RP:Crafting a Plague
Summary: Ayala stumbles across a mighty dragon who seems to require her services.
The smell of blood was thick on the air tonight, thought the Shaman to herself. Her bare feet made hardly a sound as she traveled through the mountain Pass, barely disturbing the earth that she walked on- she was well practiced when it came to moving in silence. Every now and then a small murmur would come from somewhere near her waist, but she paid it no mind. She was quite used to the shrunken head that was affixed by its hair to her hip having something to say- and even more so was she used to ignoring every word that came from its stitch-broken mouth. Her oddly-colored eyes glinted slightly, reflecting the light that emanated from the gem resting at the top of her staff, through the holes in the skull that was affixed to the top. In this light, they would seem to be completey black, but if someone- or something- could see in the dark better than average, they might notice that the right eye's iris was actually colored a deep emerald color, while the left really was the full inky black they appeared to be in this dim light. Those eyes narrowed as she paused in her exploration. So far she had not found the right bones and herbs she'd come this all this way for. Perhaps someone had scavenged the area before she'd a chance. She was lucky, however, she decided, since one of the pouches on her hip was now damp with blood- she'd taken the tongues out of a few beasts along the way. The ingredients would undoubtedly prove useful to her at a later point, even if she didn't have anything planned for them just yet. The voice at her hip spoke up again. "Gl'Gbog think time to go. Smell death." A slow smirk grew on Ayala's lips. Death? That was just her kind of party. Her legs continued to carry her, and she offered her 'companion' no response. Her journeying brought her eventually past the caves that glittered with gems and to yet another set of caves. Within, she could smell just what Gl'Gbog had been referring to. She could see it too. The outer cave was littered with bones, and from what she could feel in the area, she knew this place was inhabited by what must have been something very dangerous. Now- though she was brilliant when it came to magics, every now and then, the Shaman's curiosity would win her over, getting her into situations that were far from savory. It was with this morbid curiosity that she travelled further still into the cave, until she found a lower chamber. It was darker in here, and once she'd entered, she could immediately feel that she was not alone. She stood there for a few moments, peering about the interior, to learn as much as she could while she had the chance. For now, she didn't introduce herself to whomever it was inside.
Gheneroc was hidden. Gheneroc often took to embedding himself within the wall of his cavern, the dragon's rough layered skin appeared the texture of stone, and was much easier to hide in the pitch black of the cave. Lights were never needed in Gheneroc's presence, for he sorted most out between his use of darkvision and smell. But something sour came this way, it tickled his nose, bringing his awareness back home where he lie. The mighty dragon smelled the air again, almost tasting the dank bog on the air. Someone's come. The bones of the fallen cried out, as they were magically imbued to alert Gheneroc of an intruding presence. Of course, these were no auditory screams. Only those attuned with magic could hear their desperate, tragic cries. The sight that Ayala would come across would be the five dragon whelps playing and wrestling within the cave. They jumped from the shadows, attacking each other playfully, but fiercely. Gheneroc slowly rumbled to live. The house-sized dragon pulled away from his resting spot. At first, it would appear as though he was simply a stone guardian of the cave, but when he opened his mouth, it glowed purple. Gheneroc grumbled, spewing bioluminescent purple onto the cave walls, also making them sizzle with the reaction. Barely a second more passed and his eyes were on Ayala. The dragon did not voice a greeting, gauging her reaction to the mere sight of a giant, predatory lizard.
Others might have trembled at the sight of the great beast that had rumbled to life, or fled for their lives. Ayala, however, did no such thing. Was it because she was a few bolts loose? Was she mad? Yes. Yes she was. Not only that- but she believed that death held no power over her. She did not fear it; because she knew how to control it. After all- one day, all things would die. If that meant her too, she was pleased to be part of the cycle. And so, there she stood, not flinching as the purple flames licked at the walls of the cave, and equally not minding as the hatchlings wrestled about before her. Instead, she gazed straight up at the beast, her black-painted lips slowly curling up into a grin that was perhaps a little too wide, showing off rows of teeth that were perhaps a little too sharp. She stamped her staff on the ground a couple of times, it was her way of clapping, of showing respect. Or at least, that's what she meant by it this time. Gl'Gbog spoke up his dislike of the situation. "We go now. Go before be eat." Ayala payed the head no mind yet again, instead raising her own voice to greet the Dragon. Her voice was accented heavily- it had similar tones to the accent carried by a drow, and yet at the same time, it had a more sharp and oily tone to it. No- she was no drow, but some other creature that had risen up from the Underdark. "Greetings, beast. I am Wormwydll Ayala."
Gheneroc rumbled. Beast wasn't exactly a flattering term. "Insect." He addressed Ayala. After all, a dragon of his size saw most mortals as the same little ants that danced across the ground, leading their meaningless lives. But this one, Gheneroc felt, was a bit different. It was certainly shiny. A shiny little bug. Of course, her reaction was gauged curiously. Gheneroc had met few that refused to tremble before him, but she did not smell of dragon slayer. "What reason do you have for trespassing?" The dragon asked. His cadence was slow and deliberate, indicatave of his size and age. And if his expression truly could be read, it would be one of displeasure at the sight of Ayala. He was still contemplating eating her.
Ayala shifted her stance slightly, examining him a little bit more carefully now. He smelled older than the other dragons, and far older than any dragon she'd snuck up on before. "Insect, little bug am I..." She prattled for a moment, the words escaping her lips as she looked up at him. "You are a mighty creature, you have been here for long. I have no reason. I came to the mountainside looking for ingredients, and found your home." She lifted her staff slightly so that it would light up the cave just a little more. Her eyes travelled over his scales. They certainly were lovely. Black as night themselves... black as death. She liked black. Lowering the staff, she returned her gaze up to him. "Mighty dragon, prince of purple flames, you seem unhappy to see me. I bring no pestilence with me today."
Gheneroc did pay attention to her phrasing. Pestilence... today. A plan. The dragon rumbled a bit as he was formulating a scheme. "As are all who have stood before me." He spoke to Ayala's indignant comment. The dragon's black scales, mixed with the cold grey of granite. At least, that was only the top layer. "I am as unhappy as any to find an unwelcome guest in my home. I did not send for you." The dragon rumbled again. "You craft pestilence?" Perhaps that was the odd smell. As Gheneroc posed the question, his stance became a little less threatening.
Ayala seemed pleased that the dragon was calming down in her presence. She wasn't aiming to upset him- even though by nature she tended to be slightly upsetting. After all... with an aura as inky and dark as hers, it was hard not to unsettle folks from time to time. Or all the time. Whichever fit best. "I did not mean to intrude, of course." At his questioning of her words, she only smiled again, those oddly sharpened teeth glinting in the dim glow that her staff gave off. "Ahh, yes. I craft pestilence, I bottle death, I bring forth contagion and I raise those who were too weak to live." She waggled her finger for a moment. "Though I never lay waste to those who I do not deem worthy of being reclaimed by the forest. Not you, great one. You have done nothing to disturb me nor my pets. Instead, I turn my gaze upon those who have trodden upon the Sage; those whose filth I could smell from underground." She leaned against her staff now, letting it take the brunt of her weight.
Gheneroc listened to the words. "Then I will have a task for you, venom maker. I am in need of a very specific disease" There was a glint in the evil dragon's red eyes at this mention. "It must prove to be crippling to dwarves, and extremely contageous. Death from the affliction, as a whole, might prove undesirable. Could you craft such a disease?" Gheneroc rumbled again, and as the whelps were suddenly eyeing Ayala as another play thing, they were kept at bay with a stern look from their adoptive father.
Ayala 's wicked grin only grew wickeder still, the green of her right eye seeming to glimmer with a twisted sort of glee. "Crippling blight... yes. I can do this. I just have to find the ingredients for it, and it will be done." Her eyes flicked to the whelps, but as they seemed to be commanded sternly by the adult dragon, she didn't move from her position. "Are there any specific side effects that you would like to see? Pustules? Boils? Rash or Migraine? Vomitting? Dysentery? Blindness, perhaps, or the rotting of tongues?" She was bouncing on her toes by now, excited to have something devastating to brew.
Gheneroc canted his head. "And it will be resilient to healing magic?" Gheneroc felt the need to ask. But when Ayala rattled off symptoms, Gheneroc pondered. Against the dwarven constitution, everything had to be hard. "Blindness would be quite advantageous. Let it fester through the air. Take your time in crafting. I am not so eager to unleash the plague just yet. For my plan to work, I will need to be the source of its cure."
Ayala gave a slow and deliberate nod. "I do not craft illnesses that are easily fixed. Blindness.. I will remember that. And do not be mistaken; these brews take time. Most of the ingredients for a thing like this... those who have them aren't usually readily willing to offer them to me. I couldn't imagine why." Her voice was laced with venom on the last portion of her sentence, and yet her smile was sickly sweet as always.
Gheneroc rumbled. "Then I pray the Living Light will be strong enough." The dragon shifted, finding the conversation coming to a close. He had enlisted her services, now she was expected to leave. The dragon turned toward his younglings, and nudged one with his snout. The dragon responded by rolling onto it's back and claw against Gheneroc's tough hide. No harm done, but it was clear: Gheneroc was raising these dragons to be dragons. Not humans, or elves, or anything other than a dragon. But when Ayala appeared to stay, Gheneroc cast her a glance. "Is there something else, plague-maker?"
Ayala shook her head no, watching the dragons play for a moment, before turning on her heel. Gl'Gbog let out a very blatant sigh of relief. "I will return when the contagion is finished. You will be pleased with the results, mark my words." With that, she broke into a sprint, and didn't stop running until she had made it all the way back to the Sage.