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 Posted: Wed Nov 14, 2012 2:36 pm
Rusted armor, old magic, echoes of a forgotten past...
This is how things were. This is the land that was abandoned; the memories that have now faded. Ancient joys, broken smiles, lost innocence... you can find them all here.
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Posted: Thu Nov 15, 2012 9:23 am
Announcements:
~Lovely castles, villages, and towns in a land teeming with magic.
~The possibilities are endless.
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Posted: Thu Nov 15, 2012 9:24 am
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Posted: Sat Nov 17, 2012 11:58 pm
Lady Isabelle
But just Belle will do...  ...
.
.
Her eyes were lowered as she swept the large hall. A small white scrap of cloth was wrapped around her right hand hiding a small cut. It had been several days since she'd arrived at the Dark Castle and she still had much to learn. Belle idly wondered if Rumpelstiltskin knew she had no idea what she was doing. Finishing school covered cooking basics, but scrubbing floors and laundry weren't exactly part of the curriculum. Still she hadn't ruined anything yet and that was certainly a fact she was proud of.
Life here was strange but comfortable. There had been very little food and comfort in her father's home due to the Ogre War. In fact, the morning after her arrival at the Dark Castle had been the first time she'd tasted tea in months. Sugar, honey, cream... she'd almost forgotten how good they tasted. Yes, life here was lonely but not terrible.
Then there was her master. He was frightening to be sure, but there was a cruel playfulness about him. His behavior reminded her of a child playing with his toys. That was really all humans were in his eyes: toys to play his games. Still, there was a perverted sense of fairness to his dealings.
The sharp sting on her hand snapped her out of her musing. She'd been trying to open a jar of silver polish. Unfortunately, the glass jar had slipped from her hand and smashed spectacularly on the floor. To make matters worse one of the pieces had sliced open the palm of her hand. Belle had then bled all over the kitchen in her search for a bandage. In less than five minutes the kitchen had been turned into a bloody mess.
"Now that, that took skill..." she chuckled at her own inexperience.
Still, practice made perfect didn't it?
. . .
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Posted: Sun Nov 18, 2012 1:02 am
R u m p l e s t i l t s k i n
ʈhe ɖark σne
"Tick. Tock. Dearie."  Rumplestiltskin pursed his lips as he bent over the small dark gray spotted hedgehog currently sitting, looking hopelessly bewildered, on his front walk. The tips of long, gilt-dusted fingers tipped with thick, hoary, evergreen claws just barely brushed the soft tips of the creature's quills, then Rumplestiltskin drew back his hand and let out an eerie shrill of laughter. "You really should have listened to me, boyo," he cajoled. "You never were much of a magician."
Still smiling, the Dark One straightened and got the toe of an intricate carnelian-colored boot under the creature's soft belly, nudging it out the door. "Now, do be careful of hawks, Your Grace. They're a very good judge of character."
As he allowed the heavy, ornate door to his castle to close behind him, the smile wiped clear of his face as if it were a chalked sigil on a schoolchild's tablet. His nostrils flared, as from the air and its mingled aromas of old dust and earth, of spell components and sour staleness, he caught the unmistakable aroma of fresh blood. He knew the scent well. Once,- lifetimes ago,- it had haunted his dreams, made him rise in the night slick-sweaty with nightmare, cry out pathetically to a wife who his weakness appalled. Lifetimes ago. Yes. And only a lifetime ago, it lay in a crimson smear, a pall across the world, a signature cologne of the liege he had become of all things deadly, no longer a man to be troubled by nightmare, no longer the sort to be disturbed by the iron-salt tang of the human claret hanging in the air. But the girl, she had not been with him for long. He remembered her eyes as she'd made her choice- the fierce light in them, which had almost stung him. And he remembered the way she'd behaved when she dropped the cup, and after, and the way his body had almost bent toward her of its own accord. You're a lonely old man, he told himself. There's nothing else. This castle is nothing but a mausoleum for dreams that were never yours, empty promises fulfilled by nothing. But it is not a place to spill blood with impunity. Swiftly, he turned through space and appeared before her, ignoring her gasp and intake of breath in order to grasp her wrist, turning her bandaged palm to the light. "Quickly, girl- where did this happen? We must move with haste."
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Posted: Sun Nov 18, 2012 1:21 am
Lady Isabelle
But just Belle will do... ...
.
.
He'd manage to surprise her. Rumpelstiltskin made no sound as he approached and her mind only focused on him once he'd seized her hand. Belle's ever buzzing mind wondered if his boots were magic. Perchance he was just naturally silent like a wraith in the shadows or a...
"The kitchen, it was just a small cut," she winced as the pain interrupted her thoughts, "I-I cleaned it up..."
It had taken her quite some time but she'd scrubbed the small crime scene from the stone floors. His eyes were staring at her. Eyes the color of polished brass, both bright and chilling at the same time. Yet despite the lethal power behind that gaze, she couldn't help but look into those eyes and see loneliness. She knew the look beneath the steel. It was one she'd seen on her own face many a time. He could conjure the demons of hell, spin a fortune from straw, yet the vast castle remained devoid of life. The only interaction she'd seen him have with anyone was with those willing to barter with the devil.
Now that she thought about it, her master had been in "conference" with a young lord of some kind. How then, had he known she'd cut herself? Could he smell the blood through the walls? Or perhaps he'd been spying on her. Impudent questions filled her mind like iridescent bubbles yet she had more sense than to ask.
"You know, I have a name..." so much for keeping her mouth shut.
. . .
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Posted: Sun Nov 18, 2012 1:24 pm
R u m p l e s t i l t s k i n
ʈhe ɖark σne
"Tick. Tock. Dearie." Her skin was warm to the touch, and soft where his fingers dug into it. He noted the small wince and did not enjoy it-- strange, that, and unique, but there was not time to be gentle either. He could feel power building, the shadowed fluttering of things caged here for future use. Action was required, yet for just that moment he found himself trapped by her gaze. Her clear blue eyes pierced through him, as if there was something of light within them that could shift away the layers of calcified darkness there. His grip tightened on her arm, and her small noise of distress drew him back to the moment. Rumplestiltskin startled himself by almost expressing contrition, but at the last minute, changed it to forward momentum, though he let his hand fall and catch hers first, in minor concession to the fact that perhaps Belle would prefer not to be dragged by the arm through his palace like a strumpet. He had taken her on impulse, he told himself, because he'd quite instinctively disliked both the men and decided that they didn't deserve her. And because he enjoyed breaking up 'happy families,' spreading a bit of his own misfortune through the world as a pointed and poignant jab. And because he required someone to help keep this big, drafty, empty place in order. Nothing else. "An admirable thought, dearie," he murmured as he strode forward, toward the kitchen where she had such a nasty little accident. "Unfortunately, a bit of lye won't rid those stones of the dangerous essence. I'm not in the least bit concerned about the mess, but your-" Safety, he almost said, and transformed it at the last second into something else. She wasn't Bae. She wasn't his. A servant, perhaps a glint of light and company, nothing else. "--continued efficacy," he finished instead, giving the mealy-mouthed words a lilting emphasis that was just short of sardonic, as though he played a jest even on his own choice of language. But there. They had arrived at the kitchen. The heavy blond wood door swung open at Rumplestiltskin's small gesture, showing a room in all ways to the eye perfectly clean. He sniffed again. Under the scent of recent cleaning, he could quite clearly detect the essence of her blood. Pure blood. Far too rich and powerful a property to be wasted on the floorboards, and far too seductive a treat for some of the guardians of this place. Well, he would have to remind them that they obeyed him, in all things, and would not touch his things unbidden. Releasing Belle's hand, he strode into the kitchen proper, came to the site of most blood spilled, and bent, dragging his fingertips over a place empty of all but residue, his talons dragging a long loud hiss throughout the sudden silence. "You can't have any more," he called to the air, conversationally. And his high, lilting, mocking tones fell away after that, becoming softer, clearer and colder. "Not one drop. Do you hear?"One glance back to where she stood near the doorway. Only one. "Stay back, Belle."
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Posted: Sun Nov 18, 2012 4:24 pm
Lady Isabelle
But just Belle will do... ...
.
.
She remained silent as she was dragged along like a good little servant. However her mind was alight with curiosity; always a dangerous thing. As far as she could tell her blood was dangerous somehow. It made a twisted sort of sense. If the castle was as magical as its master, then perhaps spilling blood on it would awaken it somehow. Belle had heard tales of dark wizards summoning monsters with wicked blood rites under the light of the full moon but it was not night nor was she magically talented at all.
His eyes stopped her mind's incessant ramblings cold. They were the same brassy metallic sheen, but they were filled with what could only be remorse. The emotion was brief and soon replaced by the steely glint he so carefully maintained, but Belle had seen it. Monsters, true monsters, did not feel. She remained at the doorway obediently.
"Okay," she replied as she felt a cold presence in the kitchens. Belle's attention was focused on the crouching wizard. Oddly enough he was the only person she had met that could silence her thoughts with a glance. He alone had the power to draw her out of her mind's inner world.
Belle didn't know if that was a good thing.
. . .
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Posted: Mon Nov 19, 2012 2:19 pm
R u m p l e s t i l t s k i n
ʈhe ɖark σne
"Tick. Tock. Dearie." Satisfied that his words had been well-taken, at least by the princess standing behind him, Rumplestiltskin turned his attention back to the kitchen's other inhabitant. Although mortal eyes could not see its shape, vaguely man and vaguely serpentine, unless they were already very near death, his own changed eyes took note of it very well, pinned it with his cold will. To his glance, Belle seemed unable to discern its presence, which was for the best. Brave girl. If she began to see its outline, he would know it had begun to drain her energy directly, and more significant punishment would be in order. He strolled over to the larder and withdrew a packet of beeswax candles, rolled and wrapped in paper. One of these he set where the first drops of her blood had struck the floorboards. Spreading his hands around the candle like a lattice of green-gilded flesh, he blew across the wick once, and the candle burst into full light, wax quickly dripping to its base to seal it fast against any movement. "Now," he continued, aloud, in his usual casual manner, as if always laughing at some secret personal joke, "This person belongs here. It is her home now. You are not to touch her, understood?"Insubstantial or not, it heard and understood him, yet something in its nature yearned for life energy, for blood, and once having tasted it, the candle's disruptive magic might not be enough to hold it back from another attempt. Rumplestiltskin made a mental note to keep one eye out for future developments. For now, he straightened and flashed a wide slash of a smile at Belle. "There. That's settled." It very probably was not. A gentle nudge rarely, in his opinion, did the job that a decisive and cruel warning might, but for now, he would let events play out as they would. Perhaps this would prove to be all that was necessary to fix the trouble of past and possibly future spillage of blood. Perhaps it would not. "Now. How about a little breakfast? Ah. Mind the candle, dearie."
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Posted: Mon Nov 19, 2012 2:40 pm
Lady Isabelle
But just Belle will do... ...
.
.
Belle watched transfixed as he lit a candle through will alone. It was such a small gesture, devoid of runes or any of the dramatic flair she had come to expect from conjurers. Perhaps he did not require such childish things. A part of her wondered if he were simply teasing her.
"Thank you for introducing me to your, ah, pet is it?" she asked with just a touch of wryness in her voice. "I'll be more careful about where I bleed."
Belle should be terrified. Proper etiquette demanded that she be horrified and scorn the "devilish arts". At least that was what finishing school had taught her. There was a whole lesson on just how long she should be in hysterics before fainting and the correct pitch and volume of a 'proper' scream. Needless to say, she'd failed that portion miserably.
Still, if this was to be her life, Belle deduced that there would be many scenes like the ones she'd just witnessed. Fear would not serve her well in this place.
"Is there anything in particular you would like for me to prepare?" she asked with horrendously improper cheer.
. . .
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Posted: Mon Nov 19, 2012 6:41 pm
R u m p l e s t i l t s k i n
ʈhe ɖark σne
"Tick. Tock. Dearie." He had to admit, at least to himself, that he enjoyed pushing her. He liked the flash of determination that would appear in her crystal blue eyes, the way her jaw set as she steeled herself to do what had to be done. And he was curious to see what she was capable of- noble men and ladies did not, to his knowledge, cook for themselves, so there was a teasing sort of humor in the princess acting as servant for a man who had cooked for his family ever since returning from ignominious battle in his elder teens. "Whatever suits your fancy will be fine," he replied breezily, waving a hand in the air to indicate his lack of interest. Making a suggestion would have helped her more, but shown less of Belle's initiative and given him less idea of her actual knowledge of how to fulfil her... putative role. Rumplestiltskin did not actually intend to make her clean the massive castle all by herself, or serve vast and palatial meals, given that it was only the two of them who would be eating. He drifted close to the large preparation table, keeping an eye on the creature he'd recently warned. It seemed to have chosen to slip petulantly off to the dungeons for now. Good. Perhaps a few firm words were all that would be necessary, after all. As Belle considered, and perhaps began to prepare, Rumplestiltskin watched her. He did not loom or do much to draw attention, lounging instead in a dapper fashion, his dusk-stained crimson coat a dark and evident stain against the fresh, light colors of the kitchen. He palmed a pomegranate from a bowl of fresh fruit, tossed it in the air, watching the dark purple-red skin flash in the light as it twisted toward the ceiling, then fell back into his expert grasp. Pomegranates were a bit on the nose, here, weren't they? There had been that legend in the other world about a king of hell who kidnapped little girls and caused winter to be... Amusing thought, that. Although the world did often feel dead, empty and cold when one's child was missing.
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Posted: Mon Nov 19, 2012 7:18 pm
Lady Isabelle
But just Belle will do... ...
.
.
.
There was a glint of something, in Rumpelstiltskin's eyes as he waved off her question. Was he testing her? Granted she was no royal chef, but cooking had been one of the few thing she had excelled at. She couldn't count how many times her Governess had dragged her out of the village bakery as a child.
"As you wish," she replied and went to the larder.
There was no lack of ingredients there and she took a moment to stare in silent awe. Just a fraction of the supplies here would feed her castle for a week. After a moment or so she finally gathered the ingredients and went to the preparation table.
Flour, eggs, milk, cream, butter... she rolled the buttery crust out expertly And began to fold the dough just like Master Claude had taught her.
Two, four, six... light as bricks. Eighth, tenth, twelfth... you've found your wealth.
Once folds were smoothed into a single flat disk, the puff pastry was completed. The old baker would be proud of her. The filling was less time consuming and decidedly more simple. Eggs, cheese, cream and scallions. She turned to the cabinets looking for a pie plate. She pieced the meal together and studied the uncooked product. It wasn't her fanciest work, but it was rather good. Quiche was one of those little things that was impossible to ruin. After a final touch up, she placed the whole thing in the wood oven. It was then that she realized he was still there.
"Ah, still here. So, how'd I do?" she asked.
.
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Posted: Tue Nov 20, 2012 3:57 pm
R u m p l e s t i l t s k i n
ʈhe ɖark σne
"Tick. Tock. Dearie." Well, wasn't this impressive! And quite a surprise. He watched with avid interest as Belle expertly mixed the ingredients, handling the dough with a finesse he'd expect from a seasoned baker or pastry chef. It was a pleasure to watch her delicate hands at work, preparing food with a natural dexterity that he doubted he could have matched before his transformation. Staying to watch, whatever his initial motives, had clearly been a good decision. So, how'd I do? she asked. There was something impish about the question, as though she knew he'd been testing her and meant to tease over the elevation of her actual skills over his estimation. It startled him to recognize it. She truly wasn't afraid of him, or not terribly afraid in any case, if she still had the fortitude to gently needle him. Though his answering smile was faint, it touched his eyes more fully than usual. There was something... pleasant about a lack of fear, at least in a companion who would be sharing habitation with him for some time "Impressive," Rumplestiltskin pronounced, rolling the r for a flourish. Mere moments after the quiche was placed in the oven, the aroma began to waft in the room, delicious mixture of fresh bread, of onions and eggs. It was quite compelling, but good things come only to those who wait, or so it has been said, and Rumplestiltskin is, in general, a patient man. Still, he broke open the pomegranate he'd been toying with as he watched Belle work, proferring a piece, glistening with brilliantly ruby-colored seeds, toward her. "A taste to tide us over?
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Posted: Tue Nov 20, 2012 5:23 pm
Lady Isabelle
But just Belle will do... ...
.
.
.
Belle smiled pleased at his praise. She’d like to think he wouldn’t offer empty praise to someone that did not merit it. She cleaned her hands on the small apron ‘round her waist as he offered her a piece of fruit.
“I hope it lives up to the praise. I’d hate to give the Dark One food poisoning,” she replied cheekily.
The pomegranate reference was not lost on her. If she was Persephone, then he must be her Hades. Except, there was nothing keeping her that was not of her own doing. She was here by choice, and if she was to remain isolated in this castle the rest of her life, then at least she could befriend her employer. Her blue eyes never left his face as she took the rind dotted with gem-like seeds without question. She then took a seat next to him.
“When I was a little girl, I used to sneak away from my Governess and play in the village,” she told him a with a computational tone, “one of my favorite places was the bakery. The old master taught me along with his apprentices. I think I amused him. He hid me from my Governess so it was win-win.”
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