RP:Renin and Caste - A Meeting
Background
In the beginning, there was the first Obsidian Pool Rp. The Eldritch Cabal and Co. take on an ancient evil. Enjoy.
Castellian lounged silently in the mirror library, a room set within the unsettling halls. To find it? Renin's luck would have to be sharp, for one, to pick it from the hundreds of doors that branched the stunning house's main hall. Which one? In truth, Castellian wished dearly he could tell him, but it would be for naught. The rooms in this house moved. The halls grew, shrank, and changed. And so, ready to wait days if needed, the Drow Lord remained upon his tailored seat, set upon the floor (a single giant mirror), reading from the light of the lone candelabra that hung from the mirrored ceiling. The shelves lined the walls, which were circular.
Renin blinks, eyes hurriedly sweeping about the magnificent room. A stutter step is taken, knees are bent and an open palm of the left is placed upon the ground for support, shaking his head the drow slowly pulls himself back to a full stand, “Holy hells…”
Renin takes a cautious step forwards- testing- as he advances towards the door. His movement halts, however, when the appearance of some hundred other similar rooms draws his attention away from the original. “Damn.” He ponders for a moment, seat taken upon one of the great couches within the room. Magiks of all different types swim across his mind, few leaving any options open. Shaking his head the drow allows a simple laugh to be taken as he now quickly swings himself from his seat, a hasty advancement carrying him to the first door and whatever may be on the other side…
Renin equipped Zephyrs Wrath.
Castellian stretched further along the plush, velvet confines of his chair. Around him, twisting off the mirrored walls in an infinite game of tag, the candelabra’s golden light remained. Not a solitary shadow existed in this place, a marvel that remained alone. Renin, however, was not afforded the same aesthetically stunning surroundings. The door swung open, pressed from his dark-fingered hand, and revealed a quaint study of a common nature. Common save it was upside down. The marvel, however, was not that the furnishings had been fashioned to the ceiling, but rather that upon entering he would suffer vertigo of the most extreme nature, eye-shutting intensity. Upon looking again at the room he would find himself standing in the floor, before the desk, as if all was well. But a brief glance behind him would show the door that he entered to now be upside down. Magics? No, sometime darker lingered here. He would -feel- it laughing.
Renin curses, a vile aura of magic tingling along his spine- its presence all the more noticeable by the sudden reverberation’s his swords gives off. Thoughts wander, blade in held never left grip of, though a slight advancement ensues in the form of a leap, accompanied by a quick spiral of head over heels. Intent- to land upon the door-level floor, thus allowing him a means of escape.
Castellian could not leave, however, if he wanted to. The light from the room's candleabra would have annoyed most, but to the white-eyed Drow it was blinding. More sensative than most of his own kin, Castellian sat crippled upon the lone chair. Renin's leap would be accompanied by a simple flash of visual discombobulation, for without effort he would leap clean through the door, right-side up. Stretched out before him once again would be the vast hall, looming triumphant and teasing.
Castellian told your clan, "I hope thou hast more luck than I, Renin. Our headquarters has, admittedly, gotten the best of me."
Renin slams the edge of his might brand into the floor, showering sparks and even a small bit of stone in the process, “Son of a…”. His words trail of, as the sheathe of energy always encompassing Zephyr now leaps from the blade itself, the soul infused, sentient flames of Mythrin aiding Ren in this ‘plight’. Intellectual fires tear from the keen edge of Zephyr, first jetting in a forceful stream at the door he just entered, purging it and causing it to blink from existence. Shrugging, he allows the flames to continue their course, hopefully able to find the room in which Cast is trapped within.
Renin told your clan, "I see as such..."
Castellian felt the giant fortress give a shuddering groan, the sound too sentient to be the great walls settling. The tendrils of dancing flame leapt from Renin's blade, slicing through hall after hall, twisting through corridors upon corridors until finally they splashed ethereal fire along the length of a door. Caste, sitting up, heard the thud of their impact against it, his eyes covered entirely by a forearm from the torturous room's light.
Renin waits, blade held before him the entirety of this time. A matter of minutes pass by, but in a triumphant roar the flames of Myth pierce through a door back to him, and back into their glowing sheath of flame upon Zephyr. Nodding he starts into a run, flames guiding his passage through the door until-finally he comes upon what appears to be the door to Caste’s room, once again his actions are halted, that always strategic mind formulating plan after plan.
Castellian was forced to recognize that while the door's shuddering may be salvation, it could have equally been something worse. And so, guarded as always, he drew that right hand up. He had long ago considered using the ancient weapon pressed into his flesh, but the temptation had been one he had fought.
Renin stops, unsure of what exactly lies beyond this door, hoping (desperately) that it is Caste. With a roar the drow arcs back with his sword, heaving the weapon high above the shoulder of right, flames of magnificent gold erupting into a span twofold. With a cut of finality the blade is plunged within the wood of Caste’s chamber, fires catching upon the woodcraft and dancing about hungrily. Through the fires Ren leaps, weapon crossed across his chest defensively as he leaps. Feet skid to halt before a drow, almost instinctively does the Telleson brother slash his weapon in, but remembers that his mission was to find the man, not harm him. Stance is held, eyes alit with the fires in the foreground as he speaks, “So we meet.”
Castellian answered evenly, though all at once his feet were moving. The sounds were enough, guiding him, and leading him toward the door that begged his escape. Passing Renin, nearly running headlong into him, the regal Lord replied with a remarkably even word, stoic even as freedom finally found him. "And gladly so, for in the mirrored library time sometimes passes too quickly for my tastes."
Renin holds any further interrogation for later, a motion of hand ushering his leader towards the door. “Let us be gone from this damned place.” With that he exits the same way from whence he came, only waiting to allow Caste the lead.
Castellian moved with a precision elsewise, fluid strides crisp as he travelled the remarkably flawless floors. "The introduction is long in coming, I believe. I am Castellian D'Onri, Lord to the House that wears my name."
Renin allows the introduction of Caste, though his words are now hurried, “And I, I am Rennion Da’Telleson, the eldest of the two surviving.” A slight nod is given to his ‘rescued’ leader, “I must apologize, however, as this ordeal has worn me, and a night beckons.” With that Ren slips from the hall, blade sheathed in a fluid motion as he allows the parting with a final glance.
Castellian told your clan, "Take care, Renin."