|
Post by Joliette Thorne on Aug 19, 2008 5:40:52 GMT -5
Ever Out Of Control (The Curse of the Corpse) And as you're laughing at this fool tonight... Let me rid myself of any line that I might choose to trip you up. As I'm howling at the moonlight, don't you kid yourself, I will be your luck and never be your curse.* Blood and vomit. Decay... the grim pieces of a hideous puzzle. His own dreams were meaningless... only a vague reflection of events that had, or might transpire. The rogue possessed no extraordinary powers as the 'ghost' girl did, or anyone else for that matter, but his mind had been tricky as of late. He lay there exhausted, in a nest of flattened grass and broken fence, that clean shirt he'd been wearing now a tattered, bloody mess. Static images scripted across his subconscious mind... a haunting scene unfolding - one he couldn't stop. A half-headless, lifeless Jack, his insides out, leaking something green-yellow and toxic. The loyal dog stood there with blank brown eyes and appeared to be rotting away, nasty substances melting down over skinned patches of what matted fur was left. Surrounding him... self mutilation, overwhelming shame, those constant screams given no mercy and no breath... closing in until Leo woke violently, baring four fangs and opening his wild eyes to look through the empty darkness. The ache of an uncompleted transformation tore through him and he groaned out loud in frustration as he forced his body to reverse the minor change his emotion had triggered. Panted breath fogged the night air and the thief sat recovering, hoping for silence but there were distance howls in his ears. Whether real or echoes of frequent nightmares... he wasn't sure. One hand rose to rub the sweat and shed fur from his face, but he paused to inspect the obvious stain on his calloused fingers. Evidence of stress drawn slowly over his features. Yellow. The color of cowards, and the lost. *(Lyrics Courtesy of Audioslave) ___________________________________________________
Behold, I send an Angel before thee, to keep thee in the way, and to bring thee into the place which I have prepared.
-- Exodus, 23:20
The serpent is crawling inside of your ear
[/i] -- Iron Maiden, "Be Quick Or Be Dead"[/center] Half-burned bits of timber and torn upholstery littered the streets like the remnants of some insane and violent parade. Here and there, as the necromancer’s boots ticked over the dwarvish blackstone paving of Hemlock Way, she passed by a charred and smoking mound of malformed matter that may here have been a chair, or there a table. Worse, if not more disturbing to the predator, were the bodies; some had been sundered piece from piece, and others seemed to have died from a cause other than the Hanging Corpse’s malignantly possessed tavern-furnishings, entirely whole and unwounded but for fingertips still gouged deep into eyeless sockets, looks of such horror branded into their faces that she could not help but look away. The night reeked of burning and death, and the vampiress observed it all with a grave mien, arms wrapped about her torso below her dark-woven cloak, as she paced the road toward the western end of the town. The debris grew thicker here, and among the twisted corpses she saw that more of them were children, the further westward she walked. “So this is the path you travelled...” Her words were spoken to the dark, her gaze darting about the now all-too-still street as if the one she addressed were omnisciently present in the fouled air itself. “… left yourself a lovely trail.” Tenebrae paused once she reached the avenue of overhanging trees for which the road was named. The trunks were blackened in places, and the limbs were even more gnarled now than before, seeming at times like grasping hands poised, ready to snatch her up. She shivered, canting her chin at a determined angle, and willed herself to walk on. Her steps would falter, though, a few paces into the shadow of the trees. Tene’s voice sounded sharply across the faint creak of wood groaning, perhaps a remnant barrel seeking a last victim to flatten. Her sword was unsheathed smoothly and without sound. “Who’s there?” Daein knew his eyes must have widend at the womans questioning his presense, so surprised at the sound of creaking wood under his feet. The High Elf, high in one of the hemlock trees, was gathering leaves, the such a base in one of his poisons. Truly the fair elf was not a user of such, but one needed the poison to puzzle out the cure. Slipping lightly and lithely to the ground, Daein approached the vampire, pulling back his hood so his face could be seen in the light. Eyes passing here and there, from corpse to corpse, burning pile of debris and the such, he'd let rest on the woman, wondering if such things were her own cause. Hands falling seemingly relaxed to his sides, but still closer to the blades of his twin long katanas, Daein stated and asked, "I am Daein, healer extraordinare. And you are? And more to the point....What happened here?" “Gods.. dammit, man…” The woman lowered her sword, already weilded midway into an arc that might have bisected the elf were Tenebrae’s reflexes any duller. “Get yourself killed, leapin’out of nowhere like that.” She did not re-sheath the weapon, just yet, nor reveal her name. Studying Daein closely, her eyes narrowed slightly, she added, “Had a mishap, in the tavern.” That was sheer understatement. “Furniture got possessed. Went on a rampage.” One white hand gestured across the disastrous street, as another groan sounded from further to the west; this time, it did not sound much like the complaint of wood. “This is the result. The high elf's eyes go wide once more, as he watches....Is that an arm chair!? Yes, an arm chair it is! Well, the elf watches as an arm chair runs at Tenebrae, the woman still having not named herself. The chair moved in much the fashion of a wild boar, and in seeing this, Daein sprinted at the woman without word or warning. Snatching half of a stool (and mentally noting that it still writhed about like a live-thing) he hurled it at the arm chair, watching with a grin as the two pieces smashed together, crumbling. As he had ran, before he threw the stool’s remains, he had slid, and should Tene have not moved by now, he would surely be near her left side, waist high. “Fire..” She uttered, when the bar-seat smashed upon the padded chair. Daein’d find himself hoisted up hastily by the collar while on its brass rollers the cracked, now-backless and half-charred chair continued an unsteady but determined course toward the pair. From its torn arms crooked timber poked at odd angles, giving the appearance of pincered claws, one of which was mostly charcoal now. A booted foot struck out to kick the thing over, a strip of leather scraped from footwear when it snapped its unnatural limb at her. The thing swayed, then toppled, its wheels spinning and timber groping furiously for the next victim. “Fire ends them more quickly.” There was an odd calm about her as peridot eyes settled on the elf, and she let him go. “And they call me Tenebrae.” Daein chuckled as he was stood back up, speaking hastily, "Nice to meet you, Tenebrae. So, what should we do about these...Well, exactly, what in the thrice-damned Nine Hells are these?" Figuring his thin swords lacked crushing power, and his bow the same, the elf reached high above his head, breaking off a tree branch to use as a club. Looking down both ways of the lane, he spoke, "Should we retreat to the Inn, down east of here, or make a stand, do you think? Either way seems messy." Finicky about his clothing, he noted a spot of rotting wood on his hood-collar, and picked it off with long, slender glove-encased fingers. Tenebrae shook her head vehemently. “No.. not the tavern. That’s where it began.” She winced at the thought of the carnage she’d left. “The furniture was.. I suppose you might say, imbued with unnatural life. Things there are still quite strange. I came to see what happened out here.” She glanced around, an inclusive gesture. “Not too different, really. Though there’s not many left still moving.” The necromancer gave the chair another vicious kick. “Don’t suppose you’ve got any matches on you?” Rheven comes to a landing from the sky, his leathery wings folding back as he comes to survey the scene. Dead bodies, charred furniture; it's a peculiar scene indeed, and is clearly reflected by the revenant's puzzled look. "...What is -this-?" A foot suddenly kicks out, knocking over a loose shred of fabric from an armchair. Daein claps his hands, his gloves sending sparks. Not magic in the least, save perhaps the way they were made, one glove sewn from flint, the other of steel, both made of such a fine thread of both elements that surely magic was in the creation, but not in the use. Looking into Tene's eyes, likely for amusement, or even astonishment, he'd flinch as Rheven landed near. Bending at the waist, Daein lifted a leg of a chair, a piece of its upholstery still attached. Holding it in the crook of his arm, he'd clap over it, sparks flying until it lit a-flame, and held it out to Tenebrae, before lighting one of his own. Rheven lofts a pale brow, ignoring the fairly bothersome emphasis on his royal status. "...He? Whom do you speak of? Although...in any case, I am unconcerned. If you wish, let us go." Pausing for a brief moment, the revenant glances at Tenebrae with a slight grin, showing a trace of his blackened fangs - which more resemble carved obsidian than rot, thankfully. "...By the way...in the future, should you feel so slighted, try not to take it out on my jaw again..." Trailing off, the amusement fades from the mage's features as a glance is given westward in anticipation. Daein watches the dispute between the two, one hand holding his own torch. A cursory glace at Rheven tells the high elf that he needn't make a torch for him, surely if he was in need, he could light the whole area in flame. A shiver at the thought, Daeins distaste for large magics flashed in his eyes as he began to lead the way west, scouting ahead as was his modus operandi. Assuming the other two trailed him, he'd move slowly, watching for any charging...Furniture. The idea still astounded the elf. Tenebrae scowled, and for a moment her eyes drifted.. lower. “I promise, it won’t be your jaw that next meets my ire.” She waved the burning chair-leg experimentally, the flame making a glowing arc of motion through the air. “- Sire-” She moved off then, her steps more silent for walking on the balls of her feet so steel did not sound shrilly on stone. “And you may well be concerned, for this is no mere creature of the earth or sky that plagues us.” Tene paused in her stride, long enough to add. “You are well aware of the nature of the .. problems.. in my Headquarters, I take it?” He might not hear the low grumble to follow, “If you haven’t a penchant for forgetting things like that as well.” Daein would receive a motion of her free hand, a suggestion that he scout ahead a little, but she found the elf had already taken up the task. Either side of the trio, the branches seemed to grow more twisted and loom closer, the path narrowing as they moved deeper into the walkway. Rheven chuckles softly, finding a bit of humor where Tenebrae clearly finds none. "Well...save it for another time. But..." Again the traces of amusement fade and a hand lifts, making some sort of vague gesture with his fingers as an orb of flame oozes into existence before him. Acting as his makeshift, no-hands lantern, it seems almost sentient as it advances along with him. "...Just what exactly are you referring to? I heard of no problems since it was rebuilt..." Daein continues to lead the threesome, minding his own business on the topic of the two hissing at each other. His eyes remain alert for any sign of motion, any threat that might present itself. The elf is wrapped in a tight, lithe suit of green leather, tiny leaves carved into it like the runes on so many a magic vestement. His torch leading the way, he'd surely know if any attack came from the front. Off-setting his silence, he betrays his cheery-demeanor with the whistling of a merry sea-tune. The vampiress did not look aside to Rheven as she advanced on the path. "Not the tavern... though that is a mess enough. I meant the clan Headquarters, down near Gualon." He'd probably catch the deep frown that puckered her brow, then, if he was looking. "Something nasty has wandered loose from it. Come after me. Come after us all." She used her free hand to unsnag a corner of her shadow-wrought cloak from a protuberant twig, and tuck the garment a little tighter about herself. "It has the guise of a man. But it isn't all a man. It's..." Lips pressed together firmly, she faltered. "A blasphemy. And it's invading the minds... " And the bodies, she didn't say, Deilakrion's awful fate at the hands of the "trick", as he called himself, still a thing that sickened her beyond the measure or capacity of speech. "..of my clan, and others. It's getting stronger by the minute." She gave a sharp sigh, and lapsed into silence. Until the elf started.. whistling... She had no time to voice her disapproval of the noise, before the limb of a hemlock bent with a crackle, its twigs groping for Daein, who was but a shadow further along the road. "Watch out!" At her cry, other branches bent toward the Arch-mage and Tenebrae. The necromancer swooped her torch toward the nearest, which retracted and whipped about viciously as though enraged. Rheven does catch Tenebrae's frown, his own brow furrowing in thought. "...The guise of a man?" He goes silent as the trek continues, thoug the damnable branch that bends near him is swatted rather harshly, much as one would a mangy pet...except with more force, of course. The limb of the strange tree snaps back at being struck in such a way, and the arch mage continues speaking. "As I was saying...it sounds like some sort of spirit. If he...she...it, takes the guise of a man, perhaps it is some sort of skin walker. A doppleganger, some may call it. Or do you believe the origin is a little..." He chews on his bottom lip a moment, "...Different?" Tenebrae muttered, as another branch descended to claw at her and was beaten back with the fire it appeared to fear, "Different isn't the word... and it's no doppleganger or spirit. Do you recall me talking of my Maker, at all?" She did glance at him then, the look in her eye communicating the dread which that title held for her. "This one is of the same ilk. And that blasted Pool. I should have destroyed it, when I could." The vampiress picked up her pace, eager to be free of the animate grove. As if it sensed her hurry, one of the trees chose that moment to drop the body of one of its victims from earlier in the night to the ground, where it landed with a horrible, wet 'smack' at Tene's feet. She almost tripped on the ruin of a body shredded beyond recognition. "Ugh... " And then the elf was hoisted by his legs, yelling and struggling while his arboreal assailant drew him closer to the mass of its branches above. Too high for her to reach. She's look to Rheven again, the plea for him to help her new -- and somewhat foolhardy -- acquaintance in her eyes. Rheven cannot help but chuckle slightly as Daein is lifted up into the air by the rogue, mischevious branch. Without another thought, the revenant's wings suddenly unfurl and he takes to the sky again, though hardly so high; only enough to be level with the dangling elf. "You have to be on your toes in this city..." A few more branches curl out at the vampire, as if to ensnare him as well, but a simple wave of the hand and they catch flame, writhing about as if in pain. Taking the iniatiive, the mage grabs hold of Daein and forcibly separates him from the branch, giving it a brief kick with his heel before descending to the ground and setting the high elf upon his feet again. Peering back up at the flaming branches, another gesture is given and they extinguish...perhaps they've learned their lesson by now, for they stay still. Daein begins brushing his clothes off frantically, the trees stationary, paused in thier movement. Trudging onward, his jaws clenched shut, the elf moves in silence, except a curt nod to Rheven in thanks. Moving with more speed in his step, the elf carries both of his blades at the ready, heading west. Whatever Tenebrae had been expecting to find, once they cleared the treeline, it wasn’t this. Her hurried steps slowed, then stopped while the scene dawned upon her, and she the torch fell from her hand to sputter out on the blood-slick ground as her mind struggled to take the whole of it in. The once-lovely fountain was surrounded by a pile of shattered bodies and ruined timber, and the stone figures on their pedestal were now mockeries of themselves-- the Lord and Lady were no longer elegant, but leering in the most horrible of manners, with an identical, manical grin. It was one Tenebrae knew all too well. Her stomach lurched, as next she observed the row of heads surrounding the base. Where the likenesses of the races had been, there now were the heads of Vailkrin urchins, their little faces twisted into the same sickly grimace as the statues. “Gods…” It was a strangled sound, and her next words would be unintelligible as her tongue thickened in her mouth and they tumbled out backwards. What had she meant to say was, “..help us, what has he done?” For the worst of it all, by far, was the sight of the liquid that sparkled and glittered in its trickling and pluming, no longer blood-- but a quicksilver ichor that told her the “trick” had gained another foothold in this world. “D… don’t…” The necromancer furrowed her brow, fighting to keep her speech straight and her stomach from emptying its contents on the stone below. “Touch it.” Rheven once more was the subject of pleading eyes, which held more than a hint of panic. “G..go. Now. Please-- you m-must go!” Her palms shoved at the arch-mage, who’d be near knocked off his feet if he didn’t make some move backward, away from the ghastly monument, to avoid it. Rheven gave her a hard, amost angry look and shrugged. "As you wish." The revenant launched himself aloft and was soon winging away, just a dark shape in the sky. The elf, too, needed no further encouragement and followed suit as he could, bolting off to the west rather than once more facing those trees again. For a moment quicksilver seemed to flow, just as the crimson vitae had before. Calm in the bowl of the fountain. Slowly, the liquid began to churn and bubble, rising just above the edge. First appeared the crown of her head, blonde locks untouched by the fluid as it parted, giving birth to a familiar figure. Wings spread out, three times her height in width, as what appears to be Arysel rises, head bowed and hands folded serenly before her. The familiar lyre is at her hip, but twisted in a horrific way, a mockery of the beautiful instrument. When she raises her head, her eyes open, cold, grey and empty. Finally, she hovers just above the fountain. One foot is extended as though to step down, her movements jerky and uneligant, as though it weren't she wasn't used to such actions. When, finally, her feet touch the debris and body strewn ground, she barely spares a glance for the litter. No, her eyes are for Tenebrae as is her objective. Each careful step towards the vampire deliberately placed until she stands before her. A smile, a corrupted image of the Bard's usual warm and friendly greeting is given as she bends forward, to attempt to wrap her arms around Tenebrae in a cold simile of a hug. Her lips move slowly, words soft, "Hello, Darkness. It's soo very good to see you." “No...” Still quite as scarlet as the puddles of grue pooled at her feet, long hair shifted in waves as Tene shook her head in a futile denial of what she was watching: her friend, rising from the tainted fluid, like some ethereal goddess of the waters, serene and still. Arysel.. she had no idea how the woman came to be in the Trick's clutches, but had to assume the avian dead, merely another of his meat-puppets now. "No, you can't have...." But he -did- have her, Tenebrae's guardian 'angel', and the winged woman stepped awkwardly down from the lip of the fountain's bowl, she found herself wishing she had not forced the others to leave. "S...stop." But it came out, "Pots...s", a ludicrous inversion to which the avian's body smiled, if that sickly expression might be called a smile, and reached for her the way Arysel would have, by way of greeting. The vampiress stumbled back from the dread embrace, a low moan stifling in her throat. She'd been punished again for defying Wile, or the thing that controlled him. She, and one that she loved as her own. "K..kill you." The laughter given in response was as horrible as any other factor surrounding this moment. Tenebrae did not know what to do. How to respond. So she simply took the route most clearly presented to her, turned on her heel and fled as fast as trembling legs could carry her, back into that sullied avenue of trees, for good or ill. And a mind well-versed in healing itself, in surviving horrors, was already erasing small details of the experience in an attempt to keep itself sane. But even then this was something that'd haunt Tene’s dreams for all her remaining time, however much of it she had. Arysel moves, with feet pointed, her toes barely skimming the ground. A facsimile of flight, though her pristine, overly white wings have yet to even flutter. "Darkness, don't you care for me? Love me? Your guardian angel?" Mocking laughter follows the vampiress, haunting as it echos down the road. "Kill your friend? You'd kill me?" The fountain gurgles and bubbles as though it shares the laughter, the dark humor that possesses the avian. “N...not my..." She had not the will to speak all of it through gritted teeth, nor hardly the breath as her limbs pumped harder to gain distance on the being that followed her. Tene dared not turn around, but it seemed to her that its voice had sounded close. Of course, she realised -- Arysel, or what had once been Arysel, could fly. Hurdling the bodies and piles of ash and ruin, she fled that street as though hell itself was on her heels, knowing all the while what a useless act it was. If she could only gain a little distance, pull herself back into that nowhere she created in her mind, before... The vampiress had an idea, then. She skidded to a halt, sliding half to the ground in the effort of stopping, and doubled back in a slightly wider loop, heading for the graveyard. Never had she run so fleetly, in all her existence, or with such sheer terror at her heels. "Faster, " she told herself, "faster..." Arysel merely chuckles, those dead eyes watching every move that Tenebrae makes. It was useless, they both knew it. Running wouldn't get Tenebrae anywhere but cornered. Humming under her breath, the song having no power behind it because, of course, this is a warped and sick version of the Avian. In a sing song voice, she calls out, letting the vampire get ahead by quite a margin. "I'm going to find you, Darkness. I'm going to find you, and you can't stop me." The taunt is followed by another laugh. Chilling and humorless. Entering the graveyard, she inhales sharply, "Ooh, death. How appropriate." The last was said on a slight purr. Time passed. All was still. The tomb was as quiet as a .. well, a tomb, but for a fervent and mute whisper only mouthed by feverish lips, “I am not.. I am nothing…” Curled into a foetal ball, Tenebrae passed hours thus, hidden from even herself. When finally something - she could not, and would never know what - stirred her from the coma-like trance, there’d be more hours spent poised, silent, listening. At last she suffered the pain of stretching her limbs and crept from the mausoleum where she’d sought sanctuary. Some merciful part of her promised it had all been a horrible dream while she travelled diverse roads back to the Hanging Corpse, though the destruction on that path would expose the lie thoroughly. She would choose to believe it, however, for now at least, because she had to. She -had- to. By the time she reached the tavern door, there’d be little in her demeanour to suggest the fright she’d just had. But hidden in the vampiress' mind was also both a dawning realisation that bobbed to the surface as she gained the steps, and a useful truth which might surface later, perhaps. For now, all Tenebrae wanted was to see a living face, a friendly face. A face that did not possess a madman’s smile.
|
|
|
Post by Joliette Thorne on Aug 20, 2008 8:31:20 GMT -5
Caedan is still poised on the bottom-most step of the staircase, blankets clutched against her throat, breath still coming in short puffs of visible air. Shivering now, the viscous fluid coating her, along with the lingering frigidity of the tavern is not the best climate for a mortal, but she's spotted Red now in her periphery, a broken shell of a man. Booted feet carry her towards him, slicing through the ebony puddles that suck at them until she stands before him. Without inquiry or explanation, she'll fling the blanket over his head so that they both stand in the muted cocoon she's created, until he can compose himself, or push her away. Plus, she looks a bit like a hanging rug, so the rousing furniture might be mercifully deceived. Caedan said, "Go ball roll!"
Spawne raised his head to meet his gaze with hers. He made no effort to wipe away the teary streaks from his eyes, instead he offered Caedan a gentle, apreciative smile.
Tenebrae pushed the door open, just a crack, and scurried to the bar; a creaking armchair shuffled three chair-paced her way and then stopped, its cushions wheezing. She threw a tankard at it, which set the fireplace grinning. "I am in no mood for this..." The vampiress sat herself cross-legged on the counter, only now noticing the frost and chill of the room, the muddy patches. ".... what now?" But there were no staff to answer, most of them having been dismembered, the rest taking a well-deserved break.
Spawne stood in the middle of the room, two pairs of legs propping up the large blanket.
Tenebrae eyed the "tent". Thinking: "What…"
Caedan steps on Spawne's foot to go on tiptoe and gently remove one last clinging tendril of blackness, then pulls the blanket around herself again, cuddling into its warmth. Tenebrae is offered a faint wave as she slushes her way back to the staircase and sits a few steps up while waving off a last flurry of snowflakes shaken loose from the candelabra above.
Tenebrae said, out loud, "Erm. Things get strange again?" She winks, then, but only due to the snowflake that drifted to land in her eye.
Spawne seemed somewhat more like himself again, the brief moment spend in contact with his soul, now severed, proving to be rejuvenating for the Death Knight. "Strange? No... Yes."
Caedan idly swings her feet and attempts to lick errant flakes off her nose.
Tenebrae said, "I have discovered something."
Spawne said to Tenebrae, "It was Shishi."
Tenebrae shook her cloak out of her pack, wrapping it around herself. She glanced at Spawne, frowning. "I thought it was..." Her eyes went to Caedan. "Or do you mean..."
Caedan didn't look at Tenebrae, but stated rather plainly, "Your thoughts are very strange right now."
Spawne shrugged, taking up a spot near Caedan.
Tenebrae said, "... anyway. I have discovered something. Might help us, with our problem."
Caedan leans against whatever bit of him is closest, stealing whatever warmth she can. It's still a bit nippy for a mortal, by all accounts and purposes. She turns her head towards Tenebrae, waiting for her to continue.
Tenebrae wrapped her cloak a little tighter. "The fountain. It's not blood anymore." She paused, to let that fact sink in. "It's silver. Like the Pool."
Caedan quirks a brow, evidently not following this line of reasoning. She's been off all along, and now the future is one giant grey area for her.
"He's made another. And there's something else." Tene shrank into the shadowy garment draped about her, masking her mouth and nose from the cold. Her voice was a little muffled, when she spoke next, "He can do the same to people. And he IS the Pool, or something like it. We know what that thing does... " A white hand slid up the darkness of the cloak, scratched at her shoulder. "Caedan. We have to stop him."
Spawne quirked a brow. Seems Wile had more of himself than the tramp Kaine knew...
Caedan said to Tenebrae, "Well, I think we've got that much. This furniture thing was the last straw, really. We're going to have some crazy ghosts." She sneezes violently, and wipes her nose on Spawne's nearest article of clothing. "Right, we know what it does. So what do we do?"
Tenebrae pursed her lips at the question, her eyes drifting to Spawne. "I really.. don't know. Except this one thing: my maker is weak, out of his environment. This “trick” may be the same. He said he was the 'herald', right? And he is opening doors, and these doors give him power." She frowned, and chewed the inside of her cheek softly. "What if we starve him?"
Spawne frowned, for he worried what the implications may be on himself, "Starved... Like how?"
Tenebrae glanced the big, red man's way again. "Stop him being able to enter these places. And.. perhaps shield ourselves from him." She tugged the cloak down from her nose, and her sigh was a long, white plume of breath. "I just am not sure exactly how to do that, yet."
Caedan sneezes again, three times in rapid succession, proceeded by a violent shiver. "I ...uh ... ah ... " she stifles another sneeze, and disappears further into her blanket cocoon, muffled words finding their way out. "I know how."
Tenebrae perked at the psychic's words, and had opened her mouth to say something when there was a sharp crack, as if of overheated stone, and her gaze shifted to the fireplace. The goblin-faced hearth had closed its fanged maw, and black stone buckled and cracked as it took all the appearance of puffing its cheeks. She was still frowning at it when a sudden bloom of coalchunks and sparks burst across the hoary frost still settled on the tavern, and a blue-grey blur, popped from that 'mouth' like a pea from a child's paper blowgun, was spat toward the stairs.
Caedan eyes the hearth cautiously, prepared to make an easy escape up the flight of stairs it couldn't yet climb. When it releases its coal-smudged prisoner, she hooks a foot around Red's ankle and leans forward to snatch it eagerly from the floor. Triumphantly it is held aloft, and she proclaims with a wheeze and a twinkle in her eye, "This is how." She palms the thing and retracts her hand back into the layers of blankets she's sporting before sitting with a thud. "The Pool didn't bind him. These will. Enough of 'em."
Spawne said to Caedan, "What y'got there?"
Caedan also realizes the shard is rather hot, nearly scalding hot, but she's rubbing it between her palms like it's a hot water bottle. Her teeth have only just stopped chattering.
Caedan said to Spawne, "A trick."
Spawne grunts quietly, fingers drifting upward to scratch the stubble beneath his chin. How daft he felt in the presence of the scheming women, "More rocks... more tricks...
Caedan said to Spawne, "You remember the thing we took?"
Tenebrae eyed the object, or as much as she could with the psychic's hands around it. "We're going to stop him.. with a rock?" She didn't mean to sound incredulous but, after all, the girl was... a little unstable at times. It took her a moment longer to recall the missile thrown to the silver-flooded and mocking hearth, and the horrifying jumble of a thing that had fled, after. Her cloak flapped softly about her as she unfurled her legs and slid from the counter, a few coal-crunching strides taken across the floor. "What is it, exactly... and took it from where?"
Spawne nods, "Still got the one you gave me... Can't get rid of it." He patted his pockets, hunting for a cigar, "Worked up some plans for what t'do with 'em, too... Can't remember where I left 'em."
Caedan said to Spawne, "Your cigars are in your other pants pocket. I ... uh ... may have taken ... Anyway." She's backing up a couple steps on her bum, uneasy with the sudden commotion. She explains to Tenebrae, "Well. It's in some kind of rock now ... but it was sharp and shining, and it sang a bit to me, so I took it away because it wasn't singing to them. That's all. But the card-player really doesn't like it. Hurts him."
Tenebrae said to Caedan, "May I..." She held out her hand, quite hesitantly. "Just for a moment."
Spawne blinked twice after hearing Caedans input, "I have another pair of pants...?" Perhaps the shard was there, also. "Where'd you leave 'em?"
Caedan said to Tenebrae, "Well. Do you want it open or closed? It isn't singing now. Don't know what you can find out if it isn't saying anything."
Caedan seems reluctant to let go of her heater, since Spawne is obviously not doing the trick.
Tenebrae blinked gently, and her voice was soft. "Closed. I think." Her trepidation was obvious.
Emoric eyes flickered from the shades of darkness rounding the outline of his eyes. Allowing his cranium to diligently avert slowly as the cold stern gaze would lay rest on the sleeping woman whom occupied the stairs. A slender digit began to reveal from under the layers of garments upon his arm, raveling into the well defined goatee, his thumb following slightly plucking at the stray's. Solemn grimace perching along the fixture of his facial features as he abruptly turned back to ponder aimlessly into the mild utopia in his mind.
Caedan lets the shard, covered in a protective casing of stone, fall into the vampiress' hand. She seems just as hesitant as Tenebrae, as if the thing were invisibly tied to her somehow.
Emoric reverted his attention span to the soft spoken voice. Hearing the sentence and noting it was beyond hours of service. Emoric's lips rounded open, to perch gently to speak audibly with suave elegance as he replied. "Excuse my late coming, I need no service...only I require to sit to myself if that is quite alright?"
Tenebrae was already wincing, even before the stone -- not too far different in colour to the slate hues of the psychic's eyes -- hit her palm. Two and two had abruptly made four, and the similar stones found on the island and elsewhere, thier mysterious properties, their habit of turning up the way they did, for people close to her -- it all made sudden sense. As she'd expected, the oblong rock's smooth surface was not on her hand more than a second before the air suddenly reeked of burning skin, and with a sharp cry, she pulled the appendage back. The stone went skittering to the stairs. Tene nursed the injury a moment, palm cupped, before she sucked a breath in and staved off the pain to extend it before her. The blisters were already forming, the mark slightly blackened at the edges. "This is something we can use. And there's more to this. Much more." The hand was cradled again, and she muttered, "Let's just hope it's not another step backward."
Spawne took a seat on the stair above Caedan, and though he blocked all but the agile from progressing upstairs, his burly forearms closed around the psychics sides. Not so much to transfer his miniscule body warmth to her, but to prevent any more of hers escaping into the frigid air.
Tenebrae turned pained eyes to the vampire. "Sure. Just don't sit on the..." She nodded toward a barstool, which was obligingly walking toward Emoric on two legs, the other two raised in a threatening posture.
Caedan leans down to recover her piece of the puzzle, cradling it with a sigh and smelling it with a suspicious sniff. The teen wrinkles her nose, promptly sneezes a good three odd times more, and leans back with a shiver and a sigh, taking advantage of the bit of warmth afforded by the burly giant blocking the path to the room she's adopted. Still studying her stone, she responds to Tenebrae in a subdued voice. "We can bind him or keep him out. I mean, in the mean time. There's more to be found. I can't see them all."
Spawne exhaled heavily, leaning inward to rest his square jaw atop Caedans head. "How many will it take?"
Emoric oblivously would have been taken by surprise, but the effort was nonchalent. His head falling to observe the rising stools below him. He abruptly stood averting his figure to turn away from the moving objects, his cape soaring by the quick motions as it wrapped around his bulky frame. A contorted grin arching along the corner of his lips as he began tread aloft, his back soon to be placed to the moving barstools. Taking mere seconds to find another empty chair, his slender digits began to grasp onto the wooden fixtures of the chair, placing himself into the seat. Emoric heavily sighed, a congested cough arriving yet again through the bowels of his escophagus, his vermillion ovules intentively watching the ongoing commotion quietly.
"More?" Tene’s tone was sharp with it, but the necromancer halted, frowning. "You're getting a cold, girl. You should see a healer. Stay warm." Her gaze wandered about the room, looking for Steadman. "We need warm milk!" The barstools were not to be deterred, possessed, as it were, by a force far greater than any of the small beings currently in the tavern. They's advance on Emoric, if not as quickly as they might have done, the evening prior. Tene gave him a concerned look, "Erm.. you might want to heed my advice, and stand. Or make sure what you're sitting on is dead, first."
Caedan bats at the top of her head, but settles against the gentle giant, huffing a soft, "Many more than what we have." She watches two barstools hop across the floor, a fork scuttling after them. "It was cold in here. Someone left a window open." Red is curbed a very pointed glare. "There's more. It does something if it's near another. Make him find the one I gave him. I'll show you." She peers upward, matching slate to peridot. "When it sings, I can feel them sometimes."
Emoric dissolved into layers of nothingness, the shadows delving into the passion of consumption as Emoric withered away. Mere seconds pass Emoric fixated into what seemed pixel by pixel along the fixings of the walls. Time passed as he sighed turning to check to see if the wall was fit to prop against, soon to place his back upon the wall as his arms folded afterwards.
Tenebrae turned her eyes to the Catastrophe, the sharp light in them returning.
Spawne twisted his lips, a wry gesture of irresolution, "In my other pants, aparrently. Milky eyes fell downward uopn Caedan again, "She had 'em, she says."
Caedan said to Spawne, "I didn't say I had 'em. I said your smoky sticks were in them."
Spawne said, "Said y'took 'em... Any idea where they are? And whos pants am I wearing now?"
Tenebrae peered at Red. "What happened to you?"
Caedan said to you, "He went all crazy and now he thinks I have his pants. Tell him his pants are upstairs where he left them. Like living with an animal."
Spawne said to Tenebrae, "What do you mean?"
Tenebrae glanced to the upper level, and back to Spawne.
Caedan said to Tenebrae, "And then he made it really cold, and then really gooey. Ask him. Because he did."
Tenebrae shook her head, wrapping one edge of her cloak about herself, and she looked away. "Never mind. Somethin' different about you." She said to Caedan, "...gooey? In any case. You need rest. Then we'll go look at the fountain."
Spawne rose to his feet, briskly rubbing Caedans arms one last time, to prolong her warmth in his absence, "Haven't had asmoke in a while." Withdrawl symptoms may well be the explanation for his behaviour, though it was more than nicotine that he craved. Trudging upstairs, he'd return following several thumps and crashes later, with a fresh pair of pants, a smoldering cigar in his right hand, and a perculiar fragment in his left.
Caedan muffles a giggle from inside her blanket at the racket upstairs, and holds out her hand when Red returns, intending to put his shard in the palm opposite of the one she's currently holding. Should he sit, she'll lean against him again, but this time for the spicy aroma coming from the cigar she's developed a liking for.
Caedan said to Tenebrae, "Watch very closely what happens."
Spawne slaps the shard into Cadens hand, "Give it a tug, sweets... Looks like its stuck again." He reclaimed his seat with Caedan, wrapping the edges of the blanket around his calves.
Tenebrae nodded, and stared intently at her clansmates' hands.
Caedan , being the precocious thing that she is, immediately closes each palm and places them behind her back, like a very bad magician. A second later, she'll bring her hands forward and wave one over the other, the one still closed opening to reveal two blue-grey stones, pulsing with light. Another half-second passes, and with a sudden pop, the stone casing falls away, revealing both spherical objects now pulsing a brighter color, and wobbling somewhat in her outstretched hand.
Tenebrae raised a hand to shield her eyes, the light more than light, it seemed, as it punctured her vision. "Enough!" She was panting, by then, a light sheen of sweat on her brow. "It's.. enough."
Spawne said, "Seems like normal light to me..."
Caedan very innocently drops Red's shard back into his hand, and rests her head against him again, content to let them discuss, while she closes her eyes.
Tenebrae shook her head. "It isn't." She lofted her burned hand. "It has the same effect, only on the inside." Caedan was given a frown. "Red, take her upstairs. I'll have someone bring hot milk, or soup. Make her rest."
Spawne leaned into Caedan to support her lithe frame, his eyes fixed upon Tenebrae, "I still dunno what to make of all this... Alright. You gonna be okay?"
Caedan said, "I don't want any silverware. I'll eat with my hands." She rubs her bicep, and the three-pronged puncture there. "Eaten by what you eat with ... isn't right ..."
Tenebrae said to Spawne, "Yeah... throw me one of those cigars, before you go?" She gave him a faint smile. "Gettin' a taste for 'em." She glanced to the wound on her hand, then to Caedan after the girl spoke. "I'll have Steadman bring it in a cup."
Spawne tosses a cigar, slightly deformed, to Tenebrae, "Get him to grab one for me too, yeah? Its a bit chilly out..."
Spawne hoisted Caedan into the air by her armpits, carrying her as he would an infant to the bedroom upstairs.
Caedan elbowed Spawne at the statement, while she was shifting, and snoozing.
|
|
|
Post by Deilakrion on Aug 20, 2008 11:48:03 GMT -5
Deilakrion was hiding under a bed. She'd gone upstairs, ostensibly, to aid Caedan. Really though, the fear had taken her. So she'd hid under a bed. As of a night cycle later, she hadn't come out. She knew that light didn't help with sleep, so what if the dark helped? But she knew what hid in the darkness. It really didn't matter where she hid. It would find her. It was in her. It wasn't like her to whimper, so she didn't. She fought it off as long as her exhausted body could -- she really needed food -- but she knew the inevitable.
Deilakrion knew she would dream.
Time passed. She held off the inevitable for as long as she could muster, biting her lips and swearing at herself whenever she started to nod. She was not in a good way, but she didn't want to face the chilling surprises that were held in pockets within her own psyche. It shouldn't have been her burden to carry. Shouldn't have been anyone's burden to carry. She was sweating, and the silvery-glinting liquid slid from her body to hit the floor with sick little splats. She growled.
As if in response, a thin wisping cry echoed her, above upon the bed. Deilakrion scowled. She wouldn't budge. The cry sounded again, high and desperate. Deilakrion scrabbled a bit beneath the bed, and her left hand closed over something. She blinked and peered at it. A dagger? Some couple or another hid a secret. She kept it, and at the third cry she rolled out from under the bed. She peered around the room, fear and anger coupling within her to release some strange queasiness.
The cry sounded again.
Deilakrion turned slowly, and let her eyes slide over the bed. There was a strange lump under the sheets. Her hands were clammy, but she steadied herself internally as the thing snuffled out another wrenching sob. Her veins were bulging intermittendly, but she ignored that single painful reminder. The dagger was held with a sure grip -- at least around weaponry she was still confidant. The blanket was under heavy shade, as was the bed. There were no lights in the room but for that cascading in from the window: a lycan's boon. She let the moon's touch shore up her courage, and then her hand crept slowly over the blanket. She paused as the lump shifted, and then tore the blanket back, dagger held threateningly.
It was a baby. Not just any baby. Deilakrion observed it silently, noting the shock of wispy black hair and the eyes that glinted green. Its ears were pointed, but it was going silvery around the edges. It was the. . . . ....her. . . . . . .spawn. Her eyes narrowed, and she felt a mass of something pressing at her from her insides. Wile's disgusting chuckle touched at her temples, and she knew what she had to do.
Deilakrion picked up the baby with her free hand. She studied it closely. Then she turned it face down, and set her dagger to its back, between the shoulder blades. She sliced. The thing howled. She worked carefully, and meticulously, patting its head absentmindedly and murmering comforts. Her lips twitched upwards as she thought of all the trouble she'd be saving by ridding it of its silver-ridden skin. Yes. It was a good thing. She had to be gentle with it, though, because otherwise it'd cry too loudly. She pushed it into the blankets, working the dagger with precision. "I didn't want to do this." She whispered.
"You made me do it." She peeled the skin from the back away, and continued. It took her hours, until her vision blurred and her hands trembled. The bed was soaked in silvery red, but she kept going. She had to keep going, for the sake of the babe. It had stopped crying. When at last she was done, she held up her masterpiece. The thing on the bed did not resemble a babe, but a silvery mass. She had done the right thing. The eyeholes glinted a lantern-green fire, and she smiled at it. "You deserved that." She laughed at it.
The door crashed open, and Deilakrion was startled to see her clanmates looking in. She cradled the empty skin, and showed it to them. "I had to do it," she told them brightly, "It was too loud to be safe." The eye-holes glinted green again, and they rushed inwards. It only took them a minute or so to tear her apart.
Deilakrion woke on a gurgle, as traces of Wile's mocking laughtere rebounded within her skull. She crawled to the tub and heaved, though there was nothing within to come back up. There was someone occupying the bed, she noticed as her eyes frantically searched the room. There was. .. . someone. . . the glint of a dagger under the bed caught her eyes, and she fled the room as fast as her shaking legs could take her
__________________-
Deilakrion slid down the stairs. Her veins bulged. The furniture scuttled at her entrance, and then they stilled. Pincers and jaws worked soundlessly. For a moment, they warped, and the features of her beloved pack were imprinted upon them. Screaming. She hurried past as the furniture waited silently. She ducked into the kitchens.
Kitchens
Deilakrion was relieved to see that Chef was still alive. She didn't dare to look at the woman. So she looked at the ground, and noted that blood was lapping around her pale feet. She blinked. The blood disappeared. The murmer of voice touched upon her ears, but still she didn't look up. "Meat." She said, edging around the sides of the room. "Meat." She said again as some gurgling noise trickled up as though from a ruined throat. Unease touched at her gut, and she briefly entertained the idea of starving herself. Concerned voices touched at her ears, but still she didn't look up. She held up her hands. There was a brief pause, during which she noticed the blood again, and then a platter was gently placed into her hands. She left without looking back.
Corpse
Back through the Corpse, and up the stairs, and into the still unconstructed Den of Vice. The white-sheeted furniture briefly reminded Deilakrion of blood-drained corpses, but she let her eyes slide past them and over to the builder, who was staring at her. She ate a piece of meat, and stared back. There was a mild suggestion in the back of her head to kill him. She ignored it. "Th-this creature." She stopped. She sounded like a terrified child, and that wouldn't do at all. She cleared her throat, scowling when one of the pieces of furniture seemed to twitch. "This creature requires the flesh's services." There. Better.
Den of Vice
Neville continued to stare, and shook himself from his reverie. "What needs buildin' now?" He was gruff. And whole. And not bleeding. No, he was definitely not bleeding from a gash near his ear. Deilakrion was blinking rapidly. "In the forest. The den. It needs fortification." The man rolled his eyes in thought, and bit his lip in concentration as the blood finally vanished. "Ahhh, that piece of frippery. Yeah, I get ya. You got plans for't?"
Deilakrion shook her head. "No. Ah. Just. . .make it secure." Then she fled from the room as a white hand flopped out from underneath a sheet and started twitching. This wouldn't be a good day. Deilakrion could tell.
Hallway
Deilakrion sat in a corner and ate, keeping her eyes shut and mumbling to herself so she couldn't hear anything untoward. At least her stomach was becoming full, even if the meat smelled rotten. And tasted it. She knew it wasn't, she'd already seen the truth. She could conceivably go into the Den of Iniquity and douse herself so thickly with perfumes that she couldn't smell anything else, but she didn't dare go into there. No, she'd rather not. She would just deal with the smell and taste, and pretend everything was as it should be.
Something dripped onto her shoulder.
Deilakrion stopped eating. She stilled. Drip. Drip drip. Slowly, she put the platter onto the floor in front of her. She was shaking as she hesitantly put a hand onto the pooling liquid. Drip. Drip. Drip drop. She smeared a few fingers through it, and flinched back as the liquid splashed upon her fingers. She stopped humming. She could hear the drops continuing up and down the hallway. She shook harder as she brought the smeared fingers up to her nose. She took a long sniff.
Blood. Her teeth chattered in unprecedented fear, and a keening sound spilled unwanted from her throat, not far off from the cries of the babe -- "No." She startled herself with the sound, and slid forward on hands and knees. She crouched in the middle of the hallway and waited. A minute passed. Two. The dripping and increasing stench of blood did not diminish at all. She clenched her jaw, and tried rather unsuccessfully to prepare herself for whatever needed to be seen. She opened her eyes. Her first sight was her bloodied hands. Then, her platter of meat. She swallowed against rising gorge, and shut her eyes again.
The platter of clean meat had been turned into loop upon loop of intestine, still with the gnawed edges as though she'd been eating it. She knew she hadn't been eating it. She'd been eating muscle. She knew she had been. Right? Her heart was pounding, and she felt light-headed as she opened her eyes again and stared at the platter. Her eyes were watering as smell intensified, and a thread of the familiar drifted through it to hit her square in the gut. "Oh. . .no. . ." Her hands clenched as she dragged her gaze up. Up. Toes. Foot. Calves. Familiar calves, clad in drow armor. The broken sound rose from inside of her somewhere. Hips. Chest. Vaelustil. Surreal. She studied the face, took in the smells even as tears spilled over. That was in front of her. What had been dripping on her?
More hanging corpses were out of focus down the hall as she turned. She didn't want to see them yet. This time, the entirety of it was open to her naked gaze, and she choked back another cry. Tenebrae. Those eyes were open and staring at her, lips parted and soft as though she'd been mid word. The midsections of both corpses had been torn open, and they bled. Deilakrion looked to the platter. "No. No." She felt another presence slide into her, and she knew it was Wile. He was within her. She'd taken him in with the force of a hurricane. "Pretty, pretty decorations, aren't they?" The voice whispered within her head. "No. . .." the way it tore from her, the word was barely distinguishable. Drip. Drip.
The candleabras twinkled merrily as the corpses swung gently from them. She allowed her focus to settle to the ones swinging further down. They seemed to be smiling at her. Caedan. Jaidin. Caeryph. Isen. Sophie. Senka. As she watched, eyes blurry from the tears, the dripping blood that pooled beneath them began to bubble and froth. It oozed towards her ever so slowly. Deilakrion trembled. It wasn't real. It wasn't real. It wasn't -- she broke and ran for the stairs. Leoxander's body, hung with Jack, was the first thing to greet her with a gaping smile that'd been cut upon him. She stopped. "Damn you!" She screamed, and whirled around. She picked up the platter, letting the piles of guts swing off, and began to batter at the corpses, screaming unholy murder as she tried to bash down the ones she'd come to care about.
"Deilakrion." The word slithered from Vaelustil's lips, and she froze. That name hadn't been spoken aloud for years. "Little Deilakrion." The blood started to creep up around her ankles. "Come. . .here Deilakrion." She backed up from the corpses, Vaelustil and Tenebrae laying in heaps upon the floor. They stirred. "No." She said.
"Let me. . ." Deilakrion knew those words. She'd lived them, before, and their wicked consequences. "No!" She roared, and spun to confront Leoxander's corpse. Past him was the stairs, and freedom from that gruesome scene. Leo's arms were spread wide, as though to stop her, and Jack bared blackened gums at her. Deilakrion shrieked anger, and hatred, and despair, and she battered past the corpses and the blood, skin recoiling from that awful, awful touch that left bruises upon her soul. "Deilakrion--" the tortured voices followed her as she skidded down the stairs, and lay upon a heap at the bottom, crying until she fell asleep.
Monster waited for her in her dreams.
She sat in a heap as Monster once more penetrated her sleeping state. The shifter was battered, and wearied, and shapeless as though it hadn't the power to take form. "Oh, little creature." It breathed, the normal taunts gone. "Only I am supposed to drive you to death." She whimpered and curled up around herself as Wile's substance finally lay quiet. "I will watch you this time. Once a day. Sleep. You will need it." Monster's voice was grim, and the creature faced oblivion with open arms.
|
|
|
Post by Caedan on Aug 21, 2008 0:02:01 GMT -5
Leoxander lifted his eyes behind a mess of hair, directing his attention toward the more obvious sounds. Shadowed jaw set in a serious and tense expression, he gave little regard to anyone looking his direction and shrugged out of the rest of his armor from the waist up, revealing the map of ink spanning the back of shoulders bearing a spotted tan from time at sea, in the sun. A black shirt dug from his pack, he treated the tavern common room like his own personal quarters, and once clean clothing was pulled over his head and pulled back off his scarred knuckles, he headed for the bar. His things left on a table behind but watched over, he doubted anyone was stupid enough to try his laundry or any torn black leather.
Eilyo gracefully and slowly saunters into the tavern, pausing just inside the door to peer around. A slight, but weary, smile comes across her full, rosy lips as her soft, moss gaze falls upon those present. She moves to the bar, speaking as she does, being sure to speak loud enough to be heard by all present. "Can I get anyone anything or is everyone taken care of?"
The first one to make its way through the tavern’s doors would perhaps be the only, because it seemed sheer luck for it to stumble through. Shamble through. It may have once been a dog, though now it was impossible to say with any certainty. Besides, what it was had almost no bearing here. Just what it had become was the story. There were four legs like a dog, and a tail like a dog. There was a muzzle and face that somewhat resembled a dogs, but that is where the similarities ended. It moved with a horrible hitch, a grotesque mockery of a dog’s fluidity. The hind legs were fused at the knee and waddled stiffly, the fore were quaking as if unable to take the animal’s weight. It had almost no fur, revealing pale and paper-like flesh that looked both wrinkled and fragile. In places the skin was so transparent the disfigured organs beneath were visible. One eye was fused shut and coated in sickly, neon-green colored tumors that pulsed and trembled with every movement. It’s other eye rolled helplessly in its socket, a pale brown in color with a pin-head sized pupil. It was a nightmarish thing, and the sound it made was a ghastly, pitiful sound that ended in a harsh wheeze. The cough that racked its body nearly killed it on its feet, and it vomited onto the floor helplessly. The stench of it was worse than any rotting creature, as if a thousand eggs had stayed beyond their time and melted with sulfer. The nearest patrons stumble aside, desperate to get away from it, many vomiting into their hands as it staggers near. A woman screams, and it groans pitifully in response.
Deilakrion uncurled from her fetal position near the base of the stairs. There was blood around her mouth, and upon her hands, which she wiped on other, unnamed portions of her body. She looked at the floor, then at the wall, then at the rest of the room. There was no more illusional blood, though a drifting scent tightened her stomach. She rose to her feet, pale and angry.
Eilyo gags at the strange creature, backing up from the bar, bumping gently into the shelves of alcohol behind her. She meeps slightly, glancing back to make sure she didn't knock anything over. A hand is clasped over her mouth, unable to take her gaze off of the strange thing.
Caeryph was lucky enough to have picked one of the scaresly few chairs that was no longer a morbid killing machine, but a battered barely standing seat. He didn't have time to get settled into his seat when two things caught his attention at once; the woman rising in the corner by the stairs, and that god-awful stench fuming about the pub now. He coved his sensative nose and narrowed those golden topaz eyes of his, staring dumbfoundedly at the grotesque creature by the door.
Deilakrion did not look back up the stairs. She didn't know if . . .well, the Corpse seemed okay. Blood was still drying sticky upon the floor of the Tavern, what with the majority of the staff being on holiday. Who would clean it up? The smell wasn't heavenly, but at least. . .at least she wasn't dreaming it. That'd be worse. It seemed, though, that the tavern was attracting oddities like some strange rendition of Hell's Carnival, and that disquieted the lycan woman even more. She moved to the end of the bar, noting Leoxander and going paler. Some memories of unreal things just wouldn't quit when a person needed them to, though that would be okay too. She looked around. She was shivering, the tavern rather chilly after some unnamed person had left a window open, and she moved around the bar to the back, where a few crates had been left unmolested. She grabbed the top of one, and hefted it. Her eyes were blazing a yellowy color, and she stared at the thing by the door with a snarl. She strode towards it, eyes jittering left and right as though expecting something -other- to jump out at her, and gave it a hefty thwap out into the street. A few more thuds to make sure it stayed out. Then she slammed the door shut, breathing heavily.
Leoxander would more or less ignore Eilyo's question. Pretty much - the woman altogether. He stepped behind the bar behind her and immediately, hidden eyes drifted across bottle labels in search. One hand partially exposed from the cut of a black, fingerless glove snatched up the reserved container; any evidence of what it was had been removed and the cork looked bitten at some point. It was the silhouette of a dog that caught his attention. Calmly, he removed the stopper and tilted the bottle back for a drink while observing a creature that vaguely resembled his own missing friend. Brow furrowed slightly as though he found a bitter taste at the bottom of that vessel, but he held it loyally at his side as he watched one creature, and the -the- creature, who moved near the stairs just enough to make the rogue aware. The hair on the back of his neck rose but overall, Leo stayed quiet, waiting for something to happen. Like an oncoming storm at sea, he could feel the telltale winds.
Leoxander said to Deilakrion, "Hold it."
Deilakrion stiffened. "Finding pack-mates." She muttered.
Leoxander would start to say more, or even give a response even if she hadn't been speaking to him. But at that point a rebellious fork found it's way back into his leg, picking itself into a flip that landed a quarter inch deep in his shin. The colorful language that escaped the pirate's mouth as he reached down to pry it out and throw it like a knife into the wall, even harder, was enough to paint any innocent patron's face red.
Eilyo blinks at the attacking fork, slowly backing away from the pirate. She wanted out of here, and she wanted out now.
The next two moments were horrible in their own ways, but Leoxander needn’t worry. It wasn’t Jack underneath that horrible mask. The “dog” lurched sideways suddenly and gave into a deep coughing fit. Chunks of black-flecked ooze poured over its tattered lips, through its clenched jaws. It vomited again and trembled hard, mouth finally falling open to reveal huge, misshapen teeth. Those looked to be the only properly functioning part of the animal. It had no tongue, just a stump that jerked back and forth in its mouth. Then, as another fierce cough racked its body, it fell heavily onto its side. The paper-thin flesh buckled under its weight and blew outward as if it’d been stepped on, pale yellow blood sloshing onto the floor. The stench intensified twenty times, a rancid stench that rose steadily from the unholy thing. The trembles slowed and stopped as it died, mouth open, lone eye rolled back. But the worst of it was the cries coming from outside, the deeply alarmed cries as slowly another creature appeared out before the tavern, and another. A slow congregation of the horrible animals beginning to gather before the Hanging Corpse. One may have once been a cat, but it had no head. Instead, where the head should have been, it simply had a great blind maw in the stump of its neck. Gnarled teeth opened and closed reflexively as it stumbled blindly infront of the tavern.
Deilakrion said, "Keep that door," And she'd pause, slamming it with her heel as bright spots of color rose upon her cheeks, eyes tracking somewhere left as though following something invisible, "shut." She paled again. She'd been smelling too many things to realize if this was, once again, some type of messed up illusion. She didn't much care, any more. She was beginning to think that perhaps the Hanging Corpse were somehow the source of corruption, but that made no sense besides the fact that it was a space where the Cabal gathered frequently. Were they cursed? She knew she was in her own way. She was struggling not to gag, but she'd had a bit of practice keeping it down from the last few days. "Someone get water from the kitchen."
Eilyo quickly moves from behind the bar and into the kitchen, controlling the strong urge to vomit. She comes back a moment later she comes back with a pitcher of water, moving over towards Deilakrion, the urge to vomit painfully obvious on her face. "H-here.." That was all shecould manage to get out before quickly cloing her mouth again.
Leoxander wasn't the janitor, folks. Let's get that detail straight first and foremost. He witnessed this thing from the moment it walked into the tavern and held no look of contempt, or sympathy. His rugged features were unshaven, and at a closer look, his eyes were rimmed in a darkness that would appear from malnutrition, or a serious lack of sleep. Leo steps out from behind the bar, no longer armored, but no less ready to defend himself as he approaches this puddle of oozing dead. Pausing several feel from the corpse, literally speaking, a twitch of his nose would cause his attention to move toward the door the Creature spoke of, and he took a deep breath of reeking air to let go of a tired sigh. Suspiciously, his eyes began to travel over everyone present. "S'pose I've gotta drag this thing outside..." Was muttered to himself, not seeing a willing subject, yet.
Caeryph , unlike the rest, could not keep the horrible smell from effecting him. Curling over on what was left of his chair, the man gagged a few times and lost was little bit of lunch had had. His eyes watered and his nose stung, probably not at all from his little 'up-chuck' but the still linguring smell. He stood up, already regretting ever had come back to this place, for all that seemed to happen to him was nothing but disaster as soon as he stepped through those doors. He would have, at any other time, instantly stepped up to Deila, but she was near the door- that was near the dead dog-like thing..that really really smelt bad. And for now, that was all he wanted to get away from, 'least he lost any more of his stomach contents. Eventually, he'd end up leaning against the bar, somewhat near Leo.
Leoxander held Deilakrion with his eyes longer than others. It was her the rogue suspected, most. Whether or not she had anything to do with the dog-thing, she had attacked him. She was changed. As unpredictable as he was...
Leoxander is just too quick to let anyone near him.
Deilakrion took the water from Eilyo, careful not to touch or look at the other woman. She was doing the same with just about everyone. "More. Yes out." She spoke from Eilyo to Leoxander, sloshing water to the bile upon the floor and sending it towards the door. She still brandished that crate lid, clutching it as though it was the only reliable piece of anything in the Tavern.
Leoxander lifted one boot, unable to avoid the splash of water and gizzards against the other. A crinkle of one side of his nose and a slight sneer... that was his reaction to her answer before he suddenly reached down for the scruff of the decaying beast with his hand, so quick that he almost looks a little afraid that it might decide to bite him. Really, that was all he needed, yet another strange dog thing biting him. Worked out so well the last time. A vicious growl would be sent toward the chair that sprang to life near him, and if the possessed furniture was still intent to destroy him, this one would be broken into three pieces and scattered across the floor with a backhanded, fisted swing of his free arm. Any splinters would be ignored.
Outside the headless cat had stumbled into a creature most resembling a chicken, and had bit blindly at it and missed. The retaliation was sharp and swift, a violent stab of the horrible thing’s hooked beak sent yellow blood spraying onto the cobbles. As the creature fell over convulsing, the chicken reclaimed its awkward wander about the front of the tavern. One of its legs had a mammalian paw, but the other was the scaled, hook-toed crutch of a chicken. There were no feathers, only a horrible and grey-colored flesh that had rubbed raw in places where angled bones met together. A knotted heart was visible through the translucent skin, beating an irregular beat as the nightmare wandered by another, (but far differently misshapen) dog. They seemed drawn here, but with no intention. Their idle wanderings a picture of grotesque agony, as though they’d woke to find themselves the subject of a cruel and horrifying joke. Several dropped dead, unable to sustain life in their mutated states. Others, however, maintained their pace outside the tavern. And as Leo hefted that corpse he’d find the flesh tore away in his hand, the sick yellow blood quick to coat his fingers and turn them reaking. The body simply too fragile to be touched, prone to tearing apart.
Deilakrion ignored the sudden spray of woodworks, flinching only slightly. She held the door handle, not yet looking at Leoxander. "Not a good idea. . ." she muttered, and stared as the corpse. She snarled wordlessly, and released the door. The pitcher was sent to tumble across the floor, and she used the crate's lid to scrape the remains nearer to the door. Yanked it open, stare outside, push the thing out, and slam the door shut with her back against it, lips moving soundlessly.
Leoxander said, "Son of a..." You can guess where that phrase was going. He flung a hand and messed the floor up a little more as he tried to get the tissue and fluids off his fingers. Carelessly, it was wiped on the leg of his pants, and he turned toward Deilakrion with a question she would answer with prompt action. "What do you bloody suggest?"
Terra should have stayed away from the Tavern this night. If her previous nights experiences had taught her anything, it should have been that. The scent of death wafted through the air, stopping her mid-step to cringe at the scent. It was not a new scent to these nocturnal parts or the creatures that roamed this portion of the land, but it was in abudance and it was sheer horror. It was easier to stroll through when you were dead, having no need for lungs, and even easier when there was no need for substance aside from a liquid diet that wasn't likely to present it self from the bowels of her stomach... that was the thought until she witnessed those atrocious creatures, their stumps and stems at the door, blood oozing and creating a sticky puddle at their terrifying feet. Now would be a good time to run... but the shadows and figures that were inside the Corpse alerted her, and above all, those people inside were customers, friends, and Cabal. She knew it. Finding it unavoidable, she'd prepare to head inside. Quietly, as not to distract those horrendous beasts from their task of the door, she'd sneak into the side alley. A few feet above her head was the rope used to escape from the rooms above, and that would be used to her advantage. Unable to reach it yet, she'd pull the bins over, their bottles and trashed goods smelling much better than what lurked a few feet away. Climbimg atop them, she'd grasp the bottom of the ladder with pale hands, struggled a moment, and pulled herself up. Unfortunately, in the process, one of the bottles had been knocked from their keep, shattering against the cool cobblestone and alerting one of the dog-like beasts of an intruder. It approached, "slobbering" its yellowish fluids with every step as a stumpy tongue greeted her, an ear falling off to land in the bins. It jumped and she scrambled, pulling the ladder back inside and slamming the window shut. Wasn't long before she raced down the stairs, glaring at those present. "What in the name of all things Holy is going on?"
Caedan appears at the top of the staircase, muffling a yawn with the back of her hand which she promptly wipes across her nose. The psychic looks like hell -- damn human maladies. She's developed a cough overnight and still can't shake the chills, even with the amount of blankets she's currently got wrapped around her like some lavishly colored cocoon. Her nose twitches as she takes two steps down, and thankfully, she doesn't catch Leo dragging out a grotesque representation of her best friend Jack. Even more thankfully, her nose is so congested, that the smell is somewhat stifled though still nearly unbearable. She scans the scene below her, accounting for people she knows, people she doesn't, and people she's on the lookout for. A small blue-grey stone that faintly pulses the same colored light is gripped tightly in the hand clutching the blankets against her.
Deilakrion stared at the floor near Leoxander's feet. "Don't die."
Leoxander would follow her toward the door, avoiding a step in the sticky, smelly path she left in her wake. While the door was open, Leo's feral eyes would glimpse the army of unliving, distorted beings stationed outside.
Terra noticed the gathering of Cabal, and pausing only to share a sympathetic look with Caedan, she'd approach the bar with a scowl and rant prepared. "Vicious, nasty little things. Falling apart and just ... " Caedan said to Terra, "These move slower than the furniture, I think. Maybe. Can you smell that?" She wrinkles her nose, back-tracking up a step, unwilling to go down and fend against the army of undead animalia. They hadn't figured out doors yet, had they? "Like a hundred dying, wet dogs."
Leoxander would make a motion away from the door, to anybody lingering near it. "Go stan' over there." There being a very general and open area on the other side of the tavern. Trapped. That's how the lycan felt. Something unknown outside, and as he closed the door and leaned against it for a moment, he realized he was sealing their fate indoors with possessed things in material form, rather than undead. Obviously, something was going on. Who would know exactly what? This is when his mismatched eyes moved behind a veil of blond toward the teenager, but he didn't say anything to Caedan, yet.
Eilyo glances at Terra, a hand clutched over her mouth, fear in her soft gaze. She tried to speak, but merely gagged again. "T-terra..." It was the only one she really knew here; she felt alone, scared, she just wanted to go home where it was safe. She made to move towards the elven vampire, tears forming in her eyes. She needed to stay away from here for awhile. Caedan said to Leoxander, ".... no offense."
Caeryph had climbed up onto the bar, not wanting to be here what so ever. As luck would have it though, the only real way out (that he knew of) was the front door, and with the front door, was a gathering army of undead pets. He thought for a moment, and figured it would be best to take his chances inside with the rest. For now, the man would just silently glance at each and every one of them from afar.
Leoxander will also point out to newcomers, especially Cae' that there is a fork impaled on the wall, still and leaking blood as though the Hanging Corpse had a heartbeat, and life flowing through it's frame.
One of the dogs would begin to charge the door, seeking Leo and Deilakrion out. But a gnarled ankle would roll on a cobble and snap like the most dry of twigs. It fell upon itself in a terrible heap amidst a sound of more bones cracking, and its head buckled in on itself to spray a deep ebon matter across the cobbles. As the body settled upon itself, nearly collapsed upon itself and bled out, a rat-like creature stumbled toward the mess and lapped at it. The result was immediate, a harsh wretch that sent it puking awful bile onto the cobbles and sending it reeling. It gave another hard lurch and vomited, except this time there was not just bile. Pale coils of its own guts spat over its crooked teeth and hit the stone before it, and its eyes shot wide. The creature fell forward and went still, joining the dog that’d taken such a nasty fall. They were awful, but living, creatures. Horribly mangled by something, and sent here for reasons they could not reconcile. It was as if all they knew was the agony of their shape and being, their bites provoked out of fear and misery more than aggression. The pitiful nature of them, the grotesque shape and figure of them, serving as the source for the horrors they brought.
Deilakrion would take a moment to indirectly answer Terra's question. "Trouble." Short sweet and simple. Of course, Deilakrion was at that moment trying not to notice as illusional intestines slithered across the floor. Waking visions, or daymares. Someone else could be the judge. She glowered in general at Leoxander's words. "It will end. It has to end." She tried not to make a noise as the intestines coiled around her feet. "'snot real."
Caedan said to Leoxander, "The hearth. Lure the hearth over. It's the meanest, but it's the biggest." She descends with an irritated sigh, as if this was all one great inconvenience. "The hearth can block the door, maybe some windows. If I get it over there, can you keep it there?" She kicks at a chair trying to amputate her leg. "We really should barricade the door."
Terra watched Eilyo approach and nearly groaned. Following behind the vampiress was one of the stools from the bar, all gnashing teeth and splintered fury. Grabbing Eilyo's wrist, she'd move to swing her out of the way and behind, should she allow the action. If so, Ter would drop and kick the legs from beneath the stool - literally. "Trouble..." Repeated after Deilakrion, Terra merely grateful someone would respond to her. "Seems like it." Now she'd nod to Eilyo, able to meet and greet.
Leoxander could not see through doors, he could only listen. But the familiar crack of reshaping joints and the stretch of skin and muscle did not escape his trained ears. He'd glance back over his shoulder toward Caedan, still waiting at the door in case it needed to be held closed for any apparent reason. "You think you can find something reliable enough? And by that I mean... a bloody chair or table that -won't- turn on us?"
Eilyo gasps slightly as she is swung out of the way, staring wide-eyed at the now fallen stool. She glances back at Terra, panting with fear, tears running down her cheeks. "What's going on?"
Deilakrion muttered to herself. She looked towards the kitchens. "Safe there. Been safe there."
Terra frowned at the stool as it attempted to roll about, furious after that attack. With a shrug, attention went back to Eilyo, the blonde even less-informed than the other. "Beats the hell out of me."
Terra said to you, "We should get rid of those not Cabal, like Eilyo. There's a passage, remember? Under the floors."
Caedan said to Leoxander, "Rope. Rope is reliable. We could tie it there. And then if they figured out how to open the door .... the hearth would eat 'em." She grins, evidently quite pleased with herself. "A taste of its own medicine." Leoxander murmured to Terra even though she was speaking to Caedan. "Good thinkin'."
Eilyo glances around at Caeden a moment, before her attention turned back to Terra. "Y-yeah...I-i want to go home..." She was almost whimpering.
Leoxander would motion toward the table as he overheard this conversation, where there was a black satchel, and inside it... a sturdy rope. "My pack." It might smell like a gym bag but at least it had the necessities for getting out of trouble. Terra frowned, sensing too many pulses in the room - could one of them belong to the tavern? No, no - such silly thoughts. And then came the mention of having those ... animals devoured by the hearth, and she'd shake her head. "Is that the only solution? I don't want them ... dead."
Caeryph heard the word 'Cabal' out of the murmured sentence, and began to think. Cabal- that second pack that Deilakrion had told him he was to now be apart of, were these people of this 'second pack'? If this was the case, then he wanted to know more about this 'passage' they spoke of. If there was a way out- he was using it.
Caedan said to Terra, "Yes. That'd be smart. Don't go out through the door though. Use the window. If the street is too full, come back and stick to the rooftops."
Deilakrion said rather frankly, "It wants to eat." Finally she moved away from the door, and closer to Caeryph, whom she peered at for a few seconds as if to assure herself of something. She'd pale and look away. "It's soaked into the stone, now. Have to burn it down. Again." She was probably speaking to herself about something, and the way she was rubbing at veins in her arms that occasionally bulged as though a living thing was travelling under her skin wasn't helping matters.
Caedan said to Terra, "And .... they've already been dead. The moment he --- they're dead. Hurry."
Wile was seated on the hearth, though how he had appeared there remained a mystery. The form was quite human, and one long-fingered hand was occupied with the maniacal twisting of a single tooth-pick. It ran over his knuckles, drumming up them, before rolling back down once more. The angled lines of his features were shaded by the overgrown mane of coal-black that crested his head, and those lantern-green eyes flickered with the quiet hints of humor as the members of Tenebrae's Cabal worked within the Hanging Corpse. His attention, however, frequently strayed toward Caedan. The Herald seemed content to remain silent and watch, appraise her and the others as they fettered about.
Leoxander squinted his eyes with his shoulder still at the door. Probably not the wisest decision but something made him speak out loud, to anyone paying attention. "Hold up. That one fell apart like a tattered map. The lot outside aren't likely much stronger." Following the Creature with his eyes on her retreat to Caeryph, he'd return his attention back to the keeper of mercy, and the ghost that often haunted his ship. "We should just go out there an' get rid of them before somethin' bigger wanders by."
Terra nodded at both Leoxander and Caedan and quickly caught Eilyo's wrist. "I will show you the way out, and you'll tell no one." The being on the bar was studied from beneath a blonde curtain of bangs and she'd include him. "You, too. With me. You're not to return here until I give you the okay sign. Come." Still dragging Eilyo about, she'd lead them towards the cellar's doors and quickly swing them open. Once both runaways had been stowed inside and down the steps, she'd follow, slamming them shut behind her.
Deilakrion stopped. Took in a long breath. Exhaled. Smell was her one strong sense, and the sudden gap that appeared into the tavern was noxious. Without looking, she moved to stride behind the bar. She'd surface with two stillettos that'd been previously borrowed from Steadman. The man wouldn't mind her borrowing them again. "Too late." She said, tilting her head to the side. She was rather displeased.
Caedan is tentatively descending the stairwell again, and snaking her way towards the table Leo indicated. She snatches his pack from the thing and darts back to the staircase, unwilling to take a chance on a sentient table taking her arm while she digs around for the rope. Compared with the smells currently circulating within the tavern, Leo's bag is more akin to something slightly odorous cooking in the kitchen over the intestines turned inside out mucking up the floor. She sneezes violently. Damned cold. Damned Spawne for giving it to her. She tosses the length of rope at Leo and prepares to catch the mantle's attention and lure it towards the door. "If this eats me, I'm blaming you. A lot. And I'm going to haunt you all the time." He is spared a pointed glare as she weaves towards the fireplace and flails a bit.
Caedan notices the eyes before she notices the man seated on the thing she's intent to lure towards the door. Her flailing wanes, arms dropping to her sides, fists clenching uneasily. She stands there, appraising him as he appraises her, and eventually commands in a calm tone, "Gerr'off. I need that." She won't turn and look at Leo, but she keeps an ear open for him, listening for direction for her mantle blockade expedition.
Terra -- and in case anyone questioned how she managed to sneak past the lock, she didn't. Apparently, the work had been done for her by one of the fleeing forks.Spearing the mechanism, it left it easy to be tossed aside and left behind.
Caeryph continued to sit cross-legged on the bar, quietly watching those about go about their thing. He failed to catch Terra and the other exit down the stairs, for his eyes were now locked to Creature. Something in her glance at him didnt' sit right, not right at all. 'Course, it was a wonder how -anything- sat right with the man right now. He eventually hopped off the counter top, carefull to avoid a legless chair trying to gnaw at his foot, and makes his way towards Leo and Caed. He figures since he's here, might as well try to help out somewhat..
Deilakrion remained behind the bar, eyes fever bright as she watched with a humorless smile.
Leoxander shakes his head a little. He wasn't afraid of death, or anything that resembled it. Frankly, he'd smelled worse. As sensitive as his nose was to the nauseating scent, he could tune it out to concentrate on more important things than losing his lunch. The rope had dropped near his foot, and he gave it a glance before he reached for the handle of the door, tilting his head to crack the bones in his neck in preparation. His free hand touched one of the twin blades always kept on his person, even in sessions of rare and disturbed sleep, though he didn't expect to use either. If listening well, Caedan will hear him mutter. "Lock this door." Then she would hear it open and close. Leo was gone, right out the front.
Wile would tip his head back, watching Caedan with hooded features as his mouth quirked and stretched to that horrendously familiar grin. "You will remember. . . won't you?" With that he vanished, simply gone the way he had been simply there. Outside, a din started to rise. It was not a vicious mob or a rumbling din, instead it was as though the souls of the lost had come calling. Some bumped the door, though it seemed almost apologetic in nature. Something that had could have been a rabbit teetered on stumps, falling over as something larger bumped into it. Both specimens simply burst, leaking precious fluids onto the ground to drain away. Others tore valuable throats as they whined and carried on, pitiful in their last walk across the earth.
Spawne hacked coarse breaths at the phlegm in his throat, though felt little remorse for the chain-smoking which caused it. Stratching the stubble beneath his chin he descended the stairs, muddled smirk across his features as if he'd already expected an unwelcome, or at least unfamiliar, change in the tavern.
Deilakrion returned to staring vacantly at some point or another in the tavern. She blinked a lot, and muttered dark words. The stilettos were dropped, and she too dropped to rummage beneath the bar, pulling things up from a hidey-hole she kept for things she couldn't carry on her person.
Caedan reserves some very choice words for the lycan thief, very narrowly rivaling his own stream of curses spoken with relative frequency. She's not taking on the mantle place by herself; there's no way she can both lure it over to the door, and then somehow tie it in place, all without getting 'et. When she turns back, Wile is gone, and she's quickly patting herself down to make sure he's not .... injected himself into her, or her hair, or her blanket. With a relieved sigh, she gathers the mound of blankets she's cocooned within and goes to lock the door after the lycan's abrupt departure. She doesn't notice the fireplace's goblin sneer turn into a malicious smirk. Caeryph watches Leo exit out the door, and spies a part of the dog-thing left behind.
Leoxander cut a swathe through the curious, bedraggled creatures, and there was silence for a short while. Soon, however, more arrived. Some wore collars, as though they had once held value and love. Now though, they were disjointed and milled in uncertainty, as though without sight, and touch and reason. They pressed near to the front of the tavern, whole and not whole. They were, perhaps, waiting for something. Someone. No one. Nothing. An occasional piteous cry would rise above the rest.
Spawne stopped a few stairs short of solid ground to assess the situation he'd be entering. Stray animals attacking the patrons wasn't so bad compared to the bloodthirsty furniture, and that was old news by now.
Caedan picks her way through the tavern, warding off tables and chairs that seem to have been rekindled by the Trick's presence alone. She hasn't got any weapons with her this time, just the shard-stone clutched in her hand; thankfully, a fleeing patron left his entire arsenal of weaponry on the floor, a belt of daggers and a katana-rapier hybrid. It'll do. The belt is slung over her shoulder and the sword withdrawn, used to poke at the furniture which in turns tries to snap the thin brand in two. But she staves them off by sheer determination and eventually winds up at the door. Meanwhile, the wicked hearth has been lumbering after her, great goblin jowls salivating coal at the prospect of swallowing her whole.
Spawne places his left palm atop the banister to vault his body up and over, left heel and right knee shattering an ottoman which snapped at Caedans heels as he landed, as well as the polished floor beneath. A tired groan somehow aided his rise to a standing posture. He too was unarmed, but by preference rather than inconvenience.
Caeryph watches the mantle begin to chase Caedan, and eyed the rope on the floor. He was a bit reluctant to grab it, for there was a small patch of bile near it, and he didn't want to go anywhere near it. Still, he needed to help tie it into place, so holding his breath, Caeryph snatched up the rope and began to step quickly towards the two.
Caedan leans against the door, fiddling with the locking mechanism which has been clogged by intestinal ooze and the yellow blood of the retinue of undead animals stalking the night just outside. As her faithful bodyguard smashes the nasty bugger behind her, she shoots him a brief smile in acknowledgement before turning back to the door again, mumbling under her breath, "If we can rig this not to open at all ... use the windows until they go off and die again ... or whatever they do ... melt, probably ... less chance of them coming in here ... hire some cleaners is what ..." She's seemingly unaware of the goblin mantle now sniffing at her hair. It's acrid breath on her neck has her very slowly rising to a stand, and mumbling towards the unfamiliar Caeryph, "Do it. Do it now. Very quickly. And for Sven's sake, HOLD ON." She flattens herself against the doorframe and launches off one foot to scuttle up the face of the hearth, which snaps violently at her. She's just about made it to the top when its nasty teeth latch on to her blanket and begin to drag her back down. With an eye on Red, she'll alert him to a chair/utensil catapult offensive about to be launched upon him for the murder of the chair's kin. Approximately fifty forks are about to whiz towards him from the kitchen, where they've amassed.
Tirla shifts from her booth, sitting up and shaking her head, she'd been out for several days, the strain of healing and battled with the furnature downstairs, not mention being fed upon by a shade, had left her exhausted and she'd rested for several days in order to regain her strength. Taking up her sword and sheild she'd slip into the hally and slowly pad her way down the steps, head peeking forward wondering what all would catch her eye.
Spawne turned on his heel, though in retrospect it perhaps may not have been his wisest course of action. With barely enough time to react against the cutlery swarm, a makeshift shield was made of his forearm, raised to protect his face from the pointed projectiles. Puny salad forks were no match for his leathery hide, bouncing off his body with relative harmlessness. But the mains forks and the steak knives proved far more effective, puncturing the crimson flesh across his torso and arm-shield, then wiggling and writhing to broaden the wounds. "...F**k." was his response, "F**king ass." Was his second. The expletives continued as his rampage began, smashing tables and chairs whether they posed a threat or not.
Caeryph broke from hurried steps, into a full on sprint across the tavern. As he came to a skidding stop on the floor,(which must have hurt like the dead-mutant dog's mother outside) the man took the thick lenght of the rope and made quick about throwing one end around the base- his other hand trying to catch it. As the giant mantle began to waddle about, trying to eat Caed, Caeryph looked up and growled. "Let..go." Obvioulsly he was talking about the blanket, the only thing in which the mantle seemed to have her by. He soon found himself struggling with the thing, and looked back at the somewhat close Spawne. "Help!" If he was not assaulted by the silverware, perhaps he could assist Caeryph in tying this thing down; all he managed to do was loop the rope about it. It just needed to be tied to something now.
Caedan said, "For Sven's sake, don't worry about me--" she's kicking like Michael Phelps, slamming booted feet at the lip of the mantle and utterly refusing to be eaten, while simutaneously trying to shimmy out of her blanket. "Tie it to the wall here. Mouth against the door. And tie it tightly, whatever you do."
Tirla took in what was happening and went to help Spawne, where she was best suited to help. She dove forward and swept her feathered wing against him, brushing away the cuterly, and stepping in front of him as more silver ware made to sink into his chest. A symphony of clangs and bangs issued as the bounced off her sheild, metal is much better for blocking chuck attacks. She nodded to the big mand and smiled, "Why don't you help him tie that thing down?"
Caedan yelps as the thing takes a chunk out of her arm, and promptly buries a dagger in the goblin's forehead, in retaliation, all while being flung about as the thing struggles to both eat her and be free.
Caeryph was bopped in the mouth as the mantle tried to both put up a struggle, and devouer Caedan at the same time. His lip instantly began to bleed, but he didn't really much care anymore- he wasn't going to have much of a body anyways once this was all over with, he just knew it. But her words were followed as best he could, and soon Caeryph had one end of the rope tied off to a sconce near the door. It held the thing somewhat in place, but still didn't stop it from snapping away at Caedan's feet. Yanking on the other end of the rope, he fought to tie it off to something else on the other side of the door- perhaps another sconce if here lucky.
Spawne glared toward Tirla, blood streaming from dozens of open wounds across his body. It was an appreciative glare, he was just grumpy. He turned without a word, tossing his massive, perforated frame at the goblin mantle, licking and snapping at his youthful companion. What ensued was a battle of brawn, a fierce struggle of momentum as Red attempted to shove the mantle, inch by tiny, strained inch, into the wall.
Tirla took a deep breath as she turned to the silverware, gathering herself and letting a blue aura take hold of her form, another deep breath and that aura turns milky, her wings whip out and beging flapping, with each flap an icy wind shifts from her wings, causing ice to coat the silverware till each and every peice was so enshrouded in the stuff that it could do little more then vibrate. Quickly she kicked them into the kitchen and did her best to secure the door shut. Then she ran over to Caedan and the door, trying to help pull her away from the mantle, "You said the door needed to be barricaded, I might be able to do that."
Caedan is wailing on the hearth, lodged between it and the door where she's trying to get it tied. Tirla is spared a glare of utter contempt -- what was she doing? The psychic viciously pushes the avian out of the way, just as the mantle tries to rip her wing clean from her shoulder. Now that it's found something meatier to chew on than Caedan, it starts lumbering towards Tirla. The teen squawks and quickly clamors atop the thing, then down the backside to help Spawne, pushing will all her frail strength against the mantle to shove it against the door so Caeryph can tie it off. She'll try and thank him later. For now, she's got an eye on Tirla over Red's shoulder, intermittently worrying about her getting eaten, and congratulating herself for finding another something to become its bait.
Spawne shifted his momentum, meaty legs thrust downward to heave the Mantle off the ground with a coarse roar. He'd only manage to keep it raised for a step or two, but it was all that was needed to drive the furniture into the doorway. The animated mantle thrashed slightly, though Reds exerted weight kept it pushed back against the wall. "That was all you, muscles..."
Caeryph couldn't find the other matching sconce, it probably was knocked off in the earlier attack. So, he improvises; using his bare fist, he punches out the window and loops the end of rope about the frame. Odd, but it works, and that's all they need for now. As the two give it their all, he does too, pulling the rope as tight as he can before working a knot as best he can. Eventually, after a great deal of struggle, he ties it off and staggers back. Finally..one end tied to a sconce, then around the mantle- and finally, the window frame.
Tirla stumbles as she is pushed back, but a smile comes to her face as she see's the thing take a likeing to her and the teen climbs over it, that'd been her intention, to get the thing off the girl. With the grim smile she steps in and swings her sheild, giving it a good smack and then with sheild under its jaw she put her shoulder into it and helped pushed it into place to be tied off before stepping back and putting her hands on her knees, glad that the thing was tied off.
Caedan slumps down against the mantle still struggling and expels and exhausted sigh, but manages to flash Kaine a beaming smile, chest swelling with pride at her accomplishment. Meanwhile, the state the tavern is in shambles, but slowly and surely the mayhem is dying down, the furniture is settling into a mere zombie-like presence over bloodthirsty and demonic, and the unearthly howls and ... clucks? from outside are even beginning to diminish. The psychic takes the opportunity to shiver and sneeze about eight times. Her blanket is hanging out the mouth of the mantle.
Spawne sat against the mantle, wrapping his right arm around Caedans shouders. "Might be time to get back to bed..."
Caeryph leans heavily upon a defeated table, and takes a moment to catch his breath. He eyes the Caed and Spawne, letting a slight sigh of relief graze his lips before he spun around. There was the occasional chair clattering about, or the fork trying to lodge its self into something..or someone- and Tirla, of all the people in the world..it was the Avian. Slowly he'd approach her, a faint smile on his lips which in most cases would seem like gratitude for her efforts in the situation moments ago. But that was not the case what so ever; he brought up a quick, violent fist in hopes of planting the woman on her back with an uppercut. He had not forgot about that day in the forest..
Tirla slips over, careful of the snarling and snapping mantle, tempted to give it another good smack with her sheild before she knelt by Caedan and gently took hold of her arm, looking over where the mantle had taken a chunk out of her arm. After a moment she unhooked her pack and began sorting through it, looking for the supplies she'd need.
Caedan wipes her brow with the back of her hand, which is glowing with a thin sheen of persipiration. She's considering Red's offer, but a fight is breaking out, and if he's anything like her, he'll want to stick around and watch at least a bit of it.
Caedan whispered to Spawne, "It's touching me."
Caedan pulls a face.
Spawne said to Tirla, "Might wanna back up a step, or ten.... she bites. Hard."
Caeryph :: Whether his punch connected or not, he didn't care that much anyways. He was sore, he was tired..and most of all, annoyed. He hated this place, he hated this town, and he hated the mantle; It split his lip wide open. He eyed the stairs, and decided to venture back up them, at least it seemed to be the safest place in the Corpse..for now.
Tirla shakes her head and looks up to the lycan, fury burning in the green depths of her eyes, "What the hell was that for?" she rubbed her jaw as she was now tempted to smash her sheild into his face, but there was wounded to tend to and she went back to trying to do that, breaking open cloth sealed in wax so she could try and take care of Caedan's wound, "I'll be fine, can't be much worse than him," she tilts her head in Caeryph's general direction.
Caedan swats at the avian, unwilling to let her touch her. "Stop that. Stop it. What're you doing? Ack." With an exaggerated exhalation, she'll pull herself to a stand and put some distance between she and the avian, unwilling to punch her after she's just been ... well, sucker-punched. "I ... uh ... his thoughts say retaliation. If that helps."
Tirla blinks at the words she uses, "Thoughts... you're a psychic," she shakes her head and holds up the bandages, "That thing bit you pretty good, I just want to bandage it up and set a spell over it, is that alright or should I just leave it bleed?"
Caedan said, "Just let it bleed." She sneezes violently, interrupted shortly by a cough. "And I'm nothing to you, and none of your business. Just a girl trying to block the Sven damned door. I'm going upstairs to sleep. Please don't go near the mantle."
|
|