Boartusk Heights vengaza es dulce

@Agrippina

Qvasir prowled along the rugged expanse of La Muerte’s territory, his amber eyes drinking in the sights of his new domain. The terrain whispered its secrets to him—crumbling rocks, skeletal trees reaching for a pallid sky, and the faint echoes of distant creatures moving within the shadows. A faint smirk tugged at his lips as he padded forward, his paws finding their place with a deliberate and almost feline grace.

The air was thick, carrying a curious blend of decay and rebirth, the kind of contrast Qvasir had always found exhilarating. His coat, a mosaic of earthy browns and silvers, blended seamlessly with the muted palette of the landscape, a hunter becoming one with the hunt.

There was a flicker of movement in the distance, but Qvasir made no immediate attempt to investigate. Instead, he continued his leisurely path, his mind spinning with possibilities. His arrival had been unceremonious, the way he preferred it. A quiet introduction, an observation of those who might soon call him ally or rival.

thanks for starting! <3

sent to attend, agrippina delayed her step. she pretended as though there were many tasks ahead of her; she sullied her paws with clay once more, stained her wrists with berry-juice.

anything to avoid the inevitable humiliation of servitude, consenting shackles against which she wanted each day to rebel.

but thoughts of that tiny island and her mother's fevered gasping kept agrippina reined.

paloma had explained what she must do, and as the titanic sangre nueva strode in great strides, she lowered her head to fall into step alongside him.

servants did not speak.

agrippina scarcely reached the midpoint of his shoulder, and she marvelled that one might be so very large.

Qvasir had felt her presence long before she fell into step beside him—the faintest trace of berry-juice mingling with the earthen tones that clung to her. He did not glance down at first, allowing her quiet deference to remain unchallenged. Yet, as her scent deepened in his awareness, he could not ignore the curious weight of her silence.

When he finally turned his head, his gaze swept over her with an expression that hovered between curiosity and amusement. She was small, scarcely rising to his shoulder, but her composure betrayed something far sharper than her lowered posture implied. Cast in gold and hued in red, she seemed a creature born of vivid contrasts—beauty and rebellion tightly coiled beneath a thin veil of submission.

He tilted his head, his voice smooth but edged with faint intrigue. You walk as if the ground itself might swallow you, he observed, his tone light yet deliberate.

Qvasir’s gaze lingered, warm but probing, as though he might unravel her secrets simply by holding her in his amber sights.

"it might, señor," agrippina answered, hiding her startle at his voice by clutching at the ground for a moment.

very truly she should have washed before following him, yet perhaps her chosen perfumes today would deter any attention which might be his to claim by hierarchy.

as of yet, none had pressed this with agrippina. "you are new. will you serve in the royal court?" she asked, keeping her eyes upon the path as she ventured into territory she must roundly conquer for success.

Qvasir’s amber eyes flicked to her, the faintest trace of amusement pulling at the corners of his lips. She was small, delicate even, but her movements betrayed a precision that intrigued him. The way she avoided his gaze while questioning him was a dance he’d seen before—one he was all too happy to engage in.

Puede ser, señorita, he replied, his voice low and rich, the Spanish flowing smoothly from his tongue. I will do my duty, if called for it. His grin widened, a flash of teeth, as though daring her to press him further.

He matched her pace, his steps measured and unhurried. But tell me, he continued, voice dipping with a thread of curiosity, do you fall beneath the rafters, chica?

"as will we all," came murmur almost reverent, as if reyna herself had ears during daylight hours.

certainly the queen did indeed know even what words she might form. agrippina sensed his measuring in the way he watched her, as if waiting for a misstep that might break the veil of her composure. it disconcerted the sirviente, but had not she herself invited such sparring?

"i do not know what that means. you will have to be clearer," came crisp retort — her chin was up and her back straight, and she did not look at the man she had already assumed to be a noble.

The woman spoke with fear; why? Qvasir raised a brow, quirked at her demure attitude. What did this mean...the words beneath her tongue, spoken like an gospel prayer. A confession booth.

Your rank, chica, he would huff, finding himself..frustrated. Though he was not of noble blood, he could certainly act like a dick. A pompous ass that needed to be humbled. He reveled in his own emotions, reeling backward to the chagrin he needed.

And your name, if you please.

"i am agrippina. a servant."

and he was new blood.

very much she wished to perceive a better life in the shifting way his irritation showed itself; to her it was the cascading, visceral nature of a nobleman to act in such a way. and a man of rank was what she needed.

karpos; a glistening shame filled her mind, but agrippina pushed it away. all her life had been divided by class. was it so awful she wished a taste of a higher tier?

"and what is your name, señor?" she vied. not latin. not dissimilar. the language here had been of more ease to learn than agrippina had expected.

agrippina was her name. docile, little thing. malleable, if qvasir so wished. she was a servant girl, destined to do reyna's dirty work. it had qvasir want to curl his lip in disgust, but he retained from such an action. he should be awarded a prize for his dutiful self control.

qvasir. he introduced, pleasant tone forthcoming with him. he had a curiosity piqued within him, for her anyways, that was different than the aura that reyna brought with her. a lethal sort of innocence. one that could tear a king from his place at the helm.

he saw him, falling for such a strife, too.

what do you think of the kingdom, then? he urged her to tell, though he feel his attempt may be fruitless. but it didn't stop his hunger. your duties— what do they include?

as a servant no less.

lowercase cuz i was lazy haha

lowercase is life

"i threw myself on her mercy. and in mercy, she accepted me," agrippina said, now wary that so new a man should be so bold. it reaffirmed what she had thought of secret listeners. spies. "i am only grateful i was allowed to earn my keep."

qvasir's inquiry clenched the servant's belly. "i assist the guards. i clean. i forage. i preserve food. i do what lady paloma says i must for the day. you will meet her too," agrippina promised, in hopes his interest would be roused instead for that elegant wild woman.

and perhaps her litany of chaste and menial chores might have the same impact.

Qvasir inclined his head slightly, the faintest of smiles tugging at the corner of his lips. His amber eyes gleamed, sharp and curious, catching the wariness in Agrippina's demeanor like a wolf scenting unease. The servant's caution only deepened his intrigue; she spoke carefully, her words shaped like a shield, yet it was the name—Paloma—that snagged his attention.

Mercy is a rare gift, he said smoothly, his voice low but edged with quiet intensity. One can only be grateful. His gaze lingered on Agrippina, studying the subtle tension in her frame. Who is this Senora Paloma?

His tone carried no malice, but there was a sly undercurrent to his words, a calculated precision in how he phrased his curiosity.

qvasir toyed with agrippina, hinting at intimate knowledge of thoughts she had not even allowed herself to unlock. it was a dire game, a board with gambits and nuance which had forever been denied the woman despite her noble birth.

intelligence told her to be still, to be silent; that he had the ability to be dangerous. but pride had a louder voice. "i have always had nothing. this is no different."

now, paloma, exquisite hotwilled dove. "she is very beautiful and close to the royal family. she entertains their nobility," agrippina illustrated, attempting to hone the newblood's attention toward what was above, not who was beside.

Qvasir's smile was a quiet, potent thing, like a shadow slipping across the moon. He leaned closer—not enough to threaten, but enough to suggest that proximity was an advantage he understood far too well. His voice softened, rich and velvety, wrapping itself around Agrippina's pride like a serpent. 

I would not cut your losses so soon, chica. He muttered, somewhere lie within his tone was a promise. A promise that maybe even she, one day, could fester with the nobles.

Qvasir had already made up his mind: he would be seated at the table. The wars. The battles. He will be there, one way or another.

Her sanction to pull his attention from her worked. Qvasir hummed, nodding his head at her words. Paloma, he will find her. What does she look like, apart from her beauty?

"she resembles a fox. her eyes see everything. i assure you she is unmistakable, señor." so long as the banter continued agrippina knew that she would not need to inquire over making qvasir comfortable before she departed.

a promise.

she took it as one; inside her mind, she unlaced with shaking palms the gift he offered, and tasted its sweetness.

a promise.

as his mind entertained a place among them, her own knew that to stand beside a nobleman was to share in something greater than what she had been — than what she was.

dark-circled eyes watched him now, appraising.

"gain her favor and you will gain that of our matriarcha." they were close, though agrippina was not truly sure of their actual relation.

Qvasir inclined his head, his golden eyes resting on Agrippina as she spoke. There was more to her than met the eye—sharp intelligence, a keen awareness of her surroundings. It lingered beneath the quiet demeanor she wore, like the undercurrent of a still river.

You’re perceptive, Agrippina, he said, a faint smile touching his lips. More than a servant, I think. You see things others don’t. It wasn’t idle praise; it was an acknowledgment, spoken with the weight of a man who rarely gave such openly.

He straightened, his gaze flickering toward the direction she’d indicated. I’ll find her—Paloma. Thank you. His voice was firm, his tone warm with appreciation.

Turning, he began to move away, though he cast a glance back at her, as if to acknowledge her one last time. A silent promise lingered in his stride: her efforts would not go unnoticed.

exit qvasir;) thanks for the thread!

and to you! <3

perhaps she was only a stupid girl, a desperate woman — but it felt as though qvasir had granted her a heartsweet desire: respect.

recognition.

bowing a head to veil hot tears now springing to her eyes, agrippina did not look up when he paused. yet she saw his stance there, just beyond her lashes; leonine.

dangerous.

her sleep that night would be broken by spinning-gold daydreams of a higher life.