RP:Deriin Creates a Nightmare

Part of the Agitation Arc

Kelay

Derrin approaches from the east, walking down the center of the street. A man completely cloaked in a heavy robe that with its size concealed all his features, even the color of his skin due to the fact that the sleeves and hood hung well over his limbs. The shadow of his hood prevented his facial features from being visible, though through diseased amber hues did he stare forward. From the ends of his sleeves did fall to the ground a heavy chain each which led up to the thick collar wrapped around his two warg pets that stayed at his side. As tall as any man on all fours these were beastly companions that were also his protectors, and most faithful servants. The only distinguishing feature on the man would be that upon his robe was emblazoned the sign of Vakmatharas. Forward he marched silently, disregarding all other life while his wargs guided him, their unusually intelligent eyes scanning the people, the buildings while detecting any potential threats or victims with their enhanced senses.

Garrio 's arrival was foretold by the sound of horse-shoes clanking on the ground below. The vampire sat upon his reliable steed proudly. Dark robes covered his form and hiding the many secrets that lie inside. On his back a cloak, an image of a red emblem (ooc see ic pic) and above the emblem in an arc embroidered letters read “Bloodline” flowing behind him as he road. His eyes scan the area, only for the horse to stop upon eyes falling on the wargs. Whispers from the surrounding crowd filter out the silence “He's one of them...” they say as they wearily look at the horsed man

Derrin did not bother to turn his head let alone his gaze to see the figure that came up to him and halted just before his pets. The wargs however were far more interested, or perhaps apprehensive as they stepped closer to Deriin's shoulders while sniffing furiously, getting as much information as they could to assess the newcomer as to whether he is friend or foe. The fact that he was in the way however was the true annoyance that grated on Deriin's nerves for he did not like to be impeded in any manner, especially by lesser races which included but was not limited to all things that walked above ground. Silence was all the vampire got from the man for now, for he warranted no other response, though the crowd's words were not lost on the drow. There was something curious going on.

Garrio dismounted his horse calmly, though the movement left the others with nerves. The men would switch positions with the women to act as a barrier. The children looked on in awe, a quarter of the women looked on in disgust, the others looked worried while the other half looked in lust comparing the vampire to their own men. The on lookers were paid no mind as Garrio tied the horse off in front of the tavern. “You're kind isn't welcome here!” a brave man shouts out, out of stupidity or bravado one may never know. A grin crosses the outlaws mouth as he reaches into his pocket pulling out a rolled cigarette, and flint lighter, lighting the paper cylinder. “ Now that's not nice,” he says with sarcasm dripping from his tone. “Sure he may stink, but there's no reason to tell this man with the oversized dogs he can't be here.” A hand dips to his pocket as his hand begins to fiddle with something, “Besides.. I wouldn't speak to loudly about him, dosen't seem to like strangers.”

Derrin was not one for games, let alone wasting effort on uttering a single syllable to filth like that which was around him. To have anything with remote semblance to a conversation even was utterly disgusting. His hatred was sensed by his pets, their gaze honing in on the one who dared to speak. The left warg was named Fenrir, while the right was Anfauglir. Twins, in every way except one which was not a detail that one would be able to just know through looking at them. Chorded muscle rippled beneath the tough layer of skin covered in rough, coarse fur. Their own eagerness and savagery became more apparent when lips pulled back to reveal large canines while hot saliva dripped in globs from their maws. One, Fenrir, took a step forward while growling, an intimidation tactic meaning to state that the humans, and whatever else should back up if they know what is good for them. Deriin was on a mission, he had to replace something that was destroyed in his encounter with Emelyan. Something precious. At the same time, while the newcomer bantered with the village folk the necromancer of Vakmatharas continued to remain silent, holding steady the massive chains that linked him to his pets.

Garrio watched as the man who spoke backs away, the sight giving the outlaw a small laugh. “You say I don't belong... yet..” the vampires voice alters slightly maybe enough for the drow, or wargs, to notice. “Your wife there can't seem to take her eyes off me.” he grins and the voice alters again... not higher, not lower, just %0.0001 more melodic then it was before. “Come here honey..” he says warmly “Let me show you what you're missing.” A glint is given as the woman pushes past her husband leaving him in dismay. “Anya” the husband utters watching his wife walk into the arms of the vampire. A hand placed in the small of her back and brought in close. The two lock lips, a daring display in front of the man who grows visually angry at the site. Garrio breaks the kiss and looks to the husband with a glare. “Keep your mouth shut and the ones you love won't have to suffer.” His fangs protrude from his mouth and pierce into the womans neck drawing her blood into his mouth. The others attempt to rush toward the vampire but are stopped by the sight of the wargs.

Derrin turned his gaze for the moment to the outlaw whom revealed his true nature as an undead before using his powers to manipulate that woman into his bidding. It was a clever trick and set in motion a wave of fear and anger in the crowd which was perfect. It was that fear that he would maximize, and it only intensified what had already been implanted by the wargs. A light stroke along their sides was all the command they needed, the brushing of their master's robe against their fur a hidden language to them and as the heavy chains dropped to the ground from Deriin's sleeves with a loud thud the wargs separated. Appearing to wander off in separate direction when they had gotten clear of the crowd they had actually maneuvered into a pincer, to prevent escape through either direction of the road leaving the civilians to the protection of their walls, or the lack of defense in their alleys. At the same time the necromancer had withdrawn from within his robe a hand bound book bearing also the mark of Vakmatharas but from anyone that could see the pages, most of it was hand written. Spells he had created, and teachings from various other books he had copied for his own personal use. "Suffer." Was all that the deep voiced drow said when green lightning crackled from his concealed fingertips within his sleeve outwards to lash at whomever was closest in the crowd. The bolts struck at the nerves and transferred pain, a seizing that caused the muscles to tighten against the bone to the point that it felt like the body was crushing itself. He was not the only victim, for the same lightning arced to two other nearby victims but it was not death he intended.. All of it was for the sake of instilling greater fear. Those that would run in either direction would find themselves being herded back into the crowd by the immense beasts that were the wargs.

Garrio 's mouth is released from the womans throat only for splatter of blood to land against his pale jaw. A loud “THUD” is heard as the woman's still hemorrhaging body drops to the ground. A look is given following the green lightning as it finds its first victim and arcs to the others. Not to be outdone, Garrio drops a hand to his waist, the sound of chain rattling against itself as he unwinds a piece that hid as a belt. Upon the removal of the final loop, the chain reveals a dagger attached to one end, and on the other a metal weight. Allowing the chain to loosen up, spinning the dagger end he grins. “ This will be fun.” once the right speed is gained he throws the dagger sending the blade into a throat belonging to the closest victim. Twisting the chain turns the blade once inside the mans throat. Yanking back on the chain, dislodges the blade from the mans neck, bring a chunk of his throat with.

Derrin did not want for them to die, not yet, but he also did not need all of their bodies for his ritual to work. Already he was working on a new spell, one that would harness the latent energies lurking in the growing emotions of the victims. As blood sprayed from the throat of one onto many others the trauma of the vision on top of the realization of the situation dawned, upgrading their fear into utter terror. Blood curdling screams attracted the attention of guards and others whom believed they would stand up for the safety of man when in fact they too may just fall victim to the resulting work of the agent of Vakmatharas. A man tried to come at him with a sword and managed to get in a swipe at the drow's arm. Through the robe and into his flesh causing the necromancer to spit in defiance. "Filth!" he screamed, livid that an up-world(er) had dared to lay hand upon his form. Backing away while holding his bleeding arm to his chest the hood fell back and revealed the battle-worn face of a middle aged drow who chose to bear the burden of knowledge as well. Diseased yellow eyes marred his pure image of a drow and led him to be scorned by his brethren even though he was a house leader himself. His lightning ceased and instead he hurled from his fingertips a black glob of vitriol that slammed into the man and burrowed into the chest, more like burned in fact. The acid fired with such velocity that it pierced the rib cage and dissolved straight through the torso to the other side leaving a smoldering hole where the majority of the vital systems were meant to be. The resulting slump of the corpse was from then ignored. "Fear.. Fear, and terror. I need you to be scared, literally to death.." in fact that was the plan, to get them to the brink of their minds breaking from the trauma, and then harvesting it through slaughter in the last few seconds on the edge.

Garrio drops the dagger attached to the chain to the ground. Lacking in the required magic, he relies on what he can do to increase fear. Reaching into the folds of his robe he draws out a purse wrapped in tight leather. “Might want to hold your breath for a moment...” he says before inhaling himself. Pressing the tip of the blade into the leather just enough to pierce it, a dark purple vapor begins to smoke up. Throwing the leather as one would a grenade tossing into the center of the gathered crowd. The nightmare vapor filling the air seeping into the unsuspecting victims nose inducing a wave of living nightmares. The outlaw grins, it wasn't often he was able to use the vapor, but when he did... the sight of his targets indulging fully in the act of their nightmares, for the select few closet to the “bomb” neither Garrio, Derrin, the horse, the wargs or even the person standing next to them existed only their deepest fears playing out before them.

Deriin watched as the vapor took effect on his victims, their faces twisting in utter terror as their ghoulish nightmares befell them. This was the time, it had to be now. Turning to Garrio's horse he dug his pact dagger into its chest to pierce the heart as it crackled with his dark magic. His chanting once started only rose in volume and speed as he called together the shadows which bent to the will of his spell. As some more faint hearted victims fell to their deaths with faces frozen, the shadows swept over them to claim the fragments of memory and brain activity that was left. Those still alive suffered the same but instead the shadows stole not just that but their remaining life force, becoming tangible and becoming physical manifestations of the fears they collected. Claws, tendrils and horrific obscenities took shape and rended the civilians, separating them from the living swiftly whilst taking bits of flesh and a lot of blood on their way towards the horse. Veins of green and black magic surged through the horse's body as corrupt magic filled its veins, causing it to scream in the most unholy of ways. It was surging with power and its eyes were stricken with its own fear, but all was settled when the shadows, swollen from their feast enveloped the creature. Like water down a drain they looked for any path into the being and like a vacuum were sucked in. "Rise my beast!" The Horse appeared to convulse as it went through a transformation all of its own. Deriin as he finished his chant turned to Garrio while few survivors watched on. "Pledge yourself to Vakmatharas, Ride for him, and Ride for my master and you will be granted power. Like this new steed. What say you?"

Garrio whirled on his heels to glare at the drow before him. Raising his hands and bringing them down in a quickened manner activates the springs in his wrists releasing two daggers into his awaiting grips. Fun had passed when it was his own ally being murdered. He readies to launch before the sight of the black and green magic form into the beast. “What the hell did you do!?” he shouts. He pauses for a moment looking at the creature now standing before him. “Harley?” he asks unsure if the beast was still his ally. “I already ride for Vakamatharas!” he reaches into the neck line of his robes pulling out a pendent. The image being House Dragana's emblem with the words “Death is Only the Beginning” etched above “My mistress is Lady Larewen Dragana, Priestess of Vakamarathas in Vailkrin. As for Harley, I'd much rather you inform me before taking and killing what is mine. “

Deriin took a step back, withdrawing his dagger from the chest of the beast as the shadows consumed the horse, taking on its structure and psyche while merging it with the collected energies drawn from their victims until a steed stood there now that appeared to be a large horse black as night. The surface of the being was like ink and constantly flowing, sparks of green magic arcing across every now and then. Amidst the ink showed the many faces of fear, those that looked upon it could see the terrified visages of the horse's victims, along with their own fears if they lingered too long on the hungering depths of the wraith's body. Accompanying this spectral appearance was an impressive, potent psychic presence radiating from the horse, sensing fear and idly probing here and there to discover what it was that people preferred to stay under their beds at night, or locked in their closets. When the name 'Harley' was called out the nightmare did turn its eyes to Garrio, still retaining the memories and loyalties of the horse, but fueled by the power of the necromancer and Vakmatharas, and the fear on which it feasts. "Then ride for my master, the one whom is resurrecting the Order of the Shade. Ride for him. Join us, join me."

Garrio lofts a brow “Order of the shade?” he shakes his head from side to side. “Never heard of it, and with all due respect elf.. I ride for myself. I couldn't care less about the order, or any other group. To be honest my only allegiance is to Larewen and Gold. So, if you can aid the second one, I'll join you. If not, then suppose I'm going to have to break in a new horse.”

Deriin remained dead silent for a long moment upon hearing the word elf in reference to himself. This filthy blasphemous vampire dared to call the drow patron an elf. It was infuriating but he retained his composure, not letting on the boiling fury beneath the skin. "Help? I suppose such matters do require a deal now and then. I can assist you, in return for your assistance." The necromancer was near seething, he wanted to reduce the vampire to a bubbling puddle of ooze but would not, especially since he openly and willingly worshipped Vakmatharas.

After some period of time the vampire seemed unwilling to take the reigns, and with no committment the horse would not be his to ride. With the decision made Deriin took the horse and wandered off to places unknown.