RP:The Favour

From HollowWiki

 Summary: Uriphiel ventures out to Elimdor to find Lady Cynarith, with hope that she will make good on her offer. (Part One of a Two part RP)

Date of Writing: March 15th, 2024. 










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The Favour


 Hazelbend Chateau , Elimdor
Along the avenue, nestled amidst two other prominent homes, stands the opulent Hazelbend Chateau, a testament to the wealth and power of its well-to-do occupant. Its towering spires reach towards the heavens, adorned with intricate carvings and gilded accents that catch the sunlight at dawn. A grand courtyard paved with marble greets visitors, leading them to the colossal oak doors adorned with golden crests. Inside, a labyrinth of halls boasts tapestries depicting epic battles and chandeliers dripping with crystal. The great hall, with its vaulted ceilings and roaring hearth, hosts extravagant feasts where the ton of society mingle amidst lavish furnishings and fine art. Beyond lies the lush gardens, where exotic blooms perfume the air and fountains dance with enchanted waters. Hazelbend Chateau stands as a symbol of luxury and prestige in Elimdor, a beacon of extravagance.



  • Cynarith has returned to Elimdor in order to prepare for the social season to begin. The ton is abuzz with excitement for all the possible prospects this season will bring! Grounds at Hazelbend are being tended to by gardeners, butlers, ladies maids, cooks and grounds keepers. Stone walkways are being swept and cleared away from the leftover leaves of fall while blossoms are budding, finally shaking off the bitterness of winter, decorating the plots lining each walkway. Fountains are being skimmed for dead leaves and algae as the water is being treated by someone well trained in the arcane. Is this a home or a business? One might ask themselves even though the front gate certainly said residence! Footmen are casually conversing with the chauffeurs at the front of the home as they are stationed there to await any guests that are calling upon Lady Cynarith, but not many are expected today because even though spring is nearly sprung a bit prematurely, the social season has not officially begun. Speaking of the entrepreneur, she has just finished breaking her fast in the solarium which overlooks the grounds to Lead to Gold stables. Sometimes she sneaks out early in the morning while the chateau hasn't had a chance to stir and the fog hasn't been lifted from the dewy meadows to ride one of her many cherished mares. Matter of fact, she has yet to change out of her tan riding breeches which hug her hips and tuck into the brown paddock boots that begin just below her knee. "Oh, just perfect," she gripes softly to herself as she notices a spot of jelly landed on her favorite cream colored riding jacket, so she simply removes it and lets one of the ladies maids take it away to be treated before the stain sets. This leaves her with a sensible riding tank top that tucks into the high waisted riding breeches. "The Looking Glass articles ma'am," one of the butlers delivers the newspaper upon a silver tray held with a white gloved hand until she thanks him and lifts the folded parchment from the tray to begin scanning over the news of Vhys, including Elimdor.


  • [Uriphiel] Hazelbend Chateau. Uriphiel had gone over the name of this estate many times in the days following his involvement in rescuing a young woman from the harassment of a small band of vampires, trying to figure out if it were indeed a place of residence or another of the many businesses listed on the gifted card. “If there is anything I can do for you, allow me to make this night up to you,” is what she said that night. At first, Uriphiel wanted nothing in return for his good deed. In truth, the actions he took were born of a self-serving desire. She just happened to be there. A decoy of sorts. However, once the man did a little research into this woman, Cynarith, and her business background, he deduced that she may have connections that he could only dream of. Normally, Uriphiel wouldn’t bother wasting his time. People of wealth and power were far above dealing with the unexceptional, yet Cynarith had a secret. A secret that Uriphiel had pieced together quite easily. So, armed with this knowledge and a selfish need, the former Shar of Schezerade once again took up the mantle of a humanoid form and set forth to visit this Hazelbend Chateau with hopes of finding Cynarith present.

    The gentle clopping of hooves danced along the roadway leading to the expansive mansion, as a pair of ebon horses pulled along a simple carriage that Uriphiel had chartered from the main town of Rynvale. He had never been to Elimdor before, so it was a real treat to be able to take in all of the lovely and interesting sights of the countryside that they rode through. When the carriage finally pulled up to the Hazelbend Chateau, Uriphiel’s jaw dropped in an awestruck manner, something that he would never be caught doing in any other situation. Despite coming from a culture of pure opulence, he had never quite seen something so large and majestic. He had heard stories of the forsaken elves, of course, but to see it firsthand was something else. The human-guised male steps out of the carriage and hands a small satchel of coin to the driver, then turns to approach the front gate. He wasn’t even sure they would let him enter the grounds at all, because much like the night they had met, Uriphiel was dressed in the most common rags of earthen tone, and a lone sword at his hip. Surprisingly, once he handed over the card he had been given, he was immediately welcomed and guided to the drawing room, where he was offered something to drink while waiting for his host. He respectfully declined the offer, tucking his hands behind his back to wander the room in observation.


  • Cynarith cannot help the scowl shaping her lips downard ever so slightly as she reads that a new gossip column mentions herself and Viscount Ievis. It refers to them as an adorable new power couple and at least that part doesn't seem too bad, but she would rather not be mentioned at all. Just as she was trying to formulate a plan to turn this into her favor in her mind, the head butler comes to inform her there is company awaiting her in the drawing room. "A mister 'Davian', ma'am," he pulls the door open in wait for her and she sits there a little surprised. It seems he is collecting on his favor already and she idly runs her manicured fingertips along the hint of two puncture wounds on her neck. Luckily, she heals quite fast. Riding boots softly click on the marble floors of the hallways and her hair that is pulled into a high ponytail bounces gracefully at her shoulders as she follows the butler to the drawing room. "Lady Cynarith, my lord," announces the butler as he escorts her into the room and she approaches Davian with an extended hand for him to shake- expecting such a man of simple means to not feign gentlemanly manners with a kiss to the back of her hand. "Welcome to Hazelbend Chateau, mister Davian," the kind smile on her lips genuine and then she looks over her shoulder to the butler with a nod which is his cue to vacate the room while closing the door behind himself. Not only was coffee and tea brought into the room for her guest, but also some light finger sandwiches and slices of moist cake which was all set on the seating table within the room. "Please," she gestures for him to be seated wherever he pleases while she makes her way over to the table to pour them both a cup of tea. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" It seems she is quite contrasted in this setting from when he met her a couple weeks ago, but I guess anyone might lose the grip on proper heirs in light of being mugged and attacked while trying not to throw up at the sight of a dead body. Turquoise hues look to him through her lashes as she takes a small sip from her tea in wait for his response. Maybe he will change his mind on the hush money now that he has been within her grand home.


  • [Uriphiel] Once his host had arrived, the bearded man turned quite swiftly to greet the woman, his hand finding hers with a firm shake and a polite smile. Davian. Right. He almost forgot about the silly name he had offered the woman in place of his own. There had been so much on his mind lately that the smaller details were starting to get lost in the noise. “Lady Cynarith,” he repeated, after the butler. The man eyed the woman from head to toe, carefully examining the varying nuances of her appearance. The high ponytail and the tanktop seemed to speak of leisure. She had been in a state of relaxation and not expecting guests, he figured. As his gaze traveled down her form, he noted the riding breeches and boots, which looked to have traces of dirt along the sole, indicating that she had most likely been horseback riding this morning. Given the name Lead to Gold on her business card referred to the famous Stable, paired with her current attire, it wasn’t too difficult to figure out that Cynarith was indeed an equestrian. “I had business in Rynvale, and figured that while I was in the vicinity, I would take a visit out this way to see how you have been holding up since our first encounter”, he lied. The man intended to seat himself promptly without touching any sort of food or drink, but there was a part of him deep down that could not resist the allure of something sweet. So, on his way over to one of the chairs nearby, ‘Davian’ picked up a small sliver of cake and the plate on which to eat it. “I did not expect to find myself visiting such a grand mansion this day. Your home is quite beautiful, if I may say so. Has it been in your family long?” ‘Davian then takes a bite of the cake, eyes closing as he savors the delicacy with a strange bliss.




  • Cynarith can feel the stranger's eyes on her, studying her and at moments she is doing the same right back to him. Just as much as he is trying to figure her out, she is along the same path as he. That golden shaded feather she found and the fact that at first it carried her most favorite scent of peppermints during the Yule holiday… to her that reminds her most of family. She occupies a seat near him, bringing the scent of freshly picked lilacs along with her because even though it seems she was simply at leisure, she still made sure to don one of her signature perfumes. This one has a warm subtle scent. Being an equestrian is a wealthy hobby, but to her it is much more because she truly cares for the majestic creatures with her whole heart (the small shriveled part of it left.) It is probably the only time anyone might see her so warm and sweet with something, yet this is precisely why she rides alone. Too many times has that part of her been manipulated and extorted, so she has cultivated this snobby persona to get what she wants while keeping everyone else at bay. "Business on the entire Island of the Vale," she nods once, pretending to buy his story. "That is quite noble of you mister Davian," the woman coos out right before lifting her saucer and cup once more towards her plump lips. "I have been well. The day must press on after all," but of course she has been through much worse. This is not something she wishes to ever recount… at least to someone she barely knows. "Will you be in Vale long? Certinantly you will not be able to catch the last ship back to Cenril today. I have many rooms to choose from which are usually for far away guests after a ball, but for a man who so gallantly saved my life - I shall make an exception," her grin turns a little coy in her offer. His question of the estate earns a raised pink brow, "oh? I concede that my home does look rather 'old money'. My mentor-" she starts her usual lie, but this man already knows one of her dirtiest secrets. "Well… I mean, my father and his construction company, Nildran Construction, helped me build this home from the ground up. This property is in its newborn years and I am the sole owner," she casually mentions quite the accomplishment while simply reaching for one of the cucumber finger sandwiches to nibble on. Even though she is finding his attempt at small talk endearing, she is itching to hear why he truly came here, but she knows better than to rush delicate endeavors like this along. Much too much like her father, she is patient and knows how to wait for the right cards to fall into place or for someone to fall on their own sword.


  • [Uriphiel] ‘Davian’s ability to revel in the delight of the tasty treat was short-lived as he reminded himself that he was here with a serious purpose and that he must keep himself focused on the mission. So, he lowered the plate to his lap, swallowing his bite, and responded to the woman gracious enough to allow his visit. He mostly ignored the offer of a place to stay, turning back to his idle probing instead. He was looking for something. “Oh, is that so? How very kind of your father. The money and resources that it must have taken to build something like this... I can assume that your businesses are quite lucrative, then? Not that I mean to pry into your monetary affairs, so boorishly. I just can’t help but think that I may have been misguided in my assumptions that your wealth was of a generational nature. It seems as though you are a woman of a far greater power than I first judged. I apologize for that.” Davian reaches out and sets his plate back on the table from which he had taken it. “What sort of background does your family come from, exactly? You say that your father owns a construction company? That is a decent profession. He must be a very skilled and renowned laborer to be able to construct such a luxurious home such as this. I can only imagine the places he’s had a hand in building” Another polite smile before the ‘human’ segues. “And what of yourself? I saw a few different businesses on your card, but I am not sure I am familiar with any on a personal level. What is it that you do?”


  • Cynarith holds back the automatic knee-jerk reaction to agree with him that he has been misguided, but it is not the first time she has been underestimated and it will not be the last. Her smile holds and she simply rebukes his apology with, "please, Davian, there is no need for apology. It is an honest mistake these days in this male driven world," she sets her saucer and cup down nearby and crosses one of her long legs over the other, resting her hands upon her knee as they fold together. "Most already know of my first business, CyCy Chunelle fragrances. From there I just kept investing my earnings until I was able to fund the commission for my own home. All of the money came from me and me alone," she states matter-of-fact as if she is at an interview. It is difficult for her to accept his declaration that she has great power… it is true, but she constantly thirsts for more and has no visions of stopping until all are envious of her. This is also an ugly trait of hers that she doesn't ever share. "My family is native to Frostmaw," but she absolutely hated the cold and left as soon as she became an adult. "He has always had a construction business," although he dissolved it after her mother's death and went into a hibernation for around a hundred years. "The company takes contracts from all over Lithrydel. You seem quite interested in the construction business. Do you need something built or do you need employment because this is feeling more and more like an interview," her light tease is accompanied by a coy smile once more and a humorous twinkle in her eye. It seems the lady knows how to use her charms and is unashamed to use them tactfully. "I invest in small businesses now that I have my fragrance boutique, a stable where I have helped many mares find happy homes, a new elite restaurant I am part owner of here in Elimdor by the name of Indigo and for the time being I am running Nildran construction until my father returns." Idly, she fiddles with a new pendant she purchased back in Cenril from Vee which is nestled comfortably atop her decolletage. A beautiful glittery sapphire in its raw form that is wrapped in gold wire and hung on a twisted gold chain. "During the Elimdor social season, I even host a ball, garden party or gala here in Hazelbend. Sometimes all three in a single season," which doesn't exactly bring in money, but is more of a marketing expense because it gets her name out there along with raising her social status. His overly interested questions into her life are starting to make her feel a little too exposed and uncomfortable even though her expression continues to remain pleasantly relaxed. Between all of the questions half answered and things left unsaid on her part, she doesn't dare look anything other than the picture of perfection for this gentleman has something many people do not have- the dirty truth. So, she is forced to sit here under this blackmailer's constant questions until she knows exactly what he wants and they can finally put this all behind them.


  • [Uriphiel] ‘Davian’ is pleased that she is not offended by his assumptions, at least, not outwardly. Although he was learning quite a bit by her responses and body language. The first thing that he would note is the fact that she was not stupid. He could tell that she knew there was more to his questioning than he let on, the clever girl. The second thing he spied was the nervous fidgeting. He hated to use subterfuge on the woman. He hated the fact that his incessant questioning was causing her some form of anxiety. If his mission weren’t so important, he would tell her exactly what he was looking for. And he would - in due time. “Oh no, nothing like that,” he replies to her inquiry about a job. “I am a curious person by nature, truly. As someone of a lower social status, I find this beyond fascinating. I am sorry if my line of questioning is making you feel uneasy.” His bearded smile seems a little more genuine now, although he does not exactly let up on the current topic. “Honestly, I envy your success. You seem to have found a winning formula in life that has allowed you to ‘climb the ladder’, so to speak, so quickly. To do this all on your own, as a woman in a world full of ruthless, power-hungry men, is quite admirable. And I’m sure it had earned you a jealous ire from some in your social standing.” Davian felt his stomach grumble and shifted in his seat uncomfortably, knowing full well he was on borrowed time. Cynarith may start to pick up on her favourite scent wafting by now and again, but with her love for such fragrant perfumes, perhaps she wouldn’t quite realize where it was coming from. “I am uncertain as to what a social season is exactly, but I suspect it is a time of year for gatherings and merriment. These galas and garden parties - What are they like? Are they affairs for the locals in your area? Or are they of a more political nature? I can just imagine you hosting some of the wealthiest denizens of the land on your lovely property. Perhaps politicians from foreign lands such as Cenril, Venturil, or even the grandiose Avians of Schezerade?”


  • Cynarith nods once when he confirms he doesn't need her assistance in finding him a job or building something for him while those tapered ears keep listening thoughtfully. "Oh, there was nothing quick about my success for it has been decades in the making," sincere turquoise hues resting easily within faux green ones. When he accurately points out that she has become nervous, her hand casually drops back to fold atop the other and a thumb caresses along one of her rings, causing it to rotate slowly around the index finger. "Not at all, mister Davian," the denial comes as the name is said sharply on her gilded tongue because she too has many questions about this curious man, but she bides her time to hold out any questioning. How long has it been since they've been here? Just as she ponders the question, a butler politely interrupts with apologies for doing so and asks, "will mister Davian be joining us for luncheon Lady Cynarith?" Her well practiced smile returns and she awaits Davian to give her an answer to tell the man. Then it is back in the hot seat of the lion's den under the scrutiny of this random interrogation. Although, she does adore how he constantly keeps saying how admirable she is among power-hungry men and how jealous everyone must be of her. At this she shakes her head ever so slightly, but she is blushing as well and it even travels up the tips of her tapered ears, "oh, mister Davian, I am sure you are reaching." It is easy to come off as bashful at his compliments, but she is becoming positively intoxicated from the affirmations. The scent of peppermint returns and pulls her out of the flattery because it is a scent she knows all too well while being unable to ever recreate. That smell of home, Yule and family is so exact that it is almost hard to focus on his next line of questioning, "well… the social season is the time where winter breaks its ugly hold over the ton, or those in high society, and everyone socializes. This includes, but is not limited to promenading in town or at a park and attending these wonderful parties, operas, plays and charitable events. Maybe even meeting out at the shops for some retail therapy. Yes, typically only those considered in the ton are at these events in fashionable gowns while the debutants are paraded around with aspirations to catch the attention of a handsome bachelor. The women hope to fill their dance cards and the men aspire to steal the hearts of the prettiest ladies," she speaks dreamily of the time as if she even believes in the notion of true love when that is further from the truth. "I do try my best to put together an unforget-" she stops dead in her answer's tracks and locks her gaze to his own. "Wh… what did you just say?" Something begins to turn in her mind and puzzle pieces begin to slowly fit together. In all her years she has never truly met an avian, but has heard of them. The feather. The fake name is avian with a D in front. The scent. "Who are you, truly?" The question does not come out cross, but curious and confident at the same time.


  • [Uriphiel] ‘Davian’ shakes his head and holds out his hand, palm facing outward as he replies to the butler’s question, “No, thank you. I won’t be staying much longer.” The man’s stomach grumbles again, but it is not something borne from hunger, so he ignores it as best he can. With a smile mirroring his host, he once again fixates his attention upon her words and mannerisms to see how he is currently faring under his ruse. For the most part, she seems to go along with it, even explaining the ins and outs of this societal affair of the rich and famous. However, once she figured that something was amiss, ‘Davian’s gaze widened and he quickly stood. “Forgive me, Lady Cynarith. My motives for visiting have not been truthful. Not fully. I have something of import to bestow upon you, but I must urge complete privacy if you would hear me out. A room, someplace in which no one will unexpectedly enter - preferably with a lock. I will explain everything once I am certain that I can trust you. If you’d rather I leave, then so be it.”


  • Cynarith stands along with him as her gaze narrows in a scrutinizing manner for this gentleman or whoever keeps getting curiouser and curiouser. She dare not cower from him and then she calls out, "Folen, Aimar!" The large bodyguards from before enter with an unusual quickness, seemingly from nowhere and ready for a fight. Have they been that close all along? Are they about to jump on this poor man? Finally her glare moves from the man to the bodyguards to command in their code, "fortress," to which they waste no time walking out the only two doors into the drawing room and standing guard where no one will dare enter past two guys that look like they might be half giant. She quickly follows one and locks the door before doing the same with the opposite door. Now for the windows, she wastes no time in drawing the pocket shudders which block all of the natural light out of the room. This leaves only the crackling hearth and plethora of candles to light the space which might be romantic under very different circumstances, but this is about keeping secrets and Cynarith is serious about both of them being able to keep the secrets they already know or are about to know.


  • [Uriphiel] Davian was taken by surprise when the two guards entered the room, hand once again slipping to the hilt of his arming sword in preparation for a fight. Thankfully, this was not the way things would play out this afternoon. The click of the door, the shuttering of the windows - he realized that this woman was not one to be underestimated. The man took a deep breath and held it for a few seconds, dreading the words that were about to come out of his mouth. “My name is not Davian Smith. From your question moments ago, I do not doubt that you’ve already come to that conclusion. However, before I can fully reveal everything to you, I must ask that you do one thing.” He looks directly into those pools of radiant turquoise and says quite intensely, “Strip.” ‘Davian’ falls into silence, allowing the uncomfortable thought to register with the woman fully. He felt like an absolute wretch having said something so vile, but he would try to reassure her in some form. “My reasons are not perverse, I promise, and I will not look as you do so. In fact, I urge you to cover your most private parts. But I need to see your skin at its barest level. If you were serious about repaying my intervention that night, this is my request. After which, I will reveal my reasons for being here. I will answer all of your questions. I will allow you to know my truest self. This I swear.”


  • Cynarith crosses her arms under her bust and lofts her brow at the man who is seemingly shorter than her naturally five foot nine height with an expression on her face as if to say, 'duh,' as he admits things she already suspects. She is looking right back into those verdant hues when the command hits her ears. "I am sorry? I am certain I just heard you wrong…" but then he elaborates and she indeed did not hear him wrong! Her jaw goes slack and her mouth suddenly feels dry. "Davian," she starts, but then grunts in frustration, "or whatever your true name is. You already know a secret I've kept hidden for so many years." Her head begins to ache and her fingertips press into her temples, "truly you must know I don't even know who you are, but you are beginning to vex me so." She exhales sharply before letting her silky hair down from its ponytail in order to relieve her headache. The intense desire to know this stranger's secret and why he truly came here is getting the better of her, though as the toe of her boot idly kicks at the tassels on the rug below their feet. "Fine," she grumbles harshly through clenched teeth. She starts with the boots, unzipping them and tossing them aside when she suddenly realizes he will see the strange anklet on her foot, but it is too far now to care at the moment and the sleek tan riding breeches come next as she shimmies out of them. Underneath she is wearing a rather unremarkable pair of underwear, which she is slightly embarrassed of. Luckily, her already scarlet cheeks, ears and neck can barely be noticed in this dim light… or so she hopes. "I can't believe," she grumbles to herself while slipping the tanktop over her head to reveal a supportive sporting brassiere underneath that expertly keeps everything in place while riding. Of course she isn't a stranger for showing some skin, having modeled in the past, but this is a bit intimate for someone she just met- or hasn't even truly met! "Happy now?" She tosses her hands up, her flawless ivory skin exposed along with every curve of her fit hourglass shaped body. The foot with the anklet on it shifts behind the other as she rests her hands in the narrow of her waist in wait for the 'truth' to be revealed.


  • [Uriphiel] Davian, obviously embarrassed himself, raises one hand to shield his eyes from her undressing. He is not opposed to seeing a woman bare it all, but this was neither the time nor place for such lascivious thoughts. This was strictly business regarding a matter that, for him, was truly life or death. “I can not apologize enough, Lady Cynarith. It is not my intent to vex you. If there was any other way that I could be certain, then I would have explored that avenue.” He felt so terrible about this situation. So terrible in fact that he considered asking her to stop, but she might actually be his only way forward in quelling the corruption taking place in Schezerade. Once she had fully undressed, he uncovered his eyes and answered her question. “Frankly, no.” Still, despite their mutual displeasure, the human-guised male approached Cynarith and began his examination while moving slowly around her in a circle. He was careful, and meticulous, making sure to not miss any patch of flesh that may play host to a stain of tattooed ink. To his relief, the marking he was looking for, that cultist symbol, was nowhere to be found. “I appreciate your cooperation,” he says finally, coming to stand before her. “I apologize deeply for my transgression. You may get dressed.” ‘Davian’ then looks around the room until he finds a vase, emptying any kind of flowers or water within. What he was about to do, he did not want to do on her pristine floors. “My thanks for your trust is immeasurable, Lady Cynarith. In return, I shall reveal my own secret. Thus, your fear of blackmail will be eased, and you will have something to put us on equal footing.”

    For a final time, the man’s stomach gurgled. It was loud. Sickly, and watery. Without any other warning, the vase was lifted to his mouth and he began to wretch, releasing a putrid black liquid inside. Satisfied that the potential mess is contained, ‘Davian’ drops to the floor onto his elbows and knees, head placed against the soft area rug as he breaks out into a sweat. He truly hated the transformation. Suddenly his skin begins to ripple like a stone breaking the surface of a pond, while muscle and sinew pulsate violently. The beard that was once so prominent, begins to recede, revealing a clean-shaven face that, once rounded, has become slender and diamond-shaped. His hair is no longer of a chestnut hue; Instead, it shortened into an undercut style and colored the sunniest shade of blonde. His gaze lightens, moving from that familiar olive to a gold that glimmers in the soft flickering glow of the nearby fire. His entire frame lengthens, and swells, causing his clothing to tear quite abruptly in many places, barely able to hang on as they try to accommodate his large, muscular seven-foot frame. His shirt, however, would not make it, tearing completely away as two large golden wings erupted from his shoulders and showered the room in those same golden feathers Cynarith had seen a few nights prior - bringing with them that all-too-familiar scent. ‘Davian’, or as the man had been called, stayed on all fours for a few moments longer, waiting for that nauseating feeling to subside.


  • Cynarith keeps her narrowed gaze on the man’s face as he circles her, but then she sees he is searching for something specific and is a little less bothered. He better explain himself, and soon! “I am sure you do,” she mumbles in an irritated manner before fidgeting with a diamond earring decorating her lobes. This is the height of her anxiety and oddly the most alive she’s felt in many months, but she shoves that feeling deep down. With a scoff she moves to her pile of clothes when he is done inspecting her as if she were something to purchase, but his mention of being on equal footing piqued her interest enough that when she glances back over to him, he’s reaching for the valuable vase. “What are you-,” the question begins before being completely forgotten when she hears the skin crawling gurgling sound and then he begins to empty his bile into the delicate item. “Ugh,” she grimaces with a shudder before quickly slipping her pants back on with a quick bounce and making her way over to him. “What is wrong? What are you doing?” The frustration and anger shifts into concern. Carefully she moves the bile filled vase from the floor to a table so it does not get spilled accidentally. Then she pours some chilled water into a glass and returns to a man in the middle of changing shape, how bizarre! This encounter is easily becoming one of the most queer ones she has ever lived through and she has a feeling that after today their stories are about to be drastically shifted. Even though she wishes to look away from what seems to be a painful transition, she cannot and falls silent, at a loss for words. She flinches in surprise ever so slightly with tiniest of yelps at the sudden burst of wings in the room, making the room feel smaller somehow. “Here,” her voice lowers to a whisper and has returned to its honeyed timbre as she hands him the glass of water should he be ready for it. Those turquoise hues cannot believe what or who she is looking at! Of course she’s heard of how ridiculously good looking avians can be, but never did she think she would see one up close, shirtless and all glistening with sweat. Mesmerizing is one way to describe seeing this specimen up close and wholly intimidating. Her next actions feel as if she’s been left on autopilot as she meanders back over to the table to pick up a napkin, figuring the sweat on the stranger might be due to a fever, she tips the fancy cloth napkin into the chilled water and rings it out before bringing it back over to the man. He is still on all fours, so she gently lays the folded cool napkin along the back of his neck in hope it helps, making sure her fingertips do not dare touch the moist bare skin of the man. Scandal is already written all over this event due to them merely being alone, but it is just automatic to her how to conduct herself in such a highly conservative society. If anyone were to discover they were on their own in a locked room let alone half naked, the scandal sheets would have a field day! She has no idea where to start or what to even say at this moment and worst of all she still has not realized her tank top lies in a heap on the rug decorating the marble floor. For now, Cynarith decides it is best to just wait for the avian to gather his senses and maybe explain all of this at his own pace, but she does gently suggest without concern for her opulent furniture, “why don’t you recline on one of the sofas until you can gather yourself, sir?”


  • [Uriphiel] The golden-winged avian hadn’t said anything for a short spell, remaining locked in that awkward position for some time longer until the cool refreshing touch of cloth against the back of his neck snapped him back to the present. “...Thank you,” he said, finally lifting himself from the floor. He picked up the glass of water that had been offered, wasting no time in gulping it down to rid himself of that awful, bitter taste that still made his stomach churn. Under Cynarith’s suggestion, the man found the sofa, but sat himself down instead of laying, arms resting atop his thighs as his head fell backward and his eyes closed, still fighting his urge to wretch again. “I am sorry to have deceived you. I needed to be certain,” he began. “My name is Uriphiel Phandarion. Shar of Bardriel’s first battalion, former Shar of Schezerade’s twenty-first. I am currently a fugitive of sorts, a dead man walking, on the run from the powers that currently rule over Schezerade.” As the nauseating feelings started to diminish, Uriphiel lifted his head and allowed his glimmering golden gaze to mingle with Cynarith’s. “Two years ago, I was kidnapped, tortured, and had an attempt made upon my life by the very vampires that accosted you a few nights back. I have been tracking these vile beasts for the last year and a half, trying to ascertain who had contracted my murder - an answer I was able to gain the very evening that we met. My crime? Trying to create a more honorable and fair government for the people of Schezerade.” There is a jarring click as the avian placed the empty glass upon the table, reaching down to pick up what remained of his ragged shirt, and he promptly wiped the sweat from his face before continuing with his explanation. “The reason I asked so many intrusive questions, the reason I had you strip down… was to make sure that you held no ties to the powers that wish for my ruination. Truthfully, I need your help, Lady Cynarith. I believe you may be the greatest chance I have in getting back to Schezerade, and putting an end to the corruption.”


  • Cynarith continues in her silence, watching the man shift from his position on the floor to the drawing room's ornate couch. She can hear her heartbeat in her ears and she realizes that she has been holding her breath. As casually as she can, she takes a deep breath and forces herself to stop staring at the shirtless sweaty avian who seems to be carved from stone by one of the great master sculptors. Instead she busies herself with bringing the water just over to refill his glass and when she takes the jug back to the little table, she cuts him another slender piece of cake that he had enjoyed just moments before. With her gaze firmly locked on the plate, she gently sets it atop the coffee table within reach for him if he wishes to have another. It is an irrational fear that her retinae may melt in her skull if she allows herself to stare upon the shirtless man once more, but she is always a lady first and that type of behavior is not ladylike. Instead of seating herself across from him, she joins him on the sofa with a respectable distance away so she can lock her gaze on the fireplace illuminating the room. When he begins his explanation, she politely holds her gaze firm to his golden hued eyes. Gold colored eyes? Gold colored hair! Those large golden feathers…. Is he really so attractive or is this just that red dragon hunger for golden pretty things?! Blasted genetic make-up. It is a little more comforting to her that this sudden attraction is just because of all the 'gold' to be had and nothing more indeed. When she watches him pick up his shirt, she is relieved he is finally going to cover up, but no such luck- although. Heavens to betsy she is still shirtless! The realization washes over her and her, cheeks flushing with a scarlet hue anew, head swiveling as her narrowed gaze darts about the room until she finally spots her tank top still in a heap on the floor too far away to simply lean over in order to obtain. At least her sporting brassiere is still on! Her attention is drawn back to the man's eyes when he proclaims he needs her help further and she realizes she hasn't spoken in quite some time as an awkward silence rests between them. While she fidgets with the ring on her pointer finger once more, she surprisingly keeps her calm and confident exterior, finally joining the conversation, "it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance Shar Phandarion." Even though she knows nothing of avian customs or culture, she does know a military rank when she hears one and respectfully uses it when addressing him. "This is a troubling time indeed, but I am having trouble understanding how I can be of any assistance," the anklet covered ankle crosses behind the other as she hopes he doesn't have some wild idea that she will help him in her dragon form.


  • [Uriphiel] There was no realm nor plane from which one could not see the salacious staring perpetrated by the elvish woman seated next to Uriphiel; And it was without a doubt that he noticed. He was no stranger to such behaviour, having often dealt in stride with the flirtatious tittering and hushed whispers amongst a certain population of young women on the College grounds in Shezerade. Still, even though the idea of seeming attractive to another titillated his deepest senses, and even if he thought the woman held some aura of beauty, he could not place too much mind on the matter, simply flashing the woman an awkward smile while trying to avoid gawking at her own dressed down form. “I… am in need. I seek an item that is hard to come by. Given your status of import, and your wealth, I can only assume that you have connections greater than myself, or, well, most of the commoners on the isle.” Uriphiel adjusted his wings as he leaned forward to reach for the cake that Cynarith had set before him, trying his best not to knock her off of the sofa as he did so. He took a bite and waited a moment to swallow, taking the time to appreciate the rich flavour that he so craved. It must have felt like forever before he decided to speak again, and when he did so, he seemed to be in a more relaxed state of mind. “What was I saying? Oh. yes. I have heard that there exists a magical spirit known as a Tulpa, that has the ability to disguise its owner in a more permanent manner. I have heard that such things can be found in the lands of Vhys and Archmosia, but they are rare and as I said, hard to come by. I first considered going to the Mages of Xalious for help, however, with Schezerade soaring high above the mountain range, it would be foolish of me to even attempt to venture that far past Kelay given how these blasted elixirs are so unreliable. Cenril does not host much in the way of sorcerers, nor do I have connections to its illustrious black market. So, this brings me to you. With your many businesses, your taste in expensive items, and your connections through your various galas and garden parties, I am assuming that you might know of someone who can get me the item that I require. If you do not wish to get involved, then I understand. These events today have perhaps soured your opinion of me, for which I do not blame you. As I spoke earlier, we are on equal footing now, and any hold that you perceived me as having is quite broken. This favour, I ask only in a longing to save my people, and it would place me in your debt eternally…” Uriphiel falls silent now, his gaze settled upon the crackling hearth as he awaits her response.



TO BE CONTINUED...

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