RP:House Nasar Send Their Regards

This is a Necromancer's Guild RP.

Summary: Hitmen from House Nasar intercept Quintessa on her way home from the pub. Expecting a fight with a fledgling vampire, the changeling dispatches them systematically. Her hair, however, does not survive the fight. RIP.

Bridge Across the Void

Hemlock Way continues east and west, and is divided here by an abyssal gorge that cracks the land in twain, to what depths one can scarcely imagine. Passage would be impossible if it were not for a massive bridge spanning the void. Entrance to the bridge is gained at either end through the vast stone depiction of twin dire wolf-heads, each maw gaping widely enough to allow a wide and sturdy walkway to pass below, almost as though one is entering the bridge upon their ebon tongues. The bridge arches toward the center, and along each side, standing as if on guard, are set various gargoyles in the form of winged monsters that are at once terrifying and noble in aspect. The bridge itself has been heavily fortified with both protective magics and brilliant engineering, and is highly unlikely to fall to ruin even under the most enormous strain.

Quintessa gives a glance backwards in the direction of the Hanging Corpse Tavern, her mismatched eyes scanning the road to check for bystanders. The streets were eerily empty, with traffic coming to an uncommon standstill. With a shrug of her lithe shoulders, the changeling pushes the thought out of her mind. Quintessa has other things of her mind, namely the city of the Naga and the queen that resides there, all she had to do was fetch Bloodbeak and she could be on her way. As the distance between the hex blade and the bridge across the void shrinks, she pulls her invisibility cloak more tightly over her body instinctively against the cold. Her spike-heeled boots make a -click- -clock- sound as she makes her way onto the stone, the noise echoing into the void itself below. Quintessa wears no armor this night, or any other night, choosing instead to wear a dark necromancer's robes as she ventures from her home and as always, her katana remains by her side.

Kasyr || Nervine rests against one of the many gargoyles which flank the length of the bridge, his skittish grey eyes flickering down every so often to a silver pocketwatch. Whatever his soft features to briefly grow strained, before he flicks the chain back into the breast pocket of his charcoal colored suit, the chain gleaming merrily despite the evenings fog. That said, the sense of tension which seems to exude from him only seems to accentuate at the sound of heel clicks, the pale faced stranger shuffling to the side so he can pluck a heavy looking satchel from beside him up into his leather gloved hands. " 'Lo?" Despite the man's mousy features , his voice rings out clearly in the evening, even if the tentative nature can't be dispelled.

Quintessa stops, the sound of her boots suddenly fading into silence as the man speaks out. The changeling had never see anyone else on this bridge, but the thoughts of highwaymen lying in wait to waylay and rob her. A slow grin spreads across her face as she slips back a step or two back into the shadows of the ebon dire wolf above. Quintessa purposely makes her voice sound soft and meek as she reaches for her katana, "Y-yes? Is somebody there?" Of course there was! Slowly, the hex blade's aura flattens and expands slowly against the ground, a wispy, black fog reaching out across the bridge to feel for living (or unliving) beings that might be hidden. Maybe he was a highwayman or maybe it wasn't, either way it might be fun to waylay him instead and see what he's collected from other unfortunate travelers.

Kasyr || Nervine 's voice manages to reach new heights of tension, something about Quintessa's frail seeming voice causing him only to grow more frazzled- his posture sliding forward into a hunch, before he rather apologetically adds, "Yes? I'd think yes." And then, as though to clarify, "Unless you mean a specific definition of somebody?" The man, for his part, is rather mortal, but between the unnatural gloom of the city itself, and the pall cast by Quintessa's Aura, he's managing to look right at home amongst it's denizens skin tone wise. That said, if that miasmic fog continues to extend out to the far ends of the bridge, she's apt to find a small handful of figure that would be more at home in the city of the dead.

Quintessa tries not to giggle, thinking she is correct about highway robbers. Her pale fingers wrap around the hilt of the katana kept concealed by her fur-lined cloak. "Someone able to answer, I 'spose," the changeling's accent became very common, like one of the city girls that was born into poverty or slavery. "What are you doin` all the way out here by yourself?" Quintessa continues to stand still as a statue, grinning in amusement as she puts on an act for the man. She was just waiting for a good opportunity to attack now. After all, a good defense is a good offence, right?

Kasyr || The man's expression crinkles up into something like confusion, and then an anxious sort of suspicion at the manner in which Quintessas tone changes, alongside the subject matter. he practically exudes unease, the satchel he'd been carrying now carefully being shuffled so it was tightly hugged to his chest. Which, in all truth, only makes life harder for him when he realizes he should actually answer the question, an endeavor that has him fumbling with his pocketwatch once more. "Freezing. For...an hour and a bit. I'd been asked to pass on a message to a local Baroness, but-" The look he gives towards the city, and then woods is . . . dismayed at best. "No processions, however. None, at all. Very dismaying." Depending on just how sensitive the changelings supernatural senses were, she might be able to feel the manner in which that group lurking near the mouth of the forest has begun to mill impatiently, seemingly split between branching further into the forest, and branching towards the bridge.

Quintessa cannot contain the hideous way in which she says the word "Freezing?" her aura sapping in the heat from the area around her. An odd whisper flows in the air saying "Iâ." over and over again, echoing wickedly as the stone of the bridge slowly encrusts in a thin layer of ice. "Whatever message you have for the Baroness can be left with me," she says, the sanguine tone in her voice in direct juxtaposition to the way her form morphs with her maleficent aura. Quintessa was baiting them now, unaware of the sudden split in numbers. She was already certain that this was some kind of trap, but the severity of the situation had jumped ten fold when the mention of 'local baroness' parted this pale man's lips. If she had to spring the trap either way, better to do it on her terms, especially now that she knew they were after her specifically.

Kasyr || Nervine's next attempt at taking a sliding shuffle isn't quite as successful as the first, if only because of the manner in which he feet betray him, and send him flopping onto the rail of the bridge for support. Given he's still clutching the satchel to his chest when he does this, it also results in a rather noisy amount of clinking, and the distinct sound of something fracturing, "Oh. No. Nooo." His pale gaze flicks between the bag and the bridge, and all he can manage to whinge out is an altogether plaintive, "Why is it like this? It wasn't this bad a little while ag- oh." That whole pale thing? He's basically blanched now that he's realized he's being threatened. "Oh. So the Mad thing is true." It's the heavy 'Twunk' of a crossbow bolt being fired that signals that the ambushers have finally settled their minds on their avenue of approach- the division that had been forming amongst their ranks cemented at the possibility of a drawn out combat. With a frantic moan of "No better, at all.", Nervine releases his grip and flops to the bridge belly first, letting out a winded breath as the air gets filled with serrated & envenomed bolts. Well, venomous in the vampiric sense, as there's no expenses spared in ensuring each one has a healthy dose of dragons blood on the end.

Quintessa allows another giggle to echo down the bridge when he calls her 'Mad' but her bemusement of the situation shifts to seriousness the moment the first crossbow bolt wizzes past her head. The changeling was just about to open her mouth to spew some kind of taunt, but she remembers Kasyr telling her not to monologue so she focuses on her spell instead. "Wal yr Iâ!" she calls, a second bolt grazing her left arm through her cloak before the thin layer of ice on the bridge suddenly thickens and coalesces to form a wall of ice between the spellcaster and her assailants. Most of the bolts strike the barrier, piecing and chipping away at the surface while the hex blade takes a few steps backwards away from her wall. Quintessa's slender digits rise up to pull her hood over head head in a grimace, knowing her wall could not stand much more damage. "Anweledig." she says next, the runes on her cloak glowing briefly before her form vanishes from plain sight. The changeling could bind her time, toy with them. Better than walking into a hail of boil-fire. With silent footsteps, she moves around the corner of the dire-wolf maw entrance. If she knew illusions, this would have been the perfect chance to use them. The frozen wall soon crumbles to nothing, leaving only chunks of ice on the bridge.

Kasyr || Nervine gets to 'Enjoy' something like a solid 10 seconds of crossbow fire, wheedling his way along the bridge on his belly behind the safety of his satchel. What had been promised to be a very simple bit of information gathering, and -possibly- the delivery of the Satchels contents had instead become ". . ." In any case, the fact that this particular catastrophe has unfurled as violently as it has, at least provides him with some slight bit of consolation- he had not, in fact been late or off the mark. It's still pretty sad, though, and becomes sadder still as six robed figures dash past Nervine to the best of their ability, skating, skipping, and otherwise winding their way across the glaciated stones with an unnatural degree of alacarity. And really, that could have been that- were it not for the seventh, who was sliding, stumbling, and overall having an absolutely miserable time. And Misery -does- love company, which is probably why he ends up brusquely kicking Nervine in the ribs, hauling him to his feet before he can even finish squeaking in pain, and then shoving him ahead.

Quintessa has all the time she needs to prepare a counter-strike in the ten second it take the hitmen to stop firing. She relaxes, letting her mana fuel her invisibility until it is time to attack. The hex blade has practiced the ancient sylvan elf sword techniques since she first read about them years ago, the Iaijutsu style sticking out the most. As soon as the sword wielding vampire moves within range, her invisibility drops and the changeling draws her blade, making her premeditated surprise attack against the unsuspecting foe. Anything less than reinforced metal armor would be paper to this blade, cutting through the robed body effortlessly in one blow. One down. "Mwy o streic dân!" she calls before her first kill was even downed, the mastic flames of her magic coating her mundane katana as she arcs it around, a ribbon of fire lashing out to whip the two that followed. Their clothes ignite as the flame strike connects, the cutting force of the blade transferred through the spell into the torsos of the two sword wielders. With her position reveled, Quintessa lifts her sword in a defensive stance, ready to parry and counter-attack the first sword-wielder that moves into melee with her. It would be a straight fight until she figured some more tricks to throw at them.

Kasyr || Nervine has phenomenal survival instincts. Something about -not- going in the direction screaming is going on, which no doubt factions into is why his ventures to the dark city have been incredibly sparse. It's also why he just sort of slithers down the the ground where there's a whoosh of flame in front of him, the momentary distraction allowing him to clamber across to the railing of the bridge again to catch his breath. Not that this has any impact on what's happening with Quintessa- as the forestmost of her aggressors takes that moment to make a vicious forward thrust, only to step aside as his companion yells out "Clear!" ...the reason being the flaming bottle of oil sent hurling towards the changelings feet. The last of the mooks who'd managed to follow after her adeptly doesn't engage however, choosing instead to sidle closer towards the motolov thrower to pre-emptively interact any strikes aimed towards him so he has time to properly arm himself. His less graceful companion is currently trying to size up whether engaging, or throwing Nervine at the problem as a distraction is a viable option, and honestly- the gears aren't turning all that quickly in his brain.

Quintessa is expecting the clash of blades, the rush of a sword-lock, the look in her opponents eyes as she turns out to be a bigger threat than expected. What the changeling doesn't expect is the alchemical bomb that is lobbed in her direction. She has barely just flipped her katana downward to parry the thrust when the word 'clear' catches her attention. She hops back just a second too late, the flaming pitch setting her necromancer's robes and long, ebony hair aflame. Panic rises within her, an animal's panic, the kind that tells something to kill anything in its path. A blood-curdling scream pierces he night, the strength of her aura expanding to engulf the group of assailants before her. In truth, the fact than they had formed a nice little line for her would work in her benefit. "Tân-" Even being set aflame isn't enough to stifle her focus on killing, "-uffern!" Quintessa slices an 'X' into the air, the flames from her sword rippling out in a fiery after-imagine of the attack wide enough to wipe out the bombardier and escorts both. With her counter-attack dealt with, she rips the burning clothes from her body, wincing in pain as melted cloth tears away from flesh before quickly cutting the hair from her head with a quick swipe of her sword. Quintessa isn't sure she can pull off the pixie-cut look, but it's better than being on fire. Her pale skin is only covered by her chest wraps and cloth skirt now, clearly showing the evidence of burns across her body. However, this doesn't bother Quintessa, she's always ready to continue the fight dressed or not.

Kasyr ||Nervine has been threatened, shot at, lightly trampled, shoved, and is now being leered by a vampire whose trying to figure out how best to hurl him in the same direction that a massive burst of fire happened. The fact that there's even the hint of an awkward smile on the mans face can be best chalked up to some sort of unconscious effort to placate the situation, and it's just not working. The manner in which he hefts up towards his satchel towards the face of the vampire seems almost like an exercise in futility at this point, even as his aggressors fingers clench down onto his shoulder. Then it impacts with the sound of breaking glass, and what is likely the unexpected sound of something igniting inside- as the Markan-made contraption detonates inside, turning the fracturing vials of dragons blood inside into a sloppily dispensed slurry coating the last guard. Not that there’s any triumph on Nervines’ expression. If anything, he seems repulsed not only by the sight of the last vampire currently in the process of melting, but, more pressingly, by the sheer amount of blood staining his suit. “Napkins. Where, oh where?” he steps back now he’s not being held onto by the loudly screaming vampire, though it ends about as poorly as anything else this evening, since he ends up stumbling half over the rail of the bridge, in a colossal example of clumsiness.

Quintessa makes her slow advance, spiked heels clip-clopping on the stone as she steps over the smoldering remains of vampire hit squad that had ambushed her only moments before. The changeling is burnt and bleeding, but the damage would heal. It was more painful than life-threatening anyway, which wouldn't be much of a problem for a creature of the dark forests as she was. Pain was something she was very acquainted with already. As the skittish man nearly topples over the railing, Quintessa reaches out to grab a hold of the bloodstained suit he wore and yanks him back in her direction. "Play time is over," the hex blade declares, her katana hovering out to her side nonthreateningly as the fire enchantment fizzles away. "You with this little welcoming party?" her mismatched eyes bore into him as she speaks, her voice but an animalistic growl, "Or do you actually have a message for me?" Her grip on his suit jacket tightens, pulling him in an inch closer to her, "Don't lie to me. I'll know if you are lying."

Kasyr || Nervines’ expression is hard to read, but then, there’s the very distinct sense that beyond the constant sense of anxiety he’s been coasting on, he’s actually very much trying to process just what happened. Maybe that’s why his features seem to pull into one more of discomfort than anything else, though his eyes never seem to quite stop flicking around the scene. He also finally relinquishes the satchel, when he realizes he’s still clutching onto the smoldering handle, though the newfound freedom to rest both his hands against the rail is somewhat diminished by the forceful way he’s being tugged along, “I’m beginning to have my suspicions . . .” There’s a subtle hint of disdain in his voice, a sense of exasperated disappointment at how things have turned out “. . .That it was meant more as a symbolic gesture, and distraction. And so was I.” He wriggles uncomfortably, before quietly adding, “Could you let go, please? I can’t let this dry like this.” Because that's the primary concern here.

Quintessa doesn't seem to like his demands, her blade flicking upward to rest gently against his cheek, the heat from the fire still lingering in the metal. "I could hang you out to dry next," she threatens idly before slowly letting Nervine slip from her grasp. "But since you said 'please'." The changeling takes a step back from him as her sword is pulled away to return safely to her sheath. "Symbolic, you say? I guess I've got the message loud and clear." she snickers, gesturing at the dead vampires all around them, "I guess they've got my answer, whoever these fools are." She tilts her head at him, a single brow raised in curiosity, "You wouldn't happen to know, would you?"

Kasyr || The man seems more resigned than anything as the blade comes forward, though there is a palpable sense of relief the moment it’s drawn away and he’s free to empty out his pockets for handkerchiefs. The moment he finds one, he’s almostly immediately consumed with the process of wiping bits of dragon and vampires blood off his hands and face. It’s only when he’s more or less clear that the look of concentration gives way to something more sheepish- the cloth stuffed into his pockets, “They were probably the ‘Fond regards’ they meant to send.” Nervine doesn’t sound like he’s being snarky either, and now that he’s actually found who he was supposed to talk to, a fraction of that anxiety creeped out of his voice, “ A more specific who is probably Nasar. They’re my primary contractor when I’m obliged to come here for message deliveries and errands. Clearly, I ought to renegotiate.” He sniffles at that, clearly not happy at the altogether treatment he’s received in the handful of minutes that have since passed.

Quintessa lets a wide grin spread across her face, exposing the row of sharp teeth she possesses. "Nasar," she repeats for good measure. "Good, good, thank you... Er, whatever your name is..." she wanders back in the direction of the city to look for her invisibility cloak, which she promptly lifts from the ground, dusts off, and throws it over her shoulders. "If you're in the need for new employment, I might be interested in 'message deliveries and errands'. It might be in your best interest, since between House Nasar and House Dragana, I'm the one who hasn't tried to kill you." Her spike heels click on the stone as she saunters back in his direction, pale fingers idly running through her short hair. "Ugh," that would take some getting used to.

Kasyr || Nervine allows something that sounds suspiciously like a dejected sigh, before he rather carefully draws out his watch to check it again. He still looks fidget-y, but it’s at least not quite as marked as it was before, “Nervine Lepura.” Taking a moment to recompose himself to at least a fascimile of being less of a wreck, he offers something that he hopes passes for a smile. He’s -really- trying, but it’s not quite happening, “This is true. If you would like to work out details either for longeterm or short term employment, I’m amenable. Though…” He clicks the silver pocketwatch closed, and stuffs it back into his pocket, “Tomorrow? I’d rather not be late.” The whole nearly dying thing clearly doesn’t deter him from finishing errands, “I would prefer Cenril- It’s less” He’s really trying to find a polite way to say it, and it’s pretty hard for him, which is why he finally settles on, “here. It’s less, this place.”

Quintessa finds herself cackling at his apprehension when it came to her home city of Vailkrin before she gives him a polite curtesy, "And I'm Quintessa Dragana, pleasure to meet you." The changeling is suddenly very realizing how cold it is out here. "I don't mind meeting you in Cenril, last time I visited the city I had a lovely time." Last time she was in Cenril she had burnt down a residential building filled with Razurath. Quintessa's mismatched eyes flicker down to his pocket watch and then back up to his face before she scoffs. "But don't let me keep you. Run along, little rabbit. I'll seek you out when I have use of you."

Kasyr || Nervine doesn't need to be told twice, though he's not quite as hasty in his departure as he'd like, as he's left skating across the awkwardly chilly bridge on the way to his next appointment.