RP:An Ill Wind Blows

Part of the The God of Undeath Arc

Summary: Lanlan and Gevurah tour the dilapidated castle on Cenril’s southern coast. As Lanlan explains his entrepreneurial ambitions, and how he wishes to renovate the property that Gevurah has laid claim to via a death curse, they are approached by an elven feline in need of work. Meanwhile, an eerie, frigid wind picks up in the port. The gusts howl low and gutturally like moans. When Gevurah tries to cast a basic spell, it fizzles, and she suspects the strange magic in the air may be tied to Alithyk Caluss, the God of Undeath.

Dilapidated Coral Castle, Cenril

A death curse of Vakmatharas is here.

Lanlan is arm and arm with Gevurah, tapping a ruby topped walking stick on the cobbles. "These places," he says pointing to the various structures on the street, "homes, businesses...whatever they -were-...they're ugly right? Look at them." The roofs were slanted, the shutters were hanging off the window, creepers climb up the walls. "Look this one has moss growing on the side of it! These people are poor and they have no idea how to fix that!" Lanlan knows how to fix that. He did! Just a few years ago he was rambling from town to town, swindling gamers out of their coin for petty gains. Now look at him! "I know how to fix it. It's this new concept, recently blowing up. But I have it on good authority that if I get in early enough, I'll be able to create passive income forever. See, these are called -investment properties-." With the right movements from his fancy ruby and gold walking stick, he composes an elegant illusion to lay over the sad shambles in this part of town. The new version, his version, shows color everywhere. Banners hang from every building in vibrant colors, workers bustle through with their hands stained in all sorts of colors. "You see most of the clothing on the continent is imported, in part or in whole. I'm going to change that." The illusion quickly fades away with a dismissive wave from Lanlan, bringing back the drab, gray, sad reality of a slum. Then they come to the castle. The one cursed by Gevurah in years past for a squabble no one cares to remember. It's since become nothing but liability to whoever owns it. They can't live in it anyway. "It starts with this. I'm going to buy it, legally."

Gevurah wrinkles her nose at the fishy-salty smell of the sea, at the ugly surface architecture, at the stench of destitute, unwashed felines who inhabit the Southern slums of Cenril. The Matron has no mind for ‘investment.’ She was born into royalty the heir of property, and any additional property she’s coveted she’s gained (or lost) by coercion and force. The dilapidated castle they tour now is one such example of her forcibly acquired property. Years ago the High Priestess of Vakmatharas placed a death curse on the castle to drive out Desparrow and his clan. The grounds have been abandoned ever since. But Lanlan is predominantly a creature of the surface, a fact she often forgets when they’re together in Trist’oth, but if which she is keenly reminded during their increasingly rare excursions to the surface. She enchants Lanlan to survive the curse placed here, an exception to her own ritual, for now. “Why buy it?” she asks in the drow tongue. “I can give it to you.”

Qamara had left the Kelay for a bit in search of better work opportunities as since the forest town had little. She can't truly remember how she found herself within the shabby looking town, but the large feline population made her stay. This won't be for long however, she finds the area doesn't have much to offer just like Kelay. Aside from simple chores to maintain living, feline is only paid in food and items, no real money. She also doesn't blend too well with these other felines. Aside from her elven appearance, they are lazy in her eyes as most beg instead of work. Qamara was on her way to her dwelling after finishing her daily tasks. She was paid in a raw fish, five pieces of cloth to repair holes in her dress, bit of scrap metal and a ball of yarn. She counting the pieces of metal as she saw the sight of Gevurah and Lanlan as recon the large structure. The felines of the area had warned her about the area and wonders why someone would be that close, and why would anyone dress so fancy to come this way. She decides they must be lost, only thing that makes sense to her. She begins walk toward them. "Excuse me." She calls in a lifeless monotone voice. "Are you in need of direction?"

Lanlan nods graciously, "Of course! Of course, you could! That's part of why I brought you here, because I would ask you to remove the curse when the time was right." He pauses to make it seem like that was enough. "The surfacers do have their rules, and it'll give my standing here more resilience if I pretend to follow them." After that, his walking stick collapses into itself and slides up his sleeve. "Thanks, Gevie," he says when she blesses him to resist the curse. Now he rests his arm on hers, as they walk through the grounds of the castle. He imagines what it might look like if there were no death curse, what it will look like. Clean floors, vibrant carpets and runners. They'd have to sweep up the desiccated insect husks that crunch under their feet. They must've flown in idiotically and died before they got out. "And we'd need a way to get from here and home quickly. Preferably without going outside." From somewhere on the property, an opened shutter smacks arythmically against the stone wall. Then they're approached by a strange feline, who thinks -they- are the ones out of place. "Behold! One of the wretches I was alluding to earlier! She would love one of my jobs. Many thanks young one, but no I am not lost. You see, my love? This is exactly the type of person in need of my intervention. Dress held together by scraps, and her mind is so poverty-stricken she doesn't even know she's about to kill herself!" He let's go of Gevurah and winks, he can show her how to deal with the animals that live on the surface! "Are you feeling okay?" He says with a tone that condescends, though it's meant to seem concerned. "This place is cursed, you know. If you linger too long you'll be just like one of these poor idiots." As he says that, he kicks a dried up beetle toward her.

Gevurah resists the urge to roll her eyes at the surfacer’s rules. The rattling shutter draws her attention. Odd, the wind normally comes from the sea. This wind comes from the city. That’s when the feline appears, and Gevurah, who had been grumpy throughout this tour of the port city, is quickly charmed by Lanlan’s condescending tone and superiority to the elven-looking woman. Ah, there he is, the eccentric half-drow who won her affection when none other could. He has a way with the lower races that’s entertaining and effective. She stands back as Lanlan leaves her side to woo the stray cat. The wind begins to howl through the shutters. It sends a chill down Gevurah’s spine. Perhaps she simply isn’t accustomed to surface wind? But the howl is eerily guttural and low, like a haunted moan.

Qamara 's expression would remain blank and lifeless aside from a slow raise of her brow. Her eyes target every moment the Grey-Elf makes with his over-exaggerating demeanor, ever narrowing in on the moments of tongue, watching as if she can see his words leave his lips in almost cartoonist fashion. This makes her nearly laugh as the corner of her lips moves slightly to grin. She lazily lifts her hand to catch the dried beetle, stares upon and casts it to the ground. "I watched crowds of people simply step around rotting bodies, even rob them. A dead beetle doesn't matter much to me." She casts her head toward the outer edge of the area. "Still I believed that curse to be a foolish tale these locals spread. I see now. "She begins to move away as she looks over her shoulder to Lanlan. "And yes. I would love work. I would love to wear something other than these rags." She casts her stare to Gevurah, eyeing from head to toe. "I like you shoes." She says while pointing and heads back away while hoping the man makes serious on his words.

Lanlan feels a shiver run up his back, "That wind felt strangely chilling for this time of year, no?" He inquires to both women, not sure if either one would actually know more than him about this. His eyebrows quiver at the ends, they often knew more than him. "But you could become like that beetle! Wouldn't that be sad? Wouldn't your family be sad?" Lanlan is a little put off by the attention she pays him and instinctually returns to Gevurah's arm. "First employee, I think! In this business it'll be more important than anything to have good taste." Lanlan directs attention to Gevurah's elegant footwear, "And she does!" He pulls out a small bag of change. "Tell you what. I'll pay you to write up a flyer for me to put in the Whaler's Bar. I'll pay you first as a show of good faith or whatever." He then pulls out a cigarette, which apparently lights itself. The deathly air is filled with an earthy smog quickly. Then he counts out the change. "What does good paper cost in this town? Ten gold pieces?" After counting so much, he offers it to Qamara. "Tell them good work will finally come to Cenril. Good work and even better clothes!" He nods. "Yeah something like that."

Gevurah twitches her fingers in esoteric shapes beneath her piwafwi as she whispers an incantation that should grant her the ability to scan Qamara’s aura. It’s a basic spell, among the first she ever learned decades ago, and yet the spell misfires. The eerie, howling wind robs her words of their divine potency, and a familiar panic flares deep in her gut. This has happened to her twice in the past year. Is it him, again, Is it Alithyk Caluss, the God of Undeath? Or is this a coincidence? Did she simply whiff on a consonant like a pro-swordsman sometimes drops their arms, simply because errors happen, even to the pros. She shivers against the unseasonably cold wind. It switches directions quickly two, three, four times. This isn’t normal. “Lanlan,” she hisses in an urgent tone. That’s when the surface creature pays a compliment to her shoes. Gevurah can’t help but grin darkly, though her expression is tempered by her distraction. “Serve him well,” she nods at Lanlan, “and you’ll be on your way to owning a pair of your own.” She switches from the common tongue to drow and says just for Lanlan’s ears, “We must go. Now.”

Qamara would not be too effected by the cold chill as she often sleeps in nothing other than her rags in all elements, but headache that's starts beginning, not good for someone with telepathic capabilities that is largely unrefined. A grey mist slowly raises from her shoulder as the metallic items she carries begin to dissolve into dust and trail her as she. She look to the small amount of good with a hidden sigh but she can't explain, it was a fair exchange after all. "I thought you wanted me to spy or kill someone, but a job is a job. Consider it done." Her pace hastens to leave as she places a hand to her head. Qamara also looks to Gevurah. "Or a pair that better." She offers the smallest of smirk and is off.

Lanlan receives the imperative from her tone, but keeps his face near constant. He doesn't know exactly why we must leave. There are reasons he could guess. It could be that Gevurah was tired of Cenril's fishy smell. Or it could be something more severe! Pretending everything was fine felt wise. But then he can't keep a straight face. "Hahahahaha!" He laughs at Gevurah, "Hahahahaha!" He laughs at Qamara. "What makes you think I would ever be in the market for that! Uhm, no I would never hire an assassin or a spy!" He becomes serious again and scans her build. The dress hid it well, including any weapons she might be carrying? Interesting. "But there could be an opening, in a...security detail that might interest you. Hmm. Yes, 'security', mhm." He chuckles a little at his mastery of the common tongue. Then she's off on her mission. Very diligent. Lanlan was extremely impressed at his scouting ability, locating such a versatile prospect in such an unlikely place. "Alright!" He exclaims with a clap of his gloved hands. "We have other business to attend to, don't we Gevie?" He washes his hands of the place and snuggles into Gevurah, together they'll resist the chilly wind.

Gevurah watches the feline go and is quick to exit in a separate direction. To Gevurah’s surprise, as they head north and west, the frigid howling wind dies down. Has the eerie storm passed, or is it still raging on the coast? In drow, she confides in Lanlan, “There’s something wrong with the port. The wind didn’t feel write, and I tried to scan the elf’s aura and my spell fizzled, it felt familiar, it felt like… him.”