RP:To Craft a Dark Alliance
Summary: Irenic listens in as Larewen and Trajek discuss an alliance - one that begins with the crafting of the Basilisk Blade.
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.
Larewen sat within the establishment, in one of the more plush chairs located nearer to the hearth. A glass of wine was in the elf's hand, the crimson fluid swirled around haphazardly within the flute's bowl. Her other hand held within it a cigarette, its end smouldering. She drew it to her lips, inhaled, exhaled, and then loosed a magical tug on an invisible thread that connected her to one of her many puppets: it was time now to set her plans into motion; time to be the woman she wanted to be, and not the one everyone else wanted her to be. Wherever he was, Irenic would feel that summons, not unlike a gentle tug upon a leash. An almost faint, eerie whisper would echo within his mind, "Come, my beautiful bird."
Irenic had been summoned by his master, Lady Dragana, so he ignored the discomfort he has whenever he found himself in the vampire town of Vailkrin for the simple fact that he doesn't remember why vampires unease him so much; also his duty to her overpowers any inkling to flee the town. Once his massive Ivory wings bring him to the tavern his boots land him atop the roof with a loud thud heard on the second floor and possibly down to the main hall. The boots stalk impressively long strides before he glides gracefully down to the entrance and by opening the door caused a subtle stir in the idle crowd, rippling whispers 'wasn't he killed' or 'he should be dead, right?' All of this ignored by a bored expression for he's become used to the reaction anymore and his silver optics spot her then take her in, he admires her, but unless asked he never mentions it. He stands next to her seat, not daring to sit without permission while his low gruff tone speaks only to her, "As you commanded." Through the days his response to her has become less of a mindless drone and his personality has been slowly coming back.
Trajek had felt within the ethereal the calls of his Mistress even though those whispers were biding someone else to come kneel before her. Perhaps it was his nearness to the source---he was but an alleyway down, hidden by darkness and the sense of familiar to any who saw him gorging on the recently killed elf. Chains had cut into her neck, the same iron leash that now set as loose as the elf slave's mouth while she watched him rip handful after handful of corpse flesh and push it in the open wound that was his entire throat. Saddened by his loyalty, he took one last hunk of still warm flesh in one hand and forced his slave to come with him to the Hanging Corpse. He came in soon after the hulking, winged brute, hung in his shadow so to speak, though he did not hold before taking a seat at his Mistress's table. It was his slave who did that, her eyes darting from Larewen to Irenic, from window to window, and to the door that was her only chance of freedom...if only the hand that held the chain had not brought her to her knees with a hard tug.
Larewen extended a gloved hand toward the chair beside her when he arrived. She'd heard his landing, and though she never turned to look at him upon his entrance, the elf saw the faint verdance of his aura: her magic, visible only because of her augmented vision. Patiently, she'd wait for him to sit, her brow furrowed slightly. Behind the ebon veil, he might be able to make out the tautness of her jawline, the downward curve of her lips. The elf was drunk still, courtesy of a special brew, but had switched over to her preferred bloodwine some time ago. "I have grown tired of sitting around and behaving," she said to him quietly, her voice meant only to be heard by the male. "Emrith is captive within House Dragana, and I will need your assistance in making sure that he does not get free; he knows things that must not be known to outside ears." There was more to be said, but her voice paused as Trajek's presence washed over her as well, as the smell of that elven slave of his reached her nostrils. Hunger set in and her lip curled whilst a gloved hand tightened upon her glass. Her chin lifted faintly as she saw the aura of Trajek's reanimation settle at the table as well. "Your timing is impeccable, dear heart," she cooed to the ghoulish fiend. "I was just about to deliver the good news to Irenic. I tire of games," she said softly. Her words were for their two ears alone.
Irenic had his wings folded close to this slender yet athletic form - yes he was very tall for an Avian, but brute he was not. He'd noticed the other who was summoned with lacking enthusiasm and all but passed a glance at his slave. Irenic didn't care, he was still a careless bastard at heart as he was finding more and more of who he used to be. Indeed he sat when requested next to Lady Dragana, "Yes, Lady Dragana." His elongated pointed and pierced up ears listen intently while his silver gaze stayed its aim upon the veil, as if he could see past it. Her recognition of Trajek didn’t waver his attention on her as he already noticed the pair and at the moment he didn’t care about anything other than his Master at the moment. "With that I will assist." He responds to her request to keep the captive just as that… A captive. He felt too warm by the fire and his slender fingers pull at the tie which holds his black cloak on him, revealing simple black slacks and a black V-necked sweater. Pushing the sleeves up his tawny arms reveal hints of tattoos while his gaze never falters from her.
Trajek had continued to eat his meal as Larewen teased her new plan, though his attention was more on his slave than the others around. He was commanding her with his glare; he bade her to speak with a tug on the chain that sent her lurching forward where she knelt. "I...I will speak for Trajek." Larewen would not need to see the gaping hole in his throat that made speaking difficult, but it drew attention to itself with the gruesome sounds it made while the ghoul swallowed. "You...you have an ally, but its power comes only as long as you aid Traj...Traj....Trajek." Every word was on the cusp of a scream, and her eyes would have cried had they not shed all the tears they could already.
Larewen dipped her head in lieu of Irenic's agreement, taking another drag from the cigarette before following it with a mouthful of wine. She didn't bother savoring the vintage, but rather drained the glass entirely. To the avian, she still spoke, not yet further addressing Trajek's presence. "I wish you'd relax in my presence, for I'd rather you a willing accomplice, than merely a puppet whose strings are mine to control. I believe you're capable of it, and I think you would do fine in your service, were I to allow you to exercise a little more free will, no?" She meant loosening the tether, undoubtedly. Curiosity and bitterness simultaneously laced her voice before the speaking slave drew her attention. The sound of Trajek's throat, grotesque as it was, showed no signs of bothering the necromancer. A dark brow arched upward behind the veil, her jaw tensing again before loosening. "A puppet that makes demands, too," she mused, more to herself. It'd be a lie to say her interest wasn't piqued. "And who would that ally be, and at what cost?" There was no concern for the slave's state of being.
Irenic accepts her suggestion of relaxing as he shifted his massive Ivory wings to drape over the plushy armchair, which sits next to Larewen and such proximity would allow her favorite scent to wash over her; it's an Avian thing. This lets him ease further into the chair and his low gruff tone responds to the questioning of his state of being more of an accomplice, "I am willing." He felt that was all that needed to be said before he watches this elf speak for the ghoul and able to ignore his ghastly throat noise he was emitting. Still no horror in his expression, surely something he's never seen before, but again, careless to feel anything for the unfortunate one. His scarred brow quirks at Trajek's request while arms cross over his chest. Irenic feels it's quite a bold move and his gaze glances to his master, curious to see how she would respond. Now he looks to Trajek tilts his head, as he is also interested in this ally mentioned.
Trajek slid his eyes back to his slave, and the woman's gaze was quick to come to his as well. He did not need to tug on her neck to bring her head closer. Near silent words, bloody spittle, and even his grotesque tongue seemed to reach the elf woman's ear; she shuttered at all three in equal measure. "You...you may trust your puppets," Her worried eyes looked over at Irenic, "but your ally does not." Her pertinence, even though it was at the ghoul's command, was met with a growl and a hard pull of the chain that cut her words into a whimper. "Know that your ally values the same thing you do...power...and for aiding Its lieutenant in his task, you will be made an Empress." Trajek pulled back his rotted, gore covered lips in a knowing smirk; there was no doubt who the lieutenant was.
Larewen allowed as near to an amicable smile as was possible to cross her lips in lieu of Irenic's agreement, an exhaled breath taking with it an unholy cadence. He'd find that her control had loosened over him a bit in the wake of that utterance; he was more of a soldier than a slave. The elven slave's words brought Larewen's attention back to Trajek with a slight cant of her head. "As it should be. Some things I have created are not entirely under my control," came her reply. Her fledgling, for instance. Emrith would have to be kept in check, and Larewen felt confidence in Irenic's ability to do just that. It was also a jab at Trajek himself, perhaps, though there was almost a note of pride in the necromancer's reaction to that fact. She pressed a tongue to the point of a fang, especially as Irenic's presence intensified the girl's scent. Blood... Feeding would be necessary, and undoubtedly in the near future. "That does not identify my ally, but given the implication of this lieutenant, I can imagine that would be you," she said, and then as the title fully settled on her mind, the necromancer shifted upon her chair and took the final drag from her cigarette. "And what is this task?" There was lust in her voice, and not of the carnal sort.
Irenic saw the hint of a sort of smile through her veil and he smirked at this, knowing she was unable to really see it, he allowed it to hold for a moment. He continues to watch the scene before him, still with boredom and even a soft yawn. He doesn’t care of whatever Trajek was mentioning, he doesn't remember anything before Larewen and he actually seems quite content in that state. So, he knows nothing of someone called Lieutenant or even holding such a rank. Irenic places an elbow on the armchair and then rests his hand upon that fist, still looking rather unmoved by the Elf's sad plight. Irenic would simply shrug with a short downturn of the corner of his mouth for lack of remembering what he might have ever done to someone else, clueless. He obviously doesn’t care of what others think of him, but he watches Lady Dragana carefully for he can nearly feel her hunger, wanting to help with that as well.
Trajek guided the elf's ear back to his lips, and her features paled under a new fear: mortality. "I...what?" The ghoul gave a curt nod before demanding her to parrot his response. "I...am to become a blade. A blade?" From Larewen to Irenic to Trajek and back her wide eyes turned, and they begged both the Drow and the Avian for help. "I...I don't want to die! You said I wouldn't die if I served you!" Wails, screams, and terrified shrieks were part and parcel for Vailkrin, the very song of the city itself, but Trajek cut the woman's short with a hard pull of his chain. He turned his attention to Larewen while his free hand grasped his throat. Words came, if they could be called such. They were airy, reedy, and without much timbre or tone. "Home. Drain her...kill her...use her."