Dralan [On Hold]

Twenty-Three

Dohmenic

Night had fallen over Amascahr and now the creatures of the night starting coming out to sing their lullabies. Crickets sung from the bushes, the nightingale's trilling could be heard from the woods and the soft waves from Dohmenia Bay washed up on shore and created a smooth, enchanting sound. Stars twinkled from a cloudless night sky and the last of the sun's amber rays were dipping down below the horizon.

The Dralan looked out across the seas from the balcony and had to truly admit he loved the south. On a clear day, one could see all the way to The Sanctum Island and gaze upon the holiness that was the island itself. Legend told that it was the birthplace of The Blithesome Miss; that at her first breath, she created air and as she took her first steps, nature below her feet was born.

But then upon climbing up a tree, she cut her finger on a branch. When she watched the red drop of untarnished blood tickle down her finger, she had leaned forth and licked it away. And thus the lust for blood had been born.

After her death, she had risen to the sky and now protected her people from the clouds. She could no longer take a corporeal form, and that's why she had pointed to one of the strongest, most purehearted males that roamed Drala at that time, those many, many years ago. She had touched the vein in his neck and removed every spec of impurity from his blood, thereby purifying his soul, before bestowing upon him the honor of becoming her people's earthly leader; their Dralan.

He was to watch over them and protect them, but not only that, he also had to be her earthly representation - a model figure to look up, someone whom everyone knew not to go against, for that would mean going against her.

That's why, upon his holy word, the first Dralan to ever exist, solemnly swore to The Blithesome Miss that he or any of his descendants would ever drink from anyone but ones as pure as her - Mihrs and Mihrisas. To be a worthy male of representing her and protecting her people, his blood would remain as pure as when she created him.

- He was the first Dralan ever. Since that day, that vow of purity had been upheld right to this current day - or night as it was, as the Dralan sighed and closed his eyes for a moment.

The law of him not drinking from anyone less than pure was centuries old. Him touching a Mihr or a Mihrisa or laying with one was beyond just a rule; It was a sacred promise to The Blithesome Miss, a promise that all his predecessors had accomplished and lived up to. They had gone down in history as wise and great leaders, all of whom he had to live up to - honor.

But how, he thought, just as he turned around and watched the Lady Kahtrina come through the doors to the balcony, dressed in a long red dress. How had they all managed to stay in control when temptations were all around them? He had to believe they had gone through the same struggles he was going through now. Of course Mihrisas weren't as sparse then as they were now, but still. How had they done it?

Or rather, how had they not done it.

More than anything, the Dralan wanted to go to his Mihrisa. The Lady Kahtrina was a beautiful, interesting, sweet and humble female, but she just didn't appease him. It made no sense. She filled all his requirements, yet his head swirled solely around his Mihrisa.

Her long, soft, golden hair. Her pink cheeks and arched, plump lips. Her eyes that always seemed so frightened, yet so deep with unadulterated lust for him, lust she tried to hide but was as clear as the stars currently winking at him in the sky. Just like them, they sparkled and shone at him, made him want to never stop looking at them.