RP:To Court an Enemy

Part of the Rest in Pieces: Vailkrin! Arc

Summary: Drevyn is doing business in the Hanging Corpse when Larewen approaches him with a tempting offer.

The Hanging Corpse

Larewen enters the tavern in silence, liking the idea of a quiet drink alone. Or rather, as alone as she can be. The moment the necromancer returned to the City of the Dead, two House Dragana guardsmen flanked her. What privacy she might have had is gone. Her nose wrinkles slightly and she attempts to wave them off, and they acquiesce marginally. Finding her usual spot near the hearth, she waves down a barmaid and orders a glass--no, a bottle--of bloodwine. Lady Larewen isn't difficult to recognize, what with those scarred features, mismatched eyes, a rotting arm, and overall prickish aura. Then again, she doesn't even try to disguise herself. This evening she wears a simple, black evening gown, bistre tresses allowed to fall naturally around her face.

Drevyn has been in the tavern for a bit now, weaving his way like the charmer he is to secure deals and future clients for his house like the good proprietor he is. His lean frame is clothed in the finest, of course, silks and leathers of only the highest quality only ever allowed to grace his person But he isn't a noble, and people know this. He is a vassal, belonging to House Nasar and Lady Colette's favored pet. Pet being the word he knows best, the one that is his title within the halls of the house. The title he desires to burn away one day. He sits at a table, flanked by a few select persons of Vailkrin's society. Dealings and promises passed between the lot, secure holdings found while new avenues of profit and gain may be explored. Of course, Drevyn himself never finds his coin paying directly for anything, ever the charmer, that one. The finest of wines, the prettiest of girls, all tools used by the vampire as he weaves the right words in the right ear at the right time to get what he desires. A useful trick, to be sure.

Ayras pushed her way in through the tavern's door. Her hood was low, shadow cast over her molten silver eyes, a mask worn over her scarred lower face. Admittedly, the show of anonymity was very likely unnecessary; the last time she had stepped foot in this tavern, she had looked...rather different. She still felt out of place there, however, despite the fact that she was a vampire. Only a handful of steps were taken beyond the threshold before she abruptly stopped, shifting her gaze towards one particular window looking out to the street. Leather creaked softly as her fingers began to curl, but a deep breath saw them relaxing again. She decided to simply send her attention elsewhere about the pub as heeled steps lightly ticked their way across the floor to an out-of-the-way seat. Sure, sitting off to the side alone did tend to draw attention at a gathering place, but it wasn't attention that the woman wanted to avoid.

Vailkrin nobility not affiliated with House Dragana haven't had much of a presence within the Hanging Corpse as of late, and so as her bottle of bloodwine is received, mismatched eyes turn towawrd Drevyn. The brilliant, emerald hue of her left eye--formerly belonging to Talene--studies his appearance whilst the brown reads whatever magics he has at play. No direct move is made to greet the male, for she's not entirely sure of his identity. A slight gesture draws the two guards nearer. Drevyn is dressed too finely to be a nobody and Kasyr's warning is still fresh on her mind. Her tongue clicks against the roof of her mouth and then the sound seems to echo as Ayras's boots meet the wooden floor. This draws her attention toward the fiery-haired female. Carefully, the necromancer's features remain neutral as she guages the strangers, the situation, and what to do next. Usually those that came to the Hanging Corpse now were allies of House Dragana--not two strangers whom she did not know. She draws herself a glass of wine from the bottle and reaches for a cigarette from within a small silver case and lights it. Rising to her feet, it is her turn for the click of heels meeting wood to echo out as she approaches Drevyn's table. Her demeanor is cold, lip curled to into a slight snarl as that green eye fixes solely on the business dealing male. She cares not that she's likely interrupting something. "Who are you?"

Drevyn was addressing a rather intoxicated and occupied merchant that house House Ventra owned, the woman toying with the man's beard always make sure his eyes are drawn to her unspoken promises, while Drevyn seals their dealings by whispering in his ear words the man doesn't even care to fully understand. Its nothing dire, to be sure, just a contract or two regarding ships in Cenril and cargo coming from the west. This is, of course, done by the time Lady Larewen makes her way over to his table. Her cold tone, icy exterior and gaze, that gaze, doesn't seem to bother him. In fact, her gaze is how he starts the question. "So that is where Talene's eye went, a curious matter to some." Rising from his seat, the vampire offers a bow, rising to say once their eyes meet once more. " Drevyn Ryser, my lady. Humble man of business dealings." The two men at his table, along with the women accompanying said men, seem not to bother stopping their own dealings, as they seem to believe Larewen and Drevyn's matter is non of their business. The women, after all, paid to do a simple job, to which they've been doing wonderfully.

Ayras found little going on in the tavern of much interest. Most were simply busy drinking, from the look of things, and this was hardly the place for her to pick up a drunken meal. But then there was Larewen and her demeanor as she spoke to the trader at the table. To the redhead, it looked as a carnivore displaying dominance. Whether deserved or not, Ayras did not know; she had been away from Vailkrin and its politics for so, so very long. It was so drastically different from Frostmaw's. "A city of predators now, it seems," she muttered to herself. "I wonder, where do they keep the sheep?" Her eyes settled on Drevyn at that moment, wondering if he was one of those more docile creatures. Kasyr said OOC to Xersom, "He had a good history with house Azakhaer. . . . Yeah, I dunno, this going to the level before nuclear- but hostilities would still be sort of hilarious to me oocly- even if IC kas would be exasperated as heck"

Larewen chuckled. The sound was soft, airy almost despite the woman's demeanor. "Curious, is it?" she echoed, though she showed no intent of enlightening the male as to why she now possessed Lady Colette's daughter's eye. No, the details of the deal struck with Talene Nasar were kept safely tucked away in the woman's mind, even as her gaze slid sideways to study the debauchery that distracted the merchants with whom Drevyn was dealing. It was an underhanded ploy, but one Larewen admired more than she might show. Getting things easily and without much cost was often the best route to take. Her gaze finds Drevyn once more. She took a drag from her cigarette, savoring the smoky, nicotine laced burn of the inhale. "One might think it foolish to wander this side of the skirmish, and yet here you are," she began, undoubtedly about to lay down a barbed threat. Kasyr's voice, however, lingers at the back of her mind. His warning that she should perhaps try to win favor among the others, rather than strike them down as if they were cattle. And so, with a wrinkle of her nose in slight disgust, the woman finally continued more ambivalently, "Which tells me you care little for the lines presently drawn." While she spoke, she was not unaware of Ayras's mumbling. Another glance in the woman's direction earned the assumption that she was, perhaps not unlike Myr'sholla, a rambling lunatic. After all, she doesn't quite hear the particulars of the red-haired woman's mutterings.

Drevyn allows a devilish smirk to form upon his lips as she does not feed him anymore information regarding the eye, yet speaks on how the waters are so much deeper than they seem. She was a player, and the game was one this vampire cherishes quite a bit. Given his own actions taken, he can appreciate whatever kind of dealings she has with Lady Colette's daughter. He also knows that knowledge can be a power the makes one rise, or can strangle one in their sleep. Either way, this woman was someone he found interesting and that alone served enough to placate his usual tendencies to weave his web and try to outplay anyone and everyone around him, for a moment at least. "Lines drawn are rarely good for business, and as a business man I find that ignoring lines only increases my own gain." He'd leave it at that, for now, as his own precious cargo in this battle of houses may decide how much he can gain.

Ayras continued to listen to the pair in their verbal sparring match. Crossing drawn lines? She wondered which sort of figurative meaning the woman meant. Was this city in the midst of its own civil war? One would think that signs would have been shown to lend credence to that theory. No, this city wouldn't have been like Frostmaw. No matter. For now, what happened in the city of the dead was hardly her concern. She wasn't here to kill, nor to hunt. She would have liked a drink, though. Did this place not have barmaids? Hmph. So she rose from her seat to approach the bar, gloved hands lifting to lower that hood of hers, letting ruby-red hair fall to frame her angular face. Silver eyes roamed the bottles behind the counter as she continued to listen in on what was, perhaps, the only interesting conversation she had picked up thusfar.

Larewen gestured toward the merchants seated around Drevyn. "And it seems you've found other methods to do just that as well," she said, pointedly. She meant the girls. Perfect for lowering a foolish, wealthy man's ambition and perfect for profit. Larewen knew enough about those things, at least. "A wise approach, though dangerous too." The passing shadow of Ayras moving catches her attention and all the woman can see is that fiery head of hair from behind. Another damned emotion squeezes her little, undead heart as it beats in her chest. Filthy, pesky things those are. Guilt accompanied it and quickly she diverted her gaze back to Drevyn. The truth was, Vailkrin was in the midst of a civil war. One weighed more heavily on politics than battle, though there were the sounds of skirmish in the distance--of House Dragana forces colliding with those of House Trintus in their bitter argument over what was best for the city. Perhaps Drevyn could garner from the presence of his Lady's daughter's eye in Larewen's own face that a deal had been struck amongst the two, or that a direct attack had been made on Talene's life, but that was another matter. Instead, the necromancer shoos away those gathered around Drevyn with a snarl and seats herself across from him. "Then perhaps you might also be interested in selling some information," she suggested.

Drevyn watches as the women don't miss a beat, cooing as they guide the men elsewhere to finish enjoying their company. Turning his attention back to Larewen who now sits with him, the Nasar vassal listens to her question about selling information. He adds, quickly enough, a simple opening statement. "Selling information is often a tricky game. One could be overthrowing kingdoms, or ending lives. Or, the one being asked to sell said information could be part of a ruse, used to push others plots along in the story." He allows his tombstone hued gaze to linger upon Larewen here, before he'd ask. "So, are you asking to buy a knife in the dark? Or looking to move a possible pawn in your game against the other houses?" Common knowledge really, that if anything his Lady and this woman had a "feud" to say the least. Did she think him simple minded enough to allow himself to be used? Or was she about to impart upon him key information, thus make him a player as well? Both seemed foolish to believe, and this woman seemed far from foolish. "Though, for the right price men can be motivated to do just about anything."

Ayras nearly jerked her head towards the pair as she heard mention of a knife in the dark. Thankfully, she caught herself, though not before her head had turned a fraction of an inch. She could only hope that neither player in their little game of words had caught the movement; she doubted they did, as why would they bother? She was a nobody to Vailkrin. And so feeling safe in her lack of notoriety in this place, she ventured to remove her mask, finally exposing the burn scars on the left side of her lower face. "Whatever your finest wine is," she finally ordered after calling the attention of the man behind the bar. She turned in her seat, then, to observe the rest of the tavern as she waited for her drink. Not a single head turned her way, not a single blink of recognition. It felt so strange, so alien, to the weaponless swordswoman.

Larewen lifts a single shoulder upward and finishes the final drag of her cigarette. Crushing it out into an ashtray that lingers on the table, the necromancer offers Drevyn a honeyed smile. "One might say it's the latter, but I like to think of it as righting a wrong," she began, another glance cast toward the bar as the strange woman jerked. Larewen blinks a time or two, and the nicer, gentler side of the woman considers an approach to check on Ayras. That side is quickly hushed by the necromancer's own ambition though and she tilts her head as she regards Drevyn. "And what is your price?" she asks, her voice a few octaves lower in case there were any lingering ears from House Nasar present. She liked to think there weren't, but one can never be too sure.

Drevyn follows Larewen's gaze to the red headed woman cloaked in shadows. A note is taken, new faces always bring new possibilities after all. But then price is mentioned and the vampire's eyes return to the necromancer, though with a bit more foxish charm about them. "That depends on the information, as price is usually attached to worth" He was a Nasar vassal, but very much a free spirit. He was not sried by Colette, and his actual sire met an end by Drevyn's own schemes shortly after he as turned. This vampire was not bound by such things, and honor and duty often get in the way of profits. So, Larewen was speaking to one of the most free vampire's in Vailkrin, at least when it came to dealing with business. "Pray tell your information is worth the risk of carrying in such... turbulent times, and I'll ensure a price is met that is fair."

Ayras hadn't seen either of the either vampires look her way, which was probably for the best. No need to have gotten Ayras started on cursing. But the pair had started discussing prices on information and the like, and that was where the former Knight's interest had started to wane. There was only one time that she cared about prices, and that was for how much her sword or skills were going to cost. Thankfully for the elf, her drink arrived about then. "My thanks," she offered as she handed over the required coin - now just how did someone dressed like a commoner have such money to waste? - to the barkeep. "While you're still here, sir, I require information. Where can a girl acquire a quality weapon? I seem to have...misplaced mine." Misplaced. Melted, more like. Via dragon. Her face darkened as her memory drifted back to the day she very nearly died. Shadows that had nothing to do with the lighting surged ever so slightly about her right arm before she calmed her mind. Had the barkeep said something? Possibly, but he had already wandered away. Drat.

Larewen reaches for another cigarette, lighting it as Drevyn speaks. She remains silent, suckling the rolled tobacco for a long moment. "The information I require could be a turning point in this entire feud. If you're willing to sell it, then the sooner Vailkrin can be returned to its former glory. You among all should see the complacency the old Houses have brought here. This city has become little more than a tourist stop on the paths between Frostmaw, Larket, and Cenril. A place of ghosts and tales of days gone past. Surely you wish to see more than that?"

Drevyn studies this woman before him for several long drawn out moments, even so far as going back to leaning into a more comfortable position as he'd take his own glass of bloodwine into his hands to taste of the rich flavor it had to offer. For business, the chaos of the house's current positions has led to him getting easier picking from otherwise more tightly clenched assets. Ventra is always a pain in Nasar's side when it comes to the more... legitimate business deals. But, to see Vailkrin thrive once more, this unseemly business of feuding houses done, that could lead to increased profits for all, if one was clever enough to be on the ground floor and ahead of the curve. A smirk plays upon those lips once more as he ponders such matters, the cogs beginning to turn and schemes as he thinks of possibilities. He does ask, though. "And what do you gain, Lady Larewen? Or better yet, what is my take away from this deal, hm?" Ever the opportunist, Drevyn Ryser is.

Larewen conjures shadows from within which she withdraws a sheet of paper. With a twisting of her fingers, words begin to form on the parchment. A silent offer, one not at risk of being over heard. 'There are other houses that carry along the same businesses you do, albeit in more trustworthy ways. These houses are a threat to your profit, just as their old habits and traditions are a threat to the growth of the city. This challenge to your monopoly can be eradicated, with time. I get the information I need to fix things that shouldn't have been broken, you gain more wealth and power. Perhaps even recognition.' The script is flowing and will remain visible long enough for Dravyn to read it before fading away. Her mismatched eyes remained fixed on the vassal, waiting patiently.

Drevyn is no unfamiliar with magic, he himself a practitioner, so he display is noted and admired for what it is. Having read the paper, that smirk returns. How right she was, and how ironic she seems to seek out him to move pieces across the board. His venture to the Hanging Corpse was not a mere whim, oh no, the vampire had hoped to see who Larewen was, to see if she shared his kind of motivation to climb that ladder of chaos. And here she is, handing him a secret letter to give him a role in the game. Lady Colette, a good mentor no doubt sees him as nothing more than a toy, or worse, another servant who shall be nothing more. If she had only known what he had doen to try to secure her position in this battle of houses. But now in her mind, one of her own pawns may very well unravel her little world. Looking up to Larewen, the two lock gazes, that smirk growing ever so slightly as he says. " I feel we may have more to discuss than you believe, Lady Dragana. But to show my good graces, and intent to see Vailkrin restored and house business settled, let us say I shall forgo formal payment and request only your trust." His sttely gaze settles upon her, to read how'd she react to such.

Ayras rose from her seat, her drink untouched. Once more her heels clicked against the wooden floor, though this time in the opposite direction of her entrance. Into the night she went, muttering to herself under her breath. Surely she was merely talking to herself, but it sure sounded like she was carrying on a conversation with -someone- as she wandered out into Vailkrin's streets.

Larewen arches a slender, bistre brow at his words, warily. The necromancer's trust isn't easily given, even among her own. Some situations demand a risk be taken though, and this is one of them. A near imperceptible lift of her chin follows his words. "Very well, but should you lose it you'll find that I am not a very forgiving woman," she says finally, a not so thinly veiled threat. Another drag is taken on her cigarette, another savoring of its smoke, before she glances to the two guards she'd forgotten about. They remained by her table, watching carefully the exchange between the Nasar vassal and their Lady. Her attention returns to Drevyn moments later. "You'll find I reward ambition well, Mister Ryser."

Drevyn can understand her feeling to offer him a not so subtle threat, given that any game of politics is often full of betrayal and attempted (or successful) murder. So, he takes no insult to such, and keeps up in stride, thinking this the best way to test to see if she is in fact the right horse ot bet on to rule over Vailkrin, or if his own plays and talents could be use elsewhere. People like him are often on the wrong side, and he'd like to try to ensure he chooses not only the best suited person to make Vailkrin Great Again, but to work with so he too can become great. So, he asks the obvious question. "What is it you need me to sell?"

Larewen wiggles her fingers, summoning her glass from the table she'd been sitting at previously. Swirling the carmine fluid around in its bowl, she takes a sip of the blood-tainted vintage before lowering it to the table betwixt Drevyn and herself. "Rumor has it that Kaegan Trintus is not missing of his own free will," the necromancer says finally. "In fact, what better way to turn the ear of a militant House than by taking their heir? I believe someone in Vailkrin knows the whereabouts of the missing sireling, and I think if you don't already have that information on hand, that you may be capable of obtaining it."

Drevyn isn't caught off guard by this revelation. His face plays the part of the right amount of mix of curiosity, concern and interest to hopefully sway any outward signs that he does in fact know of the whereabouts of House Trintus' heir. He was safely kept away at the moment for future use. The original intention of that use was to sway favor in this shadow war between houses for his own Lady, Colette. Well, that was the plan, until he stumbled upon her discussing his role in the house's future. TO her, he'd never be more than a pet she's collected, a plaything that bring her amusement, but is never going to rise above his station. Older vampires are stuck with the notion that only they, only the elders, are the true power in Vailkrin. Here, the upstart thinks to himself how easily his original plan could be used to ruin Lady Colette. But the right time to use the boy must present itself, as House Trintus is not to be trifled with, and vampiric politics usually ends bloody if not handled with care. So,taking his glass once again as he continues his relaxed posture within his own seat, Drevyn takes a sip of the flavorful bloodwine before he replies with. "Such information could prove to sway, if not end, the wars between houses that currently rages." His eyes get that gleam in them again, as he continues with. "And earn quite the favor with the winning house, as well as house Trintus." The Lord of that house, Marcus is considered one, if not the, most powerful Lord in Vailkrin. Not so much by means of actual magical or divine power, but his influence, his station and his reach is felt by almost all. Removing him from the game would cost dearly, and not bear much gain. Manipulating him is not easy, he cares only for the legacy of his own name and house. But, earning his favor is perhaps worth more gold than any kingdom current can claim to possess. "And, if I do find this boy, why would I not inform my Lady first? Again, I see no direct profit for me -not- telling my lovely Lady about such crucial information, I'm sure she'd be most gracious with me." He knew she wouldn't be. Oh yes, she'd smile and thank him, but then toss him aside and start using his work as her own to solidify her own power. He'd remain in his low station, just a good dog in her eyes.

Larewen extends her hand, palm upward in a gesture. "By all means, if you think your lady will reward you better than I, tell her. It will not save her House from my ire, though," the necromancer responds. Those mismatched eyes narrow slightly, studying the male as silence follows. "Let's say you do, and let's say this war ends in Lady Colette's favor. Let's take it a step further and say she ascends to the throne. What reward will she have in place for you?" This time she gestures to Drevyn's finery. "More wealth? Perhaps. Notoriety? She could have had that already. Were you of my vassals, there would be no question of 'Who are you' to start a conversation, because those of my house are known. I gladly claim my own. Even Talene has never spoken of you."

Drevyn watches her in turn, his gaze never leaving her mismatched stare as he says with cold finality. "I am nothing to my Lady Colette. This is known. House Nasar is hers, save for a few older vampires under her, she -is- the House, and the rest of us are servants, some are clever servants, but we will never be more than that." His face doesn't betray his calm, he knows his role in House Nasar, he knows now he'll never rise up. So he asks. "Am I to believe it would be different with you? And what of my betrayal? Would your House take kindly to me arriving within it as a betrayer to my old house?" He pauses, and add in a little bit of a test. "Or would my service better suit to stay in House Nasar? I mean, if the heri si found, and Lady Colette had anything to do with it, she'd be undone, to say the least. But who should rise? Houses do not just fall so easily, and Vailkrin would weaken if a house such as Nasar was utterly destroyed.."

Larewen allows a smirk to dance across her pale, scarred lips. "House Nasar will fall either way," the necromancer states plainly and confidently. "But a new House could rise up in its place, under my rule. One with loyalties to me." Honeyed words, truly, and yet careful examination of the elf's face would reveal that she truly believes this. "A House not held back by the echoes of tradition and a need to sate old appetites. Unless, of course, you'd prefer to remain under her thumb."

Drevyn doesn't miss a beat as he doesn't feed into her attempt to get a rise out of him. "Words are one thing. Its easy to say you can offer so much, but to actually show proof, to lay claim, or seal a contract? Something any business man would need before taking the word of every person coming to bargain. Words would nt save me from Colette's wrath, should you decide I am no longer of value as an ally." He knew how things tended to go. Colette would offer he everything from limitless gold, titles, lands and even her own bed if she'd get what she wanted. Larewen wants it all. She wants the throne. "How do I know, for sure, that once the crown rests upon your head, I won't be just as discarded as I would under Lady Colette?"

Larewen sits back in her chair, one leg crossing over the other beneath her evening gown. Another cigarette is lit, drawn from, and exhaled. "You don't," she states simply. "I wish to see Colette dead, no matter the outcome. That will save you from her wrath regardless. As for once I've got my crown? Do you think I won't turn to the loyal Houses? I am not such a fool as to cast aside those that have done for me. It's up to you, Drevyn, whether you wish to stick with the devil you already know, or take a chance with a new one."

Drevyn looks at Larewen, and I mean looks at her. For several long moments before he speaks, as if he has come to a decision he says. "I'd imagine, if I were a lost heir, you could be found soon. If given a few days, I'm sure you'll find more than enough to bury Lady Colette." He pauses, looks away from a moment as he runs his hand across his well trimmed goatee. " House Ryser, does have a certain ring to it." He'd let that settle there, and begin to gather his things. Preparations and all, you know. "Bets are often full of risk, with either great or little reward." Standing by Larewen, he ends things with. "I hope this bet pays off better than I'd imagine."

Larewen allows her smirk to become something more akin to a smile, though its certainly not all daisies and ponies. No, there's something darker in the way the necromancer's features twist around, because she's a spooky woman. Nonetheless, she is pleased by Drevyn's decision. As he gathers his things, Larewen contorts the shadows around her hand until they solidify into a blackened rat's skull. It's eyes are emeralds. She slides it across the table to Drevyn. "With that, you can get ahold of me at any time. Simply speak to it, and I will hear."

Drevyn takes the offered trinket, and places it in a pouch on his side that is covered with runes of obvious magical protection and warding. He wasn't taking this communication tool so unguarded, as often its a two way street. She could spy upon him with this, and he'd rather not have that. Ether way, a simple nod is offered before he'd take his leave,