Zahrya { 4 } - Blog Posts
"Get a grip, we are at war. I know sex is all new and novel for you, but it will still be there after we defeat the drows," Robin calls out, rolling her eyes at Zahrya's incredible sense of timing. There is a time and a place for everything, and the middle of the battlefield is surely not the time for sex, unless he had the audacity to think they were losing. But if that were the case, she would be more pissed about his lack of faith on their abilities than his desire for one last desperate fuck before he died. "Frankly, I couldn't give less of a fuck of your hot date, considering that we have yet to defeat any drow of importance. "
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Between the Chancellors being inside of each other and the sensation of crushing the earth beneath their combined power, Zahrya fell out of the Titan leaking nectar like it was the height of spring in spite of his exhaustion. Luckily he didn't fall too far before being scooped into an enormous, scaly bosom which he happily found comfort in. "Chancellor, His Majesty is giving us a wonderful soundtrack for what the mortals call a hot date," Zahrya responds from atop Alastor, barely turning his head to acknowledge Robin. Zahrya's magic reached explosive magnitude when he and Alastor came together, so he was irritated that he had to remove demonic scales from his lips to speak. "I cannot believe you'd interrupt our couple's time for something so trivial. Clearly, I have more urgent matters to attend to than the locations of the others," Zahrya continues, never halting his stroking of Alastor's horn for a second. Yes, Mery's continued destruction of Rome had him feeling incredibly fertile. He never knew war could be so erotic.
chancellorxlaer:
zahryaofspring:
who?: any bitches (eladrin or whatever) still alive i can’t keep track anymore where?: their hellhole (the forest) right on top of that corpse I’m done
✿*° ‘° ･
He was there, he was right there screaming for his King, but he was helpless. Too tired to move or act fast enough, it was his heartache that twisted the trees to strike on his behalf. But even they were too slow, spearing wispy shadows instead of his greatest foes. He caught his King’s body before it could hit the ground, shakily singing every song of Spring he could think of. He smashed a blood fruit into the cavernous hole of his chest, pumped ichor straight from his flowers until they withered, and wailed his useless tunes in every key he knew. Nothing worked, his King was gone, and once again he was powerless to make anything better.
“Do something! He can’t be gone. Why didn’t you … do something! Worthless cowards. Fools and cowards I hate you! I need him. We need him…” He directs his words at the fractured remnants of the eladrin race, all those who bore witness as he feels and wavers between all five stages of grief at once. Eventually, all he can do is sob, his thunderous pain reverberating throughout the forest while the Black Wind’s cruel laughter reverberates in his skull.
-
In an effort to preserve what remained of the King’s dignity, Laer sung a song while the rest of the kingdom looked on. Lifted the body away from Zahrya as it was bandaged and glamoured so the ichor that still spilled from Mery’s body would not stain through. “Get up, Zahrya.” Laer said as curtly as he could manage. Loss defined them at every turn. Their Queen, their home, and now the heir that had risen so sharply in such a short amount of time.
“Sometimes it feels like the Gods are laughing at us,” Laer whispered, though through a warm breeze his voice was carried across the company and the crowd. Some of their greatest defenders were gone while the city had been thrown into hedonistic, debaucherous turmoil. Laer felt grief, hatred, and anguish wrapped into one as his patience for this realm ended entirely. The mortals and the drow, these long standing feuds that had chipped away at them relentlessly. “King Meryasek is dead,” the chancellor announced as he roughly hauled Zahrya to his feet, “but your chancellorship remains, reinforce the boundaries, expel any intruders.” He looked towards the bandaged body of the King he’d watched rise from toddler to manhood, the bright and inquisitive mind that had held so much promise.
Another fey life taken, another drow for Ayi’ig’s army. He looked away from the body because he couldn’t stare at it any longer.
“Count the dead, we bury them within the week.” The chancellors would convene and retribution would be swift.
....
There is a weight that comes with being the survivor of a tragedy, to bear witness to your world falling apart from the seams even as you attempt to keep it together. Robin is too far to stop the Drow Queen, too far to do anything but watch as the Court’s suffer yet another blow, one she does not know how they will recover from. Titania, their home, Fen’harel, Aurora and now Meryasek? It has been blow after blow, no break in between. It’s been a long arduous year, a year full of grief and loss, and they seem to keep losing no matter what they attempt. It is far too much grief, far too much misery, bottled and kept inside for too long for her to be able to keep a hold of it any longer. The vessel on her chest, the one where she keeps all her worries and grief and empathy, shatters under the pressure of seeing the corpse of yet another friend, of another loved one, before her. The first crack had appeared in Halloween, deepened further by Wade’s betrayal, but this, for Hyrsam to ensure that his King’s funeral would also becomes Meryasek’s? Over and over again, she had considered peace, had considered unity between species as a solution to their current conflicts.
No more.
The world had turned their back to the fey, it’s only fair they do the same. Anger bypasses grief, her song joining Laer’s in order to keep the pretense of an united front before their people and their enemies alike. Flames gather around them, the fire preventing anyone but the chancellor’s from reaching their fallen King. As she steps closer, Robin allows herself a brief moment to grieve for who they had lost, to grieve for her friend, gone where they could not follow after doing his all to protect their people. He had risen beyond any of the expectations placed on him, and his death was yet another injustice struck against the fey.
Alas, death takes kings and paupers alike.
Eyes snapping open, Robin let’s out a whistle, high and sharp, and sends her own changeling to reinforce the borders as a precaution. Zahrya will do his duty, but any help will be a kindness for the Spring Chancellor.
“Do not stand around, we cannot afford to remain frozen,” Robin snaps out, voice sharp and cutting through the grief beginning to overwhelm the court. “Gather the children, ensure they are kept safe, place the death together and notify next of kin. Now.”
Eyes going back to Zahrya, she bites her lip and tentatively places her hand upon his shoulder in comfort. There had been a tension between the two since that conversation near the pond, but there cannot be infighting if they want to survive, weakened as they are. “Not now Zahrya,” she offers, voice soft yet kind. “We will have our time for grieve later, but now? Now we must ensure that Meryasek’s work does not go to waste.”
zahryaofspring:
who?: any bitches (eladrin or whatever) still alive i can’t keep track anymore where?: their hellhole (the forest) right on top of that corpse I’m done
✿*° ‘° ･
He was there, he was right there screaming for his King, but he was helpless. Too tired to move or act fast enough, it was his heartache that twisted the trees to strike on his behalf. But even they were too slow, spearing wispy shadows instead of his greatest foes. He caught his King’s body before it could hit the ground, shakily singing every song of Spring he could think of. He smashed a blood fruit into the cavernous hole of his chest, pumped ichor straight from his flowers until they withered, and wailed his useless tunes in every key he knew. Nothing worked, his King was gone, and once again he was powerless to make anything better.
“Do something! He can’t be gone. Why didn’t you … do something! Worthless cowards. Fools and cowards I hate you! I need him. We need him…” He directs his words at the fractured remnants of the eladrin race, all those who bore witness as he feels and wavers between all five stages of grief at once. Eventually, all he can do is sob, his thunderous pain reverberating throughout the forest while the Black Wind’s cruel laughter reverberates in his skull.
-
In an effort to preserve what remained of the King’s dignity, Laer sung a song while the rest of the kingdom looked on. Lifted the body away from Zahrya as it was bandaged and glamoured so the ichor that still spilled from Mery’s body would not stain through. “Get up, Zahrya.” Laer said as curtly as he could manage. Loss defined them at every turn. Their Queen, their home, and now the heir that had risen so sharply in such a short amount of time.
“Sometimes it feels like the Gods are laughing at us,” Laer whispered, though through a warm breeze his voice was carried across the company and the crowd. Some of their greatest defenders were gone while the city had been thrown into hedonistic, debaucherous turmoil. Laer felt grief, hatred, and anguish wrapped into one as his patience for this realm ended entirely. The mortals and the drow, these long standing feuds that had chipped away at them relentlessly. “King Meryasek is dead,” the chancellor announced as he roughly hauled Zahrya to his feet, “but your chancellorship remains, reinforce the boundaries, expel any intruders.” He looked towards the bandaged body of the King he’d watched rise from toddler to manhood, the bright and inquisitive mind that had held so much promise.
Another fey life taken, another drow for Ayi’ig’s army. He looked away from the body because he couldn’t stare at it any longer.
“Count the dead, we bury them within the week.” The chancellors would convene and retribution would be swift.
