In Loving Memory- Demona.
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Collective Memories:
First Meeting's and Memories.
By: Hid Ras Fallar/Fallar Rasyre,
AKA, The Tigonix.
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Kev Veta's First-Memory.
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Kev Veta quietly sat in the main room of a inn, nestled close to a fireplace in this alien and foreign place he'd awoken into but a few days ago. A properous place, famously known simply as the "Red Dragon Inn" also known as the "Rhydin Inn" being well known for it's friendly welcome and open tolerance of all species.
Idly playing a unique flute, a item made from crystal, but baring no noticable signs of a cutting, carving or shaping tool upon the unblemished surface. He glances to the door as yet another figure entered, this one catching his eye, for a reason only he yet knew but would reveal many years later.
As he watches the cloaked figure, he studied her, watching as she pushes the hood of her cloak back with lightly tanned hands, with nails that could become talons at a moments thought from her, before she looks around and then approuches the bar. Strange creature. he thought, watching her intently as he continues playing his flute. She, as many of the other bizarre creatures he had seen and met, was unusual, but entrancingly beautiful.
Standing at a towering and flat even six feet in heighth, with raven black hair, where intriguingly, a fact only he himself was aware out of the many patrons, was a pair of horns sprouting from her hair above her ears, and a faintly pulsing ring of light atop her head. Dazzlingly bright eyes that shifted between blue and green, even the occasional blood-red during moments of anger, scanned the bar, assessing and predatory much as his own are. She opened her cloak as she approuches the bar, removing it to reveal a pair of intriguingly unusual wings along with her figure, sporting feathers and scales on batlike wings. She also sported a attractive tail, a dark almost purplish hue, ending in a tapered spade shape.
Her figure revealed at the same time as wings and tail, was impressive and enticingly delicious. A perfect hourglass, with large breasts in the upper range of double-D's, nearly E's, that strained her black form-fitting top. The hourglass continued into a narrow but strong middle and waist, before flaring out into a pair of hips, clothed by a again black skirt-dress that would, in later years, flare into matronly width, with a ample backside that that dark tail projected from.
As he watches her, she ordered a drink from the bartender, taking the dark reddish liquid filled glass before turning to scan the bar, only to pause and lock her gaze unerringly upon him, in his own dark cloak, little more then a light-devouring-void. After taking a few moments to study him, she saunters over towards him, weaving threw the tables and other patrons, her gaze locked on the shadow of his own cloaks hood. She halted infront of him, smiling as she listens to the haunting and inhuman melody, which floated out in soft and beautiful resonance from the crystal flute.
He stopped then, lowering the flute and peers at her quietly, watching her for several long, silent moments, before she finally smiled, revealing a pair of overlong canines. Fangs. Then she spoke in that soft husky and sultry voice, one that could and did inspire many a lurid and erotic fantasy when passerby heard it. "Hello there. And what are you doing, hiding over here by yourself?"
Blinking a bit, he lowers his hood and opens his cloak, revealing his own features and eyes, eyes that literally swirl with color, revealing his vaguely human form, subtly animalistic and more angular, to much to be mistaken at close glance for a human-being. He gave a smooth shrug, before speaking softly and a bit roughly in the foreign language majority these other entities spoke. "I keep to myself, few desire or bother to acknowledge me, most cannot even hear my music. Which, you obviously, can..." A simple nod for a answer, before she smiles and extends a sleek, gloved hand, speaking the memorable words that resonated, even now, in the mind of a reincarnation of the creature once and formerly known as Kev Veta, many hundreds of years later...
"Well, I can indeed. My names Demona, it means 'Night Angel' whats yours?"
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Kev Veta's Second-Memory.
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As Kev sat huddled and secluded, at the Red Dragon Inn again, his ears and nose twitched, his senses tingling with the recognition of a by now familiar and very welcome presence.
He smiled widely, closing his eyes and swirls into a change he found as easy as breathing or the beat of the hearts, rising into the air.
A few moments later, when Demona sat in a chair upon the porch of the Inn, it was to smile and reach up to caress and pet the chromatically-rainbow-hued avian that had fluttered to land upon one her shoulders and begin immediately crooning and murmuring softly, affectionately nibbling on her hair and a ear. "Hello Kev, did you miss me, as much as I did you, my friend?"
To that he simply responded with going ahead and doing something he knew she loved him to do. Singing. The phoenix began singing phoenix-song softly and lovingly to her, happy to display and share it's wealth of magical and mundane gift for melody with a creature he loved deeply.
So as he sang, she stroked his feathers, watching with him as the sun gradually set on the forest before the Inn.
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CJ's First-Memory.
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All Cail-Jruon remembered of that first meeting, was his misery, when he first arrived into Rhydin, awakening to a harsh feeling and finding himself alone and hungry. The only solice, the comfort and love of a female werewolf by the name of Terra, that became an adoptive mother, whom sadly passed away only a short time afterwards. Just a few short months after adopting him, leaving him orphaned yet again.
He was thus found, sniffling and crying, cold and wet in the hollow beneath a huge and ancient tree, one of many hundreds of thousands or millions among Rhydin. His head jerked upward as he heard someone kneel outside, then a strange and as ever in this frightening place, a unknown voice. "Are you alright in there?"
CJ peers out from his hiding spot, blinking as he saw the semi-nude woman... A winged, tailed and horned woman? He blinks a bit and whimpers, pulling a bit further away from her. "It's alright, I'm not going to hurt you. I promise, I won't." She croons softly and comfortingly at him, as she held open her arms to the young werepup, who after only but a few moments hesitation, desperately scrambled from his den, all but leaping into the genuinely comforting and soothing embrace of the woman, whom removed her cloak upon noting his shivering and how cold he was, wrapping him up in the warmth of her rich cloak.
That done she adjusts him in her lap, looking down at the muddy and scrawny whelp in her lap. "My, your a mess. What happened to you? Where's your family, your parents?" That question quickly had fresh tears making clean tracks down the boys face, before he started sobbing, and clutched to her, earning a sympathetic and pitying look from the hybrid-woman as she rocks him gently, tail coiling around his waist, while her wings tucked around him along with the cloak to further help insulate and warm the near-frozen pup.
"Shhh, shh, your alright, your alright now. I'll help take care of you, don't you worry. My names Demona, whats yours little one?" He shuders at the cold and blinks up at her, surprising her with his vibrant and intensely green eyes, bright as the clearest topaz or emerald. He then murmurs in a shy and nervious tone, "I'm, CJ..." Demona nodded, kissing his forehead, brushing some the mud off and out of his hair, then stood up and walks away, taking him someplace to get warm and clean.
She then says with a soft smile and gentle laugh, which he would later come to deeply love, later in his life, "Well, nice to meet you CJ. Welcome to Rhydin." With that she took flight to the nearest hot-spring she knew, carrying the scrawny armful of creature that would, years later, become her loyal and loving mate.
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Ion's First-Memory.
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A horrid and miserable place, this. That was his first thought, after bringing himself into existance here and finding himself in a immense forest, teeming with life and creatures of countless and nameless variety, number and unknown and uncountable quantities.
He felt the pulsation of lives, only the most minute fraction of which were sentient and of a physical size worthy of notice, and of those a few makes his scythe shiver with desire to set to work. Something though, made his Deaths-mantle ripple in agitation. Something... Familiar, old and familiar.
It was thus, he turned and looked directly at the one staring back at him, with a cold, hard, wary gaze. Her wings fluttering in wariness and her tail slowly swaying as she contemplates the Angel-of-death before her. "So... Are you here to take me back?" That question filled him with cunfusion, bewilderment and hot-blooded excitement, as his mind briefly touched on that clairvoyant knowledge of the death-fates, such as Grimm-reapers as him are party to accessing, that occured at the same time he wondered idly and curiously on how it was she didn't recognize him. Had she forgotten this demonic creature she knew, however briefly, in the many depths of the pits?
Noticing her still looking at him so intently, he gave a soft sound, part-hiss, part-growl, before answering in a level, single-sylabal baritone. "No."
He studied her thoughtfully, that boiling of his blood, a eagerness for combat and the feel and taste of her blood and flesh. "I am not here for your soul, Demona, Night-Angel. You are not on my List." He lowerd his mantles hood, and opened the cloak, watching her look of surprise as she saw what wore the mantle.
He was no angel, per se, but, infact, a demon: Dark, rust-colored skin, layered with a fine sheen of dark fur, marked with ashy gray; dark-red eyes with crescent pupils, centered in a animalistic head crowned with three sets of back-swept and ridged horns, that flared into blood-red brightness at the slightest provocations; giant, eerie wings that but vaguely resemble a bats, but with the wrong shape and assembly and placement of joints; strong arms that ended with fingertips sporting elegantly curving claws, that could retract or extend at will; powerful, digigrade legs, ending in modular paws that could as easily be used for hands as they could feet, with claws matching the hands; and lastly but not least, the as ever to-be-expected tail, spaded at the end, which could extend spikes as desired, tapering from the base that protruded from his rump.
"You know my name stranger, do me the curtesy of sharing yours." He studied her thoughtfully, silently dissappointed that she recalled nothing of him, but gave a long, put-upon sigh. "My name? My name... is Ion-storm Alpha. Pleasentries aside, lets have us a "Friendly" little sparring match, shall we?" And with that he unsheathed his sycthe, watching her in amusement as she drew a pair of matched swords. This, could be fun... With that thought in mind, he charged at her, to have the first, but not the last, of many fights with her.
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In Loving Memory, Demona, The Night Angel.
My "Night Rose"
1975-2011