RP:Raising an Army

Part of the Rest in Pieces: Vailkrin! Arc

Summary: A wendigo finds Larewen while she's robbing the Vailkrin graveyard of its residents.

Graveyard Gates

Larewen emerges from the temple to the east, the cowl of her cloak drawn low over her features. She'd seen enough this day, watching as her foothold on Vailkrin slipped through her fingers by her own fledgling. Things turned so quickly, leaving the necromancer bewildered, disappointed, and shockingly enough, hurt. The graveyard offers Larewen something the rest of the city does not: solace and anonymity. And she needs both of those presently. Quiet steps bring her further into the cemetery as she wanders through various tombstones. Part of her wants to reach into the dirt and disturb the graves, bringing their treasures to the surface under her command.

Einn peered at her from the darkness of a shadow cast by a mosoleum, his shrouded by a blackness. It was a shape wholly inhuman, tall and gangly. But whatever it was, it wore the night like a cloak that hid the horrors of it's form from prying eyes. But the night could not hide those two icy orbs that glowed blue in it's head, staring with an unblinking gaze at the woman. It was hungry. It was always hungry. And that hunger was almost palpable, a veritable aura that seethed around whatever this monstrosity was.

Larewen kneels down to the ground and digs her fingers into the softness underfoot. She remains, for the moment, unaware of another presence for the time-being. Her eyes close and archaic words form upon her tongue. There's a sudden surge in unholy energies around her as inky blackness gathers at her hands and seeps into the ground. It spreads through the dirt, moving toward various graves as if it's an extension of Larewen's own being, seeking the ones that are still occupied. The dark tendrils of magic hungrily seek corpses, coiling tightly around the remains it finds. A couple dozen, in total. She finishes her spell, and the ground begins to rumble beneath her. Graves shift, aged coffins crack, and dirt churns as her necromancy takes hold, once more disturbing the natural cycle of life. It's a tiring process, but in time the corpses begin to surface, guided by verdant threads. Rising to her feet, Larewen unknowingly turns her back to the creature stalking her.

Einn canted it's head in curiosity, observing the magic and the woman the weaved it much in the way a child might. It sniffed at the air, as silent as death despite it's beastly shape and towering size. For a moment, that curiosity overcame the unending hunger that penetrated the thing's very soul. So it stepped from the shadows but as it emerged, it was not itself. It had put on its mask, the face of the man that it once was. Dark-haired and fair-skinned, his was a youthful form that smiled sort of charming smile typically reserved for the cunningly rogueish or the disgustingly wealthy. His lean frame was clad only in the multitude of faded prisoner tattoos that decorated his body but such exposure did not seem to bother him. Truth be told, Einn was so accustom to his real shape that he often completely forgot that changing into this one did not also restore clothing. "Excuse me..." He spoke, his voice smooth and calm. "I seem to be lost. I think I took a wrong turn in Kelay. Could you tell me where I am?" It had been so long since he spoke. He was surprised that he had not forgotten how.

The corpses rise and find their footing in lieu of Larewen's spell, finding their footing and shambling around her. Fatigue envelops her features in the wake her casting, no doubt caused by the sheer amount of ghouls she's raised in one go. Now is not a good time for surprises, and yet one is present. The smooth voice of Einn reaches her tapered ears and she flinches, startled. Turning on her heel, the cloaked necromancer finds her gaze falling upon the male. Mismatched eyes sweep his form from head to toe and back, noting the tattoos upon his flesh and his lack of clothing. Her lip twitches slightly at his indecency, but whether it's disgust or appreciation is hard to tell. With another word and a wave of her hand, she corrals the ghouls around them into a more organized, closer grouping before she answers him. "Vailkrin," she says simply, her tone void of any warmth. "Strange place to be lost in."

Einn did all that he could to keep that predatory gleen out of his eyes but it was there in brief glimpses; the way he sized up her ghouls or the way that he ocassionally let his stare appraise her less like a person and more like a slab of meat. "Strange indeed. Maybe my heart yearned for a graveyard stroll." He chuckled as he so daringly took a few steps closer. "Are you believing a word of this?" Einn then sighed. He was never a good liar and his affliction did very little to improve upon that little aspect.

Larewen sees the flicker of hunger--only because she knows it so well. In Elioyahazer's eyes. In Trajek's. In her own. That primal need to consume others, be it flesh or blood. As Einn steps nearer and speaks again, the elf doesn't withdraw. "No," she replies, studying him in silence. Her right eye, the enchanted one, tells her that Einn is more than he appears, but she doesn't push to know what as she had with Reginae the other night. "I think--" and as she says this, she taps her cheek just below her eye "--you're seeking something. So why don't you tell me the truth?"

Einn sat down in the dirt, legs crossed and hands resting on his knees. "What are any of us seeking?" Einn replied with a shrug. "Satisfaction. Feeding those base impulses." He leaned forward a little and sniffed at the air, sniffed at her. "But... you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?" Einn added, his eyes fluttering as if her scent elicited the purest ectasy within him. "I haven't decided if I plan on feeding my need with you yet or not. Do you know why wolves let themselves become dogs?"

Larewen's head tilts downward slightly so that her gaze remains fixed upon Einn. His words strike a chord within her and succeed in furthing the damage to her already wounded pride. Her chin lifts slightly as she acquiesces to his query. Larewen does know all about those base impulses. She also knows what feeding those impulses can do to a person, what it can bring to a person. Misery, sadness, loneliness. Her thirst for power has been and is being fed, even as she glances over her shoulder at the meandering ghouls that await her command. That desire fueled her transition into necromancy. Control over death, the disruption of a natural cycle. She was, literally, the result of her own impulses. Her head tilts to the side, a few wisps of dark brown hair shuffling into sight as she notes the strange way in which he behaves. To his indecisiveness, she says nothing. Though she does answer the query with, "No. I've never much cared for dogs."

Einn moved faster, far faster than it seemed like his body should have been capable. He lunged forward towards her but stopped just out of arm's length. "See, people think that they games wolves. People think 'look at these dumb animals' but really, the wolves... they are getting fed. Free, easy meal. The wolves outsmarted the humans, not the other way around." Einn explained, staring at her with wide and wild eyes. "Which are you?"

Larewen doesn't flinch. Instead, mismatched eyes stare the naked man down. A flicker of dark power follows his query and her lips turn upward slightly. "I'm the big bad wolf," she replies, daring him by stepping even closer. The elf seems unphased by his nearness, even if she doesn't know what he is. She reaches a gloved hand outward to touch his face, undoubtedly seeking a reaction from the wendigo.

Einn did not even seem to notice that hand, nary twitching so much as a single muscle when it touched his cheek. Instead he just stared at her with slightly narrowed and unblinking eyes. Nostrils flared and relaxed as he breathed in, smelling her. But not just her. Her soul as well and all the emotions that dwelled within it. They were like seasoning on good meat, flavoring the flesh. Fear was, of course, his favorite. It made the meat sweeter. "Mmm. Ambition. Pride. Anger. Jealousy. Oooh... Hurt. Someone hurt you.". Einn said with all the reverence that a wine expert might describe the profile of a summer red. And then he clicked his tongue as a mother chastising her child might, tsking the woman. He could smell a bit of arrogance in there too. "No. Not a wolf. You try. But you are the human. You play at being in control, you think yourself superior. And sometimes, you are. A little smarter, a little more cunning with that big human brain of yours..." Einn stepped closer, further closing that ever-shrinking gap between them. "But then the wolves, the ones who are actually wolves... they play you. Use you to better their own lives. And yours is the hand..." He paused a moment and grinned, his mouth widening until that insane smile of his was literally from ear to ear; full of so many jagged and sharp teeth. "...that gets bitten."

Larewen's eyes narrow slightly, lip curling. Both pride and anger manifesting together in that instant. She doesn't step back when Einn closes that distance, perhaps seeing his words as an unspoken challenge. "You know nothing of me," she says, her words spoken so sharply that the breath they're on whistles. She opens her mouth to say something else, but then that wicked grin splits his face. Something akin to intrigue becomes visible on the necromancer's cowled features. Certainly not fear. "I assure you, I don't get bitten." Only she's been just that, hasn't she? With her public humiliation. Her own sireling turning against her again. Her madness is fueled in part by corruption, and in other part by emotions the woman cannot control.

Einn tilted his head just a little to the right and then to the left as he studied the woman, much in the way a curious and inquisitive animal might. The smile did not fade not shrink, bisecting his face in macabre fashion. Slowly, his eyes decayed and rotted away; liquifying into his skull to be replaced by an icy blue glow. "I can smell you. All of you. You can deny it with your words all you want, little vampire. But look at you, hackles all raised. Truth hurts bad, don't it? I know. I tried to deny what I was once. Long time ago." Einn chuckled, his voice deepening into a dreadful growl. The skin on his forehead bulged until it ripped and from those fleshy tears, there steadily emerged a set of long gnarled antlers that ended in various places with sharp little points. "Too proud to feign loyalty to someone other than yourself. And that is why you fail, I'd wager. Because you can't play nice, get in close..." Einn sneered as he all too casually laid a palm upon her breast. "Make them trust you and when you have their trust..." He yanked his hand violently away, pantomiming the act of ripping a person's heart out.

Larewen lowers her hand as his eyes shift, watching the way they melt into his face. The transformation transfixes her and mismatched eyes lift to his forehead as antlers tear through the flesh. She listens, to his words, to the change of his voice. When his palm finds purchase upon her left breast, he may feel the steady beating of a necromantic heart. Larewen becomes weary then, even as he yanks his hand away. Her own raises, touching where his had been previously. His words settle within her mind, for though she is proud, the elf isn't so far gone as to ignore good advice. Einn is right. She's been completely on the offensive, using brute force where she can. Not once has she tried getting close to her enemy. Her lips press into a thin, thoughtful line as she muses, "You call me a human, but urge me to act like you would. A true wolf would take note of the weakness, and use it against me."

Einn laughed a slow and ragged laugh. "A true wolf knows when to form a proper pack too. Picking the right allies, the right mates. It surrounds itself with those who can mutually benefit from each other." There was the sounds of popping and cracking, the sickly crunching of bones breaking and skin ripping as his arms arms lengthened and his fingers extended into awful hooked claws. The man's skull tore it's way out of his own face as it became elongated like that of a deer's skull. "You have a choice. You can run. I will, of course, chase you. I might catch you. You might escape." Einn's voice bellowed from that skull. His torso stretched, rending itself in half but remained held together by a thick spine that spanned the divide of his self-mutilating form. "You could attack me. That would be an interesting fight. I wonder who would win." Einn added as his skin turned a deathly gray like that of a moldering corpse. "Or you could point a finger at someone who's flesh I might find tastier than yours."

Larewen wants to reach out and touch Einn again, if only to be certain she's not seeing an apparition of sorts. The way his body shifts, punctuating his words, remains mesmerizing for the duration of its change. When it's complete, and his threat made, a smirk takes hold of Larewen's lips once more. She makes no move to run, nor does she make any to attack. Instead, a devious thought comes to mind. The necromancer knows exactly where to send the wendigo. With a lift of her hand, she points westward, toward Nightshade Avenue. "Seek out Elioyahazer. I assure you, he's tastier than I am."

Einn let out a long hiss as it's jaw opened and from the blackness within, slithered forth a wide tongue of impossible length. It coiled around the woman's form but did not touch her. And then, fast as a whip, disappeared back into it's toothy maw. "Try not to die. I still may yet decide to eat you." The abomination chortled as it slinked into the shadows, the blue glow of it's eyes slowly disappearing into the night.