RP:The Necromantic Barfly
This is a Necromancer's Guild RP.
Summary: Killian's just enjoying another drink in the tavern when Larewen and Artia arrive. Little does he know, he's about to get roped into the Necromancer's Guild.
Hanging Corpse Tavern
This once-timber tavern has been rebuilt in sturdily vitrified blackstone and imbued with powerful protective magics that prevent occult fire and several other potentially harmful spells being cast within its walls. No effort has been spared to make what might otherwise be a bleak interior comfortable. The bar is made of polished stone with an oaken inlay, the space behind filled with a bustle of attractive barmaids, sundry barrels and a dazzling array of coloured bottles that glint in the light cast by a large wrought-iron candelabrum suspended from the ceiling overhead. Here, the one-eyed Steadman stands, ready to take orders for food or drink. Beyond the bar, stout tables are firmly bolted to the floor, though the high-backed chairs are freestanding. The hearth is a true feature, seeming to be cast from black lava into the shape of a colossal, laughing goblin's head, its maw gaping wide and deep, usually containing a merrily crackling fire. A delicious scent of roasting meats drifts in from the kitchens and a winding staircase leads to rooms upstairs. To the south are set cellar doors, usually kept locked unless a special event is taking place. The walls are hung with thick, richly woven tapestries depicting persons and events in the history of Vailkrin and the Vampiric race. There's also a notice-board near the entrance, where one may leave messages. Unobtrusive but ever-present are the security staff, staunch fighters ever ready to toss troublemakers out.
Killian was working on the fire once again, though this time he'd stocked the log pile to the brim and wouldn't be the teased for letting it burn out. Complimentary drink was lain upon the corner of the bar as booted feet moved from the hearth and towards his stool whilst wiping a sleeved arm across his brow and pushing loose hair out of his face. "Every night? In the middle of the week? No kidding?" He spoke to one of the barmaids as she passed, taking a tray of wine and glasses to a table in the back. He was becoming familiar with not just the staff in the Tavern, but some of the more frequent flyers, and Ian couldn't help but wonder if he would see Artia or Joan on what was to be the busiest night of the week.
It is to Larewen that the wine and glasses are going to, and the woman watches the half-elf stoke the fire with keen interest. Her nostrils flare, taking in the fact that he is living. She is a frequent patron of the establishment, though as of late she’s been elsewhere it would seem for Ian is a new face to her. Without thanking the barmaid, she draws a glass from the bottle and swirls it around before lifting it to her lips. A foot taps a delicate cadence against the floor as she reaches for a silver case upon the table. Inside are clove cigarettes, and she takes one, lighting it.
Artia moved within the tavern, with a swiping motion removed her cloak. Showing off the black off-the-shoulder hourglass and curve fitting dress with a notched, deep v-neck neckline. Long, fitted sleeves frame the bodice and mini skirt. Silver laces along the back to tie the built-in bodice, matching knee length heeled boots clicking the floor as she walked in. The waist length red waves left hanging free tonight, a strand hanging half over the right side of her face. Nodding to the bartend for her usual, bottle of whiskey and one-shot glass, large cyan blue with a gold starburst within look about the place. Spotting Killian who is given a wiggle of her digits wave, then her mother Larewen. Who she nods and blow a kiss too, adoring her and everything the woman has done for her.
Killian had taken to doing odd-jobs around the Tavern, if only because he hadn't learned his way around the city yet. Not for lack of trying either, the barmaids had just advised him heavily that wandering the streets of Vailkrin alone in his 'condition' would not be wise. So the hearth was clear of cobwebs and blazing to keep the place warm thanks to a short trip the the nearest treeline that would now have a wider roadway. The tumbler at the bar was pulled from it's resting place and held aloft while sea-green eyes wandered over the varying faces of the crowd, the man trying almost desperately to spot someone familiar. As Artia makes her way in Ian might show the barest hint of relief, though he doesn't move from his post. His glass is lifted in a salute, though it was the curiosity at the blown kiss that has him setting it back down without having taken a sip. His gaze follows the direction the redhead had looked to spot the recipient of that wine; Larewen. She was new, and the half elf looked over his shoulder at the barkeep with a raised brow, "Does the virus do that to 'em? Or do vampires only turn pretty women?" He was assuming, of course, but every pretty thing he'd seen walk into the tavern hadn't had a pulse.
Larewen studies Killian with her darker eye, reading the magicks that flow through his very being. Her lips quirk upward, but no attempt at greeting is made. At least not immediately. His words are heard, but whether or not she reacts to them is hard to tell—a dark veil obscures part of her face. She greets Artia with a lift of her hand, beckoning the woman closer as she points with her smoldering cigarette at the man with a pulse. “Who is that?”
Artia poured herself a shot and lifted it back in cheers to Killian. Eventually, they were start their studying together. Curious to find out what she could learn on her side of the necromancer part, even though her own was more unnatural then what necromancers used. Noticing Killian had followed where she blew the kiss, making her smirk. Overhearing his statement, a chuckle escape. Taking the shot and thought about moving from her chair to introduce the two of them. Deciding she would, pouring herself another and taking it before she moving, only to be beckoned to Larewen. Moving up to her, she speaks. “That is Killian, his friends call him Ian. He is a necromancer as well, mother.” Looking over to Ian, curling her finger for him to come over to them so she may properly introduce them.
Killian wouldn't hear a word the barkeep told him- if Steadmen bothered to answer at all- because the moment Artia beckoned him over to the table he was grabbing his glass once more and pointing his boots in their direction. Heavy footfalls thudded against the wooden floorboards as he passed by the warmth of the fireplace, and a leather cuffed wrist brought his glass up to drain the contents. The tumbler was passed off on a tray traveling back towards the bar, and without waiting for more of an invitation, Ian would claim the seat across the vixens. "Evenin'." He almost felt like he was headed into a trap.
Larewen watches Ian’s approach, bringing her cigarette to her lips and suckling it gently. She exhales the smoke a few moments later as Ian seats himself. Oh, she’s most definitely fixed on the male. “Hello,” she replies, her voice candied. Her glass is lowered to the table and a gloved hand extends toward him. “Lady Larewen Dragana.” It’s a simple introduction, really. She waves down a barmaid. “Ply the boy with whatever his heart desires. On my tab.”
Artia smiled widely at how Larewen welcomed him to their table, crossing her legs as per usual. “Killian, this is my mother.” No need to give names as Larewen had done so, “Mother, he is a friend and plans to study necromancy with me. Saw a bit of what my necrobotany can do, as I successful brought back a grizzly. You might had seem him about the property.”
Killian had become unaccustomed to formal introductions, eve the more simpler ones such as this. There was a hesitation in his movements, if but slight, before he'd wipe his hand off on the leg of his jeans before grasping Larewen's in his own and giving it a firm up-down shake, "Killian D'mure. Or Ian." He really didn't mind which name she chose to call him by. Artia's addition to the introduction drew his gaze her way for a beat, before he was looking harder towards the Lady once again, "Mother?" Maybe he was in a trap. "Whisky, darlin.." It was mumbled to the barmaid before she'd rush off to fetch it.
Larewen gives a single, sharp nod. “Yes, I am her mother,” the necromancer answers, listening to Artia quietly afterwards. Her lip curls upward once more. “I can offer you further study, under the guidance of the Necromancer’s Guild, if you’re interested.” The offer is made and she awaits his answer, finishing her cigarette and stealing another sip of her bloodwine. A glance is made toward Artia, one that conveys to the younger vampire an interest in the half-elf without saying as much.
Artia got up from her chair to grab the bottle, shot glass sitting back down in middle between them unless otherwise advised by Larewen. If larewen wanted to sit by Killian she would have no issue with such. “Yes, my mother. The one that blessed me with eternal life, she has accepted me as her daughter and when Ava was alive as her grandmother.” Her nostrils flared, having to remind herself she brought it up not anyone else. Ava was a very sour spot for the witch, an almost direct way to make her angry. Pouring the third shot of whiskey, knocking it back as she crossed her legs again. “No stress Ian, she won’t randomly bite you like Joan.” Chewing her bottom lip from laughing, offering the whiskey bottle over to Ian. He probably knew by now to share the whiskey with Artia or she would finish it alone. Artia picked up the glance and meaning behind it with a soft smile, looking to Ian. “She is one of the most if not strongest necromancers in the land Ian, I would take her up on it. I can not join the guild as the way my necrobotany works.” Whatever Larewen needed of artia, she would do with no question asked or a second guess she was loyal to her and her alone.
Larewen curls her lips upward, a smirk spreading across the pale, fleshy tiers. "Only those who show necromantic abilities," she assures him, her head canting to the side. A moment later, she leans in her chair, dipping nearer to him. Soft breath, cool and entirely unnecessary, falls upon his ear as she whispers, "But I do have a fondness for those with a pulse." She fails to mention that their pulse is fleeting around her. Leaning back, she glances to Artia with a wink.
Artia understood why he was cautious about someone feeding from him, offering him a sympathetic look. Wanting to reach out and pat her friend’s shoulder, and thus she did. “Maybe just give some blood in a cup then?” Smirking at the question he gave Larewen, taking herself a shot and using her bottle to refill Ian’s drink the two seemingly always drinking whiskey as well end up sharing the whiskey. “I do not offer to study with just anyone, Ian. You earned my respect and working on my full trust. Since this, I can vouch for you to mother here.” As larewen leaned towards Ian, she lifted her shot glass with a smile behind it. Though when Larewen winked she could not help but to release a chuckle, “This is an offer I would not skip on. As for my dear friend Joan, maybe tell her why you are weirded out by being bit?”
Killian couldn't help the shiver that ran down his spine for that whisper, and once again he felt like a fish in a frying pan. There was the barest ghost of a smile as Laweren leaned away again, and he'd take the refilled glass and nod his head in Artia's direction in silent thanks. "Alright. Sure. I could use some proper teaching." Not that he thought Artia wasn't proper enough, but she'd said so herself, her gifts were different. Squaring his shoulders, Ian took a long pull from his glass before speaking once more, this time to both woman since it seemed to half-answer the redhead's question. "I am not a blood bag. I don't feed vampires just because they ask, and I might not even if they need. I was taught blood sharing is something personal, and I am also aware there are some of your kind that can use bites as a means of tracking and controlling." He'd been through that once before, it sounded. "I would like to know, first, if you can accept those terms." His direction was more pointed towards the Lady Larewen, though he continued without waiting for an answer, "And second, does joining the Guild offer protection for those of use that do not need to drink out comrades?"
Larewen arches a slender brow as she produces another clove cigarette and leans back in her chair. Lifting one leg beneath her bustle gown and crossing it over the other, she eyes Killian for a long time. "Strange, that you'd presume to come to the City of the Dead and make such demands," the woman says, her candied voice taking on an icy edge. Her gaze flits briefly toward Artia, the stern pressing of her lips together and tightening of her jaw an indication of the woman's ire. Her tongue clicks against the roof of her mouth and with her free hand she lifts her glass, taking a long drag of the carmine fluid. "But if that's what it takes to get you into the Necromancer's Guild, then I will offer you my personal protection, Ian." His name is emphasized.
Artia took no offense to him saying he could use a proper teaching; her part was of unnatural magics not what he would be using. “Blood sharing can be something very special, or to save a friend.” Leaning back into her chair, eyeing Ian down when he brought up drinking out comrades. She personally wouldn’t drink him out, but out drink him with whiskey. When Larewen speaks and looks to artia she shrugs as she didn’t know truly why Killian wanted to stay in a city where vampires would more then happy force themselves upon him to get a meal. “I will keep an eye upon him when you are not around.”
Killian might have frowned then, were the rim of his cup not firmly pressed into his face. The rest of his beverage gone, he'd turn the tumbler upside down and place it on the table so Artia wouldn't refill it and enable him more. "Actually, I drunken stumbled." He wasn't sure how he'd ended up here, truth be told. "And it is more of a request to honor my beliefs than a demand." His gaze swung to Artia then, "I wouldn't ask, if it weren't important." She knew why it was so, and he hoped she would inform Larewen of his reasons, at a later point. It had been embarrassing enough when the red head had found out on her own.
Larewen lifts her chin and drains the rest of her glass before lowering it to the table. A moment later, the necromancer rises to her feet. "We've more to talk about, Ian, but that can come at another time. Until then, be well." Her gaze moves over to Artia. "I'll see you around the manor. Feel free to show Ian the way there. Considering he's lingering around this City, I hardly think he's got a place to stay." With those words, she dips her head and then makes for the exit.
It might had been embarrassing to Ian, but it amused Artia the reaction it had caused. She would do Ian the solid and explain to her mother why he was asking. After of course she asked him if okay to speak of such private matters that Ian opened up about to her, not one to just blurt things out that others trust with her just not how this vampire rolled. Giving a nod to Larewen, Ian was her charge when she was not around and to show him where the manor was. “Yes madame.” Looking to Ian, “Looks like you get to have a nice room, instead living here.” She smiled brightly, excited that her friend was accepted.