RP:Ghoulish Transaction
Summary: After Karasu and Jahren agree to depart Cenril the morning, Jahren inadvertently pays Kanna a visit at the Whalers' Bar. After revealing Kanna's surname, Kanna begins her ritual to lure a patron up to their deaths. Without Karasu to intervene, Jahren is more than prepared for Kanna's attempt on his life, however, and spares her and her guardian in exchange for a vial of ghoul's blood.
The Whalers' Bar
The Whaler's Bar is a well-loved destination in Cenril, and at any given time the sound of raucous laughter and the buzz of talk will be audible from outside its walls. Inside will often reside any number of individuals from all races and walks of life, as the owner has made it clear that all are welcome within his tavern. It is a space especially beloved of the fishermen and sailors who frequent Cenril's shores, and has the sort of worn homeyness that can be expected from such a haunt. The building is made of sturdy oak, though the interior is dingy from time and innumerable patrons. The original dark stain is faded and scratched, especially on the floor, but despite its flaws the Bar is kept cheerily lit by lamps. The bar itself is narrow, pitted and glossy, and at the end of the day finding a seat along its length can be a difficult thing. So too is the task of cleaning made difficult by day's end, and no matter the attempts made at wiping spills and sweeping the floor, surfaces are often dingy and sticky -- not that the regular clientele cares about such trite things as tidiness. Indeed, various old trophies from local sailing legends line the walls in a cluttered display and it usually smells of seawater, sweat and fish. Assuredly The Whaler's Bar is a scarred, beat up bar, but to hear the locals tell it there is no better place for a drink after a long day in all the port cities in the land.
Kanna graces an illuminated spot towards the back of the bar. Given how welcome the seaside village is to travelers, she feels little need to conceal her real appearance too much. Her newfound pale teal hair falls around the colorful cosmos pinned in her curly hair as she plays a lively tune on the oversized zither on her lap. To those who have met Karasu, there is a striking resemblance in the shape of their face between the two. Drunken sailors give cheers and sing along as she plays familiar sea shanties to them. Laying around her chair like a guardian is a rather large russet-wolf, batting at the coins tossed their way with its paws. The animal is surprisingly not too out-of-place given the other few dogs with their owners in the establishment. As Kanna plays, her bright eyes survey the patrons. To those that didn't know better, it was almost as if she was sizing them up.
Jahren took the Whaler's Bar like a fish in water, or like a half-drow in the filthy, the rabble, and the unending sea of different races and walks of life. Gone were any trappings of civility, any showing of status or stature. His walking stick, the exquisitely carved piece of work, was gone, replaced by a pair of hilts riding low on his hip, their pommels etched and carved, the rises catching light and throwing shadows of claws. Gone were the foul smells and the near rotting leathers, all trappings of a penitent life replaced with coal dark colors and garb fit more for running and rooftops instead of peaceful elucidation. He walked into the bar as anyone would, though it was the cheers and the singing that had his dark eyes turn to...Karasu? No. There was something different. Something strange...something -un-right. He passed his way bar and booth, around table and chair, until he stood at the edge of the cheering sailors. A coin was tossed to the russet-wolf guardian, for if the wolf had an aversion to large feline predators, it would sense the scent upon the coin.
Kanna returns the tossed coin with a flirtatious wink towards the new visitor. On closer look, this person cannot possibly be Karasu. Whereas Karasu was lithe, almost starved, and dressed in gloomy colors, this girl was rather well-fed, and dressed to showcase as such with a low-cut pink blouse and pleated red skirt. The wolf gives the coin a sniff, and then another. It is soon sniffing the coin feverently, its nose almost to the ground. As the song ends, Kanna gives a laugh, seemingly unaware at why her companion was so intrigued. "He must smell something he likes. Do you have pets?" As she asks, her eyes flitter to the table behind Jahren, where a pair of shiphands get up and walk each other out. Shame. Kanna's gaze trails back to the drow before and gives a sweet smile, leaning forward slightly. This is met with some whistles and catcalls from other patrons. "Any requests, dear?"
Jahren crossed his arms over his chest, and did little to fight against the known smugness of half of his heritage. But behind his haughty stance, behind the pair of hubris that looked upon the fiery and fiercely dressed female, there was thought. Deduction, calculation, a firing of neurons that worked out what he looked at. "No pets," he finally said, the smirk he gave Kanna a crack in his egotistic facade. "Not yet, at least." He moved to the table that had just been vacated, and he made himself at home in a seat. "A request...Hmm. How about a Tsuji?" The manner he asked, and the strangeness of the word, it could be a type of song, a dance, for all the unaware shiphands sailors knew.
Kanna hesitates for a brief moment, her smile nearly faltering. Almost as if sensing the panic off his owner, the wolf's head snaps up, its lip curling upwards to reveal its fangs threateningly. Without looking at the wolf, Kanna puts her hand on his head as if to signal him to stand down. "Be a good boy, Amante." The bardess never breaks eye contact with Jahren as she straightens herself up. "A fine song." A change from the upbeat melodies of before, a somber tune echoes through the bar now. "On candy striped legs, the boogeyman comes, softly through the shadow of the evening sun. Stealing past the windows of the blissfully dead, looking for his victim shivering in bed." As she plays, something peculiar happens -- the patrons of the bar seem to quiet down their raucous behavior, some wordlessly standing and leaving as well. To Jahren, a touch of fatigue may strike. "And I know that in the morning, I will wake up In the shivering cold, for the boogeyman is always hungry." She finishes with a flourish, the few uninterested patrons remaining giving half-hearted, or half-awake applause. As new patrons enter, navigating straight for the bar to get their drinks, Kanna looks down from the makeshift stage at Jahren, any hints of coy flirting from before replaced with something cold in her eyes despite the smile still on her face. "You know, I've never had drow before."
Jahren let an idle hand fall to a hilt, a move seeming more out of weariness than any sense of danger. And then there was the yawn, a wide, loud thing that ended with his other hand rubbing at his brow. He cursed softly as another yawn took him, as his hand fumbled from brow to the bridge of his nose, rubbing as though they were eyes and then cursing when it was not the case. His breathing deepened and slowed, as his elbow stood firm against the table, and the hand that had rubbed his face now cradled his chin. Deeper and slower breathes, as though sleep were but a moment away, as though his death and consumption were not even closer. -Come closer-, his position beckoned her, his mind too close to sleep to wake easily. 'Yes. Come closer.' A feeling, now words, cast from this corner...no, this corner...from the front, and from the back. From open air to nooks and crannies. 'He's yours. Your prize. Your prey. Come, Huntress, and take him.' His face twitched, a smirk pulling at the edges of his lips, as the hand upon his dagger trembled, the fingers around the hilt gripping just a little more.
Kanna gave a small harrumph of victory, seemingly too confident in her own ability to see the twitching of his lip upwards or how his fingers trembled. "Oh, you poor dear. I suppose it -is- late, but I didn't think it'd make you -that- sleepy." She says with almost a mocking tone of worry. With practiced movements, she turns a small knob here, loosens some strings there, and her dragon zither compacts itself into a small box with two straps, which is hoisted onto her back. Careful not to tip off the witnesses remaining, she steps off the stage and leans down and pressing her lips to his cheek. "Attack me, and Amante incinerates you and the rest of this bar before you can even stand up." She murmurs. In such close proximity, she smells of gardenias, a cover to the smell of death beneath that layer. Pulling away, she places one hand on his back. "Come now, let's get you to bed."
Jahren remained still, remained, to all sights and sounds, asleep. If there was a twitch, it was just that of sleep; if there was a turn, it was just to find a little more comfort in his seated position. Even when she kissed his cheek, the half-drow didn't stir; it was only when she commanded him to rise by touch and words, that he pushed back the chair and rose to his feet. He walked where he was guided like a rabbit chased by the wolf. But, he did not seem to be the only thing moving. Chairs and tables scratched on the floor as though pushed by weight; sailors and shiphands squealed and jumped, some throwing apologies or curses behind them to the man that pushed past. One turned quickly and threw a wild punch, and the perpetrator of the push was naught but air. Jahren went where he was guided, and, with his hand still holding onto his dagger's hilt, another beast, unseen and barely heard, followed as well.
Kanna smiled and led the drow up the staircase, uncaring of the tavern brawl going on behind her. Silently he was guided into her room, followed by her animal guardian, and the door clicks as the lock is turned. The smile finally drops off her face as she presses her back to the door. The cheap room is sparsely furnished, save for a rucksack in the corner, and a plethora of plants. Kanna gives a flick of her wrist, and the roots of the plants rise from their confines, poised to strike. "Shame, you were -just- handsome enough to pass for a night with me." With a snap of her fingers, the sleep spell is reversed. The wolf gives a low growl, its hackles raising at what seems to be the visitor as Kanna allows him to wake. "Be a dear and tell me who sent you before I decide whether to play with you or eat you first."
Jahren remained still, remained, to all sights and sounds, asleep. If there was a twitch, it was just that of sleep; if there was a turn, it was just to find a little more comfort in his seated position. Even when she kissed his cheek, the half-drow didn't stir; it was only when she commanded him to rise by touch and words, that he pushed back the chair and rose to his feet. He walked where he was guided like a rabbit chased by the wolf. But, he did not seem to be the only thing moving. Chairs and tables scratched on the floor as though pushed by weight; sailors and shiphands squealed and jumped, some throwing apologies or curses behind them to the man that pushed past. One turned quickly and threw a wild punch, and the perpetrator of the push was naught but air. Jahren went where he was guided, and, with his hand still holding onto his dagger's hilt, another beast, unseen and barely heard, followed as well.
Karasu smiled and led the drow up the staircase, uncaring of the tavern brawl going on behind her. Silently he was guided into her room, followed by her animal guardian, and the door clicks as the lock is turned. The smile finally drops off her face as she presses her back to the door. The cheap room is sparsely furnished, save for a rucksack in the corner, and a plethora of plants. Kanna gives a flick of her wrist, and the roots of the plants rise from their confines, poised to strike. "Shame, you were -just- handsome enough to pass for a night with me." With a snap of her fingers, the sleep spell is reversed. The wolf gives a low growl, its hackles raising at what seems to be the visitor as Kanna allows him to wake. "Be a dear and tell me who sent you before I decide whether to play with you or eat you first."
Jahren swayed where he stood, his mind seemingly lost in the sweetest of dreams. She snapped, yet still he swayed. She demanded his speak, yet still he breathed deep --- much as he had done before, much as he had done to fulfill the charade. His eyes opened; the trap was sprung. He dropped to his knees with all due haste, though not enough to send the garb on his back to rustling as though a strong wind had blown. And the wind, had there been one, was certainly not enough to throw Kanna back. But what -lunged- had mass, whether she could see it or not. What snapped at her were most certainly sharp canines and predatory fangs, whether she could see them or not. What threw itself over the half drow and against the bardess reeked of fur and death, of dry winds and tall grasses. Something of the savanna. A lionness, if either the bardess or the wolf had any knowledge of large beasts, attempting to bear Kanna to the ground.
Kanna raised her hands outwards and made a fist when he dropped to his knees. On her command, the flora surrounding the room struck forward, seeking outwards with thick roots to ensnare its prey. Kanna quickly fell to the floor, pushed by the unseen force. Though she could not feel the weight in her state, she could feel that she was unable to get up or lift her arms. Kanna rolled her hips back, using her legs to keep the invisible beast from making contact with her. Her wolf gave a single bark in warning before its maw lit up in sparks of orange and red. Amante lunged forward ready to sink its fire and fangs into Jahren's flesh.
Jahren ripped from his chest a pouch, the torn leather throwing a spray of gray-white powder into the air. Yet, it did not fall like a powder should; it hung in the air, blown higher when a breath was taken, drawn in when a breath was taken. Hanging in the air, it waited for the plant roots to push through it, and only then did the thin veil begin to move. Clumps formed on the rushing roots, tiny, furred pebbles forming along its length. The vibrancy and life that colored the roots would dim, both the speed of their lunge and the roots themselves lowering with each inch they made. Spores burrowed into flesh, burst through cellular walls, turned once thick roots into grayish, mushy mashes that reached the tip of his boot and nothing else. The wolf, though, was a separate matter; no amount of praying; no spore, no root, no leaf, could stop its momentum. The half-drow threw his forearm up and braced; fangs pierced leather vambraces, plunged into meat and muscle. But, more bone was hit than much else, and the momentum had both wolf and half-drow thrown back. The half-drow followed the momentum, turning as he fell back, wrenching both the arm in the maw and the creature's neck. By the time the tumbling ended, he was atop the wolf, his forearm still within its fangs, though he used it to bear the wolf down. His left hand pulled his dagger free, the curved blade pressed against the wolf's throat. "It'll take my arm, but I will take -its- life, and then I will have -your- soul." He looked up where he could, over his shoulder at Kanna, his words hissed and plain. "Tsuji sisters...Always thinking they are hunted. I came for a drink, and I found you! Now, unless you want us all to bleed, and some of us to die, call off your wolf."
Kanna gave a cry in frustration as the roots of her plants collapsed to the floor, color draining down to the overturned pots. "Amante!!" Kanna's body becomes still with terror for the life of her companion as she catches a glimpse of the dagger drawn. For a brief moment, the bardess wracks her brain, trying to think of a solution to take the upper hand again. In her panic, the mention of sisters falls on deaf ears. "Amante, stop." On command, the wolf opens its maws, allowing Jahren to retrieve his arm. Despite her loss of the sense of touch, her sense of smell picks up the smell of blood and cooked flesh in the air. Kanna gulps a few times, willing herself to stay within the bounds of sanity before hunger overtakes her. "Whoever is paying you, I will double it if you let us go." The ghoul declares boldly. She is fully aware of the Syndicate being after her, though she knows not their name or intentions, along with local enforcement seeking justice for the mortal men killed. "There's money in my rucksack, along with all the tips collected tonight."
Jahren swiveled his gaze from over his shoulder to the wolf beneath him, and when the command was given to the wolf, he glared at it until it relented. He had been hunted; he had been brought to this room to be killed, or, worse, consumed; he now bled in the wolf's mouth. Blood -should- be answered with blood, and it was a few heartbeats --- likely his own --- when the thought crossed his mind to draw the blade across the wolf's throat and be done with it. He thought, but he relented, and he rose to his feet. "I wasn't after you," He hissed through clenched teeth as he pulled from his body another pouch, as he poured its contents into broken armor and pierced flesh. Flora sprouted from the puncture wounds, the roots diving deep into the ripped flesh, both flower and fungus closing the wounds with leaf, flower, and gray cap. "But, you've cost me a fortune in time and materials." He walked over to the rucksack and crouched; when his left hand sheathed the dagger, the immense weight upon her would cease. He fished from the rucksack a handful of coin. "For the spores," He declared more than he said and certainly more than he asked, the fist held up as he stood. "Now, for the trouble..."
Kanna remained pinned beneath the invisible creature, humiliated and now broke. She lowers her legs to cover herself, huffing and puffing from how annoyed she is. Once the pressure releases, she shoots upright, adjusting her clothes, cursing to herself quietly about how chiffon was never made for fighting in. The wolf rolls over from its prone position and limps its way over to Kanna, having sprained one of its legs in the tumble with Jahren. "If you weren't after me, then how do you know my surname? There's only one man on this continent who should know that." Once his wounds are closed up, she reaches over and takes the wolf's sprained limbs in one of her hands, the other plucking a petal from her frazzled hairpieces. The petal glows slightly as it is pressed to his fur and disappears.
Jahren moved to the gray mush of a mound of roots that had just moments before tried to kill him. He bent low, his fingers stirring what had been solid into a gray goop. "Roots. Not only are they weaker than you think, when you kill them, you kill the plant." Was there sorrow in his eye? Was the quick flash of emotion sadness over the loss of life? His chest heaved, and with a quick, hard cough, he spat a phlegm covered seed into the slop. "Now two know it. And if you don't give me what I want, as many men as have the coin and desire to know it will know it." His arm, entwined as it was in vine and ivy extended, and a palm coated in moss and fungi was held out. "Your blood. And not that facade you are wearing now. -Your- blood."
Kanna wrinkles her nose as the seed is split onto the plants. "I don't have the luxury of using tree-branches in such a confined space; from damage to that, they would heal. I wasn't exactly expecting you to kill them, either." Kanna recoiled slightly as the palm was extended. "You know more than just my name, it seems." She comments as she draws the sigil to remove the disguise on her own palm. Her skin pales to a gray tint and her eyes sink in slightly. "What good is stale blood to you? You're one of those that wants to research the man who made me this way?" Kanna reaches into her boot from where a dagger is drawn. Her gaze is unflinching, uncaring even as she holds the blade to her palm. "How much, do you need a container's worth?"
Jahren twitched his fingers, and the flora on his palm stirred to life. Leaf bent, vines intertwined, until a small cup rose from his hand. "You flatter yourself. I don't give a damn about you, or who made you." He remarked, his voice as cold as his gaze upon her. Within the mire beside his boot, life stirred from the death. The seed split, the seed coat falling aside as the plant's thin stem rose. "Put that plant in a pot. It will serve you better than the others."
Kanna scoffs the way her sister does, dragging a deep cut across her hand. Her face does not flinch at the sight of it, nor does she seem to register any pain. Holding her hand over the cup, she clenches her hand into a fist. Thick glops of congealed blood fall into the crafted cup until it is nearly brimming. Without a word spoken between the bard and her pet, the wolf goes over to her rucksack and brings over a satchel. Kanna takes it and pulls out a strip of jerky of human flesh, indicated by the burnt tattoo marking on what was once someone's skin. "Will do, dear." She says with a hint of sarcasm. Thinking over the turn of events, something he said before finally registers. "Might I trouble you for a question? You said 'Tsuji sisters' before. The Xalious Provost has another daughter?" There was no malice or trickery in her tone, nor her movements; she genuinely had no idea.
Jahren closed his hand upon the cup, and when it opened once more, its opening closed. Within a pouch it went, and with their business seemingly at an end, the half-drow turned and made his way to the door. "That answer will cost you a night in your prettier form." Without turning back, without looking over his shoulder, with no way of telling, from look or from tone, whether his words were genuine or jest, the half-drow departed.