RP:An Unusual Reunion

Summary: Iintahquohae is instructed by one of her many strange journals that it is time to pay Kasyr a long overdue visit. Having gone dark over the years after the appearance of a peculiar serpent tattoo hidden behind her ear on the left side of her neck, and months with an unknown ailment, she hopes her reemergence will lead to some answers.

Part of the Weave Your Own Fate Arc

Shop Beneath The Dunes, Cenril

Hidden beneath the sands above is a pair of weathered doors in the ground. Upon opening them, you’re greeted with a small staircase dimly lit with glowing stones affixed to the walls at intervals. The short flight of stairs leads down to another pair of polished oaken doors that swing open to reveal what appears to be a hidden clothing shop. A variety of different types and colors of fabric wrapped on wooden bolts line the top halves of the walls. Beneath the bolts, displayed in glass cases and hidden locked cupboards, are less common items used for the owner’s trade. What can be seen in the glass cases – dragon scales, small pieces of metal plating, small blades and jewels- only give a slight implication of what other things may be hidden in the locked cupboards. Finely crafted masks of elaborate make hang on plaquards on the walls, high up to prevent visitors from touching them, but a stepladder is available to reach for them. In the dim lighting of the shop, you can make out the shadows of what appear to be several wooden life-sized dolls that are interspersed on the floor. Some are clothed, each with a completely blank face save for glittering buttons set into their heads to act as beady, watching eyes. Looking upon them after turning away from their unblinking gaze for a short time may cause one to notice that they have moved just slightly, just enough to imply that there is more to them than meets the eye. At the far end of the shop is a desk littered with crumpled sketches, fabric samples and other paperwork, and directly behind that, a locked door that lead to other rooms of the underground shop.

Hunger pangs having left her for the time being, the seamstress settles down at her desk to peruse the peculiar pile of incomplete, oftentimes incoherent journals that she has kept since her adoption. They fill up the drawer space with a false bottom in her desk, locked away with a key she keeps on her at all times. The journals themselves are bound, oddly, in a familiar style to how Iintahquohae binds books now, and filled with handwriting that changes from child-like scribbles to delicate, looping cursive. The tenses are mixed across every message, as if their writer has forgotten a few of their where's and when's, but within the lantern light after flipping to a random page, her index finger rests on the open page of one of those journals, beneath a date and a message.

“Resurface. Find your sire.”

And so Iintahquohae does, scribbling a short note on a bit of paper, sending it on its way with one of Mothers crows. Or were they ravens? She never could tell the difference.

~*~Some sorta cliche and mysterious black bird tosses a bit of paper at yer noggin~*~

I assume you know this already, but just in case. I'm alive. Still. Miraculously. Do you need some new clothes?

Your absent vassal,

Stitch

~

*A note that's been stuck to the back of the same, yet now disgruntled bird with some alchemical slime*

Hanging Corpse Tavern.

I'll be there soon.

~Kasyr Azakhaer

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 chandelier 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, and up the stairs are various rooms for rent. 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.

Kasyr cannot help the absolutely haggard way he appears. The Kensai has generally appeared frumpy in past, but with the tournament now reaching it's climax, and the more pressing and altogether apocalyptic encounters on the horizon- the swordsman probably hasn't gotten a good bout of sleep in weeks. A part of him had even second guessed coming, as the contents of the note had seemed surreal to him. And yet, all the same, he'd found himself calling in a favor from a member of the eyrie, and getting himself dropped off in Vailkrin post haste. Depending on how close the seamstress was, he might not even have the time to finish discreetly ordering up a series of Whiskey glasses to keep him company.

Iintahquohae arrives. Looks just about the same as she used to. Tall and thin as a rail, clad in predominantly black with a flash of pale blue from her shirt collar peeking out of her jacket. It appears she decided to tone down the choker, though. It's thinner, with the octopus tentacle's suckers studded with little pieces of celestite. Spotting her sire out of the crowd, she can't help her jaw going a bit slack as she steps closer. If it weren't for the ears, the seamstress may not have even recognized him, let alone looked his way. "Well, don't you look," she pauses. Not the nicest of greetings, but hopefully her tone sounds concerned and at least happy to see him. "...awful."

Kasyr spit takes. It's a waste of some good black whiskey, but the bluntness of the statement manages to at once arrest his attention, and cue up an unwanted coughing chortle. He takes a moment to dab at his face with a napkin in the aftermath, trying his best to make his scrutinizing inconspicious. And to a certain degree, it likely works- given that a portion of his focus is less on what's actually there, and more on the empathic imprint of the person before him. When he feels something -akin- to satisfaction, it's only then that he properly turns to address her, with an expression that hopefully looks a bit more composed then it did moments prior. "I can explain, es usually not the best way to start off meetings with an old friend- but it's likely necessary, enfin." That impish grin is still intact, even in his current state, "But, before we get into that, a drink? Et how have tu been." There's a pause, before the Kensai carefully adds, "I was beginning to think I was the last." Had been . . .? In the face of it now, it was awkward to consider, and yet weirdly true.

Iintahquohae 's spit take likely mirrors Kasyr's. He hasn't changed a bit, she believes, but in fairness she never had a full grasp on his personality even -after- becoming his...daughter? Is that how vampirism works? Clearly she has still not entirely grasped what in the world she became that night in Frostmaw, but the seamstress has always assumed it was some sort of familial bond, albeit twisted. She waves a hand dismissively at the offer of the drink, opting to simply settle down in a seat next to him. "I'm alive, as I wrote to you." A pause, while she withdraws a handkerchief from her coat pocket. It is white, embroidered with her initials, and splotched with a dried, blackish substance. Pinching the cleanest corner in her gloved hands, she proffers it to Kasyr. "I've been ill. For ages. Can you explain this to me?"

Kasyr looked to be ready to offer up something to Inks when she succumbed to the ridiculousness of the situation, but when she produces her own kerchief, he stays his hand and finishes tidying up the last of the wasted whiskey. Basically, it just means he can start on glass #2 guilt free. That said, when she offers up the tainted fabric to him, he finds himself unwilling to take a drink from his glass. Whilst the appearance of the 'gift' certaintly does contribute- there's something more disquieting about it, which he finds difficult to put his finger on. At least, until he takes it from her hand, and that sense of unease turns to an outright sense of revulsion. Because however much it doesn't quite seem plausible- that long encrusted gunk carries an odious familiarity, one with a dual nature which seems to tease at his senses. Despite not being a doctor, the substance seems to almost call forth a name to his mind, before it slips back beneath conscious thought. When he stares at it once more, the substance almost looks like it's etched itself into the texture of scales- a surreal trick of the light that he doesn't even doubt for a moment. "I'm . . not sure." Not entirely, but the doubt is there now. "How long is ages, enfin?"

Iintahquohae observes his reaction to the coughed up...stuff on her handkerchief. That isn't the reaction she wanted to see, nor the answer she wanted to hear. She recalls the first instance of retching up the blackness in the middle of working on a woman's gown, and the amount of black liquid- what she believed to be blood at the time- that gushed out of her mouth. It was a sudden, horrible, and worst of all to her, messy.. Months ago. "Several months ago," she replies, shaking the repulsive memory from her thoughts. "It was worse, surprisingly. Now it's occasional, but painful. It feels like something is strangling me from within." She almost instinctively reaches for another handkerchief from her pocket in case the coughing starts up again, peering at Kasyr with an almost pleading look. "Are you sure this isn't a...side effect, from me being turned?"

Kasyr offers up the appropriate hmms, and mms- and a part of him is -trying- to listen to what she says, but his attention remains locked on the hankerchief, as though continued observation might cue up some new behaviour. It certainly contributes to the delay in his answer, though it does eventually come, "Some of the Coterie handled the change worse than others, ou with results I had not seen happen since." Ilydia came to mind, and the sheer violence that was her turning - and yet, "I don't think that's what's happening here. Especially since it's been so long. And this . . ." He chews down onto his lip in thought for a few moments, before he finally settles on testing his thought. When his lips part again, it's to hum- a wordless rhythm that serves as a prayer to Daedria, so that he might impart some measure of the divine into the cloth. For a brief moment, it almost looks like that liquid is recoiling onto itself- before it simply fragments off the cloth, hitting the table in a small pile of obsidian chips. Sparing a few moments to stare suspiciously at the items, he extends the cloth back to Inks, alongside a question, " How often have you been feeding, enfin?"

Iintahquohae has to resist the urge to impatiently tap her heel against the floor while watching him. She wanted answers. Whatever this illness had to be was beginning to make her want to rip her hair out. A loss of her calm composure was unacceptable. When he began to hum, her brow rose, then her eyes widened. Visibly recoiling from the solidified...vomit? She still wasn't sure what to call it- fell to table top, she took a very long pause, and a long inhale of breath before answering his question with a question. Three questions. "Why does that matter? What did you just do? Why did it do that?" Her hand, trembling just a bit, reaches to take the handkerchief back while answering, finally. "I sleep for days. The days that I am awake, I feed."

Kasyr observes the remnants for a few moments longer, as though daring it to move, before he finally takes up the drink, using the cup as a refuge to hide his expression. That, and the ensuing questions were definitely upping the desire to take a shot. "I don't think you're sick. Not from vampirism, ou anything else so..simple. A sickness of the spirit, peut-etre." The words are tentative, and yet, he doesn't sound curious - more resigned than anything. "I did something similiar to when I healed your broken limb, enfin- et no, I would not suggest doing that to you, as you currently are." Her last question is the one that's the hardest to answer, if only because he wasn't entirely sure. "I'll get back to you on that last one." In tandem with that comment, the Kensai carefully reached into his jacket, pulling out one of the countless scalepels had had a habit of hoarding, as well as a flask of something altogether sanguine looking. To be fair, the seamstress would likely recognize the scent as dragons blood when it's uncorked- but what she's apt to be confused about is teh way in which he simply upends the contents in his initial whiskey glass, and just nudges the blackened chips into the vial, with the aid of the scalpel so he doesn't need to touch it. What's more, whilst they might briefly hiss for a moment, they rather rapidly become inert, neatly settled in the residue with no other reaction to be seen. "...Have you always slept like that, or es that more recent?" Playing doctor was not his forte, but at least he might be able to garner some degree of insight- the wild variances that had existed between all of the Coterie made it difficult to figure out what was 'normal', and what was not.

Iintahquohae 's nerves began to settle, now that she was receiving some sort of answers. Vague answers, but enough to grasp onto just a bit. So her spirit is ill. What does that mean? The question isn't voiced, but her expression was likely enough to convey it. While observing Kasyr's containment of her solidified spit, her head shook. "Not until this started happening. Days will go by. I wake up starving. I," her eyes shift to others nearby, apparently embarrassed at this admission, "I eat...a lot. It feels like an impossible amount. I don't know how I'm not the size of one of those beasts that fell from the hole in the sky so long ago by now. Then I sleep." Her shoulders raise and fall. She doesn't know what to make of herself any more. "It feels like a constant cycle of hunger."

Kasyr is managing the balancing act of drinking and amateur chemist rather neatly, given the manner in which he's able to deftly replace both scalpel and vial into his coat. That said, it's only when he's polished off this new glass, and begun to feel the familiar burn in his chest that he resumes answering, "Es there anything you can do to stave off that sense of ... exhaustion? ..Et as for your meals- I imagine there's not much in the way of ..." Survivors? "...Leftovers." Kasyr lets out a measured exhale, before he redirects his attention towards Steadmen, tapping a few coins down onto the table for the drinks, and a few more aside, "I'm going to need the room upstairs. Let moi know if anyone needs me for . . . " There's a shrug, as vailkrin matters could generally be summed up in petty politics, clandestine matters, and the occasional mayhem. Probably -why- he'd not been hard pressed about not being present for so long. In any case, he redirects his attention towards the seamstress, "I figure it might do to have more privacy for the rest of the conversation, non?" Not that he overly waits for an answer before sidling away from the table. Frankly, the less ammunition he can provide to anyone who may be eagerly listening in, the better.

Den of Iniquity

Lush and opulent, this large bedroom features a massive, intricately carven four-poster mahogany bed draped luxuriously in fabrics of bold and exotic design, and scattered with a host of plush cushions. On the walls are paintings depicting scenes of mythic debauchery and famous battles. Twin sofas embellished in brocade face each other by the window to east, separated by a low and highly-polished occasional table. To the west is a large metal tub, shielded from casual sight by a folding screen on which are painted sea nymphs and other merfolk at play. A low shelf beside the tub holds an array of sweetly-scented soaps and oils.

Iintahquohae mulls over how to answer Kasyr's question while she stands to follow him. "Working," she eventually settles on. "I suppose. If I'm not gorging on food, I'm working. It never feels like it is enough, however." The seamstress continues, absently raking a hand through her hair. It catches on a knot of curls that she carefully works to untangle it from while she walks through the door. "As I said before. I feel almost constantly ravenous. No...leftovers. Just husks."

Kasyr decides that he could, in fact, have planned this out better. The fact that it had been so long since he'd last made this into an impromptu office meant there wasn't anything like a desk he could camp out on. With a cursory glance to his surroundings, he settles on one of the twin sofas- wasting little time in making his way over towards it. It's during this time that he'd glance back towards Inks, his expression one of both curiosity and concern, "Are you currently hungry, enfin? Or es that in check, for the moment?" Before he settles onto the sofa, he draws out his pack of smokes, and then casually discards his coat- allowing it to crumple onto the floor so he doesn't have to mentally worry about the possible collapse of the couch. "I take it I'm the only one amongst the Coterie you've seen in a while to ask about this, oui? Et do you mind if I smoke?"

Iintahquohae follows Kasyr to the opposite and visibly stiffens at the sight of his cigarette. Usually, she would want to try to yank it from him and toss it away, but in her current state she lets it slide. The present matter is more...pressing. Her posture is stiff. She practically sits on the edge of the sofa with her hands resting in her lap. Again, her tone goes sheepish. "I took care of it earlier. Before I wrote to you. I have been away from, well, everyone for such a long time that you were the first I deemed appropriate to contact." Her shoulders slump, head tilting partially down to her boots. "Forgive me for sounding weak, but I am frightened by whatever is happening to me." The words leave her with a bit of strain. Fear was foreign to her, apart from her closely guarded fear of snakes.

Kasyr hesitates at her reaction to his smokes, but after a moments deliberation, he draws it up to his lips, and produces a spark with the snap of his fingers. She was not the only one with frayed nerves, after all- especially given what he needed to say. "You're the first member of Coterie I've seen here years. The rest have dissapeared, I was just...curious if you might have seen them." He puffs, trying not to focus on anything in particular in the room, "Et I'm hardly going to admonish you for weakness. It's not like I've been there to guide you in these things for a long while. But i'll do my best. I have some ideas at the very least." There's an urge to ramble, to provide some degree of hollow reassurance, but he manages to quell the impulse and push it aside- taking the time needed to recent himself before he finds himself asking, "That said, I am curious. Were you still able to feel my presence before you arrived at the bar. That sense of connection to your sire?" In truth, the Kensai isn't sure what answer to expect- if only because of both the nature of her affliction, and the lack of journals and annotations on the nature of sire fledgeling bonds when it's the Sire whose been cured. And in this case, especially with her hunger- information seemed of paramount importance.

Iintahquohae kept her head tilted downward, now more so to hide the crinkle of her nose at the smell of cigarette smoke. The mild irritation of the scent wasn't enough to quell her fears, but it helped ground her. A bit. At the very least it briefly took her mind off of the cyclical feeling of being afraid, and being angry at being afraid. Her head lifts while she considers his question. "I...suppose I feel something. It's faint. Hardly there. But could that be because of what's wrong with me?" She shrugs. "When I wrote to you, I knew that it would reach you. I don't know if that is the same as sensing a connection, however." Inks pauses to busy herself with straightening wrinkles in her jacket that aren't actually there. Another tick to distract and hopefully quell the anxiousness. "Why do you ask?"

Kasyr mulls on the information, his head very slowly canting off to one side. That there was a fundamental attachment still there was good to know. In a certain sense, it provided some reassurance that the others, were they alive, might find him anew. That said, his current state did make him viable as a possible emergency food supply, and it did beg the question as to how well her appetite could be quelled by will alone. "While it -could-be influencing it. I can guarantee it es not what's entirely at fault, enfin." A very large part of him doesn't want to confess it- especially given that he's managed to do an admirable job of maintaining the facade for years. There's been lapses, of course- Gevurah, Lanlan, and quintessa being the notable individuals to discover the truth of his state. But for years he's managed to continue being the Abdicated Vampire King Of Vailkrin (tm). Despite, "I'm not a vampire. Currently. It's a, uh, work in progress." There's a beat, before the Kensai carefully adds, "Which is why I wanted to know how much of the bond remained. Especially given that were you ravenous- I would rather not have to rely on ...violently extricating myself from the situation, tu know?" And perhaps, a part of his brain was already trying to balance out if there was a way to reinforce the bond- if only for that same reason.

Iintahquohae ;; "...You -aren't- a vampire anymore? That's possible?" This is news to her. The way some people spoke of vampires before she became one herself waxed poetic on their kind being eternally damned souls that could never be free of the "curse", as it were. Her experience encountering vampires and becoming one changed her perspective considerably. Unsure of how to respond to the news, she gave a tentative, "Congratulations...? And also, how did that happen?"

Kasyr actually -winces- as Inks iterates the situation back at him, though he at least manages to nod back at her in regards to the latter part. That said, he isn't quite quick to clarify- which leaves plenty of time for the second wince induce comment. He isn't even aware that his teeth grind slightly as she finishes her awkward 'congratgulations', though he becomes partially so when the question of how it happened crops up. "Unwillingly. Something I ate got the better of me after biding it's time for years. It received Gospel's help. My er- what -used- to be my sword. Before it ended up on the moon, being worshipped by a cult, and then rampaging around off Cenrils coast et quoi-ce-soit." There's a pause there, as Kasyr goes over the crux of what he just said, and casually adds, "So i wouldn't recommend boat trips if you can help it right now. Or Moonlit swims." He waves it off, and some of the smoke away from his face, "Again- I'm not planning on staying mortal. Et not just because shaving es a hassle." Though it certainly could be argued that the height he gained when he stopped before forever 18 or whatever the hell he'd been helped. "There's a lot going on right now. Stuff that would be Coterie business, in and of itself."

Iintahquohae isn't sure how to react, but for the first time her thoughts cycle back to when she was initially sired. Was that the right decision? Until recently, she believed so. She tucks the knowledge of there being a potential out if she gets tired of being tired and hungry that is not death, and considers Kasyr's comments about Cenril. That was her original home. Vailkrin became her second home and primary haunt over the years. She considers the thought of dropping by to scope out the cult Kasyr described, but decides it isn't for the best right now, considering her disposition. Instead, she chews absently on her lower lip while thinking of what to say. "...Coterie business I could lend a hand with, perhaps?" A faithful fledgling seemed like the most comfortable, normal option. "I could use the distraction."

Kasyr, were he privvy to the seamstresses thoughts- probably wouldn't have recommended the avenue he'd been forced to take. But then, what were the odds she was housing some perversely dark presence, that could feasibly latch onto dark aspects of her spirit and become an abomination independant of her. That was a serpentine in nature. What. Were. The. Odds. Kasyr Pinches at the bridge of his nose, dispelling thoughts of Ahkall, and returning him to the present, "It's not Vailkrin business. We're currently letting that slide- The new Dragana Heir, Quintessa, is making a play for leadership, et on that front, I'm happy to let her handle the paperwork." He pauses for a moment to mull on that tidbit, if only due to the omission of her nature as his apprentice, and the more sordid aspect of their dynamic. That she had an undeniable tie to Gospel made it even harder to ignore. "We'll have to deal with things on the home front, just not now. Right -now- I'm trying to figure out what to do about some plant god thing that's going to depopulate the continent, et an undead god. Also, some vampire that I probably wiped out the house of, ou something- because he has such a grudge, et I still don't know who he is." ...Yup. Just Kas things. "Oh. Et if you need an immediate distraction, I could probably put something to the test."

Iintahquohae , eager for anything to distract her from her sleeping and gorging state, listened intently to what Kasyr had to offer. "A plant god? You mean, like...a giant tree, or something?" Her couatl likely could lend a hand with that. Maybe the giant beast could just eat the plant? ...Or try to set it on fire. Mention of another vampire seemed a bit closer to home. Easier. However, this was coming from Kasyr, the person she met that helped cart her up to the sky to stitch it back up. She held a hand up to her mouth to muffle a yawn. "An immediate distraction would be nice, though I am starting to feel tired again."

Kasyr is trying to recall, and the closest he can get to actually remembering anything about the briefing the warrior guild had gone through was something along the lines of, "Uh. Tentacle monster. ...Maybe? But the weed-y kind." Blazing it definitely seems like a viable solution. "Then Sleep." On it's own, it could come off as a gentle enough suggestion, but there's the undertone of an order in there. A testing prod, to see if there's enough still left in that bond to help push her over the edge into a sleeping state. "I'll make sure there's some food et bloodwine for when you wake up, et we can figure out more when you're awake. ...If it's days or the like- well. Let moi know." He'll likely be around, unless there's more hopelessly ill-fated boat trips scheduled for him.

Iintahquohae is out like a light. Slumped over on the couch and snoring. Don't let her know that you heard her snore.