The-Marquis
03-11-14, 05:46 AM
Brief explanation - I had not meant to begin writing as this character, as the Marquis, but since he is now in the current War, I think its a good time to introduce his past. So here it is, a solo, with the Marquis of Hellsburgh, and his relationship with his brother.
Note: this is set in the past, hence his brother being in the thing, mostly just before the War. It will explain how he came to fight with the Order and Miz Biz. He will not turn into an anklyosaurus yet, an ability which is locked until at least level two.
Silent peace. Too beautiful to break. Only a villain would break it. After all, this was a dream of heavenly imaginations, too holy and alluring to be interrupted. A dream was clearly what it was - after all life was definitely not anything nearing this paradise - yet that did not matter. For now it was all that mattered. Life and reality was not here, this was escapism and that was fine.
Silence.
Then sharp brutal slap of truth and the dream was ended. Over.
So suddenly over; shockingly, terribly.
Wham, bam, face. Reality.
“Not in your fucking life,” Aesh grumbled, seizing the blankets of his four poster bed and pulling them over his head.
There was another slap. Harder this time, right across his face, coupled with a yell.
“Wake up!”
The blankets were grabbed, and suddenly the warmth of them whisked away. The Marquis of Hellsburgh was suddenly naked to the air, and he let out a hissing shriek, eyes still closed, curling up into a tight foetal position.
Then the harsh voice again.
“Get up if you want to live.”
Aesh’s eyes flashed open. Darkly he stared at the figure leering over him, the face and neck and torso of his brother, standing with arms folded. Serverte stared down at Aesh’s naked form and said nothing, his face revealed nothing or even hinted at what he was considering.
“Get. The. Fuck. Up.”
Aesh tilted his head in the feather pillows, and raised a very slight eyebrow.
“You know, other people would say ‘please’ or at least address me as ‘Your Grace’.”
Severte looked away, kicked hard at the post of the bed. His voice dropped in level but not aggressiveness as he continued. “Get up brother. Be downstairs in fifteen minutes. Presentable. I need you.”
There was a pause, as Aesh clicked his tongue, continuing to glare.
“I have to go to Salvar tonight. To get you money. Your battles can wait a couple of nights.”
Slowly his eyes began to close again. The sleepiness began to float again and once more paradise began to ride as the dreams came back into his conciousness, taking over politely and delicately.
This time it wasn’t his face that was slapped. It was something else. Far harsher and far more painful.
“FUCK YOU SEV!”
Aesh let out a loud cry, rolling over and clutching onto his manhood. His cheeks glared red, his eyes began to water as he tried to survive through this bastard slapping his balls.
He lay there for a while, biting his lip as he fought with his nerves, growling at his own weakness, mentally and physically, hating that he had even decided to live through this all.
Then a whispering voice snapped at the air beside his air. It growled and grated. “Fifteen minutes, Aesh. Or I will drag you down there.”
“Oh joys,” Aesh groaned, croaking, grumbling, “Because you’ve never done anything like that before.”
Fifteen minutes later the Marquis was downstairs, dressed in his normal fine cotton and velvet black embroidered robe with a violet sash cinching it around the waist. His hair was roughly combed, and placed back in a neat plait down his back. Apart from that there was nothing else done, he only appeared slightly tired and irritated, woken up in the rude way by the only person who had the power to and would dare to in this world.
Apart from maybe, well, the King or a Duke.
Nevertheless, Aesh was there, downstairs, at his brother’s behest, striding down the stairs with soft shoes on his feet. His right, the pink eye, was the first one to see Severte, standing in the centre of the hallway, upon the middle of the mosaic sun there. His left eye, however, took in another figure, standing near but not within obvious threat as Severte usually presented himself. It was a female, a tall, blonde haired girl, with peachy skin and pale blue eyes - no where near approaching the paler skin of a Fallow. Especially not as pale as Aesh.
Aesh paused at the bottom stair, eyes flickering around at the girl, then quickly over to his brother. Tapping a finger on the brass of the banister he paused, then openly spoke out in irritated tones.
“So what is this about, brother mine?”
Severte blinked, then gestured with a rough hand at the elf woman.
“You have met Brigadier Janette, I believe,” he said with a slight grin coming to his face.
Aesh turned to the woman, looked at her properly. He was silent for a while as he studied her face and remembered the various things he could - an army on the back of elks, corpses in piles, the taste of copper between his teeth - and frowned slightly.
“Severte, I have asked you not to bring your war business into my home,” the Marquis stepped down off the last step and began to walk between them, straight towards his dining parlour where breakfast would be laid out. “Whatever it is, it can wait, I have other business to attend to.”
He aimed for the room, thinking about the mass of warm food awaiting him - bacon, sausages, eggs, freshly toasted toast, brewed tea, heated coffee, hot milk - and a slow smile spread across his face. Of course, the thought did not last long. His wretch of a brother was soon there, slipping in front of him and staring him in the face.
“Aesh. You will talk to me.”
“Severte, you will let me past,” Aesh looked at him, just as defiantly. “I am hungry, I need breakfast. Talk if you wish, but I am going in there,” he pointed into the dining parlour with a long finger, nodding at it as he did.
There was a sharp sigh, and a hard hand slammed itself onto Aesh’s shoulder. Severte grabbed his brother and spun him forcefully back around, to face the rather anxious woman by this time. Raising an eyebrow Aesh looked right at her, knowing how much she knew of him, and wondering how much she feared him.
“Brigadier Janette and I are to be married,” Severte announced, as if he had already concluded it. “I need you to announce our match as figurehead of the family, send it into the newspapers, etc.”
There was silence, dull and echo-less silence.
Aesh blinked, dumbed for a moment as he tried to process what his brother had just said.
“Sorry?” he asked, voice quivering with incredulity.
“I said, ‘Brigadier Janette and I are getting married’. Did not you get that or have your ears suddenly turned deaf?”
The copper and pink eyes turned fast, flickering over to glare darkly at the taller but younger brother.
“You cannot be serious. I will never allow such a match.”
Spit decorated his face with the onslaught of Severte’s sudden anger.
“You are in no position to refuse me, you fuckwit!” he roared, grabbing a fist of the Marquis’ hair, “No position at all!”
Furiously, and grunting in the sudden pain, Aesh battered at his brother’s hand, his teeth grating together. He gripped at the fist tightly, slapping it as hard as he could, suddenly feeling like a little boy again, being beaten up because he was paler than the rest.
As he struggled there, squirming to be free, digging his nails into Severte’s hands, he cried out in fury, growling as he did.
“She is not even a noble,” he shouted back, aiming a sharp kick at Severte’s balls. “I mean look at her! You can even tell by the way she looks!”
“We are to be married!” the General screeched.
The Marquis hissed sharply back, his toes meeting with the dick’s dick. The agony was clear, it was written in the screaming yell and in the signifier of Aesh’s hair being released. He fell to the floor, gasping slightly, then sighed with relief.
“Fuck’s sake,” he muttered, rubbing at his scalp, “You almost had me bleeding there.”
Severte bounced to the wall, where he leaned against it, tears spilling from his eyes.
“You are a demon!” he whimpered, as Janette hurried over, her hands suddenly fussing over her soon-to-be fiancee’s body.
Aesh sat there, wincing as he lightly touched the roots of his stretched hair.
“Only because you made me one,” he replied, rather light-hearted for the situation.
But eventually, nevertheless, he gave in and announced the marriage.
Note: this is set in the past, hence his brother being in the thing, mostly just before the War. It will explain how he came to fight with the Order and Miz Biz. He will not turn into an anklyosaurus yet, an ability which is locked until at least level two.
Silent peace. Too beautiful to break. Only a villain would break it. After all, this was a dream of heavenly imaginations, too holy and alluring to be interrupted. A dream was clearly what it was - after all life was definitely not anything nearing this paradise - yet that did not matter. For now it was all that mattered. Life and reality was not here, this was escapism and that was fine.
Silence.
Then sharp brutal slap of truth and the dream was ended. Over.
So suddenly over; shockingly, terribly.
Wham, bam, face. Reality.
“Not in your fucking life,” Aesh grumbled, seizing the blankets of his four poster bed and pulling them over his head.
There was another slap. Harder this time, right across his face, coupled with a yell.
“Wake up!”
The blankets were grabbed, and suddenly the warmth of them whisked away. The Marquis of Hellsburgh was suddenly naked to the air, and he let out a hissing shriek, eyes still closed, curling up into a tight foetal position.
Then the harsh voice again.
“Get up if you want to live.”
Aesh’s eyes flashed open. Darkly he stared at the figure leering over him, the face and neck and torso of his brother, standing with arms folded. Serverte stared down at Aesh’s naked form and said nothing, his face revealed nothing or even hinted at what he was considering.
“Get. The. Fuck. Up.”
Aesh tilted his head in the feather pillows, and raised a very slight eyebrow.
“You know, other people would say ‘please’ or at least address me as ‘Your Grace’.”
Severte looked away, kicked hard at the post of the bed. His voice dropped in level but not aggressiveness as he continued. “Get up brother. Be downstairs in fifteen minutes. Presentable. I need you.”
There was a pause, as Aesh clicked his tongue, continuing to glare.
“I have to go to Salvar tonight. To get you money. Your battles can wait a couple of nights.”
Slowly his eyes began to close again. The sleepiness began to float again and once more paradise began to ride as the dreams came back into his conciousness, taking over politely and delicately.
This time it wasn’t his face that was slapped. It was something else. Far harsher and far more painful.
“FUCK YOU SEV!”
Aesh let out a loud cry, rolling over and clutching onto his manhood. His cheeks glared red, his eyes began to water as he tried to survive through this bastard slapping his balls.
He lay there for a while, biting his lip as he fought with his nerves, growling at his own weakness, mentally and physically, hating that he had even decided to live through this all.
Then a whispering voice snapped at the air beside his air. It growled and grated. “Fifteen minutes, Aesh. Or I will drag you down there.”
“Oh joys,” Aesh groaned, croaking, grumbling, “Because you’ve never done anything like that before.”
Fifteen minutes later the Marquis was downstairs, dressed in his normal fine cotton and velvet black embroidered robe with a violet sash cinching it around the waist. His hair was roughly combed, and placed back in a neat plait down his back. Apart from that there was nothing else done, he only appeared slightly tired and irritated, woken up in the rude way by the only person who had the power to and would dare to in this world.
Apart from maybe, well, the King or a Duke.
Nevertheless, Aesh was there, downstairs, at his brother’s behest, striding down the stairs with soft shoes on his feet. His right, the pink eye, was the first one to see Severte, standing in the centre of the hallway, upon the middle of the mosaic sun there. His left eye, however, took in another figure, standing near but not within obvious threat as Severte usually presented himself. It was a female, a tall, blonde haired girl, with peachy skin and pale blue eyes - no where near approaching the paler skin of a Fallow. Especially not as pale as Aesh.
Aesh paused at the bottom stair, eyes flickering around at the girl, then quickly over to his brother. Tapping a finger on the brass of the banister he paused, then openly spoke out in irritated tones.
“So what is this about, brother mine?”
Severte blinked, then gestured with a rough hand at the elf woman.
“You have met Brigadier Janette, I believe,” he said with a slight grin coming to his face.
Aesh turned to the woman, looked at her properly. He was silent for a while as he studied her face and remembered the various things he could - an army on the back of elks, corpses in piles, the taste of copper between his teeth - and frowned slightly.
“Severte, I have asked you not to bring your war business into my home,” the Marquis stepped down off the last step and began to walk between them, straight towards his dining parlour where breakfast would be laid out. “Whatever it is, it can wait, I have other business to attend to.”
He aimed for the room, thinking about the mass of warm food awaiting him - bacon, sausages, eggs, freshly toasted toast, brewed tea, heated coffee, hot milk - and a slow smile spread across his face. Of course, the thought did not last long. His wretch of a brother was soon there, slipping in front of him and staring him in the face.
“Aesh. You will talk to me.”
“Severte, you will let me past,” Aesh looked at him, just as defiantly. “I am hungry, I need breakfast. Talk if you wish, but I am going in there,” he pointed into the dining parlour with a long finger, nodding at it as he did.
There was a sharp sigh, and a hard hand slammed itself onto Aesh’s shoulder. Severte grabbed his brother and spun him forcefully back around, to face the rather anxious woman by this time. Raising an eyebrow Aesh looked right at her, knowing how much she knew of him, and wondering how much she feared him.
“Brigadier Janette and I are to be married,” Severte announced, as if he had already concluded it. “I need you to announce our match as figurehead of the family, send it into the newspapers, etc.”
There was silence, dull and echo-less silence.
Aesh blinked, dumbed for a moment as he tried to process what his brother had just said.
“Sorry?” he asked, voice quivering with incredulity.
“I said, ‘Brigadier Janette and I are getting married’. Did not you get that or have your ears suddenly turned deaf?”
The copper and pink eyes turned fast, flickering over to glare darkly at the taller but younger brother.
“You cannot be serious. I will never allow such a match.”
Spit decorated his face with the onslaught of Severte’s sudden anger.
“You are in no position to refuse me, you fuckwit!” he roared, grabbing a fist of the Marquis’ hair, “No position at all!”
Furiously, and grunting in the sudden pain, Aesh battered at his brother’s hand, his teeth grating together. He gripped at the fist tightly, slapping it as hard as he could, suddenly feeling like a little boy again, being beaten up because he was paler than the rest.
As he struggled there, squirming to be free, digging his nails into Severte’s hands, he cried out in fury, growling as he did.
“She is not even a noble,” he shouted back, aiming a sharp kick at Severte’s balls. “I mean look at her! You can even tell by the way she looks!”
“We are to be married!” the General screeched.
The Marquis hissed sharply back, his toes meeting with the dick’s dick. The agony was clear, it was written in the screaming yell and in the signifier of Aesh’s hair being released. He fell to the floor, gasping slightly, then sighed with relief.
“Fuck’s sake,” he muttered, rubbing at his scalp, “You almost had me bleeding there.”
Severte bounced to the wall, where he leaned against it, tears spilling from his eyes.
“You are a demon!” he whimpered, as Janette hurried over, her hands suddenly fussing over her soon-to-be fiancee’s body.
Aesh sat there, wincing as he lightly touched the roots of his stretched hair.
“Only because you made me one,” he replied, rather light-hearted for the situation.
But eventually, nevertheless, he gave in and announced the marriage.