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Post by Joliette Thorne on Apr 22, 2008 2:52:21 GMT -5
-- Early Dawn --
Caedan is lounging on one of the stony benches in the Cabal headquarters, staring at the vaulted ceiling and tracing the tiniest crack with her index finger. She is talking to herself it appears and a careful observer would eventually gather she in the process of solving a complex mathematical equation of some sort. She is speaking to someone now, wagging that same index finger in rebuke of what must have been exchanged, though no other soul can be found within the confines of the eerie headquarters of the equally mysterious clan. The dark waters of the pool that lies dormant nearby lap calmly against the lip of its enclosure and eventually the teen falls silent, having completed the problem to her satisfaction.
Tenebrae was atop the windswept crags again, her body having healed from her burns enough to tackle that arduous walk, though she'd found another route to it rather than trigger the wrath of the gnome-like forest-people. She had not been up here for days, and the view was almost as breathtaking now as it was on first discovery. The morning sun had not yet bared its teeth and thus was not too uncomfortable to bear, even on pink, new skin. It glinted , though, off a golden object, still where she'd left it on the flat rock where Tene had come to finish the emptiness that'd once been a life, and where Fate had brought the mercy of an angel to spare her that freedom, and consigned her to more intolerable sorrow. She stooped down to pick up the ring, turned it in her fingers. And, for the first time in what seemed an age, -saw- Leo's face clearly in her mind, as though he was there, in front of her. The ring was solid in her grasp, the man a vision, she forced herself to acknowledge. They never did get to exchange the bands properly... a thought which ended with a gut-wrenched howl of grief that had birds startling in the sky, a mandala of white wings that turned back to the ocean, away from Tenebrae's banshee lament.
Caedan , in a fit of boredom -- never a good sign with a psychic -- stretches out lazily on the bench before rising, and slinking towards the pool's edge, which initially recoils at her presence and soon sets to rippling uneasily, as if two agitated souls were forced to be in the presence of one another in front of someone that demanded they behave. She grins with evident malice, and closes her eyes, mind flitting to the various members of those she's come to call family. Imar, with his dark mantle of suffocation and illusion, Terra countering it with pure goodness of heart and a growing confusion, Sidonia with her music and Kasyr with his ... Kasyrness. She's lost some. But there is one that tickles the back of her mind. Talk of Tenebrae has not been lost upon her in her frequent sojourns in the Kelay tavern. She always seems to attract gossip, idle chatter, business opportunities ... The psychic allows dusky eyelashes to fall and inhales sharply when she is abruptly whisked away, pulled with unrestrained force towards the destination of that tickle, and whatever that tickle needs to communicate.
Tenebrae closed her eyes, shook her head, but the face she'd known better than any other in the world would not dissipate, and mismatched eyes, maddeningly, seemed to seek her own. To distract herself from this cruelty she looked down to the ring, slipped it back on to her finger, from whence it had never before been off, since the day he'd slid it on there. The band fitted snugly to its groove in her flesh. Tene twisted it around as had become her habit, and though she looked downward still he was there, whitely grinning, flashes of red and blue peeking from under hair forever tousled. What was this phantasm, she wondered, Fate's way of twisting the knife? She prayed it didn't speak, for she was pretty sure that would be the point at which she altogether lost her mind. The figure remained blessedly silent, seeming now to sharpen in focus... and ripple, blurring at the edges.Grief smacked Tenebrae anew; as much as she had wished the vison to go, she now wished for it to stay. It was... something. Better than nothing... Her garbled train of thought dropped a gear, and ground to halt. The figure was reduced to shimmering blur now, its shape subtly altering to a new form, until it at last coelesced to something.. someone.. else. An indigo-clad shape, topped with a woman's face... and all at once she was looking into the obsidian pool's inky waters, seated on cool stone, her mind a ceaseless whirr, a maelstrom, a void, a fairytale, all things... all things... And there was a moment when she thought she heard herself speak, but couldn't make out the words... then it was as though the earth fell away from under her, so powerful was the lurch in her gut, dropping her back on top of that lonely mountain. Caedan, in the headquarters.. alone. Such was her concern at it she took a long moment to realise that Leo's image had vanished, and so had Caedan's, and all she was left to her was sorrow, a golden ring, and the buffeting wind.
Caedan enjoys the view through Tenebrae's mind, the summit of the peaceful mountain, the loneliness of it all, the solace. Even Leo there, with his crazy eyes and crazier hair. In the Cabal headquarters, she'd offer him a wave, just in case Tene could conjure her own fantasies into reality. She'd probably inquire after her best friend Jack were it not for the abrupt break in contact and the plunge back into the dreary halls of the Cabal's abandoned stomping grounds. "Well," she chirp rather cheerfully, " ... say hi to Jack for me anyway." She goes back to taunting the waters and making an overall nuisance of herself until it occurs to her -- and some time later -- that she had been with Tenebrae, and it hadn't been her own mind taking her to some fanciful place. It was too cold, and she hated the cold. The psychic, in her muddled thoughts, realizes that she should probably tell someone, and so she's off to hunt down the tiefling, who seems the most probable of the bunch to understand what she's going to attempt to convey; that is, if she remembers long enough to tell him what she saw, and doesn't go off on some tangent about Jack.
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Post by Joliette Thorne on Apr 22, 2008 2:53:48 GMT -5
"Gods dammit..." Tenebrae was struggling through a mire of algae and moss, squelching mud and entangling vines and roots. Around her danced, like luminescent and insane fae, corpse-candles of gas, sweated from the mud below, and no breeze blew to dissipate them, nor the foetid stink of rot that rose with every step taken. "Horrible... GOMRAK!" Whatever it was she was shouting for made no reply, and the vampiress would stand still a long moment, listening to the chirrup and grok of frogs, the buzzing of insects, the faint roar of some hunting beast... A faint roar. "GOMRAK!" With renewed vigour, she surged forward, grasping knots and ropes of liana for her balance, and truly she had rarely been in such a state, near-unrecognisable as the "Lady" Tenebrae. Muddied, with raw-pink and still-healing skin, her arms a mass of scratches, legs spotted darkly with disappointed leeches, on she went, and on. Another faint roar sounded from the North, this time recognisable. Gomrak, the massive orcen seafarer who'd saved her life, was in trouble, she was sure of it now. Probably not the wisest thing she could be doing: "GOMRAK!"
Senka was driven by an urge. An urge strong enough for her to ignore the obscene smell that assaulted her nose to the point where those fierce red eyes, glazed with something that could’ve been disappointment, defeat, suspicion or even sadness, watered and closed briefly. An urge so strong, that she ignored the battered, wounded, state of her still hissing body and moved forward. Where the wolf would’ve once been silent, now she’s accompanied with the rhythmic song of her shackles. Silver chains cover the wolf’s form spawning from that seemingly seedless collar of silver around her neck, oddly loose and lacking in hindering her movements at the moment, the chains seem to serve no other purpose but torturing her. They follow her spine before splitting up to cover her torso in a loose hated caress, each swing of her step making sure a new patch of skin is burned, wounded, tortured. Yet the wolf is almost in a daze, so strong is that urge to see someone familiar. Someone who doesn’t want her dead. Someone who won’t harm her despite her piteous defeat of freedom just a few hours ago. Someone who will perhaps ignore the ugly wound on her snout, ribs and hind legs. Anyone. Her ears lower, a whine escapes her throat in a call like manner but she knows there is no one to answer, not yet. And the closet thing to a friendly face right now is finally close, worth covering her paws in stinking mud that might’ve once been people. Worth dragging those chains forward, despite the fact that they’re loose enough to tangle in branches sticking up from the filth. With a mind as chaotic as those of Senka, it’s only logical that she’s driven by need, not by mind. Had she been listening to that intelligence of her, she would’ve been in Larket, chain free, and nursing her wounds. "GOMRAK!" The call makes her lower her ears, a whining howl more or less escaping her throat before the beast quietens down again. Though red eyes remain fixed upon Tenebrae’s form, her body still pushed forward until she’s close enough to make out the many cuts on the vampire’s body, the wolf makes no effort to come much closer. Perhaps it’s the fact that the wolf has never searched out anyone for emotional need before, perhaps it’s the fact that she isn’t sure how the necromancer will react to her, either way Senka seems content to accompany Tene in a silent way for now. Ears perking, perhaps to catch the voice of the one the woman was so desperately calling out for.
Tenebrae had at last reached the nether end -- and what a fitting description that was -- of the swamp trail, and now stood on a clotted tussock of pale grass above the muck she'd waded through. That slight elevation afforded her little by way of a view, for the jungle began where the bogs finished, and visibility was the poorer for it. Poised there like a dirtied sentinel, she turned her head this way and that so that her sensitive ears might catch another cry from the cannibal she'd come to regard as a companion, if not a friend. All she caught above the cacophany of nature was a strange and strangled sound. A quick glance behind her showed nothing. And again! She whipped her head around, trying to source the noise. Nothing… There was a rustling from above, eyes shone from the deep shadows of the canopy. So, it was likely she'd been discovered by the... "Blasted little bastar..." The curse was abruptly cut off, as one foot slipped closer to the mud again. Discovered by the Pygmies, that erstwhile food source and murderous horde, thankfully unwilling to breech the confines of their beloved forest but probably tracking her, taunting her, as they liked to do. They were, she was certain now, to blame for Gomrak's failure to return to the whalebone hut that night and the one prior, and held little hope of finding him, if he were dead. The forest had a way of making bodies vanish in short order but if he lived, she would find him and repay the blood debt she owed. And that familiar roar had told her all she needed to know. On the tussock, listening to the jungle's incessant self-chatter unhindered by the voice of her companion, she wondered how one bedraggled vampiress was going take on several dozen agitated Pygmies. Shrugging lightly, she made the short jump to more solid ground. There'd be a way. There always was. And if not... well, she'd get what she came to the island for in the first place, wouldn't she?
Senka keeps trudging on, driven by that urge that is slowly driving her insane. It has to be for the wolf to ignore the many wounds and constant burning sensation of silver. Is this what dogs feel? Those weak copies of her noble race, those beings she had always looked down upon but now was reduced to a similar state? The lycan doesn’t feel like thinking about it and never really thinks things over anyway. So with a simple toss of her head in a vague, tired, attempt of getting rid of that awful nose-clogging smell of the swamp the albino moves onward, those deep eyes set upon the vampire’s back. Paws, still raw with the touch of silver they have gotten not too long ago, once again prove to be quite useful on uneven terrain and allow her to move with the speed no two walker should be able to match. The vampire disappears from her view and for one moment Senka’s heart stops but then as she draws nearer she discovers solid ground. For a moment the wolf continues to stand, ears perched, and uncertain whether her body will handle the short drop properly. But then she’s back to her impulsive nature and a light leap follows. The landing is difficult but still graceful, chains scraping over new harder surface. A short disgruntled growl escapes the wolf, the shackles bearing down hard upon her body, shifting to burn new patches of skin and aggravating old wounds. The snarl that curls her lips then is one of pain but the albino is nothing if not stubborn and soon her paws are moving again so that she can trail Tene. Why she’s acting like this, not even Senka herself knows but there is comfort in the mindlessness of it all, despite the searing pain.
She'd landed cat-foot on the loamy earth made deep and soft with untold centuries of decomposing forest litter. Soundless. And yet, Tenebrae's arrival at the forest's edge was greeted with an abrupt silence. She would notice, as she hurried onward into the forest, that birds and monkeys, frogs, even the insects ceased their calls, and out of that sudden and profound quiet came a deep, pained growl, and a metallic tinkle. This was of no Pygmish origin, she was certain, and so would once more turn back to where she though it'd come from. The forest did odd things to sounds; peridot eyes would widen, sharp sights set on the trail behind. From that shadowy murk emerged a pale shape, a glint of red echoing a will'o'wisp's light. Not for the first time would that great sword be grasped, right hand over her shoulder, by the hilt. What new danger was this that followed her? As if there weren't enough... and with that thought, she'd let out a sharp yelp of her own, her hand forgoing the sword to slap at her neck, from which a fine dart tassled in red feathers hung like a vampiric hummingbird, its beak buried in her flesh. Yanking it free, Tene glanced up, craning her neck, her eyes wider now. She might be immune to their poisons, designed to stun rather than kill, but she knew they had other weapons at their disposal. Danger on all sides-- pygmies in the trees, a threat behind-- she glanced back again, and almost dropped to her knees. It was impossible. Impossible. Yet, there the wolfess was. Another dart flew, whizzing past her face, and in the distance she heard another roar, more feeble this time. "Senka...?" It was a thought, not a word. Her eyes doubted what her heart knew -- this could not, surely, be Senka the proud, wrapped in chains? She had no time to be sure, letting her gut instinct guide her away from quick slaughter of the animal, and would assume it the incredible to have somehow become reality. "Danger." This word, aloud. "They're in the trees. I must go on..." But something would give her brief pause, perhaps the pain she'd heard in that growl, and despite the darts coming thicker and faster now she'd give the lycan a lingering look, a silent question. "Wounded?"
Senka feels that stab that had once never reached her, that foreign emotion that usually doesn’t come on her limited scale; shame. There is shame in her situation, shame in her state but the wolf has barely time to think about it for right in front of her snout, a small dart flies passed. Red eyes disappear in a surprised blink and the shackles quietly tinkle as they’ve done for the maddening past few hours when she moves to study the dart. Having never seen a weapon quite like it, not yet realising it is indeed a weapon, the albino gives it a curious sniff, ignorant of the stare of the vampire upon her form. There is an odd smell on that dart but the albino has not time to think about it as words reach her perked ears. “Danger,” Another blink and a sudden flinch as a dart imbeds itself in her already wounded body, the poison having no affect on her and even if it did, the silver is much more effective anyway. The band, collar, around the wolf’s neck gleams as she raises that noble head in a kind of tired curiosity, the kind of a creature having had to face too many fights in the last few days. Though her eyes are not upon the vampire, the wolf can –feel- the lingering look and again there’s another impulsive decision made. Lowering her white scalp, just barely avoiding yet another dart because of it, the wolf once again forces her tired body to do an action it shouldn’t be able to. But the lycan has become this old for a reason, became known as an elder, a mentor, for a reason and so she moves with that grace that seems less deadly now that there’s an accompanying song of the chains around her. Tene would barely be spared a glance as the wolf caught up, mind fixed upon that new danger and the adrenaline that comes with it. It’s only the thrill that manages to guide the poor beast further really, into the dense presence of a forest not her own and not nearly as good at hiding her. In fact, Senka rather stands out with her once completely white now smudged, dirty and bloody fur. She can’t find it in herself to care though…
That the wolfess was wounded was no longer a doubt, though no answer came to her question; Tene had eyes, after all, and could see the wretched state Senka was in. As quickly as it had come, she forced the pitying look from her eyes, knowing how it too would wound, deeper than any marring of the flesh. Another dart sank into her arm and she looked sharply to the trees. The dart was plucked out, now held in her fingers. Amid a fresh assault of them, with Senka for the moment left to herself, Tenebrae gathered a plan, and with a quick flick of her wrist aided by vampiric strength flung the venomous sliver back into the trees from whence it came. She'd not be able to see whether it found enemy flesh or merely wood, but it was as good an idea as any, and the only one she had. Gathering a handful of the weapons from tree-trunk, earth and her own body, she proceeded to fling them in rapid succession back toward the slightest hints of motion stirring above, the vampiress hoping to rob the Pygmies of at least a few more of thier number. The first would drop only seconds later-- almost gnomish, brown-skinned, his teeth filed to points, the little man writhed more from sheer fury than than any pain, the narcotic used to stun monkeys from the trees having done its job. Then another fell, and another. Though darts continued to fly, the number slowed steadily; the tribe had never had an enemy resist an attack so thoroughly, let alone turn thier own ingenuity back on them, and it threw them into great confusion. A chittering burst of language sounded, an order to retreat. Tenebrae would catch the direction their shadowy tree-top figured fled in, and would turn to the lycan, head canting that way. Senka could follow, if she could. Or wanted to. But Tene was going to retrieve Gomrak, alive or dead, and this would be her singular thought for now.
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Post by Joliette Thorne on Apr 24, 2008 8:32:56 GMT -5
Senka misses that flash of pity, luckily enough, and instead merely pauses near Tene’s side, not with the faithfulness of a dog but with the careful chosen precision that is becoming for a wild, independent creature. Even if she isn’t as much wild as caught right now. Intense red eyes watch as each fluid movement of slender fingers make the funny looking creatures fall neatly from the trees. There is a moment in which the beast feels like pouncing on their lifeless forms, ripping out guts and throats just to calm her fury but in fact, the creature is just too tired. So she waits, ears and head held high until the odd sound of their language rings through the woods and her eyes turn to those of the vampire again. She had dreaded the questions that would come, dreaded giving those shameful answers but perhaps of the time spend with that mysterious rogue, or perhaps just because her mind it too busy but the vampire mercifully keeps her questions and trades them for an invitation instead. The wolf doesn’t even pause to consider her wounded state, the tired ache in her muscles but instead lowers that head in favour of walking lazily, her turn once again making those hated shackles ring out their reminder. No longer free, no longer proud. But Senka knows her time will come. Tenebrae might notice how the wolf remains close in her silent companionship, closer then she may have done in the passed but the odd trait is made up for her typical lack of attention. Easily distracted as ever the albino looks up at every sound of bug, animal or cry, turning her wounded snout towards the source though never once faltering in her step. Like always the beast makes no move to be social, doesn’t bother to try and start a conversation and it’s highly likely that she’ll disappear as mysteriously as she has appeared but for now she’s here. And perhaps, for the both of them, that will be enough for now. Even if the scrape of the shackles over the ground along with the clanging of two of them together might bother Tenebrae’s sensitive ears as much as they bother Senka’s…
Tenebrae wasn't really up for chitchat anyway-- not that she'd have gotten it from Senka if she was. Rather, she was focussed on the path ahead, the trail purely arbitrary in places, as she would be guided by her hearing and the fleet motions in the trees above that she could only hope were Pygmies racing home, and not the lithe monkeys that were their usual prey. The forest was humid, dense, dripping with death and beauty in equal measure. Care would have to be taken to avoid this spore-puffing fungus or that spiny flower; Senka would be given brief but very clear warnings, in the wordless language of the mind, as to what she should avoid as they travelled. As to questions, Tene had plenty to barrage the lycan with, if they actually survived to ever get a quiet moment. Like-- what the hell, chains? And Leo... Right now, there was a task to be fulfilled, and the determined woman trudged on, her sword unsheathed and swinging brightly in the murk to sever the tangle of vines now and then hindering their path, that had for some time veered far from the upward track leading to the peak above. At last came the sound that she had been hoping for, another roar rising dully through the lush greenery. Gomrak, still alive, no doubt bound or otherwise disabled, or he'd have come to her call already. Picking up pace, Tene looked back only infrequently to make sure the lycan was still close, only to find Senka almost trotting at her heels. The oddity of it broke through her single-mindedness, but it was a brief thought, replaced by another deep cry, not far away now, and the vampiress finding herself on the edge of something of a precipice. So suddenly, in fact, that she was forced to grab a liana for a rope, to save her from plummeting into the chasm that might have greeted her next step. "Stop!" The thought was a powerful one, loud enough to have warned the wolfess of immediate danger. The chasm was not a wide one, and would take not all of her strength to leap. The wounded lycanthrope was given a frank look that said following at this point was not required of her. Tene would not see Senka, in her weakened state, fall into the abyss. But whatever Senka might have decided, the point was made moot by the huge figure that would crash unceremoniously through the growth to land as heavily as a felled tree to the earth on the other side of the gap. Massive, hideous, green-skinned, and bound like a roasting fowl ready for the pot. It was Gomrak, even now roaring his rage as three dozen at least of the Pygmies swarmed out of the trees, fine ropes coiled to their tiny fists, each appended with a wicked bamboo hook weighted with a hide-wrapped stone, which they'd throw bola-like at the orc. Gomrak was thus a mess of wounds, from where he’d ripped the hooks free of his flesh, and himself from the tree they had him bound to. One great fist was raised and brought down like a mallet on the head of an unfortunate Pygmy who'd come too close, leaving it a smatter of gore and crushed bone. "GOMRAK" The big man glanced up and saw Tenebrae. Senka might notice how horribly scarred he was, even for an orc, his face pulled into a permanent scowl. "WOMAN," was his reply, before the orc found his feet lunged unsteadily toward the chasm and two females on the other side, dragging pygmies behind him by ropes hooked to his body like a bizarre beast of the field pulling plough blades through the dirt. And a new hail of darts began, this time accompanied by deadlier bamboo spears.
Senka is distracted, several times, by the odd movements above them but only a half-hearted growl will escape her throat. Even if she truly wanted to, she can’t reach the creatures anyway. The wolf is close enough to the other that if the vampire would want to, she could stretch out her arm and touch her but she is far from noticing however, distracted simply by the steady climb. The necromancer isn’t the only one finding the obedient following odd, Senka isn’t known, nor used, to do so and it’s almost as odd as the steady ring of her shackles keeping up the rhythm of her steps. The sudden command has the wolf freeze on instinct, and well enough for already her ivory nails are peeking over the edge. A distraught sound between a whine and a growl escapes her throat as the wolf tosses her head and moves backwards again. The wolf doesn’t even realise she’s been offered a decision for her attention is soon caught by the uproar a single orc can cause. Ears flattening, upper lip curling because Senka and orcs do –not- mix, the albino can only watch as the necromancer cries out for him. Unbelievable, the albino would never have taken an orc to be able at forming bonds, let alone with a normal two-walker but sure enough it seems to recognize Tenebrae. Moodily growling, not about to back down but not about to play hero for a creature she has spend most of her time chasing out of her territory, the wolf is left to shift from side to side and watch as the orc falls towards them. Snout wrinkling in her displeasure, the wolf is almost too distracted by the sight to notice the darts and bamboo thrown her way. Reflexes save her however, as they often do and the four-legged-creature can’t help but edge back again at the sight of a spear sticking up from the ground, right between her front paws. Leaving sounds like a better idea at every passing second but the female knows Tene might not feel the same way and can’t help but throw her a look that says it all; you’re not –really- going to try and save him, are you? Because if the necromancer would, Senka can’t help but have a vague feeling that she will be involved against her will as well…it has happened before after all. Bloody vampires…
Steady and unrelenting as a glacier's slow grind across tundra, onward came the seafaring orc, dragging his cargo of Pygmy would-be captors. Now and then he'd wrap a fist around a rope and tug hard, snapping one of them close enough to be victim of single, deadly blow. But there were so many, and more gathering, drawn to the brouhaha from whatever camp they had deeper in the jungle. Strangled, guttural, orcish curses were grunted as he neared the chasm's edge, the gap requiring more freedom and agility than the heavily-drugged Gomrak currently possessed. The Lilliputian tribesmen, sensing that they were about to lose their prey, dug their heels in as one, hauling back hard, as their companions in the trees gave up attack on Tene and Senka to turn the brunt of their blowdart-and-spear rain on the orc. He didn't have much time; as big and strong as he was, and even with his slight immunity to the monkey-poison built up over his time on the island, Gomrak could not long withstand the flood of toxin that would soon course through his veins. But he was a seasoned warrior, and had many a trick, and showed one now-- feinting a stumble, the orc allowed his bonds to slacken. The Pygmies, in unison, raised a shrill cry of triumph, albeit short-lived, as Gomrak gathered their many ropes in his giant fists, ripping the deeply-embedded hooks free of green skin and hard muscle. The tribesmen had wrapped the cords tightly to their own for better purchase and had not time to blink, let alone think to release their grip, before Gomrak gave an almighty tug that had them flying out and over and.. into.. the gorge. Their fading screams would be echoed from above with shrieks of Pygmish rage, and suddenly the forest was alive with motion-- the rest of the tribe had arrived. Free of his burden, the vasty man backed up a few steps, roared a warning to the vampire and her companion of his intent, and took a run for the chasm's edge. Mighty thighs bunched, released; despite his weight, their power would carry him, with only a little terrifying slippage of heel and crumble of rock, safely to the other side. And behind him, swinging effortlessly on liana-vines across that void came the Pygmies. Not much else to do but... "Run!" It was Tene who took up both the shout, and the first step of what needed to be a hasty dash back toward the relative safety of the beach.
While Gomrak’s struggle ensued, Tene would return Senka's wary look with one of her own -- more apologetic, than anything, even a brief shrug and the flash of a lopsided grin. Habits she'd picked up, from a man they both knew.
Senka can only watch, really, as the orc does what orcs do best and destroys about everything that’s in arms reach. The wolf can’t help but let her gaze flicker now and then though, if only to escape those darn darts and the bamboo sticks that seem so eager to cause more suffering on her already suffering body. It’s just not the right day for the lycan, all in all, and her shackles do little to ease her movements but the albino manages, as she always does. The apologetic shrug causes the wolf to twitch, for some reason or the other, at the familiar habit displayed but it hardly shows and as soon as the moment has begun it has ended. The stumble of the orc almost makes the wolf’s eyes narrow, already hoping that there won’t be an emotional scene because of the assumed-soon-dead-orc, ‘cause the wolf really, really dislikes emotions expressed by others. Yet before she can even end that cruel thought train, Gomrak seems to have more brain cells then she expected and uses the stumble to his advantage, effectively killing more of the tiny creatures in one move then Senka could in five. There is no time in wonderment though, for the vampire is already telling her to do what she’s wanted for the last few minutes. Four legs easily outmatches two, but the shackles along with the thoughtfulness that comes from having had a companion, once, keeps the wolf close enough. The grace that usually is found in the albino’s movements is still there, but it’s hindered by the constant burn of swinging chains, chains that continue to burn new patches of flesh and keep causing the wolf to wince, if only for a second. Still, with her life on the line for the second time that day, Senka doesn’t find it in herself to care much. She’ll safe that for once her paws are out of the blubbery mess that’s seriously slowing her down and her hide is safe from those annoying bamboo spears…
Senka doesn't spare the orc much of her attention, let alone a lingering look. Not that it's noticeable, because even if she hadn't disliked the orc even more then she generally dislikes two walkers then she still wouldn't have paid him much heed. Running for your life can do that to a person.
Tenebrae, even as she shouted the dire need for flight, and mud-caked limbs took her at a bolt for the boggy swamp's shore, had stooped to gather a spear here and a handful of fallen darts there. Now, as the odd trio dashed for safety, she would keep the rear of the pack, whirling to huck bamboo death or a deftly-aimed needled point toward the oncoming horde. More fell, but only a drop in a treetop ocean of enraged tribesman. Giving up rear defence as an overly dangerous joke, the woman did her best to close the gap between herself and the others. Senka was soon out of sight, the lumbering orc more easily caught up with. He would neither look to her nor aside from the path ahead, and had no need of sword or machete as his powerful body simply broke through whatever impeding undergrowth and thickly-hung vines in their path. As the pair, behind the lycan, broke out of the forest, Gomrak would unceremoniously clamp one meaty hand to the vampire's slim waist and curl her under one arm, to make the jump from solid land to marsh. Tenebrae was somewhat accustomed to this situation, having been hauled out of the ocean and sundry other dangers in much the same way. It was, however, very doubtful indeed that Senka had ever been under the arm of an orc before. The huge seafarer had been on the island a long time, and knew the land as well as any native, including the driest, quickest path through this bog. There was no sign of the Pygmies relenting in their chase and in his weakened state, the extra monkey-poison starting to work into his system and the world blurring at the edges, there was no time at all for him to stop and wait should the lycan find herself stuck in the thick and occasionally very deep mud. So, it was with the same deft scoop that Senka was lifted up, big as she was, stuffed like a dachshund under that arm and, whatever her savagery, hauled with Tenebrae through that swamp in an eighth of the time it'd taken the women to travel it. Soupy, chocolate brown mud turned to sandy mud, then to wet sand, and finally to the edge of the beach, which marked the end point of the chase. The pygmies held a horror of the sea, a deep and abiding superstition that kept them bound to the forest, and from venturing too near the orc's makeshift beach hut. It was to there he was headed, but made it only partway across the sands before the poison finally bested him. Dropping Tene and Senka like twin potato-sacks, he stumbled once more and then fell to his knees, his great back riddled with darts and the shafts of several spears. Indeed, he resembled a dying bull in a matador's ring. Tenebrae had a face full of sand, half-blind with it, and was likewise pincushioned with darts, and so would struggle to see anything at all. But Senka sure did not sound happy...
Senka only occasionally glanced back at the two to make sure they were keeping up, her own hide always a higher concern then that of another. Shackles restrain her here and there, tangling intimately with branches on the most inconvenient of times and so she slowed down enough to be grabbed. The yelp escaping her would’ve been undignified had she not been an animal but the following snarl clearly showed her displeasure. The silver presses strongly against her in that hold, making her writhe in more then displeasure as she snaps impatiently at the leather-like skin of the massive creature currently handling her as a lightweight. Today sure is the day for humiliation it seems, for the albino is unable to escape Gomrak’s hold. Caught up in her anger, fuelled by more then this simple touch, though not being known to be fond of being touched period, Senka fails to acknowledge the changing of the soil, the approach of water and finally the end of the chase. So when she’s dropped another yelp more or less escapes her throat though the wolf does manage to land semi-gracefully. Ears lowered, hackles raised and coat now sticky with her newly formed blood because of the press of chains on her skin, the wolf makes no pretty picture and doesn’t voice it either, her snarl aggressive and clear. Touch me and die had been a vow of her for a long time but then again, a more important vow, a true vow, had been broken that day. So with an impatient snort the wolf settles for pulling out the darts sticking out of her body a few at the time, not really caring if she happens to catch a patch of hairs with it. Throughout it all though, the lycan continues to growl in that moody ways of her that’s so similar to a two-walker’s muttering.
They were beyond throwing-range, the last of the spears thudding to sand a good distance away. Tenebrae's eyes stung and watered with grit, her vision clearing enough to make out at least the major details of her companions' welfare. The Pygmies soon gave up, though not without a parting volley of curses that Tene neither understood a word of nor wanted to, but she had a pretty good idea of what sort of promises the little folk were making. As their voices faded back into the treeline and were gone, she'd already have set to the task of de-quilling her fallen orcen comrade. He wouldn't die of either the poison or his wounds, she was sure; the man's thick hide had stopped the spearshafts sinking too deep. Senka's teeth, too, which were the likely source of several gashes to his arms and chest. Senka herself seemed to be dealing with the whole debacle in her typical way, and looked none the worse for it really, though Tene was horribly concerned to see her chained and wounded so, and her tongue burned with questions best asked later, to judge by the red burn of Senka's eyes and the throaty growls emanating from the lycan. So instead, she focussed on Gomrak, and then her own wounds -- some of which were deep enough to be a worry, spouting blood profusely on removal of bamboo weaponry. These would be ignored for the now, as nearby oceanwater was gathered in a flotsam tin and brought up to his groggy, flailing body to be dashed over his wounds, and a little on her own, her hope to wash out as much swamp-muck and residual poison as possible. All the while she refused to meet Senka's eyes, the vampire sensing this was probably the right thing to do. And, having no hope in her current state of dragging the big man -- who was eight and a half feet in height and weighed as much as an average horse, she guessed -- back to his hut, she'd tend to him there on the sand. The medicine chest, another washed-up bit of cargo, wasn't so impossible to drag, so that was brought up from the hut and set beside Gomrak. Tene kneeled in the reddened sand, pulling bandages and salve, needle and catgut, whatever may be useful, from it. And kept Senka firmly in her peripheral sight-- after their graveyard meeting, Tene couldn't be sure of what the lycan might do, and trust was not a thing she gave easily to anyone, not even those closest to her.
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Post by Joliette Thorne on Apr 24, 2008 8:35:24 GMT -5
Senka is best left alone for the time being. The moody growl continues to flow from her throat even though ivory teeth are busy getting the darts out of her hind rather then letting out those sounds. It’s been a seriously bad day for pride and dignity and so the lycan watches with less then her usual curiosity as some kind of chest is dragged towards Gomrak. The moment the vampire begins to pull out bandage and the likes however, the albino loses her interest for the orc hardly concerns her, whether he just saved her life or not. It’s indeed best to keep an eye on the edgy wolf, one so chaotic and quick to attack but for now the only thing Senka is interested in is resting. Yet as she lowers her body to the moistly send, a pained whine escapes her and she forces her tired body up again. Right, chains. If the lycan will never ever see silver again after this, she’d still think it’s too much. Unfortunately, Senka knows that she will be trapped like this for a while still…Having nothing better to do, having removed all the darts she could reach being flexible but not –that- flexible, the albino finally gives up and moves closer with each movement of her paws. Red eyes are as deep and intense as normally when fixing upon the fallen form of Gomrak, but there is something else in there that’s not supposed to be there, defeat, perhaps…
Tenebrae 's fingers were sticky with salve, a special medicine Gomrak himself had made from local berries, very effective in coagulating wounds quickly. Working busily to stop bleeding on both orc and herself, she'd hardly raise her glance toward Senka. Tene was quite aware of how proud the wolfess was; she herself was almost as sensitive to shame. So she plied the medicine quietly, now and then pausing as Gomrak shifted and muttered in his drugged sleep. After a while, Senka crept forward -- Tene had noted her growing discomfort -- and so the vampiress started speaking in a low voice, as if to herself: "Stupid orc. Get yourself killed if you don't watch it, and then who would I pay the blood debt to? You have no family, because you ate most of them, so its your own silly fault if its never repaid and I'm bound to your fat green spirit in the afterlife and you have to put up with me there, isn't it?" Tene was a woman of many talents, and a skilled hunter, who specialised in guile to capture prey, so it's no surprise her babble was modulated to a pitch designed specifically to produce a soothing effect on the listener. Senka, in this case. Whether it worked or not, she couldn't contain her curiosity much longer, and would slip the question in: "And really, Gomrak, you need to lose a little weight. Too many Pygmy pot pies makes orcy a chubby lad... and Senka, what the hell has happened to you?" Subtle as a freight wagon on a cobbled street, was Tene.
Senka perks her ears the moment the vampire begins speaking, the tone somehow pleasant to her ears though the wolf doesn’t really understand why. There is a relaxation of tense muscles as Tenebrae continues to talk, explaining a bit as to –why- one would want to help a creature like an orc and Senka does understand things like blood debts, even if she wishes she didn’t. Gomrak is fixed with a pitiless gaze, the lycan not really one for that particular emotion, even as Tene’s mutterings run over the wolf’s mind and soothing her to the point where she almost relaxes completely. Until, of course, that final question was posed. Immediately do red eyes flicker up, wounded snout turned in the necromancer’s direction, and linger there. Shame once again washes over the creature like a tidal wave, an emotion she’s not used to, to say the least, and a moody growl escapes her as she turns her head away, more or less giving Tene a wonderful sight of that gruesome wound on her snout. For a moment it’s as if the beast won’t answer but then finally her eyes glaze and lock with the green stare of Leo’s mate, her voice entering the other’s mind like fur being rubbed the wrong way. It’s rougher then it normally is, husky in her discomfort, but still so very feminine as Senka answers, “I lost,” Two words, and they’re capable of making the wolf whine softly, moodily, and close her eyes to break that stare and connection. Those two words seem insufficient to describe the way she lost the battle, lost her territory and lost her freedom, yet there it is. Senka lost, and now she’s wrapped up in chains and collared as if she’s some ordinary dog…
Tenebrae paused in her task when Senka mind-spoke the phrase, daring a more direct gaze at the wolfess, but only so far as her torn nose, leaving those agonised red eyes alone. Part human or not, a canine was a canine and she knew eye contact might upset the distressed lycan. The pink tip of her tongue would appear, touching gently to her upper lip as she pondered how to approach this. Senka lost a battle. Now she was in chains. A quick glance at the bright metal confirmed silver. But they were not overly stout, and silver is a soft metal... Magic. It had to be. No point in harassing Senka for details, except for one, but that could wait until after... Tene scooped up a gob of pink berry-salve and leaned forward suddenly, her arm shooting out to gloop the sticky stuff on Senka's nose before the lycan could complain. or.. take her hand off. That appendage was withdrawn as hastily as she could. "Sorry. But it'll heal that up fast. Nasty wound." Back to tending Gomrak, whose bleeding was quelled and who was now snoring gently, for an orc. To vampiric ears it sounded like a stone giant grinding its teeth in rage. When Tene thought Senka might have calmed a bit, she'd dare a more direct gaze, letting her ire rise to the surface of those icy, green eyes. No proud and free creature should be reduced to this. Not Senka, especially. As wary as she was of the wolfess, Tene had to respect that Leo had been fond of her. That made her pack, almost -- as Creature had come to call Cabal. Wasn't like Leo actually liked that many folk. When Tene next spoke, it was not a question: "Tell me who."
Senka remains relatively calm now that no eye-contact is made, no silent challenge now it’s obvious that she can be defeated. No pity to be seen either, just a snoring orc threatening to destroy her sensitive ears, the albino can live with that. That is, until a cool salve is suddenly applied on her burning wound, making the wolf start and flinch away. It is not often that she’s touched in a good, harmless, way and even as Tene explains it in short statements, the albino still needs a moment to get what it’s for, to understand that she’s touched not to humiliate nor to harm but to heal. Tenebrae would know, after all, how oddly slowly the lycan heals for one of her kind. Confused now, unused to acts of kindness as she is, the wolf shifts restlessly for a moment before settling again to simply watch the vampire move. Something in that simple movements of patching up that large body calms her though, makes her able to shut out that constant burning pain of silver embracing her body in a way it should not. The sudden statement once again catches her off guard however, people don’t have a habit of standing up for a creature able to stand up for herself and mate of Leoxander or no, Senka’s nevertheless suspicious. There is no way for her to get out of this on her own, she knows, and so the temptation, the hope, that comes from telling the vampire is high. Still, her pride is already aching just because of her loss… “Why?” the words are soft, when they enter the vampire’s mind and the lycan lifts her noble, now salve-covered, head to turn it away from Tenebrae. Still, that husky voice continues to sound in the other’s mind, “I hardly think he would be willing to share…” There is a pause but then the impulsive wolf turns that glazed look back to the necromancer as she adds, “I haven’t seen your mate you know,” Really, even Tenebrae is subtle compared to Senka… “And I’ve got nothing to offer you in return so you can’t get anything out of this if you have other plans,”
Tenebrae had been formulating her reply as to exactly 'why' she wanted the name of Senka's captor, and would have spoken it, until the wolfess invoked the name of her love, and tore open a wound so freshly healed as to not be healed at all, and the vampiress seemed to crumple then, like a small child given to hopelessness. Her parted lips trembled away the bold words poised on them, and her eyes dropped to the task of sewing up the last rent in Gomrak's green hide. "I.. uh. Haven't seen him. Either." Trembling so, she could no longer hold the needle and with a ragged breath gave it up. She felt no need to explain her fruitless journey to find her "mate", the horror of it, her ultimate disappointment. How close she'd been to relieving herself of the agony of his absence, and presumed death. There would be a long silence in which Tene gathered herself. Finally she would look to Senka, no resentment or jealousy in her eyes, just a frankness that would be offered as a chance for things to be laid in the open. "What I really want to know is, why you always flinch and look so guilty when we speak of him." It seemed the day for bluntness, on all sides.
Senka blinks then, surprised by the fact that the vampire hasn’t seen her mate either. Having always assumed the rogue to have become tired of her, the albino’s confusion is clear in those eyes and lower of the ear. With her ears lowered the lycan turns her head away, not really wanting to see the sadness, the tremble and the crumble of the only two walker she had ever mirrored herself with, disturbed simply because she isn’t used to seeing Tenebrae as anything but strong. Silence suits her, for the wolf is speechless at this wave of emotion seeming to pour from the vampire and unsettling her enough to make her nervous, of all things. When those green eyes finally return to her form, Senka is almost reluctant to meet them just because she isn’t used to dealing with this much emotion. People see her and panic, people fear her and people run, that’s about as close to strong emotion the lycan usually comes. The question posed however makes the poor lycan only stare at the vampire for several moments. Then finally, her somewhat befuddled voice enters the other’s mind, “I do?” Really, she hadn’t been aware of it. But then, as far as emotions go, Senka is pretty much unaware of everything. As subtle as an iron door that one, really. “Well…” There is a moment in which the lycan pauses, thinking, as so rarely happens, about her actions. “Your mate let some things slip I wasn’t supposed to tell you. Suspicions. People he wanted to kill,” Had she been able to, the lycan would’ve shrugged. As it is the wolf merely tilts her head to the side and blinks glazed eyes. The voice, when it enters the vampire’s mind again, is almost comical clueless, “Why do you ask?”
Tenebrae's gaze was steady and cool, her demeanour again that of the Cabal's leader, the precise opposite of the hurt child she'd been only moments before. "I don't like secrets. Especially when it comes to..." She derailed her next words, switching them. "People I would trust." And more quietly, now: "It was me, Senka. I was the one who had him infected. I bullied a man.. a lycan doctor.. into biting him, to save his life." She spoke the words hurriedly, and she did felt like each was a great stone that had been tied to her soul, not quite released now, but at least not all inside her anymore. "He was dying." That was her simple explanation for the heinous betrayal of her love which, she had no doubt in her mind, had been the thing to drive him away, and led to his death. Or, at least, his utter vanishing from both the realms of life and afterlife, something she could not understand, or cope with, and so called "death", for want of a better term. "Perhaps that's what he suspected. I do not care about anything else. It's the only lie I ever told him." And that was the truth.
Senka meets Tene’s gaze in that typical silent ways of her, seeming for that short moment of time like any ordinary animal, not understanding a word but listening anyway. Yet the moment the vampire reveals that dreadful secret, the albino can’t help but lower her ears and curl her upper lip in a snarl. Ironic, how the beast, that asocial beast, would snarl at another for the treatment of a third person. But here she is, obviously displeased but not tensing in that typical preparation to fight. Instead there is a moment of silence before the wolf allows her eyes to glaze again, slowly almost unwillingly. Her voice is fierce, not exactly angry but certainly heavily annoyed, “Yes. But he also thought you may have been cheating on him so,” Well, that explains the graveyard thing anyway. Uncomfortable the beast turns her head away again, shackles singing quietly and it isn’t until the sound dies out for both their sensitive ears that the wolf allows her eyes to glaze again, “Though you were right in saying it’s none of my business,” Bothered by this reminded the wolf suddenly turns her head back to silently study Tenebrae, the question next asked impulsive and rushed into the others brain because of it, “So why are you talking about this with me?” Surely she must have other two-walker friends for that?
Tenebrae had humanoid shoulders and so could shrug, and did, at the question. "It seemed relevant." She couldn't say how, exactly, and wouldn't attempt it. She badly wanted to change the topic, which hurt more than the full blaze of the sun, which thankfully had mellowed to evening during their sojourn into the forest. Her eyes flitted about, as though seeking something else to talk about, and chanced upon the salve-pot. Taking it up to replace the lid, she glanced to the wounded lycan, and the savagery the chains had wrought upon her formerly sleek hide. Tene looked back to the pot, and then to Senka again, a merciful distraction coming in the form of one of her sudden ideas. "Senka..." The name was almost a question. "Can I try something? I think I have a way of making that pain stop. Worth a try, at least?" Plus, it was something to do, something that was distant from the voice in her that whispered how painless death was. Ironic, it should come from the mind of a necromancer.
Senka snorts, a disbelieving sound to say the least, at the answer she’s given but doesn’t further comment. Instead the wolf settles for staring at their too-large-‘friend’ and allows the silence to linger. She doesn’t like using her gift after all and the pain is making her moodier then she already is. It isn’t until her name is called that her ears perk and bloody eyes rise, settling on the necromancer again in that silent study. The question makes her weary, shifting yet again before a glazed look accompanies a sigh that would’ve been so much more impressive were she human. “You’re going to touch me, aren’t you?” the tone is wry, filled with some vague kind of humour at the turn of fate. She dislikes being touched, like she’s some kind of tame animal that enjoys that kind of thing but really, she’s already wearing a collar, isn’t she? That aching body of her rises to move to the other side of the large orc, towards the necromancer who is spared yet another unreadable stare. Then quite surprisingly the wolf simply settles, lowering her hind legs with a twinkle of her shackles and bows her elegant head again. A simple ‘if you must’ without words, really.
But Tene wasn't going to touch Senka. At least, as little as was necessary to lift each chain delicately away from the lycan's bloodied fur and grease it liberally with the salve, taking care not to leave telltale globs of the stuff in the links. As the vampiress worked she hummed, without being conscious of it entirely, a soothing tune, one that she'd sung to Leo when he was sick with the deadly fever that had ultimately claimed his humanity, if not his life. Finally, there was only the collar itself, which did involve her fingers pressing to the fur at Senka's nape and throat, to lift it up and grease the inside with an extra-thick layer that wouldn't be seen at all. The gentle song stopped. "I don’t know if this is going to help. But like I said, worth a try." Her lips pressed together firmly for a moment. "You asked me why I wanted to know the name of your captor." The lid was put on the pot as she spoke. "I don't think I shall ever go back... but if I do, I want to know whose name to put on the gravemarker."
Senka is remarkably patient for one with such a chaotic mind. Each lift of the chain is a temporary pause, a moment to regain herself as the pain stops for as long as the vampire handles her shackles. When the silver returns on her skin, the wolf is surprised to find it being a dull throbbing sting, rather then that horrible sensation of flesh peeling in heavy allergic reaction. Realising it’s working for now, the albino allows her body to relax and her head to lower, a silent sign of acceptation. Ears turn at that soothing hum, her breathing soon matching the tones as the wolf does seem to relax a bit, for now. However the feel of fingers pressing into her fur, against that pained skin, does make her tense and for one dangerous moment her head turns towards the vampire. Rather then snap the lycan merely settles one of her unreadable stares upon Tene however before slowly turning it back again, waiting once more. It’s not until the gentle tones stop to make place of a harsh return of reality that Senka moves away, carefully putting distance between the two of them while keeping her ears perked, listening. There is a pause that last a heartbeat, two, before the wolf finally allows her eyes to glaze and her voice to enter the other’s mind, husky, rough but not nearly as defensive as before, “Why would you go through the effort. You don’t care for me anymore then I care for you,” Which, really, is only guess work as for how much or little that is because for a long time, the four-legged creature didn’t seem to care for the ‘pup’ either. Senka’s an odd creature, to say the least. Restless too, as deep red eyes return to the sea. She’s been here for a dangerous amount of time and even with the salve the albino knows her body is weakening…Yet what is it that still makes her stay?
Tenebrae 's smile was as enigmatic as the ocean upon which Senka's eyes roamed, restless as the waves themselves. "You're pack. What do you expect?" And with that she stood, brushing dried mud off the parts of her not covered in salve, and took at as brisk a pace she could across the sand to the hut.
Senka has moved without thinking, stalking the woman yet again as she passes those rotten skulls without thinking. With a ring of her shackles and a throaty growl the wolf moves in front of the vampire, snarling just because she doesn’t know what else to do and firmly keeping Tene from going anywhere. “Pack?” that one word, when entering the other’s mind, holds so much emotion, hope, dread, suspicion and fear, that it’s almost –odd- to have it come from that fearless wolf that doesn’t seem to care about anything but her next meal. No more words or form for communication is offered, instead Senka merely fixes an intense stare upon the vampire that almost seems to say; ‘you’…like nothing else matters in the entire world to the beast that’s so easily distracted.
Tenebrae blinked gently, smiled again, and walked around Senka in a wide arc. "Yes. Pack." The words were spoken as she opened the door flap, the vampiress pausing at the entrance to look back briefly before she disappeared inside. Whether Senka was to follow her all the way in or stand at the flap, or even leave, Tenebrae would still bustle about the dim interior of the shack, sparking a tinderbox to light tapers for thick wax candles, continuing the conversation. "You may as well be. You can fight. And Leo liked you." They may have seemed such trivial or flippant criterion to any outsider, but Senka would understand the import of the latter, at least. "And I need people with me who remember." The candles lit, she tidied up a few objects in disarray and turned to see whether the wolfess had been listening.
Senka follows without thinking, her head slowly turning around the edge of the entrance without really entering. The albino doesn’t really like the indoors, so half outside half inside is good enough for now. She knows better then to object to the knowing how to fight part, because she does, even if she was defeated today it’s only for the second time. The part about Leoxander liking her however has the albino pausing, still in that half-way before finally entering all the same. The shackles twinkle and sing merrily again, so deceiving when it comes to appearances as deep red eyes once more take on that glazed look. The wolf doesn’t like using her gift but around Tene, she’s willing to make an exception, or several… “I don’t like packs,” the statement is flat, hackles are raised and it isn’t long before the lycan continues, it’s something she feels strongly about after all, “They’re a bunch of whin-“ Deep red eyes glaze again, for a different purpose this time and the wolf closes her eyes tightly so that only the black lids of her eyes show, ears lowering along with her tail, something which doesn’t often happen. Suddenly the beast let’s out a howl of pain as the chains gather around her form, tightening in a cruel embrace and glowing with the hot temper of a presence not here, only in the wolf’s mind…Senka is known for her high tolerance of pain but now she’s crumbling, sinking through her paws and throwing herself on the floor to roll around shipwrecked items. The whimper that escapes her throat is nothing but pitiful, soon cut of in a strangled way as the collar tightens around her neck. Soon there is a smell of burnt flesh in the air…
Tenebrae , who'd had some clever reply prepared for Senka's inevitable disapproval, was suddenly faced with not a slightly aggravated, puzzled lycan, but one writhing and yelping, and close to catching aflame, perhaps, if the stink of burned hair was anything to go by. "Bastard." Her lips were pressed to a thin line after the curse left them, directed of course toward the unnamed captor who'd cause Senka such agony. Never one for caution when danger was rife, the necromancer bolted the two long strides to the hut's doorway and knelt beside the struggling Senka, heedless of whatever snapping and slavering she might do-- Tene'd had worse wounds, and was in better shape anyhow, if only barely. "Tell me!" her voice was sharp, a bark, a command. "Tell me who is doing this!" Her fingers, were Senka to at all keep still for them, would frantically lift chain after chain from charring pelt, the metal oddly cooler to her touch than the state of the lycan would indicate. For all the little good it probably did. "I promise you, he is the walking dead."
The chains refuse to give room like before, instead only tightening around the wounded animal so that Senka’s left in a worse state then before. Large paws indeed restlessly swipe at the vampire, more or less in an attempt to escape the ever tightening cold of supposedly weak metal. Again the wolf opens her muzzle, letting out a howl of pain, arching her back but to no avail. Two voices are calling her, calling her and insisting to tell her things she doesn’t want to tell. Desperate the beast rolls her eyes, looking for anything, anything to fix her mind on but the world is spinning and spinning and the pain just –won’t-stop. A pitiful whimper, unbecoming to the wolf, escapes her then as she tosses and tosses until finally red, wild, fearful (since when has the four-walker learned that emotion?) eyes lock with that angry green and they glaze on impulse. Tenebrae will hear the voice of a male in her mind, a voice familiar. The voice of Imar telling the poor lycan to receive information about the necromancer, to tell her location but again and again does the beast refuse. “Do not do this Senka. This –will- kill you if you keep it up,” It might as well have been said out loud for soon the beast howls again as more chains appear, sneaking around the beast to hold her in that deadly, burning, embrace. Glazed eyes shut again in that useless attempt to block out the pain, snout wrinkling in her anger as paws search for something, anything to hold onto and rip just to make it stop. Anything to make it stop…But the mate of Leo has not been betrayed just yet…Tenebrae’s name is denied, her location refused to spill. Why? Perhaps not even Senka knows, the inner workings of the beast are chaotic, to say the least…
"Lie to him..." The vampire's already white face was chalky with fury, her eyes blazing green, with a faint dark ring staining the edges of her irises. Her voice was a hiss. "Lie to the bastard." Imar. She'd know that slimy tone anywhere. Gods help the drow, and that slithering whore he kept company with. A thought occurred to her, then. A long shot but.. what was there to do, out here, without the clan to call for help? "Outside, Senka, if you can-- go to Gomrak. Tell him you are with the orc, it won't be a lie. Tell him you sought a forest, again, no lie. Well, almost. He might not sense it. We have to try something, make him stop..." She was already pacing toward the sand, treading back, hoping the wolfess had it in her to follow. "Senka, lie to him, but lie with the truth!""
Senka is already lying, anything her pained mind can come up with but none of it works. The wolf isn’t used to lying, has never needed it to and is much to pure, perhaps raw, to anyway. Tenebrae’s words thus make no sense to the tortured lycan and as another whine escapes her, it’s almost as if the wolf were calling for someone. However, perhaps tired of her pained sounds, silver chains are made to slither up her neck and wrap around her snout, burning the old wound and starting new afresh. The howl the beast tries to utter is muffled, another dangerous trash bringing her closer to the vampire but her mind is not yet so far gone that she doesn’t hear the last words. Lie with the truth…she can tell the truth…Just, get up. She needs to get up. Turning those two words again and again around in her mind until the lycan isn’t sure whether she’s sending Imar this or merely reminding herself of it, the albino somehow, by mere force of will manages to stand. Shackles once loosely wrapped around her frame are now tight enough to cut into her flesh, the pain of it shown in those weary eyes now that her snout is efficiently shut. Hate is in there but dread as well, the wolf can smell her death in those burned hairs. Slowly, painfully slowly, one paw is moved, then another one and another one until those glossy eyes can fix upon the orc. It’s the only thing in her mind right now; get to he orc…get to the orc…
As much as she wanted to help Senka.. hold the door for her, aid her in that agonised walk toward the beach, Tenebrae knew it best to melt into the shadows of the hut, become invisible.. Not hard for her to do. Even mentally, she shrank inside herself -- she was not the product of Eldritch for nothing, and had survived a century of mind-rape through such practises. Indeed, for a short time, even Senka might forget about her, so absent was the vampiress from the island's foreshore at that time. Deep in her inner world, Tene was sending herself somewhere far... far... from here. The clan Headquarters came to her mind, as it had done that morning. This time, no-one was present. Yes, that's where she'd be, staring into the black waters of the pool. She had divorced herself from the present so deeply, Senka was forgotten utterly. The trick worked both ways...
Senka does indeed completely forget the presence of the another viewing her in this dreadful weak state. It seems to last an eternity before the beast finally collapses besides the fallen form of Gomrak. With a tired sigh, ignoring the burning sensation of silver pressed harshly against her chest, the wolf closes her eyes for one moment. When they open they’re glazed, fixed upon the orc. There is a long, long moment in nothing seems to happen but then slowly, one by one the chains slither back towards the seamless collar around the poor beast’s neck. A tired snort escapes the wolf then, wounded neck ignored as much as the sand now irritating her wounds. Reality only slowly returns, the last warning of the drow still fresh in the lycan’s mind. Even the large form of the snoring Gomrak is a comfort now, something she can’t help but show by uttering a tired whine from that snout now bearing a perfect ring of allergic flesh. Another whine would be like a call, her mind caught up in a distant past, a past in which she had belonged to someone, with someone, but soon the albino quietens down again. There’s no one there anyway, she’s made sure of that, hasn’t she? Senka can’t even muster the energy to find it in her to care, instead merely focussing on keeping her eyes open. The fact that she hasn’t died yet only shows that someone is not yet finished playing with her like a toy.
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Post by Joliette Thorne on Apr 25, 2008 2:11:01 GMT -5
Later That Night, in The Whalebone Hut --------------------------------------
Tenebrae was curled on the floor in one dim corner of the orc's hut still wrapped in her shadows, weakened though they were by their lack of sustenance, lost in a long dream of oblivion, a void so utterly black and empty of thought and feeling as to resemble some vast, dead womb, in which the vampiress had ensconced herself for Senka's sake. Had the wolfess wandered off or no, she wouldn't be able to tell, nor how long she'd kept herself in this pall of blackness, this mental null in which she'd hidden herself to save the lycan. Her utter forgetfulness, deep as the waters of Lethe, radiated from her mind in syrupy waves, her "absence" so complete as to create the illusion in the minds of others were they not extraordinarily strong of mental prowess, or of such Light as to see through her darkness. Gomrak, upon his recovery, had not found her and had gone wandering the will'o'wisp marshes in search of the vampiress.
Arysel takes a bracing breath, reminding herself to stay near the doorway and all will be fine in this tiny, closed in, barely enough room to stretch the wings properly, hut. A quick glance would make it seem as though it was empty, and yet a feeling persisted that it was a lie. Pulling the snowy plumage of her wings as tightly as possible down her back, Arysel surveys the scene carefully, catching a shimmer just out of the corner of her eye. Looking back in that direction, the corner furthest from herself, Arysel calls out tentatively, "Tenebrae. It's Ary. I've brought you something." With that, the avian would pull from her satchel, five cloth wrapped bottles. Working the stopper from the first, she pulls it off the blood wine, suspecting that perhaps the scent alone would draw the vampire out of hiding. Being sure that these would be the first items seen, and not a living, breathing, blood pounding through her veins, woman, Arysel places them as near to the center of the room as possible before making her way to the wall nearest the door once more.
In the void there was peace. Rest. No sense of self or any other. Nothingness... so sweet a nullity that the vampiress, hanging amid it like an anomaly of being, had given in to temptation and let herself drift, long and far from the labyrinthine turmoil, the agony and thrill, the neverending clockwork of her own mind. "Is this what it is to be dead..?" had been her final thought, having forgotten how she came here, and why. Indeed, had she not still occupied her flesh, there would have been nothing in existence to pull her from this sublime unity with what was --unbeknownst to her-- the core of Chaos itself, the great abyssal Eye in the Storm of all Creation. For it was there she had wandered, in her mind, drawn to it perhaps via her lineage, her link to Eldritch and the Pool, both Lords of Chaos. She was at the furthermost edge of it and only the merest dream of it at that, yet it beckoned her like a vasty Mother calling its daughter home. Still, the fact remained that she -did- occupy her flesh, and that flesh had not fed for a good number of days now. And so it was that, when Arysel entered the hut, uncorked the wine and set it out, the drift of living and bottled blood-scent wafted through the air, and set the vampiress twitching. In the void, she felt -- and the sudden return of awareness was like a knife in hour soul -- a terrible urge to let it all go, give in to the something that was drawing her backward at a rush, sucking her out of the Abyss. Her body was rebelling, fighting for its survival and, like a beast enraged, sprung from out the shadows, mindless as a newborn revenant -- which without Tene "in" it, it was -- toward the source of food. Fortunately for Arysel, the first thing it would encounter was the bottles, which it grabbed up and drained, one after another. Eyes glinting ferally, it grunted and sucked the wine down, gaze roaming the room for its next meal. They'd alight on Arysel, just as Tenebrae herself was screaming, somewhere in the depths of her consciousness, mentally clawing at the walls of her mind, unwilling to return to the raw, heavy clot of pain that was physical existence.
Arysel stared, gap jawed and dumbfounded at the creature that looked like Tenebrae, but, in some manner was not the woman who had become like a friend. Arysel edged toward the door, trying to calm her breath and racing heart when she heard another clink or three come from the bag. Seeing how fast Tenebrae had drunk down the five that had been left, Arysel wonders if more wouldn't begin to sooth the vampire into something of a normal state. "Tenebrae, it's Ary. I have more, lots more." Reaching into that satchel again, she pulls forth another bottle and crouches down, keeping a wary eye on the woman before her, unsure just how far gone she was with hunger.
Tenebrae -- or, more properly at this point, the vampiric flesh that housed her -- gave a low growl, creeping forward more like an animal than the beautiful woman it resembled, sniffing the air suspiciously. The avian's words made little sense to it, the vampiress' name a vague trigger of recognition in its limbic awareness, and it was Ary's good fortune to have brought that extra wine that the creature descended on now to slake its terrible thirst. And then, perhaps hurried along by Arysel’s soft voice, perhaps merely forced back in to her flesh by the irresistible forces of Nature and Fate, the necromancer was slammed back into her body, an abrupt howl erupting from it. The bottle dropped and smashed on the hut floor. Tenebrae cowered, gaze dropping to the glass shards that shone in the candle-light. Her breaths were deep, as though she struggled to recall how to breathe, and finally the creature that would glance back up to the avian was.... Tenebrae. "Ary." The word was merely a breath voiced, and followed by another as her splintered consciousness gathered itself to whole again, and memory came with it. "Senka..." She'd struggle to rise, looking panicked, and push past the winged woman in a rush to exit the hut. "I must see to Senka."
Mangrove Beach ----------------------------
Arysel hurried out of the hut to follow Tene, fearing that perhaps someone was hurt, "Tenebrae, wait! Let me help. I do have some skill in healing!" It was unclear and rather confusing, as to who this Senka was, but it appeared to be someone important to the complex woman. With a heavy sigh, Arysel pushes a stray strand of honey toned hair out of her eyes. "At the very least, let me get someone to help." The last was muttered, knowing the immediate refusal that would come at such a suggestion.
Arysel was, of course, right in her assumption. "No help.." Tene's eyes roamed the empty beach, noting the paw prints leading away from a deep, orc-shaped indentation in the sand. "She's gone..." A quick glance Ary's way. "Uh. Thankyou. For the wine." The vampiress seemed embarrassed, and was. Her tongue seemed a thick knot in her mouth. "I'm alright. It was Senka who was wounded." Tene shook her head. "But she has gone." Her need for immediate action negated, if not the panic that had caused it, she sat down heavily. "So much for solitude." Another quick glance up, apologetic. "No offence, pet. It's good to see you again."
Arysel nods, following Tene's roaming eyes, unsure just what it was the woman was looking at. "Oh, you're welcome. Actually, Dallon, my teaching partner, procured quite a few bottles for me." At the mention of someone being wounded, Ary's quick eyes dart about, scanning for the tell-tale drops of blood, or streaks, depending on the amount of damage. Finding none, Arysel would merely shrug and sit next to Tenebrae, answering the last of her comments, "I like to visit you. No one should ever be alone, especially, I'm thinking, you." A wry little smile twists her lips as she casts a side-long glance at the vampire, "Another wine?"
Tenebrae was also puzzled by the lack of blood, of which there had been plenty, earlier. Her unspoken question would be answered, then, by the minute scuttle of the tiny crabs that had so neatly picked the beach free of mingled orcen, vampire and lycan gore and were now heading back to the shelter of murky mangroves. Tene would give Arysel a wry smile, and shake her head. "I feel bloated already." She wasn't sure why, and a brief of worry as to how she'd fed worried her. Where was Gomrak? But she'd let none of it show, a short laugh given before she next spoke: "It must seem to you as though I'm always in a fix." Dallon. She knew that name. "Dallon, eh? I know of him, a fine man. I'm glad you have his company. How came you by it?" Another deft change of topic. Their conversations were sometimes rather like a game of chess, she thought, and smiled again.
Arysel coughs to hide the sudden bout of laughter, quite aware of Tenebrae's tactic, "Oh, we met at a cliff of sorts and struck up a musical conversation. It wasn't long and he was asking my assistance in teaching. He's a rather entertaining fellow, to say the least. You should come and hear him play sometime, perhaps when I audition for you at the Corpse, he will sing while I play." Pausing a moment, Arysel seems to be pondering something then, as though it had just occurred to her.." Some one going by the name of Kasyr left a note asking for information about you." Idly running her fingers through the sand, strange pictures are drawn.
Tenebrae allowed the guise of a smile to continue as Arysel explained her meeting with the well-known bard. Indeed, it'd be quite the pleasure to have them at... Her smile faded. The Corpse was a place she'd likely never see again, and to her chagrin found herself missing it. Ary's next words had her look to the avian sharply. "Kasyr?" Oh, great. If the tiefling was on her trail, there was a good chance her solitude would be further compromised. She gave a ragged sigh, and shook her head. "Trust him to poke his nose in." Once more, she found she wasn't all that displeased at heart, and frowned at herself. Too, there was Senka... As memories slowly seeped back to her, like water through sand, she would turn to look toward the paw prints. How could she let the wolfess suffer, at the hands of Imar? Her frown deepened. Finally, she'd turn back to Arysel, the avian's wings bright under the gibbous moon. "How am I to live, among my people, when I am so cursed?"
Arysel shrugs, sending a few loosened feathers fluttering to the ground. "My dear friend, I do not know. I know that the impression I gleaned from the brief note was that you have people who care for you very much." Not privy to the thoughts that ran through Tenebrae's mind, Arysel continues, absently rubbing at her forehead, " I do not know the nature of your curse, but I know that running and hiding won't make it go away. Keeping yourself secluded won't make others stop caring and wanting to be near you. You have that kind of personality you know. You draw others to you like a moth to a flame. The moth knows it will get burned, or at the very least singed, but the simple beauty of the light beckons and entices that eventually the moth is drawn close. You shine, Tenebrae. Whether you want to or not, the moths are drawn to you."
Tenebrae's features softened as she listened, fingers plucking up one of the loose pinions shed from the avian's wings. Twirling it in her fingers, she'd respond softly, "Aye, and like the moths, they end up charred and flightless, or dead." Focussing on the feather, she continued. "I love them, too, you know. Every one of them. They're my people..." Ary might catch the import of the words to the vampiress, through her tone. "All I've ever wanted is to give them a home. But instead, I draw on them suffering and deprivation, and the curse that is my birthright. Many have been touched by it..." She thought of the pool, and its obsidian liquid seemed to ripple through her mind. "And will never be the same."
Arysel sighs softly and looks at Tenebrae. The usually light hearted songstress was still and thoughtful for a moment. "Do you think they'd want any different than you've given them?" Arysel can't help but think about how she'd change, knowing Tenebrae, or any of the other people she'd met since coming to these lands, "I don't want to be the same as I was before I met you."
Tenebrae's frown returned to furrow her brow a little. The avian made entirely too much sense, but still, Ary had no knowledge of the Pool, the Chaos Lords, the wars that seemed to follow her steps like starving curs. Was it all worth it, to those who suffered the fallout? "You have a point, Arysel. But still, I cannot know their hearts." Especially those who'd died... or vanished. Leoxander was a wound that would never heal, and her beloved Creature, gone also-- was she driven away, too? "I fear they are mistaken, in their loyalty. Surely, they would rather be free of trouble?" She sighed. "Let us talk of it no longer. But I promise, I will think on what you've said." Her gaze was drawn to the moon above, waning now in its cycle, not quite a full circle. "Tell me of your home."
Arysel knew when to back off, and this was that time. "Home. Home is very far away, and very beautiful. You'd have to see it for yourself. The spires, the towers, the buildings with enough room to stretch out in! And, if you decide to walk the streets, there are so many markets, filled with activity. I taught the children music. Some went on to be great bards. Others, well, they just didn't take to the music. Kizar shines on it's floating island like a jewel. Or, it did when I left." Heaving a great sigh, Arysel wondered if she'd ever see home again. And if she did, would it be with the one she secretly longed for? To return without him would not be going home at all. Shaking her head to ward off that line of thought, Arysel poses her own question, "And what of yours? Before you were Tenebrae, Clan leader and Tavern owner?"
Though questions about the avian's homeland burned her tongue, Tene had been taken aback by Ary's question. Quid pro quo, it seemed. She mused a moment, as though deciding how much to tell. "In a nutshell, I was a street urchin. That's all. A terrible little theif." That wasn't all, but she was un willing to drag Arysel into the knowledge of Eldritch, the Chaos Lords and the fate they had created for her. Best to leave things simple... "I was orphaned young, raised on the streets by an elf named Garath. He taught me how to survive, while I was still human. Then he vanished, and I..." She'd skip a good portion of her tale, wondering where to pick it up again. "... I was attacked by some vampires, and went into seclusion. Then I returned..." The festering, hateful sore left by Laethalion was also glossed over. "And stayed, got to know people. Ate a few." A sideways glance to Arysel held something of her old mischief. "Then I met Leo. He was my love..." Her gaze saddened, and turned to the sea. "Why'd you leave this marvellous land of yours? It sounds peaceful."
Arysel knew, just knew there was more that Tenebrae wasn't saying, but the tale was hers to tell when she wanted. Arysel could imagine this woman as a child, beautiful even then she'd think, survival an all consuming instinct in any species. Why had she left? Now, that was a good question, "I followed my heart and it told me to come here. It was peaceful, but then the dragons began to claim more and more of the sky as theirs. Our warriors, well, they've grown fewer now."
Tenebrae had never paid all that much attention to the history of the lands she dwelled in. She'd never been to any kind of school -- she supposed Garath's lessons didn't count as such -- and knew only what she'd gleaned from conversations during her years. She knew the avians were an ancient race, and that they'd gradually vanished. "It seems your numbers are increasing again. I swear I saw a few wheeling in the sky yesterday. Too big to be birds, too small for dragons. So..." Neatly avoiding any more questions. "What are your plans, now you're here? Working at the Corpse would only take up some of your time. Have you any other means to occupy yourself?'
Arysel laughed, nothing humorous mind, just a short, harsh kind of sound. "Our numbers do increase, but amount of warriors doesn't. No, nothing else to occupy my time. My thoughts maybe, my time, no. Dallon's current pupil seems reluctant to learn from me, so I don't bother with her." Following one's heart had seemed so romantic, adventurous and exciting not so long ago. Now, all she had found was disappointment, confusion, and heartache. "I am sure to find other hobbies though. No need to worry about me.”
Tenebrae raised a brow, her lips parting to voice the ideas and offers of help that swelled in her mind. But she caught herself, and stopped; to enact this help, she’d need to be back in Vailkrin. And that wasn't going to happen any time soon. Perhaps. "You could put a note up, asking for students? I'd noticed a few young bards around town, before I left." And next, another burning question. "What of the avians now? Have they a home again, here? What's it like?" Despite herself, Tene was a political creature. And a nosy one, at that.
Arysel shrugs, not sure she even wanted to take on a student. It was hard enough just to concentrate on turning the volume down on the music in her own head, let alone try not to hear the ones in someone elses. "We are around. I dont think we all stay in the same place, I know my friend Tess stays in a castle in Venturil. Where anyone else sleeps is beyond me. Speaking of sleep, it is late and the sun will be up soon. You should go and rest some more. I'll be back at sunset."
Tenebrae took that information in, almost wishing she could see Demont to grill him, too. But she'd offer Ary a warmer smile than she gave most people, and tucked the feather behind one ear. "See you then. And thankyou." She stood, shaking sand from the ruin of her dress. "For everything."
Arysel said to Tenebrae, "You're welcome. Tie the feather in your hair. It might bring you luck."
Tenebrae grinned, and nodded. "I will do that. A bit of luck would be handy." But the avian was already wingspread and taking off, merely a shadow over the moon a moment later.
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