RP:The Pyde Piper

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Summary: Pyde offers to put on a show for patrons of the Kelay Tavern.

Kelay Tavern

Built and rebuilt, torn apart and set like stubborn bone, this tavern is the pinnacle of Hollow's entirety, wrought around the premise of peace, equality, and consummate amity. And of course, the old place had seen all of the three, but so much more. Dire markings of claw and steel cut deep into wall panels and floorboards. Set against the land's usual motif of destruction are signs of comfort. Twisting shadows and smoothing out a careful blanket of light with soft, quaint fires, a candelabra dangles down by thick cords, gripping the circular holder. Each twists up, converging upon the center, where they snake about one another and form a thick, secure anchor to Kelay Tavern's high, accommodating ceiling. The candelabra rattle now and again from the inn patrons overhead, pouring down globs of wax to the center of the room, which is wide and unobstructed. Cheaply carpentered tables and chairs grow outward around the bare dancing area, keeping to the rounded theme, and also keeping to a dwarven barkeeper's avariciously born taste for 'economical' furniture. Hardly any expense has been wasted on the actual upkeep of the public center, as can be garnered from the smell of deep pine, rich tobacco, and even richer spirits. Stairs twist away dimly near the high bar. And atop that side rests the inn logs, quill, and ink. This establishment's fine keeper, Mesthak, can be seen smiling out from his post at the bar, straight across to the room's always crackling stone-wrought hearth. Behind him, atop lofty shelves, sits an array of dark, amber, and clear liquids. Food smells waft from somewhere near at hand. A carefully printed and hung sign details the purchasable items here in the place of merriment, loss, laughter, and life. Also, tucked into a corner near one of two windows closest to the tavern doorway is a thickly papered bulletin board. A sign has been added next to the board that reads, 'The management requires patrons be fully inebriated at all times and that no curing spells be performed in this tavern-Thank you'.



Pyde scampers through the door as a patron walks out, and quickly scurries across the floor to hide his precious bundle. He whispers a ward over to so no one would find it and eyes would seem to avoid looking at it if the tried to see it. Then the Fermin would scamper across the room then climb a chair leg to get to the seat, and finally pull himself up onto the table it self. "Hmmm, spring time. The floor is ever so dirty around this time of year. I so detest getting dirt on my paws." The puppeteer pulls out a small bottle of water and washes his hands over the side of the table so not to make a mess on the table top. Looking around he gazes at each patron contemplating his next actions then decides to repair his tools of trade. He opens his coat and pulls from his belt numerous sets of marionettes, so he could polish them.


Silvertail looks still puzzled trying to understand what Vanzel mean


Silvertail watches the fermin with one head debating whether or not to try and eat it, this is the only thing on his mind now and he has forgotten all about the friends concept and is now only thinking of this one thing eat or don't eat. The small hydra slowly starts turning every head until he looks almost ready to attack.


Vanzel slowly walks over to Pyde and watches as the puppeteer works on his tools. "Money and Power are the way to go my friend without which this world would be nothing but with which friends are nowhere near." Glances at Silvertail then back at Pyde


Larewen shouldered open the door to the establishment in silence, having no need to be this far from Vailkrin save for the fact that she hungered and Kelay provided ample variety for satiating the necromancer's taste buds. As she crossed the threshold, dark, chocolate-hued eyes swept over those present. Pyde would garner a long, fixed stare for he was a surprisingly well-groomed fermin and that was rather an unusual sight. Larewen was just as well-groomed, but that wasn't entirely unusual. Her bustle gown swept along the floorboards as she made her way toward an empty table, her attention finally leaving the fermin to take in Silvertail and Vanzel. A cold smile teased the corner of her lips, just beneath the dark veil that was pinned beneath her hat as she lowered herself into one of the chairs.


Pyde pulls from his belt a lumpy pouch, "Actually my friends are right here." He quickly puts the bag away and goes back to polishing his puppets. Also the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as if a predator was watching him. The well-groomed fermin turns so he could keep an eye on the creature eyeing him, but continues his work unintimidated. He raises his hands into the air as if directing a puppet and the current puppet began to stir and come to life before him. This particular puppet was modeled after a Butcher with strangely high details for most marionettes, almost as if he really could come to life.


Larewen found her attention inevitably drawn back to Pyde as Vanzel and Silvertail both took their leave. Their sudden departures had no effect upon the elf, for neither were what she deemed to be a familiar enough face. If either had been, they would have offered the necromancer their own farewells, if they so wished. It was the magic that Pyde weaved to coerce the puppet into movement that struck the necromancer's fancy and she leaned forward upon her seat. A sleeved elbow rose upward to settle upon the table, gloved fingers and palm forming a cup for her to rest her cheek in. To Nancy, she would wave a hand. No verbal order needed placing, for Larewen had been a patron of this establishment for far too long and always, her drink had been the same: a glass of cabernet sauvignon. It would be as she waited for the stemmed bowl to be brought to her that the fermin was offered a greeting, if only to sate the elf's curiosity. "A lovely creation you have there," she said, her voice haunting.


Pyde looks up looking for the voice speaking to him. Spotting Larewen, he quickly stands and gives a low bow. "Creation perhaps yes. Aquired is actually the truth. The Butcher here is much more than folks realize. It takes a strong will and a study hand to make him play his parts in my shows." He smiles warmly, and opens his coat to take from it two other marionettes of just as much detail; almost human looking yet having a sinister look about them. "He has two brothers, The Baker," which takes a step forward and bows, "And the Candlestick Maker." This puppet also takes a step forward. "They can be quite trouble some if one isn't too careful with them or leave them unattended for too long. Another smile crosses his face when speaking about his favorite toys, not out of pride, but because he told the truth about these three and those not paying any mind think he was joking. "So what brings you to a tavern like this? You're far too well dressed for the likes of this place."


Larewen arched a dark brow upward behind cover of her veil at his choice in words. "Acquired? Do you mean your magic or the marionette?" she queried, her head tilting. "The former would be creation and the latter of little consequence." Mild amusement danced across her lips as two other puppets were introduced, each moving to Pyde's whim. It was as she watched that her wine was brought before her and Nancy was thanked with a dip of her head. Then, he posed that query, having taken note of her person in comparison to their surroundings. "I could ask the same of you, but rats don't typically dress so well," she replied, a bit tartly. The woman was not so kind as she might appear, it seemed. Then again, those that were super sensitive magic might have sensed the darkness upon her, if not the fact that her skin was deathly pale.


Pyde had noted that the tattoos around his eyes had shown a certain color detecting the presence of magic in the room, though it was around the time that he had used his own to control the puppet. "I am Pyde. The Piper of Cenril, and a traveling entertainer. As for my attire I like to be well dressed no matter the wealth class of those whom I entertain. And Rats are below me. They are my unevolved cousins. They aere not given the blessings that Lady Ryeanna bestowed upon my kind." He holds out his hand a light forms in his open paw to solidify into a shard of Ether, "This was acquired by accident. A fool of a novice handling things he did not understand, and let power hunger take over. As for the puppets they are also acquired. I went to great lengths to obtain, and contain the forces trapped within them."


Larewen listened quietly, attentively for she was truly intrigued in what the fermin had to say. Truth be told, Larewen's travels had kept her from meeting one of Pyde's kind before, and thus it would be a lie to say that the elf was not utterly fascinated, whereas many women might have shown disgust in the wake of what Pyde was. Again her brow raised and amusement curled her lip widely. Enough so that there was the faintest glint of fang. "Lady Ryeanna?" she echoed. "That is a name I've not heard in a good many years, Pyde." The usage of his name, rather than what he was showed the faintest sign of respect, if the elf were capable of feeling so. "Your craft is intriguing. Perhaps I might attend one of your shows sometime," she said. It seemed, for the moment, introducing herself was not one of her priorities.


Pyde gave his best business smile, "Oh my craft can be quite surprising. Once you know the truth of my trade you might be even more impressed at what I can do. I knew many folks of high position as I grew in my talents. And I have developed a payment system in which everyone can be happy. Referring back to what you said about one of my shows, I can do personal shows, but at a higher cost then my public performances. For this I learned from the best in making deals. And not to brag or anything, i was gifted a special tome from the last titan that existed in Hollow many years ago. In fact he taught me my trade." The puppets on the table were showing that they were getting restless. The butcher pulled out his cleaver and started acting as if he were chopping things in a table. The Baker mimed as if he was cooking, and the Candlestick Maker pulled out his Cauldron, waved a hand over it and it grew to a size big enough to hold him, and started dipping candles. Pyde notices this and gives them a stern looking before continuing. "So what do you say for a future show?"


Latulepi totters toward the tavern to slip past the door as a one the the more drunken and burly individuals makes an exit with his own unsteady gait. She had followed Larewen all the way there, but could not quite get past the door and, in fact, this next attempt nearly ends with the wooden slab smacking the stitched up corpse roughly in the face and forcing the not-so-dead child tumbling back onto her rear. Despite this, her feet appear to have stopped the door from shutting completely allowing the girl to shove it open again and slowly rise to her feet to pass through the opening. However, to the corpses' unexpressed surprise, just upon stepping through and catching a coveted glimpse of her master, the door vengefully swings at her for another pop to the face--yet again causing the undead to tumble backwards.


Krice was dressed in his usual black attire, with his katana dormant in its sheath against his back, and extended an arm over Latulepi's head to catch the door before it could hit her that second time. He blinked down at the stitched-up female, bemused perhaps by her existence. Despite his experience with the oddities of Hollow, this one was clearly new to him. " You going in?" He asked of the strange female, nodding to the tavern in further indication.

Larewen curled her fingers around the stem of her glass, swirling the crimson fluid around within the bowl of the glass before raising it to her lips. She sipped of the liquid, savoring its flavor as Pyde continued onward. Of course the elf would not expect a free performance. Her gaze lowered to watch the marionettes, amused by their antics despite the glance cast their way by their controller. It was just as her lips parted for speech that there seemed to be an issue at the entrance. Sensing her own magic just beyond it, and catching a glimpse of the stitched corpse beyond, Larewen extended a tendril of unseen magic in the door's direction. It blew open, holding long enough for Latulepi to pass through and make her way, stumbling, to Larewen's side. "That would be lovely. Perhaps my daughter might enjoy it as well." Was she talking about her raised creation? Or an actual child of her own?


There was no need for the magic though, for just as it reached the door, the silver-haired warrior pulled it open for the undead girl to pass through. A lift of the necromancer's chin was cast in his direction, a silent thanks where few were ever given.


Pyde nods and bows once more for Larewen, "Certainly. The more the merrier." As Larewen had stretched out her tendril of magic for the door, Pyde's eye tattoos lit up brightly in a certain color signifying the type of magic it was. "I see you are a strong mage of sorts as well. May I ask your career path in the special arts that magic may lead individuals? My particular talents led me to become a Puppeteer. I will become a Puppet Master soon, so long as I practice the basics and apply them in the most useful of places. The well dressed fermin turns to see who came through the door a moment ago, and gives a respectful bow to the newcomers, "Ah welcome friends." Though he never met the two before it was always good custom to show respect to anyone, good for business as well.


Fyenx took a single claw and grasped at the door of the tavern, a slight tug as it groaned and allowed him entrance into the establishment. As the scaled male walked past several others, a chill could be felt, an aura that was cold, not dark, not evil, but frighteningly cold.. The white scaled draconian ignored the residents within as he found himself a table in the dark, one that wasn’t lit by the light of the fires that warmed these great halls. His fingers tapped along the wooden top, as he waited for service and when finally the waitress arrived he simply spoke, “Rare, Meat.” Two words, separated by a brief pause between as he ignored any further inquiries into what he might like. The draconian sat and waited, eyes half opened, seemingly off into space as the rest of the tavern mattered ever so little to him.


Latulepi ashen brown, lifeless gaze holds curiously upon the hand that thwarted the malicious door's intended wrath. With the severe tilt back off her head in a manner that almost stretches her the dark stitches holding her hairless, scalped head in place; Latulepi's haze follows the hand, up the arm, towards its shoulder until Krice's face comes into view. She would stare blankly at him, before uttering, "..iin." in a whispy, rasped voice. Correcting the unnatural bend of her head, the drowic corpse sets sights upon her vampiric master and hobbles toward her quickly. Pyde's greeting is met with a distant stare from dead eyes, almost focused as though she were trying to consider something until a the cold draconian had made his entrance also. He too earns himself a long, blank stare before the girl tries to hug Larewen around the neck. "Kare...fl."


Krice felt the wind of that magic pass to his left, gracing his cheek. He closed his lips and looked up, toward the source of the magic, in time to receive her nod of gratitude. When the stitched girl hobbled inside, she stole the warrior's attention again, but he was once more distracted from the strange creature upon Fyenx's arrival - which effectively wrenched the door from his grasp. Without any interest in keeping the door in his possession, or fighting to get it back, Krice passively watched the chilly draconian on his way inside, turning away from the crowds to halt before the message board. The notes pinned there-on would hold his gaze for a short time after, silently perusing the messages written there.


Larewen made no attempt to ward the product of her own magic away from her. In fact, the glass of wine was returned to the table in favor of the corpse that now tried to climb up her and hug her neck, much in the manner that a child might. It was, undoubtedly, an awkward site for some, for the corpse appeared the age of a youthful dark elf - equal to a human's pre-teen years, perhaps. The elf's arms extended to encircle the girl, gloved fingers patting her gently upon the head, despite the gore there. Her attempt at speech coaxed a faint chuckle from Larewen's lips before her attention returned to Pyde. "I am a necromancer," she stated, her chin lifting faintly. "With enough time and effort, you will most definitely accomplish that which you desire. I do hope you intend to hunger even after you've attained that, though." Her glance was drawn back to the door then, as it left Krice's hand so that the draconian could enter. Fyenx was watched in a prolonged, faintly curious silence before Larewen found that she had naught to say to the creature. A moment later, her gaze swept back toward the stitched corpse and fermin, but not before lingering once more upon Krice for a brief moment. "One can learn many things, as long as they perservere."


Fyenx had seemingly waited an eternity as the waitress was off gathering his order, his fingers consistently tapping against the hardened wood. Whilst waiting he began to take in the others within the tavern, the corpse and the elf… The drow corpse and the elf? Irony? Or perhaps a weird twist for a drowish corpse to hug an elven female, did the elf desire to shame the poor race even in it’s defeat? The draconian chuckled to himself at the idea then turned towards the puppeteer, strange? Did he care to much about puppets though, and his attention turned towards the one who he had rudely barged through to make his entrance inside at the board, did the news truly matter in this realm? And with that he went back to his tapping and waiting, desiring nothing more than to eat his food he had ordered. When finally the food returned, the draconian shooed the woman away, “I’ll pay when I leave.” A hand to waive her away and head to arch back in the same motion. His mouth slowly opened, a foggy mist at first to pour forth, till it thickened, a small amount of ice to push forth until it froze the rare meat Nancy had brought him was chilled. He bit down into it, the cold blood and chilly meat ripped into savagely as he ripped through it with brutal teeth.


Pyde visibly shivered as his small frame had been assaulted by the cold presence of the White Draconian. The fermin gritted his teeth as he braced himself mentally in order to talk as though nothing was wrong. "Ah hello, sir. Since it appears that a crowd is growing, I welcome you over to enjoy a show like none other found in Hollow. And If there are, I can guarantee that this is well different than those other shows." Pyde again gives Latupeli a smile, "Ah such a youth of few words, I'll give you and this fine young lady a good show." The 'fine young lady' he was referring to was Larewen, so perhaps calling her that may allow her to see a free show today. Preparing for his show as quickly as he could he attaches the Butcher, Baker and Candlestick Maker back on his belt. Pyde then places a few pouches along the table's surface, and then retrieves his flute from the inside of his coat. Taking a few deep breaths and preparing for a story in mind.


Latulepi will likely remain in the necromancer's welcoming arms until she is encouraged to move elsewhere, but her attention is brought upon Pyde once again as he speaks to herself and Larewen. She remains quiet for a time, and eventually becomes curious of the puppets moving about the table before they are returned to his belt. It is the pouches next which garner her supposed interest from most of those currently present in the tavern; all with the exception of Larewen of course. Such an odd interaction between two whose origins traditionally despise each other. Fortunately this seems like little of an assume, if at all considered as such.


Krice left everyone to their devices once he had finished reading the notes on the board. Whether or not the messages brought any interesting news to the warrior remained to be seen, for he kept it to himself. Turning toward the room, he gave a final glance to the faces of the gathered before pivoting to leave the way he had come, holding open the door in his wake for a drunkard who struggled to exit - and subsequently slurred out a thanks to the warrior.


Larewen might have found it an ironic sight to behold too, were it not for the fact that Larewen sympathized with the drow. She was a defector to her own kind, in part because she was dead perhaps. Toward the drowic corpse, she remained affectionate in a motherly manner. She only broke the embrace when she rose to her feet to dip her head toward Pyde. "As much as I would love to stay and behold one of your shows, I'm afraid I cannot presently," the elf said gently enough. "I would love to watch your magic in action another time though, Pyde." A pause, and then she seemed to remember that she'd not offered her own name. "I am Lady Larewen Dragana, and perhaps we will cross paths again."