Chapter 1: Mona Lisa, I'd Pay to See You Frown
It was on Falon'din's festival that he first saw her.
Fen'harel was not one to engage himself in idle chatter but he would not turn down having someone to warm his bed. He was a rogue, that he knew he was. He tipped the half-empty goblet upon his lips, delighted on the taste of wine to further lessen his inhibition. He was not one to be drunk but a little wine could help him pass Elgar'nan's judgement of his dreadful nature.
He licked off the last drop of the wine Falon'din's servants offered him, relished on the taste for the night. Large hands drew back the goblet and he settled it upon the marble table provided beside him. Mischievous blue eyes studied the open garden, the gentle moonlight illuminating tonight's festivities.
The raging glow of the pyre lighted the entire setting, its raging flames casting wide shadows on the tall columns covered in ivy. He mused at the slaves dancing in front of the blaze, their skin painted black from the ashes of the morning flame.
There were a number of bodies laid dead or bleeding to their demise below the pyre. He did not envy the traitors under Falon'din's name but he could appreciate the thought of them as worthy sacrifices to appease the dead.
Ah, such was the tradition for the Night of the Dead.
Blood pooled on the marble flooring, washing the granite in crimson waves as slaves murmured their prayers and loyalty to their god. Their voices mixed with the soft strings of the lyre was tonight's music, a grim reminder of their servitude to the pantheon.
The wolf did not find value in the slaves, only amusement at their mortal nature. Was he not a god himself? He took liberties when he could but a slave girl was a passing dalliance he'd amuse himself often. That was his nature, however he never kept his share of slaves.
He was amused at their efforts of life but he could never bother himself with followers. He was a vagabond where no temple he could rest himself. He sat languidly on his seat, eyeing the gods and goddess in the celebration. Odd, it appeared Andruil has not yet arrived. He had a penchant of annoying the huntress, as if their very nature could be changed. He rose from his seat, careful not to let the blood touch the plush fabric of his robes. Fen'harel made his way around the pyre, eyes drawn to his frame as the Dread Wolf hardly graced Festivals.
The vagabond found the host of tonight's celebration and made his way towards his brethren but stopped. Eyes were drawn to the tall white spires adorning the eluvian to the garden. The purple surface shimmered and Andruil emerged.
She was as Fen'harel remembered her to be, clad in an air of authority and the biting edge of her blade found when she spoke.
Ever the familiar huntress to the pantheon she was. She was graced with her elite hunters, clad in their armory and a fresh piece of butchered halla in their bloodstained arms. So this was her offering for tonight.
Falon'din rushed to greet Andruil in welcome as the hunters assembled behind their goddess. "Andruil, it is a pleasure you have come to grace us." The soft voice of the god wove soothing tunes while his twin brother, Dirthamen, watched in silence by the side.
The immortal huntress nodded her head in appreciation and gestured to her hunters, "My gift to you, Falon'din. May you guide the souls to the great Beyond." Mirth brightened the god of death as he took in the sight of Andruil's prized animal. He stepped aside, giving passage to the elven warriors.
As if pulled by a string, they moved towards the pyre, hefting the pieces of meat in their arms with pride. Ladders were procured for them to offer the tribute to the flames, the hunters made quick work of their task. Each male dropped the meat to the blaze, the flames reflecting its thanks in their eyes. The cacophony of voices rose at the new tribute, their prayer sung with more fervor as the fire licked at the offering. The fumes from the burning meat was not unpleasant, most likely perfumed by the goddess herself.
Fen'harel made his way towards the columns, watching but not too obvious in his study. The blaze sputtered, flames rising higher in acceptance of the Halla. They shuddered once more, the color of the fire shifting to a cool blue.
A wave of gasps and 'ooh's echoed around the garden, Andruil liked to show off. He felt a little envious that his gift was a measly elixir of life that he had concocted with the aid of a Spirit friend. However, the envy was short-lived as the flames sputtered and tore the meat asunder. It grew into a fierce blame, peppering the blackened slaves with burning ashes.
They wailed in pain but did not cease their dance as the fire emblazoned its presence on Falon'din's followers. The flames swerved left and right, etching an image upon the fierce glow of the fire left a golden trail, drawing a familiar beast that had been offered a moment ago. A Halla.
Its pelt was burning gold, lighted by the odd flames of the pyre. Its wise eyes focused on the goddess who offered it, an odd emotion alight in its dark pupils. The phantom jumped off the pyre, gracefully landing on the pool of blood. Panicked shrieks from the slaves erupted and Fen'harel laughed at their fright, such petty mortals.
It galloped upon the long trail of blood, its destination towards the immortal huntress. The wolf leaned on the tall structure, an amused grin painted on his face. Blue eyes appraised the beast that bounded to the goddess, it's twisted horns posed towards the being. He had expected it would attack Andruil but no, in fact it did not.
It trotted to her side, revealing a slender elven clad in the armory of Andruil's elite hunters. The armor accentuated her slender body but he was miffed by the cowl that covered her face. His eyes trailed to her hands, they were bloody as a heart lay upon them.
The Halla trotted around her, igniting the bloodied path in a soft purple flame. It did not deter her, despite the halla's horns posed to pierce her flesh. The petite huntress merely lowered her hands as the Halla inspected its once beating heart. It prodded the organ with its nose, igniting it a soft orange.
The flames devoured the heart in a moment, soft orange on bright red muscles. The Halla nudged the flaming organ yet again but this time, the bright flames dispersed. The pyre was once orange and red, the pool of blood blackened with flame and the young huntress hands still bloody with their murder.
Falon'din looked please at the entire spectacle but his interest was to the woman beside Andruil. "I have heard of your new hunter but I did not expect a female could grace such a task."
Andruil looked smug and turned her gaze to the newcomer, "She is indeed one of my hunters, Falon'din. A fresh face to my hunters." She looked amused, as if there was humor in the collective name of her elite. She had her fair share of bedding hunters but this truth was tightly hidden. Rumors were always quashed beneath her wrath, that or the hunt would always run its course.
"Da'san, if you please." She spoke warmly, almost acrid at the term she used.
The cowl that shadowed her features was pulled off and Fen'harel could now appreciate her face. He could almost say she rivaled Andruil had she not donned the goddess' markings on her face.
Short fiery hair, hacked recklessly by a knife, pointed everywhere. It framed her face but not enough to call her dainty. He could see a dusting of freckles on her face, her pallor a warm color under the moonlight. Her cheekbones were high but not too distinct while her lips were temptingly kissable.
But if Fen'harel had to confess, it was her eyes that drew him. They were clear, almost blue but gray under the moonlight. Wide eyes that reflected the moon's beauty, cold and impassive. She was Andruil's teachings personified and he could not help but chuckle to himself.
Andruil must be proud to shape this girl.
The markings on her skin were a deep gray. Blue eyes followed the familiar curves and sharp points inked on her skin, they hid her features quite well. A scar along her right brow hardly changed the design but it did spoke of this huntress' past wound. Despite her cold appearance, she held a certain air of pride in her status, as would a hunter under Andruil's fickle eye.
The Dread Wolf pushed himself from the column and made his way towards Andruil, eager to learn more of her new devout.
Oh, he was amused.
He had a new toy to play with.
Falon'din devoured the sea of followers into his fellowship. He was a greedy man, one who would take a lost soul under his wing. He who is kin to Dirthamen harbored secrets but his brother kept them for him. For Falon'din knew the dead do not speak so easily in his presence.
Author's Notes: Let me know how it goes. Reviews are much appreciated :)