RP:House Dragana Presents: Aerlithe

Part of the Rest in Pieces: Vailkrin! Arc

Summary: Larewen resires Aerlithe, corrupting her with the darkness that taints the Dragana bloodline. Aerlithe dies for the second time, this time to be shaped by the necromancer's will. The former hermit of the Dark Forest will become a proper weapon within Vailkrin's society.

House Dragana

Aerlithe, after the reprimanding from Larewen, had sequestered herself within the library discovered the first night she'd come to the grand house. Awake again, while she carefully sipped from her last bottle of blood, the vampyre kept her attention upon the book being read. Every so often, an ashen brown hand was used to flip the pages, so her unending desire for knowledge and increasing her abilities was sated. Even with this however, she was alert in case the Mistress of the house entered, lest any disrespect be shown.

The necromancer steps quietly into the library, her single eye roaming the room. It is reading the magics that thicken the air, probably. Her nostrils flare and between that and the witch's aura, Aerlithe is recognized. Larewen's head turns in the woman's direction and a scowl threatens to surface on her pale features. "You are too cautious a creature," the elf states matter-of-factly as she approaches the witch carefully. "What's your name?"

At once, even if she was in the middle of trying to memorize a particularly interesting bit of information, Larewen's aura has Aerlithe halting. The book is immediately closed as the vampyric woman stands, a fearful gesture to be sure, while the necromancer speaks. "My name is Aerlithe, just Aerlithe," she says, not yet explaining the lack of a surname, before adding, "Caution has kept me.. existing, that and being able to feel just how powerful others are. Only one with a death wish would recklessly challenge an enemy capable of killing them with ease." With that answer, she then waits for Larewen to again speak, no matter how the matron might respond.

"Just Aerlithe," Larewen echoes, circling around where the other stands. A steady flow of magic from the wards within House Dragana provide the necromancer with enough light to make out vague shapes. She uses this to find herself a chair whereupon she sits. One leg crosses over the other beneath her skirt and her blind stare fixes in the witch's direction. Her nose wrinkles. "I will give you House and name," the elf says matter-of-factly. "But you must show strength, else I'll be tempted to end you. Do you understand that?"

Almost reflexively, Aerlithe now intends then to explain the reason for having no surname, but again caution guides her actions. The choice to instead wait and listen for what was to be said next was made, rather, and so she just observes the actions taken. At last with the preposition made, the vampyre then responds, "Do I have a choice?" even if this time there was a slight smile following the question. This query is added to promptly, with, "I accept. There are so many books that need to be read, and so much to be learned," revealing she was secretly ambitious, even if she still hasn't gotten anywhere near her full potential even now, a decade after her apprenticeship had ended.

The elf's lips curl upward at the corners, evidently pleased with Aerlithe's reply. "It wasn't. If you chose to refuse the offer, I would have flayed you here and now. There is no room for fools in my Vailkrin," Larewen says. She rolls her head, her neck releasing a few cracks with the movement. "Begin by acting as the strong, independent woman you are. Seize what is rightfully yours. But first," and she pauses, gesturing to the witch. "I will resire you into my bloodline. I think the corruption within my blood will do you well."

Focusing still on Larewen primarily, even if part of her desired to resume studying and mastering every bit of magic possible, Aerlithe remains silent until the other woman has announced what she was to do. Only a moment passes then between the necromancer's intentions being stated and her own response, "I am your servant," said. There is no hesitation, for it was a welcome trade, being allowed access to knowledge beyond her imagination, as then she readies herself for what is to come, nothing about her past interactions with others spoken of.

Larewen rises to her feet, approaching Aerlithe with careful steps. She reaches out with a gloved hand to curl fingers underneath the other's chin. The faint glow of the magic within the walls of House Dragana guide her movement as she stares blindly into the other's face. It's the best she can do, really, and the magic in the air allows her brown eye to focus fairly well on the witch. "First, you are not my servant. You will be Aerlithe Dragana, Daughter of House Dragana. And you will never cower." The last word is nearly hissed. Unless stopped, the elf will quite suddenly slide her fingers upwards into the witch's hair in order to jerk her head to the side and lay bare her throat. Without intervention, her fangs will seek to pierce the other's flesh and she would begin draining her.

Still Aerlithe does not make any attempt to move other than out of refle, while Larewen is watched. For a moment there's surprise with the correction, since she had been operating under the pretense of beng made a tool and nothing more. Immediately after, there is but a nod to show she understood the title bestowed upon her, with the less pleasant part of the induction forgotten because of that unexpected comment. Only lately does she remember, just as Larewen made her move, head jerked to the side. Before the reflexive fight or fight response has fully manifested, in go the fangs, the intended gasp of pain forcefully swallowed as for the second time her blood was drained. As this happens, she now strove to keep herself still, a goal helped only by the trust that she wouldn't be left a vulnerable husk.

The elf drinks deeply of the witch's blood, taking from her what her previous sire had bestowed upon her. Only when the flow slows considerably does she draw her mouth away. Her fingers remain entangled in Aerlithe's hair as the necromancer raises her other arm. Another flash of pearly eyeteeth sees the elder vampire's wrist torn open. Black, corrupted blood bubbles forth from the wound. She is hardly tender with the woman, for a moment later the wound is forced against Aerlithe's mouth. The stench of corruption, sweet and rotten, begins to permeate the air. There is something wrong with the Dragana bloodline, something that cannot be so easily fixed and now it is the witch's turn to become a part of it.

Still Aerlithe fights the fear which welled up in her, a battle which takes every bit of her focus, with the steady draining of her blood. This feeling, with most of the vital liquid now gone, turns to full on terror while she struggles just to stay standing, a goal managed even if it was exhausting her to do so. Thankfully, before the reserves were completely depleted, there is salvation in the form of the newly made wound, and the blood which it offered. With the pressing of the limb to her mouth, before the sickly sweet scent could register, she now welcomes the blood, acting quite like a dehydrated traveller being given water. At last, when enough of the corrupted liquid has filled her to overwhelm what had been left, now she collapses, body landing in a heap as again her organs and cells are altered, and the magick she possessed altered. All the while, she does tremble, fighting off the urge to make even the slightest sound, even though, for the second time in a decade, the witch was dying, to become something more than she had been previously.