RP:To Court the Enemy

Part of the Rest in Pieces: Vailkrin! Arc

Part of the In Darkness We Trust Arc

This is a Necromancer's Guild RP.

Summary: In a brazen show of foolish power, Larewen arrives at House Mahara to strike a deal: House Mahara will be allowed to survive the coup of Vailkrin, provided an agreement can be made. Bradyn is wary, but agrees to meet with her another time for more in depth discussions.

House Mahara

Larewen Dragana has no business approaching House Mahara. The loathing that exists between the two, largely on behalf of the former's House, has successfully created a strain that is palpable. The Lady Dragana's thirst for patronage over the Black Library is no small secret, and with her blood replacing Ginavi's position amongst the nobility... well, there's little House Mahara can do, save oppose the woman that is laying claim to the Throne. So it is that the scarred necromancer is rapping her knuckles against the entrance to House Mahara, tempting fate by approaching her enemies head on. Perhaps a deal can be struck? Otherwise, the elf is perfectly prepared to end this day in bloodshed.

Bradyn was not the one to answer the door, such things were not worth his time. It would be someone in the employ of his house that would be the one to open the door for Lady Dragana. She would be immediately recognized but not greeted with hostility in any fashion, the door would not be slammed in her face and she would not be turned away. The willowy woman who opens the door instead beckons Lady Dragana to enter with a smooth motion of her hand, pulling the door further open to facilitate Larewen's entry into House Mahara. This was nothing more than formalities and social pleasantries in a game of politics. "To what do we owe the honor?" voices the woman, a cue for Larewen to speak her piece so that she may direct her to the appropriate person to speak with. That is...if someone was not already watching and observing the interaction from places unseen.

Larewen arches a brow, the miniscule movement of that muscle being the sole mark of her surprise when the woman answers the door. She recovers quickly, even from that as the corners of her lips twitch upwards into a smirk. Politics is exactly what this game is, and considering that the Lady has arrived alone puts her in a dangerously precarious position: it would be the opportune moment for House Mahara to strike her down, for so brazenly walking into their home. But then, there are always eyes. Instead, her dual-colored gaze, the left emerald and the right brown, move past the woman and study the manse's innards. "I've come on business," the necromancer says finally, her voice dripping with poison. "Send for one of your masters." Nothing else would be divulged to the woman.

Kharis is the name of the woman that Larewen is presently attempting to send away from her, bidding her to fetch one of the masters of the house, while Larewen presumes to make her way into the study. Perhaps Kharis would have directed her to another room, different instruction could have been provided, but ah there was that arrogance that the House Dragana was known for. Kharis does not move from her spot but as soon as Larewen clears the threshold of the study, the doors shut gingerly behind her. This is surely nothing off-putting for a necromancer, just the idle play of ghosts. Still, it was not Kharis that shut the door and as far as the eye can see no one else is present within the room. Since when has sight ever been a sense that can be relied entirely upon in a land full of magic and deceit? There is often always more than meets the eye. The study was two levels with the second floor completely open to the first and the light was dim, only what was thrown off by the fireplace was presently illuminating the room. There were plenty of shadows to conceal an individual. Lady Dragana is not alone, a voice is soon heard from all corners of the room but the volume is nothing more than a soft whisper, "By all means, show yourself around, make yourself comfortable, have a seat. You are a guest in my home and we like to make sure our guests are comfortable." These words were insincere, a jab at Larewen's forwardness within these walls under the guise of politeness.

Larewen allows herself to be guided to the study, necromantic energies gathered closely around her. Her mismatched eyes sweep the double-leveled study with the sort of hunger that only a scholar is capable of possessing... and then that voice, projected from all around her. Her head tilts, a cascade of dark tresses briefly crossing her scarrred features. She makes no move toward seating herself; instead, her gaze begins to search the room, that augmented right eye reading the magics embroidered into the manse itself and those that may or may not be present. House Dragana's arrogance continues to shine brightly in the wake of those words as she replies with, "And House Mahara is a guest within my City. For now." It is a threat, blatant, open, foolish even. Certainly Trajek would be anything -but- thrilled to be privy to this conversation. No, there's confidence in the necromancer that only a madwoman can muster.

Bradyn would not reveal himself so quickly, though he was certainly within this room or somewhere dreadfully nearby. Was Bradyn even a master within House Mahara? Hm. He was the only vampire that had seen fit to heed Larewen's call and certainly others within the manse were on alert. She was not the only bold and brazen individual within the room for someone may very well be outstepping his ranks. There is no shame, anything that may benefit his own status long term is a move worth making in Bradyn's view. This may be why the vampiric necromancer has opted to remain secretive and hide his appearance, not trusting of what may have perhaps brought Lady Dragana to these walls. The threat is obvious but it remains ignored at blatantly as it was spoken. "Speak your business," comes that voice, again sounding off from all areas of the room. Sight. Sound. Neither sense were to be trusted in this moment, though Larewen's magic would undoubtably aid her in by now in pinpointing that whomever was speaking to her was looking down from somewhere above, on that second level of the study.

Larewen tilts her head upward. The magic used to amplify his voice does wonders to confuse her augmented eye. She rolls her neck, cracking the vertebrae as her gaze settles in Bradyn's general area - or at least, where she thinks him to be. There's a stronger aura of necromancy there, a familiar taste of dark magic teasing her. "An offer, for House Mahara. One that will be given once and only once," comes that sickeningly sweet reply. As she speaks, the elf is moving toward the staircase and Bradyn may feel her magic, potent and dripping with corruption of something far darker than simple, unholy magic, reaching out toward him. It is feeling, tasting, looking for something to latch onto.

Were Bradyn himself not an aficionado of the dark arts, he might have easily succumb to the magic that is seeking him out. The elf begins to ascend the staircase toward that second level but she would not even get more than a couple of a steps before that voice rings out again. This time it is focused and coming directly from behind her, at a normal speaking volume rather than a whisper. There Bradyn stands, no smile on his lips or amusement in his eyes -- he was not the sort. He was a modest looking bearded man, black hair on the shaggier side, but well dressed as his profession calls for. Make no mistake, the work he does is not out of a need for money, business at the funeral parlor is done out of morbid fascination. It was a hobby, at best. It also provided the means to some interesting ingredients. "Speak your business," Bradyn repeats, unwavering despite the numerous threats the elf has made already during their brief interaction.

Larewen swivels quickly on booted feet to face Bradyn, a flicker of surprise briefly making itself seen in those mismatched eyes. A moment later, it's gone and those dual-colored orbs are fixing upon his. At first, she's concerned it might be Lord Antonin Mahara himself and a flexing of her fingers sees a surge of that dark magic she commands. It isn't until she's certain that it's not the Lord of the house that she allows that flicker of black magic to settle somewhat. "Not who I was expecting, then," she remarks, more to herself than the mortician. She glances past him, check to see what other ears might be listening in. Only when she's certain that they're relatively alone does the necromancer cast a small illusion upon the pair - a barrier to dampen sound. "You are not Antonin," the elf sneers, blatantly forgoing the elder's honorific as she addresses the vampire she's not yet met. "Tell me, is your Lord into making deals with devils?"

Bradyn 's reaction kept at bay, not even a smirk breaks across his lips despite his amusement with having managed to take Lady Dragana by surprise. "I should think that he is not very inclined to make any deals with you." The blatant and honest truth of the matter, spoken only once that barrier was in place to dampen the sound. Still, while within the walls of House Mahara, Bradyn's tongue would only wag so freely. "Or else he would be the one standing here before you, would he not?" Yet it with not Lord Antonin standing before Larewen, but Bradyn. It is at this point that a grim smirk is briefly displayed for the other necromancer. "Yet I am here standing before you." Perhaps some understanding can be reached. "I want admittance into the Necromancer's guild. What goal can I help you achieve, Lady Dragana?" For the third time tonight the mortician finds himself echoing some very familiar sentiments. "Speak your business."

Larewen reaches into a pocket hidden in the folds of her skirt, tugging free a cigarette. She'd offer one to Bradyn, but that would be... well, a bit too chummy if there are any prying eyes. Placing it betwixt her lips, she lights it with a flash of darkness. Smoke curls upward from its cherry, which glows red briefly. The necromancer exhales, the breath itself belying a sort of pleasure at his wish. "Easily done," she says before narrowing her eyes. "The Throne will be mine. Either your House sides with me in this endeavor, or...." An upward inflection at the end of her statement once more repeats that threat, but this time hinting at something more. Something not to be talked about in this location. Instead, she dips her head toward the door. "If you wish to know my offer, you can find me either at the Corpse, or at House Dragana. Provided you truly wish to assist in achieving any goals that might benefit us both, I will expect to see you there - and soon."

Bradyn would not have accepted the cigarette even if it was offered, to what purpose and end? It did not bring him any joy nor stress relief like it might were he human. By the time Larewen starts toward the door, she would be left with the same parlor trickery that Bradyn had greeted her with. Just a whisper of a voice, the vampire no longer present immediately in front of her. "Soon." Was the confirmation that would come. The doors that had previously shut behind Larewen would open of their own accord once more, giving the would-be-Queen of Vailkrin free passage out of the mansion. Kharis would be there to show her out, unharassed.