RP:The Grand Re-Opening of Vailkrin's Slave Market

Part of the Rest in Pieces: Vailkrin! Arc

Part of the Agitation Arc

Summary: Trajek summons Larewen to Vailkrin's Abandoned Slave Market, where he has brought a tribute. Little do they know that Talene, wanting to take hold of her mother's assets, happens to be sneaking around. Revitalizing the slave trade within Vailkrin is a tempting notion, but Talene discovers more than she expects about the woman who lusts for Vailkrin's throne. Iintahquohae's perception of the courting process, on the other hand, is skewered.

Abandoned Slave Market

The Abandoned Slave Market was abandoned no longer, or at least not at the time. But instead of hundreds of voices all hawking their prices, there was a solitary one. Its words were breathy, if they could be considered words at all. They were a call, a -summons-, one that would tug at the inner being of Larewen until it became a compulsion to move, to meet him at their designated space. But the summoner was not without his tributes; one of the empty slave shops was abuzz with the sounds of captives...with cries, clanking of chains, and the sickening slick of binds cutting into wrists, ankles, and bodies. Some were living, some most likely had passed in the night, but what await the necromancer was a veritable feast of blood, bodies, or souls.

Talene had been known to check in on this location, as sometimes it wasn't actually abandoned. And this time, her search was fruitful. Slaves could be wonderful informants, given the proper incentive. But, the rogue wouldn't stray from any obscure corners or alcoves unless confident she could move to the next undetected. The sounds of a not-so-empty shop drew her ever closer, a singular eye peering through any available window or crack that wouldn't compromise her position. This time, her patch was missing, and a very detailed and realistic glass eye was now placed in her socket, seeing as how Langley had yet to follow up on his promise of a mask of illusions for the one-eyed rogue. Ears "perked", patiently waiting to hear any slves grumbling or gossiping about anything of interest.

Larewen felt that tug, deep within her very essence. It called out to her, it seduced her, it pulled at parts of her that yearned for things that would undo her: Trajek called to the woman's madness with that irresistible draw. She trekked through Vailkrin in silence, following the streets through the arena and to the abandoned market. Her nostrils flared as her magic drifted outward, the familiar darkness of hoer power seeking to caress the Shade's own magic in that damned death knight. Reaching her destination, she stopped. Hunger flared in her belly and her tongue appeared briefly as it swept over the scarred tiers of her lips and she dared to cross the threshold, meeting Trajek's stare. "You will not let me be, will you, fiend?" she growled, fingers curling into her palms.

Trajek tightened his lips into a merciless smirk, even giving the necromancer a low bow to add insult to the injury. His response, his actions, the smirk that wouldn't leave his face, all answered her question with a resounding 'Never.' "Gifts." He let wheeze out between his loosely-gripped throat as he swung his arm to the room behind him. The blackness seethed, the darkness roiled. Body upon body were stacked, chained, bound, gagged, and beaten into submission. Males and females alike, and their races ran the gamut. But what could be sensed above all was their uses: the elves, those were to be feasted upon, while the others would serve well within an undead army. "Speak. Cenril. Drow Mage. Infected." He laid out his plans in the open air, with his shredded throat, instead of the link between them. "Draw attention...away from...here. From you."

Talene's goals were exceeded, not exactly planning to eavesdrop on this meeting, but it looked like she was fortunate this night. Petal-pink lips curled softly, She could watch them if she so wished, but listening was all she needed. She hadn't bothered to look and see if the ring she'd pilfered from the Ghoul had been returned to his hand. While she didn't get the apology she needed, at least she was able to walk away to continue her work. That, ultimately, would have to do. For now.

Gifts. That's exactly what they are. Larewen drew her lower lip into her mouth, gaze fixing upon the elves in particular. There's something oddly romantic about his actions, particularly the care he paid toward the things Larewen's favor. Saliva pooled in her mouth, but before she could have a momentary lapse of judgement, Trajek's words settled in her mind. "What drow mage?" she asked. Taking a step toward one of the younger, female elves, Larewen lifted a finger in her direction. Her magic undid the chains binding the slave and dark magic curled around the girl to draw her nearer. "Did you give your new toy the skull?"

Trajek moved alongside Larewen as she began to play with her meal. She was a predator, more feline than vampire, and loved to play with her food before she sucked it dry. For that reason alone, Trajek made sure the nearest female elf was a spirited. Seeing that it was the Vampiress' hand that had freed her, the slave let out a loud cry. She would have called Larewen 'savior' had the magic that drew her nearer not wrapped around her throat. "No name." The unwitting pawn had been one whose control had begun long ago. Now he had become useful. "Less...you know...Deniability."

Talene's one eye peered briefly around the corner from her hiding spot, quickly, just to see if any children were present amongst the slaves. Adults, she could do nothing for. Children, however...that was another matter entirely. She wouldn't dare draw attention from the scritches of pencil on paper so she'd try to commit key words to memory. Cenril. Drow Mage. Infected. Skull. Attention away from Vailkrin and Larewen. No name. Plausable Deniability. The vampire wasn't sure whom specifically would find this information useful, but she was a purveyor of secrets, and a collector of debts. Surely, this could be ammo somehow. But, presently, she had to wonder -why- a mage was the pair's target. What were they hiding?

Larewen curls her lip. "Truth, but it is aggravating," the elf hisses. The energy coiled around the elf's throat darkens until it becomes a shadowy rope. When Talene peers around the corner, she will see that the elven slave is in the throes of rebellious teenage years - if she were human, anyway. Barely more than a child and so very tantalizing. The girl begins to struggle and scream as she claws at the dark tendrils. Larewen continues to pull and her magic shifts again. The rope splinters and part of it pulls away. It forces its way into the girl's mouth, gagging her. Fear pales her features and panic sets in. This awakens a twisted delight in the necromancer. "Come, girl," she whispers sweetly, her words nearly a song. To Trajek, she repeats, "Did you give your toy the skull, like I told you to?" There is bitterness, perhaps even hatred in the cadence of the elf's words.

Trajek bid the elf a farewell with a dip of his head. From the slaver to the mistress, and from the mistress to a cold grave. It would be a long night for the Ghoul if he even slept at all---each slave would have to be transported to House Dragana in ways that would not draw unneeded attention. He had done it before, and he did not need an order from Lady Dragana to know he would do it again. The first time the question was asked, the Ghoul ignored it. When it was asked again, wrapped in a command, he made it a point to ignore it without subtly. His chin dipped, his glare letting her know that the task would be done when he had time to do it. "Take tribute. Go."

Talene was iffy on teenagers, being in that ambiguous stage. Right now, it'd be inopportune to give away her position, so she'd close her eyes and say a brief prayer for the lass. The venom in Larewen's tone when she mentioned a "toy" made her frown. She knew little of the woman's enemies or allies, reflecting briefly on her speaking with Redhale in the tavern some time ago. Then she remembered the witch frequently accompanying her, listing that possibility. Events were reviewed, and then she came to one final possibility: herself. She knew the woman wasn't fond of her, but was she actually trying to come up against her? Just for bruising her ego, and taking a single ring from the Ghoul? More than anything, she was baffled. The rogue had no interest in starting a war with her, she only wanted to rise to her own goals, meet them and be done with the stagnation of her House. Or was Larewen aware of the snaring and humiliation of the Ghoul at her hands? The fact that he wouldn't tell her anything really made her wonder. It just didn't make sense.

Larewen's temper unravels, as it is so very prone to doing as of late, in lieu of Trajek's failure to answer her. The tribute suffers for it. From the depths of the necromancer's throat, a low, keening sound surfaces. It is unnatural, it is wrong, and the dark energy in the room grows stronger. The magic that served as the gag within the elven girl's mouth twists and begins to expand and her eyes bulge in horror, in agony. She claws at her face, desperate to try and pull the magic and to breathe and to live. The magic stifles the scream that begins to resonate in her lungs and there's the faint sound of something cracking... and then there's a pop. Necromantic magic shoots outward from where the girls head had been just moments before. Above her lower jaw, nothing is left. Bone and blood and brain matter spatter the room, causing what slaves that still breathe to recoil in terrified disgust. One of the girl's eyes, a clear blue, rolls away along the floor, picking up dust as it settles before Talene. Larewen's lips twist hatefully beneath the blood that spatters her face. "You are testing my patience, Trajek," she hisses. Trajek :: This was the dance the two former lovers danced. Larewen the lead, the dominant, the powerful. Trajek, the one who upends that dominance, the one who defies and belittles her power by being unmoved

This was the dance the two former lovers danced. Larewen the lead, the dominant, the powerful. Trajek, the one who upends that dominance, the one who defies and belittles her power by being unmoved by these petty attempts at intimidation and dominance. He was looking at her when the poor elven maiden's head was exploded; one side of his face was covered by the blood and gore, and the remnants of bone and body made his unwavering smirk all the more fearsome. "Only. Weak. Need...to be...seen." Boots carried him over to the still upheld elf, and his bone-thin hand reached into her neck. His own magic flared, but the near silent sound was covered by what sounded like a sword drawn from a sheathe. But what he pulled from the neck was the maiden's spine, and no sooner did its tail touch the air did the backbone become his cherished weapon. No pomp, and no pop. No exhibition of power, and no eyeball rolling to Talene's boot. Yet she knew that blade intimately; she knew its taste in her gut and her sternum, in wounds that never truly healed. He held the blade out to the darkness with a dip of his head. "They. Fear. You."

Talene shook her head softly, pitying the lass for such an end. What a waste. It would seem her and the Ghoul had done something like this before- a tug of war. The eyeball was ignored for a moment, before her paranoia kicked in. With such dark magicks at her disposal, and that eyeball pointed at her, could it be a bad thing to leave it exposed? Lowering herself oh-so-slowly to a kneel, she'd dart her hand out, quick as a snake strike, and grab the eye to squish it as quietly as possible. She heard more than saw Trajek pull his blade out from what was the girl's spine, remembering that wicked pig-sticker, keeping half an eye peering from her hiding spot. To be able to conjure a weapon from bone like that made her all the more glad she pig-snared the son of a bitch.

The eyeball squelches between Talene's fingers at precisely the same time Trajek pulls the elven girl's spine from her body. Fortunate for the rogue, probably. Trajek's words chafe an old wound, biting into that ego and pride: the girl's demise had not been a show of magic. It had been the equivalent of a pissy elf throwing a temper-tantrum. As Trajek points the blade, Larewen's magic reaches out to it and curls around it covetously. The necromancer draws nearer, bloodspattered features pointed in Trajek's direction. Her lips are twisted into a hateful snarl. A pale, scarred hand lifts toward the ghoul's face, necromantic energies writhing around her fingers.

Trajek felt the tug of familiar magic upon his blade, and, this time, the blade -moved.- It was as though her powers had finally won, her strength had finally been enough to force the sword's tip to turn in her direction. A low, desperate growl rumbled from Trajek's shredded throat as he put his other hand on the blade's hilt; he fought with all his might to pull the blade's tip away from the necromancer, away from the magic that called it. Eyes darted between his blade and the spiteful bitch, as both his hands struggled against the irresistible pull. His gaze hardened, and then that smirk returned. Her necromantic energies popped and fizzled along the blade, drawn from the bone like poisoned sucked from a wound, and whatever hold she had on it was gone as well. But the point was still leveled at her, and his hands were positioned for a thrust, and with a single step forward, he struck. He drove the sword downward in a near overhead strike; the blade would break her sternum and barely slide through her back without severing her spine. His strike would stop only when his knees touched the ground, when his fists were soaked in her undead essence that leaked from her sternum, and the blade itself bit into stone. Iintahquohae appeared from the south.

Talene, from her hidden point, would widen her eyes, jaw going slack and staring with a gape at them. Batshit, both of them. Absolutely, positively, batshit crazy. She realizes now that she was far more fortunate than she thought, in being able to walk away from that man. Luck, a little moreso than skill. Scrubbing one gloved hand under her long-brimmed hat, through her hair, she'd turn to leave, having seen enough for now.

Iintahquohae is late to the party, but she just saw that thing that happened and just stares. Well, it's Vailkrin, she thinks. This is probably normal. ...This is normal right?

The side of Larewen that meets with the basilisk blade as Trajek drives it through her sternum is the part of the elf that he is drawn to most. A wicked grin curls her lips, even as a bark of pain erupts from her throat and she goes down. His blade meets with the stone beneath and pierces through it, and the result is that the ghoul is bent over her. Larewen's chest heaves with unnecessary breath and the fingers that had reached for Trajek's face find their place upon his cheek, curling in against his rotting flesh as she tugs him nearer. This drives the blade further through her, for she is leaning upward. It is another wound that will not heal, but that... is a minor issue at present. Corrupted blood bubbles upward from her throat, leaking from her mouth and dribbling down her chin as she suddenly snares his lips in a hungry kiss. Like a starving child presented with bread, the necromancer's very essence, the darkness that has gathered within her, hungers for the death knight. In that moment, Emrith is not on her mind at all.

Talene, after having risen back to her feet, barely caught a glimpse of the vampire trying to bring the ghoul into a passionate embrace. Her palm resting over her face, she shakes her head again. Resisting the habit of sighing, she starts to sneak away when she sees the one woman from the tavern and freezes. If Inky looked in her direction, she'd have a finger placed over her lips. Should she not, she wouldn't bother to signal her to move away from the area quietly. Provided nothing else stops her, the rogue would soon be gone from the premises, to make her notes and do a little asking around.

Trajek does not deny Larewen the kiss she craves, and he returns it as fiercely as it was given. There was no passion within the Ghoul, nor was there any emotion that was resembling care. There was only hunger, and at this moment, what satiated that hunger was the woman who, despite being pinned against the ground by his own hand, pushed herself high enough to lay her blood smeared lips upon his own. The blade, though, was mindless. The blade did not know nor did it care about the situation at hand. It had penetrated, its first task, and pumped within Larewen the energy that fed the curse within her. When the Ghoul broke off the kiss, when he stood and slid the blade out of Larewen's chest, he watched how the fever spread from flesh-etched rune to flesh-etched rune. "Feed." He commanded and he repeated once he had dragged a bound slave from the shadows and threw the elf maiden next to Larewen. "Feed. Now."

If Iintahquohae is baffled by what she's watching, it isn't readable on her face. She is absolutely baffled, however. Baffled and curious. Her attention does travel to Talene when she catches movement in her periphery. She appreciates the warning to keep quiet, and does just so after judging whether or not she's a safe enough distance away from....the couple? They're a couple, right? The seamstress doesn't go out of her way to hide herself. She merely stands at a distance and watches.

Larewen's gown darkens around where the blade has penetrated her chest and the corruption that poisons her blood, that taints her magic, feeds hungrily upon the energies within the blade. Upon the essence of the Shade. As the curse flares a brilliant, verdant hue, more of the woman she onces was slips away. She doesn't want to release the death knight anymore than she wishes to allow the blade to be drawn free. In fact, her own hands cover his, smearing the mixture of her blood and the poor elven girl's. Her skin burns brilliantly though and the curse... the curse placed upon her with the aid of that entity, prevents her from fighting against him for that blade, for a struggle in her current position could easily end her. Her fingers loosen and the a schlick indicates the blade's freedom. Black ichor bubbles from her chest with each ragged and unnecessary breath. The elf, newly freed from her restraints, makes a sudden desperate move for her freedom and in that moment, the monster within the necromancer awakens. She hardly stands a chance as Larewen pounces and a flash of fang sees the girl's throat ripped out. She feeds greedily, hungrily and remains, for the moment, unaware of Iintahquohae's presence. When that corpse is drained, a few seconds are all that exist before she's lunging upon one of the other slaves and again, tearing its throat out. Larewen is ravenous and any hint of nobility, of propriety, is gone.

Trajek left once he saw Larewen tear into the first victim. She would feed, she would feast, upon as many of the slaves as she could. No doubt she would drain them all in all due time...and when she was out of unwilling victims once more, the Ghoul would show up once more.