RP:Drinking in the Graveyard
Synopsis: Daermon happens upon a drunk and depressed girl.
Date: June 7th 2018
Main Graveyard Area (Vailkrin)
Anger. Resentment. Isolation. A mixture for trouble when blended with the empty bottle of wine that had been tossed off between a pair of crooked tombstones. A girl, wobbly and unsteady on her feet, seemed to be stuck in a neverending ritual of raising poor hapless piles of bones to sentience before conflagrating them in the tainted glow of roaring apple green flame. “You said you’d be there. You said you’d never leave” Dainty fingers lifted and beckoned another pile of remains to rise in the shape of a being before setting it ablaze. “You promised! You told me that I wouldn’t be alone in this!” Her anger was directed toward a stone dug into the cool surface; A hearty swing of her boot that would prove to be a lesson in embarrassment. Raevyn toppled, falling hard upon the ground and soiling her lovely little jacket. She made no motion to get up, instead choosing to sit and mutter under her breath.
Daermon had decided to visit some old friends, those that didn’t know, or care about visitors. He entered the cemetery for that reason of course, as that’s what cemeteries are for, but this night (day? Who could tell in Vailkrin) he moved closer due to the raised voice. He was a tall presence in a long, black leather duster, moving with the unnatural grace of the undead. Eyes like ice in clear water found the woman who was angry, so very angry and watched her topple. “Miss, are you alright?” he calls, taking a step around one of her piles of remains, but keeping just back, one never knew the dangers that lurked for the unwary after all.
Raevyn could only squint at first as she searched out the newcomer through the shadows of the cemetery, those corpse blue eyes finally to focus on the tall man with a bit of a glare. “Am ...am…” A hiccup. “I alright? D. D. Do.” Another. “Do I look alright?” The girl held her breath for a moment to try and stop those infernal involuntary bursts, reaching out to pull her satchel closer. She didn’t know the man, and while he probably was not a thief, she just wasn’t really in the right state of mind to place any sort of trust upon him. When she felt that she might be able to speak without interruption, Raevyn came out with, “Why do people leave? Why? Can you tell me? Why do people make promises and then just leave? Why do they have to be so cruel? To not even be brave and speak fay… fay…” Hiccup. “Face to face?”
Daermon let the sadness creep onto his face at her words. He kept his distance, kneeling down to put himself on her level. He was quiet for many moments, then, spoke softly, his voice filled with pain and the knowledge of the pain she was feeling. “People leave because they follow the paths their heart dictates. For good, or ill. They are cruel because it is easier to be cruel than to admit you were wrong. They leave without telling you because if they told you they were going to, they would have to watch the heartbreak in your eyes and know it was there fault, when it’s far easier to go and pretend that you will be fine. And no matter how many have promised not to leave and then done so...the hurt is always just as raw, and fresh as the very first time it happened.” he says. “Can I help you up?” he offers, not reaching out, not yet, but his voice was kind and soft. He knew the pain she felt well, as it happened to him fairly regularly. "What's your name?" he asks. "Mine is Daermon."
Raevyn tried her best not to cry as she listened to Daermon’s words. There was something so poignantly truthful to them. Something that while she hated to hear it, she could understand on some level. “It’s not fair…She promised.” the young necromancer sulked. To the offer of assistance in standing, Raevyn rolled over and got onto her hands and knees. “I am perfectly capable of getting up on my own, thank you.” The words were cold. Perhaps a little impolite. It was not like her to be so rude to someone; Especially someone who was only trying to help. She was drunk, a first in her short time upon mortal soil, and she was also hurt. Still as wobbly as ever, the first attempt would go spectacularly! She rose, took a step forward, then a step back and fell onto her arse with a grunt. “Fu...fu...Damn it.” Once more Raevyn maneuvered and rose to her feet, this time widening her stance for balance. “I’m... Raevyn…” she managed to spit out. “What’re you doing out here anyway?” Unbeknownst to the ebon dressed girl, a very twisted and strange book had fallen from her satchel and sat resting between the pair.
Daermon nodded slowly. “Yes...so many do. And it’s easy to think that there’s something wrong with you, or that they left because of you...but that’s not the case. The truth that I’ve learned over several lifetimes of loss is that people leave because they want to. They choose to.” he says softly, perhaps not even loud enough for her to hear by the end. He took no offense by her words, staying crouched, watching her spectacular fail, then scooping up the twisted book that fell between them to offer back to her, rising to his full height. He was very tall, much, much taller than herself. “I had come to visit with those that had left.” he says simply. “Though they did so not on their own accord.” he admits, a sad little smile splitting his stubbled face. “Nice to meet you Raevyn. And since turnabout is always fair play, what are you doing out here?” he asks, letting his eyes follow her movements.
Something wrong with you. Those words echoed through her mind with some sort of double meaning, something that brought to surface a look of sorrow. Of fear. “Oh.” she says plainly she he explains his reasoning for being out this way. The neophyte necromancer hadn’t really seen too many actual visitors out here before. Most that passed through were doing so as a means of taking some sort of short cut, or digging up old bones for use in some sort of twisted experiments and spells. The reverse question was answered with a bit of a smile this time, those pale eyelids falling over blue as she explained, “I’ll have you know that I am here to vent and drink wine!” She seemed a little more enthusiastic about that last activity. “I don’t drink wine much, but I heard it’s good for times like this.” Raevyn opened her eyes finally and she reaches into her satchel for a second bottle, not long to uncork the thing. A swig, and then realization that something felt off. She felt lighter in a sense. It wasn’t until she noticed the sizeably larger male had been holding out her possession that she panicked slightly. “No! GIVE THAT HERE!” she cried, quickly using her free hand to reach out and snatch the thing. It was upon making contact with the book that Daermon might receive some sort of transfer. A vision. A dream. A sensation of sorts. It is full of dread and darkness. A flickering of crimson, of flame, and an entity of a vast and evil nature. It is a fleeting thing, but perhaps enough to startle the man in some regard. As soon as he were to let go of the book, these sensations would immediately cease as if nothing ever transpired. “I’m sorry. That was rude. I… don’t like anyone touching my books.” she explains, unaware of anything having taken place.
Daermon : The only noticeable thing about him that changed was a slight lift of eyebrows and widening of eyes. He saw the vision, or dream or sending, whatever it was, yet, he didn’t let any more shock than that register upon him. It was curious, unusual and had him looking at the woman in a different light. Curious. “It’s alright.” he says softly to her apology. “I didn’t want it to get dirty or damaged.” he says, his hands slipping back to find his pockets. “Any reason is a good reason to be somewhere, particularly if you are in a drinking mood.” he says, offering a ghostly hint of a smile. “I hope I haven’t disturbed your night too much then.” he says. After all, he’d been left so very many times, he knew that sometimes after, you only wanted your own company. It was safest. You couldn’t leave yourself.
Raevyn looked down upon the tome in her hand, brow shifted to first show annoyance and then worry. “Thank you… It’s.. old. Went through a lot of find it.” She wasted no time in tucking the thing back into her satchel, the long neck of the wine bottle then lifted to her lips so that she may partake some of the sweet nectar of red inside. “No… it’s.. Okay. I think some int...inter... “ A groan. “Taaalking has been helpful in some way.” A peace offering of sorts, she extends the wine out toward the tall man. “Would you like some?”
Daermon would have normally refused, if only because it was a waste of wine. It wouldn’t be strong enough to touch his vampiric metabolism. He had special whisky for that. He however saw it as a peace offering, and took the offered bottle. “Thank you.” he says, tilting it back, tucked against his lips to take a drink before handing it back. “I’m afraid I have to have something a little stronger if I was to join you in on the inebriation.” he says, smiling again. He took out a small metallic flask, unscrewing the lid. The smell of whisky would be strong on the cool night air as he chased the wine with it. “I’d offer in return, but mine is very strong, made for the undead specifically and likely to put you right on your ass.” he says, leaning against a headstone. “I’m glad it’s helped, even a little or in a small way.” he tells her.
Raevyn looked back at the dirt and dust spackling the rear of her favorite coat. “I… think this put me on my… ass enough tonight.” she said with a bit of a chuckle and a wrinkle of her nose. Wait. Undead? Right, Raevyn. Let us not forget. This is not your home. You are not one of them. The only reason you often come out this way is to study that damned book- If it were not for your standing with some members of the area, you would probably be dead by now. “Oh. So you’re a local?” She spoke slower, trying to keep herself from hiccuping or slurring her words too much. A wobble would send the girl wandering over to a tombstone over own to support her weight. “What… sort of undead are you? A zombie? A vampire? Some sort of revenant?” The girl obviously had interested in the local races here. “Are you a member of one of the… um… Vampire houses? The ones at war?”
Daermon studied her with those cool, glacial hues. “Do I look like a zombie or revenant?” he asks. “I always thought I was more handsome than that.” he says, feigning a bit of hurt as he took another swig. “I am a vampire. An elder of House Dragana actually, beholden only to the dark lady Larewen herself. More...equals, than servant though, as I have free will to do as I want and please.” he says. “Yes, I have been fighting in the war. Darting between frontlines and conflicts, tipping balances in our favor. Though things are more quiet for the moment.” he says, looking out at the city itself. “I’m not a local though, not really. Or at least not in the sense that I’m from here.” he says. “Do you enjoy the city Raevyn?” he asks, her name sounding interesting with his softly cajun esque accent.
The relaxed nature shared between the pair. The hint of a smile. It was all gone in an instant. Raevyn went very, very stone-faced as soon as Daermon revealed to which House he belonged. She immediately grew suspicious of the vampire and his intentions. It wasn’t his fault, really. Maybe he just happened to stumble upon her out here in her drunken stupor. Then again, what if he were sent to spy?! These are the thoughts Raevyn immediately jumped to when Larewen’s name came up. “N-no. I’m sorry.” she says in apology when the man brought up his appearance. “I am not familiar with many of the undead on a.. Personal level.” The girl pushes against the grave she had been leaning upon, coming to a bit of a tipsy stand. “I… enjoy it as much as I can, really. As part of the Necromancer’s Guild, I’ve.. gotten to explore as much as the locals will let me. I get odd looks from time to time, but… it is beautiful out here.” A cursory glance is lifted to the darkened skies above before she offers excuse, “Oh no. I’m sorry, Daermon. I just remembered, I need to run off to see my mentor about some studies. Thank you for the conversation, even if briefly…” She began to walk toward the main path, albeit a little slowly. “I am… certain we will meet again, especially if you have a habit of passing through this forsaken ground.” A bit a smile and a nod, and the girl heads off to the south toward the temple. “Have a good evening, Daermon.”