RP:On A Dark Horse

This is a Necromancer's Guild RP.

Synopsis Joan and Ernest make their way up to Frostmaw to begin the investigation on the appearance of a rider and horse enshroud in Black Flame, while there they come to understand it's all done by a budding young teenage necromancer. Ernest comes up with a plan and with Joan's aid, he captures the prankster.

Merchant Area

Joan made her way into the Frostmaw tavern rubbing her icy pale hands together in excitement, this was her first mission in a while. Having been cooped in inside the Black Spire for a while she was helping Pyde, it felt good to take the hike up here to the wintery city, stretching her legs as she made the trek the vampiric healer would study the incident report, going over what had been reported to the guild. Before she left Joan would send out a magical written message to Ernest to ask him to meet up with her in the city's tavern so they could begin their investigation on the case. Making her way up to Drargon the warrior-turned-Frostmaw tavern barkeep the vampiric healer would slip a few coins on the bar top and order one of those famous creamy hot chocolate drinks, while the barkeep went to fill Joan's order the undead woman would ask a few probing questions of the man as she waited for her guildmate to show up.

When Ernest first saw the description of this particular request by the guild, he laughed for a full two minutes. Then he scraped the tiny sliver of jesterite that had materialized on the wall in front of him into a little container, let out one last "Ha!" for good measure, and promptly forgot about the whole thing until Joan asked him to investigate with her, at which point he laughed enough to have invented the idea of a curse of laughter, drawn a hilarious-looking sigil into his spell book, and scraped another helping of jesterite into his rapidly growing collection before he had found himself quite able to pull himself together. See, here's the thing: as much as Ernest wanted this impostor to just be him, it couldn't have been, for reasons only he knew. Asking him to come help with this mission was basically the same as double-checking that he wasn't involved, he reckoned. How exactly Ernest was already in the tavern without having used the door, he didn't say. The first sign of him was the sound of his glass clinking against the bar, in the opposite direction Joan happened to be looking at the time. He leaned on it, hat and long coat quietly smoldering black fog in the exact sort of harmless way that one imagined the rider that brought them all here tended to do. "I know what yer prob'ly thinkin'," he said, without even a hello, as though he was simply carrying on a conversation they'd already been having despite evidence to the contrary, "but it ain't me."

That styled deep amethyst head would turn as the vampiric healer heard the mummy cowboy speak from behind her, her mug of that creamy hot cocoa was almost raised up to her icy pale lips as one eyebrow arched upwards in a questioning manner as her voided light violet orbs look over the dead man. A long sip is taken as she looks over Ernest, it had been a while since they last seen each other, the last...was perhaps when he showed her his 'fishies', she needed to ask him to show her again and see if she could produce something like it, but that was for later. Right now, she tilted her head as she gives a nod of her head towards his hat and trench coat, that smoldering black fog did make her question for a moment 'damn, case solved.' But she knew better, or at least she thought she did, and she had a built working trust with her guildmate. "Well...you do look super sus there Ernest, and you gotta be honest if it was anyone else that just laid eyes on you, they would think that you are the dark shadow rider." She said with merit and warmth in her voice, yet she gave a shake of her head in disbelief, nah it wasn't, and he said so himself, Joan took that as the plain honest truth, let's hope she was right. The vampiric healer would offer Ernest the file, should he open the file he would see that Joan had already jotted down what she gleaned from the barkeep on the subject written in her neat clean easy-to-read handwriting. "Drargon here let me know that so far the rider recently appeared, always at the same time and in the same area at 3 a.m., makes a mad dash about on its horse and then whips about and rides back out." She'd nod to the barkeep, letting the mummy cowboy know he could ask the fellow himself to see if he could get any more additional information.

"Mad dash, huh?" Ernest asked, flicking the folder open and glancing quickly across its contents before closing it again. "How mad, an' what kinda dash? Is th' horse doin' this," he drummed his fingers on the table in a clean rhythm, conjuring a tiny crystalline horse on the bar that raced past them at a gallop, its head focused on where it was going and ears visibly upright until it sublimated at the other end of the bar, "or this?" Now the rhythm was disjointed as he drummed on the table, and the tiny horse he pulled out of the air kicked and thrashed as it ran, weaving side to side, turning circles sometimes, its ears pinned back against its head until finally it ran off and vanished back into thin air. "Because that'll tell me a lot about what's goin' on here. Man's in control of his horse, he knows what he's doin' an' we got ourselves a situation. Horses in control of th' man, an' I reckon he's a special kinda stupid that'll take himself out if he keeps this up." He paused, thinking it over. "If it's some of each, though, then I think I've got a pretty solid theory as ta what's goin' on here, with one follow-up question. Any rumors of horse rustlin' in these parts? Folk wake up one mornin' an' find their herds a li'l low at th' headcount?"

Drargon looked over the mummy cowboy, not the strangest being the retired warrior turned barkeep had seen but this fellow topped the man's list pretty darn high, giving a rolling shrug of his well-muscled shoulders the retired warrior spoke in a gruff tone, "Your third theory, from what I've overheard. I ain't seen the ruckus yet myself but I trust what I have been told, folks up here are the hard-working honest type." He takes up a bar towel and goes to work on a clean dry pile of pint glasses as he goes on answering Ernest, "The pet shop recently reported the possible thief of one of their horses. Tho, they have an inkling it just might be one of the young stable lads going out for a ride, you know sowing those wild young oats." Joan chuckled as she finished off her creamy hot cocoa, the woman licking her lips to make sure they were free of any whipped cream before she glanced over to Ernest, "What are you thinking there? Some young untrained teen mage or what?"

Ernest shook his head at the question. "I'm actually gettin' a pretty solid hunch our man knows 'is business pretty well, from what we've got here. May be magic. Might not be. My guess is some of both. I'd like ta check th' streets this phantom emerges from." He stood up from the bar and started walking to the door, tipping his hat to Drargon. "Thanks, fer the information, friend. Ain't nothin' passes you by." He didn't check over his shoulder to see if Joan was following, but he did walk slow enough that it wouldn't be hard for her to catch up, and he listened for her footsteps approaching before he continued in a low voice, making sure they were outside the tavern and out of earshot of anyone around. "We let anyone know exactly who or what we're lookin' for, an' soon enough th' pattern'll change. I predict our phantom may strike someplace different tonight, jes' ta throw us off th' scent. At least, if he's th' kinda villain I am, he will." He double-checked that nobody was following them, surreptitiously conjuring one of those crystalline fish from earlier and sending it plummeting into the snow, where it started to swim off down an alleyway, barely making any kind of mark on the surface. "If he's ridin' real inconsistently, but always in th' same place, then I'd say he ain't jes' one man. One horse, I reckon, since only one is known missing, but one 'real' rider an' several... wannabes." The words didn't leave the volume of air that surrounded them, thanks to an aeromancy cantrip that stilled all air movement around them.

Joan had indeed followed behind her guildmate, having left a small silver coin behind for Drargon. Her footfalls hardly made a sound as she exited out of the tavern behind Ernest, her steps lightly making neat shoe prints in the snow as she trailed after the taller man. "Okay, just around the shopping center here, the dark rider should be making his or her appearance here right quick." Joan's voided gaze would follow after that neat little crystalline fishy before she focuses on the mummy cowboy, the file flipped open as Joan penciled in what she and Ernest just did and discussed in the tavern with the barkeep. "Would you like to take the lead here since I am still kinda learning how to control and summon up the Dark Tides? I don't know what much I could do...perhaps throw up a shadow ice wall or barrier." She offered up as she noticed the stilled air around them, very neat and snazzy...pencil that on the file...ask to learn that! As they slowed to a stop the vampiric healer would look around and watch the nearest street merchants quickly cover and throw makeshift boards over their wears, it seemed soon the dark rider was expected.

Ernest made a dismissive gesture. "Throw up a wall around a horse that cain't see right an' you'll hurt th' horse as much as th' rider. An' I dunno about you, but I much prefer healthy, living horses ta dead ones. Sturdier. More sure-footed." Besides, the horse they were after was mildly stolen. Wouldn't want to damage valuable goods. "Plus, if we're dealin' with someone who knows how ta manipulate shadows, tryin' ta beat 'im at his own game'll make this more difficult than necessary. Here." He reached into a pocket and pulled out a spool of piano wire, tossing one end to her, while the other hand let another fish drop out of his sleeve and into the snow. "Assumin' he comes through here--which it looks like he usually does, based on th' local activity, you an' I'll snap this wire across the path an' clothesline 'im off th' horse. If he doesn't, th' fish'll find 'im an' try ta herd him this direction." A third fish dropped into the snow and swam off. "People who deal mainly in magic tend ta expect you'll use magic on 'em back. Nobody sees three AM piano wire at the speed of wild horse, an' this spot right here," he stopped walking, "only has two exits."

Joan cast a surprised glance towards Ernest as he spoke about preferring a living breathing horse to capture than a dead one. Joan didn't have much of an opinion either way, dead or alive, it was an animal being used to cause mischief, it wasn't at fault and shouldn't be punished for what its rider or riders were using it for. That mystical gaze of hers followed the mummy cowboy as he moved about, having caught her end of the spool of piano wire he tossed her way. She'd unspool her end and move into position opposite of her fellow guildmate having also noticed when he said there were only two exits. Those three fishies were also noticed and once again she admired them for what she caught sight of, tho her notice was soon torn away as she heard the loud neighing and the thundering running strides of a horse quickly approaching their hidden position. She could feel the magical use of the Dark Tides as the dark flickering shadows seemed to announce the dark rider's appearance. The more use and practice she got in personally with the Dark Tides seemed to sharpen her awareness of when it was in use around her general direction. Trusting Ernest had a plan in place she would be ready to jump upwards and yank her end of the strung-out piano wire taunt.

The thunder of the approaching horse seemed solid enough. Were it more of the unsteady, thrashing kind of horse, Ernest wouldn't have sprung his trap--instead, he'd have grabbed hold of the horse to try and calm it down. But this rider seemed at least reasonably sure of what he was doing, and as such he was a perfect target. "Now!" the mummy shouted and whipped the wire into the air in a circular jump-rope pattern that would allow the middle part to arc over the horse's head before pulling it taut to snag the rider. What he had failed to consider in all this was that he hadn't had time to properly anchor the wire to something, and between his lack of water and Joan's general build, the horse and rider together had considerably more mass than they did. Rather than suddenly dislodge the rider from the saddle, Ernest slipped in the snow and, though his fingers never lost their grip on the piano wire, he suddenly found himself yanked off his feet and dragged through the streets behind the horseman. His hat, anomalously, remained solidly on his head. Joan would likely find herself in a similar situation if she maintained her grip. The mummy opened his mouth to cuss, spat out a mouthful of slush, thought better of it, and started trying to climb his way up the wire towards the rider--not completely certain what his plan was when he got there but definitely not planning on leaving the chase.

Joan had not expected to be jerked up off her feet, but then she wasn't really wearing the right kind of footwear to be in the snow. She'd let out a yelp of surprise as she got pulled forward with the running horse's forward momentum, hanging on for her dear unlife as she did her best to set her slick shoe souls into the snow, skidding along behind the horse rider and Ernest. Now Joan knew what it felt like to ski behind a running horse...let us just say she would not be keen to go on any sleigh rides anytime soon after this incident. With a grunt of effort, so unladylike of her the undead woman would this time set her feet as firmly as possible and center her focus of gravity to allow her feet to be dragged into an upcoming snow embankment the wild dark shadow rider and horse were coming up on. Should her feet catch the vampire woman would dig in and yank back using a good amount of her supernatural strength to try to slow or plain stop the horse and rider from going forward anymore. the citizens and merchants that had gathered on either side of the snow-covered road would holler and yell out encouragements to the wire hand-over-hand climbing mummy and the wire-pulling/yanking vampire. "Damn it...WHOA there shadow fire nelly!" She'd cry out aloud to try to catch the horse's attention as well as the black shadow-flamed rider.

The problem with this plan was that only one side of the wire was caught on something in this way. The other part, the one dragging Ernest, wasn't, and thus this plan of action wouldn't really serve to slow the horse down in any way. What it did do was treat the rider like a pulley and rapidly accelerate Ernest up towards him, where the mummy reached out and, with a hand that suddenly seemed to have a lot more fingers than it ought to, grabbed onto multiple saddle straps at once. In an effort to not have his arm torn clean off by the forces involved, he let go of the wire as quickly as he could and shifted his grip so that both hands were now clinging to the horse's tack. "I reckon I'd pull over if I were you," he grunted, turning his head so that his hat absorbed most of the vicious elbow strike directed at him in an attempt to dislodge him from the creature. "This town ain't big enough fer th' both of us!" The horse, of course, was not at all a fan of suddenly being grappled and started to wheel and kick, leaving Ernest mostly incapable of reaching for any sort of weapon--or in fact doing much at all aside from cling on desperately--but still slowing its forward progress through the streets.

Joan had not figured that Ernest didn't have his end of the wire firmly in hand, so when she was pulled towards the upcoming snowbank, she set those heels into the embankment. Yanking still on the now lax wire she watched the mummy fly upwards towards the rider and the now wheeling and out-kicking horse hooves. Since she was more out of the way she didn't get struck out by the shadow flame horse hooves. When the wire went slack and fed more into her gloved hands, she'd quickly correct the situation on her end by taking the slack wire in hand, making an impromptu lasso with a firm knot, and setting the lasso out over her head with a quick one-two whirl then send it aim towards the rearing shadow flamed horse's head/neck area. She caught most of what Ernest said to the rider the vampiric healer wondering if Ernest would be able to grab that shadow flame-covered rider, well she rather hoped he would be able to pull something out of either his duster coat or that rather dashing cowboy hat.

As the lasso sailed over and slipped easily around the horse's head, limiting somewhat its range of motion, Ernest hauled himself upward--and caught a hook to the face for his trouble, knocking him back down to clinging onto the tack. "Well, alrighty then," he snarled. "Guess we're doin' this the unpleasant way." From the snow, barreling in at speeds that would have been impressive for living fish through water let alone skeletal fish through snow, came a trio of dorsal fins scything down the street like little crystalline sharks, blasting past Joan and tossing up little waves of snow as they went. By now the horse had completely turned around, which was important for this next bit. Two of the fish leaped from the snow and each one latched onto one of the rider's legs, biting down with enough force to cause him to yelp and flail his legs, removing part of the leverage he had holding him in the saddle. The third spun itself as it launched out of the snow, arced over the lasso and the horse's head with a little corkscrew maneuver that would have looked gorgeous in slow motion, and slapped the man's head with its tail so hard that he fell over sideways and backwards, tumbling right off the horse. Ernest hauled himself up into the now-vacated saddle as a pair of Helpin' Hands emerged from his sleeves and flew over to pin the rider's wrists to the ground while the third fish dove back below the powder and circled ominously. The mummy reached into his long coat and pulled out a crossbow far too large to have been hiding inside there--a double-barreled, silver-filigreed affair with a handle on the underside that he pumped back and forward with a horrifically ominous clacking sound and a tiny "ping!" as a little spacer was ejected from the side. "Let's try this again," he said, in the too-pleasant tones of someone who is actually about two and a half seconds from committing extreme violence. "Ernest Crane. Horse enthusiast. How'd you an' this'un here get acquainted?"

Joan hurried up close, her free handheld up and outwards towards the black shadow-enflamed horse. Taking in a deep inhale of breath the vampiric healer would channel her own access to the Black Tides, calling forward her icy purple shadows that she focuses out towards the horse, seeking to extinguish those black shadow flames with her black shadow ice. Her other hand held a tight hold around her end of the wire lasso with her feet firmly still planted into the snowbank. She held pretty firm if the horse and rider did try to take off. She highly doubted it with the way Ernest held that fancy snazzy crossbow aimed at the young fellow and the firm hold of his two fish bits into that fellow's pant legs as well as at those helping hands pin his wrist down. Leery Joan kept a stern eye on the horse as her purple ice shadows began to eat away at the black shadow flames around the horse, slowly returning it to its natural normal state. With a rude uppity tone, the young fellow spits out his name towards the mummy cowboy, "Robert Haslam, And I don't gotta answer your questions, you ain't the law up here in these parts." He seemed to answer, Joan arched one brow as she just gave the black shadow-inflamed fellow a look as if to say, 'Really dude?!' The horse was now once more a plain normal stead, not some black shadow-encased horse. She gave a careless rolling shrug towards the mummy cowboy as he was the lead on this one, whatever he did she was pretty much okay with, she'd turn her head as she heard the approaching sound of heavy footfalls, it seemed the local patrol was finally showing up on the scene now that the two necromancers had it seemly under control. She'd give a jerk of her head towards the advancing patrol guards, letting Ernest know they had company, as well as curious citizens and miffed merchants, gathering about them now.

"Yer right. I ain't." Ernest jerked the crossbow down slightly and pulled the trigger halfway, enough to fire off one of the bolts without touching the other. The topmost arms sang their song of death, and one crossbow bolt threw up a spray of snow right between the young man's legs, close enough to his body to make a very clear point about where the next one might be aimed. "Which means I ain't exactly beholden ta local ordinances regarding prisoner's rights or cruel an' unusual punishment." He looked up just in time to catch Joan's meaningful head movement. The law was about to be right on top of them. On the one hand, any witnesses would surely attest to the fact that they were bringing down a local troublemaker and assure the guards of their innocence. On the other hand, that meant A) Ernest Crane, professional villain would be publicly outed as an innocent man--that or be immediately arrested for prior crimes including grand theft, kidnapping, attempted murder, and renovation without a license--and B) he'd get less time to properly question their hostage. "So let me treat you ta how a real necromancer rides through th' streets." He flicked out a hand, and unfolding from his fingertips came an endless chain of other hands, skeletal and withered, each one grasping the one next to it until several hands at the end wrapped themselves around the man's leg. Grasping the chain of hands like some kind of demented whip, he slipped the noose of the lasso from off the horse's neck and kicked her into movement. "Hyah!" And suddenly, they were off again, though now the shadowy flames erupting from the rider were entirely Ernest's and didn't affect the horse. Meanwhile, poor Robert was dragged screaming through the streets behind the mummy in a deranged, humiliating display. Behind him, the fish zigzagged through the snow, obfuscating their trail, occasionally leaping out and pretending to take a bite out of the young man's ear. Ernest's intention was to escape the guards and made sure to choose a path that might be difficult to predict.

Well, Joan had not expected to once more be jerked up off her feet as Ernest kicked the now normal horse into gear, with a loud groan she changed her grip from one-handed to two-handed onto the wire lasso, skidding back out along the horse, Ernest, and poor screaming Robert. Yes, those fishies of the cowboy mummy were muffling up their trail, but it was not too hard to miss Joan unwillingly skiing back along the trio. Joan loudly voiced her displeasure the whole way. She took some grim pleasure as those bone fishes pretended to leap out and bite/nibble at the screaming Robert's earlobe. "Stop, get them off me! I'm not the villain here." The young man screamed aloud, if he could be heard by Ernest and Joan had yet to be seen, but Joan did her best to glance back over her shoulder to see that the horse had indeed left the guards, citizens, and merchants far behind.

"Oh yeah?" Ernest shot back over his shoulder, not daring to stop just yet. He was on his way out of town. "Then who is? An' talk quick!" The hand gripping the wire lasso had shifted it to the pommel of the saddle--that way he wouldn't have to hold onto Joan himself as he dragged the man out of the residential area and toward the city's back gate. As the path started to descend, he pulled the horse to a sudden stop and flicked his hand-chain, dragging the man over frozen cobbles and sending him tumbling through the snow down the hill. The hands split apart and reconfigured themselves, as did the fish--the three little creatures suddenly dispersed into their component parts and flew upward to join the chain of hands, the sharpened edges of their teeth and scales forming the razor-edged point of a horrific polearm made of Helpin' Hands and fish bones that chattered and buzzed ominously, the whole weapon vibrating and tinged with dark afterimages that lingered briefly in the air as he swung it lazily up to his shoulder and pointed it at the man, as though he were preparing to take this dark horse and macabre spear and run him down with it like a foxhunt. "Before Hunger's Edge here decides y'ain't worth listenin' to." Had he just picked a random edgy name to sound intimidating and necromancy? Absolutely. Was a weapon made of hands and fish bones at all practical? Not even slightly. Did it look absolutely killer in the cold light of the moon? Heck yes, it did. And isn't that really what matters?

Joan runs up after the two men once Ernest comes to a stop upon the horse...well Ernest was a mummy...correction Cowboy Mummy and the now freighted teenager being thrown down that snowy hill. With a loud groan and a few grunts, the young quickly began to shiver in place once he caught sight of what he was being threatened with, the gnarly wicked looking polearm even had the vampiric healer halt in place as she held out a hand toward her fellow guild member, "Uh Ernest...he's just a kid, I'm sure he didn't mean anything besides harmless fun." She called out while giving the youth a pleading look, if he caught it, she didn't really know but that boy did sure begin to blubber really quick. "I...I'm sorry, I just found out I could summon up those black flames, my nana always goes on and on about how we had some powerful necromancer in our family line. I found an old beat-up book at the market one day and snatched it up, eager to try to learn what I could. Please, I didn't mean any harm." Joan scrubbed at her face with an open half-gloved palm, shaking her head as she listened, this was followed by a heavy tired sigh as she wandered close to the other side of Ernest giving that polearm a wide breath, the undead woman just a bit leery of any type of weapon with that kinda mean looking reach. Heck yes, she was impressed but she just wasn't much of a weapons person. "We might be able to recruit this one, don't scare him too much, yeah?" She asked in a kind tone of voice, the youth now giving both Joan and Ernest large wide pleading eyes.

Ernest excelled at playing the bad cop when he needed to, and his sneer as the kid started to panic and grovel was probably detectable on certain seismographs. An old book and a family history of necromancy didn't exactly fit the profile he'd built in his head, although maybe... maybe it was possible that he'd misinterpreted the description given of how he was riding, and maybe the rides started hectic and gradually got more skilled and focused. If that was the case, he'd need to keep an eye on this one--that or ruin his entire life here and now. And as much as Ernest looked like he was planning on going full specter-of-death on the teen... come on. He's a teen. Recruitment was the better option, full stop. He made the closest Helpin' Hand to his head flash a quick thumbs-up--hopefully enough that she'd catch it but fast enough that he wouldn't. "Yer horse-thievin' days're over, amateur," he snarled and raised the spear. It separated into its component parts, each hand levitating in perfect alignment with the others, forming a sequence of arcane signs along its length. Lightning surged through the palms of each hand, glowing a sickly orange color, collecting into a sphere at the weapon's tip. "Robert Haslam," he proclaimed, "I curse you with th' Curse of th' Hunted Fox, 'til you bring that book to the hall of necromancy and explain yerself ta th' masters there!" The hands slammed back together as he thrust the weapon forward, propelling the sphere into the young man. It wouldn't feel like anything except maybe a cold gust of air--wouldn't even knock him over. Satisfied, the mummy once again disassembled the makeshift spear and lifted his hat. As if they were sucked sideways down a drain, all the hands and fish bones would swirl around in a little tornado of bones and crystalline scales, pulled into the hat where they disappeared without a trace. The mummy returned it to his head and nodded. "I'd get walkin' if I were you. Hunted Fox ain't bad, but y'ain't gonna like if it catches up to ya." He winked surreptitiously at Joan. With that, he dismounted the horse and gave it a swat on the behind. "G'wan, git. Go home," he told it, and it trotted off.

Making an exasperated sound the vampiric healer gave her fellow guild mate a very tired look before she turned to the youth, "Well get on, Ernest is being super generous here, hop to it and let's make our way down the mountain and towards Vailkrin." With that, the youth got up, swiped the snow off himself then began to make his way out the back way of town and toward the snowy mountains pass downwards. Joan would take the time on their way back to the Black Spire to write up her report.