RP: Interview with the Changeling
This is a Necromancer's Guild RP.
Summary: Larewen recruits Quintessa into the Necromancer's Guild
House Dragana
Towering over the abyssal forest, the dark mass of House Dragana is no less eerie than the vegetation, or lack thereof, in which it stands. The mansion's outer perimeters are flanked by the twisting trees and there are no gates to prevent the seemingly less desirable denizens of the forest from trespassing upon the property. A sleek, obsidian walkway runs from the house's entry to the path. The only source of light without comes form wrought-iron lanterns that are placed on either side of the walkway, spaced perfectly from one another. Within them, an eldritch glow of a deep, verdant hue flickers. Those brave enough to approach House Dragana's doors will be greeted with iron knockers bearing blackened skulls, their eyes set with emeralds that glow with the same light from the lanterns. Within the house's walls, there is no shortage of decadence. Only the most elegant of furniture is placed throughout its rooms. A grand staircase of blackened wood leads to the upper levels, where rooms for those that reside within the house can be found. Midway up, the stairs split to the left and right, spiraling upward. Here, there is a landing with a set of double doors that leads to a large ballroom. The lower level of the house plays host to a dining area and kitchen, though rarely used, a grandiose library filled with grimoires and tomes, and a small museum of artifacts collected by the house's residents. Though there appear to be no candles to light the way, an ethereal glow floods the innards of the house, providing ample reading light - undoubtedly arcane in origin. Dark magic is weaved into the house's existence as a measure of protection.
House Dragana looms darkly over the forest, its haunting facade testament to what hides within: an elder vampire and her coven. Or, more accurately as of late, the lack thereof. But that's another matter entirely. Regardless, dark magics encompass the manse, powering several protective wards. In addition to those traps, cantrips, and barriers, sentries roam the forest--flesh golems whose eyes Larewen is able to look through. Wolves, their heads quartered and blooming like flowers with razer sharp teeth, roam deeper within, accompanied by ghouls and other monstrous creatures. An army in its infancy has taken up residence within the forest. Larewen sits inside the estate, legs drawn up beside her on a settee. She bides her time patiently and deals with other matters while she has the chance--namely, guild ones. She composes a letter, and sends it with a burst of verdant flame. It's a bidding, a request of an appearance, and the letter finds its source. Wherever Quintessa is, the summons appears in much the same manner that it had vanished: her presence is requested at House Dragana.
Halfway across the continent Quintessa studies in her room. She pours over books and books of knowledge, transcribing tidbits from here or there as she finds fit. It isn't until the light of a verdant flame catches her attention that she looks up to see the letter magically appear. Pale fingers pluck the letter from the air as mismatched eyes narrow in suspicion. Not many people could send a letter to her here like that, so this must have been important. A crocked smile tugs at her lips when she reads it over. "Dragana..." She says with curiosity, closing the book she is reading and slamming on her desk with a thump. She often lurks just outside of the estate, just within the watchful gaze of her golems, so it'll be interesting to finally take her up on her invitation. A few hours later and Quintessa arrives at Larewen's manor, donned in dark, bloodstained robes covered by a piwafwi to obscure her identity and shield herself from the elements. Her spike-heeled boots tread carefully through the forest this hex blade had called home most of her life. She smiles, thinking about the giant spiders and other horrors that crawl through this area. She feels a sense of relief. She's home. With one last glance backwards the changeling removes her hood and boldly approaches the door to House Dragana. She fears no ghoul nor wolves, even as monstrous as they were. She only stops as a flesh golem moves to intercept her advance. "Step aside, servant of Dragana. I am here by invitation of your mistress." She holds out the letter for it to see, her face expressionless as she confronts the construct.
The golem's fingers are too large and lack the nimblness required to take the letter from Quintessa, so instead the creature stoops down toward her. It brings its hideous face close enough to the changling that its rank breath washes over her, like a sickly perfume. Its eyes take Quintessa in, and the sight of the letter, before it rises once more. There's magic intwined in the letter, and it bears familiarity to the gargantuan creature. With a grunt, it shuffles out of her way, allowing the changeling access to the front doors of the mansion. Ornate and carved from dark wood, the doors set the flavor of the estate with their blackened skull and emerald eyed knockers. Quintessa won't have to open them, though, or knock: they swing open on their own, drawn by magic. One look inside will reveal that the manse's interior is as dark and green as its exterior. In fact, Larewen sits right inside. Her head lifts, aware of the changeling's nearness to the house, and calls out to her, "Come on in, Quintessa." She waits patiently, extracting a clove cigarette from a little silver box. Perhaps most noticeable about the foyer is the shattered obsidian staircase on one side, and the busted wall just behind the door. "Have a seat. We've much to discuss, you and I," she says.
Quintessa watches carefully, awaiting some kind of violent reaction from the flesh golem but her fears never come to fruition. Mismatched eyes stare back with determination, her nose wrinkling at the horrible smell coming from the construct. Fortunately, the hex blade doesn't have to suffer long before the minion allows Quintessa to pass, the young woman continuing her trek up the the door of the manor. She hesitates as the door swings open, but she gets the hint quickly and steps inside, her dark cloak whipping in the wind. With curiosity the changeling looks back and forth between the foyer and the damaged wall, imagining what sort of carnage took place here to do that kind of damage before she heeds Larewen's request. "I'm glad to be of service," she begins, a smirk tugging at her lips as she settles down in the seat offered to her, "But I hope you didn't call me here to repair your foyer. I'm much better at tearing things down than I am at building them." She meant that in more ways than one. Structures. Relationships. Her own safety and sanity. It didn't seem to matter to her lately, she just had the urge to ruin. "Joking aside, I know why I'm here. You no doubt want to take advantage of my natural talents. If I speak frankly, I've been looking forward to the day you finally took notice of me."
A soft chuckle bereaves itself of Larewen's lips at Quintessa's words, though it is not meant to be condescending in any shape or form. With an extending of her arm and an upward faced palm, the necromancer gestures to a matching couch across the foyer from where she sits. "Have a seat," she offers, watching the young woman. "Alas, the repairs will be handled shortly--as soon as I can get back into Vailkrin, actually. Two forces don't work so well when they're in disagreement." Her head cants to the side after a moment as she places the clove cigarette betwixt pale lips. With a flick of her hand, its cherry comes alight. "I would love to take advantage of your natural talents," she begins. "But unfortunately, that is not why I've called you here. I'm quite greedy in that regard, but this is actually Necromancer's Guild business. Rather than use you, as I might normally would, I wish to foster your talent. It seems Rhaevyn is currently out of touch, so I am taking it upon myself to induct you into the guild. You have a lot of potential." A pause follows, in which she takes another drag on her cigarette. "I want you to show me what you can do."
The changeling brushes a long raven lock from her face as she relaxes on the couch, one slender leg crossing over the other. "The Necromancy's Guild?" It was true she was learning a bit of the art from Magister Daath but when she didn't get a response from Rhaevyn the hex blade had lost hope she would ever be accepted into the guild of necromancers. A smile reeking of pride cracks the pale lips of the strange girl. "That makes sense. It felt it odd when I didn't get a reply to my letter." Of course they recognize her protentional. She is Arh'Nuk's chosen! Confident she can pass any test Larewen can cook up, the young hex blade leans forward, her boot hitting the ground with an audible click. "Why shall I do for you?" Quintessa inquires, her eyes wide with excitement. "Shall I curse someone? Bring an animal back form the dead? Oh, or perhaps I can show you what I can do with my auras." Whatever it is she is ready to do it no questions asked.
"Auras?" Larewen echoes, drawing her cigarette to her mouth again. A plume of smoke curls upwards from its cherry, only to be disturbed when the necromancer exhales. She slides her legs off the settee as she sits upright and regards the changeling. Aura magic is something the woman genuinely hasn't studied, and much like Ernest's entry into the Necromancer's Guild, she expects impression. Her tongue presses against the roof of her mouth as she crushes her cigarette into an obsidian ashtray on the end table beside her. The idea of learning something new in exchange for something the necromancer already posesses is every bit as exciting as the present conversation is for the changeling. "Show me what you can do with them."
"Yes," she replies, her eyes searching for something she can target, "It's something I've been working on since I was very young. My talent for dark magic is older than my memories but this little trick I didn't learn until my 16th name day." The young woman scoffs, not seeing anything else in the area but herself and Lady Dragana. She'd just have to target Larewen for this demonstration. What she's about to do amuses her and she giggles at the thought. "Usually this ability is tied to my emotions; the stronger the emotion the stronger the effect. What I'm about to channel is my anger." Quintessa leans back, closing her eyes and letting her imagination run wild with the things that particularly piss her off. 'Those stupid men in the Mage's Guild always talking over me!' Her aura begins to show itself as black tendrils of pure wrath began to creep out from her. 'The Queen of Larket- Death to all Monarchs!' The changeling grinds her teeth as her aura licks off of her body and spreads over the couch. 'Horrible fathers that abuse their daughters! I'll kill them ALL!' With that last image her eyes snap open, the irises blocked out by a faint purple glow. When the hex blade makes eye contact with Larewen, her aura lashes out against her. Black pseudo-tentacles surround the elder vampire's own aura and corrupts it, staining the vampire's very soul with misfortune. Assuming Larewen doesn't resist, she'd feel the seething hatred and oppressive gloom closing in all around her ready to strangle her senses. A woman like Lady Dragana would very likely have the will to fight it off, but the intent of the spell would be obvious to anyone with the slightest experience with arcane.
The wards of House Dragana react violently to the malfeasance that powers Quintessa's demonstration, bringing down an invisible wall around the necromancer as the angry tendrils reach toward her. What follows is a brilliant light show that only the necromancer plays audience to. The magic collides with the barrier, threads of dark, hate-filled color spiderwebbing outward before her eyes. She acts immediately, jumping to her feet and extending a hand outward through the shield of energy to touch the shadowy appendages, and she feels those emotions eat away at the edges of her mind. A diabolical grin sweeps across her lips, her mind instantly alight with myriad ideas of how such magic could be used. Why had she never thought of trying to channel her emotions. It's only once the magic fades away that the necromancer's eyes meet equally mismatched ones. "Beautiful work. Truly. I'll get with Rhaevyn to get your letter sent out. Tell me, what made you decide to try these kinds of magic?"
"My father," she says flatly, her aura twisting back around her own body. "When I was little and weak, he would beat me. I nursed my hatred for him day after day, letting it fester deep in my heart. I didn't even realize what was going on at first until the insects started dying. Then some of the animals. Anything that was unlucky enough to nest near our cabin." She relaxes fully, her aura fading back away from view. "And then one day I heard a voice... I'm sure it was my mother. She told me that this feeling inside me wasn't just my only companion for all these years, but it was also a poweful weapon that I could master to cripple and confound my enemies. She told me to focus on my father while he slept, to remember all the pain he caused me and to pour my hatred into him like water into a caldron." She sighs in satisfaction at the thought of him suffering. "Then he got sick. Just a cough at first, but as the days went by he became lethargic. Soon he was bedridden, and that's when the fun truly began." Quintessa's mouth opens wide with a grin before she cackles in delight. It felt nice not to hide the fact of his murder anymore. She killed him and she felt more powerful for it.
Larewen listens quietly as Quintessa speaks, imagining what the moment might have felt like for the girl. Bitterly, she also recalls her adopted father, and his abandonment. Her tongue presses against the back of her fangs for a long moment, but there's no judgement on her features. "Tell me, how did this sickness take manifest in him? I want the details." As she speaks, a smirk turns the corner of her lips upward and Quintessa's amusement seems to reflect in the necromancer's eyes. She reaches for another cigarette and lights it, suckling it and allowing the smoke to drift upward and out of her mouth.
Quinessa's mismatched eyes watch the smoke drift up above Larewen's head, remembering the suffering she inflicted on her father. "As I said, first he fell bedridden. His fatigue was so great that he could only remain conscious long enough to eat and drink. I was still scared of him, but I knew he couldn't hurt me anymore. I knew he was at my mercy." The changeling idly reaches inside her cloak to produce her own, tin cigarette case. Clove cigarettes were something the vampire had introduced to her when they first met and the odd girl had taken to them right away. "I could feel his life force," she says, her unlit cig hanging from her mouth, "I didn't realize it then, but I know that's what it was now. My claws were in him and he was under my curse. I experimented on him. I imagined his insides rotting away. His stomach filled with ulcers. His lungs filled with blood." She smiles as her fingers snap, producing a small flame to light her cigarette. "The very next day he couldn't stop vomiting blood. I was horrified at first... But that quickly passed as the greatest feeling of power and satisfaction I've ever felt filled my entire being. For the first time in my life I felt in control!"
Larewen watches Quintessa's facial expressions the entire time she speaks; she listens to the inflections in her voice. Approval unfolds on Larewen's own features. "Control is a wonderful thing to possess. In fact, that's why I prefer necromancy. It's all about exerting control, especially over the undead." She pauses for another drag on her cigarette and shifts in her seat. A moment later, she reaches out to tap some ashes into an obsidian ash tray--one of which Quintessa will find upon the end table beside her as well. "Tell me, what is it you wish to accomplish? Particularly, what is it you wish to learn from the Necromancer's Guild?"
The changeling flicks her ashes, almost compelled to by Larewen's own flicking. "Curses," she says without needing time to think, "That should be obvious. I'm interested in potions and poisons as well, and I've been reading about the Black Tides but I haven't gotten around to trying it out." She returns her cigarette to her mouth and takes a long drag, thinking about the things she thought the Necromancer's Guild could help her learn. "I want to eventually learn how to wield fear magic," Quintessa exhales her smoke before taking another drag, "I've been experimenting with it but I seem to be lacking some fundamental element to getting it to work right." She exhales again, letting her cig burn on it's own for now. "And I'm interested in a little art known as 'Soul Binding'." A creepy smirk grew on the hex blades pale features. "I'm sure you know all about this subject."
A genuine smile slides across Larewen's lips and she finishes her cigarette, crushing it out in the ashtray. Her hands fold into her lap then and she regards Quintessa silently for a long moment. "You wish to learn it all, then," she says, and her excitement bleeds in through her voice. The smirk that appears on the other's face pleases her, as do the words that follow. Yes, Larewen was quite intimate with the art of soul-binding. It's for that reason alone that she'd managed to capture the creature that lurks in her proverbial back yard. Rising to her feet, the elf approaches the changeling and offers her a gloved hand. "I am happy to count you among us," she says, and there's a bit of pride in her voice. Oh, she'd have fun teaching this one.