Post by Joliette Thorne on Apr 19, 2008 8:20:53 GMT -5
The Lookout To Selen Island
Tenebrae was sitting, legs tucked up so her knees almost touched her chin, on a flat rock at the pinnacle of the lookout. One hand clasped around pale legs, pinking in the early sun, and the other idly tossing small stones over the cliff's edge into the crashing waters below. Her expression was of stone, eyes focussed far into the distance, as though she saw Eternity there, on the horizon.
Arysel sucks in her breath, cursing her wings for just a moment as the snowy plumage is pulled in tight to fit through break in the stone walls. The leather of Ary’s out fit catches on some bit of sharp stone, but a swift jerk of the soft fabric frees it. The harp lashed to the Avian’s hip bounces between her thigh and the rocks as she finally emerges onto the outcrop of rock. Perhaps it was the plunk of stones in the waters below, or just a sense of not being alone, but her soft grey eyes are drawn to the lone figure. Slender, calloused fingers tuck a windswept lock of gold behind the shell of her ear before her soft voice, lilting and holding a hint of some forgotten song, calls out softly, “Hello?”
Tenebrae started from her reverie, stone abandoned from her fist as she'd reach instinctively for the hilt of the great sword, untethered from its usual mooring at her back and lain now by her side on the rock. The weapon wasn't drawn, not yet. The figure that greeted her peridot gaze hardly seemed -- or sounded -- aggressive. Her fingers merely rested on the sword, then, as she took in the avian's wings, her brow puzzling at such a sight. She knew of only one such creature, an ancient, a remnant out of time. How was it possible there be more? But then, the lands were in such turmoil, hardly recognisable since her return from... pushing thoughts of that place from her mind, she canted her chin downward in a brief greeting, keen gaze cautious to remain on the winged woman. The back of her other hand would swipe telltale, shameful wetness from her cheeks. "Uh...h'lo."
Arysel ’s ever watchful eyes had hardly not noticed the touch of hand to hilt. A curious tilt of her head is given, sending the waist length tresses to fall over her shoulders. The curve of her harp, the instrument of choice this morning, is given a loving caress with her fingers, as though to remind herself it still resided at her hip, unharmed. The glint of wetness on the other woman’s cheek catches the briefest of looks, causing the corners of her mouth to turn down in concern for the stranger. “I hope I’ve not interrupted some private moment.”
Tenebrae shook her head, briefly. "No.. no, I was just..." How many stones had she thrown into the water, each representing a day, in her mind. Memories, recalled as clearly as the moments themselves. Indeed, she had even once whipped her head around, fancying she heard a familiar whistle-and-bark above the wind's bluster, rising from the beach below. But it was the wind, nothing more. "I was just thinking, is all. Quiet up here." Tene would shift slightly so as to better see the newcomer. And, blunt as ever: "I thought your kind were all dead." She checked her words. "All but a mere handful, that is."
Arysel senses a bit of pain in the woman’s voice, and so, she’d not ask. It was plain to the Avian that some subjects were best left for the bearer to bring up. A simple shrug is given at the blunt statement. “We have grown in number. Thanks to the efforts of M’lord Demont.” A faraway, wistful look takes over the soft grey of the female’s eyes. It’s so quick, that look, as to be almost imagined.
Tenebrae was quick, too, and observant, as well as no stranger to pain. "I know Demont. Quite well." It still didn't make any sense, but that look on the other's face told her to tread gently. "Are there many? And how...?" Her pack lay beside the sword, a great lumpish bag stuffed with such a weight in sundry articles that even her prodigious strength had trouble bearing it most days. In this she rummaged briefly, pulling out a bottle and a brown paper package. She wasn't sure what these bird-people ate -- Demont had never eaten, of course -- and so she'd made a guess. Her hand was shown, palm up, fingers swept toward the offering. "Hungry?" The bottle was her own, and she'd tug the cork free with her teeth. "You're welcome to join me." Anything, any conversation was better than being lost in past happiness that would never return.
Arysel looks up sharply at the lady. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask a barrage of questions about Demont, but something held her back. Perhaps a bit of insecurity, she was after all, merely a bard, a singer and entertainer. And he, oh he was so out of her reach. “ I’ve only seen a few. Lord Demont and his brother, another who seems to have a fondness for dragons,” a twist of distaste turns her lips at the mention of the latter. “Thank you,” Taking the lonely woman up on the offer, Arysel settles next to her. Picking up a seed, the shell is cracked expertly, the tender seed chewed thoughtfully before a look is given to the bag, “Do you have wine? My name is Arysel, Ary to my friends.” For the moment, Arysel would let the silence drag on. If the other woman wanted to talk, the bard was a good listener.
Tenebrae wasn't long in producing another bottle, wrapped as her own had been in hessian sacking to prevent it from being broken. This was set, its cork loosened by white fingers, on the rock beside the food. "Demont's brother..." Ah, yes, he was a newcomer to Tene, as well, and the vampiress would echo Arysel's expression at his mention. "Well. It's a pleasure to meet you.. Ary. My name's... uh. They call me Tenebrae." Whether it was the avian's gentle demeanor, the aching loneliness of the moment she'd been caught in, or both, she found her natural wariness dissipated somewhat. Not entirely, but moreso than might be usual. A stray strand of liquorice-hued hair blown across her lips was tucked behind an ear, and her gaze would drop to the ground she sat on. "I haven't seen Demont about lately. Know where he might be?"
Arysel nods, taking the wrapped bottle in her long fingers and raises it to her lips, taking a pull of the sweet wine with in. “He was at the tavern in Kelay, tormenting dragons the last I saw him. Then of course, his brother, Prince Ariston, managed to get himself into a fight with one of them just outside.” Amusement laced the dulcet tones, giving way to a soft laugh. Tenebrae, the name was committed to memory, as so many others had been since she’d managed to land in this odd place. Searching through the pack at her side, Ary pulls a thin strip of leather from the meager contents and manages, not without a bit of muttering and cursing, to pull back the mass of blonde hair into a que at the nape of her neck, securing it from the pull of the wind. “Tell me, what is it you do, when you aren’t throwing rocks into the sea?”
Tenebrae , while Arysel spoke, sought another wind-smoothed pebble, not to throw this time but to prevent her taking up the habit she'd developed of twiddling the ring on her left hand. As her fingers worked over the stone's surface she exhaled a ragged sigh at the news of Demont, a moment of chagrin crossing her features. Damn him. Another of her number gone to the wind, it seemed. To the final of Ary's words, Tene replied, "I own the Hanging Corpse-- pub in the Dark Lands. Keeps me busy. That, and the clan." A long swig was taken from her bottle, a drop of sanguine wiped off her lip with the crook of her forefinger. Arysel was contemplated quietly, for a moment. "What about yourself?" The woman's instrument was nodded to. "Musician?"
Arysel nods, glancing down at the harp that nudged her hip, "When the occasion permits. I don't sing much, but I play well enough to be entertaining."
Tenebrae tipped her head a little to the side to further study Arysel, narrowing as the sun's rising heat beat down more harshly now, blurring her vision. Time to get going... "We're in need of musicians." She rose, then, and stuffed her things to her pack, leaving Arysel's food and the wine. "Drop by the Corpse some time, if you're in need of work." One last long look out to sea, and the necromancer would nod her farewell and take toward the dunes, lips pursed to softly whistle an old sea-shanty she'd learned once, from a tow-headed rogue with odd-coloured eyes.
Next Day, The Hanging Corpse
Can't quite rebuild if someone else might try et take it all apart, chunk by chunk."
Tenebrae would glower by way of response to Kasyr's comment, and refrained from adding her own two cents. Pouring herself a drink, she settled into a seat behind the bar.
Vaileen shakes her head, "Whenever you try and regoup, first things to consider, does the enemy know where we are, do they know our strength, when will they perceive the best time to attack, and what can we do to stop them, information and defence one and the same."
Daermon turns a questioning glance to Tenebrae, then shrugs. He winks at her, leaning close so his voice did not interrupt Vaileen and Kasyr. " Can I get a glass of blood wine hun ?"
Kasyr did indeed notice Tenebraes particular 'response' if only by virtue of how her presence e'er commanded his attention. Thus, when it came to replying to Vaileen, his tone took on a somewhat more formal Air. " Yes, No, checking on it, Makes the first strike the last, et...etc. It's something I think of frequently, but things hardly ever go right. The broken down state of this city should be evidence enough."
Tenebrae grumbled softly, though put on a flicker of a smile for Daermon as she poured a glass of thick wine and set it before him. "Fresh vintage. Enjoy."
Daermon fished in a coat pocket, then slid a gold coin across the bar to Tenebrae. " I'm sure I will. "
Vaileen gets up and starts to pace, eyes shifting as she thought, "Do not be insulted by anything I say, I'm merely trying to state how'd I do things," she takes a breath and foges on, "I think the city, for the time being should be left the way it is. At least in appearance, gather forces, train them, add defences, but make it look weak. try and fool the enemy, make them think it easy pickings, catch them off guard while you build your forces. Once you have sent them reeling, work to bring the city to glory, make them think they severely underestimated your strength..."
Tenebrae's lips were getting thinner by the minute.
Kasyr responded relatively flatly, a none to happy, "No." the only response Vaileen would receive at first. From there, the hybrid would simply stretch out, before settling up against the bar, "What you see outside? Every cracked street and broken house, the burnt out remains of the castle...the broken fountain? What you suggested...that was the exact result of such a battle erupting. There wouldn't even be ashes left if there was a repeat. I think I have things covered. Anyways. I'm busy tipping the scales in my favor in a few ways more subtle. I'm not dragging -anything- into this city. Not if I can help it." Shrugging, the hybrid offered up the equivalent of a smile, though it seemed altogether morbid "Just the way things are."
Daermon sat back, sipping his blood wine and staying out of the conversation. He looked about, and, seeing nothing of interest allowed his eyes to watch the swirling liquid in his cup.
Tenebrae, as quietly as she'd sat down, rose up now and walked with the peculiar and serene grace that'd had gods and heros trail her every step for centuries, toward a vacant table. Bending, she took up a chair by its top rung and raised it high above her head, only to bring it crashing down on the table. The force was enough to splinter both, sending shards of wood flying in all directions. Then she picked up the next chair.
Vaileen shrugs and looks to Tene, a frown forming upon her lips as she watched, "I do see what you're saying, but this is not my city so my ideas are not along the same lines as yours, I'll need time to rethink this," she turns her full attention to Tene, "I'm sorry if I've upset you m'lady."
Daermon cocked his head to the side as Tenebrae began smashing her own bar. He shrugged lightly, draining the rest of his glass and setting it upon the bar. He watched Tenebrae for a moment longer, then he began to let his mind wander.
Imar, upon entering this most vampiric of all drinking dens, stops in his tracks, and arches a snowy white brow at the irate Necromancer. Shifting his gaze to Kasyr, a glint of malicious pleasure dances within the amber fire of his hard eyes “It seems the fun never stops does it Kasyr” Thrusting his thumb at Tenebrae “What gives?”
Tenebrae responded by throwing said chair at Vaileen. The next was hurled with the most uncanny accuracy at Steadman, and the last would, if Imar did not shift hastily, become abrupt and unfortunate haute couture.
Kasyr winced noticeably, his head snapping fully towards Tenebrae, before the hybrid could simply be left gaping at that particular display. He'd blink once, then twice, that particular incident seeming to have all but put him into a state of shock- before he'd rather impulsively push up from where he sat and quickly scurry across the room- full intention towards slipping up behind her to curl a gloved hand about her arm- hoping to prevent something else...and not earn a chair to the head, "I..Er. Mille Apologies, Lady Joliette." Okay. So he arrived a touch late, but he could at least prevent something else from going airborne.
Imar ducks the chair.
Tenebrae whirled to face the tiefling and snapped her fangs, white and glistening, elongated, her eyes a radiant green that shone like distant stars, now bright and now dim, and the black centres of them pinholed. She stood still for a single, ragged breath, before lunging toward the cheap oaken bar upon which she vaulted, slender fingers grasping the candleabrum above. A deft swing of legs got her moving, turned the vampiress into a sharply-shod pendulum which now swung violently Kasyr's way. At about head height...
Vaileen lifts her arm and then blinks as a chair impales itself upon her spines, she sighs and moves away, simply not wanting a fight due to her wings, she didn't want to risk hurting them. Her eyes were glued to the form of Tene, wondering what was driving her.
Daermon sighed, and moved to the door. He turned his eyes back to the spectacle unfolding around him. " Hm, perhaps I will find less violent entertainment elsewhere. " he muttered quietly to himself.
Imar continues into the darkened interior, his eye fixed suspiciously upon the lithe and decidedly dangerous form of Tenebrae. Still, his attention does shift about the room, taking in its occupants, and noting any of worth. His attention, what can be spared, touches the Draconian woman. The dark elf takes a moment to stare with intense, if fleeting interest at Vaileen, and then the creaking of the candelabra warns him of approaching danger. Moving with the vampiric speed gifted, or cursed as it were, by the Lords of Chaos, the illusionist steps easily behind the larger form of the draconanion.
Kasyr had slackened during that brief pause- that singular moment which could be counted in a stolen breath all that was needed for some form of a calm to overtake him, for a hope that the particular outburst was done. Unforunately, that moment proved as deceptive as a heretics promise of faith, the hybrid granted little more than the time to throw his right arm before his face. A morbid fortune perhaps, as flesh and muscle would gave way to those deadly heels- though failing to do something as visceral as had been originally intended. What was more, the hybrid would use his own twist of 'fate' to his advantage, his other arm jutting out to grasp at her leg so he could abruptly drag her down towards the ground, "Joliette! Goddess, be damned!"
Vaileen turns and watches the drow with one eye as she watches the other, not sure of what to make of him.
Tenebrae , though, was a vampire. A strong one, too, small as she was. And wasn't letting go of that chintzy gold-plated candleabrum for hell nor money. One leg grasped, she'd kick downward in rapid jabs at the impediment to her destructive progress below, while the tielfling's weight -- hed put on some, of late -- aided by gravity, tugged her toward the floor. A creak, a snap. A rain of broken wax crust. One last wrench and kick from Tene, and the whole lot gave way, candles tumbling, hot wax splashing, inexpensive metal twisting and the vampiress howling rage as it all descended floor- ... and Kasyr- ... ward.
Daermon laughed lightly, his eyes lingering one more moment on Vaileen before he exited the tavern, heading towards the ruined fountain, and the cemetary. He looked out over the group, watching Tene beat on Kasyr, and he laughed lightly once more, wondering what exactly he had missed before arriving in the tavern.
Kasyr cursed more than a league of cutthroats, a sort of incoherant mix of pained gasps and profanity sounded out to the cacophony of Candelabra creaking & Skin Shorn through by the rampaging Vampiress. The only solace that could be found was that something was about to give way, and it didn't quite seem like it would be his arm, yet. No, first hand he got to see the catastrophe in the making, of the whole disaster precipitating towards a particular outcome- and then he suddenly felt a lot less comfortable in his particular position. His damned coat, that mess of wax and metal and Tenebrae crashed down onto him- hell, he should have thought it out better. And then he promptly succumbed, hitting soundly against the floor, skin touched by the wax searing- and the entanglement of metal leaving him far too vulnerable for his liking. Really, the only thing he could manage was an all too discontent, "Damnit...Why?"
Imar , deciding that hiding within the shadow of the Draconian woman was not at all dignified for one of his lofty station, steps boldly around the large form, and gazes about with mild interest. At that particular moment, the roof seems to cave in, and metal, was, and a shrieking vampires descend without a shred of dignity to sprawl upon the form of Kasyr, and the detritus of the tavern’s floor. A grin, broad and nasty settles like cancer upon the Drow’s dark features, and glancing up “You are?”
Tenebrae gathered her wind, most of it knocked out of her in the descent, enough to disentangle herself from hybrid and ruined fittings. Her ire -- surely this was beyond mere ire, though -- apparently unabated. To Kasyr's question came only reply by way of a feral, artic stare -- little to nothing of the woman he knew in it -- before she'd shriek like a harpy caught in a snare and proceed to grab up the nearest metal shard, an improvised weapon with a jagged, splintered end. On last glance downward, her head snapped around toward the easy chairs by the fireplace, and to one of these she ran, using her ersatz dagger to rip through the thick fabric covering and into the feathered stuffing of the seat. A soft cloud of pinions rose around her; white motes resembling snow, and she some turbulent child digging into a bank of it. Moments later, she can hardly be seen among the debris, falling as prettily as a white Christmas around the snarling female.
Vaileen canted her head wondering if she should perform her duties upon the owner of the bar, though the question of why she had.... gone insane, was still up in the air. At least this was what was running through her head till the candleabra gave and the stranger calmly asked who she was, "Me? I'm Vaileen Rasandre, Knight Ambassador to Hallencondor."
Imar ’s features remain impassive, yet the light of amusement glitters in the depths of his luminous eyes, and his lips twitch with the need to smile. He inclines his head slightly, and arches a brow “Impressive title” He says rather dryly, and thrusting a thumb at Tenebrae “Do you work for our resident demolition expert?”
Kasyr was in a discoherant enough state as it was, the particulars of having wax and a chunk of the ceiling dropped on him hardly boding well. It was those emotions of hers that truly did his head in however- that anarchy working wonders to offer him a splitting headache to go with the burns upon his arms. Bit by bit, he'd rise up, slowly pushing aside the debris that had accumulated about his person, if only to stagger to a stand, and drag himself over towards Imar and Vaileen. A wince, a plucking of a chunk of wax flicked in the direction of the Dark One, and then he all-too-calmly stated, "..Why don't tu ask her whats the matter." Then, quite vexedly, he'd proceed to nurse his poor ponctured arm, occasionally plucking off chunks of wax.
Tenebrae was, while the chitchat continued, seeking the next target of her unpent fury, which she found in the stack of firewood Steadman had just that morning fetched and piled neatly. Tavern spiders -- not the hand-sized creatures that once had swarmed from the cellar below, but their lesser cousins born to the surface-- scuttled from what light remained as she took up log after log, each becoming a blunt and bulleting missile that was flung toward the conversationalists, each throw accompanied by a single strangled word, hardly discernable, emerging from the knot of her throat. "Gone..." Throw. "All..." Imar'd better duck that one. "Gone...." She was hardly conscious of where she was aiming, a vaguely reptilian shape her target now. "Dead..." Throw. "Nothing...." This last word was wrenching to ear and soul, a final log hurled at the shelving of the bar, which obligingly shattered to multi-coloured glass and liquids, for one second like a broken rainbow, before it all fell to a wet ruin. Then silence. Tene stood as still as a statue, her gaze turning to each present, one by one. "Nothing left here for me." She spoke not to them, it seemed. "Time for me to go."
Imar shifts his gaze upon the approaching form of kasyr, and at sight of sorry appearance, the Dark One forgets the Draconian woman. He begins to chuckle softly, and music, dark and melodic drifts upon the dust strewn air, filling the ravaged room with the man’s intense amusement. Shaking his head, snowy white hair shifting gently about his shoulders, Imar leans forward “Are you insane? I have touched her mind, and I never want to go there again.”
Kasyr hits the proverbial deck, Imar ignored to a point en lieu of the more pressing and blunt trauma inducing fate that had been hucked. Really, it was only after the hybrid had peeled himself off the floor again {Amidst a fair chunk of wax} that the drow was offered any sort of response, "...Sarcasm." A distant tone, and the hybrid simply stared after Tenebrae fixedly. "Cherie.." As much as talking to her seemed to usher forth the arrival of some other attempt at violence, he couldn't quite stop himself, "Joliette, you'd only just arrived. Please...don't go. We..Cabal...Hell, I need you here, Cherie. We've grown lost without tu, for the most part. Et..Hell, I worry about tu."
Imar ’s amusement is cut abruptly short as a missile moves with terrifying speed directly towards him. Despite having a rapidity of mind second to none, the illusionist hasn’t the luxury to consider his options ins, and reflex, that blessed savour of the inept is his only chance. Marshall, summon with alacrity steps fearlessly into the breach, and a heavy crunch is heard as wood meets the bone of his head “Damn it” is the only response from Imar, wondering if his slave is ruined
Tenebrae was shivering... no, more that her entire skin twitched and shivered as though a horde of flies crawled on it. Her eyes were not human, any more than the eyes of a panther belong to a household moggy, the expression in them as distant as the horizon itself. She stepped from out of the chair's ruins with a terrible serenity once more descended on her, though the shuddering of her flesh continued. "Kas...." For a second there, there was something of Joliette that broke through her fugue, a half-pleading tone. "Yours now. Keep them safe. Keep them all..."
Kasyr looked all but petrified, the colour paling from his face as he quickly stepped over to her, ignoring the fact that his arm still bled, that she'd done more than bruise his ego with the hysterics of earlier. The whole thing paled in face of what those words meant, "Joliette. I..Will...do..my best. But, No. No. No. It's not my place, Cherie. We need you here. Hell or High water, Cabal es yours. I....please. I can barely put Vailkrin together as is. How...why me?" And then he'd fidget, his own tone having changed to mirror hers on a certain level, like the pleadings of a child, his foot even grinding in place.
Imar , now ignoring the vampire’s moves to study his slave more closely and a frown of displeasure scars the dark expanse of his forehead. A dent the size of large fist sits squarely in the centre of Marshall’s head, and the crimson eyes, seeming even more lifeless than usual, are ever so slight crossed. At the vampire’s words, the Drow turns toward her, and then to Kasyr. Meaning dances upon his consciousness and staring at the man, the hardness of speculation fills Scion’s amber gaze.
Tenebrae had achieved the peculiar and sudden calm only utter madness can bloom. "Because you are its heart. I was..." Coherent as she sounded now, her words were like vanishing echos in her own mind. "But I am broken, now." And she walked to the door, and through it, and was gone.