RP:The Doctor and Tenebrae

Temple of Vakmatharas, Vailkrin

Damphe had left whatever hole that he had decided to haunt on this particular day for the singular purpose of hunting down a certain library. A wrong turn or two had brought the good doctor here instead, his head craning this way and that as he peered about from behind the gaunt bird-like mask that he wore over his face. This temple was not the sort of place that Damphe would have ever felt any inclination to visit of his own volition, never being the sort to fall to his knees in the praise of a god that had nothing to offer him as far as he was concerned. He would not linger for very long, only enough time to utter a small laugh and give forth a mocking bow. There was a library somewhere nearby, or so Damphe had been told, that was of much greater interest to him than archaic beliefs in gods that had long left this world.

Tenebrae is already as pale as pale gets. But she went near-transparent when the Drow-Lich spoke his desire and her attempts to reply fell into a garble of words he could just ignore until she managed to get her head around it. "Empusai," she gasped at length, able to form a whole sentence, "You know not what you ask, Tiphareth. For it is more than merely a state of flesh, it is .. a way of being." But her lips cannot help the grin that splits them, and her forked tongue lashes out in excitement. "There is.. one other, of my kind, in this world. presently. We have a pact to confer before making any other.. " she frowns, then. "I must say here, that if you do not wish to join my race, I am limited severely in what I can achieve, for it is the power of commanding the flesh which is sought by becoming such as I. Perhaps I could harden the bones.. " Despite her weariness, after playing sock-puppet to vast energies this day, she is suddenly jovial. "If you wish to remain pretty, Tiphareth, then you’ll likely have to pass through my vats."

Tenebrae interrupts herself, a slender finger pointed toward Damphe. "You. You, there."

Damphe had been just turning to leave when this woman with her dark hair and her slender form pointed to him, addressing him as you and then as you again. Normally, his ego would likely bring him to announce himself by full name and every title ever awarded him but a base curiosity had gripped Damphe at that moment. It was enough to keep the doctor from leaving, from disregarding her in favor of what he otherwise considered of much greater importance. Perhaps it had been the mention of alchemy as he had previously been entering or a tickle at the back of his mind regarding the mystical whispers that were oft uttered amongst cloth-ed people. Either way, he remained in place and peered towards the woman with goggle-shrouded eyes. "Yes?" He answered, arms crossing at his chest. He would, at the very least, see what she had to say.

Tenebrae said to Damphe, "You have entered a place of holy worship, not a fish-market." She speaks this, while eyeing his bird-like mask. "Proper observances are to be made, lest you incur ..." she ponders the list of known consequences, "A good smack upside the head - for a start. Are you a neophyte, lad? I have not seen you here before." The woman is clearly inhuman -- and with her flesh writhing like worms where the skin is torn, dauntedly seeking repair with no aid from her armour, this fact could not be clearer. The gem on her brow is dull now, the Eye shut. But if Damphe had any esoteric instinct at all, his flesh might creep just at the sight of it. Tene stared at him. "Well?"

Damphe had thoughts on the matter of her form and the oddities that it bore but they were much less of fear and much more of a medical fascination and what just a few hours of researching her could do in service to his experimentations. To look upon her and hear her speak also yielded the singular knowledge that she would likely never allow him to study the inner-workings of her existence. At his belt, there hung that head kept fresh within a tightly corked bottle and whatever the translucient liquid that it floated within. Soundlessly, it constantly whispered into his mind the things that it observed while his focus remained on this woman. The whispers would have to be ignored for now though, they were of much less importance. "Neophyte? No. Hardly." He replied, his voice dry and harsh from freuent disuse. "My purpose is certainly not allied with theirs, in any case." He was not the sort to show fear. There was too much resolve within him for that and the mask certainly helped to that end.

Tenebrae 's eyes held the kind of look one gives to the bottom of one's shoe in a field full of cow pies. She said to Damphe in a very dry tone, "What purpose might that be, then?" Her sere gaze fell upon the head in the jar. This worked, marginally, in the bird-masked man's favour.

Damphe grinned behind his mask, not that anyone else would know save for the bemusement that might tickle at an otherwise grim and stoic tone of voice. "Immortality. Perfection of the physical form. Death and so-called transcendence of the flesh, these are not idealogies that I am capable of finding my thoughts alligned with." He answered, a finger tapping firmly against the bottle to silence the head for now. It knew though, always watch and always listen - what was left unspoken now could be reported later so that Damphe might sift through those observations for items of relevance. "Though I am a learned man and any learned man with any ounce of wisdom within their minds is aware that there is always more to learn." He would pause then so that a few steps forward could be made, his arms now outstretched on either side of him as if making a spectacle of his presence. "So if you've any insight as to how I am wrong on my perceptions that I am prepared to hear it." He was being earnest in that regard, at the very least.

Tenebrae was eager to continue her discussion - left at a particularly pertinent cliffhanger - with Tiphareth. So was a bit short with Damphe, "You're a necromancer, then?"

Damphe gave a slow nod. "Yes, among other things, I have been educated in the subtleties of necromancy. I find myself having a preference towards the term doctor but I am much less a healer these days." It was a truth that Damphe begrudgingly admitted. There was a necessity in knowing the art even if he did not ultimately enjoy it.

Tenebrae pondered Damphe's reply, the words losing focus in her weary mind -- and what dangers that weariness presented her! In any case, she nodded, "They call me Tenebrae, Thanatos Domina of the Necromancer's Guild. Perhaps we might chat over some tea, at a more opportune time..." The wriggling manifestation of her condition was leeching her of strength, and no fuel via the armour. In a loose sort of way - she was starving. Those pale eyes fixed on Damphe in a slightly different light, now.

Damphe had no appreciation for that look. It was a look he had learned to know particularly well given his decidely human state and his decision to live within a city of vampires and other such creatures who found his type to be a tasty treat. That is why he carried the syringes and that is why he kept them filled with all sorts of malignant concoctions, so as to not be entirely defenseless should something choose to try giving him a taste. "Damphe Alexios..." He replied, choosing to belay the revelation of his last name. His own kin had disenvowed him anyhow. "Doctor, Alchemist, Necromancer, Scientist." He maintained his poise the entirety of the time, unflinching. One could be possessed of no terror when their kind was a popular prey.

Tenebrae waved Damphe away, eager to finish up her business here - and find food. In whatever order that might occur. "Tea, then. And soon. We might have much to talk about, you and I. But presently..." she canted her head toward the Drow-Lich. "I'm busy." And hungry. Hungrier, by the minute.