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Feb 20th, 2013
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  1. Handing the body over gracefully, Auroriana, Servant of D'baen says to you, "I do hope she isn't too dry, Your Grace. I procured her from the desert."
  2.  
  3. Auroriana gives the corpse of a black-haired woman to you.
  4.  
  5. [Auroriana is yawning and stuff]
  6.  
  7. You have emoted: The ghost of a smile flirts with Ezalor's face as he notes your yawn. "A small rest first, perhaps," he says softly.
  8.  
  9. With a soft sigh, Auroriana, Servant of D'baen says to you, "Yes, Your Grace. Thank you. Sometimes being so young does have its disadvantages."
  10.  
  11. [walk to a room]
  12.  
  13. Auroriana lies down on a double-stacked bed.
  14.  
  15. Auroriana closes her eyes, curls up into a ball and falls asleep.
  16.  
  17. Auroriana turns around and carefully makes the bed back up, tucking the linens under the pillows and smoothing it just so before turning to curtsey lightly. "Thank you, Your Grace. Much better."
  18.  
  19. You have emoted: Ezalor's head snaps up as his eyes open. He smiles brightly as he watches you make the bed. "Well trained, I see. Excellent."
  20.  
  21. Auroriana allows a ghost of a smile to cross her lips, her expression otherwise serene. "I always leave as I came, Your Grace. I do so abhor a mess left for the next person to find. Plus, not leaving a trace of yourself is always.. wise, in most situations."
  22.  
  23. You have emoted: Ezalor stares at you amusedly as you speak, one hand idly stroking his chin. "Messes are indeed to be abhorred. You have advanced rather quickly in experience, I'm pleased to see. Tell me, have you begun considering the next step in your path?" He tosses the woman's corpse roughly to the ground as he finishes, his eyes never leaving you.
  24.  
  25. Auroriana automatically lifts the skirts of her gown as the woman falls, taking a small step back to keep her immaculate white outfit from getting soiled with sand or blood, her eyes fixed upon your face with a small smile. "Yes, thanks to the lovely assistance of Duchess Aloli, I was able to get my strength far faster than normal. I am, in fact, still reeling from all my new power. I don't feel so.. how did she put it? Squishy, anymore." she admits with a quiet laugh, lifting her fingers from her gown to let it flutter back around the tops of her heels. "I am unsure of my next steps, Your Grace. I have been trying to read up on my scrolls."
  26.  
  27. You have emoted: Ezalor squats down beside the corpse, his gaze still on you. "Strength," he mutters with a wry smile, "You have not even begun to scratch the surface of what is possible. What comes next is to receive the first drop of the Gift, to bind yourself to one of the Consanguine. To become a Servant in more than name; to define your very existence on subservience to your Sire." His gaze finally drops to the corpse, bright blue eyes burning for a moment as he frowns.
  28.  
  29. You raise the lifeless corpse to your mouth and exhale. The corpse instantly dries and crumbles away into a cloud of dust, leaving a nearly transparent figure, rising before you.
  30.  
  31. Auroriana flashes a faint smile, her cheeks dimpling from the amusement of her lack of knowledge before it fades, leaving her staring at you with a serious air. "You are quite right, Your Grace. I, of course, know very little of what is to come, but that is why I am here. To learn." she states softly, spreading her hands out from the middle of her body and back again. "None have approached me to speak of Siring yet, though I have met a few that seem interested in taking me on as a Childe."
  32.  
  33. You have emoted: Ezalor rises to his feet, turning to face the banshee. "This creature is bound to my will. Her entire existence hinges upon my decision to allow it. Pain," he pauses as the banshee begins to shriek in agony, an ear-splitting wail, "Subservience," his word is punctuated as the banshee's lips force shut, abruptly cutting off the wail, "My absolute Thrall in all ways." The banshee sinks to her knees, head bowed as he continues to stare impassively at it. Ezalor turns to regard you once more, his bright blue eyes intense as he waves a hand dismissively at the banshee. "This is the next step. To become a servant not only in name, but in your very existence. A Thrall. But rest assured," he continues with a mirthless smile as the banshee crumples, "You will one day be given the Gift on this path. This wretched thing has no such hope."
  34.  
  35. The banshee staggers, falls, and crumbles into dust.
  36.  
  37. Auroriana flares her nostrils slightly as the banshee disappears into nothing, her eyes riveted on the spot of dust that litters the floor. When her gaze turns to you, there is no fear, only curiousity and interest. "One day? Well.. I am nothing if not patient, Your Grace. Though I do hope I won't end up looking as horrible as .. that. My hair does take quite some time to get perfect, after all." she says softly, reaching up to twist a curl around a finger and place it over her shoulder to emphasize her point. "But I am ready for such a step, eager, almost, to be perfectly honest. Being so weak does have its disadvantages."
  38.  
  39. You have emoted: Ezalor strides over to stand directly in front of you, mere inches separating you. "I am pleased to hear it," he whispers softly, eyes locked on yours, "But know that it is not an easy path. Each Sire will demand different things of you but one thing remains in common; they -will- be demanding. If you are worthy of the Gift at the end of that path then you will have truly earned it." His gaze breaks from you as he tilts his head upwards, idly observing the ceiling as he drifts in sudden thought. "Your choices," he says after a long moment, "Her Grace Aloli. Her Grace Marharet. His Grace Haedyn. His Grace Telenvor. And myself. We are all different in our interests and expectations but we will all forge you into the Blood of D'baen."
  40.  
  41. Auroriana tilts her head slightly to the side, her thoughts racing behind eyes of languid serenity. After a few moments, the very tip of her tongue pokes out to tap at her top teeth, a sure sign she is deep in thought and weighing her options. "I expect nothing less of such a path, Your Grace. Things of value are rarely aquired with little effort. I will work as hard as I must to attain the Gift, no matter how long it takes me." she offers, absently reaching up to fix a wayward strand of your hair, though she doesn't seem to realize what she does. "I have not met His Graces Haedyn or Telenvor, and while Her Graces Aloli and Marharet are both lovely and unique, if given the option of you, Your Grace, why would someone choose different? Truthfully, I would wonder more whom, out of all, would choose me."
  42.  
  43. You have emoted: Ezalor's stare returns to you, a slight wrinkling of mirth stretching the corners of his eyes. "Why would someone choose different? I am not so all-encompassing as that," he says with a slight smile as he runs a hand through his hair, "Every Consanguine, even the basest of such barely able to claim that name, possesses their own unique strengths. I would never claim to be a level above any of them. Only the Primus is afforded that luxury."
  44.  
  45. You say, "As for choices, I doubt any would turn you down. It is more about acclimating yourself with each and choosing the one you feel is most suitable for you."
  46.  
  47. You say, "They were not unwillingly chosen as potential Sires for the House."
  48.  
  49. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
  50.  
  51. [Few days later Auroriana asks Ezalor to Sire her]
  52.  
  53. You have emoted: Ezalor locks his eyes intensely to yours, unmoving and unblinking. "You are firm in your decision then? Know that you are signing over your free will to me for all intents and purposes. Once my Blood has entered your body it will still be -my- Blood and I will retain control over it."
  54.  
  55. Auroriana flashes a hint of a smile, tilting her head back so that you can see her face clearly, her expression void of fear. "I am, Your Grace. Willingly, I give myself over to you control." she states with a simple nod, dimples flashing with a deeper smile.
  56.  
  57. You have emoted: "Very well then," Ezalor whispers softly, reaching up to unbutton his coat. He shrugs out of it, fabric wrinkling as he lets drops it casually onto the ground, his eyes never leaving yours. His hand unclasps the buttons at the cuff of his white shirt. Finished, he rolls up his left sleeve until his pale skin is bare past his elbow. A small frown spreads across his face as he concentrates, suffusing the bare skin of his left arm with a slight red tint.
  58.  
  59. Digging your nail deep into the flesh of your inner arm, you create a bubble of blood. You offer the blood to Auroriana, so that she might suckle and create an everlasting bond with you.
  60. Auroriana drinks deeply of the blood. Finishing the treat, she looks up to gaze at you as your new Childer.
  61.  
  62. Auroriana pulls her mouth reluctantly from your arm, touching the tip of her tongue against the wound briefly after to take the last drop, her eyes heavy-lidded. She pauses to pick up your coat and shake it out, laying it over her arm until you are ready to don it again, finally gazing up into your eyes. "Thank you, Sire." she murmurs, pressing a single finger to the side of her mouth to make certain no blood has escaped.
  63.  
  64. You have emoted: With a slight tightening of his lips, Ezalor forces the small wound on his arm to seal shut, all colour draining away once again to leave his skin the same white palor as the rest of his body. He fixes his shirt, sealing the pearly white buttons as he reaches over with a grateful nod to retrieve and don his coat. "So ends your existence as just Auroriana. You will exist now as my Thrall, a sentient extension of my will and pleasure. In time, perhaps, you will become as I am, one step closer to our Source." You feel the unfamiliar Blood stir in you slightly, mixing and assimilating with your own, flooding through your system.
  65.  
  66. Auroriana narrows her eyes briefly, then widens them at the strange feeling coursing through her stagnant veins, briefly allowing her greying skin to retain some of its color before it fades back to pale. Absently, she reaches over to adjust your coat and pick a thread from a button hole, smoothing a hand down to press out a wrinkle. "Yes, Your Grace. It is.. quite heady, this feeling." she admits with a crooked smile, gazing back up at you thoughtfully. "To what duties will I see to first, Your Grace?"
  67.  
  68. You have emoted: Smiling softly, Ezalor says "I've held off on testing you about the Consanguine Houses for now as they are in a period of turmoil. Many that exist today will not in the near future. You will, however, be expected to familiarize yourself with most in your study of Consanguine history. So many have strayed from what we are and what we were always meant to be..." he pauses, expression darkening subtly as his fists clench, "But all who wish to wear the name D'baen will understand and respect the tenets set forth in our history. Tell me, Thrall, if I were to ask you to describe the Consanguine in one word, what word would you choose?"
  69.  
  70. Auroriana lightly reaches out to lay a hand over your clenched fist, her long fingers lightly caressing over the top in an effort to ease the strain of your anger. "I understand, Your Grace. So many have fallen from what it is to be Consanguine, allowing those with life to twist their minds and spirits. But not D'baen, as your servant I will do everything in my power to keep it that way, Your Grace." she murmurs comfortingly, her eyes turning from concern to thoughtful at your question. "Other names have already been put forth that desribe the Consanguine, but my own would be.. Evolved. We have been as -they- are, and now we are infinitely better. Or I will be, that is."
  71.  
  72. You have emoted: Ezalor nods at your answer, idly tapping a finger against his chin before he speaks. "Evolved yes. What truly separates the Consanguine is their Blood. The Blood of the Primus, the Blood of Nobility. There are Consanguine from all walks of existence; there are those unwavering and true, majestic and powerful, but equally are there those who are base and blasphemous, foolish and weak. All of us, however, share in the Blood, the very essence of Nobility. A king does not share his blood with those of common birth. His descendants remain princes, future kings. Royalty, no matter if they are strong or weak." He reaches up to brush a few strands of hair from his eyes, gaze unblinking as he continues, "But just as a king cannot flourish without his commoners, so too do we accept the lives of those who are not among us. But we are not the same as them, and they are not the same as us." He raises a hand, palm upwards, fingers spread open. "But neither should you grow complacent in your status. Remember that even kings can be brought low if they are judged unworthy. Even the Gift can be ripped from your body should you falter." His fist closes to punctuate his sentence.
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