RP:Invasion
(Place holder, Rp in progress)
Garrio gives a quick look around the grounds once again. His hands fiddle with the lock picks trying to move as quietly as possible. The final pin clicking in place allowing entry. Once upon the inside he turns around locking the door behind him as to keep away any weary suspension. Careful mounted steps, including using the toe to test for any creeks and avoiding them as need, carry him along the shadows until reaching the room he sought after. With dagger in hand he finds the master bedroom once again scanning each and every shadow to insure he was the only one they were hiding. Once clear, he would stick to the darkness padding the walls looking for a hollow wall, or any other indication that would near him to a safe, and more importantly, the treasures inside.
He was not the first thief to find their way through House Dragana's doors, though he was most certainly the first to attempt by traditional means. As such, he was successful; House Dragana had been warded against magical entry, as more often it was those of the arcane persuasion that sought to slip inside, the Lady's research and work being the treasure they sought. He would find it a bit too easy, perhaps even a bit too convenient as he meandered his way through the manse, and upon reaching the ornate door to the Lady's own room, he would find it unlocked. Inside, there was no expense spared in decor. Another door within led further into a washroom and a closet full of expensive dresses, gowns, and jewelry. It really was so simple.
Garrio looked at the surroundings, a grin crossed along his face and a shrug offered to he and the shadows. His cloak is pulled back to reveal a bag, one of the few magical items on his person. On the outside it appeared to be no different then any other tote bag, even if a little flamboyant then a thief would like. The jewels he placed in there were for his own use, but he was on a mission. Once inside the wardrobe closet he searched looking where pendents would be located upon the dresses. Taking any that looked to be of worth. It was when he spotted one, what appeared to be a skull carved out of ruby. He tilted his head to the side as if to question what it was, or why it was requested. He shrugged his shoulders and mumbled “If it's what he wants, it's what he gets....” he places the item in the bag then grabs a few more other gems before making way out of the closet back to the main part of the bedroom.
As he rifled through the dresses, there came from the hallway the steady tap-tap of heeled boots upon the obsidian floor. The steps were carefully placed, carefully calculated, for it was the magic within the walls of House Dragana that allowed the blind necromancer some semblance of sight. As she drew nearer, her nostrils flared, inhaling the scent of those present within their own rooms, and that of... of someone living, and it wasn't Emrith. Worst of all, it came from her room. Myriad thoughts raced through her mind at the unfamiliar smell, many of them unpleasant. The elf did not reach out to open the door via turn of the door knob, but rather with magic. It twisted quietly of its own accord and swung open to allow her entrance. Her tongue clicked against the roof of her mouth as she lingered in the doorway.
Blissfully unaware of who he was in the presence of, he took to the shadows pressing his form cloaked in black against the wall. Even lifting his hood up to cover up his light colored skin. Turning his head to the side to avoid any un-needed shadows. He inhales slowly taking in a deep breath and holding it to remove any extra noise. This was obviously not the first time he was walked in on, and knew to conceal himself rather well unaware it was his scent that gave him away. But still, he held the dagger waiting to be removed from it's leather bound home ready to defend if needed.
"You have one chance to present yourself," came a voice from the entrance, its words cold. The elf's blind gaze was darting back and forth, as if searching, before coming to a rest in the general direction of the closet. Her eyes couldn't find the door if she wanted to. A burst of magic filled the room, and if he were sensative to it, he might feel his skin prickle; or at the very least, a sense that something just might be about to go wrong. "Who sent you?"
A tricked picked up from a bard one that required no magic, but came well into his assistance when needed, the human threw his voice knowing that his location wasn't fully compermised so he spoke a sentence bouncing off the wall opposite of him, another bouncing off the wall to his left, and a few even bouncing off the wall behind the elf. The order was random intended to disorient the elf. "I don't know who sent me, he never gave a name only a request and a way to call a bat when I've aquired what he wanted. Most of my clients are like that, I don't know them, they don't know me it saves both of us from answering questions." Dipping a hand into his pocket he picked up a glass bottle and threw it on the ground. The contents giving no physical effect, but would act as a smoke bomb to any divination spell his voice continued to bounce off the walls "None of us have to get hurt here, I'll leave the same way I came in, and none of us will have to see each other again."
Larewen was disoriented by the way his voice seemed to be coming from multiple directions. So much so that it confused her sense of smell and her sense of hearing and she blinked hard a few times. The acrid stench of the smoke bomb soon filled the room and her lips pressed into a thin line. A moment later, a spell left her lips and another burst of magic, this time stronger, was sent out from where she stood, almost like sonar, to layout her room. It wrapped around decor and furniture, briefly lighting them up within her augmented vission, before passing into the open closet and doing the same within, cutting through the smoke bomb. "That won't be happening, boy," came her cool reply. Her gaze remained fixed in that direction, despite further attempts to confuse her: it was as if she'd grounded her lack of sight. "Step out here, now."
A scoff leaves Garrio's mouth at the "boy" comment. His fingers toy at the dagger he had hidden, but woefully he steps from the closet and to the woman looking her over. A sense of defiance filled his nonverbal comunication. He cross his arms over his chest, this allowing him to convientnetly grab his second hidden dagger, he keeps it in the sheath for the moment, standing wordlessly he prepares himself to spring an attack if such be needed. Knowing full well he was at a disadvantage in all aspects of fighting, he used his eyes to scan for any sign of weakness he could exploit. "I suppose, you want the details on who sent me, I already told you. I haven't the slightest idea of who he is, or why he wants what I now have."
"You'll drop what you've taken," the elf said, in that same cool voice. Her gaze seemed to follow him as he repositioned himself before her, yet remained a small bit off. "Did he by chance inform you of precisely who I am? Of the dangers of breaking into my home? Would you like to know what happened to the last fool to enter into this place, unbidden?" The necromancer was dressed only in a soft, verdant gown, and waves of dark, brown hair framed her features; she wore no armor.
"Sorry hon," he cracks a smile "That won't be happening. Well, not here at least. As for you," he shakes his head "He didn't nor did I care to ask. Less I know, better I am to preform my jobs. But It's not hard to put two and two together. For example," he says looking around the room. "You're a surface elf, but a surface elf here is rather uncommon unless one of two events. You're either a necromancer, or an vamp... but given this house is much more lavish then a mages lab trying to find the secret to their own mortality, no.. this all says you don't fear the wrath of time, your immortal already. How ever, you're not wearing armor, and there aren't any in your wardrobe either which says you're a mage. Given the size of this house, and your charms you keep around, I'd assume somewhat powerful. So, a vampric mage, I assume what I'm told to get is magical in some sort, but couldn't really care less to be honest, the price offered for gathering it is enough to keep me from wondering. As for the last fool, I'm sure he's either dead, or wishing he was. And given your stature verse mine, I'd probably end up the first, but I have ways to keep you from gaining the second. (ooc: Forced vamp sounds fun lol) But then again, as they say any given day luck may favor me tonight, so... " he pulls slightly on a dagger just enough for the locking mechonizim to unclick sure she would hear it "... I think I'd take my chances to go find that bat and get rid of this ugly thing and be on my way."
She heard the click of the blade as it was tugged and her tongue clicked once more against the roof of her mouth. A moment later, she pushed off the threshold of the door and stepped into the room. Behind her, the door shut itself. "Your death can be arranged," the elf said quietly, almost inaudibly. The very shadows within the room seemed to stir, as if of their own volition, as the necromancer drew them to herself. A moment later, they reached out toward the male, seeking to ensnare his limbs.
Clicked both daggers from both of their sheathes and drew them both out before jumping up into the air, twisting and turning mid air so that he "lands" on his feet on the ceiling of her room. Using the upward momentum he vaults himself off and pushes toward the far wall, using his athletic agility spring off and charges toward the woman. His voice echos bouncing off the walls again. "It's rumored that I'm next my days they say are few but I wouldn't count on it I've got things I'm paid to do” the long drawn out sentence once again bouncing off the walls in order to confuse the woman, this attempt also aided by his bouncing around on the walls. He attempts to stalk up the back side of the woman blade in hand. If his approach worked he stick one arm under hers between her armpit and up to her forehead tilting her head up and placing the blade of the dagger at her neck. If the sneak attempt failed he would slash with one dagger while attempting a stab with the second.
Larewen made no attempt to twist away, nor move as it would only further her disorientation. Instead, she allowed the male to snare her, swallowed and flexed her throat against the cool blade of the dagger. A bare hand rose upward, fingers curling around his wrist. Unholy words fell from her lips and from her touch, a darkness spread with the intent of one of two reactions: Garrio release her, and rethink his actions, or the curse of exhaustion take hold, draining his energy. "I don't think you're paid enough," came her reply.
Garrio didn't know much about magic, but he knew it when he saw it, as the unkown words came forth he looked around wondering what the effect would be. This distraction left him unaware when she wrapped her hand around his wrist. The blade held in his hand becomes heavy and drops and his grip placed on her forehead would also weaken. Eventually he drops both arms releasing her from his grasp and takes a few staggering steps back. "I think you may be right, I'll have to up the price before delevering." Though slower, and less fluid the fight wasn't yet out of him. He would move his leg back behind his from, putting him in a stance matching what one would look like while riding a horse. Turning his body to face forward, and putting Larewen to his side. Once set into the position he would bring his furthest leg to cross behind the other plant his foot lift with the out of place leg and thrust his foot to the side a feeble attempt to perhaps knock her on the ground enough to give him a head start and run.
As the curse took hold on the male, Larewen's vision lit up with his outline. It served a dual purpose: slowing his movement and providing her with a visual of where he was, however augmented it might be. Thus, when his foot came up, the elf's hand snapped outward, pale fingers seeking to encircle his ankle. If successful, she would promptly jerk upon his leg with every intent of knocking him from his feet.
The spell taking its full effect maximizing the exhaustion and slowing his attack. Dropping down to the ground he readies both blades collecting them in his hands ready to stab slash dice and cut any movement the prone position would grant him. The rapid movement allows for a hand to slip into his pocket and pulls out a small capsule which he drops into his mouth all amidst the frantic cutting
Larewen felt the blade bite into her flesh over and over as she followed after the downed man, the cuts upon her flesh hardly mortal. A moment later, the blade thudded home in her stomach as she sought to bring his stare to her own, regardless of whether or not she could actually see his face. The capsule entirely escaped her notice for obvious reasons as she curled her fingers into the cloth of his shirt in order to pull him to his feet. She drew him close, hardly caring whether or not she hurt him as fangs sought his throat.
The pill is swallowed by the man moments before her fangs meet the flesh of his neck. Once digested the cyanide quickly takes effect spredding through his system. "Bite this b****" he says with a smile on his face he takes the blade that had found her stomach and he twisted and turned. Knowing the blow wouldn't kill her, but was hoping to cause enough pain.
Larewen knew the next few moments were vital - the blood of a dead man was... well, it was less than savory and to some, poisonous. Her goal, despite the blade that drove home into her gut with a painful thunk, was to work faster than the cyanide that he'd ingested. That in mind, the elf's fangs not only pierced, but tore into his throat with every intention of sating her own hunger, whilst also bleeding him out. Two could play at this game, and Larewen wasn't about to let the would-be thief free so easily.
A scream of pain leaves his mouth as he begins to scratch and claw. He was a dead man either way, and so he fought like one. Fighting with every last breath he had until the effect of the spell, and the loss of blood took its toll. With a weekend arm he strikes up hoping to punch her somewhere... even if it would connect the effect would be like that of an infint's punch. With the last attempt taken, his arm falls to the side giving off a loud thump as it hits the floor below. Lying there lifeless he closes his eyes and goes limp.
The punch may have been infant-like in nature, but it connected with the wound in her gut, giving cause for a wince from the elf. A moment later, when she feels him growing heavier in her embrace, her lips twisted into a sneer. Blood darkened her lips and chin from her feeding. The necromancer had only moments to act, unless she planned to raise him as a ghoul. Her wrist was drawn upward and those blood stained fangs pierced the flesh of her skin. Her grip on Garrio shifted so that she could tilt his head upward whilst her bleeding wrist was drawn to hover over his mouth, a few drops falling toward his lips.
Gets an odd craving in his last moments. With the last moments of strength he reaches up grabbing hold of Larewen's wrist, his hands gripping tight as he pulls her down closer his mouth. Like an infint to his mothers teat he begins to suck, Tongue lapping up at the blood that falls, and swallowing each drop as if he were dying of thirst and was being given nector of the gods. He growls growing primal in his state, drinking all that he can obtain.
Larewen's teeth grit against the feeling of his suckling. Not from pain, but rather vexation. She allowed him to drink for quite some time before she tugged her arm away from him. It was more of a snatch, really. Those dark eyes were fixed loosely on the bed and she listened, with a sneer, for the sounds and smells of the intruder's mortal body dying.
Garrio lowers his mouth from her wrist and drifts back down in a slumber like state only to be awoken, not physically but mentally the feeling of his death taking over. From the collapse of his lungs halting his breath to the slow and painful stop of his heart. In his mind a struggle begins the dream battle between his former and future. The futre being a monster eventually winning the illusioned tug-of-war match. When his heart fully stops a second vision plays through one where Larewens voice speakong in tongues yet some how bringing understanding to the assassin drawing him through a forest fighting off creatures of his worst nightmares along the way She listened to his death, more so than watched. With sightless eyes, there was little that her magic illuminated. A wave of her hand sent magical fingers to retrieve the stolen items from where they'd been dropped, a second flick of her wrist returning the items to where they belonged. She waited patients for him to return to this world, and when he had, she demanded of him, "Your name." He opens his eyes looking from side to side. He wanted to resist and fight again. As he started to gather the energy "My name is Garrio DeVorah" his mouth betraying him. He narrows his eyes to a glare. But results in going passive. Larewen listened to his words as he spoke his name, and though she was without sight, she was not blind to the resistant tone of his voice. "Indeed. Now you will refer to yourself as Garrio Dragana," she remarked coolly. Her head tilted slightly. "Otherwise I will show you things far worse than death. Is that understood, boy?" He nods slowly in understanding, a glare upon his face "Garrio Dragana" he says modifying his answer to the previous question. A cool smile curled the elf's pale lips. "Fast learning will be to your advantage," she said, her voice tinged with venom. "You will find Sigmund downstairs in the foyer, inform him of your new membership within this House. He will see to it that you are armed appropriately, and that your needs for the gnawing hunger you will soon feel are met. Do not take my generosity for granted. Understood?"
Garrio nods, and prepares to leave before gaining a second thought. Bending at the waist he picks up the dagger he had lost in the fight. Taking the dager blade in hand he kneels. The handle of the blade held out in offering. "Those with my trade normally hold little honor. These words are not given in such but in blood." he tightens the grip on the steal cutting his flesh causing the blood running in his hand to drip. "I, Garrio Dev... Garrio Dragana. Offer you the shadows. Whisper the name of the enemy mine and the shadows will take care of any problem. Blessed be my fate and my tools of experience . I will fulfill my mission with haste" upon swearing the blood oath he lowers his head in anticipation of her taking his blade"