RP:Planning an Ultimatum
Part of the Rest in Pieces: Vailkrin! Arc
Summary: Larewen expands the Umbral Council and loops Daermon into her plan for dealing with House Trintus.
House Dragana
Larewen sat upon one of the settees, her back to its sole arm. One leg is bent at the knee, providing her with the rest of the sofa upon which to lay a map of Vailkrin. The necromancer is pouring over its alleys, sewers, and streets, strategizing while she sips at a glass of bloodwine. Her appearance is rough - hair disheveled and dark blood staining her dress. She’d spent some time among the skirmishes herself today, and from that determined a push was necessary.
Daermon had popped in here and there where a strong blade could be most useful to turn tides to their favor. He was in his traditional armor, the leather and metal weave that looked almost grown rather than made, his long black duster sweeping the floor as he heaved a sigh and took a spot on the floor behind her, scabbard taken off to rest the long sword between his legs. "So tell me oh fearless leader, are we actually winning, or getting our arses kicked?" he asks, needing the moment of rest from the perpetual fighting of the last little bit.
Larewen turned, glancing over the edge of the arm to look at Daermon. “We’re not losing. I’d say we’ve made progress, considering we hold up to the fountain now. I think it’s time we push House Trintus into an ultimatum, what do you think? It is primarily their forces we are fighting; if Trintus will surrender their forces, taking the city will be far less painful. The more we kill, the less of a city I have.” Her words are cool as she sets down her glass. “You’ve been busy.”
Daermon gave a soft shrug. "Well you know, anything for the family and what not." he says, then makes noises like a mortal, or an old man and climbs to his feet, leaning over her and the arm to look at the map. He studies it with his icy gaze, and this close she'd have no trouble smelling the blood and smoke on him. As well as some less savory scents. "I suggest we go for their jugular then, if you are seeking a surrender. A small team, punching through right to their leaders, take them at sword point." he suggests, turning his face the fraction to find her eyes. "Unless you have something in mind already?"
Larewen’s nostrils flared, inhaling those smells with a sudden inward draw of unnecessary breath. The smell of violence, that’s what it was and gods, it suited Daermon well. When he turned to look at her, after revealing his idea, those icy blue eyes were met with a wildness from Larewen’s mismatched ones. Her left hand, gloved to protect others from its necrotic energies, rose upward, fingers cupping the side of his face. “I was thinking along those lines; corner their Lord and go from their,” the necromancer whispered, though the notes of her voice were strangely breathless. To add to the tension betwixt the two, the necromancer’s heart beat a bit faster - and then she moved. Her mouth, lips stained with the carmine fluid she’d been drinking, sought his in a deep, rough kiss. When she drew back, she said, "I assume you'll join me as part of that group? " Daermon knew of the tension between them. It had been a constant since the very first moment, from their first meeting and from the first time she'd let him into her conifdence and let Lady Larewen slip away to just Larewen. So as he watched her, breathless, her hand reaching up to him, then the press of her lips, he wasn't as surprised as most might be. He responded in kind, a deep, rough kiss that normally was joined with hands as well, but he didn't move. When she broke it, asking him that question, he again found her eyes. "I wouldn't have it any other way." he told her. He rose, straightening. "I need a top off. How long before you wish to attack?" he asks. He was trying to remember if they had any active donors in the house.
“I need to speak with Bradyn, first. Then a time will be chosen Until then, I’d like to continue pushing toward the Houses,” she answered, struggling to keep her voice within what would be considered a normal timbre. Her head tilted toward the kitchen. “Margret can get you fed, but first there’s something I wanted to… to mention to you - that I hope you might be interested in.”
Daermon arched an eyebrow, for the way she spoke was vaguely...suggestive. He wasn't one to jump to conclusions though. "And what might that be?" he asks, leaning his sword back into place and reaching down into her lap, taking the goblet from where it sat and in no way "accidentaly" brushing his arm against her, nope, not at all. He brought the goblet up to have a drink to slake his immediate thirst. "I'll get you a refill when I go for mine." he tels her, having nodded on needing to speak to Bradyn.
Larewen closed her eyes for a long moment when his arm brushed hers. Nothing was said about the snatching of her goblet, and she watched as he drank deeply of the bloodwine. When he was finished, the necromancer lifted her right hand. Nestled in the palm was a blackened rat skull, it’s eyes emblazoned with emeralds. She must have summoned it while he drank. “I founded the Umbral Council as a place for my closest allies and those I turn to and rely on; those that I can count on to stand beside me. I wish to offer you a place amongst it.” She swallowed hard afterward.
Daermon found her gaze again, acutely aware that he was having quite the effect on her this evening. He leaned past her again, setting the goblet down, wafting the smell of conflict and violence at her again as he took the rat skull, looking it over. "And what about how I don't always align in the same regard?" he asks, eyes boring into her own, his gaze intense. She'd never seen him like this. Wreathed in battle, all pretense of the fool gone. It was a good look for him, seductive and confident. "I will ask the same question I did when you offered my place here. What would be expected and required of me?" he says, offering the rat skull back up on his flat palm, not sure what it was presicely.
Larewen doesn’t immediately take the skull back. “It’s a communication device, should you choose to accept,” the necromancer said, standing to her feet. Her nostrils flared a second time, again savoring the scent of battle that clung to the male. “You allegiance and aid in my future endeavors,” she answered, facing Daermon. “We won’t always align the same, but know that everything I do, I do for Vailkrin first and House Dragana second. Every action I take will be toward returning this city to its former glory, no matter the cost.”
Daermon lowered the hand, keeping the skull, but didn't step back, which put her standing very near to his own form, though he towered over her. "And while I do know that, will I have the freedom to exuse myself from certain actions if I deem them to be more than I wish to partake in? Sometimes the cost is too high." he says. "I am willing to help. To provide the aid and consul I have since the first day I was brought into this house. But I value my freedom above all else, and while I have tied myself inexorably to you, I still have that freedom. The moment that is challenged is when I lose who I am. Are those terms pleasing to you?" he asks, his voice quiet, pulling her attention, this close, she'd be able to see the bits of blood on him, the stuff that blended in with the dark leather, the spread on the metal armored bits, the soot from the fires in his black hair. Ice stared into her mismatched orbs as he waited for her answer.
Larewen resisted the urge to reach out, to grab the man and taste his lips once more. That tension was ever-present, and the shared kiss moments ago exacerbated those feelings. “Daermon, when have I ever threatened to take away your freedom?” she asked softly, her voice a silvery note as she took a step nearer to close the distance betwixt them. Larewen lifted her right arm, fingers reaching forward to wipe drying blood and soot and sweat from his breastplate. “I am only asking that what we have extends beyond House Dragana.”
Daermon allowed her touch, in fact, he seemed to welcome it, a slight shift, a lean against the hand. "You haven't ever. But one does not make commitments without making sure the bonds are to our liking. Or at least I don't. I accept." he says, reaching up his own right hand. It was gloved and where it rested on her cheek, it left small marks of blood. "If I didn't know better, I'd swear you were coming onto me." he says, a hint of that teasing lilt in his voice. Though before she could reply, he would add in a quieter voice. "I wouldn't mind that at all if you were." he says, slipping the rat skull safely inside his armor and letting the hand trail down to her throat, then shoulder, then off. If he could have found a way to remove that glove before he'd touched her, he would have, he had the desire deeply suddenly to feel his flesh against her own.
Larewen allowed a smirk to curl the corner of her lips. “Perhaps I am,” the necromancer replied, finally taking a step back. A dip of her head was offered toward the kitchen. “Margret’s in there,” she clarified, clearing her throat. She turned away, carefully rolling up the map and tucking it into her arm. She followed that with snagging her cigarettes and then glancing back toward Daermon. “I’ll be in the study, if you need me.”