RP:Westward Ho! Necromancers on the move
Part of the Venturil's Bane Arc
This is a Necromancer's Guild RP.
Background
With a request for guild assistance having recently reached him, the Thanadule Valentin gathers together a group of low-ranking necromancers to reinforce the efforts in Venturil.
To prevent the trip from becoming a complete and utter headache, the necromantic butcher invites along his old tutor along.
Inevitably, they spend the trip locked in varying metaphysical debates, to the potential edification of the unfortunate necromancers they accompanied.
Preparing the expedition
Necropolis Foyer
Inside this ancient looking tomb are large stone sarcophagi, each sealed and oddly locked. You see several necromancers standing by one of the massive graves, locking it just seconds before you can see what's inside. They turn to you with a cold gaze, and stare through your soul before walking out, almost ignoring you completely.
Valentin surveyed the Novus Morior and Sclerati assembled in the Necropolis. He was reminded once more by how much he hated the damnable black robes they all seemed to wear like a blimmin' uniform. At least his Guildmistress wasn't slave to that particular trend. The silver lining, if one could call it that, was that Valentin significantly stood out in his butcher's attire and leather greatcoat. Made it easier, in this case, for the Novus Morior to know who to listen to if they didn't want their heads kicked in. He'd recently received a missive from one of the Mistress' attendants in Venturil which had, among other things, requested Valentin's personal presence. The 'other things' included a request for a sizeable increase of Necromancers in Venturil to assist in the ritual workings underway, and mentions of the Guildmistress being 'not her normal self' which was Scleratus code for 'batshit crazy' as far as Valentin could tell. In any case, it meant trouble, and the butcher was regrettably without any other presssing items on his agenda with which he could plausibly claim priority over the missive's request. So to share this joyful state of affairs he'd assembled all of his students, as well as a decent proportion of the Sclerati still wandering the guild halls. He'd also invited his old tutor, Artritus Vox, because Valentin was at heart a nasty bastard who liked to spread his own sufferings around as much as he could. "A'right you lot. Y'know why I've gathered y'together, on account o'the lot of you being as bad a bunch o'gossips as little old ladies in a knitting circle. But I'm goin' t'tell you anyway." Valentin looks around, to see if he can see Vox in the hall. "We're goin' on an extracurricular excursion t'Venturil. An' before y'say a word, yes I know a bunch of us have kicked the bucket down there as part o'this mad scheme. But the Thanatos Domina knows what's she's about. I've spoken with her m'self on th'topic. So pack extra undergarments in case y'bladder weakens at any point, but like it or not we are headin' to Venturil. Those who don't want t'go can leave the guild too, we clear on this? Necromancy is all or bloody nothing. You want guild support, you support the guild. We crystal, you lot? Any blimmin' questions?" The latter, the assembled Novus Morior knew from experience, was a rhetorical question. They'd been given marching orders, and those raising unhelpful questions would be inevitably 'volunteered' for the least pleasant tasks Valentin could find. "Otherwise, go pack, and meet back here in a blimmin' hour."
Artritus gave his old student a little wave as waded in between Novus and Sclerati, squeezing in between hooded figure, standing out rather like a sore thumb. Partially because he was a somewhat tall man, and the only one in bright red. Like a warning light pushing onwards this way and that between disgruntled apprentices. Though perhaps more noticeably. He was the only one not looking at the Thanadule. The only one with the gall to speak even as he did. A few words here and there. "Move aside." "Pardon me." "Sorry." A slap to the back of the head "Pay attention, fool. And step." as his arduous journey trough the sea of flesh came to an end, and the would-be sea itself dispersed, he stood before the stone faced butcher, batting at his jacket as if ridding himself of the dust of the less knowing. "Field trip, Valentin?" he buzzed in the same monotone as ever. With just the slightest hint of amusement. "Like little mice, oh piper."
Valentin nods to Vox as the man makes his way forcibly to the forefront "Aye, old man. Though the last piper I saw -was- a blimmin' mouse. A damn big one, an' you've met him. Pyde. Piper o'Cenril." The butcher pulls a stained scroll out of his apron pocket and waves it, as if it explained everything "Anyway, there's grand workin's afoot down Venturil way, and I'm t'bring more of our Novus Morior and Sclerati down to assist with it all. An' apparently the situation is such that I have t'go myself." As he speaks, Valentin tromps over to his old mentor, lowering his voice to suit the reduced distance between them. "Looks like it could get interestin' in the kind o'way that makes m'spine creep unpleasantly. I'll tell you more when the 'prentices are off packing." Valentin had received the missive two days prior to this day's meeting. The butcher wasn't the kind to rush a decision, and he'd spent the two days working on the logistics of taking a couple of dozen necromancers from Vailkrin to Venturil, given not all of them were able to call upon a more supernatural means of travel. He also didn't want to be chased out of towns with burning torches and pitchforks, which in his experience was the likely outcome of riding through on a menagerie of unnatural mounts. It would not do at this stage to slaughter a village wholesale on account of a little misunderstanding. Diplomacy, Valentin understood, was critical at a time like this when the guild was out and about in numbers. So it was to be fresh horses and packmules as far as Valentin was concerned. They would travel relatively light to make good time. And if they happened to make the horses have more stamina than any living creature had any right to by killing them quietly at the start of things, well, that's one of the perks of being in the Necromancer's guild. By the time the rot started to set into their mounts, they'd be at Venturil. Neat as neat could be. "Care t'join us on our little expedition? Might be a good chance for some o'these blighters to learn a bit more on the road."
Artritus watched the scroll as it moved back and forth, his gaze following it's movements as if Valentin had been armed. Though he soon shifted the attention back to the butcher with a thin eyebrow slowly rising. The thin man turned half way on his heel, eying the men and women in their robes. Scattering in whatever directions they may, and then whipped around back to Valentin like he'd been wound up along a string and let go. "Them?" he asked quietly. Perhaps a bit too quietly for someone who would know the old mans mannerisms all too well. "What, I'm to ditty along and answer questions from apprentices with their inflated ego's and incessant assumptions, if they know to ask at all?" he murmured darkly and pushed his glasses up along his nose. "Still, you may be right." Right about several things. They could indeed learn a few things. And whatever endeavor they'd undertaken which requires this many helping hands could very well turn out to be of some interest. Two fingers twiddled ceaselessly with a tarnished old button. "I suppose you've made arrangements for a group this size?" it was more a statement then a question.
A large, leather-bound grimoire appears in mid air and falls to the floor with a thud, several black pages tearing themselves free during the descent.
A large, leather-bound grimoire flips a few of its own dark pages before slamming shut and disappearing.
Valentin scratched a shaggy muttonchop. He'd almost forgotten that Vox found apprentices' incessant questions as irksome as the butcher often did, unless they were interesting questions which didn't make the answering of them a chore. "Aye. Purchased a bunch o' horses an' mules. Nice an' fresh. Killed 'em all an' made 'em easier to deal with. Blighters won't start properly rotting until we reach Venturil. Saves coin and baggage space for feed, an' less hassle with skittishness or contrariness. We've packed Soldier's rations, an' the bankers can whinge as much as they like, but that's what we're bringin'. Takes up less space. Personal belongings are limited to what they can fit on their own mount. Seperate arrangements have been made for the transportation of certain essential equipment - a couple of the other Thanadules have that under control." Valentin taps the scroll as the room empties, leaving himself and Vox in relative privacy. "Now, the interestin' thing is this: seems the Guildmistress has been actin' weird enough t'worry her attendants down Venturil way. I'll show you the report later, but the only reason why they'd ask for me t'come down personal-like is on account o'me bein' one o'the only Thanadules able to deal with her when she's off in her special crazy place." Volumes could be written about Tenebrae's special crazy place, in all sorts of genres and writing styles. "The sod who wrote this message hates m'guts, so things must ha'gone a bit south o'late to warrant him wantin' me stickin' my nose in his promotion prospects. He gets a bit political, th'tosser, but that's his business" Valentin starts when Redhale's prodigal tome makes its brief appearance. "Someone needs t'chain that damn book down. Blimmin' thing could do someone a mischief."
Artritus made an agreeing noise as he turned to watch the book appear and disappear. Though his attitude at the thing was far more tolerant. "I rather like it." he muttered before looking back to the Thanadule. "So. Off to deal with a guild mistress of her rocker and you bring myself along. What for?" he continued, watching the large grimoire reappear in a spot a few meters away from and above it's last position. "Handling the Novus? Dealing with locals? Slowing the decay of your horses?" he mused aloud, though with clear suspicion it was none of the above.
A large, leather-bound grimoire appears in mid air and falls to the floor with a thud, several black pages tearing themselves free during the descent.
Valentin rubs the stubble on his chin. It didn't even occur to the butcher to lie or put a spin on his reason for asking Vox along. "Well, guvnor, its like this: best to know the bad with the good. If I'm goin' to pitch to you the idea of joinin' the guild at some point, you need a proper appreciation o'just how mad th'blimmin' place is at its worst. Now, at its best it's your kind o'playground - no question there. Books an' lessons an' the pursuit an' sharin' o'knowledge. High tea an' blimmin' crumpets. At its worst... well, I suspect that's what you're goin' t'get to witness down Venturil way. An' I figured that curiosity o'yours might appreciate the invite down to what could be a complete and utter feckin' necromantic mess. It's the kind o'thing Anabaster would pencil into his itinerary, I'd wager." Valentin mentally checked through his list, and found one last item. "And, quite frankly, I give m'self a higher chance for personal survival if you an' your headful o'useful knowledge is hangin' about. An' I am all for not shufflin' off m'mortal coil on account o'someone else's bollocks-up." The butcher glares at the re-appearing tome fluttering smugly off in a distant corner of the foyer. Books should stay on their damn shelves. It was bad enough his own tome had a propensity for biting fingers - at least Valentin's couldn't teleport. "The silver linin' to all those clouds is that, whatever Tenebrae is up to right now, it's likely to be blimmin' unique. An' that might count for something. That answer y'question sufficiently y'old grump?"
A large, leather-bound grimoire flips a few of its own dark pages before slamming shut and disappearing.
Artritus gave a quick nod and a squaring of his shoulders as he rocked back and forth a few times on the balls of his heels "Yes. Yes it does." he whipped around, turning his back to the grimoire and it's telportation dance and the butchers very visual disapproving glares. He took a few steps over the cold stone floor, rather like a professor would in a classroom. It was simply how the old man did things. How he operated. Ever the teacher, the sage, the priest. Only rarely the student. Never entirely so, if his mannerisms were to be believed. "Any idea what they were intending to do there? Venturil is an old place. Lots of ancient and powerful things. Little room for things of this age." he patiently asked a nearby sarcophagus.
Valentin patiently answered Artritus Vox on behalf of the sullenly silent sarcophagus as Redhale's wandering grimoire vanishes again "She's been pretty damn cagy on the finer details, guv, but there's somethin' under Venturil. Somethin' big. An' I reckon she's fixin' to use that thing for some grand design flittin' 'bout inside her head. But she's had me an' some o'the Novus Morior searchin' for references to an ancient Necromancer who got folks so antsy they struck him from all formal records that they could find. Got the ancient mages riled up good an' proper, from what she said. As far as I can make out from Tenebrae's ramblings, this ancient pointyhatted git caused a ruckus, came close to screwing up everything, then vanished. How she learned about him, well, you'd have t'ask her. But wherever she's been before we managed to summon her back, well, she's picked up some unusual knowledge. Stuff that seems to go into the most esoteric ends of Carnology." Which, frankly, Valentin had found too confusing to deal with amidst all his other duties, and had duly labelled 'for later research', rendering his answers now to be somewhat vague and ambiguous. "But for now, my main concern is getting this herd o'blackrobed cats down t'Venturil, an' hopefully keepin' most o'them intact."
Artritus knocked on the stone slab idly as he listened and put on a bit of a face as Valentin mentioned a certain part of Carnology before turning around and wandering back towards Valentin. "Oh we'll get the cats down there, Valentin. Barely worth questioning.." he buzzed dismissively, waving the whole thing of like a chore that would surely get done one way or other. Just pick up and pull. "Like I said... ancient things." he muttered and took up a spot beside the thicker man in anticipation of the Apprentices' return. "Might do well to ask a few more questions in the future, Valentin. Madness and Brilliance come hand in hand. Though one is always bound to win out sooner or later. Shame to see madness prevail with a quest such as this." he drove his hands deep in his pockets and gave the man a sideways glance.
Valentin grunts noncommitally. The old man's humour was still as dry as ancient bones, it would seem "I'm impressed y'managed to say that with a straight face, Vox. I happen know y'like the crazy ones. They make for an interestin' study. Hell, y'once almost used those exact words a few decades ago, though it was about one o'my sires other little 'projects'." Valentin was, as a general rule, accustomed to not receiving straight answers from Necromancers. Sometimes there just wasn't a straight answer that could be given, no matter how willing the one being asked the questions. Instead, Valentin made a habit of preparing for contingencies and worst-case scenarios based on whatever details were available. Just like he was now. "Anyway, If y'need t'grab any last minute supplies or knick-knacks, now's the time. It's the Seven Peas, innit: Proper Preparation an' Plannin' Prevent Piss-Poor Performance. Now, I've a couple o'things to grab before we get underway m'self. I'll meet you out in the courtyard in a bit." Valentin would touch a hand to the brim of his bowler hat, and tromp off towards the Guild halls, giving Vox the option of making his own preparations, or accompanying the necromantic butcher.
Artritus had brought his own preparations with him. Usually did. He nodded with a nonchalant wave to Valentin as he made off to collect his things, without any particular reaction to the butchers response to his own would-be reprimands. Remaining within the foyer himself, and would be as the hour came upon them. Seated in a chair by the side of the hall, legs and arms crossed in a fashion befit for the picture of the author on the back-side of the front page of a unusually large and old boook.
An hour later, the expedition departs from Vailkrin
Acorn Way
The road here leads toward the edge of a deep gorge, and is lined by elderly, gnarled acorns that are so massive as to arch across the broad road, blotting out the moonlight's argent glow and plunging the area into a near-pitch blackness. These ancient sentinels seem to hold an eerie sentience and, as the shadows shift in strange ways, their contorted limbs appear to reach through the dark, perhaps to snatch up the unwary. To the west can be seen the high arch of a blackstone bridge that spans a vast gorge, and to the east a brighter glimmer lights the end of this dark tunnel of trees.
Valentin || Hooves rattled across the bridge out of Vailkrin, and disturbed the dust settled on the road between the giant oak trees for which Acorn Way received its name. It was not unusual for a large group of blackrobed individuals to ride through Vailkrin, and the departure of a group of necromancers from the guild halls went largely unremarked upon by the general populace, save for some choice expletives gifted by those who had to move out of the group's way. Valentin was an exception to the Horse-and-Mule arrangement alloted to the guild necromancers in the convoy, being settled on the driver's seat of his meatcart. His ponies Huff and Gruff may not have been undead, but they were sturdy, hardy, and downright evil-natured bastards in their own right. The butcher brought up the rear of the expedition, while some of the more level-headed Sclerati and Novus Morior were placed in the lead positions. One of the Novus Morior, Jeremiah Alhandry, could be overheard remarking "I don't like those trees. My grandfather swears one of them stole his hat."
Artritus sat beside Valentin, folded together on the seating in a way that rather highlighted his thin and drawn out frame. He looked more neutral than ever, one cheek mushed up against his own knuckles. Elbow resting against his knee. There was one part of the old man that wasn't inanimate though. Eyes darted between each horse. Every black robed apprentice. Every tree. Flicking back and forth between things and things and more things. Making a note of everything. Keeping an eye on everything. And yet he looked bored. "I bet it looks dashing in it, too." he muttered in response to the remark.
Valentin gives the reins a slight flick, if only to stop Huff from nipping the shoulder of Gruff. A nearby necromancer coughs slightly, likely the sign of concealed laughter at Vox' observation. Valentin notes dourly "With th'weather the way it is, maybe the trees should consider a scarf next, if pilferin' clothes is their thing. Otherwise, I'd be more worried about what could be hidin' in the damn things aside from clothin'" The butcher was as grimfaced as he always was when tasked with an irksome chore. At least the creatures of Vailkrin could smell the residue of death magics wafting from the robes of the expedition, and would likely leave them be in favour of less troublesome prey.
Artritus leaned his head a little to the side as to turn it to allow him a glance at the butcher. "Unless they number quite large I'm fairly sure we need not worry about that. Not yet..." he buzzed, bored as ever as he rose and straightened his back. Glancing into the branches of the trees none the less. Silently leering into the darkness. One finger locked around another, spinning a tarnished silver ring around and around. "Still..." he smiled the thinnest of smiles. A line drawn across that emotionless mask of a face. "As we stare into the darkness, so does it stare at us, no?" he stood up on the seat and turned, climbing back into the cart towards his bag stored snugly in a corner. Moving with the clambering imitation of agility a spider might have, rather than the youthful movement of one the age of his own body.
Valentin mutters his response, the butcher's eyes largely focused on the road and the necromancers "It bloody looks back at us whether we're payin' blimmin' attention or not. That's why a clever bloke learns to keep an eye on the shadows at all times." Valentin eases up on the reins a moment "It's got a texture, darkness does. Like a pool in a deep cave. Y'can feel the ripples o'things movin around in it if y'pay attention. Like puttin' half y'face into th'pool, with one eye above an' below the waterline." It was an interesting phenomena, Vox may have noted in years past: the tightlipped butcher could be positively verbose if his body and senses were engaged in monotonous busywork but his mind and voice were left mostly unoccupied. "Try not t'fall off, Guvnor."
Artritus tossed a glance at Valentin as he made his way over the cart, finally dropping onto his feet with a satisfying thud and no wobble. "I've outrun my age better than that, thank you..." he mumbled and knelt by the pack. Rummaging trough it as he spoke, looking rather like a vulture or perhaps more nightly creature when bent over in such a fashion. "Only to the more attuned, Valentin. Your talent is a rare thing. Such a sense rakes long to achieve, nothing commonly found among any lower hierarchies of umbreomancers." he dismissed Valentin's description on the texture of darkness. Truth to one may be lies to another. Vox sat up and pulled his spectacles of his face, folding them with deft hands to be put away in a pocket of his old tattered jacket and replaced with a different pair, one of different make. They may not look like much at first glance, but upon close inspection one may notice a number of strange quirks about their construction and material. "Most of us.." he began, climbing back over the wagon in the same way. Staring out into the dark. "rely on tools for such things. Not instinct."
Valentin clicks his tongue, though whether the tsking sound was for the benefit of ponies or tutor would be difficult to determine. "That's a bollocks observation, an' you know it. Umbral sensin's as much instinct as usin' y'blimmin' ears t'recognise sounds is. It's observational blimmin' awareness, innit. Y'practise usin' a sense long enough, get a proper feel for what each bit o'sensory response corresponds to, an' Sven's your uncle." Valentin takes a moment to look at the spectactles, and their design, before returning his eyes to the road and his voice to the debate. "I mean, the learnin' progression's the same for umbral senses as any other. Y'start off like a brat, innit. Let's say you're a kid, six years old. You hear a noise. Now, you know enough to know its a blimmin bird, right? But only specific knowledge o'birds would let you know you are hearing a nightjar. That's where a kid's parents come in. Now, let's say you been workin' at your umbral senses for six years. You're still a kid, but you have a sense o'the shape an' texture of umbral disturbances - but while you may be able to gauge a general shape from the resonance, you won't be able t'tell th'difference between a vampire or a drow. That's where th'teacher comes in, right? But for most, the teacher is their own memory should they survive the encounter with whatever they've sensed." Valentin flicks the reins again to punctuate his point as the expedition nears the dark portal which would allow their egress from the dark lands. "But what I'm sayin, in short, is this: it ain't blimmin' instinct. It's jus' somethin' y'got to work at over time. Problem is, most people don't blimmin' bother, on account o'the skullsplittin' headaches it gives you early on." Valentin jerks a thumb at Vox' spectacles "Mind you, not many folks have a viable alternative".
Artritus smiled a little at the rather formidable response. Alright, the old brute was sharp. Sharper than he used to be. He'd slid onto the seat and leaned forward now. Staring into the darkness around them with the general attitude befitting a routine chore. Though with a new toy. "Ah but they do have an alternative..." he started as he looked back to the large man. Blinked, and pulled at the spectacles, drawing them down his nose so he could look at the man over rather than trough their lenses. "to quit. And they do." he pushed the spectacles back up and stared out over the mass of apprentices before them. "Everything is a matter of learning. Practice. It can all be learned over time. That's true. But then what is talent? Instinct? It's what determines what we will suffer to learn. What comes easy to us and what doesn't. It's what determines how far you'll ultimately go with this practice. It's not coincidence some push on while others do not. Not entirely..." there may be a slight relation. A similarity to the old priests' view of life and such an idea as he'd just presented. But that was true for most things. Some are set in their ways.
Valentin concedes the latter point regarding the influence talent has on learning easily, which might surprise Vox "That's jus' common sense, though. A man what is naturally big from birth's goin' t'find it easier to lift heavier things sooner than someone who starts off as a scrawny runt. But if that scrawny runt eats properly, an' practices liftin' progressively heavier things, well, he'll eventually be stronger than most folk what don't put in the effort. He might even get stronger than a naturally big bloke who didn't bother with the effort. The only time, guv, when talent is guaranteed to cause an insurmountable difference between two people is when one person who is talented puts in the same amount of effort as one who isn't talented. The talented man will win out every time where luck plays no part." Valentin eyes the now-not-so-distant dark portal as he talks "The point is, jus' because a bloke isn't naturally talented at somethin' don't mean he shouldn't make an effort an' instead quit - enough effort will push him head an' shoulders above those who don't put in the same effort." Valentin casts a quick glance over the harness connectiong Huff and Gruff, making sure it seemed as sound as it had at the start of the day "And a second point worth makin' is this: don't think y'can twist a debate around by trying to present somethin' you know I agree with as a counter-argument when you are actually presentin' a -new- point which is strongly linked by theme of subject. I'm onto your tricks, old man. You'll have t'work harder for those wins these days. An' presenting 'quitting' as a 'viable alternative', when you knew damn well from context that I was referrin' specifically to the fancy eyewear you went out of your way to present for inspection, is hardly up to your standards of a riposte guv. You've got as little time for quitters as I do." Valentin was about to say more, but he saw that they had reached their first waypoint "We'll pick this up on the other side, eh Guv? The dead horses won't be fussed by the portal, but these ponies might get a bit cranky" Valentin holds the reins tight: although Huff and Gruff were tenacious bastards, even they tended to balk at this passage. As the necromancers pass through the dark portal, each individual is affected in slightly different fashions by the eldritch forces controlling the gateway from Vailkrin to the Milous plains. For some it creates a condensed lucid dreamstate, bringing alive their most disturbing nightmares; for others it drags up memories of torments which had been locked away for very good reason; and for others it gives crystalisation to their fears, letting them witness the utter failure of their goals and plans. Passing through the Dark Portal was never a decision to be taken lightly, and it was no coincidence that Vailkrin was home to men of warped and twisted outlook. For Valentin, the passage seemed much less strenuous than it once had. Between the necromantic butcher's harsh lessons in resisting phobomancy, and having been subjected to the horrendous mindwarping side-effects of the Haruspex Leifong's preferred ritual for long-distance teleportation, Valentin was extraordinarily resistant to such eldritch pressures. The butcher's fears visited him, yes, but their presence was like the visit of a cantankerous mother-in-law - irksome but ultimately able to be ignored. When the sun hit the butchers eyes he squinted and pulled on the reins to calm down Huff and Gruff "Right. Onwards to Venturil."
Artritus chuckled a little as Valentin called him on his verbal trick. Still, he hadn't been entirely caught up to just yet. Had an ace up his sleeve, and Valentin had set him up for it. Sadly, it would lose most of it's effect as they had to cut the conversation temporarily short due to the portal. One might think he'd had time to think up the answer had it not been for the portal which would surely keep any mind fairly busy as they passed trough. The old man's reaction was fairly similar to the butchers own. A blank stare into the distant and an almost meditative deep breath. In and out as they passed. And then it was nothing. Fear, after all, was a subject the priest was more familiar with than they may expect. And things such as the portals effect had come to be more a straining experience than a harrowing one after countless years of delving into the horrors of the school. Still, thin fingers rose to the temples of a far too young head, blank stares became focused on the old mans feet. "Hummh. Unpleasant as ever, that...." he not quite buzzed in not quite the usual monotone. Damn portal.
That night, on the Milous plains
Road to Milous
Walking about this place, one would notice the drastic changes that had taken place. The once beautiful road to Milous is now relatively destroyed. The once white fences are now blackened and shattered, with shards of wood lying about. The proud trees are now lying around, being ripped up by their roots, all that remains are some scattered under brush. Looking about more, one would notice the rotting corpses, of what seem to be draconian, orc and even human in origin. This place seems to have been a battlefield, seemingly so, due to the abundance of weapons, shields and of course the bodies carelessly spread about. Moving on, you notice a huge crater roughly in the center of the chaos, its diameter nearly envelops the whole area.
Valentin headed a somewhat unusual progression. The vampiric butcher was settled on the driver's seat of his meatcart, itself an eyecatching enclosed-metal carriage. In convoy behind him were numerous blackrobed riders keeping pace on unusually docile mounts, each with an equally lacklustre packmule in tow. In truth, the only animals showing much in the way of liveliness were Valentin's own: pulling the cart are two of the most cantankerous mountain ponies the world has ever produced, one black as Vailkrin's night, and one as white as Frostmaw's wasteland, looking as if they had been foaled with the express aim of biting the hands which fed them. The procession moved at a steady pace, the rattle of cartwheels and clop of hooves creating steady percussion in their wake. Unseen at this point would be the red-robed figure of Valentin's old tutor, who had found himself a quiet spot in the meatcart for a boredom-defeating nap.
Verthica circles in from above, his great wings spread wide drift along the currents in the wind. A full moon above brightly glitters the ground with the reflections off his glossy silver scales making each glint of light off of them a raindrop of moonlight. As he gazes upon the ground looking for anything of interest he spots the cart and the polar mules. An interesting sight to him, what being would hold the opposites of a spectrum to pull a cart. The dragon lands softly, after blasting the ground with great gusts of air to slow his descent and land carefully. From the shoulder down he stands about 15 feet tall. A necklace around his throat bares what looks like a large piece of silver when actually it is an egg. "Hello, Sir. Lovely moon out tonight, no?"
Thistle wasn't the prettiest sight. She had a shiner at the bottom of her left eye, the bruise itself rising from over the cheekbone and extending upwards. She walked with a limp, and sported a cut, puffy lip set in a scowl. Her clothing was wet, having been pulled free of the laundry without it having necessarily been thoroughly rinsed, much less dried. Her knuckles were scabby, and her bare feet were bruised. The rest of her was covered in wet cloth. She was thoroughly ignoring the ever adorable Daisy, and walking east at as fast a pace as her yet-aching thigh would let her. The sight of the caravan gave her pause, and she slowed. It was the two ponies that had her attention; the beasts had lines she could appreciate, and the cantankerous attitudes didn't bother her at all. She didn't try to approach them, however, but moved stiff-shouldered out of the way. Not even she was arrogant enough to try to get in the way of that many people and beasts. Before Daisy might say something in her caring way -- because at this point, Thistle expected the kitten to say -something- --Thistle cut it off with an upheld hand and a growled, "I -said- I have things to ge --" Which was when Verthica chose to swoop in for a landing. Thistle didn't make a point of checking the sky for danger; the largest things she -expected- to come out of the sky were birds of prey, and while she'd heard people talking about dragons, Verthica was the first she'd seen in dragon form. It didn't really help that he'd spoken genteel words; she hadn't heard them all that well, and even if she'd heard them perfectly it was likely she'd have assumed she'd heard wrong. She started to back up, grumpiness turning to stark alarm.
Daisy finds herself chasing someone quite easily for the first time ever. Her little legs don't really carry her that fast and let's face it, she's a bit round don't you think? Ah well. All the more of her to be adorable. A reliable source said she is ever adorable so it must be true. So she chases, not really saying anything yet, just trying to keep up while carrying some not-so-drenched clothes for the still injured Thistle. Lips part, Thistle interrupts, Verthica interrupts, and the ponies are spotted. What first. Ah, the dragon. The other female is given a little tug on her finger since she looks quite shocked. Maybe afraid. Maybe she is a secret expert dragon slayer! Nono. That is ridiculous. "He's a friend." The clothes (consisting of a plain shirt and pants since Thistle doesn't seem the lacy, sundress type) are placed in Thistle's hands while apples are pulled from her bag. "Hi Verthica." The dragon is flashed a smile as the horses are approached. The fruits are tossed in their direction once she is noticed. "And the Butcher."
Valentin had a special list of things designed specifically to ruin his day. It included things such as 'Paladins, Priests, Drow, Dragons, Tenebrae, Lorkain, Noisy or crying children'. And here was a big shining example of one of them. At least this time it wasn't trying to burn down his city, eat his sausages, or otherwise cause havoc. Fighting off the red dragon Zyren had been a damnable pain in th'Xalious. Still, the butcher had enjoyed several lengthy debates this evening with his old tutor Artritus, and was in a comparatively good mood, though that would fail to reach his habitually dour face as he responded to Verthica "Evenin' Guvnor. It's a fine moon for travellin' peaceful-like, aye." Huff and Gruff would champ their teeth aggressively at the dragon, the pair as irrepressible as ever. The necromancers following the cart would come to a halt as a quiet whisper from the shadows beside their ears gives them Valentin's order to stop and be silent. The riding horses and packmules stand in absolute stillness. "Not often I see one o'your kind around. I'm Valentin. The pack o'malingerers behind me are in my care." The butcher jerks a thumb back at the cavalcade of robed figures "An' I'm guessin' you silver dragons are a bit more level-headed than the reds, eh? Last red I met tried to leave me in cinders. A blimmin' hassle, that was." Then the butcher noticed the other travellers whose approach had been eclipsed by the incoming dragon "Seems t'be a night for meetin' folks." Valentin calls back to the assembled necromantic apprentices "Oi, you lot. Time for a rest. Get off the road for a bit, grab a bite t'eat an' drink. An' save any complaints for th'Mistress." Which was more a threat than a suggestion for those who knew the inner workings of the Necromancer's Guild. The assembled Novus Morior and Sclerati would guide their mounts off the road and into a nearby clearing while Valentin indulged in conversation. The butcher nods to the dragon with a muttered "One moment, guv" as he recognises one distinctive feline form and calls out to Daisy and her companion "Daisy kitten. Seem t'be bumpin' into you all over th'blimmin' place. What brings you out an' about at this time o'night?"
Verthica smiles welcomingly and warmly, at everyone converging on the spot. Two faces he knew and one he did not, though maybe there was a chance to correct that, he did like making new friends, no matter their background. To the Butcher he says, "I suppose I should introduce myself, so I did just so happen to drop infront of a total stranger and company. My name if Verthica, and yes I am a silver as you can see. And no we silvers do not just attack on sight, but we do get urges to correct a wrong should we see it that way. Right and wrong and at times hard to define, so what you think is right, may or may not be. So I must not act rashly." Turning to see the two other newcomers, his smile broadens as he sees both Thistle and Daisy. "Falu so glad to see you again. And yes we have met before. I helped patch you up in the bakery." Verthica adds even more warmth to his smile though by this time his teeth were so widely bared that he was afraid, though just for a moment, he might scare the kitten with his teeth. "Daisy, I'm so glad to see you once more. How have you been dear, sweet friend?"
Thistle :: For once, Thistle didn't jerk away from Daisy's gentle grip. Maybe she was going into that protective stillness that animals and people sometimes do when they're trying to decide whether or not they might be able to avoid notice. But, that cover wasn't even remotely possible, and while there might have been a little more white around the edges of Thistle's eyes than was strictly normal, she pulled the rest of her expression down into its serious neutrality that she often showed situations she wasn't fond of. The name "Verthica" tickled the back of her mind, but she didn't bother trying to follow the small fuzz of familiarity back to its source. She was, oh, completely certain she didn't know any rutting -dragons-. Except he was -- was he -talking- at her? Daisy's grip was completely forgotten then as Thistle frowned at the large, majestic, completely capable of biting off her head beast. She turned her head to Daisy then, because the other woman was doubly addressed, and said through her teeth, "Do you know -everyone-?"
Daisy isn't afraid of any dragons! No way. Doesn't matter how many teeth they have or how big they are or any of that sort of stuff. She knows quite a few of them, actually, and they all have been rather nice. That egg hanging around Verthica's neck is given a little nod. "Still a Daddy. Good." Wonder what kind of price would be paid for a dragon omelette. Speaking of. The butcher asked you a question, kitten. Valentin is given her attention then. "My Violet isn't well." Oh-ho! The Thistle has been claimed. Heh. Her pretty little sunshine face lifts up to Thistle. "Maybe."
Valentin scratches a shaggy muttonchop. It took him a moment to get his head around the dragon's eccentric approach to the language, but he worked it out quickly enough. It wasn't surprising, really, that a dragon might have some difficulty parsing its own thoughtpatterns into the common tongue. It wasn't like Valentin could speak any of the draconic tongues, so he couldn't exactly criticise. "I'll take that t'mean this is a friendly visit then. I can work wi'that. An' y'seem t'know th'kitten, an' haven't had her as an hors douevre yet, so I suppose y'can't be all that bad neither. What brings y'down t'land here, if'n y'don't mind my askin'" The butcher cast a glance over the battered Thistle enroute to Daisy "You're out an' about in th'middle o'the night on account of a wiltin' violet? An' what, did y'drag this poor woman along t'help you? She looks like she's more in need of a healer than a blimmin' plant" Valentin turns back to Thistle to say "No offense intended, mam'selle, but y'look blimmin' awful, an' no two ways about it." Really, if Valentin hadn't become inured to the unusual over the decades, he'd have found this sudden and impromptu congregation of improbable night-time travellers quite disturbing.
Verthica moves back a distance from the three who were taking up most of his attention, and settles down laying his head on his forelegs. He isn't completely relaxed, but he keeps up a friendly face as he lies there. Looking at the Butcher, he says, "Honestly? Your beats of burden actually. Just seeing as some might try to use two of the same color to pull a cart. Yours are black and white. I am a being of many thoughts and contemplate many things, though not skilled in arcane magics I do posess some understand of natural magics from my blood, and found a certain kind of balance in my natural abilities. Though I wield and shpae ice, I can move my boday heat, and even draw out ambient heat in things to make them colder. That's quite an accomplishment for a Silver raised by Dwarves." He view bounces from Falu and Daisy, "Ms. Falu, you look like you are a deer that spotted me and are scared stiff. Please relax a bit, you get wrinkles form too much worry. Though from how you look at this point, that is the least of your worries. Shall I get you another healing tonic for your wounds?" And finally to Daisy, "Yes, I couldn't just leave the poor thing buried up there and I was away. Not to mention what would happen if it hatched and I was out, who would it imprint on, and what would eat it if I wasn't there?"
Thistle was slouching, and Valentin's reminder about her appearance didn't give her reason to stand up straight. Hurt too much to bother, really, which was likely the accountable reason for the air of malevolence that hung about her like the stink of stale sweat. If Daisy hadn't washed her, she probably would have smelled of that, and worse things. Her eyes, however, were glued to the unfamiliar dragon, whose face wasn't really designed for friendly in her estimation, and she wasn't likely to relax. The line of her mouth changed, turned into something even less friendly. Healing tonic. That was a little more familiar but -- bah. Maybe it was a trick. She narrowed her eyes, though the sore one quickly made her re-estimate that decision. "I'm fine. I'm rutting wonderful. I have things to fet--" then Daisy's grip was finally noticed, and she jerked her hand free. Her face was heating from the strain of so many improbabilities and from the need to vent her helplessness-turned-temper on something. Preferably Kyoaku. Oh, she hadn't forgotten that, oh no. "I'll find you later," she said to Daisy in such a way that could have been considered threatening, if she wasn't always snarling and such at the cat. "Your horses be well," she muttered at Valentin as she passed without realizing that the traditional blessing would likely not be understood. To Verthica she offered nothing else: on her best days she was skeptical and stubborn about help; only when she was nearing unconsciousness did she acquiesce without much fuss. Her bare feet made slapping noises as she marched onwards, and it was only by a chance glance that she noticed Artritus' slumbering form. She stopped. Leaned in. "Bastard owes me money!" She said. Loudly.
Daisy figures the butcher didn't see her chasing after the battered woman. She's trying to get her back inside to rest! She really is. Stubborn as she is, you'd think Thistle was part minotaur or something. Oh come now, that isn't very nice. A soft apology is made under her breath. No one probably heard it, not even Thistle standing right next to her. "She -is- my wilting flower." She's made it her duty to take care of her new student! Just as Verthica has taken on that egg. Poor thing trapped in ice all this time. She does hope to be there for the hatching. How kind of the dragon to take on the task. "Responsible." You could say more to make a bit more sense, you know. Or chase after your runaway flower. She's getting away! The clothes are left on the ground, forgotten as Daisy tots after Violet. "Wait-oomph." Sudden stops by flowers means getting run into by kittens not able to make stops so suddenly.
Valentin gives his ponies a disgruntled glance. On cue, Huff and Gruff both turned to return the look in spades, and added an equine snort each to adequately convey their opinions. It was typical, Valentin thought, that even his damn ponies could bring down misfortune on him. The universe had that particular kind of humour which got most mortal men a punch in the face. Regrettably, the Universe didn't have a readily-available face for Valentin to punch right now. "Well, that's fascinatin' guv. An' if the hoofed bankers 'ere don't behave 'emselves, I may just let 'em be your lunch." Valentin glared at the ponies "An' I aint jestin', you two. Behave, or be dragonfood." The ponies, in unison, swish their tails dismissively. And then Thistle halted her advance and made her claim vis-a-vis Artritus Vox' pecuniary infractions against bruised women. Valentin rubbed the stubble on his chin, the barest hint of a malicious smile twitching the edges of his lips. "Well now, luv, that there sounds like a right problem what needs fixin'. A man should always pay his debts, innit. Tell you what. I ain't wakin' him until either dawn comes or he comes to naturally, so once we finish this little parlay an' get movin' again, feel free t'tag along until he stirs himself." And then Valentin would see how Vox handled a bruised, cranky, and demanding harpy of a woman. It promised to be entertaining. Then another thought occurred to him as he witnessed the kitten's possible collision-course with 'Falu/Violet/crankyknickers' or whatever her name was. "Daisy, you can come too if'n y'want. Verthica, well, I'd invite you for the rest o'the trip, but frankly m'ponies don't like dragons much. It's the lizard smell as much as the soddin' huge teeth. Gets 'em cranky. So unless y'can do somethin' about both, it creates somethin' of a logistical problem. Now, I ain't sayin' we all stop our nattering an' haul off now, but it's good t'be straightforward 'bout these things afore they become an issue." Oh, some of the Sclerati and Novus Morior would no doubt complain at having non-guild companions along for the ride, but they would keep those complaints out of hearing of Valentin. Thanadule of the guild as he was, he'd also gained a reputation in the teaching halls as a teacher not to be messed with - he had a mean left hook and the willingness to use it.
Verthica appraises Thistle for a moment, then quick as the icy winds in the north, he lunges forward gripping Falu with both foreclaws pinning her arms to her side, and holds her gently on the ground as he puffs out his healing mist to heal her superficial wounds and injuries. "You are going to rest right here, even if it means I half to keep one foot on you. You will be tended to, and if you fight I'll paralyze you, then let Daisy do what she will to heal you." With a friendly smile he speaks again to the Meat Molder. "Does your livestock have a problem with my sudden actions? I'm sure my scent and actions would actually stir a uncommonly felt hunger in my belly." He grins at the mules, then licks his jowls. "Daisy be a dear, and do what you can to help this young lady? I'm feeling a tad protective today. Not sure where it is coming from, but I almost like it."
Thistle :: "Be careful," Thistle snapped even as she put out a hand to steady Daisy. Not that the gesture was particularly sympathetic, but the kitten -was- her newly acquired teacher. One simply didn't piss off teachers. Her attention went to Valentin before she could reach into the cart and shake Vox awake, and his reply made her take two steps away from Daisy. All the better to focus that intensity and impatience onto Valentin at his words. But then something odd happened, something that was almost like dejavu to events that had happened earlier, long enough ago that the memory had dipped back to bright light and pain, though Daisy had sewn the resulting wound up. Thistle found herself on the ground, under the dragon. Not even she was willing to argue with the thing, but within her resentment and loathing simmered, and it showed in her eyes -- now narrowing even before the pain had a chance to fade -- though she kept her mouth firmly shut. Not to Valentin did she speak, or Daisy; in her mind were other times she'd been knocked to the ground against her will, and held. Pain those times. It didn't matter that Verthica healed her now. In the end, the point that mattered was that choice had been forcibly taken away from her, and she faced up to the dragon with a look that promised a long and healthy hatred, even if fear of those teeth and claws was at its core.
Daisy isn't exactly sure where Valentin is headed, but she sure does want to go! Especially if Thistle is going. Not only does the butcher always take her on exciting -dangerous, hallucinating, stinky- adventures, but her Violet needs further tending to as well. Chances are, the girls is going to want her money from the sleeping... hey! She knows that undead whisperer! Geez. Maybe the druid -does- know everybody. "I'll go." Whaa! Verthica's sudden movements may or may not spook the horses, but they certainly put Daisy off her feet! Right onto her little corgitush. Really she had already done all she could to help the flower. Thistle just needed rest now. One look at the girl's face and Daisy crawls over there to tug on Verthica's foot in attempts to pry it up with kitten hulk strength. "Don't."
Pyoshia didn't exactly know what was happening or what was going on, nor did she really care. In fact, she wanted nothing really to do with this group other than to be obnoxious, be loud, and move about in an annoyingly crude and abrasive manner. Her mount, ride, thing a majig she sat upon today was a hippopotamus! A random animal in which totally exists within Hollow! The hippomountamus carried her around the group in figure eights, over and over again, with no seemingly rhyme or reason, the obnoxious vines upon her back swinging left or right, back and forth, all about attempting to bop a kid, dog, cat, or feline upside the head for the dryad's great amusement.
Valentin grunted and hauled on the reins of the harness as Huff and Gruff took umbrage to the sudden movement from the dragon, preventing the meatcart from doing more than jolting. "D'you blimmin' mind? Bad enough y'come flappin' down out o'nowhere in th'middle o'the night, let alone deliberately tryin' t'spook me ponies. An' let the woman up. Even I can tell from here its only your scales an' size preventin' you from havin' somethin cut off." That, and the lack of a blade in Thistle's hands. "Aint a person on this world would want t'be pinned down by an oversized lizard." Despite the dragon's actions, the horses and packmules in the nearby clearing didn't budge, given the special necromantic treatment they'd received the night before. Strictly speaking, they weren't alive. Admittedly the rot and entropic breakdown of flesh would only become apparent by the time the necromancers reached Venturil, at which point appearances would be the least of the necromancers' concerns, given the hell that likely awaited them all. Even Valentin wasn't looking forward to it, which was why he was somewhat more inclined to let himself be delayed by a chance meeting such as this. The butcher had a bad feeling about this Venturil expedition "Glad t'hear it, kitten." Maybe the cat's finely tuned nose would help sniff out trouble ahead of time. Although, the cat's nose didn't give any warning for the next damn nuisance to come along. Valentin kneaded the bridge of his nose when the large abberation and its rider made their sudden appearance seemingly out of nowhere. It was just going to be one of those nights, he could tell. Maybe the universe was getting him ready for whatever chaos was awaiting him and the nearby apprentices in the wastelands. "A'right. Now this is just gettin' a bit much. Kitten, d'ye know that ridiculous apparition, or can I add its damn ride t'me blimmin' coldroom? I reckon I'd get a pretty penny for its flesh."
Verthica :: After being chastised for something he thought was right, and the looks given him by the three present, not to mention the sudden appearance of the odd plant-like creature on top of a hippo. He releases his grip and appears to be walking off, but instead goes behind a bush. You can hear the sounded of flesh changing its shape, and bones breacking and snapping painfully to the ears. The dragon reappears from behind the bush, in a more human shape. He is dressed in his dark blue clothes, and wears a belt with many pouches, one such pouch is larger on his right side. A flask of water is found on his left side its container inscribed with divine blessings in the form of runes. He lowers his body temperature to an extreme where cold seems to be radiating off him, making his scent hard to detect even by those with great noses and sense of smell. "Would this form be much more appealing to the eye, than what I was?"
Thistle was glaring as the hippomountamus flounced past, as she was let up, as Verthica returned to the form she knew him as. Still, she bit down on the words he deserved, and the punch he deserved, and the -- well. Back to the hippomountamus went Thistle's eyes, as she struggled. Stay with the strange caravan, and deal with Verthica, Daisy, the person riding, and Vox (Valentin really hadn't done anything wrong, yet), or go and do what needed doing? Her freshly healed face went slack as she turned away from plant-woman and back to Valentin. She was really good at ignoring, and right now both the hippomountamus-rider and Verthica were at the bottom of her pile, which would give Daisy some relief. "Where are you going?" Her tone was surprisingly civil, and calm, her face bland as she gave Valentin more of her attention than was strictly necessary.
Daisy blinks at the dryad, lifting both paws to swat at that vine that is swatting at her. She eyes the thing as kittens do with her chin in the air as if balancing a spoon on her nose. This is where you'd see that stalky sort of swish of her tail. Batbatbat! No, she doesn't know this creature. Not anymore. Not since Kelovath cured her of the disease Pyoshia shoved down her throat. The butcher can have her. "How many pennies?" Didn't Redhale offer her payment if she got him information on dryads? Damn right he did. He didn't specify if they had to be dead or alive either. Maybe Verthica can just stomp on her and the hippomountamus. Too late. Darn. Oh well. Moving away from the weird vine, she climbs up onto the cart with Valentin, gesturing for Thistle to join them. "Come."
Pyoshia :: And as soon as Pyoshia had come upon this scene she was seemingly leaving, why? BEcause she wanted to check upon the feline, that annoying feline, the one who got away! Without a doubt, that annoying little cat had managed to escape the grasp of the dryad, the pesky paladin to of done a good job. The dryad sighed, but disappeared off to some random place far, far, away....For a long time.
Valentin gathers the reins in preparation for imminent departure. He nods to 'justifiablycrankyknickers' and advises "Venturil. T'be honest, mam'selle, it's probably goin' to be about as fun as swimmin' in the Gualon swamps or dancin' on broken glass." Or any number of unpleasant things which somehow seemed preferable to the entity lurking beneath Venturil. And given the unpleasant experience she'd just gone through at the hands of the blimmin' dragon, she might just deserve a little honesty to prevent experiencing worse "Fact is, I'm headin' there t'replace an' reinforce those of our organisation what got themselves killed off by some horrible wotsit beneath the wastelands o'Venturil. Apparently th'blimmin' thing's the entire reason th'place is a wasteland. The guildmistress has hatched some mad scheme t'take care o'the thing, but its goin' t'be dirty work." Valentin watched as the strange creature left with about as much warning as its arrival. As Daisy clambours up, the butcher continues "But y'free t'ride with us as far as y'want, or until y'winkle y'cash from old man Vox. Jus' so long as I get t'watch the argument. That'll be one t'consign t'memory, that will. Y'can sit next t'Daisy" For their parts, Huff and Gruff had turned to stare at Verthica in what could only be called equine hostility. It would seem that these ponies weren't stupid, and a little shapechanging behind a bush wasn't enough to assuage their particular prejudice - although it did mean they'd feel a lot more comfortable trying to bite the now smaller Verthica. "I'm afraid, dragon, that the invitation cannot be extended to you. Y'lack discretion, an' I want as little trouble on my trip as possible. An' trouble seems t'follow you like plague follows rats. Still, it's been a pleasant conversation. Have y'self a good evenin' Guv." Valentin would let Thistle decide her next move for herself, and in the distance the necromancers would receive a whispered command from the shadows to mount up and move out. "Right. Have to cut this short, but we've been delayed long enough. I've a mess t'clean up, and me an' my mop-and-bucket brigade have got t'get movin." With a flick of the reins, Valentin reminds Huff and Gruff of their primary task. The meatcart moves off to a slow crawl while he waits for the necromancers to catch up. Whether Thistle joins or not, the cavalcade would soon be moving onwards to Venturil once more.