RP:"Eyes" for Larewen

From HollowWiki

This is a Necromancer's Guild RP.


Summary: Daath returns to find Larewen and discovers she is blind. He augments her vision and then the two discuss her progress in mastering necromancy.

Hanging Corpse Tavern

This once-timber tavern has been rebuilt in sturdily vitrified blackstone and imbued with powerful protective magics that prevent occult fire and several other potentially harmful spells being cast within its walls. No effort has been spared to make what might otherwise be a bleak interior comfortable. The bar is made of polished stone with an oaken inlay, the space behind filled with a bustle of attractive barmaids, sundry barrels and a dazzling array of coloured bottles that glint in the light cast by a large wrought-iron candelabrum suspended from the ceiling overhead. Here, the one-eyed Steadman stands, ready to take orders for food or drink. Beyond the bar, stout tables are firmly bolted to the floor, though the high-backed chairs are freestanding. The hearth is a true feature, seeming to be cast from black lava into the shape of a colossal, laughing goblin's head, its maw gaping wide and deep, usually containing a merrily crackling fire. A delicious scent of roasting meats drifts in from the kitchens and a winding staircase leads to rooms upstairs. To the south are set cellar doors, usually kept locked unless a special event is taking place. The walls are hung with thick, richly woven tapestries depicting persons and events in the history of Vailkrin and the Vampiric race. There's also a notice-board near the entrance, where one may leave messages. Unobtrusive but ever-present are the security staff, staunch fighters ever ready to toss troublemakers out.




Larewen sat facing the hearth, her usual spot really. The elf's attire was not prim and proper, as it once often was. Rather, despite the fact that she wore a simple verdant gown, and her hair was, at the very least brushed, the necromancer appeared disheveled. A tome lay spread across her lap and her fingers, free of their gloves, traced over the indentations made in the page by ink. Her eyes, void of sight and thus useless, remained fixed upon the hearth. Dried blood caked the woman's chin, and darkened her lips, as if she had fed, but something had come up in between to distract her from cleaning it from her pale skin.


Daath 's arrival into the tavern that was once his frequent haunt is preluded by a sensation that sends more than a few of Vailkrin's inhabitants on edge. While dark power is not something uncommon in the city of the damned, this particular aura is one that seems to crawl into the very tethers of many of the undead present, tugging at the semblance of free will they possess and forcibly commanding them heed the call of this herald of necromantic supremacy. Indeed it has been many a month since the Magister known as Daath D'Jiv'undus has walked upon the surface, but the Headmaster of the Necromancers Guild's power has not been forgotten by the local populace it seems. Eyes turn from meals and company to lock upon the tavern doors that open themselves to allow the drow noble to make his way fully into the infamous establishment. A white robe of the finest quality covers smooth ebon flesh, while hair of a pure white hue is kept up in a top-knot to reveal eyes of a striking scarlet. Fine elven features stand out, giving off a youthful presence while hinting at something beneath the surface. In his right hand is a staff of wood, etched with runes along the slender body, while the crown is shaped like skeletal fingers clutching a dark crystal tightly the glows ominously. The dark elf's presence brings with it a heavy presence, an aura of sorts of a malign nature. Dark. Oppressing. Capable of making lesser undead crumble under its weight. For a brief moment those eyes of his wash over the patrons of the Hanging Corpse, before falling upon their intended destination. Larewen, his former pupil and a close confidant through the years, it is without fear and a confidence born from the knowledge of the power he has at his fingertips that the D'jiv'undus heir makes his way over to the elder vampire. it takes only a few moments for him to close the distance, as lycan, vampire and undead abomination alike offer a wide birth for the master of necromancy. Once he stands before the woman, he playfully says. "I hope I've offered you enough time to impress me, Lady Dragana." Hinting back to their days when he would teach her, yet hinting at his understanding of recent events and her new position as a head of a vampire house in this kingdom of the forsaken.


Larewen felt that familiar magic, and while others turned toward the door, watching for Daath's arrival, Larewen did not. The corners of her lips were twisted upward faintly, briefly - there was no doubt to be had that the elf was anything other than glad to feel that familiar darkness surround her. She listened to the tap of the staff, of his feet as he approached, and when he came to stand before her, there was a gentle burst of magic. Just enough to light his own up within the eternal darkness that she now lived in. That provided her with a general vicinity of where her eyes should turn and her head tilted upward, sightless eyes missing locking on those crimson by a small bit - as if she were looking at his ear instead. "Ample time, Daath," came her reply, and though something clearly gave cause for the woman to be at edge, it was not allowed to reach her voice. "You should meet my most recent creation: the death knight, Damien. I've come a long ways, since I put together Latulepi." The tome was closed upon her lap as she shifted within her chair. "I was beginning to wonder what had happened to you."


Daath is a being who has traveled to the deepest darkest corners of realms that would drive lesser men insane. He has created things from the flesh of the dead, and sometimes the living, and worked alongside some of the most powerful people to ever walk this land. So when he sees, for the first time in a very long time, Larewen and her now missing eyes, the magister isn't taken aback or appalled like some may be by a physical deformity. No, reaching out without permission he takes hold of her gently, his hands smooth and smell of spices and magical ingredients. Words of magic pour forth from thin lips with masterful ease, as arcane tendrils weaves about the woman's face in an almost loving manner. These tendrils seems to slither forth, painlessly, into her empty eyes and empower whatever means the capable magess has in place already to see. A buff, if you will, before he says. "Someone trained by me should have already replaced their lost eyes with those of who took her own already. Why do you allow yourself to keep such a condition, when the power is but at your call to remove such an ailment?" he tsks in a disapproving manner that only a teacher can, the kind capable of getting under even the toughest of skins, yet still motivate you. " I'd have to see this undead creation before I offer any professional critique, of course, but you were my student, so you're creations better overshadow all others. I demand no less, after all." He looks about once more, before saying. " I withdrew to my house in the underdark, after attacks on our people happened. When Tiphareth failed to show himself, even once, i watched as his daughter lead our people to a miserable defeat and the loss of Sage Forest." Here, the drow looks to Larewen, offering her a look. " Of course, you've no information on such a crucial defeat, would you?" He tsks again, but carries on, dismissing that entire matter altogether. "The matters of drow houses, or tree loving wood elves means little to me. I know that Satoshi, Svilfon and Tiphareth have all but vanished from this land and left a large hole in the balance of arcane power in the land." A foul look crosses his face. "Pretenders and braggarts now line up to claim power and titles, while the true treasure, the arcane arts, suffers. I am here to change that, to once more set right the course of my beloved magic's study, and I need -you- to aid me."


Larewen leaned into his touch as he cupped her face, her eyes closing for a brief moment. A sign of weakness, and a sign of tenderness not oft seen from the woman - especially in regards to the necromancer. It was as if she did it without thought. She inhaled his scent, savored it in a manner that one privy to her thoughts and feelings might denote a fear that his visit with her would be short, and much time would pass again. The magic was felt as it caressed her face, as it drove its way into her eyes and twisted those sightless orbs. It was magical auras that the elf had taught herself to see, that she now used to identify people, places, things, and it was a tiring spell to keep up at all times. Daath's own fixed that for her. He, being a master of the arcane, could nearly be seen clearly, as could the enchantments that protected the establishment. Her own spell was dropped in the wake of that enchantment. "I gave my sight away," came her reply, when it was done. "As atonement for my actions." When he began to speak of the underdark, of defeat, and of the elves, her face turned away from him. Shame, perhaps? It was, after all, Larewen that had saved the traitor and the elf. The two that had incited the riot; the two upon whose head there were now bounties. Fortunately, the subject is dropped, changed as magic is brought into question, and to this, the elf was more open to discussion. "You need not ask for my aid, Daath. I am as aware of it, of the changes, as you are. Among those with the potential, there is complacency. A desire to remain as they are, and not strengthen themselves. There are necromancers that would sooner seek an exchange with more powerful ones, than build their own power." Disgust tinted her words.


Daath catches it all. The way she falls into his touch, the way her shame shines through for the briefest of moments and of course her disgust at the mention of weak mages. For now, the focus remains upon magic, a she says. "Then we shall relight the fires that once burned within the true followers of the arcane, by showing them once more the wonders only -true- mastery may grant its wielder. But, for now I must retire. We shall discuss more of this matter in the following days. I have much to do, but am in need of rest. This mortal shell has its limits afterall." With that, the magister turns to the stairs, and says. "I am glad to see you did not allow yourself to slip from your training and desire for power, Lady Larewen Dragana. You've come far, but know that there is farther heights to reach, and we've only just begun to delve into the secrets that our craft has to offer."


Larewen listened to his words, and again the corners of her lips tilted upward, though this time in a more mischievous manner, as if there were some sort of sick delight to be had in fulfilling those words, those wishes. As he bid his farewell, it took every bit of the elf's own self-control to not let disappointment seep into her features. Instead, she replied to his words with, "I will hold you do that, Daath. It would be a shame to have to reach those heights alone."


Daath smirks as his back faces the woman, as he calls out once he begins heading up the stairs to find a room, Steadmen having already sent a servant to get it ready. " Let your passions free, thirst for power, for all that you desire and you may just be able to keep up. But..." he pauses, turns to face her again, and says. "Stop letting outside influences rule you. You are a kindred spirit, Larewen. We bend for no one. We take what we desire because we have the power to do so. You've seem to forget that in my absence. offering your beautiful eyes to atone... for what? We do as we please, and only those stronger than us may question us, all others only stand aside. Remeber who you are, Larewen, or you shall only hold me back. I ask you not to follow me, but to walk beside me, but to do so you cannot allow distractions to hinder you. Ponder upon my words, and in the following days you can tell me what you decide." And with that, the drow is up the stairs for some long overdue sleep.