RP: The Treasure Huntin' Dragon, a Pixie, a Vampire, and a Grumpy Ol' Corpse
Synopsis: While seeking out Gheneroc in his cave, Crisien stumbles upon his consort, Larewen, instead. Striking up a conversation, the two return to Vailkrin to talk over drinks, where they meet a fiery pixie named Irthos, and a sour old corpse, Grady.
A Cave within the Xalious Mountains, The Hanging Corpse Tavern
Crisien was looking for that huge, hulking, wingless dragon again. She had questions – a –lot- of questions, mostly pertaining to his ability to create gold from nothing. That was a pretty neat trick, and the treasure-hunter was… intrigued. Was it something you could learn? “’ello,” she trilled into the darkness, “Gheneroc? Y’here?”
Larewen was, as chance would have it, just inside the mouth of the cavern, though hidden by its shadows. Gheneroc was asleep for the time-being and though there were things Larewen could be doing that were far more productive, she'd opted to, for the moment any, remain at his side. So it was that when Crisien approached, calling for the ancient dragon, it would be his consort that stepped into sight. Dark, chocolate hued eyes studied her for a long moment before pale lips parted for speech, "He is resting."
Crisien was expecting the giant hulk of a dragon to come striding into sight, but instead… she was met with the sight of Larewen. A comparatively tiny creature, who apparently felt the need to scrutinise her. That was fine with the dragon, of course - she exercised the same courtesy, in fact. “Oh,” she said, head canting as she met the gaze of the consort, “’ello. Sorry t’disturb.” After a moment, she added, “I’m Crisien. I came by th’ other day, an’, um, Gheneroc turned somethin’ t’gold. I just wanted to chat t’him about it.” Basically – ‘I come in peace’.
Larewen mirrored the black dragon's tilt of her head, for she was most curious as well. "Did he?" came the query, perhaps a bit rhetorical and redundant, before she glanced back over her shoulder and into the mouth of the cavern. Of course, whether or not Crisien came in peace, Larewen had no intention of disturbing the dragon within. "A pleasure. I'll be sure to inform him you stopped by - unless you'd like to wait and see if he'll wake on his own shortly?" The woman's words, though they might have seemed a bit vexed, were spoken with a sweet softness, not unlike honey. She'd have to add that to things he needs to teach her, certainly.
Crisien decided that Larewen wasn’t an immediate threat to her life, so relaxed a little – shoulders fell, and her smile became far easier. “Yep,” she revealed, flourishing a hand toward one corner of the cavern, “It was amazin’. Like… a fountain of molten gold jus’ sorta sprung up from nowhere. It was pretty cool.” She paused, narrowing her gaze slightly as she appraised Larewen once again. “Who are you?” she asked, bluntly.
Larewen listened quietly to her description of what Gheneroc had done and then quirked an amused brow upward at the woman's blunt query. "I am a lot of things," came her answer, perhaps cryptic in nature. "But you may call me Larewen." She really was, too. Upon her flesh appeared to be a tattoo of a chain, leading from behind her right ear and spiraling downward to the left, likely to run the length of her entire body. It was the ancient dragon's Chain of Domination, allowing him to take possession of her body whenever he saw fit, and marking her as one of his voice, his eyes, his ears. She was also his consort, whom he'd share with none. She was a vampire, and she was a practitioner of dark magics. Crisien wasn’t sure that the woman’s name was explanation enough, but she wasn’t going to labour the point. Clearly, she was far more accustomed to the cavern than Crisien was herself. Muddy brown gaze studied the tattoo – at least, the parts of it she could see – without comment. “Er. Well, pleasure t’meet you, Larewen. Are you, um… a friend of the wingless dragon?” Oh. Turned out she would labour the point, apparently – her endless questions had got her into trouble before, and likely would again, but she didn’t feel particularly threatened by Larewen.
Larewen narrowed her gaze slightly and then rolled her head upon her shoulders so that her neck would crack. It would relieve pressure, which was most definitely needed. Finally, after it seemed as if the elf would not answer the woman, her chin lifted slightly. "I am his consort," she stated, though whether or not the woman was proud of that was an entirely different query all together.
Crisien was expecting ‘friend’, or even maybe ‘wife’. She hadn’t been expecting ‘consort’, though. If the arrangement was mutually beneficial, that was fine, but the dragon didn’t like the idea of a one-sided arrangement. Not that it was her business in the slightest, mind you. “Right,” she said, awkwardly, “Excellent. Do, er, ‘consorts’ frequent drinkin’ establishments? I’ve spent the last few hours in Frostmaw, see, an’ I quite fancy a drink t’warm me up.”
Larewen would have, if asked, explained that surprisingly, she had, perhaps, more to benefit from the arrangement, but Crisien had not asked that of her. At the offer of a drink, Larewen's lips pursed for a moment and then she lifted her head again. "I suppose I could join you, if that's what you're getting at," the dark sorceress said. "I don't tend to frequent Frostmaw, but the cold does not bother me in the same way that it does you warmbloods. Do you have a location in mind?"
Crisien followed Larewen to the Hanging Corpse, strolling alongside her apparent companion, commenting on… well, everything; the scenery, the people, the smells... when they arrived, she looked across at the woman, tilting her head toward the bar. “Blood?” she asked, without flinching. She hadn’t ever spent a great deal of time with a vampire – they had an understandable aversion to her – but she knew the basics; blood-drinking, sunlight-hiding… etc.
Larewen had been silent along the way, though she did not seem to be annoyed by the dragon's remarks. If anything, there was a bemused smile flirting with the corner of her lips. When they arrived, she'd nudge open the door and hold it for Crisien to pass through first and then, to the remark of blood, her chin lifted. "Blood wine, to be exact, if you will, Steadmen," she clarified, not that she had to. She'd frequented this establishment for so long that Steadmen knew her fairly well - and even if he didn't, he did know her ties to Zondo. "What about you? What do dragons drink to warm their bellies?"
Crisien flickered her fingertips toward Larewen in response to her request, indicating that the barkeep should bring her a blood wine. “Aaaand,” she said, leaning over the bar to peer at the various bottles on display, “…er, black-fire wine, please.” Everything else seemed to have a large quantity of blood in. “Do you have a preferred table?” she asked, glancing toward Larewen.
Larewen waited patiently for both drinks to be procured, which the one-eyed man did rather quickly before canting her head in the direction of a pair of plush chairs. "There, usually." With those two words, she made her way toward them and lowered herself into one of the seats. She sat much in the way a lady would: straight-backed, one leg crossing over the other beneath her skirt. "Do you have business in Frostmaw?"
Crisien didn’t sit quite so elegantly. In fact, once she’d placed her drink on the table, she collapsed into the arm chair and let a, “Phew,” escape her lips in the process. Once she’d taken a (hearty) sip of her wine, she answered Larewen’s question honestly. “Not really. I’m jus’ sota explorin’, y’know? I’m new t’these parts, see, an’… well, I like to know the area. Or, areas.” Pausing, she added, “Frostmaw is –cold-, though. Probably the coldest, biggest place I’ve ever seen, actually.”
Larewen was quite the opposite, sipping from the bowl of her glass in a way that denoted nobility - which the elf had been at some point before her death. "Is that how you met my master, then?" she asked, her brow raising slightly.
Crisien scratched idly at her neck. The idea of calling another soul ‘master’ was absurd to her; it was something she’d never entertain, but… she made no comment. Instead, she smiled gently and replied. “I suppose so,” she revealed, “I just sorta happened on ‘im, really. I’m, er… a treasure hunter, y’see, and I –wrongly-,” she made a point to emphasize that word, “…well, smelt treasure for the takin’.”
Larewen quirked a brow upward again, nearly choking on her wine as she let out a peal of laughter. "You mean you attempted to steal from Gheneroc?" she asked, a tilt of her head following. "I suppose you're lucky, then. He's not overly materialistic when it comes to treasures born of the earth." Another sip later, and she asked, "What did he have to say to you about that?"
Crisien smirked at Larewen’s laughter, raising her hands defensively. “Well, not –really-,” she said, shaking her head, “I don’t –steal-, see. I just, er… take what other people have forgotten about. I just… was shocked, considering he’s so…” she trailed off, flapping her arms about, “…y’know, -huge-. So we fought – he won, naturally – then talked, an’ he showed me that trick with the gold.”
Grady was here the whole time. Honest. He was sitting toward the back of the tavern where the light barely reached, his hood obscuring any sort of distinguishing feature. His cigar had burned itself out when he nodded off earlier in the day. A sideways glance was given to the newly arrived, the stranger sure to keep his features concealed in doing so.
Larewen mirrored that smirk with an upward curl of her lips. "Yes, he is quite huge," she agreed, draining the last little bits of bloodwine from her cup. A gloved hand was raised, waving down one of the servers as she ordered a refill - and a decanter of the lovely, metallic alcohol. "Do you intend to ask him if he will teach you to do that yourself?" As she spoke, her dark eyes swept over the room once more. The vampire's senses were keen enough to know that they were not alone, and Grady might find himself under a lingering stare for a few moments.
Irthos rockets through an open window like a flaming meteorite. He angles his descent to aim for an unattended drink that he thought was water, was actually a highly flammable drink. The pixie flips out of the container and runs screaming around on a table till the fire dampening spells kicked in. After which the Mini-mage sits down and cools off. After which he opens his pocket dimension and pulls out a bottle of water to sip from after that ordeal. "I need to work on my landings."
Crisien noted Grady’s presence only as a result of Larewen’s idle sweep of the tavern. Other patrons weren’t really her concern – as far as she knew, the only person that wanted her dead was the one she lived with. “Maybe,” she said, lifting her shoulder, “I dunno if it’s somethin’ y’can teach, mind you… otherwise, everyone’d be doin’ it.” She was about to add something else, but unsurprisingly Irthos’ entrance stole her attention. “Y’do,” she called across to the pixie, grinning, “But those were some pretty decent acrobatics.”
Grady took turn to stare right back at Larewen, casually reaching for the half-burnt cigar that he would soon place between his teeth. The flame in which lit the end seemed to be produced without a definite source, the light from which barely illuminating his features. Those that did show would be fleeting, at best one may think they've seen rotting flesh. A simple shift of posture angled his head toward the table, his drink the next to catch his attention. It was empty. Grady hailed the bar keep for another as he listened in on the current conversations.
Larewen lifted her shoulders as the refilled class was brought, as was the decanter, which was placed on a small table before them. "The mind can learn many things, if one has it in them to learn it," was her sole reply to the remark about gold fountains. If there'd been more, it was lost upon Irthos's entrance, which lead to the vampire's sick amusement with his plight. Certainly, she could have aided him in soothing the burning of his rump, but she was quite content to watch the creature struggle for it himself. "Better than an upturned jar, no?" was her only remark before again her eyes settled upon the cloaked man. The glimpse of rotting flesh, however brief it might have been, piqued her interest and would only earn the male a more lingering stare, even as his attention refocused to his empty drink.
Irthos puffs up his chest boldly boasting, "No jar can hold me. I'm a mage, and I study everything. The sounds things make, the way they can contract or retract. The glass would be broke before too long." The pale skinned pixie laughs heartily, "Nah I'm just kidding. I honestly never have been in a jar before, but I do hope that won't be the case anytime soon." With a respectful bow to the two ladies and the gentleman in the corner, he jumps into the air and zips over to the table where the maidens sit. He zips around each of them taking in their features, and memorizing them so he could recognize them for later encounters. "So hello. I'm Irthos the Firestarter. Ironically I earned the nickname just outside the tavern."
Crisien considered herself a pretty attentive social companion. She paid attention to her conversation partners, so she duly noted the fact the vampire was looking in the direction of Grady. For a few, lingering seconds, she, too, glanced across at him. But… he didn’t seem dangerous. He wasn’t stood over them brandishing a flaming sword, anyway. Larewen’s remark was met with a thoughtful expression – was she right? –Could- anyone learn to turn stone to gold? An interesting concept, for sure, but not something she particularly wanted to discuss to any extent in public. Irthos’ comments earnt him a laugh – okay, well, a snort – and she held out a hand to the tiny mage. “Crisien,” she said, “Pyromaniac extraordinaire.”
Grady lay a couple of dirty coin upon the table and slid them toward the barkeep when his drink arrived. No thanks. No acknowledgement. he simply took the glass of amber liquid and raised it to his hooded features, tipping it backward and downing half of the drink on gulp. Billowing smoke filled the area around him as he took another puff of of his cigar. A cough soon followed. It was dry. Coarse. His head turned to the left so wipe his face on that tattered, dusty sleeve. From beneath the shadow of his hood he cast another glance at the trio, one that lingered a little longer this time.
Larewen seemed not to hear the pixie's introduction, or she had but something else had her attention held far more rapt. Another sip of her wine was taken before she leaned forward, legs uncrossing so that she could comfortably set the glass down. All the while, her attention was fixated on Grady. "I'll be a moment," she said, probably to Crisien, but it seemed as if it were to Irthos, too. His name had been committed to memory, at least. The elven vampire had a fascination with the dead, which was not all that unusual, given that she wasn't exactly alive either. Rising from her chair, booted feet pivoted and carried her toward where Grady sat.
Irthos tilts his head a bit watching the vampire maiden, hopefully things will be alright. Turning back to Crisien, "Ah you like fire magic as well, huh? I got started on my path of fire magic just from eating a Jalapeno pepper. The chemical reaction on my body helped me thaw out from a frost attack. But then I had a lot of extra energy left over so I turned it into fire magic. Sadly I didn't past the test that was part of, but I did catch the attention of the Mage’s Guild."
Crisien glanced up at Larewen as she stood, eyebrows raised as she offered, “No rush.” Turning in chair to track Larewen’s path, unabashed, settled to watch the, er, show. But, not before replying to Irthos. “A Jalapeno pepper?” she asked, confused, “That’s… novel. And excellent, but I know nothin’ about any Mage’s Guild. I’m pretty new here, Irthos the Firestarter. I take it they, er… are a collection of mages?” It was spoken almost apologetically; her voice was soft, and her smile was genuine. Her own interest in fire came from particularly nasty, gnarled root in her personal history that she didn’t care to share with anyone.
Grady had turned toward his drink after a moment or two of thoughtful observation. His cigar, dying, was ashed into the empty glass upon his right. The sound of footsteps echoing closer caused very little movement on his behalf; head sure to stay low and out of sight. Another slow, cool drag. A long hiss signalling its demise as the butt was tossed into the empty glass. Upon exhale, a voice finally emerged as Larewen approached. It was rough. Commanding. "Yes?"
Larewen might have had a comment about that incident with the jalapeño, had she lingered to remain in that conversation. Her interest was in the dead man though, simply for curiosity's sake - after all, Grady wasn't en route to Frostmaw while seeking to cure himself of his state of unlife, like the last rotting, sentient being Larewen had met had. She watched his movements as the butt of the cigar was tossed away and when that single word had been uttered in a commanding tone, she met it with silence and a scrutinizing, level stare.
Irthos notices the body language Crisien made while he was telling his short story. So a change of subject was in order. "So the person who was testing me kinda inspired me to look into other elements to use. Possible create my own constructs to use and such. But that is why I don't think a jar can hold me.
Crisien watched the interaction between Grady and Larewen with piqued interest. Unfortunately, she had things to do elsewhere. Irthos was regarded with an almost impressed expression, before she began to weave her goodbyes. “That’s pretty interestin’,” she said to the smallest patron, “I have t’run – things t’do, y’know – but you and I should definitely catch up and talk about this further sometime. Take care, Irthos the Firestarter.” As she got to her feet and headed for the exit, she called across to Larewen, “Bye. I’ll catch up with the massive, stone one soon. Take of y’self, lady.” With that, she smiled, offered the hooded Grady an uneasy wave, before trotting out onto the streets of Vailkrin.
Grady wouldn't even afford the woman a courteous glance. Instead he maintained his current position, eyes focused solely on the table top upon which his arms rested. "Look girlie. I don't know what you're doin'... but if it ain't anything you need, I would just walk away." A pleasant man, isn't he?
Larewen dipped her head to the departing Crisien. To Grady's words, the elf's lips curled. "Are you masking a threat?"
Grady continued to stare into the table. "I don't mask'em. I follow through. Especially on those that ain't rottin'."
Larewen, with the departure of her company, invited herself into a chair alongside Grady, which was actually quite rude of the dragon-marked elf. "I invite you to try, then," she said, the sweetness of her voice vacating quickly. Grady 's leatherbound hands creaked as open palm became fist. His head lifted, the lower half of his face now exposed; rotted flesh peeled back, lips removed, grey-yellow teeth firmly shut together. "You seem to test patience, girlie." he replied. As he motioned to speak further, he began to cough, a dry dust expelled and onto the table.
Larewen rolled her shoulder upward and then gestured toward where she had been seated prior to now. A spell, whispered, summoned both glass and decanter to her, and it was placed in front of her. "I have no reason to fear you," replied the elf coolly. "Your threats, or promises if you will, mean nothing. Unless you intend to dismember me, you'll find yourself hard pressed to end me."
Grady wasn't ready. It was far too soon and he felt it in his bones. "Dismemberment? That is quite a laugh. No, I would plan something far more torturous than simple dismemberment." Again he coughed. Was he ill? The remainder of his whisky was tossed back, the another cough quickly stifled.
Larewen still seemed unperturbed by his words. If anything, the elf was amused - extremely so. "Is that so? Then, you don't mean to threaten me with death?" She reached for her bloodwine and raised it to her lips, sipping its contents. "I like you," she said soon after. "You've accepted your fate, and clearly have no qualms with what you are. Quite unlike the last rotting man I met."
Grady grunted. "What else can one do? I served my purpose in life and so soon shall I serve my purpose in... this pseudo-form of death." Another cough. This one was much harder. So hard in fact that he gurgled and spit out a pool of black upon the floor. "Had our paths crossed long ago, I promise tha your thoughts of me would've been quite different girlie."
Larewen rolled her shoulders with another sip of bloodwine, draining the remainder of the glass. "One could grovel before healers, pleading for a remedy to what they see as an unfortunate state," Larewen said, likely speaking of Calen. When he coughed, she glanced sideways at him. "Though, it seems your lungs still function to some degree. Is that supposed to be blood that you're coughing up?" If so, it certainly wasn't very appetizing to the vampire. Her head tilted to the side as she added on, "Did you pathetically wish for your life back, years ago?"
Grady snorted. "Hardly. My purpose had been served. My life had run its intended course. I have no wish to go back. To be...mortal." That last word wa spoken with great disdain. Regarding the blood, he shrugged. "Ain't no blood. I've been under far too long. Perhaps a side effect of reanimation..."
Larewen lifted her chin and then rose to her feet. "An interesting side effect, to say the least." As she spoke, she had already begun to make her way to the door, glancing back at Grady. "I'll give you your peace now." And with that, she was gone.