forget me not

The land here was near-barren.

The hills rolled with boulders and stones, moss grew in the more sheltered crevices. Thorny bushes with forbidden berries nestled within, those she left alone. How could any measly thing be worth all the effort of picking among thorns?

It was why she carried onward to a point of the rest that seemed high enough to look outward. Woods in the distance in either direction, although she noted that the ones ahead of her seemed far different than the ones behind her. Yet she had never cared for cold, snowy places. Mountains could keep their year-round cold.

She would stay here among lower lands where season may come and she might know warmth as much as she knew cold.

So why did she press onward as if she might see the edges of that cold forest and see what the north was like for herself? Perhaps it was the tangle of the unknown, the scents that beckoned her closer...

---

@Visevor

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Large paws, scattered with deep scars of yore, splayed as they traversed the rocky, barren terrain. A horizon draped in a carpet of dry moss, frail of the embrace of rain, interrupted only by the occasional patches of stubborn grass that struggled to stake their claim between the imposing stones and boulders strewn haphazardly across the hillside. The stones, gray and weathered, stood resilient; their surfaces scored with age and time. 

Hunger roared like an eternal flame within the gut of the beast, who hadn't had a good meal in several days. What he managed to catch had been torn apart and devoured savagely, desperate to sate the hungry gnaw that enveloped his stomach. His nose scathed silently over a berry bush wielding sharp thorns, and gave a displeased snort, chuffing angrily at the irritant food. The prospect of dealing with thorns was a trifling inconvenience in exchange for the sweet treat hidden beneath. His jaws widened to snap the thorny branches with ease, revealing the ripe berries nestled within. His form stood silent as he nipped the berries from their stems, savoring the sweet juice that exploded within his mouth, before he’d move on to the next bush. 

His eyes, sharp and gleaming like polished obsidian, scanned the horizon as he moved. They held a sinister intelligence, the kind that saw through deceit and preyed upon weakness. He was spite and bile, a fiery inferno awaiting redemption. Each step carried the weight of his insatiable desires, a wolf in search of conquest, willing to take it with tooth and claw. His slow stroll slowly ascended into a trot of haste, the wolf moving with a surprising speed across the landscape, dark fur swishing as he moved. Though predators unlike him prowled these regions, they’d be unwise to tangle with the herculean wolf; evident in the predatory slink he moved in, and the muscles that bulged beneath an obsidian and crimson pelt.

He almost missed the form that stood atop one of the many hilltops, feminine and regal. Visevor was nothing but a man, and at the sight of the wolfess, came to an abrupt stop, head clocking in her direction. His amber eyes burned with a feral curiosity, and slowly the wolf saddled up towards the rocky hill, approaching with a quick stride so that he may catch her before she disappeared. She headed for the woodlands in the far distance, and Visevor gave an audible bark to catch her attention, one commanding and gravelly with a booming bass. 

“Woman!” He approached her back left side, his head careening downwards to peer upon her. A beautiful face. His eyes glittered with excitement and fire, a chilling smirk pulling upon his snout. “My, my… hello.” He breathed, breath strong with the smell of sweet berry juice. 

“Perhaps she would fancy some company during her travels?”

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She had never been addressed like that before.

Well, perhaps that was not wholly true. Many a man had called things upon her other than her name, had thought she might deserve less care than any other living being in the courts. After all, what place did a woman have in court if not a queen or princess? Ceres had never cared deeply for those men, but she had been able to play along with them well enough. The less they thought of her the looser their lips often became.

Perhaps she should have been an assassin instead of an advisor. Times come and gone, she supposed.

And she knew better than to swing above her weight. He was a behemoth come to earth. She was tall, but he loomed and his weight would have easily crushed her had he meant harm. It would be better to appease and play with this one than get snappy about how she was addressed.

So she turned with a softer gaze, eyes heavy some as if she meant to cast a sultry look upon him. He smelled of fire — charcoal burned and the rain that might wash it out afterward, tinted by the sweetness of berries. It was a scent she might never forget. Fitting for a behemoth size that would always stay stark in her memories.

“She'd fancy it much,” She dared to offer a polite smile. “But perhaps we ought to exchange pleasantries before we get swept too far?”

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Visevor’s stare, fueled with interest and venom, looked upon the wolfess’ sultry expression; large lashes tailored to gorgeous amber eyes, shadowed in the orange of sunsets, and her cheek fur fell in luscious tassels alongside her framed face. She brought a fire wrapping around the heart of the brute, something hot; she was a fair beauty, and his travels had not brought him upon many -- if any at all. His tongue ran swiftly across his bridgework stained with age and wet his scarred charcoal nose, and his scorching gaze lingered upon her, before they trailed her frame. Dainty, feminine. He practically towered above her, a boulder in his own right, steel and unbending. 

He returned her polite smile with a devilish grin of his own, one thick brow lifting in an amused rise upon a handsome face. Though his crown had been ruined by the massive scar that marked half of his face, it did not do much to steal the charm he wore like a mask; from his cut features to machiavellian grin, he was far from sore on the eyes. 

“I wear many names,” The brute’s voice, low with a husky sound bordering on a growl, fell from his blackened lips. “I was born Abaddon, but I’ve rebranded myself Visevor.” His gaze cast briefly to the horizons ahead, beginning to take a few steps forward, though didn’t stray too far from the wolfess’ side, his tail brushing softly across her shoulder. “And what is the name of the beauty I find myself in the presence of?” His eyes narrowed with mischief and he gave a flash of his large incisors. 

Visevor quite fancied the damsel, and that was rare for the brute. Though romantic, he was often above spending his time impressing, courting, spewing niceties; he was one of action. But… there was always room for growth.

 

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He did not disregard her attempt for names and that was enough for her to give him more of a chance.

Yet as he spoke, she watched him close. Eyes fluttered in a way as she looked over his body. Was she truly admiring him or sizing him up? Even she could not tell. Much of his long legs were twisted with scarred flesh. It all lead up to scarred shoulders and quarters. From there...a scarred throat, a scarred face. At once she wished to know the story of each mark. Had they all come at once in a horrible affair? Was he a warrior who flaunted each one with a tale of victory behind them?

She welcomed him closer, the brush of his tail not immediately hated either. It gave her time to look at him closer as well.

“I find Visevor a more fitting brand for you,” Was it flattery if her voice rang genuine? It rolled off her tongue better than his birth name anyway. She might speak it plenty to keep his focus, best to like it as well too.

“Ceres.” Her gaze left the hard slopes of his shoulders and looked to his face now. “It is the only branding I have ever owned, personally, but I am not opposed to new titles...” There was a humored sort of look in her gaze now.

How did one rebrand themselves, anyway? She was not truly looking to restart — but when opportunities came in the form of giant men, she was hard pressed to decline.

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Visevor's dark eyes, burning pools of amber, did not leave hers--he watched her with a quiet intrigue, as if trying to memorize every inch of her feminine face. With each flutter of her lashes, the brute relished in her captivating stare, walking alongside her with a strong, flaunting gait. He could feel the way her gaze traveled across him, eyeing the brawny features he wore, and lingering over the many scars that decorated his dark frame, scars that he wore like trophies of his many triumphs. The wolf could not, however, discern whether or not her admiration was genuine or if she was merely sizing him up as if he were a meaty elk for the taking, but that lingering question left him wanting to know even more.

As he drew closer to her, Visevor's movements were deliberate, every step a mesmerizing display of fluid grace. The brute moved with a quiet confidence, one that’d been pampered and honed over his few years of existence--no doubt, the wolf knew of his strengths, and doubted the existence of any weaknesses he possessed. An arrogant, vain creature -- but there was the lingering suspicion in the back of his mind that this stranger was not much different than he.

Perhaps he’d finally met his match. 

At her compliment, a large sneer of a smile pulled across the masculine’s face, yellowed teeth revealing from beneath his black lips. A chuckle, warm and gravelly, pulled from the brutus’ chest in response and his own head tilted at her introduction. Ceres. A beautiful name, one he had not heard before. Visevor’s jaws unlatched to speak, tone practically a deep purr: “Ceres,” a smile came, warming his otherwise dark and venomous features. “A name as beautiful as the woman it invokes.” 

Flattery and cheap compliments, it was a brand the wolfess had surely met time and time again. But Visevor prided himself on being better, on being stronger. He was no weakling covering up falsities with a pretty smile; no. Visevor was a God in his own right, and soon, somehow and someway, the bastard would claim a Throne of his own. He would be feared, admired. He would strike awe in his subjects, the fools who blindly followed him. An ambition he held close to his heart. 

“Is that right?” He asked, honeyed vocals brushing across her ear as he leaned his head closer, exchanging a brief touch of his nose to her soft ear. “Perhaps I can find a fitting title for you... at my side?” A bold remark, but an invitation nonetheless. Visevor was not prone to company, but company of hers would not go unappreciated… and afterall, if he were to forge his own Empire, he would not do so without allies. And every King needed an heir.

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tagged for counsellor bc it gives me aide energy but no problem if it doesnt fit!

---

He flattered her.

It rippled over her skin like electricity — like fire. He had the speech of a regal man, despite the way his skin had been torn like a warrior meant only for the battlefield. Despite her experience with honeyed words and charming faces she could not say she was immune.

Perhaps that was why she allowed her gaze to linger upon his broad jaw, his amber eyes. Like a warm fire's embers in a mask of darkness and blood. Scars ran over but had not blinded him, so he would not be deprived of her beauty, as he had said. Good — let him see the brilliance in her own gaze, the shameless lingering gazes upon him and the smile that teetered upon a coy cunningness than it did one of radiance.

Especially when he closed in, breath along her ear with the dark honey of his voice washing over her like shadows. A nose, touch. She turned her head at once, to put her face into his own as opposed to the back of her head. Let them gaze upon one another, if he dared to hold a title before her. Temptation coiling and twisting around her like a snake.

At his side.

He spoke as if he had known her a lifetime, but perhaps they were simply cut from the same cloth. Prepared to be serpentine and cutthroat in their ways to secure their lives, the things they wanted. If neither had anything now then there was a chance to raise something between them. Let him be the brute to her silver tongue.

“I would be no other place.” Confident in these words now.

“At your side — or not at all.” A tilt of her chin upward so that she might stare up into his face. Let him know she was not a woman to be content with a silent spot beneath his grasp. She was not meant to be a hushed figure, busied with babies and teachings — things she could do but they would not be her whole legacy.

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In the glittering orange eyes of the wolfess at his side, he saw the same cold brilliance that darkened his own. Her gaze was blistering, holding his own with a fervent resilience, and she did not falter under his calculating stare. It brought a bubble of satisfaction to the brute’s gut, a boil of please beneath his skin, the blood within his veins suddenly aflame. He saw himself reflected in her, and there was no wolf walking the ground that Visevor loved more than himself. 

When her head turned, gaze meeting his and holding it with a relentlessness he’d not seen in what felt like moons, the wolf felt a shudder roll down his back. There was power in the wolfess, a power he craved, one he wished to relish in. From his nose and mouth, his breath was hot upon her snout that pressed warm to his, and a devilish smile pulled across his maw. His venomous bridgework glistened beneath the sneer he wore. 

“So be it.” His words, cold as ice, fell to the ground like weighted anchors. They were definite, final. His mind had been made up and it would not change, no; he would crawl to the depths of hell and return back to ensure Ceres remained at his side. Her chin tilted upwards and he met her defiant gaze with a look of knowing, not daring to break away from her enrapturing stare; his tail brushed delicately alongside hers, and his strong side pressed flush against her own. “You are something else, Ceres.” Visevor spoke. “And I am a wolf who knows when to not let something slip through his grasp.” 

He moved forwards and looked to the open horizon, casting a long stare out across the rolling hills of stone and moss. In the distance, a forest, wide and thick. He looked back over his shoulder, giving a small jerk of his head to beckon her forwards. “Lead the way.” He would follow; afterall, it was he who joined her journey.

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tagged for counsellor bc it gives me aide energy but no problem if it doesnt fit!

---

His words draped over her shoulders like a winter's shawl, heavy and warm. Something to tie her down whether she had expected it or not. Yet just as she had told him, it was not so unwelcomed a notion.

He was raw strength alongside her.

What might she give in return? Her all, of course. The mind a woman who was once advisor and diplomat for many a ruling figure. Her loyalty which would chain her to him for what might very well become an eternity. They were vicious creatures — and warm words were only for show when their actions might become incredibly loud as they forged a future onward.

She liked to see his gaze upon her, that he did not balk at her boldness and nor did he seem to feel threatened by it either.

He was what she needed to survive.

“Then hold tight,” An invitation and a warning all in one. There was a devious look in her warm summer gaze then. A newfound appreciation for how he felt at her side. Protection, power, strength. Feelings that wormed through her insides as he touched her side physically now too.

Yet they should be off now, instead of standing here with eyes only for one another. It was not proper, no. She liked him already but she would not make it seem so easy. Instead she wished to see him in travels. Something in her heart yearned for a grand place, a fortress to be made among the unknowns in this world.

What did he want?

“Powerful people should have powerful places. Don't you agree?”

She offered only a flick of her against his chest as she moved forward, prepared to lead them along.

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Already, the two engaged in a dangerous dance. She tempted him, and he enjoyed it. In fact, he could sense that she relished in the way his eyes lingered upon her, twinkling like dark pools. Upon her face, she wore the smile of a temptress, and something devious lingered within her eyes; Visevor met her smile with one of his own, ivory teeth glittering like poisonous incisors--he knew the bite of death. 

He could see it now. A Kingdom at their behest, beholden to their every word. They would be crimson rulers, painting the sunsets red with blood. Beneath them, the masses would grovel. And them -- they would be the only ones in the world who mattered. A God and Goddess. She shared in this ambition with him, he knew it, he could see it in the way she moved. Power, even now, thrummed behind each paw forward she took.

“I could not agree more, my jalan.” Moon. It would be her nickname, the endearing name with which he would call her. She beckoned him forwards with the touch of her tail to his scarred chest and the brute relented.

Lumbering, slow, calculative. His pawsteps fell like heavy weights upon the mossy ground, though at the same time, they were quick and practiced; like the dancing of a spider. He followed after his new clarity, smoldering eyes never once leaving her side. His gait was thunderous as he joined her at her side, leaning his head down to press a warm nose to her cheek, breathing in her sweet aroma.  “I will conquer an Empire for you, and shatter skies and spill whatever blood I must to do so. I will give you a bloody Throne and make you a Queen, and only then would I expect your affections.”

 It was a proclamation he did not make lightly.

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His jalan.

What did it mean, she wondered. Yet it felt like if she asked, he won. Something somehow. Instead she only turned a warm gaze upon him for a moment eyes borderline sultry before they returned to the path they may take.

Perhaps he already had won, though. Wooed her with such strong claims of what he might do to win her. No one had ever gone to such great lengths for her, no one had ever thought that she was deserving of a throne with the highest title. She had been kept beneath a ceiling, tamed and chained so that her greediness did not consume all. Yet here he was, prepared to free her into a life of blood-soaked divinity if she so wished for it.

He knew that she must be wooed and worked for, that she was not prepared to throw her whole self at him just for promises.

Despite the fact that she allowed him close, that she enjoyed him close, there were some boundaries she must set. Touches would not go further than this until he had truly done all he had said he would for her. That she promised herself. No matter the intrigue, the wandering gazes, the protection she might find wrapped around him.

She did allow herself to lean into the closeness of his face. Forehead softly pressed along his broad jaw.

“My affections will be...” She exhaled, a deep breath in of his scent that prodded fire into her veins. “Brilliant. As bright as your conquering and befitting the divinity we will create between us. They will be worth each drop of blood put into our future.”

She would paint an image for him with her words, conjure grand feelings into him. Men had burned whole kingdoms for things far less than what she spoke of now.

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