the land remembers

The valley breathed. He could feel the way the earth trembled. The spine-like cliffs held cracks like memories, telling tales of old and offering pieces of themselves for wanderers to find. It remembered its past, but now would hold open the veil that welcomed new memories to be awoken.

With steady feet and a steadfast determination, the Grand Sin beheld his new land. The throne he would now sit upon had been held in place for centuries, and would do so again for centuries more. It was a place to be walked by him alone, and then more by those that followed the path of sin. To become one of the sinforged.

He would mold them. Design them in his image. Take their souls and rebirth them into what they were ultimately given life to be.

And when he did, no one could stand in his way again.

---

@Meris

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She had been traversing this… wasteland for what felt like an eternity, a phantom haunting this blighted, unforgiving landscape. A beast in a canine form! A torment. And where was her court? The glittering tapestries of her Grand Hall? The endless, sinuous curves of her enchanted gardens? Her… husbands? Each a masterpiece of virility, devotion, and artistry. Her lords and ladies, each a reflection of her own unparalleled beauty, their laughter echoing through halls of crystal and moonlight. Her loyal guard, their swords shimmering with captured starlight, ready to defend her— their goddess— from any threat. Her sister, the mirror image of her majesty. Vanished, every last one of them. Gone. A gaping wound torn in her very soul.

But the loss of her court was a mere pinprick compared to the true devastation of her being. The magic. The lifeblood—the very essence of who she was—had been ripped from her. It had pulsed through her veins, shaped her, defined her, became her. It wove the iridescent dossers hanging on her palace walls, summoned the fantastical beasts habituating her lands, made water and earth dance in the air, and whispered secrets to the flowers that bloomed eternally in her domain. Without it, she was… diminished. A shadow of her former glory.

This blighted land was a stark and agonizing contrast to the realm she had ruled over. Her kingdom, a paradise beyond mortal comprehension, shimmered with an ethereal beauty that defied all human description. Towers of spun moonlight kissed the heavens, their spires adorned with constellations she herself had painted with her own hand. Gardens bloomed with flora of unimaginable hues, their petals whispering secrets only the Fae could understand. Pools of liquid starlight reflected the entirety of the galaxy, and the very air hummed with the intoxicating scent of a thousand exotic blossoms, a rhapsody of sensory indulgence. Decadence in all its glory. Her very presence in that realm had reshaped reality itself, bending the laws of nature to her very whims. She was, in that place, a goddess—a force of creation and destruction all at once. And now? Reduced to this… dog's existence, in this desolate, charnel world. Bereft in a world devoid of all grace, all artistry, if this jagged, monstrous mockery of mountains with it's dead bramble was anything to judge by. This… place! A prison, a cage, a testament to the utter failure of imagination. Her realm, a dichotomy of light and shadow, of breathtaking beauty, of magic that hummed in the very air and you could feel in the very marrow of your bones, could never be comprehended by this… mortality. A world of exquisite sensation, of power that thrummed in her veins. A world now forever locked away from her and far out of her reach when she awoke to this… travesty.

The grit and grime of this land crumbled beneath her paws as she ascended, seeking the paltry advantage of height. Perhaps from there she could chart a course, a path away from this abhorrent place. It seemed she was not the only one with such ambitions, however. A hulking brute of a man, a monument to the tedious monotony of male form stood before her like a silent, uninvited monolith. She moved from the shadows, her pale, moon-touched fur a beacon against the bleak backdrop of her surroundings. A queen, even in exile, commands. With a languid, almost dismissive air born of centuries of absolute authority, the words dripped from her lips like venomous honey. “Fancy the view, beast?”

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There, upon his throne of spines, he remained motionless, idly tracing the cold stone of the makeshift armrest as the approaching presence disturbed the stillness. The silence. He did not need to look up to sense her—her footsteps, deliberate and unhurried, echoing through the edge of the valley.

When the pale, strange woman stopped before him, he finally lifted his gaze, amber eyes like fire itself gleamed. He studied her, expression unreadable, as if weighing her very existence in that moment.

“I fancy what I see to be mine. This land is just that.” The land could be lesser, but it was still his. And that was enough.

“You walk with purpose,” he mused, his voice a slow, measured drawl. And she spoke with power she did not hold in his eyes. “Yet you know not where you stand. Nor with whom.” He leaned forward slightly, his presence pressing outward like a creeping shadow. “From where is it you come, to now be in a place such as this?” His tone carried neither warmth nor irritation, only the quiet authority of a monarch who had no need to announce his power.

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His self-important display… it was nothing. A fleeting, pitiful spectacle, a child's playacting before a true monarch. A goddess of moonstone, that’s what she was, and he, with his blustering pronouncements… a commoner in a borrowed crown. His indifference to her inherent glory, the way he didn’t see… it was a grit in the gears, a foul tang on the tongue. Still, she held her peace. He could wallow in the death throes of this festering land; let him claim dominion over its decay. He could have it, the wretched, blighted husk. Meris had no desire for its poisoned soil or crumbling stones. “It certainly suits its master,” she drawled, a thin, predatory smile curving her lips.

Cower? Never. A queen does not cower, no matter how bound and betrayed she might be. The chains that held her were as brittle as his pride. “And the same could be said of you, darling.” The shadow of his looming presence fell upon her, and the game, she decided, was over. With a serpentine grace that came with the centuries, she moved. Not a moment’s hesitation, not a flicker of fear. She ascended the makeshift throne of rock and rot, her movement as fluid and graceful as a wraith. Meris was built to command respect, a figure of stunning proportions, an hourglass of feminine allure. She settled beside him, a languid curve against his thick, rank fur. She nestled in, pressing her body into his side, every contour a curve of deliberate provocation. “Now, darling,” she purred, her voice a silken caress, each word a carefully laid trap. She tilted her head, her cheek brushing against the coarse fabric of his neck. “Why the incessant interrogation?” The tease was as coy as a vixen was and as dangerous as one too. Her jaw angled just so, a silent threat, a promise of teeth that could be a weapon if she chose.

skill :escort

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He did not move as she ascended the steps of his throne, her movements deliberate, her presence daring. The audacity of it was almost amusing. Almost.

When she lowered herself onto the seat beside him, claiming space that was not hers, the skies seemed to darken, the air itself growing heavier. Slowly, he turned his head, fiery amber hues settling upon her with a gaze that burned—not with anger, but something colder, something far more dangerous.

“You are bold,” he murmured, voice a silken thread of menace. “Or foolish.” His fingers drummed against the stone armrest, a slow, measured rhythm, as if weighing the consequences of such insolence. “You come here, in my domain, and think I would not question you?” Perhaps foolish was indeed the correct term to use for this one.

Then, without warning, he leaned in—just enough that his presence loomed over hers, his voice a whisper at the edge of her ear. “Tell me, woman… do you truly believe you belong there, beside me?” His tone was unreadable, but the weight behind his words was undeniable.

His gaze dragged over her, searching for the cracks beneath her defiance. He could feel her breath, steady yet laced with something unspoken. A challenge, perhaps. A test.

Sinister let the silence stretch, the charged air between them pressing like an unseen force. “This throne was not given,” he finally continued, voice dark and low. “My crown was not given... It was taken. They were taken. Earned in blood, betrayal, and ruin. This land is new, but ripe for the taking. And I will have it, to rebuild my claim.”

A heavy paw lifted, brushing against the edge of her shoulder—just a whisper of contact, but one filled with unspoken warning. “So tell me, white one,” he mused, tilting his head slightly, “Are you here to taunt and tease me? Or do you intend to stay—see what a true king of darkness can do and stand by my side to watch the world of sins crumble beneath our feet. Who knows, maybe someone of your... demeanor... might fit right in.” Was it a blow towards those hips and that attitude she flaunted? Indefinitely. Did he give a damn? Hell no.

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She cared very little for the temperamental weather they were having—knowledgeable enough to notice it was all about perspective and not actual sorcery at play. Stripped of her power, reduced to mortality, she still understood magic's hidden language. Pure, tainted - it was all the same to her; its source mattered little a being once so inextricably linked to it.

Glacial eyes, cold and assessing, fixed upon the man. He turned slowly, and his golden gaze ignited a miniature inferno. A brilliance of darkness pulsed within those pools, a corruption that tasted like ash on her tongue. Magic sang in his eyes, old magic, grimy and raw. It was not the subtle, intricate magic she favored, the magic she would devour, but she recognized the infernal when it stared her down, challenging her to yield. And Meris did not yield. Old things, she knew, had appetites most peculiar, indeed.

She allowed herself a brief survey of his “domain.” A dismal, decaying wasteland, hardly fit for a mouse, let alone a ruler. A delicate curl of her lip showed her displeasure as the wind caught a stray strand of silver hair. He was a self proclaimed king ruling over a dying realm. The Queen of the Fae was not impressed. “Forgive me,” she drawled, her voice a silken blade, “but I assumed such desolation was unclaimed.” He was a pretender on a dying stage. A flicker in her peripheral vision, a shifting of shadows, and suddenly they were close, too close. Their muzzles were nearly touching, the space between them collapsed with predatory swiftness. “I belong where the mirror reflects a worthy image,” she purred. It was not a rejection, but an evasion. Meris was royalty, a goddess revered by many. She needed no validation. She answered to no one but herself, and will go where she pleased, when she pleased. Her voice was a gentle mockery as she spoke, “Not that I would desire to join a land in such disarray, but tell me, dear King... why would you claim such a ruin as your own?”

A pregnant silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken challenge, a power play in its own right. Finally, he spoke, detailing his rise to power, his claim to this barren land. Her lips curved into a cruel smile. “Claim pu kingdom ju rot, king ju shuni'tenka,” — Claim your kingdom of rot, King of Nothing. she breathed the words, a silken whisper laced with a chilling knowing as the words chimed like an ancient music box.

A massive paw of his wrapped around her shoulder and she leaned further into the touch not to seek comfort, but to push boundaries and test limits. Her body was just a vessel, a beautiful vessel to be treasured for sure, but she could not be tainted unless she desired it. An eyebrow arched at his question, and she nestled her head beneath his chin, inhaling his scent - a scent of earth and fire. “Careful, darling,” she breathed, her voice a warning. “I am no soldier to follow your commands.” The Fae Queen was not a servant. “If I join anyone, it is as their Goddess and Queen.” She rolled onto her back, languidly submitting to his touch. But the surrender was an illusion. A cat's brazen invitation, a display of vulnerability that masked the sharpness of their claws.

Her eyes met his, unafraid of the inferno. “I would only join as your Queen, darling. The woman you will worship as the Goddess I am. Can you do that, beast?” Her words dripped with honey, but her intent was far from sweet, a razor-sharp blade hiding beneath the surface, ready to strike at a moment's notice. The air between them was charged with tension, a power play in full swing, each side refusing to back down. The Queen of Fae was above all that, a goddess in her own right, worshipped and praised by many. She would not be tamed, would not be controlled, unless she desired it. And even then, it would be on her terms, not his.

skill: escort

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Sinister watched her, unblinking, as the air between them thickened with the weight of unspoken wars. She moved like smoke, elusive, a ghost of something once divine, now wandering in mortal skin. Yet she carried herself as though the world still bowed at her feet.

A slow smirk carved its way onto his lips, the edges sharp as a blade unsheathed. “A queen without a throne, a goddess without a temple,” he mocked, his voice a low rumble, dark and indulgent. “Tell me— do you seek a kingdom… or simply a fool willing to worship at your feet?” If the latter, she would surely have no place here.

She pushed into his touch, testing, and he let her—for now. The scent of her was something foreign, something laced with old magic and distant arrogance, but he did not kneel for things he did not choose to kneel for. And she was no exception.

Her challenge slithered between them, veiled in honeyed words and feline grace, but he did not flinch beneath it. “You misunderstand, goddess.” His paw did not retreat, did not waver. “I have no interest in hollow thrones shared with pretenders.” He lowered his muzzle closer, breath warm against the space where her pulse beat. “But if you wish to be worshipped, then prove yourself worthy of devotion. To be queen is to hold power that is equal to my own. I do not share that lightly.”

A dangerous pause. A knowing smirk. “Or admit that your divinity is nothing more than a relic of a past no longer yours to claim.”

His grip did not tighten, nor did it loosen. He simply held her there—suspended between invitation and warning. Waiting, he wondered in silence how she might respond.

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