Rysne

Rysne Blackwood



“The king will see you now.”

You don’t really have a choice. You’re dragged down the hall by two stern-looking Imperials who pay no heed to your struggles and cries.

“I’m innocent,” you whine for the millionth time. The female Skydancer who caught you in the first place sneers.

“Not with those eyes all over your body, you’re not.”

You bare your teeth, preparing to spit back a retort. You didn’t choose this. The stupid deities and their stupid magic gave you this curse. But before you can say anything, before the Skydancer can shut you up for good, a voice rings out.

“What is going on here?”

The Skydancer threatening you pulls back. You look around for your savior.

It’s a Spiral, undulating in the air, red eyes glaring a hole in the Skydancer, who is glaring back. You can practically feel the electricity sizzling the air between those two. Gulping, you try to wriggle from the Imperials’ grip, but they hold firm - you are well and truly stuck.

“Barkley,” rebukes the Spiral. “Really. What’s this one done, tripped your dog on a hunt?”

“It claims the deities gave it those.” The Skydancer, Barkley, gestures to the eyes winking and blinking all over your body. One decides to cut in and change your sight - you’re now staring out of your shoulder, which is kind of nauseating, because one of the Imperial’s unclipped claws is very close. Ew.

The Spiral looks at you. “I see nothing unusual,” he declares.

Barkley’s lips curl back from his teeth. The Spiral cocks his head to the side, and then responds in kind - his own lips curling back from his own, much sharper, fangs.

They hold that pose for a second.

You can’t help but think they look absolutely ridiculous.

“Fine,” Barkley snarls at last. “But one baby dewclaw out of line, and it’s gone, do you hear me?”

“I do,” says the Spiral. “Whether I care is another matter altogether.”

He twists down through the air and deftly rips you from the Imperials’ twin grips. You barely close your multiple eyes in time to avoid damage. Then the Spiral’s much gentler claws are holding you, guiding you, making you fly with him. The scent of his duskcheer-and-rose perfume surrounds you.

“Who are you?” you whisper, opening your eyes. Thank the deities. Your sight is back in your head where it belongs.

The Spiral grins.

“His Majesty Rysne Blackwood,” he introduces himself. “And you are going to have tea with me.”

----

You’re really not sure how you got here.

You sit at a table with Rysne facing you, fragrant teacups settled on saucers and the same fragrant steam rising from a covered teapot between you. Carefully, you pick up the teacup and try the liquid within.

It burns your tongue. But it’s good. You think. You kind of can’t taste anything with your tongue scalded.

Rysne watches you with a languid fascination.

“So,” he starts. “You’ve got to be confused, hmm?”

“Yeah.” You set down the teacup. “Uh. Who were those dragons? Why did you save me?”

“Ah,” says Rise. “Barkley-” And here he pauses, kissing his teeth, like he’s filtering several choice words from his speech. “Enjoys throwing her weight around. It’s sizeable weight,” he can’t seem to help adding. “She should really slim down. Her body, and her entire operation.”

You can’t think of anything to say. You burn your tongue on the tea again.

“As for why,” continues Rysne, and he laughs. “Well. I’m the King. I won’t let one of my subjects just be tossed around by a few-”

He stops himself right before forming a word not suitable for young ears.

“-Brutes.”

“I’m not one of your subjects,” you say. Wait, you can’t see anything. You can. You see the underside of the table. Aw, heck, did your vision go into the eyes on your tail this time? Ever so casually, you swing your tail up and rest it on the table, bringing Rysne back into focus.

“But of course you are,” he says, looking confused. He opens his mouth and lets fangs snap from his teeth. “You’re one of us, aren’t you? Something most dragons call a monster.”

You flinch. Rysne closes his mouth and sips his tea.

“I wouldn’t call us that, though,” he says. “I am a blood drinker. I know what it’s like, being shunned, abandoned, for everything that you are.”

You look down, remembering the screams of your clanmates when you drank the potion. Remembering how it felt, the eyes blinking all over your body, the confusion when you fled.

“Hey,” Rysne says softly. You bring your tail up to look at him again. He’s staring at your face, his mouth curved into a sad expression - though you can’t see his eyes properly under that mask.

“In an ideal world,” he says, rising into the air. His wings stretch and catch the light as he coils over to a window. “In an ideal world, we’d be free. You wouldn’t have to fear anything or anyone. We could live as we chose.”

He pauses, staring dramatically out the window.

“But this isn’t ideal. For now, we’re stuck with Barkley and her Ravens, Mother curse their soft bellies with boils. We won’t be chained to them forever. Someday, I will set us all free to live as we were intended.”

Rysne turns. A cocky smile curves his lips, just wide enough to show fangs. Your sight changes once again so he’s looking you straight in the eyes - well, the ones on your face.

“Join us?” he asks.

With a look like that on the King’s face, you can’t say no.






Bio written by the winderful blazingsnark

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Rysne is a master vampire with an affinity for perfumes and tea. He is every bit as regal as he looks, considering himself a king of the unliving he takes great pride in looking as best as he can.

Rysne has made it his job to keep the "monsters" in the clan in check. He is their king, and only answers to Barkley's demands when necessary.