EasyWright
Cracked Shell
I trust you guys enough to know what goes here.
-
This section is for roleplays only.
ALL interest checks/recruiting threads must go in the Recruit Here section.
Please remember to credit artists when using works not your own.
Fandom Grishaverse art
- Thread starter EasyWright
- Start date
Morrighan
Member
Nadya knew she looked beautiful, had know from the moment she'd seen her reflection in the mirror once Genya's work had been complete. The Tailor may despise the Oprichniki Kapitan, but she had been thorough in her craft.
Her hair was like thinly woven gold, curled and braided up with ruby-studded pins. At her ears and throat were a matched set of the same large, blood-red stones, the centerpiece of her necklace nearly the size of a baby's fist.
And then there was the gown, gifted to her by The Darkling himself to wear to tonight's Ball.
It clung to her generous form like a silken second skin before cascading out in glorious skirts of Corporalki red. Black gems and glimmering thread were stitched across the bodice to create the Ravkan Seal, with The Darkling's own symbol framing it like a brilliant ebony shadow. Her skirts were patterned beautifully with a deep, black silk that shimmered when she move, and from her shoulders, an elegant cape of deepest red flowed down to delicately grace the ground.
She looked like a Grisha Queen, her turquoise eyes shining like diamonds as she smiled with satisfaction towards her glorious reflection.
The Darkling cannot ignore me in this.
With a brief smile of thanks towards Genya - who merely frowned at her before exiting the room to return to the Queen's service - Nadya took a deep preparatory breath before making her way out to wear her carriage awaited her.
She was one of three Oprichniki permitted to attend the Ball tonight as guests rather than guards, her invitation having been handed to her by The Darkling himself.
"I have taken the liberty of having something made for you. You will wear it, da?"
Nadya had never agreed to something faster in the whole of her life.
It took effort not to run down to the carriage, as excited as she was to see the expression on The Darkling's face when he saw her in his gown. Would he smile? Ask her to dance?
The very idea made her heart jump.
The other Grisha, those who were uninvited and thus confined to the Little Palace to sulk, watched her with wide, envious eyes. She paid them no mind as she at last exited the palace and made her way down the stairs towards her carriage where...
Where the otkazat'sya stood in his Oprichniki uniform, holding the door to the carriage open with an unreadable expression.
Nadya stopped dead, making no move to enter the carriage.
"What are you doing here, otkazat'sya?" She asked coldly, eyes narrowing at the man who had singlehandedly squashed her good mood.
With a voice as numb as his skin, the man responded. "The Darkling has asked that I serve as your personal guard for tonight's Ball, Moya Kapitan."
The words, for a moment, failed to register as Nadya stared at the soldier in stunned rage.
Why him of all people?
It took every ounce of willpower and the thought of her Soverennyi's smile for the Corporalki to nod and - ignoring the idiot's offered hand - enter the carriage. She ignored him when he followed behind her to seat himself in the adjacent seat, and remained utterly silent throughout the ride to the Palace. However, the moment the carriage came to a halt before the castle, Nadya faced the otkazat'sya as his commander, and not as his charge.
"I will say this once and only once, otkazat'sya. You will keep a distance of no less than ten paces from me at all times and will not under any circumstances speak to or touch me while you attend to your orders. I do not want to hear your voice, nor see your face unless this Palace is burning to the ground, am I understood?"
With that same stiff expression, and with a salute to her did not quite match his usual composed nature, the soldier bowed his head to her. "Da, Moya Kapitan."
~~~
The moment Nadya entered the Ballroom, all traces of disappointment vanished in an instant. She was surrounded by nobles and Grisha from all over the world, and all of them - every single one - turned to stare as she strode to the base of the dais and bowed deeply to the King and Queen, who sat on their golden thrones. However, as she made to stand, her eyes found The Darkling descending from his place on that same dais towards her.
Once again, she bowed, but instantly murmurs began to spread as some remarked that this bow was even lower than that which she had given the King.
She did not care that they were right, not as The Darkling gently took her hand and raised her up from that bow with a smile on his face.
"You look absolutely stunning tonight, Nadya. Is the gown to your liking?"
At once, she gave him her brightest smile, her heart bursting with joy at having his undivided attention.
"It is easily the most beautiful dress I will ever wear, Moi Soverennyi. You have my deepest gratitude," she replied.
This clearly pleased him, because The Darkling smiled even wider, his beauty more captivating than a thousand stars. From him radiated a power and presence that sent the Corporalki's heart pounding. He was the greatest Grisha alive, a living Amplifier.
So great he did not even wear one.
She too, refused one, though only because she felt the claiming of one would make her appear less than what she was. Nadya was one of the most powerful Heartrenders in Ravka, and refused to do anything that might affect that reputation. She would bear nothing but her own raw power, and it would be enough.
But would she be enough?
Enough to win this god of a man?
"Will you dance with me, Kapitan?" Asked The Darkling as he offered her a hand.
She wanted to weep with joy, but settled for a smile and an eager nod of her head as she took it. "It would be my honor, Moi Soverennyi."
At once, the other guests moved aside as the two Grisha took possession of the Dance floor. With a nod towards the musicians, the room was at once filled with music and the world stood still to watch as The Darkling took her into his arms.
And then they danced.
It was a classical Ravkan waltz, one she had learned in childhood as all the prominent members of Ravkan society did, but never before had she danced it like this. Their bodies moved in perfect tandem with one another, and the music seemed to fade away along with everything save for the endless expanse of The Darkling's eyes and the pounding of her heart. Never once did he break his gaze from hers, and never once did that soft, sweet smile leave his lips.
After what might have been hours or mere moments, the waltz ended with a glorious crescendo and they parted to bow deeply to one another, their eyes still fixed on each other's faces.
But when she rose from her bow, The Darkling did not kiss her hand nor touch her face. Instead, he merely thanked her for the dance and strode away.
Leaving her alone in that vast, empty space he'd left behind.
~~~
For the next several hours, all Nadya did was drink, glare daggers at any man who dared approach her, and pointedly ignored the steady presence of the otkazat'sya who - exactly as she'd ordered - had never once come or gone any further than ten paces from her since she'd walked away from that dance floor. His eyes never once deviated from where she stood, and he never spoke a word.
It was maddening.
As the night stretched on, and the alcohol began to cyphon away the final remnants of her self-control, the Grisha found herself suddenly desperate for escape. She had to get out of that saints-damned Ballroom now.
And so she did the only thing she could think of.
She put the otkazat'sya in a sleep she knew would last until she was able to get back to the Little Palace and fled, not looking back even as he fell to the ground.
Her carriage driver knew better than to question her orders to take her back home, not when the Oprichniki Kapitan was struggling to walk straight.
The ride back to the palace seemed to last barely a moment before she stumbled out into the chill night. One look at the Palace, however, and Nadya knew she couldn't handle being caged within walls where every room held memories or reminders of him.
Her skirts hindered her as she tried and failed to run, only to end up stumbling drunkenly to the only other place she could think to go - the lake. It was her sanctuary, the only place she could think unhindered.
Or cry without fear of an audience.
The moment she reached the water, her feet gave way and she fell in a graceless heap to the ground, her head in her hands as she let herself break apart. She'd known it was a foolish hope, that The Darkling might finally bridge the gap between them. That dance had been a mistake, one she wouldn't have been able to avoid even had she desired to. What he wanted he got, and her heart was no exception.
Why can't I hate him? I should hate him for giving me so much hope only to crush it on a whim. I've served him faithfully for so many years, and loved him for so many more. How could he do this to me? Why? Why am I so worthless?!
It was then that Nadya realized that she was sobbing, her entire body shaking as she struggled in her fight for breath. Everything hurt, and she refused to lie to herself by pretending she did not feel it was deserved. She had been a fool, not only for allowing herself to fall for The Darkling, but also for ignoring the hideous truth that she was attracted to that damned otkazat'sya.
First she falls in love with the most powerful Grisha alive, and then she allows herself to feel for an otkazat'sya?
I'm a fucking joke...
Her entire life had been built upon one simple truth ; that she was a lion among sheep, born to rule and never follow. The ungifted were meant to follow her orders, not to keep her awake at night with the memory of their eyes or the smell of their cologne.
At first it had been so easy to ignore, to pretend that she felt nothing but disdain for Iceveins like everyone else. She had, originally!
But then came the night where she woke from a dream about a man with eyes like Fjerndan ice, and the horrifying thought that still haunted her.
I want to paint him.
The only person who knew about the painting was The Darkling, who'd found her sitting on the floor of her room covered in her pigments as she propped a canvas against a chair worth more than some made in a year.
Though he'd said nothing about it, neither then nor ever since, she had awoken the very next morning to find a brand new easel and a beautiful kit of paints and brushes on her balcony. Ever since, she received fresh supplies each month, all worthy of a Master.
And so Nadya painted and painted and painted every moment she had to spare : landscapes, objects, moments from her dreams, and - most often - portraits.
The portraits were her favorite, and by far the most precious to her. As a soldier, Nadya was trained to maintain the appearance of the perfect Oprichniki Kapitan, which often meant ignoring her heart and living by duty and obligation. There had been so many moments, memories, faces she had seen and longed to enjoy, only for duty to force her to walk on.
And so she had learned to remember each of those moments, places, and people that captured her heart and reached the piece of her that lived only for light and colors and angles. She captured them, drunk them in as best she could, for the purpose of bringing them to life once more in her art. A face was more than merely a person's appearance. It held the very soul of a being, told the story of their hearts through the sincerity of their smile and the secrets in their eyes.
Over the years, Nadya had painted a hundred strangers, but it was the faces that lived in her present that she could never bear to paint.
Until him.
Never in her life had Nadya so fiercely longed to paint someone as much as she wanted to capture that...that glorious, wretched, useless man.
But she refused to give in, refused to relinquish that part of herself to someone who, by every natural law, was simply not her equal.
Even though she desperately wished he was.
"Moya Kapitan?"
The sound of his voice was like a bullet to her soul, and she found that it broke whatever strength she had left as the man came close enough to see her shame.
She felt the moment he saw her tears, registered that The Darkling's own Heartrender had broken at last, even as her vision was too blurred by tears and wine to see his face as she turned her head towards where he stood.
"My orders were so simple, and yet here you are, otkazat'sya," she mumbled, her words so muddled she dounted he would even be capable of deciphering them.
"Forgive me, Moya Kapitan," he murmured as he sat himself beside her. "I will accept whatever discipline you feel best fits my failure to follow your orders."
"Shut up," she sighed before doing something he never could have expected less.
She curled up against his chest and began to weep.
For a long moment, he did nothing and merely sat in shocked silence, but soon she felt him relax and settle himself against the weight of her. His chest felt exactly as she'd imagined it would, and was far warmer than his cold Fjerdan looks even through the heavy fabric of his uniform. With a soft, long sigh, Nadya allowed herself to revel in this mistake, to breath in the scent of him and commit it to memory.
But then his hand began to gently stroke her hair, the other holding her so gently, so tentatively, she could be imagining the touch. His touch was cautious, even when she allowed herself to lean further into it just to experience it a moment longer for fear it may be the last time.
For a moment, Nadya wondered if she'd fallen once again into a dream.
This can't really be happening...
"You always hold me so pathetically in these dreams," she breathed shakily to what must be yet another vision. "As if I couldn't end you with the twist of my wrist. Is that bravery or stupidity?"
The hand that was caressing her hair stilled for a moment, as though in surprise.
"Perhaps it is because I know that soon you wake up and realize that I was never really there, M...Printsessa," was his reply, spoken so softly she wondered if this dream was to be different from the others.
"I wish I could hate you," Nadya admitted as yet another tear flowed down her cheek and onto the man's uniform.
Tearily, she looked up at him, desperate for the sight of those eyes that haunted her so, barely visible through her tears.
Only to find them lined ever so lightly in silver.
"As this is a dream, nothing here is real, da?" He asked her softly, wiping the tears from her face with a touch so delicate she nearly missed it.
Incapable of words, she nodded.
"Then you do not have to hate me here, only when the sun has risen." Then he smiled at her, and she thought to herself that it may have been the most devastated expression she'd ever seen.
"I wish you were not otkazat'sya, but rather Grisha. You would make a wonderful Grisha," she sighed, her eyes fighting the urge to droop shut.
Strange...I've never dreamt of falling asleep before...
"Da, Printsessa," he murmured. "As do I."
It was then that she feel asleep, curled against him like a broken queen. She did not see him shed the tears that he quickly wiped away, nor hear him hum the echo of a waltz as he took her in his arms and carried her back to the Little palace through the servants' entrance.
Indeed, the only time she was lifted out of her sleep was when the heartbroken man laid her gently on her bed, still wearing The Darkling's dress.
"Goodnight Benhamin," she murmured, not even realising that she had said it.
Ben waited until she was once again deep asleep before parting with a whispered,
"Goodnight, Nadya."
Her hair was like thinly woven gold, curled and braided up with ruby-studded pins. At her ears and throat were a matched set of the same large, blood-red stones, the centerpiece of her necklace nearly the size of a baby's fist.
And then there was the gown, gifted to her by The Darkling himself to wear to tonight's Ball.
It clung to her generous form like a silken second skin before cascading out in glorious skirts of Corporalki red. Black gems and glimmering thread were stitched across the bodice to create the Ravkan Seal, with The Darkling's own symbol framing it like a brilliant ebony shadow. Her skirts were patterned beautifully with a deep, black silk that shimmered when she move, and from her shoulders, an elegant cape of deepest red flowed down to delicately grace the ground.
She looked like a Grisha Queen, her turquoise eyes shining like diamonds as she smiled with satisfaction towards her glorious reflection.
The Darkling cannot ignore me in this.
With a brief smile of thanks towards Genya - who merely frowned at her before exiting the room to return to the Queen's service - Nadya took a deep preparatory breath before making her way out to wear her carriage awaited her.
She was one of three Oprichniki permitted to attend the Ball tonight as guests rather than guards, her invitation having been handed to her by The Darkling himself.
"I have taken the liberty of having something made for you. You will wear it, da?"
Nadya had never agreed to something faster in the whole of her life.
It took effort not to run down to the carriage, as excited as she was to see the expression on The Darkling's face when he saw her in his gown. Would he smile? Ask her to dance?
The very idea made her heart jump.
The other Grisha, those who were uninvited and thus confined to the Little Palace to sulk, watched her with wide, envious eyes. She paid them no mind as she at last exited the palace and made her way down the stairs towards her carriage where...
Where the otkazat'sya stood in his Oprichniki uniform, holding the door to the carriage open with an unreadable expression.
Nadya stopped dead, making no move to enter the carriage.
"What are you doing here, otkazat'sya?" She asked coldly, eyes narrowing at the man who had singlehandedly squashed her good mood.
With a voice as numb as his skin, the man responded. "The Darkling has asked that I serve as your personal guard for tonight's Ball, Moya Kapitan."
The words, for a moment, failed to register as Nadya stared at the soldier in stunned rage.
Why him of all people?
It took every ounce of willpower and the thought of her Soverennyi's smile for the Corporalki to nod and - ignoring the idiot's offered hand - enter the carriage. She ignored him when he followed behind her to seat himself in the adjacent seat, and remained utterly silent throughout the ride to the Palace. However, the moment the carriage came to a halt before the castle, Nadya faced the otkazat'sya as his commander, and not as his charge.
"I will say this once and only once, otkazat'sya. You will keep a distance of no less than ten paces from me at all times and will not under any circumstances speak to or touch me while you attend to your orders. I do not want to hear your voice, nor see your face unless this Palace is burning to the ground, am I understood?"
With that same stiff expression, and with a salute to her did not quite match his usual composed nature, the soldier bowed his head to her. "Da, Moya Kapitan."
~~~
The moment Nadya entered the Ballroom, all traces of disappointment vanished in an instant. She was surrounded by nobles and Grisha from all over the world, and all of them - every single one - turned to stare as she strode to the base of the dais and bowed deeply to the King and Queen, who sat on their golden thrones. However, as she made to stand, her eyes found The Darkling descending from his place on that same dais towards her.
Once again, she bowed, but instantly murmurs began to spread as some remarked that this bow was even lower than that which she had given the King.
She did not care that they were right, not as The Darkling gently took her hand and raised her up from that bow with a smile on his face.
"You look absolutely stunning tonight, Nadya. Is the gown to your liking?"
At once, she gave him her brightest smile, her heart bursting with joy at having his undivided attention.
"It is easily the most beautiful dress I will ever wear, Moi Soverennyi. You have my deepest gratitude," she replied.
This clearly pleased him, because The Darkling smiled even wider, his beauty more captivating than a thousand stars. From him radiated a power and presence that sent the Corporalki's heart pounding. He was the greatest Grisha alive, a living Amplifier.
So great he did not even wear one.
She too, refused one, though only because she felt the claiming of one would make her appear less than what she was. Nadya was one of the most powerful Heartrenders in Ravka, and refused to do anything that might affect that reputation. She would bear nothing but her own raw power, and it would be enough.
But would she be enough?
Enough to win this god of a man?
"Will you dance with me, Kapitan?" Asked The Darkling as he offered her a hand.
She wanted to weep with joy, but settled for a smile and an eager nod of her head as she took it. "It would be my honor, Moi Soverennyi."
At once, the other guests moved aside as the two Grisha took possession of the Dance floor. With a nod towards the musicians, the room was at once filled with music and the world stood still to watch as The Darkling took her into his arms.
And then they danced.
It was a classical Ravkan waltz, one she had learned in childhood as all the prominent members of Ravkan society did, but never before had she danced it like this. Their bodies moved in perfect tandem with one another, and the music seemed to fade away along with everything save for the endless expanse of The Darkling's eyes and the pounding of her heart. Never once did he break his gaze from hers, and never once did that soft, sweet smile leave his lips.
After what might have been hours or mere moments, the waltz ended with a glorious crescendo and they parted to bow deeply to one another, their eyes still fixed on each other's faces.
But when she rose from her bow, The Darkling did not kiss her hand nor touch her face. Instead, he merely thanked her for the dance and strode away.
Leaving her alone in that vast, empty space he'd left behind.
~~~
For the next several hours, all Nadya did was drink, glare daggers at any man who dared approach her, and pointedly ignored the steady presence of the otkazat'sya who - exactly as she'd ordered - had never once come or gone any further than ten paces from her since she'd walked away from that dance floor. His eyes never once deviated from where she stood, and he never spoke a word.
It was maddening.
As the night stretched on, and the alcohol began to cyphon away the final remnants of her self-control, the Grisha found herself suddenly desperate for escape. She had to get out of that saints-damned Ballroom now.
And so she did the only thing she could think of.
She put the otkazat'sya in a sleep she knew would last until she was able to get back to the Little Palace and fled, not looking back even as he fell to the ground.
Her carriage driver knew better than to question her orders to take her back home, not when the Oprichniki Kapitan was struggling to walk straight.
The ride back to the palace seemed to last barely a moment before she stumbled out into the chill night. One look at the Palace, however, and Nadya knew she couldn't handle being caged within walls where every room held memories or reminders of him.
Her skirts hindered her as she tried and failed to run, only to end up stumbling drunkenly to the only other place she could think to go - the lake. It was her sanctuary, the only place she could think unhindered.
Or cry without fear of an audience.
The moment she reached the water, her feet gave way and she fell in a graceless heap to the ground, her head in her hands as she let herself break apart. She'd known it was a foolish hope, that The Darkling might finally bridge the gap between them. That dance had been a mistake, one she wouldn't have been able to avoid even had she desired to. What he wanted he got, and her heart was no exception.
Why can't I hate him? I should hate him for giving me so much hope only to crush it on a whim. I've served him faithfully for so many years, and loved him for so many more. How could he do this to me? Why? Why am I so worthless?!
It was then that Nadya realized that she was sobbing, her entire body shaking as she struggled in her fight for breath. Everything hurt, and she refused to lie to herself by pretending she did not feel it was deserved. She had been a fool, not only for allowing herself to fall for The Darkling, but also for ignoring the hideous truth that she was attracted to that damned otkazat'sya.
First she falls in love with the most powerful Grisha alive, and then she allows herself to feel for an otkazat'sya?
I'm a fucking joke...
Her entire life had been built upon one simple truth ; that she was a lion among sheep, born to rule and never follow. The ungifted were meant to follow her orders, not to keep her awake at night with the memory of their eyes or the smell of their cologne.
At first it had been so easy to ignore, to pretend that she felt nothing but disdain for Iceveins like everyone else. She had, originally!
But then came the night where she woke from a dream about a man with eyes like Fjerndan ice, and the horrifying thought that still haunted her.
I want to paint him.
The only person who knew about the painting was The Darkling, who'd found her sitting on the floor of her room covered in her pigments as she propped a canvas against a chair worth more than some made in a year.
Though he'd said nothing about it, neither then nor ever since, she had awoken the very next morning to find a brand new easel and a beautiful kit of paints and brushes on her balcony. Ever since, she received fresh supplies each month, all worthy of a Master.
And so Nadya painted and painted and painted every moment she had to spare : landscapes, objects, moments from her dreams, and - most often - portraits.
The portraits were her favorite, and by far the most precious to her. As a soldier, Nadya was trained to maintain the appearance of the perfect Oprichniki Kapitan, which often meant ignoring her heart and living by duty and obligation. There had been so many moments, memories, faces she had seen and longed to enjoy, only for duty to force her to walk on.
And so she had learned to remember each of those moments, places, and people that captured her heart and reached the piece of her that lived only for light and colors and angles. She captured them, drunk them in as best she could, for the purpose of bringing them to life once more in her art. A face was more than merely a person's appearance. It held the very soul of a being, told the story of their hearts through the sincerity of their smile and the secrets in their eyes.
Over the years, Nadya had painted a hundred strangers, but it was the faces that lived in her present that she could never bear to paint.
Until him.
Never in her life had Nadya so fiercely longed to paint someone as much as she wanted to capture that...that glorious, wretched, useless man.
But she refused to give in, refused to relinquish that part of herself to someone who, by every natural law, was simply not her equal.
Even though she desperately wished he was.
"Moya Kapitan?"
The sound of his voice was like a bullet to her soul, and she found that it broke whatever strength she had left as the man came close enough to see her shame.
She felt the moment he saw her tears, registered that The Darkling's own Heartrender had broken at last, even as her vision was too blurred by tears and wine to see his face as she turned her head towards where he stood.
"My orders were so simple, and yet here you are, otkazat'sya," she mumbled, her words so muddled she dounted he would even be capable of deciphering them.
"Forgive me, Moya Kapitan," he murmured as he sat himself beside her. "I will accept whatever discipline you feel best fits my failure to follow your orders."
"Shut up," she sighed before doing something he never could have expected less.
She curled up against his chest and began to weep.
For a long moment, he did nothing and merely sat in shocked silence, but soon she felt him relax and settle himself against the weight of her. His chest felt exactly as she'd imagined it would, and was far warmer than his cold Fjerdan looks even through the heavy fabric of his uniform. With a soft, long sigh, Nadya allowed herself to revel in this mistake, to breath in the scent of him and commit it to memory.
But then his hand began to gently stroke her hair, the other holding her so gently, so tentatively, she could be imagining the touch. His touch was cautious, even when she allowed herself to lean further into it just to experience it a moment longer for fear it may be the last time.
For a moment, Nadya wondered if she'd fallen once again into a dream.
This can't really be happening...
"You always hold me so pathetically in these dreams," she breathed shakily to what must be yet another vision. "As if I couldn't end you with the twist of my wrist. Is that bravery or stupidity?"
The hand that was caressing her hair stilled for a moment, as though in surprise.
"Perhaps it is because I know that soon you wake up and realize that I was never really there, M...Printsessa," was his reply, spoken so softly she wondered if this dream was to be different from the others.
"I wish I could hate you," Nadya admitted as yet another tear flowed down her cheek and onto the man's uniform.
Tearily, she looked up at him, desperate for the sight of those eyes that haunted her so, barely visible through her tears.
Only to find them lined ever so lightly in silver.
"As this is a dream, nothing here is real, da?" He asked her softly, wiping the tears from her face with a touch so delicate she nearly missed it.
Incapable of words, she nodded.
"Then you do not have to hate me here, only when the sun has risen." Then he smiled at her, and she thought to herself that it may have been the most devastated expression she'd ever seen.
"I wish you were not otkazat'sya, but rather Grisha. You would make a wonderful Grisha," she sighed, her eyes fighting the urge to droop shut.
Strange...I've never dreamt of falling asleep before...
"Da, Printsessa," he murmured. "As do I."
It was then that she feel asleep, curled against him like a broken queen. She did not see him shed the tears that he quickly wiped away, nor hear him hum the echo of a waltz as he took her in his arms and carried her back to the Little palace through the servants' entrance.
Indeed, the only time she was lifted out of her sleep was when the heartbroken man laid her gently on her bed, still wearing The Darkling's dress.
"Goodnight Benhamin," she murmured, not even realising that she had said it.
Ben waited until she was once again deep asleep before parting with a whispered,
"Goodnight, Nadya."
StormWolf
Elder Member
The above story is canon and I will fight anyone who tries to claim otherwise!
EDIT: Arts added in my first post
EDIT: Arts added in my first post
Last edited:
StormWolf
Elder Member
True to his word, Benhamin ensured that the stolen moment by the lake remained a dream. When the morning came, everything was just as it was before on the surface. Their masks firmly in place for all of Ravka to see. In the days and nights - the weeks and months - that followed, he was the sole custodian of that memory in every crisp, cutting detail.
It was almost too much to bear.
Seasons waxed and waned; from spring, to summer, to the silver blanket of winter that caressed Os Alta in a veil of serenity. As was the fashion, each equinox saw the celebration of Ravkan high society in glamorous opulence. Benhamin attended each as he had before, hardly seen and wholly unheard from no less than ten paces - the Corporalki’s frigid shadow. Even as swaggering nobles stuck him with knives and forks to test the rumors for their amusement, Nadya never left his notice.
On one such Midwinter Gala, like every social parade since that Night that Never Was, Nadya had been liberal with her libation. Mulled wine flowed warm and sweet, and the kapitan’s glass of carved amethyst was never truly empty. The dances became lurid staggers, the flowing folds of silk and velvet a greater liability with every quaff.
“Otkazat'sya!” Nadya called sharply, whirling on Ben in a dazzling flash of scarlet and gold. He snapped to attention with parade form, standing straight as an arrow and snapping his boot heels together sharply. “My carriage! I have had my fill of this menagerie.”
“At once, moya Kapitan.” Bowing low, Ben mustered the cabbie and the pair of silver roan mares from the stables.
The two creatures knew Ben, nodding at him, snuffling at his gloved hands with their velvety noses. He brushed them softly with a kindly air. Clicking his tongue and petting their necks as he took their bridles and led them to the black-laquered carriage, its lanterns glittering in the snowfall.
Drawn up before the palace, Benhamin stood at attention, watching as the Darkling escorted Nadya down the precarious stairs. Their eyes met for a moment as Ben opened the carriage door for his Corporalki. It took an effort of will to keep his expression impassive as Ben dipped in a bow to his master,
“Soverenyi,” was all he said. Ben could feel the Darkling’s smile and the weight of his eyes like a lead blanket.
“Do take care of the Kapitan, otkazat'sya,” the Darkling said, putting a sardonic, silken note on the final word. Rising from his supplicant position to close the carriage door behind his charge, Ben ascended into the bench beside the driver.
“As you command, Soverenyi.” Reins snapped and the horses trotted on with the silvery notes of sleigh bells. Benhamin could feel the gaze of the Darkling following the coach until they vanished from view. For the first time in years, an icy chill trickled down Ben’s spine.
The Little Palace was always so quiet on winter nights. Grisha huddled around hearths in the common rooms or in their personal quarters, or kept to their offices and studies. It was a small blessing that Ben savored as he ensured Nadya found her way to her room, who wished him a good evening by way of slamming the door in his face.
Ben dipped in a gracious bow regardless, “Sweet dreams, Nadya,” he whispered, and took his place outside her door.
Hours of furtive lamp light and distant, howling wind filled the spaces of the Little Palace as it coiled into slumber, but Benhamin remained. Even long after the servants and maids had ceased their milling, leaving the oprichniki in a refreshing moment of silent solitude.
Such peace, like the seasons, is never meant to last.
Lush as the rugs were in the Little Palace, they couldn't fully muffle the sure-footed stride of someone coming down the hall, nor did Ben need to divert his glance to see who was approaching. That lead-weight sensation was telling enough. Black and gold filled the oprichnikis peripheral vision as the shadows cast by the lanterns danced unnaturally.
The Darkling was there, paused before Nadya’s door and regarding Benhamin the way one might a quaint sculpture in the Palace gardens. Ben could hear that curling smile as the Darkling turned to the door.
“Late is the hour of your approach, Soverenyi. May I inquire as to the nature of your visit?” Ben asked with that level voice like iron, low in respect to the time of morning. It gave the Darkling pause, his head tilting to cast that fathomless gaze up at Ben’s impassive countenance.
“You may not,” answered the Darkling coyly after a pause, a hint of wry amusement in his tone.
“If it is not an official matter of importance, Soverenyi, I am afraid I must reqest you wait until morning. The Kapitan is unwell.” Ben’s eyes remained locked on the lantern sconce across the hall. The Darkling chuckled, a soft and rich tone, all dark velvet and steel.
“Is she, now? Poor thing, the wine mustn’t have sat well with her,” the shadows stirred dangerously, the lantern light faltering under them. “I will see that she is well cared for.” The Darkling reached for the door handle.
Ben’s arm extended, a gloved hand planting itself against the Darkling’s chest with a dull thud. The world stood still as the air grew thick and electric with a storm threatening to break.
“I do not need to return that hand to you, otkazat'sya,” said the Darkling, a dangerous note of impatience slithering through his composure.
“That is your right, Soverenyi, but I must insist. It is not proper.” Ben fought to keep his voice level. Something cold and bilesome was roiling in his stomach, and Benhamin feared what it might happen if his composure broke now.
Much to Ben’s surprise, the Darkling laughed. It was a bitter and dangerous thing.
“Insist, he says. Such a dutiful ovcharka, aren’t you? Such a simple creature with tastes far too rich for his station,” the Darkling cooed. “A wolf howling at the moon, longing for that which is always out of reach… but not for me, otkazat'sya. Everything in this palace is mine already. I need only command it, and the moon comes to me.” The Darkling thrust his chin at the chamber door for emphasis.
There was a change, then. The briefest shift in posture, the subtle crack of knuckles and creak of leather, and the slow drift of Ben’s eyes to glower at the Darkling with such pure, intemperate contempt. It would be a simple thing to snatch at that pale neck and squeeze. To watch whatever light was in the Darkling’s eyes fade away and become like fogged glass.
“Ah, there it is,” the Darkling sighed with sadistic satisfaction. “That hatred, that malice. That singular capacity for violence. That is what makes you worth keeping, ovcharka. Your value is measured in the blood you have spilled, but you will never be more than a thing to be used and replaced.”
Ben’s heart raced, that hungering cold in his stomach churning with gnashing teeth. That damned smug smile. The Darkling knew he was right, and Ben wanted desperately to show him just how right he was. He may be the mightiest Grisha alive, but a fractured skull was a fractured skull. The Darkling met Ben’s gaze, searching. His smile widened for a moment,
“Unhand me, otkazat'sya. You may not be able to feel pain, but I assure you that Nadya can.” As if the Darkling’s kefta had grown suddenly scalding, Ben’s hand withdrew. Saints, how he hated himself for it.
“Just as I thought. Your poor fellow,” he gently pat Ben on the cheek the way one might a foolish child or a village simpleton. Or a faithful dog...
Ben’s throat was sawdust-dry and his pulse was pounding. His hands bore the faintest tremor of rage and adrenaline just begging to be released.
“As I said,” Ben croaked, “the hour is late Soverenyi. You and the Kapitan must have energy for tomorrow.” Chuckling, the Darkling nodded.
“I suppose you are right, ovcharka. After all, like this Palace, like Ravka, tomorrow also belongs to me. Dosvedanya for now, Benhamin.” Departing with as casual a swagger as he arrived, Ben watched until he was sure the Grisha was gone. After a few tense moments, there was a faint rustle of motion from behind him, and the door creaked open. Nadya’s voice, slurred with wine and slumber, reached his ears like a spring breeze. Taking a deep breath, Ben resumed his typical sentry posture - hands folded at the small of his back, shoulders squared and at attention, eyes forward.
“Hrm? Otkazat'sya?! Why are you here? What was that noise?”
“An uncouth caller from the gala masquerading as a gentleman, moya Kapitan,” Ben answered, his composure gradually returning. “You seemed like you needed your rest, so I sent him away.” Nadya snorted as scoff, an undignified noise from such an imperious woman.
“Do you think I can’t take care of myself?” She asked, green eyes flashing like jade daggers at Ben’s broad back.
“It never crossed my mind, Kapitan. I merely thought such an individual beneath your contempt,” he answered, the perfect toy soldier.
“Hrmph,” Nadya grunted. “Fine. Very well. Now shut up and go away, otkazat'sya,” Nadya snipped, sounding more like her normal self as she regarded Ben’s presence like an irritating and unsightly heap of detritus.
“As you wish, moya Kapitan.” Ben could hear Nadya’s exasperated sigh, imagining those emeraldine eyes rolling as the door slammed shut at his back. While Benhamin was not typically one to disobey orders, this night seemed an exception. He remained planted as an oak, keeping his vigil until the serf-maids arrived in procession, bearing trays of jangling Shu tea sets and still-steaming breakfast dishes that filled the hall with such scrumptious aromas. Each of them eyed Ben oddly.
“I was unaware that the Lady was having company for breakfast, Oprichniki,” said the senior among the maids, her veterancy marked with bright slashes of color in her livery. Managing a brief smile, Ben shook his head,
“Net, madame, she is not. I was just finishing my rounds. Good morning to you.” Dipping his head, Ben turned on his heel, and by the time the maids had Nadya’s door open, he was out of sight.
It was almost too much to bear.
Seasons waxed and waned; from spring, to summer, to the silver blanket of winter that caressed Os Alta in a veil of serenity. As was the fashion, each equinox saw the celebration of Ravkan high society in glamorous opulence. Benhamin attended each as he had before, hardly seen and wholly unheard from no less than ten paces - the Corporalki’s frigid shadow. Even as swaggering nobles stuck him with knives and forks to test the rumors for their amusement, Nadya never left his notice.
On one such Midwinter Gala, like every social parade since that Night that Never Was, Nadya had been liberal with her libation. Mulled wine flowed warm and sweet, and the kapitan’s glass of carved amethyst was never truly empty. The dances became lurid staggers, the flowing folds of silk and velvet a greater liability with every quaff.
“Otkazat'sya!” Nadya called sharply, whirling on Ben in a dazzling flash of scarlet and gold. He snapped to attention with parade form, standing straight as an arrow and snapping his boot heels together sharply. “My carriage! I have had my fill of this menagerie.”
“At once, moya Kapitan.” Bowing low, Ben mustered the cabbie and the pair of silver roan mares from the stables.
The two creatures knew Ben, nodding at him, snuffling at his gloved hands with their velvety noses. He brushed them softly with a kindly air. Clicking his tongue and petting their necks as he took their bridles and led them to the black-laquered carriage, its lanterns glittering in the snowfall.
Drawn up before the palace, Benhamin stood at attention, watching as the Darkling escorted Nadya down the precarious stairs. Their eyes met for a moment as Ben opened the carriage door for his Corporalki. It took an effort of will to keep his expression impassive as Ben dipped in a bow to his master,
“Soverenyi,” was all he said. Ben could feel the Darkling’s smile and the weight of his eyes like a lead blanket.
“Do take care of the Kapitan, otkazat'sya,” the Darkling said, putting a sardonic, silken note on the final word. Rising from his supplicant position to close the carriage door behind his charge, Ben ascended into the bench beside the driver.
“As you command, Soverenyi.” Reins snapped and the horses trotted on with the silvery notes of sleigh bells. Benhamin could feel the gaze of the Darkling following the coach until they vanished from view. For the first time in years, an icy chill trickled down Ben’s spine.
The Little Palace was always so quiet on winter nights. Grisha huddled around hearths in the common rooms or in their personal quarters, or kept to their offices and studies. It was a small blessing that Ben savored as he ensured Nadya found her way to her room, who wished him a good evening by way of slamming the door in his face.
Ben dipped in a gracious bow regardless, “Sweet dreams, Nadya,” he whispered, and took his place outside her door.
Hours of furtive lamp light and distant, howling wind filled the spaces of the Little Palace as it coiled into slumber, but Benhamin remained. Even long after the servants and maids had ceased their milling, leaving the oprichniki in a refreshing moment of silent solitude.
Such peace, like the seasons, is never meant to last.
Lush as the rugs were in the Little Palace, they couldn't fully muffle the sure-footed stride of someone coming down the hall, nor did Ben need to divert his glance to see who was approaching. That lead-weight sensation was telling enough. Black and gold filled the oprichnikis peripheral vision as the shadows cast by the lanterns danced unnaturally.
The Darkling was there, paused before Nadya’s door and regarding Benhamin the way one might a quaint sculpture in the Palace gardens. Ben could hear that curling smile as the Darkling turned to the door.
“Late is the hour of your approach, Soverenyi. May I inquire as to the nature of your visit?” Ben asked with that level voice like iron, low in respect to the time of morning. It gave the Darkling pause, his head tilting to cast that fathomless gaze up at Ben’s impassive countenance.
“You may not,” answered the Darkling coyly after a pause, a hint of wry amusement in his tone.
“If it is not an official matter of importance, Soverenyi, I am afraid I must reqest you wait until morning. The Kapitan is unwell.” Ben’s eyes remained locked on the lantern sconce across the hall. The Darkling chuckled, a soft and rich tone, all dark velvet and steel.
“Is she, now? Poor thing, the wine mustn’t have sat well with her,” the shadows stirred dangerously, the lantern light faltering under them. “I will see that she is well cared for.” The Darkling reached for the door handle.
Ben’s arm extended, a gloved hand planting itself against the Darkling’s chest with a dull thud. The world stood still as the air grew thick and electric with a storm threatening to break.
“I do not need to return that hand to you, otkazat'sya,” said the Darkling, a dangerous note of impatience slithering through his composure.
“That is your right, Soverenyi, but I must insist. It is not proper.” Ben fought to keep his voice level. Something cold and bilesome was roiling in his stomach, and Benhamin feared what it might happen if his composure broke now.
Much to Ben’s surprise, the Darkling laughed. It was a bitter and dangerous thing.
“Insist, he says. Such a dutiful ovcharka, aren’t you? Such a simple creature with tastes far too rich for his station,” the Darkling cooed. “A wolf howling at the moon, longing for that which is always out of reach… but not for me, otkazat'sya. Everything in this palace is mine already. I need only command it, and the moon comes to me.” The Darkling thrust his chin at the chamber door for emphasis.
There was a change, then. The briefest shift in posture, the subtle crack of knuckles and creak of leather, and the slow drift of Ben’s eyes to glower at the Darkling with such pure, intemperate contempt. It would be a simple thing to snatch at that pale neck and squeeze. To watch whatever light was in the Darkling’s eyes fade away and become like fogged glass.
“Ah, there it is,” the Darkling sighed with sadistic satisfaction. “That hatred, that malice. That singular capacity for violence. That is what makes you worth keeping, ovcharka. Your value is measured in the blood you have spilled, but you will never be more than a thing to be used and replaced.”
Ben’s heart raced, that hungering cold in his stomach churning with gnashing teeth. That damned smug smile. The Darkling knew he was right, and Ben wanted desperately to show him just how right he was. He may be the mightiest Grisha alive, but a fractured skull was a fractured skull. The Darkling met Ben’s gaze, searching. His smile widened for a moment,
“Unhand me, otkazat'sya. You may not be able to feel pain, but I assure you that Nadya can.” As if the Darkling’s kefta had grown suddenly scalding, Ben’s hand withdrew. Saints, how he hated himself for it.
“Just as I thought. Your poor fellow,” he gently pat Ben on the cheek the way one might a foolish child or a village simpleton. Or a faithful dog...
Ben’s throat was sawdust-dry and his pulse was pounding. His hands bore the faintest tremor of rage and adrenaline just begging to be released.
“As I said,” Ben croaked, “the hour is late Soverenyi. You and the Kapitan must have energy for tomorrow.” Chuckling, the Darkling nodded.
“I suppose you are right, ovcharka. After all, like this Palace, like Ravka, tomorrow also belongs to me. Dosvedanya for now, Benhamin.” Departing with as casual a swagger as he arrived, Ben watched until he was sure the Grisha was gone. After a few tense moments, there was a faint rustle of motion from behind him, and the door creaked open. Nadya’s voice, slurred with wine and slumber, reached his ears like a spring breeze. Taking a deep breath, Ben resumed his typical sentry posture - hands folded at the small of his back, shoulders squared and at attention, eyes forward.
“Hrm? Otkazat'sya?! Why are you here? What was that noise?”
“An uncouth caller from the gala masquerading as a gentleman, moya Kapitan,” Ben answered, his composure gradually returning. “You seemed like you needed your rest, so I sent him away.” Nadya snorted as scoff, an undignified noise from such an imperious woman.
“Do you think I can’t take care of myself?” She asked, green eyes flashing like jade daggers at Ben’s broad back.
“It never crossed my mind, Kapitan. I merely thought such an individual beneath your contempt,” he answered, the perfect toy soldier.
“Hrmph,” Nadya grunted. “Fine. Very well. Now shut up and go away, otkazat'sya,” Nadya snipped, sounding more like her normal self as she regarded Ben’s presence like an irritating and unsightly heap of detritus.
“As you wish, moya Kapitan.” Ben could hear Nadya’s exasperated sigh, imagining those emeraldine eyes rolling as the door slammed shut at his back. While Benhamin was not typically one to disobey orders, this night seemed an exception. He remained planted as an oak, keeping his vigil until the serf-maids arrived in procession, bearing trays of jangling Shu tea sets and still-steaming breakfast dishes that filled the hall with such scrumptious aromas. Each of them eyed Ben oddly.
“I was unaware that the Lady was having company for breakfast, Oprichniki,” said the senior among the maids, her veterancy marked with bright slashes of color in her livery. Managing a brief smile, Ben shook his head,
“Net, madame, she is not. I was just finishing my rounds. Good morning to you.” Dipping his head, Ben turned on his heel, and by the time the maids had Nadya’s door open, he was out of sight.
Last edited:
Ayama
Enthusiast
"Whatever you wish, I will be."
Last edited:
Morrighan
Member
I'm really looking forward to reading more!
Ayama
Enthusiast
Haha- glad you like it so far ^^ I decided to make it a two-parter, 'cause I guess it made sense to me to cut it up, since it was long enough to do so~
Morrighan
Member
Winter had come and gone once again, leaving Os Alta to revel in the ever-brief bloom of Spring. The Little Palace was abuzz with courting youths and wistful glances. Each day another girl would enter the Dining Hall with a flower tucked behind one ear and her heart declared to a boy she barely knew.
It was all so exhausting.
Nadya tried and failed not to frown down at her breakfast as one of those lovesick girls entered, surrounded by her fellow Materialki sisters desperate to hear of her so-called love. She was young and Pretty and entirely too happy.
She reminded the Oprichniki of the girl she herself had been not too long ago, besotted and certain of a future with the man to whom she had all too readily given her heart. How foolish she had been...
Despite herself, Nadya glanced down to the other end of the head table, where the lower ranks of the Oprichniki were seated. She knew each of them vaguely, only so well as to give out their orders, but only one face caught her eye.
The otkazat'sya, with his serious countenance and those eyes of Fjerdan ice, was sitting in silence as usual, his attention fixated on the food before him as his fellow soldiers laughed and joked amongst one another - likely at the man's expense. It should not have unnerved her as much as if did, his grim silence, but she had long since given up on making sense of the man. He was obedient, quiet, and utterly lethal. However, there were moments - so brief she often wondered if she imagined them - when she caught the edge of amusement in his eyes when he spoke to his comrades.
She had never once heard him laugh, or seen him smile in a way that felt genuine. He did not treat the other Oprichniki with anger or resentment as most others in his position would, even when they constantly belittled him for his status. It seemed at time as if his soul were as numb as his flesh.
But Nadya expected the opposite, though she would rather drown herself than ever voice the thought aloud.
Ever since The Darkling had made the otkazat'sya her personal guard, she'd noticed changes in the man. He would stand for hours in a single stiff position should she order him to, and yet at times she thought he might explode from the war she could read in his eyes. Something was tearing him apart, eating him alive day by day. She knew it as certainly as she knew the rhythm of her own heart.
Knew, of course, because she felt it too.
He was otkazat'sya, ungifted and unworthy. She reminded herself every day of that fact, and yet there it was - that pull she'd felt from the moment he'd met her gaze and she'd seen the depth of those eyes. Each day she woke from dreams that felt almost unnervingly real, and more often than not those dreams would be of him.
Him, or the man to whom she owed everything and who, in return for her very heart and soul, had barely given her a second glance.
The thought of The Darkling brought Nadya back into reality faster than a shit of kvas, and instantly she found herself utterly devoid of an appetite. Doing her best to appear her usual, regal self, the Oprichniki Kapitan stood and strode away from the table and out of the Little Palace.
She was to visit a class of Corporalki children in half an hour, and could not have felt less prepared had she tried. After a year at the Little Palace, Nadya had quickly found herself at the top of her class and so had been sent to Baghra. The old witch was cruel and had a temper fouler than any dragon, but Nadya had learned more from her in a week than she had that entire previous year.
If she could handle three whole years of that crone's bitching, she could damn well handle a dozen grisha children.
The lake beckoned to her, more so than in past years. It's cool waters promised calming silence and fresh air, but Nadya found herself drawn for a different reason altogether. Ever since The Winter Ball, much of which had been blurred by wine and the passing of time, the Corporalki always felt a surge of reminiscence when she sat along its shore.
The water seemed to whisper forgotten echos of memory to her, and at time she swore she could hear the long-away melody of a waltz.
"Moya Kapitan?"
The sound of his voice was like a sudden snow, shocking ber back to the present. She turned to see the otkazat'sya standing just beyond that invisible barrier they kept between them.
10 paces, no more or less.
His face was stoic, serious, a blank slate awaiting orders.
Nadya frowned. "Must you follow me wherever I go, otkazat'sya?"
"The Darkling's orders are for me to serve and protect you, Moya Kapitan," he responded instantly. "Where you go, I must follow in order to do so."
For reasons she could not name, Nadya decided to push the issue, even though she knew it was pointless. She took a step forward, closing the gap to 9 paces.
His face remained utterly unreadable.
"I could order you to leave my side," taunted Nadya in a voice like steel wrapped in silk.
The Oprichniki swallowed. "That would be your prerogative, Moya Kapitan. I am yours to command."
Yes...indeed you are, otkazat'sya....
"I am to visit a class of Corporalki children in ten minutes." She turned away.
"You will follow, but will remain silent unless I give you leave to speak."
"As you command, Moya Kapitan."
She could hear the rustle of his uniform as he saluted her, and it only made her walk away faster. She hated this, more than quite possibly anything else. It was going to drive her insane, of that she was certain.
But a part of her wondered if it would not be better to be whole and mad than broken and sane.
I suppose that would be my prerogative...
Nadya didn't need to turn to know he followed her as she marched herself towards the Combat Training area. The Corporalki students spent much of their time studying the human body and anatomy in the autopsy rooms back at the Little Palace, but Nadya had never been fond of old corpses.
The sounds of their high, giggling voices could be heard from outside, and Nadya found herself grinning a bit despite everything that had been souring her mood. These children were separate from all of that, and no-doubt had looked forward to her visit for days now.
Kapitan Krovopuskov of The Darkling's Oprichniki. She had even worn her uniform, a custom-made kefta of Oprichniki grey embroidered masterfully in Corporalki crimson and black. Over her heart rested the pin that marked her rank, The Darkling's symbol wrought in silver.
And this isn't even my dress uniform...
Indeed, that had been designed for her personally by The Darkling, who had sent it to her as a gift the day before her promotion ceremony. It was a deep, stormy grey - the closest to black that any Grisha had ever been permitted to wear - and boasted embroidery so exquisite she had merely stared at the silken fabric for a long moment upon receiving it. The contrast to the blood-red thread against the grey made for a truly eye-catching effect, especially since Nadya's golden hair and fair complexion were so at odds with the intimidating color scheme.
The Darkling's personal Heartrender...
Enough.
This was not the time to allow for her own shit to get in the way of her duty and obligations. Besides, these young Grisha were expecting Nadya Krovopuskov, the most powerful Heartrender at The Little Palace, not some heartsick girl dressed in finery.
And so, Nadya shot the otkazat'sya a sharp look of warning, and strode inside to find the combat instructor - a viscous Shu otkazat'sya who'd always loved to kick her ass - already walking out the same door and away without so much as a nod.
At once, the room fell silent as the children - still in the middle of their stretching exercises - drank in the sight of a woman they'd as yet only heard of from one another. Then, a single student stood to face her and did something that utterly shocked the older Grisha.
She saluted and bowed deeply.
"Kapitan Krovopuskov," the young Corporalki greeted solemnly. "We are honored by your presence here."
Before Nadya could respond or even really digest what to say, the entire rest of the class followed the girl's lead and did the same.
The sight was jarring. As Kapitan, she had grown to accept - and even revel in - the obligatory displays of respect she received from other Grisha or otkazat'sya nobles and soldiers. Saints, she had her own guard!
Who, Nadya saw at a glance, had also bowed to her, a fist over his heart.
I don't deserve this...I don't want this...do I?
Nadya took a moment to look more closely at the girl who'd started all of this. She was young, perhaps 13, and built like a dancer. Her dark hair was coiled into a tight knot at the base of her throat, and her clothes were utterly clean and clearly well-tended.
How utterly different from how I'd been. Cocky, vain, wild with power and drunk on freedom...
This girl could become everything Nadya never could.
She crossed the room to stand before the young Grisha, tilting her chin up to to meet her gaze.
"Tell me your name," Nadya ordered, though she spoke softly, gently.
"N...Natasha, Kapitan," the girl stuttered, brown eyes wide as she wrestled to appear composed.
Nadya smiled. "Hello, Natasha. I am Nadya Krovopuskov, but you and your friends may simply call me Nadya. Outside of this room, I am Kapitan Krovopuskov, but here I am just another Grisha, da?"
The students stared with wide, shocked eyes, their mouths open in awe. They clearly hadn't expected such a response.
"D..da," agreed Natasha with a grin that brought her serious little face to life.
It made her smile even wider as she released the girl and turned to address the class, all of whom still stood facing her.
"All of you are fairly new to The Little Palace, which means you are also new to the art of using your Corporalki gifts properly. Of course, many of you will have already learned how to use the Small Science to do mild damage to an opponent, but to truly harness your power you have to understand the importance of intent."
The moment she'd started speaking, the class had straightened to listen, some nodding in understanding while others looked completely lost.
Nadya grinned in amusement, trying not to chuckle.
A boy raised his hand.
"Yes?"
"I'm sorry, Kapi...Nadya, but what do you mean?"
As the Corporalnik opened her mouth to attempt an explanation, she heard a soft, purposeful cough from the entrance.
The otkazat'sya.
Turning and trying to keep the annoyance from her face, Nadya lifted a brow at the man, who took that as permission to speak.
"Forgive me, Moya Kapitan, but perhaps a demonstration would be of help?"
Of all the idiotic, pointless things she'd expected him to say, that had certainly not been among them. Why would an otkazat'sya willingly volunteer to submit himself to a Heartrender's power? Did he have some sort of motive?
However, before she could refuse the idea, several of the students began whispering excitedly about the prospect of seeing her power up close.
With a sigh, Nadya nodded to her guard. He crossed the room in moments, until he was standing at parade rest directly opposite her. Between them were the usual ten paces, as ever. The sight of the man's face, utterly devoid of fear or hesitation, made her want to kill something.
Instead, she addressed the class as she showed them some basic hand motions commonly used by Corporalki during a fight.
"When you use your power, there is only one thing more important than focus or control - intent. You can perfect the motion, study until your eyes are bleeding, but if you have no real conviction behind your strike, then you may as well pick up a knife and fight like an otkazat'sya. When in battle, your opponent is only concerned with how to end your life. They will not hesitate to drive a sword through your chest or put a bullet through your head. So how do you ensure that your strike is strong and true? You mean it."
As she spoke, Nadya allowed her eyes to drink the man in ; his haunting eyes, his serious face, those lips that were always frowning. She let the rage in her heart fill her soul, fuelling her power and sharpening her resolve into a deadly point. She raised a hand into the empty air between them and, with those final words, brought it slashing down.
The sound of his ribs breaking was the only sound in the whole of the room, and it filled her soul as reality swept back in.
Shit...shit shit shit!
Any other man would have fallen to the ground, clutching his chest in agony. Iceveins merely stood there, the only sign that anything was different at all being a slightly hitch in his breathing as he took a single, questioning step closer to her.
"Moya Kapitan?"
Nadya snapped back into reality to find the students staring in horror at the grey-clad soldier. A few murmured the name "Iceveins", disbelief written on their faces.
"Go find a Healer," Nadya commanded, unable to move closer and yet finding it impossible to turn away. "Now."
She had broken his ribs...
The look in those infuriating eyes was unreadable as he stared back at her, his mouth opening to say something only for him to close it and - like a complete moron - bow to her.
If he hadn't been suffering internal bleeding before, he certainly was now.
She wanted to kill him.
She wanted to kiss him.
But he was gone before she could do either.
The children merely asked if they would have to break ribs for their Final.
It was all so exhausting.
Nadya tried and failed not to frown down at her breakfast as one of those lovesick girls entered, surrounded by her fellow Materialki sisters desperate to hear of her so-called love. She was young and Pretty and entirely too happy.
She reminded the Oprichniki of the girl she herself had been not too long ago, besotted and certain of a future with the man to whom she had all too readily given her heart. How foolish she had been...
Despite herself, Nadya glanced down to the other end of the head table, where the lower ranks of the Oprichniki were seated. She knew each of them vaguely, only so well as to give out their orders, but only one face caught her eye.
The otkazat'sya, with his serious countenance and those eyes of Fjerdan ice, was sitting in silence as usual, his attention fixated on the food before him as his fellow soldiers laughed and joked amongst one another - likely at the man's expense. It should not have unnerved her as much as if did, his grim silence, but she had long since given up on making sense of the man. He was obedient, quiet, and utterly lethal. However, there were moments - so brief she often wondered if she imagined them - when she caught the edge of amusement in his eyes when he spoke to his comrades.
She had never once heard him laugh, or seen him smile in a way that felt genuine. He did not treat the other Oprichniki with anger or resentment as most others in his position would, even when they constantly belittled him for his status. It seemed at time as if his soul were as numb as his flesh.
But Nadya expected the opposite, though she would rather drown herself than ever voice the thought aloud.
Ever since The Darkling had made the otkazat'sya her personal guard, she'd noticed changes in the man. He would stand for hours in a single stiff position should she order him to, and yet at times she thought he might explode from the war she could read in his eyes. Something was tearing him apart, eating him alive day by day. She knew it as certainly as she knew the rhythm of her own heart.
Knew, of course, because she felt it too.
He was otkazat'sya, ungifted and unworthy. She reminded herself every day of that fact, and yet there it was - that pull she'd felt from the moment he'd met her gaze and she'd seen the depth of those eyes. Each day she woke from dreams that felt almost unnervingly real, and more often than not those dreams would be of him.
Him, or the man to whom she owed everything and who, in return for her very heart and soul, had barely given her a second glance.
The thought of The Darkling brought Nadya back into reality faster than a shit of kvas, and instantly she found herself utterly devoid of an appetite. Doing her best to appear her usual, regal self, the Oprichniki Kapitan stood and strode away from the table and out of the Little Palace.
She was to visit a class of Corporalki children in half an hour, and could not have felt less prepared had she tried. After a year at the Little Palace, Nadya had quickly found herself at the top of her class and so had been sent to Baghra. The old witch was cruel and had a temper fouler than any dragon, but Nadya had learned more from her in a week than she had that entire previous year.
If she could handle three whole years of that crone's bitching, she could damn well handle a dozen grisha children.
The lake beckoned to her, more so than in past years. It's cool waters promised calming silence and fresh air, but Nadya found herself drawn for a different reason altogether. Ever since The Winter Ball, much of which had been blurred by wine and the passing of time, the Corporalki always felt a surge of reminiscence when she sat along its shore.
The water seemed to whisper forgotten echos of memory to her, and at time she swore she could hear the long-away melody of a waltz.
"Moya Kapitan?"
The sound of his voice was like a sudden snow, shocking ber back to the present. She turned to see the otkazat'sya standing just beyond that invisible barrier they kept between them.
10 paces, no more or less.
His face was stoic, serious, a blank slate awaiting orders.
Nadya frowned. "Must you follow me wherever I go, otkazat'sya?"
"The Darkling's orders are for me to serve and protect you, Moya Kapitan," he responded instantly. "Where you go, I must follow in order to do so."
For reasons she could not name, Nadya decided to push the issue, even though she knew it was pointless. She took a step forward, closing the gap to 9 paces.
His face remained utterly unreadable.
"I could order you to leave my side," taunted Nadya in a voice like steel wrapped in silk.
The Oprichniki swallowed. "That would be your prerogative, Moya Kapitan. I am yours to command."
Yes...indeed you are, otkazat'sya....
"I am to visit a class of Corporalki children in ten minutes." She turned away.
"You will follow, but will remain silent unless I give you leave to speak."
"As you command, Moya Kapitan."
She could hear the rustle of his uniform as he saluted her, and it only made her walk away faster. She hated this, more than quite possibly anything else. It was going to drive her insane, of that she was certain.
But a part of her wondered if it would not be better to be whole and mad than broken and sane.
I suppose that would be my prerogative...
Nadya didn't need to turn to know he followed her as she marched herself towards the Combat Training area. The Corporalki students spent much of their time studying the human body and anatomy in the autopsy rooms back at the Little Palace, but Nadya had never been fond of old corpses.
The sounds of their high, giggling voices could be heard from outside, and Nadya found herself grinning a bit despite everything that had been souring her mood. These children were separate from all of that, and no-doubt had looked forward to her visit for days now.
Kapitan Krovopuskov of The Darkling's Oprichniki. She had even worn her uniform, a custom-made kefta of Oprichniki grey embroidered masterfully in Corporalki crimson and black. Over her heart rested the pin that marked her rank, The Darkling's symbol wrought in silver.
And this isn't even my dress uniform...
Indeed, that had been designed for her personally by The Darkling, who had sent it to her as a gift the day before her promotion ceremony. It was a deep, stormy grey - the closest to black that any Grisha had ever been permitted to wear - and boasted embroidery so exquisite she had merely stared at the silken fabric for a long moment upon receiving it. The contrast to the blood-red thread against the grey made for a truly eye-catching effect, especially since Nadya's golden hair and fair complexion were so at odds with the intimidating color scheme.
The Darkling's personal Heartrender...
Enough.
This was not the time to allow for her own shit to get in the way of her duty and obligations. Besides, these young Grisha were expecting Nadya Krovopuskov, the most powerful Heartrender at The Little Palace, not some heartsick girl dressed in finery.
And so, Nadya shot the otkazat'sya a sharp look of warning, and strode inside to find the combat instructor - a viscous Shu otkazat'sya who'd always loved to kick her ass - already walking out the same door and away without so much as a nod.
At once, the room fell silent as the children - still in the middle of their stretching exercises - drank in the sight of a woman they'd as yet only heard of from one another. Then, a single student stood to face her and did something that utterly shocked the older Grisha.
She saluted and bowed deeply.
"Kapitan Krovopuskov," the young Corporalki greeted solemnly. "We are honored by your presence here."
Before Nadya could respond or even really digest what to say, the entire rest of the class followed the girl's lead and did the same.
The sight was jarring. As Kapitan, she had grown to accept - and even revel in - the obligatory displays of respect she received from other Grisha or otkazat'sya nobles and soldiers. Saints, she had her own guard!
Who, Nadya saw at a glance, had also bowed to her, a fist over his heart.
I don't deserve this...I don't want this...do I?
Nadya took a moment to look more closely at the girl who'd started all of this. She was young, perhaps 13, and built like a dancer. Her dark hair was coiled into a tight knot at the base of her throat, and her clothes were utterly clean and clearly well-tended.
How utterly different from how I'd been. Cocky, vain, wild with power and drunk on freedom...
This girl could become everything Nadya never could.
She crossed the room to stand before the young Grisha, tilting her chin up to to meet her gaze.
"Tell me your name," Nadya ordered, though she spoke softly, gently.
"N...Natasha, Kapitan," the girl stuttered, brown eyes wide as she wrestled to appear composed.
Nadya smiled. "Hello, Natasha. I am Nadya Krovopuskov, but you and your friends may simply call me Nadya. Outside of this room, I am Kapitan Krovopuskov, but here I am just another Grisha, da?"
The students stared with wide, shocked eyes, their mouths open in awe. They clearly hadn't expected such a response.
"D..da," agreed Natasha with a grin that brought her serious little face to life.
It made her smile even wider as she released the girl and turned to address the class, all of whom still stood facing her.
"All of you are fairly new to The Little Palace, which means you are also new to the art of using your Corporalki gifts properly. Of course, many of you will have already learned how to use the Small Science to do mild damage to an opponent, but to truly harness your power you have to understand the importance of intent."
The moment she'd started speaking, the class had straightened to listen, some nodding in understanding while others looked completely lost.
Nadya grinned in amusement, trying not to chuckle.
A boy raised his hand.
"Yes?"
"I'm sorry, Kapi...Nadya, but what do you mean?"
As the Corporalnik opened her mouth to attempt an explanation, she heard a soft, purposeful cough from the entrance.
The otkazat'sya.
Turning and trying to keep the annoyance from her face, Nadya lifted a brow at the man, who took that as permission to speak.
"Forgive me, Moya Kapitan, but perhaps a demonstration would be of help?"
Of all the idiotic, pointless things she'd expected him to say, that had certainly not been among them. Why would an otkazat'sya willingly volunteer to submit himself to a Heartrender's power? Did he have some sort of motive?
However, before she could refuse the idea, several of the students began whispering excitedly about the prospect of seeing her power up close.
With a sigh, Nadya nodded to her guard. He crossed the room in moments, until he was standing at parade rest directly opposite her. Between them were the usual ten paces, as ever. The sight of the man's face, utterly devoid of fear or hesitation, made her want to kill something.
Instead, she addressed the class as she showed them some basic hand motions commonly used by Corporalki during a fight.
"When you use your power, there is only one thing more important than focus or control - intent. You can perfect the motion, study until your eyes are bleeding, but if you have no real conviction behind your strike, then you may as well pick up a knife and fight like an otkazat'sya. When in battle, your opponent is only concerned with how to end your life. They will not hesitate to drive a sword through your chest or put a bullet through your head. So how do you ensure that your strike is strong and true? You mean it."
As she spoke, Nadya allowed her eyes to drink the man in ; his haunting eyes, his serious face, those lips that were always frowning. She let the rage in her heart fill her soul, fuelling her power and sharpening her resolve into a deadly point. She raised a hand into the empty air between them and, with those final words, brought it slashing down.
The sound of his ribs breaking was the only sound in the whole of the room, and it filled her soul as reality swept back in.
Shit...shit shit shit!
Any other man would have fallen to the ground, clutching his chest in agony. Iceveins merely stood there, the only sign that anything was different at all being a slightly hitch in his breathing as he took a single, questioning step closer to her.
"Moya Kapitan?"
Nadya snapped back into reality to find the students staring in horror at the grey-clad soldier. A few murmured the name "Iceveins", disbelief written on their faces.
"Go find a Healer," Nadya commanded, unable to move closer and yet finding it impossible to turn away. "Now."
She had broken his ribs...
The look in those infuriating eyes was unreadable as he stared back at her, his mouth opening to say something only for him to close it and - like a complete moron - bow to her.
If he hadn't been suffering internal bleeding before, he certainly was now.
She wanted to kill him.
She wanted to kiss him.
But he was gone before she could do either.
The children merely asked if they would have to break ribs for their Final.
StormWolf
Elder Member
Just. KISS!
Morrighan
Member
Ayama
Enthusiast
I. Am. IN LOVE x.x Your voice is beautiful- reminds me of Evanescence ^^
I really want to do a piano accompaniment for this now... >w<
I really want to do a piano accompaniment for this now... >w<
Ayama
Enthusiast
... We need a part for Ben. I will record a piano background, then both of you can record your parts on top of that. This must happen!
Ayama
Enthusiast
Aaaah, it also reminds me of Once Upon a December, from Anastasia ^^
In any case, I love this so much!
In any case, I love this so much!
StormWolf
Elder Member
I can’t write music for shit, but I can sing it!
StormWolf
Elder Member
Well, if you insist~
Morrighan
Member
OH MY GOODNESS THIS IS SO EXCITING
Morrighan
Member
I DIDN'T THINK MY LITTLE SONG WOULD INSPIRE SO MUCH BEAUTIFUL ART!!!!
Morrighan
Member
I look forward to rerecording this. My voice was not where I wanted it that day whatsoever. I was so pitchy...
StormWolf
Elder Member
Still WIP AF, but here they are in their roughness to scale, at least how I've seen them!
Ayama
Enthusiast
Haha nice! I'd say the first 3 are most accurate representations of their characters~ Pretty cool to see 'em all together like that ^^
StormWolf
Elder Member
In fairness, Neige's ability is hard to show at a glance until we know more, so I'm erring on a "Team Bard" vibe xD
Ayama
Enthusiast
Haha, I feel like Louis is the bard though ;P
StormWolf
Elder Member
Daggers and steals the shinies? Totally a rogue IMO. A Charisma-leaning Rogue, but still a Rogue.
Users who are viewing this thread
Similar threads
