RP:Death of a Sleazebag

Kelay Tavern

"Who's going to catch the killer? Who'll seek the dryad for answers? Should we pretend nothing happened here last night to the old baker who used to work down the street? Who's gonna pack their things and just leave this place without seeking justice?" These questions drift through the air, the voice young and arrogant. "Poor, old bastard," he mutters.

Nowfaleena sipped at her whiskey, huffing softly at the rant about justice. Why should she care? There was probably a reason the man...a baker was he?...had been killed. She was best to stay out of it, lest she get herself, and her family, into trouble.

Delain grumbles.

The young man slams his arms down on his table and flips it over, angry with everyone in the tavern. "Are you all listening to me, dammit?! WHO, I ask. WHO will protect you all from the thing that got the simple baker killed!" His eyes were burning with anger and pain. Had he known the baker? "ARGH!" he yells and storms out of the tavern when no one responds to him with anything other than stares.

Nowfaleena shifted her luminescent gaze to the young man as he slammed his way about the tavern. She was certain her cubs were well protected in her home. They had their nanny to look after them. And the feline sure as hell wasn't bringing the cubs with her into town anytime soon, not after what had transpired the night before. A paw-like hand rose to rub at one of the scabby patches left where her fur had been ripped out. Perhaps she should volunteer her services to help...if only for her own protection.

Hanan's shoulder connected with the young man's as he stormed out of the tavern--her entering right at the same time. "What baker? Some kind of tragic yeast explosion?"

A dwarf near the entrance looks up at the woman who just entered. "A murder," he responds, his voice nasally and irritating. "The man was killed here last night and no one saw the killer. Some say it was a demon, others say it was a Cenril hitman. No one knows for sure, but everyone's scared out of their wits; I can tell you that for sure," he laughs a horrid laugh. It comes out like an excited, hyperventilating dog.

Nowfaleena offered a shrug, "The man's of no concern to me...but I have cubs to protect." She wouldn't mention her own fear, "Perhaps we should heed the boys advice and hunt down the killer."

Hanan's lips twerked; not a smirk, not a frown. "Shyte. That old guy? With the muffins?" She rolled her shoulders, eyes narrowing. "If no one saw, why are they talkin' about demons or hitmen?"

The dwarf tells her, "Some pretend to have seen a demon, but only fools believe such things. It was magic that made those blades rise into the air and strike him from behind. Old fool was twitching and squirming for a few minutes before he finally died. I've heard someone mention a dryad, too. A white-haired one with a red flower in her hair. She took his body with her. Wonder what she did with it," he says suggestively, an unappealing, perverted grin wrinkling his cheeks. He starts laughing again. Too excited by his words, he starts coughing violently and pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket, blood splattering it as he coughs.

Vajramirne swished her glass in her hand. She swished it, idly, staring at the amber fluid within dismally. She'd missed the last ship to follow after Dyzz by just a few hours. Now she'd have to wait until morning. Her eyes, normally very genuine and kind, held a sort of darkened edge to them now. She had nothing to do. Nothing at all. Celiann was in bed, where she should have been, but the liquor was calling. Other urges were calling her too, though she paid them no heed for the moment. Another sip. And another. Her Bourbon and Rum was getting awfully low. She'd have to order up another soon.

Nowfaleena flattened her tufted ears at the mention of magic. That was a skill she had no command of, her only talents were of the physical, not the mystical and magical. Her tail flicked with agitation, "Then send a magic man after the dryad." She knew well enough the skills most tree women possessed, "Let him deal with her, if she's the killer, or track down the murderer through her. Either way, magic is best dealt with by magic."

"Aye," the dwarf seems to growl. "I would tend to agree... maybe I should go look for the dryad myself." Again, that disgusting smile. "Maybe I could teach her a thing or two about.... magic." As he's about to laugh, taking a big breath in, he starts to cough instead, more blood spewing out. This time, the blood gets on his hands and cuffs. His dark eyes stare blankly at the blood. He'd known for so long now that it no longer worried him or scared him. He'd accomplished nothing in his life and he wasn't going to get the chance to. His life has rotten away before him the same way his insides seem to be rotting before he's even dead. "I should find her," he says, looking up and making eye contact with someone who quickly looks away. "I should find her so I die with a nice memory." Oh, the sneer again. When will this man just die already and stop smiling after his disturbing, perverse comments!

Vajramirne glowered at that hacking, coughing dwarf from afar and shook her head. What an obnoxious lout. ~Someone should really put that poor bastard out of his misery~, her thoughts mused... causing a slight smirk to cross her lips. ~Wouldn't it be fun just to gut him from arse to sternum and give these folks something to -really- panic about?~ She contemplated that for a while before slowly rising up to her feet and moving over to offer the dwarf a polite smile. "Excuse me, sir. Did I hear you say something about a dryad?"

He looked at the draconian warily as he responded cautiously, "Aye... I did. What of it?" His eyes narrow suspiciously and a bit worriedly.

Vajramirne flashed a grin and gestured toward the bar. "Let me buy you a drink. Tell me everything you've heard about these murders... and the dryad." She procured a bag of coin from her pocket and tossed it to Mesthak with ease. "Oi! Get the short one here whatever he wants." The dwarf knows this is probably not someone he wants to get involved with, but he's going to die anyway. Why not take advantage of all the drink she'll pay for before he's dead? He's not going to live longer by avoiding her, so he nods and wobbles toward the bar and climbs one of the stools. He requests the finest liquor in the tavern. "What do you want to know?"

Nowfaleena cast a suspicious glance to the draconian. She had a feeling that there was something aside from solving the murders on the creature's mind. Not that the caracal cared, so long as she and her family were safe from the stranger. She drained her whiskey, turning her attention instead to the now empty glass she had rested upon the counter.

Vajramirne settled in beside the dwarf, glanced over at him, and nodded her head. "Right. Well, let's start with the dryad. That's a helluva lot more believable than a demon. What'd she look like? Where'd she come from? Anyone saying anything about her?"

The dwarf twiddled his thumbs pensively. "Well," he takes a swig. "I haven't seen her myself but I know she's little... taller than me, actually," he laughs again, that disturbing, weezy pant of a laugh. "I heard she's white-haired - white as snow, and a blood red flower in her hair. Probably such a red because of all the blood she drinks from the dead bodies she carts off," he adds. A burly-looking man covered in battle scars, calls out to the dwarf. "What are you, a fool? Dryads don't drink bloods! They worship life and all things living. The biggest crime that dryad is probably guilty of is running around naked in the forest! Pah!" He turns to the draconian and says, "You'd be a fool to trust a thing he says." The man returns his attentions to the plate of food before him and continues to fork mouthfuls of food into his large mouth. The dwarf sneers at the man and returns his attention to the draconian. "Anyway..." he says. "I heard she guarded his body for a few hours, not letting anyone come near it as it stunk up the tavern with the smell o' rot. I've never heard of a body rotting so fast in a few hours." He leans into the draconian as if trying to whisper a secret to her. His breath carries the smell of blood and whiskey as he tells her, "She carried him away in a jar of dirt. How she fit him into the jar, don't ask me, but when she walked out of here, he was in a jar of dirt." He sits back and takes another hard swig, then calls for another glass.

Nowfaleena huffed at the dwarf's words, "If he rotted, then his body turned to dirt. That's how she fit him into the jar. And he definitely rotted. I could smell the stink of it."

Vajramirne couldn't help but laugh at the exchange between the two... nor the idea of turning a dead man into dirt. How strange! Well... that was really all she needed to hear. Without making much warning at all, she simply raised her hand and swung it backwards so as to embed it into the dwarf's throat. If the impact alone wasn't enough to crush his throat, well... the spikes of her bracers and the bladed edge of her gauntlets might well be enough to finish him off. She would wait to see. There was always the chance that he might not have let his guard down. In which case he might try to run. She seriously doubted he'd run faster than her, however.

The draconian's hand smacks hard against the dwarf's throat, stopping the breath from reaching his lungs. The spikes dig into the flesh of his neck and cut it open; the bladed edge of her gauntlet slices his throat open, causing him to bleed profusely. He grips his throat, trying to keep the blood from pouring out, but it's futile. He knew he was going to die soon and he knew it was a risk talking to this woman, and he hadn't been afraid when the thought occurred to him, but now in his final moments, there was nothing he wanted more than to keep on living, even if for just a few more days. Oh, how he would've loved to have had his way with one more woman before dying. There was no more time! his mind yelled. No! it cried, as his body grew heavy with fatigue and his face pale from a lack of blood. His hands fell from his neck, no longer strong enough to function the way he commanded them to, and he fell to the ground, the light in his eyes completely gone now.

Vajramirne pried her armored fist free from the dwarf's neck, pushing him back off the stool with cold precision as she rose to her feet. There was a reason that bag of coin she'd thrown to Mesthak had been heavy. "I don't know why someone would pay to kill a dying dwarf... but go ahead and make sure that he knows the deed was done." As the draconian woman made to walk away, she paused, then glanced back at Mesthak and smiled. "Oh, and I'll have another Bourbon and Rum. Thanks."

Nowfaleena hissed with surprise as the dwarf was slain, her fur bristling from nose to tail. She was splashed with a spray of blood from the man's throat, disgusting! Her quick paced reaction was to leap from her seat. No sense staying to risk a rampage from the draconian, she made a dash for the nearest window, knowing she would not outrun the creature in a long race. Leaping through the window, the caracal would vanish into the brush outside, hopefully without any harm done to her.

Vajramirne settled into her previously-abandoned seat and heaved up a sigh. That dwarf had gotten her gauntlet all bloody. "What a pain in the arse," she hissed... then wiped said blood off on the table as best she could. Her armor left a large, bloodied gouge... but it did little to fix the problem. "Blessed gods. That was more hassle than it was worth. I should have charged more."

Madigan played as the young man and the dwarf.