the robe over the woman for an added layer of comfort.



"You are safe here, my dear," he whispered softly as the robe covered a recently treated gash on the woman's left shoulder. The wolves that tried to take her as their meal were no doubt licking their wounds and attempting to reestablish their pack's order after Jalen lobbed the alpha male's head cleanly to the ground. Her gratitude knew nearly no bounds, nor no depths at the promises she offered. He knew little of her but her, but her station in life before coming to Poitain could be easily surmised. Jalen cared little for that, rather he cared for her safety and how he could make use her. She was a spark, one of many, that would ignite the world with the fires of their new empire.



An amused grin crossed Jalen's lips. "Rest now. Tomorrow you shall be very busy, indeed, my little song bird."