06-07-2018, 07:44 PM
Sitting within the eye of a storm, the smoke ebbed and flowed on low currents around the throne. It fell down the stairs as though gravity lulled it low only to churn toward the ceiling in an ever-rolling, ever-moving mist of darkness. To his eyes, however, the fine threads that created the forms pulsed with the power within. Within the bubble of the center, seated casually on the throne of the Russian tsars, Nikolai allowed himself the indulgence of being embraced by the darkness.
And solitude.
To this day he was aware of this apparent contradiction in himself that manifested in events such as these. He practically lived and breathed from the adoration of the world, yet he was very uncomfortable when the world entered the walls of his home. Thus, the show of himself. The show of what he was to all of them while obscuring the true soul inside. Like the smoke that shrouded his presence from view, he was separated from those he ruled, above them. Watching like the attentive father, he waited and observed.
Three-hundred guests, not including dignitaries, security, and other attendees of function gathered within the grand hall, waiting for his appearance as much as he waited for their welcoming embrace.
These people used him to scratch and climb their way along the ladder of aristocracy, and Nikolai held no qualms for using them in return. Nor would he hesitate to wield their money, and funnel it to his own ends. That it would benefit the suffering was an after-thought; as was their suffering in the first place. And then there was Evelyn. His treasure. His gift. She said it was divine, whether Godly or some other hand of destiny, Nikolai didn't know, but neither did he deny. It was no circumstance that brought her to him exactly when it did.
He minimized the screens before him and folded the video-leaf into a small square. The malleable leaf faded to opaque as it was deactivated and tucked into a pocket. The tails of his coat fell into place as he stood. The snug waistbands of the white-tie attire was tugged ever-so-slightly, and he smoothed the sleeves of his deep black coat. Above the white, bright blue eyes shone like sapphires swirled with victorious mirth. His hair was styled neatly around the newly formed Arcus band. This new crown was similar to its predecessor in shape and style, but the metal was a brighter and more light-weight. Faint etchings curved along the rim like abstract, serpentine leaves, but seen only from the right angles.
He took a deep breath and pulled more deeply upon the power. The monstrosity of it was tamed into submission in a heart-beat, but not before the flood burned the blood a moment. It was nothing like he wielded in the Red Square when Lenin's tomb was transformed into the arch. Nor was it anything near to the depths of power forced by the ijiraq. He wavered at that thought, swallowing nervously until the fleeting moment of fear was buried by the stronger discipline of presence in the now.
This was only a little compared to all of that, but enough to draw the attention of the channelers among them. He sensed their presences emerge on the periphery over the past few minutes almost until he lost count of how many there were. Allies, so far, and permitted to do so. Otherwise, they would not be breathing.
The power tugged at the smoke, pushing and manipulating it to roll like the darkness of clouds unfurling for the God of heaven returned to his kingdom. The smoke expanded outward, snaking across the floor like tentacles snatching at the shoes of its next victims. Then, like a portal to somewhere else, the smoke parted as he descended the steps of the throne. A welcoming smile touched the glint to his eyes when the adoration soaked into his soul.
The power carried his voice on wings to all ears, "Welcome to my home. Please enjoy yourselves this night. Fancy speeches later. For now, let us celebrate."
Laughter greeted him as the smoke recoiled and eventually snuffed itself away without a single trace.
Nik let them look upon him for some moments before joining those closest for personal greetings.
And solitude.
To this day he was aware of this apparent contradiction in himself that manifested in events such as these. He practically lived and breathed from the adoration of the world, yet he was very uncomfortable when the world entered the walls of his home. Thus, the show of himself. The show of what he was to all of them while obscuring the true soul inside. Like the smoke that shrouded his presence from view, he was separated from those he ruled, above them. Watching like the attentive father, he waited and observed.
Three-hundred guests, not including dignitaries, security, and other attendees of function gathered within the grand hall, waiting for his appearance as much as he waited for their welcoming embrace.
These people used him to scratch and climb their way along the ladder of aristocracy, and Nikolai held no qualms for using them in return. Nor would he hesitate to wield their money, and funnel it to his own ends. That it would benefit the suffering was an after-thought; as was their suffering in the first place. And then there was Evelyn. His treasure. His gift. She said it was divine, whether Godly or some other hand of destiny, Nikolai didn't know, but neither did he deny. It was no circumstance that brought her to him exactly when it did.
He minimized the screens before him and folded the video-leaf into a small square. The malleable leaf faded to opaque as it was deactivated and tucked into a pocket. The tails of his coat fell into place as he stood. The snug waistbands of the white-tie attire was tugged ever-so-slightly, and he smoothed the sleeves of his deep black coat. Above the white, bright blue eyes shone like sapphires swirled with victorious mirth. His hair was styled neatly around the newly formed Arcus band. This new crown was similar to its predecessor in shape and style, but the metal was a brighter and more light-weight. Faint etchings curved along the rim like abstract, serpentine leaves, but seen only from the right angles.
He took a deep breath and pulled more deeply upon the power. The monstrosity of it was tamed into submission in a heart-beat, but not before the flood burned the blood a moment. It was nothing like he wielded in the Red Square when Lenin's tomb was transformed into the arch. Nor was it anything near to the depths of power forced by the ijiraq. He wavered at that thought, swallowing nervously until the fleeting moment of fear was buried by the stronger discipline of presence in the now.
This was only a little compared to all of that, but enough to draw the attention of the channelers among them. He sensed their presences emerge on the periphery over the past few minutes almost until he lost count of how many there were. Allies, so far, and permitted to do so. Otherwise, they would not be breathing.
The power tugged at the smoke, pushing and manipulating it to roll like the darkness of clouds unfurling for the God of heaven returned to his kingdom. The smoke expanded outward, snaking across the floor like tentacles snatching at the shoes of its next victims. Then, like a portal to somewhere else, the smoke parted as he descended the steps of the throne. A welcoming smile touched the glint to his eyes when the adoration soaked into his soul.
The power carried his voice on wings to all ears, "Welcome to my home. Please enjoy yourselves this night. Fancy speeches later. For now, let us celebrate."
Laughter greeted him as the smoke recoiled and eventually snuffed itself away without a single trace.
Nik let them look upon him for some moments before joining those closest for personal greetings.