Schattenfeuer » Hibernal Den » Ulysses

Ulysses

(#38136475)

Level 25 Pearlcatcher

Familiar

Transmuted Treasure

Energy: 50/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

6.85 m

Wingspan

6.2 m

Weight

689.94 kg

Genetics

Gloom
Pinstripe

Blackberry
Bee

Violet
Glimmer

Hatchday

Dec 18, 2017
(6 years)

Breed

Adult
Pearlcatcher

Eye Type

Fire
Dark Sclera

Level 25 Pearlcatcher

Max Level

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

none

Offspring

none

Biography

__._

Ulysses Lorelei.
↠ Duke

"And now was acknowledged the presence of the Red Death. He had come like a thief in the night. And one by one dropped the revellers in the blood-bedewed halls of their revel, and died each in the despairing posture of his fall..."

First born, noble, son and heir. He had so much and could keep none of it, could not give it back as it ran through his fingers like fine sand. He tried, of course he did, he was merely a child back then. Try harder, his mother would say and just to remind him of her words, she would take up the crop. You are not trying hard enough.

Politics, fencing, the business - diamonds and pearls, gold and platinum - he tried it all and failed, one by one. In between the carvings of his failures - deep into the flesh of his back, down on the bleached pale of his bones they wrote it, their punishment, his failing - he felt like flying, high, too high. Until the sun would burn him whole in her fiery embrace. That was a lie, within the Undying Empire, there is no sun.

The iron ball and chain dragging him down came directly afterwards, the change so rapidly it could give one whiplash, alias, he was too busy weeping and wallowing in his own misery. It was this constant up and down, back and forth, the inability to find a balanced middle. He would drown himself in things one hour, only to push everything away the next, most of the times it happened the same day.

Enough has to be enough, his father decided, when the crop was no longer spurring him on. This race horse had long run out of stamina, he would never be their successor and would ruin the business the moment they gave him control. So another heir had to be made. As his mother’s stomach started to swell once more, his father picked up his cane and used polished wood and gold to bring home the message that he was not out of the fire just yet. You better find something you’re good at, boy, otherwise--

There was no need to finish this sentence, he knew, how could he not. He wasn’t that foolish. Or maybe he was? Did it matter in the end? The pressure only seemed to double up when his sister was born. She was charming and sweet to their parents faces. Yet he knew, he knew of her ability to ruthlessly use people up and leave them as shrivelled husks at the side of the road, forgotten and damned. Olympea was everything his parents could have wanted in their first born heir.

And all he had in the meantime was music, the only comfort that would not hurt him in the end. No matter how much he drank, no matter how many boys and girls visited his bedroom chamber when the rest of the family was out, his mania never lasted too long. And even if it did and he composed like a man possessed, playing until the ivory of the keys was drenched in crimson, within the Undying City, there was no money to be made with music alone. Not when the Emperor’s own Grandson was the rising star - nay, the sun in its zenith - at the musician sky. Everything he tried, the other had done already before, better, fresher, sooner. He was good, but he could not stand up against the best.

You are lucky I still have a use for you, brother dear., his younger sister said to him and he couldn’t help but agree, despite the ice in her voice, the disgust at finding him again in soiled bed sheets, reeking of wine and whatnot. You better not ruin my wedding too.

He was confused. A wedding? When? Who in Undying City would even dare to marry into the Lorelei family? No one and he had been so wrong to think he could stay comfortable in the open, dark environment of his childhood, where Hedony was openly supported and no one knew how a scandal was even possible. Towards the border of twilight they moved, further, into broad, golden light, he had never seen the sun before in his life. The Capitol was where his sister’s and family’s eyes were set, where they would go. They wanted to further their influence and had arranged for a marriage.

And what a lovely wedding it was, icy and drenched to the core with politics. He didn’t understand a single word, drowning in his own misery inside his head to care too much. The plan had been for him to attend the wedding and then return, back to the parental home, yet life had different plans altogether. Within Gardens veiled by secrecy and greed, there could only be casualties. This time around it happened to be their parents, his and Olympea’s. He mourned, openly, despite the hurt and wounds they had inflicted on him, despite them carving their presence under his skin and into his flesh, leaving his back a mess of scars. Olympea only ever sneered at him, before returning her attention to stabilizing the business.

Crowe appeared a good enough man, even tempered, a high ranking member of the Court within White City, he felt somewhat jealous that his sister got such a lovely man for herself, she didn’t even loved him, all she wanted was a child to use as a puppet for her plans. How it had started, that Crowe and him got into talking, he barely remembered. It had something to do with his music, that he knew, for every time he played, the other would appear.

I am not comfortable with the idea of lying with women., Crowe probably didn’t even know what he was implying. Poor man, his reputation tarnished by his furious wife, calling him an impotent for his ongoing refusal to father a child. Between the clicking and spinning of a melody with ivory keys, he had to stop himself from simply reaching out. Needless to mention that he failed, like always.
.
.
Side by side they sat, on the piano bench so closely together, he could feel the warmth seeping off Crowe’s body, into his own. And his throat became dry, his fingers twitched and allowed the melody to tamper off into nothingness. Deep breaths didn’t help, Crowe was so close, he could smell the other man’s hair, the silk of his many robes. Could hear the steady, sonorous sound of his voice sharing worries, words.

They both hit the ground before any of them knew what had happened, between a pained outcry and the rip of silk, he only remembered swallowing up any and all kinds of sounds that would crawl up Crowe’s throat, the man trapped under him on his back, blindfolded and haloed by his pale hair, he looked delicate, fragile even, unresponsive to the kiss he forced onto him. One after the other, deeper and deeper even until something changed, a sudden thing as tension bled out of Crowe’s limbs, his fingers no longer tore on his own clothing instead opted to pull closer.

Not enough, he needed more, wanted more and as he tore and pulled to free more of this man, the one that was making him insane with the longing, that promised subconsciously everything he could have ever wanted only to pull it away again. Protests were not heard, fell upon deaf ears and he only snapped out of it when Crowe muttered for him to stop, that his sister would kill them if she ever were to find out.

“Oh no she won't. I will kill you myself for this!”, rage tinted his sight and he could not stop, hands around the pale throat, he pushed, cut away air and watched as the man he knew he loved too much started to suffocate, because he couldn’t have him, couldn’t handle rejection in any kind of way. “Why are you pushing me away too? Am I not good enough for you? Am I not worthy, not good enough for anyone? I don’t deserve this!”
.
.
He wanted to kill Crowe so badly that day, for rejecting him, for having nightmares and fears of his own. And yet, he couldn’t. He barely remembers how or why he had stopped, only that one moment Crowe laid there, gasping and clawing at his fingers, the next he was gone and the tears came fast enough to drown him in the taste of salt.

Shame burnt him, harder than the scorching sun of White City ever could, at every set of footsteps he flinched, he had just attacked a Judge, had damaged his sister’s husband. He had abused the trust of the man he claimed to love. If it were to him alone, he deserved everything that was coming for him. And yet. The guilt, the shame, the agony, it all wasn’t enough to stop his hand, to sway him from doing it again.

Crowe came to him bearing a metaphorical olive branch and he snapped it in two, locked the doors and refused to listen to reason. Strange however, how Crowe buckled and surrendered to force, only to cling and return every gesture with clumsy, albeit sincere. And around his words of love and pleas for affection, he barely managed to speak out loud.

They were playing with fire, behind his sister’s back and in the two-faced society of White City. They were pleading for the pyre to be stacked, for them to be placed upon it, bound by sin and rope. And even when fire would be licking at his skin, he would never find it in him to let go, to regret.

Crowe
His sister's husband, the forbidden fruit.
How was he supposed to stay strong, to
reject temptation when he came on silent feet?
When he was there through sadness and
through mania, he will drag him down, destroy
him just as he destroys himself. But letting go
was never an option.

___

code & assets by archaic #19153

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Exalting Ulysses to the service of the Flamecaller will remove them from your lair forever. They will leave behind a small sum of riches that they have accumulated. This action is irreversible.

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