Chance Meeting [Kor] - Completed

"I can," Korvus offered with a smile, "And I'd be grateful that you would." It had been ages since he'd spent this much time, short though it was, with someone he could genuinely stand. Longer still since he had slept beside one such person. It was not love-making, it did not need to be. It was closeness and warmth, two things Korvus distinctly lacked at the moment, and so would accept gratefully. Korvus looked back over at his mask, the upstaring, circular eyes even more intently focused on the ceiling than Bishop. It did only so much for him, its enchantments were simple, but still he found himself oddly attached to the piece. It had been with him through too much to surrender easily, this much he knew.

Korvus was still there, apparently preoccupying himself by muttering strains of Demonic. After acquiescing that she would get her power on the morrow if they made a successful hunt, he had spent the rest of his time 'til sundown in meditation, and from there on out in recalling some of the tales he'd heard in Karmor. Most were told among servants and serfs, who bitterly vied for power even as they told such admonishing tales, or were spoken among the more primitive creatures that lived in the wilds outside the great city. Out there, where new demons formed and killed for a chance to gain entrance to Karmor, bonds were formed easily and broken even more so. Oral tradition was sparse, as tribes rarely lasted long before exploding into, or becoming a victim of, violence, but clever Korvus sought it out.

He lifted the sheet beside him courteously, awaiting her with a smile. "How did it go?" he queried.

Korvus cuddled up close to her, stroking her hair as she rested her head on his shoulder. He nodded as she spoke, "I will cook for us. Wake me and ask of me what you like... within reason, and you can spend the rest of the morning asleep." With manipulation of flame came, at the very least, a rudimentary understanding of how to apply it to meat. He doubted he was as adept a cook as he was, but out here he doubted it could be hard. He was not in a city or the halls of Karmor's more indulgent lords, and so doubted he would need to know anything particularly fancy. Her next question caused a brow to raise, "I'm not even sure I can get sick. Ever since our... meeting, however, I've been using magic much more heavily than previously. I'm just not used to how much I drain in a day. I will get used to it in time."

Again, Korvus' brow rose. Stop using magic? The idea seemed preposterous to him at first; it was like asking a crow to cease using its wings. But what, he asked himself, would a crow stand to gain from knowing the ways of the wingless? The answers were immediately apparent and pleasingly numerous, given a few moments' consideration. Preserve his power, build his bodily strength, and grow closer to the ways of the woman in whom he was rather interested. And she was offering this with no additional terms, to boot. Preposterous though it seemed, he seriously considered agreeing. More so when she stroked him, admonishing his body as much as he expected she would've ever had the stomach to. He placed his free hand upon her thigh, giving her a nod. "Very well," he agreed, "I will learn what you have to teach me..." he paused, "But not before granting you my gift, hm? If you would still suffer my presence after."

It was a poor move to cut off what bond he had, but it was a piece Korvus wanted off the proverbial board. He would play things with a touch more risk, test her as she tested him, and see where it landed him. He was not helpless, he had proven this to her, and he hoped that that would be enough for some time.

"That wouldn't be proper," Korvus said, "I may as well use my own magic if I'm going to make use of that." He grinned back, "I'll make do without." It was bold, but Korvus was certain that exceptions could be made. He had healed her, hadn't he? Were he to find himself in the same position of urgency (relative or otherwise,) he would not need to hesitate. Korvus was not a fool, but to say he tended to be a little more daring than was necessary would not be inaccurate.

His free hand moved slightly up and down her thigh, giving it the gentlest stroking he could offer. The fingers in her hair came to rest, cradling her head somewhat. He was not outright holding her, perhaps, but valued her closeness as much as she valued his. He did not keep friends for long, nor foes, always disappearing before things became too grim, but what would he do if he had no reason to disappear? What if there was but one other that he had to see consistently? Could he, perhaps, live with that, at least for longer than he could handle the madness of civilized men? He thought so. So long as she did not tire of him, he could see getting very used to her.

Korvus slept. He was motionless, his arms still loosely wrapped about her. He had come as close as he could for warmth and was almost pressed against her in a distressingly lewd fashion. Fortunately, this had been avoided.

Korvus slept. Stranger than this, Korvus dreamed. This was curious indeed, as Korvus did not dream.

He stood in a massive vaulted chamber of bricks the color of ember. Before him was a dais, and upon this dais stood four figures. Each stood about his height, but he knew that this was only to accommodate himself and their chambers. He knew these four. One stepped forward, the least coherent of them all, whose form shifted in possibilities each second in a whirling maelstrom of instantaneous mutation and decay. With a million voices, he spoke to Korvus,

Kar-Tora'Vuth'Oss.

The other three repeated this. Korvus winced.

Eliphas.

Korvus knew that voice. It as the voice of his master, the last man to ever call him Eliphas.

Walk not where you are unwelcome, Eliphas.

Korvus opened his mouth to speak. The world became indistinct, and was at once a dense jungle. He was nude, but what distressed him more than this was the gaping hole in his chest where his heart should be. Blood dribbled from this crater in his otherwise flawless body, but Korvus felt no pain. Onward he pressed.

His hesitant movements were arrested in moments as something leapt from the trees, sending Korvus to the floor. It perched atop him, and Korvus unsteadily opened his eyes to find Bishop, else a twisted parody thereof, there. Her breasts were massive, pendulous things that swung in front of his face. More distressing than this was her mouth, which was all too wide and lined with misshapen fangs. A greenish, viscous liquid dripped from between her legs, hissing when it met his skin and painlessly melting away patches of it. She did not speak, instead bringing up a knife- his old ritual blade- and drawing it slowly across his throat. Black blood spilled from within, and he felt true pain.


His eyes shot open, his mind mercifully released to the realm of the waking. He looked at Bishop almost imploringly, awake or not.

Korvus did not drink.

But, then again, Korvus did not dream, and so he took grateful gulps from the aleskin. It was a pleasant, poison agony that was refreshingly real in the face of the dream he had just been loosed from. He looked at her with a defeated smile afterwards, "So did I," he admitted helplessly.

Korvus' eyes were striking things. The scarlet shade of blood, they were easily seen as malevolent or beautiful. He looked back down at her, gazing into her eyes in a silent apology for his lack of answers. He gazed into her eyes, struck by what he saw in them but keeping his reaction down. He put an arm around her waist, hoping to draw her close, all the while smiling sleepily at her quip. "You had a dream too, then," he murmured. It struck him all the more how quickly she had known that he did. Had she just woken up as well? Frightening to consider, especially for one so used to a more magical state of mind. Everything was a portent of some sort, and nothing was coincidence.

"This is a dark thing, in my mind," he admitted, "I would..." he sighed, wondering how feeble it would make him seem to ask such a thing, "I would seek comfort of you now, that we should make it through the night." Comfort meant many things, and he feared he already knew what she would assume of it. Still, he needed to ask, especially now.

Korvus relaxed visibly, pressed up against her so. He shifted some, trying to make less apparent what had been pressed against her belly for a few moments. "My thanks," he said, having barely enough energy to mimic her in turn but doing so with some effectiveness. He smiled at her assurance; it was a simple thing, what he'd expect of one that lived in the wilds for so long a time, and it was a life he could yet see getting used to. He drew his face a little closer to hers under the guise of settling himself into his pillow. An arm draped over her, and he gave her a kind smile as his eyes returned to her own. "Here's to more pleasant dreams, then, Bishop?"

Korvus nodded his understanding, and found himself of two minds on it. Part of him was much too tired to pursue anything sexual with her. The other part was stone solid and was communicating to his brain in no uncertain terms that he wanted her, and quite badly. Korvus was a mutant, a warlock, and an unabashed bastard when it came to him to do so. He was also a man, and when his mind was fatigued by sleep, the will of the flesh was suddenly much more appealing. A hand slid down her back, fingertips dragging down her spine gently. "Would you have me?" he asked, not entirely sure if such was even the right way to do so. They had not been through anything all too jarring, but were so close in space (if not emotion) that it seemed at least somewhat natural. This was rather new for him, and he was certain it would help, and he doubted the experience would kill her, likewise. But, then, who was he to judge?

Korvus was pleasantly surprised. His blood, laden with corruption though it was, pumped faster through his body, and it wasn't long before the weariness was shaken out of his thoughts. He reacted quickly when she rolled on top of him, not so much resisting as positioning himself for the contest proper to begin. As quickly as they could, his pallid hands went to her waist and held her firmly. This new aggression was not something he hadn't entirely come to expect, but her eagerness combined with that simply predatory air was... new. He had felt it, but never had it inflicted upon him by another. He was dominant by default, and it was a lovely change to now be forced to work for such a thing. He gave her his cockiest grin, "We'll see, then, won't we?"

"You're very loud in bed," Korvus murmured, "Shall we state the obvious all night?" He gave her a grin. He looked tired again, but not the sort of bitter lethargy that came from being too drained of power. This was a good tired, and Korvus relished in it. Bishop nude and on top of him was not way in which he had expected the day to end, but who was he to complain? It had been a lovely experience, and Korvus hugged the wildswoman tightly in gratitude and affection.

Korvus did not dream, and that was how it should be.

Korvus also did not cook, but he was willing to make an exception after a night like that. He'd even gotten up early, like some sort of doting housewife, gingerly laying her back down on her stomach when he slid out from under her, careful not to wake her up. To his credit, the rabbit he was presently cooking was handled rather skilfully, and he seemed to be just about done with it. He hadn't bothered to put on any clothes yet, it seemed.

He turned his head to check on her, smiling with what might've been affection. "Morning," he said. In many ways, he felt much the same as her: his body was pleasantly sore in all the right places, due to both the exertion and Bishop's own roughness. He had entirely expected to have been sore afterward, perhaps a little bruised and assuredly worn out, but he entirely didn't expect that it was easily one of the best experiences he'd ever had between the sheets (ignoring, for the moment, that there were no sheets involved.)