Four Months: Ravian (5)

In the depths of the underground sanctuary, a gust of cold wind mysteriously stirs, causing the chandeliers dangling high above the ceiling to sway. Their flames flicker, casting an eerie dance of shadows across the room. Amidst this spectral ballet, the wooden coffin at the center of the room creaks open, revealing its undead occupant, Ravian. His golden eyes snap open, their intense gaze piercing the dimness, reflecting the soft glow of the distant chandeliers.

The room's walls, adorned with intricate carvings of mythical creatures, seem to come alive in the flickering light, adding to the otherworldly ambiance. The room itself seems to respond to his awakening, the large and fearsome serpentine shadows writhing as a result of his magical presence. The dance of living shadow and dim light plays across his form, revealing glimpses of his appearance.

Clad only in black boxers, Ravian's well-built physique is momentarily illuminated, his dark brown hair appearing almost black as he sits upright, his strong arms gripping the coffin's ornate frame.

Today marks the eleventh day since he took residence in this castle of his own creation, a marvel completed within a single month. The room, a reflection of his taste and style, is adorned with details that speak of his personality. The large gilded doors, their surfaces intricately carved into patterns of intertwined vines and leaves, stand as silent guardians to his private sanctuary. The floor, a mosaic of white and green brass, gleams softly, adding to the room's ethereal beauty.

Ravian rises from the coffin, his movements fluid and graceful, the very picture of undead elegance. His feet touch the cold floor, and he begins his daily routine, each step a dance of precision and purpose. The room, now filled with his presence, seems to come alive, the shadows and lights continuing their dance, as if celebrating his awakening.

He approaches the large metal doors, their surfaces adorned with ornate patterns shaped into a majestic phoenix rising from the flames, a symbol of rebirth and transformation. His hand reaches out, effortlessly opening the doors with a gentle push, opening to the tunnels he had become accustomed to.

With a last glance at his room, Ravian steps out, leaving behind the sanctuary that has become his home. The doors close behind him with a soft click, the chandeliers' flames steadying once more, the shadows returning to their slumber, waiting for the night when their master returns.

Ravian's barefoot steps echo throughout the white concrete walls of the tunnels, their soundproof properties creating a haunting ambiance within the underground section of the castle. The cold, smooth surface of the floor sends a chill up his spine, contrasting with the warmth of the wooden planks that alternate with ceramic bricks. The occasional glint of brass catches his eye, reflecting the dim light from the chandeliers above.

The large domed chamber he enters is a marvel of artistic design, with intricate mosaics adorning both the floor and ceiling. The patterns weave together in a dance of color and form, depicting scenes of mythical creatures and legendary battles. Each mosaic tile seems to tell a story, capturing a moment frozen in time.

As Ravian makes a right turn to the tunnel facing south, a small group of Carminexes crawl on the ceilings of the other tunnels, their spider-like appendages making soft clicking sounds. Their dark, glossy bodies blend with the shadows as they quietly scuttle away, not daring to disturb their master's path. Their presence adds an eerie, otherworldly quality to the chamber.

The tunnel leads Ravian to the edge, where three large wooden doors stand, each one carved with elaborate designs and inlaid with brass. The craftsmanship is exquisite, with every curve and line meticulously detailed. The doors seem to beckon, promising secrets and wonders beyond.

With a graceful movement, Ravian opens the first door directly in front of him and steps inside. The creak of the door is a soft whisper in the silence, a fleeting sound that quickly fades away.

Inside, he finds himself in a white room with a polished wooden floor that reflects the glow of brass chandeliers hanging from its concave ceiling. The brass gildings on the walls form detailed reliefs, shaped into intricate patterns of vines and leaves, intertwining with images of mythical birds in flight. The artistry is breathtaking, a testament to the skill and imagination of the craftsmen.

What appears to be wooden wine racks are built into the walls of the room itself, their dark, rich color contrasting with the white surroundings. Each rack is filled with bottles containing "wine".The room seems to breathe with a life of its own, a sanctuary for the connoisseur, a place of indulgence and pleasure.

Ravian's golden eyes take in the details of the room, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. The elegance of the wooden racks, the intricate designs, and the craftsmanship all resonate with his refined taste. He runs his fingers along the smooth texture, appreciating the artistry, his touch gentle yet assured.

With a casual grace, he selects a glass bottle from the rack, his fingers deftly working the wooden cork. The crimson liquid within catches the dim light, glinting mysteriously. The bottle's shape, its weight in his hand, even the scent that wafts from the opened top, all speak to a hidden world of indulgence.

Without much ceremony, Ravian raises the bottle to his lips and drinks, the rich blood flowing like a river of life. He savors the taste, the warmth, the vitality, even if it is sourced from beasts. It's a moment of pure pleasure, a connection to his very essence. The way humans would drink a bottle of water, he consumes the blood, each drop a reminder of his unique apetite.

Finished, he licks the lingering traces of blood from his mouth, his tongue moving with a sensual ease. His muscular arms wipe away the rest, a simple, unthinking gesture that somehow has a captivating element to it. With a final, appreciative glance at the bottle, he returns it to its place on the wine rack, the room once again falling into a peaceful silence.

Ravian left the room and made his way to the first chamber, his hand effortlessly turning the handle of the wooden door. As it swung open, he was greeted by a room of polished mountain rock, white concrete columns, and arches surrounding a square pool of warm water. The architecture was a blend of strength and elegance, mirroring his own nature. A wooden table stood near the submerged stairs that led into the pool, neatly stacked bars of soap resting in a ceramic bowl, waiting for his touch.

With a sense of anticipation, Ravian selected a bar of soap and began to disrobe. The fabric of his remaining clothes slid from his well-built body, revealing the athletic grace that lay beneath as he stepped into the pool, the warm water enveloping him, expanding his pores.

The sensation was exquisite, a warm and gentle caress that seemed to reach into his very soul. He allowed himself to float, to swim, to lose himself in the pleasure of the moment. The water's embrace was a welcome respite, a chance to relax and rejuvenate.

As he bathed, Ravian's thoughts turned to Wulfric and the Lava Sturgeon, a monster that naturally generates heat and hot spring water. He couldn't help but marvel at Wulfric's resourcefulness in procuring such a creature, one that typically dwelled underground near volcanoes. The fact that Wulfric had found one in an underground forest, within his domain, was a testament to his skill and determination. Ravian's lips curved into a smile, a sense of pride and satisfaction filling him as he continued to enjoy the warm embrace of the water.

Ravian's mind drifts back to a conversation he had with Wulfric about the peculiar ecology of the underground forests. They had been standing in the shadowed depths of the forest, the twisted branches overhead casting eerie patterns on the ground. Wulfric's animated description had been filled with a mixture of fascination and respect, his voice a low growl that resonated with the sinister energy of the forest that he imbues.

"Monsters in these underground forests," Wulfric had begun, his eyes gleaming with a dark light, "tend to be more diverse and powerful."

"Really?" Ravian had asked, his golden eyes wide with curiosity, his hand resting on the the top of a wooden table. "Why is that? What makes them so unique?"

"Many creatures that would normally be driven to extinction on the surface persist in these underground areas," Wulfric had explained, his voice dripping with the wisdom of a forest god, his clawed fingers tracing patterns in the air.

"Mana, a gaseous manifestation of magic, is abundant there," Wulfric had continued, his voice filled with a primal awe, his fangs glinting in the dim light. "It makes the monsters harder to kill and more fertile."

The conversation had taken an interesting turn when Wulfric mentioned something called 'Dungeons'. The word had sent a shiver down Ravian's spine. "These 'Dungeons' are natural phenomena," Wulfric had said, his voice tinged with excitement, his eyes narrowing with a predatory gleam.

"What do you mean by 'Dungeons'?" Ravian had inquired, his voice filled with genuine interest, his body leaning forward as if drawn to the mystery. "Are they like the dungeons of castles and fortresses?"

"When enough Mana gathers for a time," Wulfric had explained, his voice a haunting whisper, "biomes resembling human structures appear and form gigantic underground structures called 'Dungeons'."

"Even the smallest one is the size of a full-blown castle," Wulfric had elaborated, his voice filled with wonder, his face twisted into a fearsome smile. "It's teeming with monsters depending on the Dungeon's theme. A place of nightmares and treasures."

"And how is this theme decided?" Ravian had asked, his eyes sparkling with intrigue, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the wooden table. "Is it random, or is there a pattern to it?"

"This theme is decided depending on the dominant monster species or individual," Wulfric had replied, his voice a growl, his eyes reflecting the dark secrets of the forest. "Or if it is near a place of importance like a temple or a graveyard. The Dungeons have their own twisted logic."

Wulfric's eyes had gleamed with a knowing look as he added, "I can naturally detect all the dungeons in the forest. I can provide their locations and themes if you wish." His raspy voice had been filled with a dark promise, a challenge to Ravian's courage.

Ravian had smiled, his voice filled with a playful confidence as he declined the offer. "No, Wulfric," he had said, his golden eyes twinkling with his characteristic playfulness, his hand gesturing dismissively. "I think I'll explore them myself later on. I do like to have some surprises. But tell me, have you ever ventured into these Dungeons yourself?"

The flashback ends, and Ravian's focus returns to the present. He cleans his body with a fragrant soap in the pool, the warm water caressing his skin, washing away the sweat and grime. The sensation is soothing, and he takes his time, enjoying the simple pleasure of the bath. Soon, he's finished, and he steps out of the pool, water droplets cascading down his well-built frame. He grabs a plush towel, wrapping it around his hips to cover his lower half, and runs his hand through his wet dark hair, slicking it back.

He makes his way to the third room, a vast chamber filled with the rich scent of polished wood. Parallel rows of wooden wardrobes, carved in intricate patterns, line the walls. The craftsmanship is exquisite, each wardrobe a work of art in its own right. The room is filled with a sense of elegance and sophistication, a fitting place for a man of Ravian's taste.

Inside the wardrobes, fourteen sets of clothes hang on stainless steel hangers, each one meticulously arranged. They were all long formal pants of dark or black color, white or black buttoned shirts, vests or jackets of either beige, dark blue, or black. The fabrics are luxurious, the cuts tailored to perfection. Ravian's eyes scan the selection, finally settling on one set that catches his eye.

He takes the chosen clothes and stands in front of a large, ornate mirror. The reflection shows a man of striking appearance, his golden eyes filled with a calm confidence. He begins to dress, his movements graceful and assured. The clothes fit him like a second skin, enhancing his already impressive physique.

As he buttons up the shirt, he takes a moment to groom himself, adjusting the collar and cuffs, ensuring that every detail is just right. His appearance is important to him, not out of vanity, but as a reflection of his self-respect and status. He knows the power of a well-dressed man, and he wields it with skill.

Next, he turns to a nearby rack and takes his cape. This is no ordinary garment; it's magical and the source of a significant amount of his power. He can't afford to part with it beyond necessity. So, in front of the mirror, he puts on the black cape and pulls up its collar. The fabric is soft and cool to the touch, and it settles around his shoulders with a sense of weight and purpose.

He straightens the collar, looking at his appearance in the mirror, adjusting it to his preferred style. The image reflected back at him is one of poise and elegance, a man comfortable in his own skin, ready to face whatever the day may bring. He gives himself a final once-over. With a playful wink at his reflection, he gives a final, approving nod, and then turns to leave the room.

Back in the domed chamber, he turns to the large white staircase adorned with a plush red carpet. The atmosphere is calm, the only sound the distant scuttling of the Carminexes in the tunnels.