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Post by Renekke Yourvori on Jul 18, 2011 17:52:51 GMT -8
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The White Tiger let her blue gaze settle on the palace courtyard in front of her. How did she get here? It was a beautiful place, and she'd never been to the legendary palace before. Her mother had only told her stories about when she used to serve the royal family. Mother. . . Renekke sighed and took in a breath. She would get over this in time. Right? It's only been days since her mother's death, and that male sent her here.
She was alone now. To finish her mother's job, to face the wrath of the royal family. She knew the royal families couldn't be as beautiful on the inside as their expensive-looking courtyard. But perhaps-No. Don't think of anything like that. They're vile, they had you sent here. No they didn't. They're royalty. She weaved around the courtyard before going inside. What should she do now? Oh yes. She had to go see Princess Grace. She sighed. Maybe she could take a little break? She walked through the hall. It was so long. She wondered how many rooms the palace had in it.
She stepped quietly, planning each step, trying not to make a sound. Who knew what the royal family or workers might do if they found her unattended; without her 'master.' She swallowed and continued on.
She stopped when she come across a sculpture in one of the halls. It was gorgeous. Her face was in awe as she stared at it. "Wow," she said, forgetting her silence.
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Words; 256
Notes; Sorry for a short and bad post :P
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Post by damask arei on Jul 19, 2011 16:50:00 GMT -8
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: dddddd; border: #cccccc solid 8px; width: 420px; padding: 15 5 15 5px;]Damask Arei  the sea moves like silk but I only hear the crash The Words: 541 The Tags: Renekke The Notes Ending is lame but whatever
The snow leopard is staring out of one of the windows adjacent to his room on the second landing. His tail twirls slowly as he watches the procession of guards accompanying a lone tiger. She is a rather attractive tigress with her creamy fur and soft-ice eyes that behold the world. She glances at her surroundings in the main courtyard of the palace as the guards retreat, their brisk trot betraying their disgust at being within the vicinity of the female. She enters the main hall of the palace and disappears from view.
Damask may be quite uninterested in the happenings of the court, but somehow word has wound its way through the grapevine that Princess Grace is receiving new personal slaves and servants due to the fact that she will soon become queen. But then again, he also hears rumors that Xylouris has volunteered to be the one who presents the queen's jewels to Grace and that could only happen in an alternate universe. Jealous third-born duchess Lou will kill herself before she aids the to-be queen in any way. Unless, Damask muses, she plans to steal them for herself. In any case, seeing that helpless-looking tigress enter the palace was proof enough that the first of Grace's new slaves have arrived.
The princess does not seem to be about, and Damask debates whether or not to search for her and alert her to the slave's presence in the palace, or to greet the slave himself. Finally he decides to find the slave. With no one there to watch over her, she might just wander into places she shouldn't pry upon or escape or who knows what! Thus he locates the elaborately carved ornate-marble stairs and hurries down, his paws flying back and surging forward in a fashion unbefitting his lofty status. But he finally enters the hall the slave still meanders in, and approaches her, though making sure to keep a distance.
The tigress has her back to him, and is examining a wood-block sculpture of a snow leopard twisting about in the air. It is a particularly fine statuette, carved by the best of the artisans, and lacks no detail. There are fine strokes depicting ruffled fur, as well as slight indentations to indicate the royal rosettes of the snow leopard. Delicate lengths of wood crossing one another portray the whirlwind cast by the motion of the feline, and the eyes burn with raw emotion. They are also the only portions painted, to really accentuate the cream-hazel of the wood with blazing crimson.
As the slave utters a note of exclamation, Damask decides to cough lightly to gain her attention. "Slave," he addresses her, wincing slightly though he knows his father will appreciate this setting apart of ranks, "you are here for Princess Grace Arei are you not? I know not where she dwells now, but if you accompany me I shall lead you to her rooms. I suspect she might be in there…" Hiding from Mom most likely, he adds silently to himself. He moves to climb the stairs again, but pauses. He turns back and asks softly, "And what shall we call you, slave?" Without halting for a response, he quickly trots back up the staircase.
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Post by Renekke Yourvori on Jul 19, 2011 18:10:49 GMT -8
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Renekke was frozen in her place, staring at the statue. It was so delicate, yet powerful looking. The face of a royal, it seemed. There were no details that seemed to be missing; the pelt of the feline was even divine. The artist of the sculpture must carry intense talent. But she did not.
Talent; a thing Renekke yearned to have, but only had average skills in. She never had shown excellence in anything while she was younger, but she never had a chance. Her mother kept her hidden from the city, and she had limited space. Perhaps, just maybe, she did have a certain skill, one only for her.
Renekke sighed, meeting the eyes of the wooden piece, the only painted part. She felt as if the statue could see into her soul; as if it were telling her to "hold on." She could do this. She could make it. She felt a little more confident then. After all, she would do what she started. If not for herself, then for her mother.
Then someone was behind her. He coughed, and addressed her as 'slave.' Renekke held a breath and turned slowly. Her cover had been blown. The male she saw was stunning, quite similar to the statue she had adored just moments ago. She exhaled, but didn't speak when he did. He must be a royal, she thought. The confidence, and sense of place he seemed to have. She gave him a weak nod, glad he wasn't yelling at her for not being near Grace.
He moved toward the stairs, but paused and asked for her name. She knew his request to accompany him to Grace's room was more of a command than a request, but he was a royal, and royals were the only ones she allowed herself to submit to. "Renekke," she said shyly. He continued up the stairs, and she padded closer to him, staying behind him. After all, she was a slave, and she wasn't supposed to 'contaminate' others. She rolled her eyes. Stupid city.
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Words; 348
Notes; a very good ending on your part, Char
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Post by damask arei on Aug 2, 2011 9:47:36 GMT -8
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: dddddd; border: #cccccc solid 8px; width: 420px; padding: 15 5 15 5px;]Damask Arei the sea moves like silk but I only hear the crash The Words: 602 The Tags: Renekke The Notes No idea where Rhaps is so…
He peers down at the slave, frowning slightly. Her ivory-silk fur ripples as she holds a soft breath. Her ice-laced eyes betray her startled look. She appears to be a curious sort by the way she pauses to give a glance at nearly everything this front hall has to offer. A rebellious little she-tiger for over-extending her admiration of the finely crafted statuette. But that challenge, that flaw, shall soon be corrected. If he knows his sister as well as he does, she will be able to tame this little, fiery-inside sprite very swiftly, despite her innocent and sugary exterior.
At his queries, the tigress seems a little breathless. Her eyes are not exactly locked on his, but rather roaming all over the room. Damask shifts uncomfortably for a moment, nearly sure that she has been admiring his own physique just a moment ago. His lifeless gaze falls upon the polished marble floor instead. The slave says nothing in response, but instead nods. A pleasant slave and quite obedient for realizing she is not addressed to speak. After all, the duke has only desired confirmation of his own statements. But he grunts anyway, wishing she would speak to him instead of assuming a timid, wary façade.
She continues to study him, relief evident on her beautifully carved face. Again, Damask shifts with unease. The silence grows unbearable before he flees to the stairs, mumbling incomprehensible nothings as he goes. His gaze is firmly trained upon the torches that are suspended by a thick chain which winds around the jutting blocks of marble. Their edges are scorched with ink-black and display no flames; only at the deepest of the night do the servants and slaves scurry out and light them. The duke has just began ascending the stairs when the slave's frosty silence yields at last.
"Renekke."
Her voice is soft and shy. As Damask eases up the stairs with poise, his confidence abruptly ebbs and he stumbles a little. "Renekke," he murmurs more to himself, "quite a beautiful name for a beautiful—" He stops himself before his thoughts control his mind. By then, he has reached the landing where Grace's private rooms are located. He briskly pads down the main corridor in the semi-darkness, his tail flicking impatiently for Renekke to hurry on. His eyes move to the entrance door of Grace's bedroom, and he extends his front paw to slowly knock on the door.
The thumps from his paw resonate through the hallway, but no other sound echoes from the room. Surreptitiously, he glances around. The hallway is deserted save for the two of them, and the bedroom seems likewise. With a swift look at the slave, he pushes on the door and slides inside. The door swings inward, revealing the empty room he had predicted. He paces about inside, his eyes darting to the corners and the room adjacent to this one. Nothing. Satisfied it is completely empty besides his own presence, he backs out of the room, gesturing for Renekke to follow again.
Damask's lips crease into a frown as he puzzles over where Grace could potentially be. Her slave is here; where is she? "Let us go off to the eating hall. Perhaps she is dining in there," he suggests finally. He twists around and trots back down the winding stairs, back to the ground floor. "So… Renekke. What interests do you have? Anything you're especially talented at?" he voices hesitantly, knowing he is awkward with conversation. But the silence feels cold and dreary, and he feels the need to abate the chill with his warm words.
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