Slathalin: The Prologue.
What do an ancient being from an alien world who's very species is something as rare as star-dust in a bottle, and a simply farmers daughter of a small homely town located on earth within a different dimension than our own have in common? Even moreso - how do they relate to a war like no other that will leave the kingdoms changed forever and set in motion the beginning of a New Era? Read and find out.
A new morning, the refreshing scent of morning dew on the freshly cut green grass across the lawn lifting into the air as nothing more than a small tint to the pure yet somewhat chilly atmosphere. Indeed, it was quite a relaxing start to the new day. The rosebushes newly trimmed into order and the usual little white picnic table set out among them with a small plate of newly baked cookies that smelled just plain mouthwatering, the small cup of Jasmine tea with a bit too much sugar rested on its matching little plate that held a cookie missing a bite-
Ancell didn't think the morning could get any more peaceful - now if only he could relax enough to enjoy it more. The Butler-like man let out a small exhale through his nose, crimson gaze dull and void as per usual and yet... held with a glint of annoyance. His pale skin once again contrasted with his impossibly black hair that would usually fall over his point-tipped ears in gentle but thick waves of ebony. But today... today was a tad different. The usual lax hairstyle was carefully tamed back so that none but a little rebel wavy lock fell over his forehead; the rest combed and even loosely gelled back without a single strand out of place, the tips fraying out in a last act of rebellion along the backside of his suits collar.
His usual black and white casual suit had been replaced by an Olden-Day Victorian styled butler suit steamed to such a degree that it looked as if it had just been done. It was clung to his body in only a way a tailor-made suit from the best business out there could do, and was completed with a deep blue handkerchief that could be seen folded neatly in his jackets chest pocket, his silken white gloved hands resting with their fingers laced as he seemingly sat in thought and lazily tapped a polished black shoe against the grass below. He reeked of an aristocrat, eyes bored with looking at the unworthy world he was forced to live upon, and body drawn as if in scorn of any and everybody else who might dare to try and touch him with their filthy hands.
In fact... he seemed to be waiting. Lips pursed in the only irritation he was willing to show even though he seemingly had no company, slender brows furrowed so slightly that it was hard to notice unless one was looking. The man was so tense that he couldn't even bring himself to finish his cookie as it grew cold - and those were his favorite type of snack!
Ah, but the man's waiting was short lived when his laced fingers suddenly tightened at a sudden gust of wind.
"You are late, Vile-One."
Oh that voice. Thick as honey with its deep French accent, his tone emotionless if only for a tad hint of anger, voice deep like the kind that send delicious shivers down the spine when whispered too. Even a tad musical in the way that it spoke...
"Ah shuddup. Yah know Oi hate comin' to this stupid planet - it reeks of humans even here. What'd yah do, have a slaughter fest and use their blood to turn your white roses red or somethin'?"
And then there was the less than elegant, rough-toned voice of a small woman who suddenly seemed to be standing not all that far off. Her skin was a deep blue-grey, nails and hair as black as the night as royal purple eyes flicked with amusement and she prodded a finger at one of the sharp thorns of Ancell's beloved rose bushes. She was short, not taller than 5'4 in height, her figure womanly and her outfit... lacking. She wore nothing more than a black bikini, demonic black-metal boots, and a shoulder-piece of nothing but deep red feathers. Apart from that, all she carried was the unreasonably large and evil-looking lance strapped over her slender back. The weapon itself was stained with blood, the silver blade wicked and sharp as it glinted in the suns light.
Needless to say though, the man found himself letting out a bittersweet sounding chuckle that lasted only a mere moment.
"Oh please, as if I would dare to dirty anything of mine by their foulness. That smell is likely from the gardener - he himself is a Naga but he lives in a primarily humanoid form and for some reason seeks their company. That said, Somati, unhand my plants. The last thing I need is for you to prick a finger and all of the sudden they dissolve into mush at the mercy of your weird blood."
An insulted scoff sounded as the savage-like woman turned away from the plants. Instead, she turned around completely, crossing her arms over her chest and muttering something about him being the one with 'weird blood'. There was a moment silence though, when suddenly her gaze grew fiercer, a broad smile revealing her animal-like fangs as she chortled from within her throat before speaking with a tone so riddled with excitement that it was almost heart-lifting... until she spoke.
"So tell me, how many children will we be slaughtering tonight for the ritual?"
Ancell's own lips broke into a small crack of a grin as his sensitive ears picked up on the words, his gaze dropping to his hands as he let out a dark chuckle so purely evil that it was almost inhuman.
"Oh don't worry - the streets of Roland Town will flood with the blood of mortals tonight, my dear. By the time we are finished, there will be only one young boy left... and he is key. I shall take him under my wing and raise him into the Slayer he is meant to be. His hatred for us is what shall lead him to his victory in the future's war."
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