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Post by Caedan on Oct 7, 2008 23:46:57 GMT -5
Thea said to Caedan, "What reason do you have for wanting his life?"
Caedan said to Thea, "Would you look into the eyes of death and ask about life?"
Demont said to Caedan, "I have."
Thea said to Caedan, "Answer my question without the usual riddles, Caedan. What makes you want to take his life?"
Caedan said to Demont, "Be very careful with the words you speak to me."
Caedan said to Thea, "He took mine."
Thea seems more than cross in her tone with the girl, normally guarded psyche opening up enough for her to peer into the Pixie's mind in order to gain some insight to her cause for question.
Demont said to Caedan, "You should know better than to tell me to be careful."
Caedan shrugs, but those frail shoulders are laden with unspeakable burden.
Thea told Caedan, "And he is already hunted. I love him too, and I know I will never see a full day with him. Cherish the ones you've had for they will mean much later..when he's gone."
Caedan said to Demont, "Now you are tempting fate by telling me what to do. I do not want to kill you before your time."
Demont said to Caedan, "I could have easily left you all alone in that tomb, all that time ago Caedan."
Caedan said to Demont, "And that would have been the most decent thing you have ever done for me."
Caedan told Thea, "I do not hunt him. I do not understand love. Spend your time with him as you will, but I cannot change his fate."
Demont said to Caedan, "And I thought fate didn't exist?"
Caedan said, "She exists for those that cling to her."
Demont said to Caedan, "Then I would have been no better than the foul creature who left you there."
Caedan said to Demont, "In my mind, I cannot separate you from him."
Thea simply shakes her head, vacant stare shifting from the psion to Demont.
Demont said to Caedan, "Do the things I did to try and save you count for nothing? Am I so easily forgotten, and branded as vile?"
Thea told Caedan, "His time is not mine to consume."
Caedan finds her hand straying for the feathers on wings so familiar to her, but is simultaneously repulsed by her traitorous desire. Stormy slate-blue eyes narrow, and a muscle in her jaw twitches. "You are not forgotten. Yet you are vile. You should prepare to return to the arms of Hell. She will embrace you once again, an eternal lover."
Demont so wishes to retaliate at that statement with heated words, yet pauses and closes his eyes before speaking calmly, "No. I shall not return to that place...So that my nightmares shall become reality. Simply no."
Caedan told Thea, "Then make it as comfortable and pleasant for him as you can, for it draws short."
Caedan said to Demont, "Then welcome death. She, and she alone is your fate. Make your goodbyes."
Demont said to you, "No."
Demont turns towards Thea momentarily before again regarding Caedan.
Thea swallows hard at the lump in her throat, maintaining her composure as best she can given the circumstances of the scene. A silent knowing is conveyed in the widening stare to the Avian, concern not only for her own loss but the deeper loss for the babe in her care.
Caedan shoots Thea a withering stare, because she can't help it, and the chaotic thoughts repeated over and over at an unnatural decibel are beginning to affect her in a way that promises violence, ultimately. The psychic pinches the bridge of her nose with her thumb and index finger, seeking to quell the swell of emotions that usually lie dormant within her, not rising to combine with the thoughts swirling in her mind to create utter and perfect chaos. She levels that stare that speaks volumes upon the avian, hands instinctively twitching towards the brand strapped to her back, though she forces herself to remain stoic and still. "Yes. It is the only way."
Demont takes a step towards Caedan, meeting that stare with his own, those icy eyes piercing deep.
Thea nearly leaps from her position to intervene, petite frame trembling as Demont approaches what she is certain will be a violent encounter. She stops herself, knowing the outcome would be good for none, and without her care, Alasia would surely be endangered. Her head shakes slowly from side to side as she stands there, frozen save for the silently mouthed 'No' that parts her lips.
Caedan said to Demont, "Not a step closer. It is not your time."
Aryeh enters the tavern with wary eyes, his gaze drifting from person to person as he makes his way to the board. From his ragged clothes hangs various scrolls rolled in hard clay cases. From each scroll hangs a small gold tassle, bright in contrast to the black clay case holding it. The cases occasionally clink together as the Drow makes his way towards the board. Although he had his tell tale blackened skin, his yellow tinted hair and green eyes were far from normal when it came to the Drow race. He left his post on the board, simple and to the point, before he took a seat at the bar.
Caedan very silently and very discreetly palms the hilt of a dagger in her pocket, well aware of the non-effects these rudimentary weapons have on him; but it will get her point across, should it come to that.
Demont takes not one step closer, but two, and upon that second step his ashen wings snap open, sending a shower of feathers out across the room due to the ferocity with which they opened.
Aryeh grabs a scroll from his bag, unrolling the empty parchment before drawing his brush. As if by magic, when the dry strands of the brush meet the paper ink flows freely as the Drow begins to draw something. Slowly the brush makes it way across the paper, the drow never looking up or speaking as he draws on the parchment.
Cogran yawns as he waddles into the tavern, the little gnome making his way to an empty table, which he promptly sits under, peering out as usual at the goings on in this strange place.
Caedan takes a single step backward, a half-step, a steadying step. For once in her life, she doesn't obsessively reach for the feathers in an attempt to horde them or use them to decorate the rat's nest her hair's become. The psychic lifts her chin, her posture now defiant, not defeated. She stands impassively as the display wanes, and the feathers fall uncollected to the floor, none of them touching her. Lips purse, opening only long enough for her to comment, "Do not force my hand. Say your goodbyes. Take the time I've given you."
Aryeh smiles softly at his work, not caring for Demont's show of his wings, or the response provided by Caedan. Nay, his eyes never left the page as the scene unfolded. His drawing was taking shape, a horned beast with a tongue like a toad. Trapped at the end of the barbed tongue was a squirrel like creature which the demonic figure seemed intent upon eating. Despite the single color being used, the drawing seems to have some life in it with different shades of black and gray providing it a more detailed look. The tension rises around him, and all he seems to care about is the parchment before him.
Demont takes another step, just as defiant, if not more. In the history of this world, there has perhaps never been a more defiant, or stubborn creature than this avian. Still, he advances another step, those blue eyes as cold as ice, no words leaving his lips. Gracefully, the last of the feathers that fell is snatched from the air and offered to the girl before him.
Caedan needs no steadying step this time; bare feet seem glued to the weathered boards beneath them. There is neither warmth nor frigidity in her own gaze; the steel stare remains blank, a deadly lack of emotion expressed. He's close enough to attack now, and if he were anyone else, he would have already met the fate he tempts the moment he decided to press her, test her. A flash of disbelief registers in her expression as the feather is presented, and in an uncannily adroit, fluid motion, the dagger in her pocket is released, and drawn down the rachis of the offered plumage, the thing splitting in half and joining its brethren upon the floor.
Aryeh adds another stroke, the demonic figure shrouded by bat-like wings as Aryeh draws his arms. The clawed hands took shape, darkened with a liquid that could only be the blood of something no longer living. The Drow's smile deepens, enjoying his art and remaining oblivious to the tavern around him.
Demont lets the remnants fall and steps one step closer.
Thea growing ever-weary of this display exhibits a furrowed brow, strained voice calling out to Demont, "Do you truly wish this? Do you wish death so that you continue to tempt it before you when you know it pains me to watch?"
Caedan said to Demont, "That's enough." And it is. Any closer, and he'll be as close and violating as the day they met, and that is beyond unacceptable. But she stands her ground. "-Enough-.""
Aryeh stands, growing tired of the noise in the tavern. Between the silent avian and his paranoid little friend, to just the general speech of those around him. Walking towards a table and dropping the drawing silently in front of a woman, he turns to go to the board momentarily. The scrolls floats through the air, lazily going back and forth until it settles on the table in front of Eilyo. His eyes scan the board for the moment, but his intentions to leave were obvious.
Demont is close enough to feel her breathed words upon his flesh, and finally speaks as his eyes soften, "It is enough. What you've endured, is enough." The words are calm, yet fierce, and he extends a hand slowly towards her dagger wielding one.
Caedan explodes into a blur of movement, one hand lashing towards his throat to keep the avian tangible, the opposite hand with the dagger thrust forward, past the one that reaches for it. It drives for a kidney she isn't entirely sure functions anymore. Vampires and ghosts are tricky things; but she knows he can feel pain, and she'll unleash every iota of effort to make him feel it, and feel it acutely. Whether the dagger connects or not, she'll twist it cruelly, desperately, while still seeking to drive him back, back against the far wall of the tavern. There is strength in her desperation. "What?! How can you? How dare you? Who are you to tell me what I've endured? Or that it is enough? You vile, treacherous creature. You taught me of love. To love. To know love. I was a child. And then you took everything away. Explain then, to me, what this is? What is this that you have created in me now?" Her hands, dagger abandoned in fleshy prison or dirty floor alike, beat against him, still relentless in her punishment, and her face is twisted in a rare show of emotion, one that only he can see in the shadows that play against them.
Aryeh walks back past Eilyo, taking only a moment to glance back at his drawing in her hand. After a brief gaze at the drawing in front of her, he walks towards the door trying to decide whether to leave into the night or stay and watch the fight at hand. It would seem neither choice seemed to be quite to his taste.
Thea falls silent as the tension heightens to the level of violence she had anticipated, accepting that this was indeed a fate created by the Avian's hand alone and now he must face those demons raging from within Caedan.
Gregario sighs feeling that his time of relaxation wasn't going to come tonight.
Demont 's face shows the hint of a grimace as the dagger digs into his flesh, yet it is quickly wiped clean and replaced with the veil of stone he wears. Does she drive him back? Yes, but only because he allows her to, and the force with which she does sends a resounding crack through the air as his head connects with the hard wood behind. He stares, just as calm as before as blood, dark and warm flows from the wound inflicted by Caedan. "What did I do, Caedan, but show you that your life is worth something, that you are capable of being loved, that within that tortured mind is a creature of beauty none dared approach. Life, is what I gave, for to exist without love is not really living." His words towards the end fell to a near whisper. Those fists of hers he allows to pound upon him. "You can live."
Thea turns a blurred stare to Tenebrae, pursed lips offering no usual greeting that would be exchanged between them, opting instead for a simple shake of head to convey her discomfort with the ensuing fight.
Tenebrae was really only a scrap of a shadow making her way to the far corner of the room; but a bright pixie's eyes would pick her out, the shake of head read several ways until the sense of it settled on the vampire, and she merely watched, though her fingers curled to fists at her side.
Aryeh gazes at the one who briefly glanced at his form. He shifts a strand of yellowish hair from his emerald eyes and a hand instinctively goes to the hilt of one of his jittes. Wrapping his fingers around the worn leather grip of the runed steel rod as his eye gaze into a possible opponent.
Rhian 's black eyes moved on quickly from the dark-elf, going to survey others of the establishment and the ensuing conflict with a sick curiosity.
Caedan is soaked by a mixture of his blood and a salty liquid coating her cheeks, which she can only equate to what must be clear blood of some sort; she's seen stranger, after all. She's aiming for his wings now, ragged hands grasping at the soft down she cherished even above him, jerking it out by the handful if he doesn't prevent her. The quills prick her fingers, and she'll jab a bloody finger into his chest, her speech nothing short of seething coldness. "I existed without love. Without you. I had life. I was living." A dangerously stormy gaze snaps up to the lighter version boring into hers, and she continues with ridicule lacing her words. "And now you extend your gift of love to everyone. To all the others. I see them. I see you, in their thoughts. You do not know what I suffer, or what I endure, or what is enough. The only way to end it, is to rid you from their minds. Say. Your. Goodbyes." She doesn't retreat, but allows her hands to fall to her sides, giving him leave to step past her, as her stare fixes somewhere over his left shoulder, and stays there.
Cogran reaches into a pouch at his side, puling out bits of a silvery powder, a pinch at a time. each time he does, he whispers to it, then tosses it above his head. The powder then explodes into tiny sparks of varying colors, just for him to pass the time. Too bad he doesn't realize that the table above his head will only keep the sparks closer to him than he'd like. After a couple of tries, he decides to toss the powder in front of him, so as to let it not catch him on fire.....again.
Gregario suddenly perks up with a cynical smile spread upon his face. As he finally recalls Caedan he watches with great interest to see if she was indeed the heartless person she vouched for or if she was in fact... Just a person.
Aryeh releases the hilt of his jitte, his eyes returning to the conflict as well.
Demont only stares on, as if he were not attached to the feathers Caedan so recklessly pulls out. He notices the wetness upon her cheeks as well, but still stands still until her heated words are finished, "I do not deny you existed. You breathed, you bled, but you did not live. You can not stand there and claim I do not know. I know perhaps better than any of what you've suffered." Fearlessly, he reaches out and touches the tips of his fingers to one of her cheeks and pulls it away, "See this? You cry, why? Tell me, Caedan." He does not move.
Rhian 's dull ears pick up whisperings from not far beyond her legs and the woman's brows furrow together as she leans down in her chair to glance towards the source. She eyes the gnome and his sparks not too far away, her jaw falling open at the sight of such a little man...
Tenebrae muttered something about men and the progeny of dogs, and fatherless children, all the while watching on. Until the table she is resting on suddenly erupted in a hail of tiny sparks that stung the back of her legs. "What in the..?" Moments later, there'd be a frowning vampire-face peering under it.
Thea turns from the scene towards the barely audible mutterings, agreeing in her own mind as she takes the necessary steps to perch in a chair next to the vampiress, right hand moving to swipe a bit of moisture from her own shimmering cheek before her arms fold over her chest.
Cogran blinks at the two giants staring at him. "Oh dear. This may not end well..." He then waves half heartedly, the other hand into his spell pouch again. tossing a handful of the powder into the air, he mumbles something and promptly disappears into darkness. He immediately sneezes, and the spell is broken. "Confound it......"
Tenebrae said to Cogran, "Silly little... You. Are you quite alright there?” She was wincing; the powder was acrid and left a nasty taste in her mouth.
Aryeh finds himself agreeing with Caedan's views. Without emotion or connection to another being, he had found his occupation. Without the bickering and sobbing of loves come and gone, he had focused on his skills and upon his art. He stands and watches, his thoughts his own and remaining locked tightly within his mind. His arms fold across his scroll covered chest, the clay sheathes for them clinking together as they shift for his arms.
Gregario sees the pixie go to Tenebrae and decides it was in his own self interest to sit a little behind her as well. This way he could enjoy the show and in case something would go wrong he'd at least be sheltered.
Rhian actually gapes wider, as if her mouth could actually open so much, at the disappearing act and she stares blinking quite a few times before gulping down the building pool of saliva on her tongue. Her gaze darts from the tiny gentleman to the lady likewise staring in his direction. After a pause of staring towards the woman, her black eyes widen and she immediately darts up into an upright sitting position, bony fingers tense around her staff and chair.
Tenebrae shifted an askance look to Thea, who was occupied with the sad tale unfolding, and then back to the gnome.
Cogran coughs, a rather squeaky but heavily accented voice saying "Is anyone in this place? The closest to alright I've come lately is to nearly be eaten......"
Thea raises a hand to dismiss the whispered query from Blake in as friendly a manner possible, the Pixie unable to even speak for fear of an outpouring of emote that may not bode well.
Blake simply nods his head, attention going back towards the two.
Aryeh whispered something to Rhian.
Caedan stiffens as his fingers brush her cheek, fighting the urge flinch in repulsion. Her teeth clench, and the touch against her flesh feels like a grater, shredding the skin. His inquiry is met with stony silence, a clear indication of her desire for him to leave. A beat later, and she's decided against that notion, one fist curling at her side only to be delivered with a startling ferocity towards his own cheek. She sneers cruelly, "And now you will, too." Yet she is compelled to answer his question, as demanding and unnecessary as it is posed. "This is unfamiliar. I've seen snivelling dolts do it, but not me. You did this. You did this, and you will die for it. It is the only way."
Tenebrae huffed a sigh, and would echo a sneeze shortly after, the powder residue irritating her. "Gnomes taste awful, I thought everyone knew that." She was aware of the gravity of the situation occurring between psychic and avian; however, the necromancer had been for weeks seeking just such a creature for a small but important job, and her tone lowered as she spoke. "Listen, half-pint. I need a gnome versed in mechanics, you any good at it?"
Demont 's head again cracks against the hard wood behind him, the impact cutting the inside of his cheek so that his mouth becomes bloodied, yet he does not move, still the stubborn creature. "Is it the only way?" He turns towards Thea, "Would you be responsible for taking away the only family an innocent child has?" He slowly turns back towards Caedan, wiping the blood flowing from his mouth away with the back of his hand and pausing as the burning of the wound from Caedan's dagger intensifies, yet he does not show it. "Damn the child to be an orphan, if it will appease you and put you at peace. Kill me."
Caedan said to Demont, "I would do it without a second thought. Say your goodbyes."
Rhian 's head whips around as no definable voice had spoken to her through the din of the crowds and the hand holding to her chair for dear life joins her other on the staff. She attempts nonchalance as she brings the weapon across her body to rest on her shoulder, black eyes always flitting from face to face in a frenzy.
Xenanex steps through the door and glances around the room. The tall lycan male barely fitting through the doorframe. As his eyes searched around the tavern he moved towards a table in the center of the room.
Cogran puffs up as a small animal that had just been irritated would. "I can hold my own. clockworks and tools I can make, steam I can put to work, and if its demolition you need.....that’s not a problem either. Just don't expect me to do any magical things unless you want something dislocated. or completely removed."
Gregario extends his bow for his violin outward in front of Xenanex, "It is not my usual standard to keep those in safety, but this is most a very interesting thing we're viewing. Careful where you trek, instead sit with us."
Gregario perks up with great intensity at Caedan's words. His face is contorted with a strange emotion now of concern and glee. Will she do it?
Tenebrae 's lips thinned, her attention drawn back to the fray. She knew Caedan, as well as any might hope to, and such a choice seemed all too plain in conclusion. But she would not step in to prevent further tragedy. Not yet.
Caedan swipes absently at the increased moisture that's streaking down her cheeks, bloody fingerprints now blurry and chasing the tears she's uncomprehendingly shed -- warpaint of the most macabre design.
Aryeh whispered something to Rhian.
Tenebrae said, aside to the gnome, before she took a taller creature's upright stance and lost sight of him. "They call me Tenebrae. Seek me out, in quieter times. I have work for you." Then she stood, and peridot eyes narrowed on the doings of the former lovers.
Xenanex looks down upon the human, wondering who he was...then took a seat. "human, what is this about" Xenanex asked of Gregario.
Cogran sighs, and goes back to his odd form of amusement, this time drawing patterns onto the floor with the powder and sparking it to make th patterns move for a few moments before they dissipate.
Thea narrows her eyes to the accusatory tone, frame snapping to stand with such force that the wings at her back send the chair she had occupied nearly sailing to the wall behind. "Would you be responsible for making her so, Demont? I tried to stop you..but no. You ignore me, just as my love is kept in the shadows to protect your damnedable pride!" In a near growl she snaps at Caedan, "Stop this, now!" She shakes her head, a slew of curses being let loose through those pursed lips as she approaches Caedan slowly, her voice softening, "I know, trust me..I know it hurts. It is miserable and vile and it makes you wish not only for the death of the one who hurt you but your own sometimes, but that is part of being human, Caedan. You know what others go through..you hear it from my own mind when I allow it.." She offers the girl a stare that only another who has experienced similar scorn could deliver, understanding and empathy between two women who loved a man.
Demont up until now had remained indifferent, calm, and seemingly uncaring. Looking to the psychic, he smiled sadly. "Then I've failed you." In a blur of motion, precise and near excellence, his sword is in his hand, that hellish, black weapon glinting in the candle light. Without warning, for he was the essence of calm, he struck, sending the tip of the weapon upwards with the speed of a striking snake. The Avian looked on as he sent the weapon towards the girl's abdomen.
Rhian 's full lips press into a hard line as her eyes wandered towards the vampriss and pixie not too far away. She turned back towards the spectacle, knuckles showing white through her dark skin as they gripped the staff. Altogether she did not move from that spot, save for an occasional shifting of her eyes to one side or another.
Gregario cackles to himself as if the Xenanex's question was the funniest thing he had ever heard, "We're about to see something more beautiful than I! The avian... I'm not sure who he is but he's clearly of pure heart. And the other I have made acquaintance with. Caedan if I recall correctly. She's about to prove herself a truthful being." He cackles again knowing that probably only made sense to him and to Caedan only.
Gregario sneers at the pixies comments to the situation, but relents any resistance to this with a sigh. He's too intent to see what Caedan's next moves are.
Xenanex nods in fake understanding. "You seem to know of much...maybe you can help me find who I search for."
Gregario tilts his head toward Xenanex, "Good sir, I can barely help myself. How do you expect I could be of any help to anyone?"
Tenebrae 's attention caught the motion of the weapon, her keen eyes preceding her quicker frame as it launched across the room.. but would she be in time?
Xenanex shrugs disappointedly and turns his gaze to the confrontation.
Xenanex removes a cigarette from the satchel on his waist and lights it with a snap of his fingers. leaning back in his chair he slips deep into thought
Caedan couldn't see anyone else in the tavern. The minds that are buzzing with chatter are unnaturally silent, and the chaos in her mind is created only by the force of emotions that swirls within it, emotions as unnatural as the silence is. The psychic has an eye on the near future, the events as they are going to unfold, the penultimate cheater. Her power is not omnipotent. She can only read in time as decisions are made, and thus far, the outcome of this confrontation is clear. Aware of an intrusion, her attention briefly flickers towards Thea. She can see the pixie's mouth moving, forming words, and it takes a prolonged moment for her to regain her auditory capability to piece together what she is saying; and in that split second, everything changes. The avian's mind changes, the course is altered. Her lips form a startled moue, and she can only reach for a dagger in response to his new course before the brand she once wielded herself plunges through her abdomen, centimeters from severing her spine. The psychic half-gasps, half-gurgles as blood begins to pool in her mouth, and she reaches out, clutching at the avian's shoulder to remain upright. Imploring eyes seek his own, only to turn malicious and cold in the next instant as the dagger stowed in the leather casing under her sweater sleeve is ejected into her hand and propelled in the same breath towards his throat, a smaller target, granted, but one that will make quick work of his impending demise. There is no time for anything else -- she doesn't look at the sword lodged in her body, the blood draining at an alarming rate, the people gathering -- instead, with one hand still braced on his shoulder, she watches him. The first time they met she tried to stab him in the throat; so goes the last, and she'll watch him until he's dead or she is.
Aryeh said to Xenanex, "I asked for a name, not a reason. Give me the name and I will find them."
Gregario stands abruptly and glares at the sight of the two in intertwined impales. Disgusted for his own reasons, he turns to leave the tavern. As soon as he approached the door he turned one last eye toward Caedan, "Deceit..." And exited.
Thea 's eyes widen in a combination of horror and near hatred for the interruption of possible reconcile by the blade of Demont, disbelieving eyes turning for a brief moment to catch his just as Caedan's dagger again makes its move, nearly catching her in the thrall. A desperate glance is passed to Tenebrae, unknowing what to do save for throw herself in the mess and chance her own death to stop it before Caedan's injuries prove fatal as well.
Xenanex took the final drag from his cigarette and dropped it into an empty bottle, turning his gaze once more to the mangled lovers.
Aryeh gasps slightly as the woman is impaled. His eyes almost water, something they hadn't done in decades now. His hand was placed absentmindedly over his belly, wishing he had some way to save the woman who knew the truth to emotions and their pains. He could only hope that her death was a swift one, one that she deserved so she could res peacefully. His lips move in a soft arcane prayer, wishing her a quick journey to the afterlife, hopefully stopping for a moment to drop her enemy into the fiery bowels of eternal suffering before that time came. He turns and looks away, keeping his head down and eyes closed.
Demont clung to Caedan, a strong arm about her waist as she clings to his shoulder. He sees the dagger, its glint, his face reflected upon its surface. Time changes, it slows, as if everyone and everything is slowly becoming encased in sap spilling forth from a wounded tree. The eyes of Caedan, within them he sees himself though them in a millisecond of time, detestable, vile, and hated. What he did had to be done. The Avian moves to whisper into the ear of the one he holds, perhaps sparing his life from being ended quickly, as the dagger sinks just to the left, into the flesh between shoulder and throat. It digs into bone, and the blade breaks off as he falls to a knee and relinquishes his hold on the weapon to instead hold Caedan in both arms, "This is not the end for you. This is the last I have to give you. Betrayal."
Tenebrae wasn't fast enough. The wound was made, the woman pierced; all the talk in the world wasn't going to help her now. A rough snarl peeled over pale lips, and the vampiress hooked an arm out to gather her clansmate to herself, rip her from the arms of her killer, the crumpling form snatched at as a child clutches a butterfly from the air. If Fate permitted, she would soon have the girl in her arms, easing her to the floor where blood welled and gurgled from the hole Demont's sword have pierced there. "Roussai..." It was a knell, a curse, a damnation, but her eyes were on Caedan. "Don't die, lass. Fight it." Eyes were wild, green lamps seeling succour from the horror of it. "Healer. We need a healer!" But the only healer closeby was at the thick, and the cause , of this tragedy. "Don't..." And there was another solution, yet. A more permanent one. "Don't die." And fangs peeled back again. No more of her kin would be lost. Tenebrae had lost enough.
Aryeh stood helpless. He admired the woman and her shun of emotions such as friendship and love. She kept herself at an arms distance. He had healing spells, but nothing that would even begin to seal that wound. It was doubtful that he could even stop the bleeding. He keeps his back to them, the assassin keeping himself separate from the crowd around the woman he admired. He cut away the emotions attached to her, she was a person just like any other and had nothing to do with him. Just as he would have nothing to do with her or her cohorts for now.
Demont looks between Tenebrae and Thea with paling eyes, "Life...She'll live." The blade in his shoulder twitched as he moved. He blinked. The artery held within the flesh had been pierced.
Thea doesn't waste a second in descending on Caedan, desperately digging into her magickal reserves to be used only if necessary; she knew how the girl detested having to resort to the method. Frantically she reaches out an appendage to Tene, "My bag, Tene.." she says quickly while motioning to the sack on the floor by where she had been sitting. Her hands work swiftly to procure the vital dust that had served so well to slow the flow of blood before, leaning down to whisper in Caedan's ear, "I know you don't much like it, but I have to.." With that, the Druidess looks at Demont tears streaming as she packs the wound in Caedan's abdomen.
Tenebrae snapped her fangs at the pixie. "Shove your bag up your ass. And get away from my clanswoman." Those eyes, so wide, narrowed now, mad with impending grief.
Thea blinks through her tears at Tenebrae, confused by her reaction but not questioning it considering the source. Reluctantly, the Druidess moves from Caedan.
Rheven passes through the tavern doors, letting them clatter shut behind him. Pausing, the revenant gazes over the current scene curiously, for once a bit surprised as a snowy brow raises. "...I've missed something, it appears." His eyes snap to Tenebrae then, questioning her in short order. "What happened?"
Demont stands, slowly and leans against the wall and places a hand over the bleeding gash near his throat. His eyes flit to Thea, and for the first time they are misty with tears.
Cogran , now sneaking away from his previous hiding spot, sprinkles more silvery dust onto himself. He then disappears into the fireplace, completely hidden and sage amongst the embers. "I suppose when your numbers aren't culled by explosions, cave ins, and botched experiments you have to find other ways to keep the population in check, but still.." The cold, almost mechanical mind of the odd little mage looking upon the scene with precision, taking in every little bit of what he saw, and making no sense of it. Just what are these creatures he has met so recently? So strange......
Rhian 's mouth gapes wide at the pixie as she moves away. The human stands from her seat, casting her staff aside and glaring towards Thea in outrage, "What're y'doin'?! If y'c'n help 'er help her!" The woman pointed towards the two forms of Tenebrae and Caedan as she walked forward towards Thea.
Tenebrae uttered one word by way of reply to the arch-mage, and it was spat over lips already thick with blood from the almost maternal kiss placed on the spattered brow of the psychic - should that liberty be allowed. "Roussai."
Thea 's eyes shift from the felled form of Caedan and the vampire so protectively sending her aid away to the rising frame of the Avian, her heart sinking to the pit of her stomach as she notes the tears welling in his hawk-like eyes.
A more agonized, pathetic cry will not be heard for generations to come with the realization that he won't die before she does. The dagger breaks and falls to the floor, and she can't speak, she can't curse him, even as he sinks to his knees to hold her. His last gift is his finest. She understands the emotion now. Betrayal. Betrayal is the warmth coursing down her cheeks. Betrayal is the sword lodged in her stomach. Betrayal is the pain ripping at her heart. She is taken from him then, and only vaguely aware of it, because she's still watching him around the buzz of commotion that is muted and almost otherworldly. She knows she is being spoken to, but to listen to questions and demands posed in real time and not echoed in her head first is an entirely new phenomenon. Someone passes in front of her, obscuring her vision of him, and the future is awash with change, different scenarios flickering through her mind like a grainy film, the image changing every few seconds. She desperately looks for him again, but there is much commotion, movement, curiosity, questions. Her head falls sideways and she reaches out, straining with a bloodied hand at a discarded feather that she isn't even sure is his. Beneath the muted, dull crimson that is soaking the bit of plumage, there is a hint of an ashen hue; the teen pulls it to her and clutches it against her chest, eyes now focusing on a hovering Tenebrae after some effort. Normally sharp steel-blue eyes are now glossy, dim, but retain the glimmer of illicit knowledge that is usually found there. More blood pools to the floor, mingling with countless others', and a streak of crimson falls from pale lips laterally down her cheek, criss-crossing with the path of the tears that have stopped falling.
Demont stands and staggers towards the door, his sights lingering a moment upon Thea as if beckoning her to follow. As he moves, he passes Rheven, yet does not stop, only speaks to the creature, "The time is nigh. Moments, I fear. Prepare." And he exits.
Tenebrae knew the sight and sounds of death. For three centuries she had perceived them from every quarter, from every angle; her world had become a haze of little else, and the entirety of her existence hosting mere moments of scant peace between it all. Death was always there, like a faithful friend, a persistent if disloyal companion and, as untrustworthy and fickle as that Great Beldam was, Tene would not allow Her to rip another from her grasp. In a motion as graceful as it was feral and swift, she lowered her head, jaw dropping to reveal a maw of sharp, white fangs. If it took the semblance of life to keep her family close and with her, then so be it. The psychic's throat offered all the resistance of firm apple's flesh to her teeth. One pale hand clawed the air, beckoning to Rheven, while the other clutched Caedan in an iron grip to permit the girl no motion, no struggle, even if she had the strength for it. And so, Tenebrae drank what life remained to the mortal, leaving her limp and white as marble. The revenant was sought out, with a gaze so fierce and wild as to resemble a bestial dam's moreso than the "Lady" Tenebrae's. "Feed her." It was gurgled over a gout of crimson that spilled, staining her slick mouth and chin anew with blood. "Bring her back to me."
Rheven moves with the speed necessary to save a fading mortal life, kneeling by the two as he arrives within mere seconds. Perhaps unexpectedly, he seizes hold of Tenebrae's gesturing hand, feeling along the wrist for a full vein before his own fangs find the flesh, sinking into it easily; the fellow vampire's blood flows down his throat, though he does not feed so long as to sate any hunger....no, instead he releases her hand after several moments, although not before sealing the wound. Turning to Caedan now, the revenant makes a swift yet precise incision along his own wrist, giving way to a rivulet of blood that is suddenly pressed firmly into the dying girl's lips. "...Drink, and quickly." Whether she really has a choice at this point is unclear, but even so...
Demont is a mess of blood, and has perhaps walked into a bear's den, but didn't care. It was to Rheven he looked, "Our business is to now commence."
Thea pushes through the doors, hands covered in crimson wrapped awkwardly around the blade, desperately searching through her tears for its owner.
Thea said to Rheven, "Wait."
Rheven shifts his gaze to Demont upon hearing the avian's voice. "...Now? You looked suited for a grave only minutes ago. Is this a joke, Demont? I am in no mood for humor."
Thea shoots a warning stare to the revenant as she passes him and finds Demont, lips pressing to his cheek then moving to his ear..
Demont 's face is not one with a smile upon it as he regards Rheven, "I am not one to joke. Do what you can for the girl if possible first."
Tenebrae spared the avian a look of such bitterness as might echo down the span of whatever time Hell had waiting for him, and snapped her gaze back to the revenant. "Roussai can wait." Her fingers groped the limp jaw of the girl she held, prying it open so the sanguine of the mage would trickle dark and slick within. Her opposite hand tangled in curls of auburn, the necromancers voice a choke of rage and sorrow. "Live, little one. Drink." It was a plea, a demand, petulant and forceful at the same time. Oh, what horrors she would perpetuate on the world that allowed such a thing to come about. But as with the avian, those could wait, for her dear one's return.
Demont said to Tenebrae, "Should she live, perhaps she will remember this as coming the closest she ever has to peace."
Thea looks on Caedan and Tenebrae, her tears pouring through an apologetic expression to the vampiress assuring she would have helped the girl.
Caedan smiles at Tenebrae, a wane, weak thing, and manages to say, perhaps more telepathically than audibly, "I got him." Her mind registered no pain when the sharp fangs intersected with the pristine expanse of her throat, and though the future kept flickering, she honestly believes this is the end of the line. It is a comforting thought. Just blessed nothingness, if she's lucky. Hell, if she's not -- but that can't be any worse than the things her own mind is able to conjure up at any given point. Nothingness is closer by the second, and soon she is only a marble doll, lying bloodied in the middle of the room, a toy of a disturbed ownership. Her last sight is of Demont returning to the scene of destruction -- upright, capable. Alive. And that is when it becomes enough. This cannot be endured. Rheven's command falls to ears incapable of hearing, and his wrist to lips incapable of drinking. Blood trickles down a throat that can't swallow.
Tenebrae deigned to give the murderer of her beloved Caedan no word in return. Only a silent, unhinged promise of retribution unending.
Rheven barely presses his fingers against Caedan's throat, tilting her head further so she is rather forced to swallow the blood streaming down her throat. Meanwhile, the revenant glances at Demont, even in the midst of it all. "A moment, then."
Rhian glares towards the pixie from where she sits, bony fingers clutching her staff and full lips pressed into a hard line.
Aryeh keeps his eyes away from the site. He had respected this woman, and though he had never even heard her name she would be a memory within his mind until the end of days. It was an inspiration to those who fought against emotions, who kept themselves detached to save the trouble and pain that came with friendship and longing. He goes to the board, refusing to look at the bloodied site in the tavern.
Thea looks to Demont, "You leave me no means to stop this? No barter nor agreement with any above or below to save that child from being alone?"
Thea said to Rhian, "You'd do well to direct your anger where it belongs, stranger."
Thea said, "I tried to help her..I was sent away."
Demont said to Thea, "The child is better off with you. She is better not knowing who, or what I am."
Demont said to Rhian, "And you...Would do well to shut up."
Rhian remains silent, her expression unchanging though she turned away from the pixie, muttering a few words under her breath before letting her gaze bore into the table she sat beside.
Gregario said to Thea, "You seem to be the peace consultant, so let me ask. Will anyone die here?"
Something had broken, a thing cracked already, perhaps, but now irreparably shattered, within the brittle shell that did the necromancer for a heart. "Rheven. She should have stirred by now..." It was a helpless, desperate glance that Tenebrae gave him, a look wounded beyond sanity's boundary. "Make her live!"
Rhian looked up from where she sat, the woman's grip tightening on her staff though her wiry form did not move. Her expression had softened dramatically, though it was still far from pleasant. "I'm not a woman o' war..." she said simply.
Aryeh walks up to Rhian rather briskly, his emerald eyes boring into her skull like an amplified ray of sunshine. He was a few inches from her face and his voice was a low growl. His words were stern and cold, his knuckles paling as they grip the wooden table. The words pass by unheard by others, meant strictly for the ears of Rhian.
Rheven turns his attention fully to Caedan once more, narrowing his eyes suddenly; pressing his wrist even more firmly against the girl's lips, the blood from it thicker and quicker...of course, that is out of the sight of all here. Finally, the arch mage pulls his wrist away and tilts the nearly-dead girls' head once more, giving her throat a soft stroke...just to further encourage the flow.
Caedan, for all the blood being massaged down her throat and taken from her body, should be experiencing a shift, a change in the chemical make-up of her body. But there is no visible movement, no breath, no lucidity returning to eyes that stare blankly towards the ceiling. What's done is done. Even the blood of the most powerful vampire in the land cannot revive a heart that's been broken long before. There is one last gurgle, a hiccup of blood in her mouth, a stiffening of her body, and then nothing. The feather clutched desperately in one hand is released, a matted, cherished mess left to the mercies of traveller and patron who tread it underfoot.
Rhian 's black eyes widened and her expression turned into a scowl. A deep breath flared her nostrils. She kept her voice low as his had been, never breaking eye contact with the dark-elf.
Thea stands there next to Demont, watching..and indeed sensing the life leave Caedan. Her eyes lift to his, then close tightly to release another stream down her already soaked cheeks.
Demont turns a misty glace towards Thea, staring at her for a long moment though remaining silent before looking towards Rheven.
Valkor steps into the tavern and senses something is amiss. To the strange female, Caedan his dark brown eyes lay.
"No." That one sound, barely intelligible, rose from the vampiress, even as the flesh she grasped started to lose its heat tangibly under Tenebrae’s hold, and the stillness of the delicate form she cradled spoke its silent blasphemy. "No." Again, the denial, and once more. "No!" A deep shiver shook Tene's frame, as her head swivelled atop her neck, side to side, in useless denial. "She has to..." Red-rivuleted eyes turned to Rheven. "We birthed her. She must...." But the body was going cold, and there was nothing of animation left to it. Tene pulled it closer, as a mother does a dead child, daring any to try to breach the embrace. "She's to live. Forever." Fingers slackened, coming to frame the psychic's cold face. "Forever, Caedan. FOREVER!" The final word was a scream, guttural, and then she regained her hold on the corpse of her dear one, her body rocking back and forth as Tene's pale face as turned to the rafters. "Kill him. Kill him, send him back to Hell. Roussai..." That the avian, or the healer for whom he'd betrayed her clanswoman so were present was a fact she seemed to have lost sight of, and to whom her command went was unclear. Still, she made it, even as she wept. "Kill him, by the gods and demons, I want him to suffer.""
Demont said to Tenebrae, "You would damn me for granting her peace?"
Rheven frowns faintly as Caedan fails to truly revive - something had gone wrong, although he is not certain what. Rather than dwell on it for the moment though, the revenant turns to Demont, overhearing Tenebrae's...morbid encouragement all the while. "I suppose that means we are free to finish this then, Demont. Did you have to kill the girl? I was certain you were above this..."
Thea knew better than to try reasoning with Tenebrae in the state she was in. It was a tragic night all around that should never have come to this end and it has indeed, pushed the boundaries of sanity out of reach for the now.
Aryeh walks back to the board, hearing the cries of Tenebrae. As tempting as it was for him to lunge at the avian to finish what Caedan had started, he restrained himself and kept his eyes on the board. He would keep to his standard, and if somebody wished for his services they would tell him directly, not screaming to the sky in a mindless plea.
Demont looks to Rheven, to Tenebrae, to the limp form of Caedan and to Thea, "I am above nothing, it would seem. I knew no other way to give her the peace she sought, and in those last moments, she knew what it was to truly live."
Rhian stays rigid in her chair, hunched over the table with staff clutched tight in her bony fingers. Her mind attempted blocking out the pleas echoing through the place, but to little avail.
Tenebrae was indeed beyond the realm of reason, or whatever slight grip she'd had on it to start with. All went unheeded now as she spoke feverish and nonsensical whispers to the corpse of her friend, her clansmate... one of her last hopes. With luck, her mind would not be returning to her any time soon, and best she were left to grieve, but this was not a fact apparent enough, perhaps, for those unwary of the necromancer's violent emotions.
Valkor takes in the tragic drama unfolding before his dark eyes and hesitates not fully understanding.
Rheven said to Demont, "Very well, I don't particularly care how you attempt to rationalize it. No more talk, the time for such has long since passed. Shall we, then?"
Demont said to Rheven, "Do what you will."
Thea understood to a degree. She knew the madness that haunted the girl, the screams and voices of agony she often spoke of. He had been the one to awaken her to 'feeling' again, and he had been the one to end it. Some may see it as murder, and for its technical definition, nothing else would suffice. Some though, would see it as mercy to quiet that mind so wrought with anguish and noise. Thea's eyes stay affixed to Demont studying every feature of his visage, painting it there in her mind.
Caedan is peaceful, and possessed of a beauty she didn't have when she lived. Her hair is a bit more lustrous, the auburn a brilliant luster, instead of the tendency towards mousy brown it generally held. Her sweater, still tattered, hangs on her slim shoulders better than it had previously, and the garish skirt with a ridiculous amount of tulle clings to a waistline that doesn't seem frighteningly thin anymore. Eyes of slate still stare at the ceiling, permanently fixed heavenward. She is unaware of anything that follows, occurs, happens. It is a state of breathtaking nothingness, no minds chattering, no thoughts thinking, no emotions clouding judgement. It is a nothingness she welcomes with open arms, even as they lie at odd angles against the floor of the tavern.
Rheven stares at Demont for a moment before closing his eyes. All of the sudden, a peculiar aura burns to life around the arch mage, forming into flames that seem to give off no heat at all; all of the sudden, his features begin to change, gnarling and stretching, darkening just a tad as well as he undergoes a quite hideous transformation of sorts. A pair of wings unfurl from the revenant's back and his once deep emerald eyes narrow into cold slits, lips thinning out into a nefarious grin of sorts as he assumes the truest, ugliest form of the beast of vampirism itself - or that is how it seems, anyway. Energies and magic that are fairly rare in appearance in this land begin to swirl around the avian, taking the form and sight of the same heatless flames that surround Rheven, gathering in a wreath of sorts around Demont -- focusing around him, these unusual energies begin to warp at his form, twisting and tearing...not at flesh, but at whatever may bind his being to this world. Indeed, this powerful spell seems to be working at the very fabric of the avian's existence, tearing him not into shreds, but absolute nothingness; into an eternal void that nothing escapes. Of course, such a spell is taxing even on Rheven, the horrific-looking vampire falling to his knees as the wells of magic around him exhaust, feeding off his own.
Tenebrae is far from peaceful. But there would be a silence to her now, the profundity of which would remain like the swell and heave of a brutal whirlpool below a sea's glassy surface, a riptide as deadly as any hurricane, as terrifying as that unleashed by the revenant masked below flesh almost as still as that of the girl she held.
Aryeh walks around Tenebrae, giving her a wide berth so as not to intrude upon her thoughts and risk his life. He was unsure if the avian was simply transported or ripped into nothingness by the vampire. Either way, he stays away from her for now.
Thea feels the crossing over, the spirit now freed from the binds of pain and heartache. A deep inhale raises the Pixie's torso, exhaling slowly in an almost relieved manner. But soon, the dread creeps into her throat again as she regards Demont, denial would not do her justice. The inevitable end nearing ever faster. Only then did she feel it happening, turning to see him vanish within the flame like some rude awakening to a dream. She falls to her knees where he'd stood, staring at the empty space as she sobs.
Demont the last of the once fabled heroes of this world, a creature wrought of conflict and adversity, endowed with an ungodly determination and stubbornness, stares on, looking each in turn to the faces of those present. The fibers of his being are slowly pulled at, a tapestry wove by the hand of a master being undone thread by thread. As this happens, it seems that the Avian can hear and feel all the deaths that have ever taken place in this damnable world, all of the millions of screams, shuttering breaths, serene thoughts. Every death ripped through his being and drove him to his knees, his hands clasped to the sides of his head in a natural reflex to stem the flow of these things, but to no avail. As the magic increases, Demont lets loose an earth shattering scream. A wind of an unknown origin erupts in the small establishment and douses every light, casting the interior into darkness and the only light comes from the flames licking at creation, casting dancing shadows of demons upon the walls. Minutes pass as the inferno rages, and as abruptly as it started, it ends. Demont is left there in the wake, upon his knees and as still as a statue, his face contorted into the definition of pain. Slowly, thin cracks, like stepping upon a barely frozen pond erupt across the body of the creature, expelling from them a hellish light of red which intensifies seconds after, growing and growing until the breaking point is reached. When it is, a last anguished cry is let loose from the cold lips of Demont as his body, physical and spiritual, is ripped into millions upon millions of pieces and cast about the room in a shower of pristine light which collects and falls like rain, vanishing before the droplets make contact with anything.
Tenebrae weathered the eruption of Demont's death as stoically as any sailor locked upon a ship at sea, battening down her limbs around the body of Caedan in a useless, protective gesture. And, amid the dark, when her scrunched eyes cracked open to find the world suddenly blazing, she was blinded by his light. The avian's abrupt absence leaving rings and bubbles of after-images burned on red-tainted retinas that would remain for many hours, and her soul scarred with satisfaction that he'd indeed suffered. But not enough. Not anywhere enough for her liking.
Rheven rests on his knees under the last of Demont is entirely gone - not so much dead, as he already was in a sense, but ripped from existence altogether. Finally, the revenant's features soften once more, contorting and twisting back to their usual pallid complexion and fairness, no longer resembling such a beast...opening his eyes, the arch mage rises to his feet, the light in this tavern flickering for a moment before it is finally restored, only with the avian no longer here. "...It is done."
Aryeh lifts his head as the newly appeared woman looks at him.
Aryeh shifts slightly, the black clay scroll cases that hang from the rags he calls clothing clink together softly. As if he were a wind chime, their tinkle signals his movement softly but surely. His fingers dance over one the silken gold ropes that hang from the clay cases, his eyes running over Sarah.
Sarah said to Aryeh, "hello"
Tenebrae said, "No." The revenant's quiet proclamation was met with an empty stare. "It is not."
Rheven turns to regard Tenebrae, meeting her empty stare with his own. "What is left, then?"
Aryeh remains silent, fingers silently fondling the silken gold colored tassles that hang from the black clay scroll case. His eyes find hers, emerald veiled with faintly yellow hair. Other than his black skin, his facial features screamed he was anything but drow. "What do you want...."
Sarah shrugs fixing him with a emerald stare. "Can’t a dragon say hello, you were looking at him"
Aryeh said to Sarah, "You were looking at me first..." the words curt and cold. He had already seen someone to be admired slain, he was in no mood to mix words pointlessly with any "What do you want?"
Sarah said to Aryeh, "Nothing."
Aryeh said to Sarah, "Then leave me be..."
Tenebrae made it look effortless; the dead weight of the psychic hoisted upward as her own small frame was brought to a stand. Her voice carried the same nullity as her eyes. "It remains that we bury our Firstblood." Caedan was a gathering of indigo thread and white flesh stained red, a tousle of hair, a bundle the vampiress bore tenderly in her arms. "It remains that we honour her. For her sake. For that of those to follow." But she wouldn't move toward the door, standing as might an automaton waiting for the puppetmaster to jerk its strings.
Rheven simply nods, moving to Tenebrae's side and cradling his own arms under a portion of the seemingly dead girl's body. "Very well. As you wish, let us go..." He gestures toward the door, more with his head than anything else. "...Quickly."
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Post by Caedan on Oct 7, 2008 23:51:33 GMT -5
Elevated Lookout to the Sea -one time burial ground of Demont himself ...
Tenebrae had spent hours on the task-- many of them sheerly unnecessary, except that they offered her the chance to perfect her task, and delayed the inevitable just that little while longer. The final result was as breathtaking as it was likely to pierce the heart of any onlooker whom possesses a shred of compassion: a human girl, dressed in a wealth of brocade and filigree of silver, her hair an immaculate coif of tenderly-arranged curls, diamonds and pearls strung along silver wire glittering among them; and this lovely form lying stretched on a bier, her folded hands poised so might be held between them a single white rose. It may seem to the casual onlooker that this was perhaps the daughter of some wealthy potentate, resting herself after a long journey-- albeit that this was a strange place to take such repose, no breath was drawn to fill her chest, however gentle, and her cheeks were pallid as a marble angel's. Death had claimed Caedan as certainly as She might any mortal, though the youth in the girl's visage spoke of the tragic ending to a too-brief existence. In stark contrast to this sad loveliness was the female who tended her: a vampiress clad in black and scarlet so dust-covered as to nearly obscure both shade and hue below the dirt, her hands raw from the rough wooden handle of the spade she used to dig the grave, a hole scraped deeply into unforgiving rocky soil. Tenebrae was a picture of misery and despair, her dishabille unheeded as she tucked about the form of her charge a garden's worth of gorgeous flowers, and sundry -- somewhat inappropriate-seeming, in places -- odds and ends, while tremors in her fingers shook every carefully-placed stem and item. So absorbed was she in this task that it would be doubtful she'd hear any footfall or call that may presage the presence of another.
Isen slips into view, slightly nervous-looking, his hand clutching tightly to the disk at his chest as he approaches Tenebrae and Caedan. He makes no move to help, nor does he speak; he just stares, his golden eyes unreadable.
Tenebrae said to Caedan, "Lavender, for your butterflies. It makes a soothing honey, and the air sweeter." Tenebrae dropped 4 lavender.
Tenebrae said to Caedan, "Midnight roses, in memory of the Darkness who loved you, and loves you still." Tenebrae gave 2 black rose to Caedan.
Kasyr was the next to arrive, his progress down the cliffside a decidedly laborious process- his failed attempt at drinking himself to death amounting to little more than a dishevelled appearance further aggravated and a new found inability to navigate the somewhat treacherous way down without a gloved hand pressed to the cliffside at all times. All he could muster was maintaining the pack upon his back, and a somewhat offkilter pace- his entrance not quite as subtle as the lycans. Tenebrae said, "And this, the rarest flower. Bit like you, really. Listen to me, I am worse than the frails who sob on the bartop. You'd probably smack me, if you could." Tenebrae gave 1 orchid to Caedan.
Tenebrae said, "And I rescued these from the cellar. I know they were not our allies, but they'll remind you of our battles, should you need to remember." Tenebrae gave 1 Iron cutlery-set to Caedan.
Misha arrives quietly, almost imperceptibly to those absorbed with their sorrows. She stands out of the way of the others, knowing that she has no place amongst them. She knew not the one they mourn for, but their desolation was almost palpable as she stood just beyond the scene. She bows her head in silent respect and prayer for a loved one of so many who has fallen too soon.
You seemed awkward, then, herself. She had nothing left to give and had said everything she was willing to speak aloud but for the last words uttered before the exhausted necromancer took a seat on a rock closeby, her legs folding below her. "I'll make sure he suffers, even where he is. You will go to a different place, somewhere filled only with beautiful dreams." It was then she heard unsteady steps behind her, and turned to find herself not alone. Tene's eyes were empty wells that stared at the gathering a long moment, before turning toward the vast reaches of the sea. "She's gone...."
Isen removes from the pouch at his waist a small jar of milk, tightly sealed to keep the pale drink contained. He clears his throat, then does so again, seeming about to speak. Abruptly, he shakes his head, and sets the jar down alongside Tenebrae's other offerings, stepping back without any sort of explanation.
Kasyr is unable to form words, and even were he gifted of a tongue they would be of a most mangled sort. Instead, what Tenebrae receives is a mournful look as the 'Guardian' ushers forth towards his last Ward, a few long moments spent staring at her. He'd failed, again- in protecting the ones he said he would; in keeping his promises, and what was more, the sole gift he had was almost traitorous in nature. Feathers, She'd loved them so in life, and yet... They'd led to her demise, had they not? Glimpses of rumours read and heard- it was enough to make him hesitate. But finally, a feather was plucked from his pack- a remnant of an Avian named Sardin; whom she'd so favoured, once upon a time. It's placed with some care near the milk Isen had set, before a second oddity is collected, Scales from the dragon named Cefren, an odd remnant from his attempt to tame her 'pet'. And with those peculiar keepsakes settled, he'd simply turn away, to slump back against the cliffside, vacantly observing the others present.
Kasyr dropped 1 dragon scales. Kasyr dropped 1 black feather.
Rheven comes to a fairly graceful landing just a set of feet from the gathering, his wings promptly folding out of sight; the legs do the rest of the work, stepping closer as he gives a solemn nod in greeting to those here. He does not speak yet, for whatever reason, though one could guess it is out of respect for the fallen.
Tenebrae observed the offerings left, each eliciting a slight wince that evidenced as the merest tic of her eyelids. Rheven's arrival was greeted with a look that spoke of sorrow. Then she stood. Once more her gaze turned seaward, and a great breath was drawn in over lips that parted again to bellow to the winds: "Roussai! Watch us bury her here, at the very place you fell. Her marker will stand as testament to your treachery, forever. I hope you can see it all, from the Hell that ate you. I hope you see it, you and your secret whore both, and know what evil you have wrought, how you have robbed the world of one far greater and more loved than you could ever hope to be." There would be a span of silence, then, while she turned to face all the motley crowd who'd come to the call, or happened along. Her next words were far quieter, the vampiress' voice cracking with the strain of her cry, and the weight of emotion in it. "Help me lay her to rest." The bier had rope handles, and through these more lengths of rope knotted to aid in lowering their sad burden to the ground.
Isen dutifully takes his place at one of the ropes, knuckles whitening beneath the red runes as he clenches his fists tightly on the knotted length. He looks around, waiting for the others to come to his aid.
Misha meagerly offers what assistance she can give to the weary mourners. She takes hold of a rope alongside the others and prepares.
Kasyr follows, though his strides are not taken hastily. Even his placement at Isen’s side, where his hands would find a rope- these held an odd sort of hesitation at the finality of this action- at the seeming acceptance to her fate that this equated to.
Rheven takes the last of the ropes, giving a brief glance to Tenebrae as the arch mage - oddly enough - waits for some kind of instruction. Breaking his silence, he takes a mere moment to offer a response to Tenebrae's undoubtedly unheard call to the fallen avian. "He is gone, for good. Before, he escaped from the bowels of hell, or so he said. However, now there is no hell for him to rise from; only a void. Nothingness."
Tenebrae seemed comforted by Rheven's words, something of the sere lines into which her features had set softening after he'd spoken. The pallbearers ready, she nodded toward the grave, and drew from out her pack a bundle of indigo wool. The garment had been carefully cleaned of blood and grime, the hole torn in it mended neatly. This was placed tenderly across Caedan's form. "It's time." The vampiress herself took up the shovel, ignoring the sting of splintery timber on the raw-rubbed skin it'd caused earlier.
Tenebrae said to Rheven, "How could we have failed..." Failed -her- was what she almost said, and didn't, "... like that? What went wrong?"
Isen stares down at Caedan's body, and his rasping voice breaks its stoic silence to say two words. "Thank you." One hand rises to slip beneath the stone disk, resting upon the large scar there.
Rheven said to Tenebrae, "It was indeed unfortunate. I am unsure what went wrong; it is possible her wounds were too severe and we were simply too late. It was not our failure."
Kasyr pauses for a few long moments, glancing over towards Misha- seemingly expectant for any more words to follow. None forthcoming however leaves the hybrid with no other choice then to do what he dreaded- a faint tensing of the rope he held made to get the others prepared- before he motioned with his head towards the grave. ...How he hated this.
Tenebrae followed the bearers, keeping close enough to draw the woollen cloth over Caedan's features before the bier made its descent. She glanced to Rheven and nodded, though her expression betrayed the fact she wasn't all convinced. Next, she studied the elven stranger who'd arrived to lend an unexpected but welcome hand. Indeed, it seemed she was willing to look anywhere, just then, but at the still form being lowered into the grave. Finally, she scraped a spadeful of dusty earth up, hesitating before tipping it over the side. "The Cabal honours you, Caedan. You are ever among our number, even at your rest."
Caedan is a darling corpse, a beautified version of the doll that had she had become in death, marble skin marred only by a splash of crimson that painted her lips, normally so pallid. And so she stays, even as she is lowered into the twice-consecrated earth. The collection of oddities aren't displaced, with the exception of the feather, which floats away quietly as she descends into her final resting place. There is an utter and complete silence, devastating in its own right, like the death knell of hope. A light breeze blows, stirring the ocean below and skies above, like a faint, familiar whispering. A comforting reassurance. And then all is chaos. In the flash of an instant, all who are in attendance find their minds in a fervor, countless disjointed, distorted thoughts pillaging and uprooting their own. It is cataphonic chaos, thoughts spoken, whispered, screamed; they are tripping over themselves to be heard, a dizzying, sickening sensation. The onslaught would bring any sane person to their knees; each thought is driven by an emotion attached to it, and most of it seems to emanate towards bitter hatred, gut-wrenching sadness, complete and utter confusion.
Isen 's eyes widen as the unseen onslaught begins, his control rapidly slipping away as emotions crowd all rational thought from his head. With a mournful howl, his transformation begins, and he hurries away, fading off into the night as he drops from two legs to four.
Rheven 's eyes widen for a moment, both brows lofted as his mind is penetrated by such chaos; more of a shock than anything, it sends the arch mage's magically attuned senses probing at the source, but with so little luck. Slowly, yet surely, the revenant begins to get the slightest idea of just what might be going on, shifting his gaze from the seemingly deceased girl to Tenebrae all of the sudden...and strangely enough, a smirk appears. He simply waits for the rest to unfold by itself.
Kasyr 's reluctance to relinquish that rope was for but one moment an all-consuming thought; his mind seeming to seek refuge in the slow burn the cord provided on his fingers- in the rough reality it held, as opposed to the future which it was building toward; that dismal creation of an Avian now deceased- his legacy painted in the blood of a Ward. The present is an incredible fragile thing however, and the hybrid is suddenly dragged into a newborn present with the eruption of a frenzied thought- that stability which had been found in the cord now a thought of the past as an eruption of conflicting thoughts and memories were dredged up from his mind. They begged for a release, nostalgia and delusion twining together as thought they could force up some scream from the mute- and settling instead upon driving him to his knees- a weak, confused sob all that can be mustered as his psyche succumbed to the discordant rush.
It began as a murmur, low and turbulent, that swelled up somewhere in the back of Tenebrae's awareness. She thought it was only the frazzled leavings of Kasyr's grief or even some empathic emanation stemming the elven girl, whom she did not know. Isen's anguished leavetaking was noted, though she assumed he'd merely been overcome with sorrow. The voices and the images were shunted aside in favour of her own private thoughts and feelings until in a wave that built, quick and steadily, to a mind-numbing crescendo, it overtook her altogether and the vampiress dropped the shovel while her entire being, it seemed, was assaulted with a maelstrom. Pale hands rose to clutch the sides of her head and she'd join Kasyr in the dirt when the pitch reached its peak. And that was when it became apparent to her-- the source of this cacophony. The images were familiar, and the single thready voice that wove in and out of it all. Peridot eyes were narrowed with pain , squinting up to the cooler, more collected form of Rheven. As confusing and terrible as this was, still her heart lurched with a sudden flight of hope.
In the midst of all the chaos, the girl gasps, and her torso lurches upward, as if drug by a cruel puppet master. She swivels her head, unable to comprehend her location, her situation, the strange and foreign thing that seems to be her body below, the burning in her throat. After a prolonged moment of terror and absolute confusion, it dawns on her that there is something above, something besides endless walls of dirt. Her mind is flashing to endless walls of mottled tavern wood, then to great black stone, then sky, and then it repeats over again, never in the same order, never the same images, but variations thereof. She rises into a stand that lacks a certain grace, yet possesses another type, and somehow half-crawls, half-climbs her way to the surface. She is the perfect picture of complete desperation. The fear in her eyes is rapidly replaced by something much darker, even though the hue has turned a startlingly lighter shade of blue, seemingly overnight. A second later and she is keenly aware of the burning in her throat; it is so intense that both hands lift and claw at the expanse of ivory, desperate to appease it, whatever the cost. Her gaze flashes dangerously among those present; they are seen in such a clarifying light. She can see their chests rising and falling, their eyelashes fluttering. She can hear the breeze play among their garments, their worried gasps. Their heartbeats -- less of them than are people present, but she can still hear them. And it is intoxicating, and she is frantic.
Rheven 's smirk seems to widen further at the sight, a sudden laughter coming up from within him as his suspicion is confirmed; of course, the revenant feels a sense of triumph when all seemed lost for the girl, and he manages to peel his eyes from the sight long enough to peer at Tenebrae once more. "...Our hopes and efforts were not wasted! She is indeed alive...we did not fail."
Laughter, he was distinctly aware of laughter somewhere in the background of the erratic hell that had become his thought process, the endlessly churning kaleidoscope of emotion which needled away at what he felt and what he perceived. It was impossible, at this moment, to determine whether it was bewildering, or heartwrenching- whether it served to infuriate or enliven; the emotions he could not tell which were foreign and which were his own- what a muddled mess they were. A savage hunger, an awareness- it too made itself known in the back of his mind causing a heart normally still to throb in a terrible mimicry of life. The only thing that stopped the hybrid from collapsing completely was the bizarre sense of familiarity, a palpable sensation of the psion- what he could only acknowledge as a facade of comfort forged by his minds denial. Something which he could not help but endeavour to confirm, albeit his 'realisation' that it was a falsehood of his own creation- a construct to comfort, no? The twist of things lies, of course, in that furtive glance; in whether that brief hope which gave sight to something that shouldn't be... was a falsehood born of the mind- or whether the tiefling was indeed not mistaken. What remained true in that moment was simple, just a halting of breath long made unnecessary.
Tenebrae’s reply to Rheven was a look snapped upon him, startled and wide. "Stop her!" Clearly, the new-sired was about to rip her own throat out. All too well, Tene recalled that initial howl of thirst, maddening, the agony of it. "She needs to feed..." A patter of footsteps in the distance was all that remained of Misha, the only mortal present in this gathering, and thus the only food source close enough to appease Caedan's birth-pangs. Tene's expression would make clear to the archmage that he was expected to source some victim or other for the girl. Kasyr was nudged with a foot, the tiefling's obvious agony not as much overlooked as placed a little lower in the queue of things to be dealt with, in that desperate moment. "Get a grip, Kas, and get up. We must keep her here, safely. Help me!" It was with vast trepidation she'd step toward the sireling then, though she knew how little time Caedan's strength, borrowed from the blood of her two sires, would last.
Caedan is wild-eyed and still tearing violently at her throat. Anything to appease whatever has been done there. She is vaguely aware of a strange sensation in her mouth and deduces this might be the cause of the discomfort, tongue lashing over her gums and teeth to discover the cause. It tears on an elongated canine, and then blood. It trickles down her throat and the burning is fractionally appeased. She hisses at the advance of the others, instantly falling into a feral crouch in a liquid motion far too fast to be considered human.
Rheven allows his triumphant feeling to fade long enough for his true senses to take hold, reaching out and seizing Caedan's arms so she can no longer scratch and tear at her own throat. Considering the revenant is one of the girl's sires, his strength is many times her own, and enough to contain her limbs; all the while, he whispers calmly to her, knowing the chaos that some experience upon first awakening...though what exactly he is saying is unclear, a bit too hushed for any but Caedan to hear.
Kasyr immediate reaction to being nudged is a general grasping towards the space Tenebrae’s foot formerly occupied- a few more moments of Caedan’s confusion channeled at the source of this most confusing movement. Still, It was enough to ground him to some extent, the world beyond Caedan becoming more distinct- the utter disarray of thoughts that had been evoked weaved through for a moment. It was enough to allow him to function to some degree, the hybrid swaying up to his feet if only to make his way over to Caedan with all due haste; his mind still not fully processing what was occurring. He was moving, at least- albeit a bit woodenly.
Tenebrae was, not surprisingly, somewhat less affected than the tiefling by the psychic storm Caedan’s dervish mind was even now throwing off, though there were elements within it that took her all her will to thrust aside. "Kasyr, Rheven has her." She hooked his arm with her fingers, drawing his frame back from where the archmage had the girl firmly embraced. "Kas... Kassy?" Tene turned him toward herself, if he let her, seeking his eyes with her own frantic gaze. "She is safe. Find her food, quickly. Grab what you can-- she must have something, and soon." Some distance from the disturbed newsired's presence might alleviate his own suffering a little, too... perhaps?
Kasyr found himself led along by Tenebrae, discombobulated as can be. Really, his sense of where he was at any given moment was relatively skewed- but her presence, and that sense of placement by the pressure of her fingers was enough to keep him fixated on her words at least- her attempt at meeting his eyes earning her a rather uneven seeming stare. Still, the words seemed to be registered, for not long after the order was voiced, he'd pull back and nod- an awkward stumble backwards too abruptly shift into a full out sprint. Recklessness would overtake him now, serve as his guide to attract attention and pray- His ward to give him the strength and focus he needed in this moment; pushing a body that was fatigued and ill fed up that treacherous path. To hunt.
Caedan is jerked back into a stand, her arms pinioned at her sides by the archmage, and her initial reaction is to kill him. Her second reaction is to figure out how, and without arms, biting seems a viable option. Then he is speaking to her, and the fight or flight instinct dissolves, and returns to a wary docility. The extent of her telepathic onslaught lessens, contained within her own mind once again, with arcs of confusion that infect themselves into the others' minds periodically, without warning -- as if she were subconsciously searching for answers to questions she couldn't even begin to understand, let alone articulate. The psychic watches those in attendance with caution; the empath's departure is a tangible lessening of the chaos that consumes the burial site, as it goes when chaos stops feeding on chaos. Her muscles twitch under Rheven's grasp, and she swallows hard, anything to allay the thirst gnawing now at throat and stomach alike.
Portea is astride the magnificent bronze dragon, his friend, Dietrich, seated directly behind him as powerful wing-beats carry them closer to the burial site. -Not too close.- The psion projects into Mnementh's mind, who immediately understands, having seen part of the commotion during their approach. "We're here." He says softly, tilting his head back so that the lycan can hear him. His vaporous gaze soon locks upon the small gathering, garnering a few blinks from the man as he realizes that Caedan is upright and... moving. Mnementh's claws rake against the ground, carving up a few chunks of dirt before the great beast manages to stop completely, kneeling down to allow both riders to get down with less of a drop.
Meanwhile, Somewhere In Cenril ...
Kasyr had not hunted out of sheer necessity in a long while. Gone were the times when the hunger wore at him, the times when his morality made feeding difficult- caused him to hesitate in fear of harming prey. Gone were the times when he despised the concept of being ostracised for what he was, or feared the repercussion of every act of violence. Now, in this moment, he became the night- let the shadows caress and embrace him as though he were some nightmarish creature escaped from an infants tormented dreamscape. The winds seemingly bent to his whimsy, picking up in his passing; whipping with the fury of his emotions- wrapping themselves about him in some attempt to smother the sound of his passing. The tiefling hunted now for Caedan, for his ward- for that illucid love held on a bloodstained pedestal. And he'd delight in every moment, in every snatch of violence that was promised in the moments space was closed between himself and his chosen victim. Indeed, it was the guard who resided at the very outskirts that the hybrid had marked; his secluded placement having been dubbed the perfect place for this wicked practice.
Kasyr , graced by night and gale, wasted no time in closing upon the spot, the sight of that man causing a feral grin to spread upon his features. Indeed, the fact that the recent death of the city’s 'governor' had lead to an additional pair of guards being posted at that spot served to do little more than add on to the tiefling’s violent glee. From the shadows he'd rush, interrupting some menial discussion on the recent 'tragedy' with little caring to the discomfort caused- an immediate survey of the situation taken. He'd settled himself in the middle of two pikemen, and a third with a sword and shield. For the instant, they were surprised, the unexpected appearance of the trenchcoated hybrid having fortunately jolted them into a startled state- one which made the ensuing action all the much easier. Before the guard with the sword could finish recoiling back, Kasyr would quite smoothly slide over towards him left arm flicking out towards the mans nose to crash violently into it- right before a simple sweep of foot would rob the reeling man of his equilibrium. Unfortunately, that fall would be even more ungraceful then what fate would initially intend, as the hybrid then simply caught the mans flailing sword arm and squeezed- forcing him to relinquish his blade so that and adept catch on the behalf of his right- would make the invariable task of pinning the man to the ground vis a vis impalation through the heart a simple scenario to carry out. That was one.
By this point, one of the guards had managed to recover, and was even making moves to get both his hands upon his pike. Something which placed him, to his great misfortune, as the next recipient of the hybrids wrath. Indeed, it took little more than the simple action of ducking and pivoting to throw off the mans aim- a blow intended for the hybrids upper torso instead passing over his shoulder- and leading to Kasyr’s arm slipping about the weapon and tugging upon the shaft. And it was as such that the solder was forced into a violent stumble forward- one which only ended with the tiefling’s hand around his throat- and a ravenous maw buried into his neck not long after; shearing out flesh and artery with savagery that was most often reserved for those most hated. Quite akin to the soldiers former commander, one supposed- not that it made much of a difference to the now gurgling infantry man. He was simply left to flail haplessly for a few odd moments, this time taken to cast a glance over to the solitary survivor as he stood in 'mute' shock. Really, the poor bastard was in such a state that he was unable to lift a finger to aid his friend as the hybrid hoisted his former conversation partner up against a wall and proceeded to ram the end of the pike through his compatriots stomach. It was only when that final cry came that the man abrupt cast his weapon aside and began to run- tossing aside bits of armour in some desperate attempt to pick up speed.
Back At The Cliff ...
Dietrich 's eyes wandered from the spectacular view of the ocean's relentless crash upon the shore to the darker, bloodier scene more immediately below the trio of psion, beast and lycan. "For a funeral, there seems to be a lot of... commotion..." he muttered to Portea before Mnementh landed, his body braced for the impact at the ground and pleasantly surprised when the dragon strove to complete the process with as little jarring as possible. Once he'd slipped from the scaled back, however, his fleeting contentment dissipated; why was the girl-- the one who was clearly intended to be the deceased-- moving? A wary sniff was taken, and the lycan's nose burned with the familiar icy scent of vampires, three of them with a fourth having left not long ago. The lithe, wiry body tensed, though an instinctual snarl was restrained; Portea must know them, he thought to himself, desperately striving to trust the psion's company as he gazed upon the scene, following his friend's lead.
Tenebrae's own vision was drawn upward as a vast shape shadowed the sky, and a frown furrowed her brow at the expectation of some disturbance that would likely made a bad situation worse. There was no sign of Kasyr returning any time immediately, Rheven had his hands tied with their sireling, and shock-waves of mental turmoil still hit her now and then, throwing askew her thoughts and intentions. But the over-riding and steely will -- or sheer stubbornness -- that'd seen her through so many disasters now held firm in her the singular desire to find Caedan something to eat, and as the dragon descended in a flap and scrape of bronze immensity, she realised the creature was not all that unfamiliar. Just.. a bit larger than last she'd seen him. And with the dragon was no doubt the man who had raised him. The psion... the mortal... "Portea..." And of course, there he was, with company-- a man Tenebrae did not know and whom was given a cursory once-over, before her attention returned to her clansmate. His name was at first a whisper, a hopeful hiss of a word, until she spoke it again. "Portea!" He might pick up the desperation in her tone, if he had not fond it in her mind already. "We need help!" If indeed the mentalist's thought were attuned to her own, he might sense clearly the nature of the thing she would next be asking him.
Rheven keeps Caedan's hands tied up firmly, ceasing his calming whispers as they seem to produce the desired effect. Though the majority of his attention is upon the newly born vampire, the revenant spares Tenebrae a brief glance. "She will need to feed, and very soon. Under strict supervision as well, I might add; she may not know when to stop." Portea 's eyes widen as the true extent of the scene hits him like a brick. "...Dietrich... get back up here.." He says in a rather serious tone, knowing all too well the man's distaste for vampires. "Mnementh, keep him in the air until things have calmed down." He whispers softly, knowing that the dragon can hear his thoughts anyways as he jumps down. "You do realize what you're asking, right?" He replies, walking over to Tenebrae slowly, tilting his head to the right to reveal the myriad of puncture wounds on his neck, courtesy of the lovely Sidonia. "...How much safety can you guarantee me?" He inquires softly, glancing over at the psychic, knowing all too well how uncontrollable newly sired vampires can be. Mnementh roars defiantly, not wanting the psion to go through with this, yet unable to stop him. ~What will -she- say, Portea?!~ The dragon projects into the psion's mind, making the man wince at the thought, though otherwise ignores it.
Kasyr was a sight to behold of sorts. Most especially due to the company he was keeping. The trenchcoated and scarf wearing tiefling was disheveled- in the same manner as a drunk who had pulled himself out of a ditch might be- enough to raise eyebrows in itself- but what was more noticeable than anything; was the fact that his return heralded a few acute changes- most especially the fact that it appeared he'd chosen to roll around in someone’s blood {Or more accurately, stand close enough for an arterial spray}. What was more, he seemed to be indulging himself to a point, an oddly amused look on his expression as he essentially 'shepherded' what could only be guessed as a Cenrilian guard down that treacherous path. One worded it as could be guessed, if only because the man hardly sported any of the armour that was customary of the uniform, one of the last scraps that were easily removable tossed aside in that foolish bid for speed- as though he actually held some chance of getting away. Unfortunately, all games do come to an end- and unfortunately, this particular facade of a flight made possible would come to an abrupt and crashing halt when the hybrid would simply toss his trenchcoat aside and barrel straight into the mans back- hands locking onto his shoulders and forcing him down a particularly rough patch of the cliffsides 'natural-and-unpleasantly-uneven' staircase. Gift delivered, the hybrid then simply slid off the man, not really bothering to cast a glance towards him- as priorities rested in retrieving his coat, and then sidling over towards Tenebrae. He could after all, still sense Caedan’s presence, and that was all that was really important.
Dietrich moved to follow Portea's instructions-- at first. But then understanding of the desperate female's request dawned upon him, and he halted when half-astride the dragon's back. "Portea," he muttered, cursing his new friend's loyalty to the damned leeches 'neath his breath, though the words themselves were lost in the thudding of his feet as he sprinted to where the human stood. Though his face was grim, the picture of one who knew an adventure's folly and traveled its path anyways, he managed a solemn courtesy for the lady. "Hello, madam," he greeted her with a nod. But then Portea was addressed, though he made no effort to conceal his words from the woman. "If you must go through with this, Portea, then at least have me stand by. If she--" But the series of thumps resonating from the stairs as the hapless guard bounced down them cut the lycan's words short, and he barely managed to hide his look of revulsion at the trickery, falling silent and hoping that the psion would consequently be absolved of the duties to his clansmen.
Portea's "reprieve", courtesy of the tiefling, arrived not a moment too soon. Deitrich's greeting received no return from Tenebrae but the briefest of nods-- his bristling sensed by one whose mate often did so, hidden or not. Whatever she might have said next was lost when Kasyr and the guard approached, her eyes filling with a look of obvious relief that she then turned to the psion. "No need, now. But you have my thanks." His willingness to step up, to make such sacrifice and present himself to risk for the sake of a clansmate swelled her heart with evident pride, and she'd even allow the corners of her lips to twitch into a smile of sheer gratitude. "She has her blood now." Or would have, when Rheven allowed it. The necromancer stepped back, relinquishing space for the bloodbath that was shortly to come, and taking a stance beside the psion. Her voice was quiet. "We brought her back." It was all she had to offer, for now, by way of explanation; the full story might be better suited to a long-overdue hearthside-and-ale conversation.
Tenebrae said to Kasyr, "Thankyou." Whether by her own mind, or some sense the empath had projected, it seemed important to acknowledge his gift in specific terms. "You have done her a great service."
Caedan 's eyes blaze with a sudden fury as a new scent hits her. There is a great thudding heart overhead, and two softer ones. All three scents hit her simultaneously, and if it were not for Rheven's grasp on her arms, she would stagger backward under the weight of it all. Her first instinct is to go for the dragon, the biggest -- the one with the most blood. But Portea is closest, and Rheven be damned if he can hold on to her as she lunges forward. She can practically see the stream of blood that pulses from a pronounced jugular. She's got her arms around him in a flat second, driving him back, maybe to the ground -- it hardly matters. Instinctively, her lips are at his neck, and then she has pierced him, and not in the delicate, two-pronged attack of most seasoned vampires. Instead, she chomps at the flesh, spitting bits of skin out as blood begins to pool to the surface. Again, fangs she isn't quite able to control dip and pierce the skin, raking across the yielding flesh without finesse nor care. The sacrifice of the Cenrilian guard -- the beloved city of the cause of this entire fiasco -- is lost on her for the moment; clarity is only found through the blood that is mercifully tumbling down her throat.
Rheven grunts and loosens his grasp on Caedan - he could hold her back, but simply does not, for one reason or another...she does need to feed, after all. Thinking his job here done, the arch mage regards Tenebrae once more. "Keep her under control and close watch. I have business of my own to tend to..."
Portea takes note of the Cenrilian guard and nods to Tenebrae. "Better late than nev..." He starts to say before getting cut off, somewhat literally, as he is tackled violently to the ground. The psion doesn't even have time to cry out as he feels his neck being torn to pieces, able to see shreds of skin fly off in different directions. ~...Bad...idea....~ He manages to think to his dragon companion, who, again, roars mightily, taking a step towards the group, snarling protectively, wings extended in a picturesque version of fierce. His eyes blur in and out of focus as blood drains recklessly from his body, though he doesn't move one bit, nor does he close his eyes. ~Caed...Caedan...The mark...remember the mark...The dark one..~ Is all the psion can manage, trying to thrust that through all of the chaos and into her waking mind, hoping to startle her back into reality.
Kasyr was almost cheerful at first, an odd sort of exuberance having been found in the concept that Caedan was in fact alive...to an extent. The recognition he received from Tenebrae simply served as a reason to offer a smile however faint. The hybrids glee was promptly interrupted however, when he took note of the way things had decided to go their own way. Indeed, the poor guard was endeavouring to gather his wits- and all the whilst, someone whom Joliette had been very relieved to be liberated from being fed from was stuck in that fate regardless. Thus, the tiefling simply moved from Tenebrae’s side- a circular path taken towards the lovely little prey he had led over this way. It had, after all, not quite lost it's usefulness quite yet. Indeed- the tiefling would simply hoist the man up before he caught his wits- before kicking out one of his legs and 'nudging' him to stumble forward and into Caedan. The point, of course, to provide the newly sired Psychic an interruption from her current frenzy- an intrusion in her lovely course of action- and a new center of attention. It was after all, a terrible idea to interrupt a feeding- and perhaps the poor guards flailings might serve as a further reason to end his miserable little existence. That particular course of action attended to- the hybrid simply cast a simple glance over to Tenebrae, and a questioning glance over to Portea.
Dietrich gave a lupine roar at the sudden, unexpected attack, his previous bleak relief over the change of plans melting away like the last dregs of a dream. Bones crunched and muscles expanded as the lycan succumbed to his protective instinct, fur the same umber hue as the man's hair rippling over smooth skin. The lean form shuddered as its shoulders broadened and a long tail pushed its way through the skin via a suddenly elongated spine. Despite the gruesome nature of the change, it was not painful; on the contrary, it was an exhilarating release for the lycan who'd been keeping a tight rein on his self-control throughout the night. With a howl that was rent from the snout of a wolf, Dietrich looped an arm around Portea's torso, hunching down so as to do the deed with minimal pain even as the other massive hand set to work detangling Caedan's fangs from mortal flesh as gently as possible, the dark claws deftly avoiding the fledgling's skin. If either attempt were successful, even if Kasyr's attempt at a diversion negated the need for either, Dietrich would bound a few feet away with the psion cradled in his arms, making sure to be as careful as possible with the bleeding male.
It had all happened so quickly; one moment, Tenebrae's eyes were following Rheven's ascent, his departure watched with an impassive mien. The next...
"Caedan, no!" It took the psychic only that split second to grapple the psion down, and start her violent feast, and yet another for Kasyr to act. Several more for Portea's now-lupine protector to drag the bleeding man clear, the act noted somewhere in the back of the vampiress' labyrinthine mind, likely for later pondering. The guard was scarce breathing, though his limbs indeed flopped about in a meek and futile bid to preserve whatever life remained to him. Tene completed Kasyr's gentler, cat-like nudging of the near-corpse toward Caedan in her own fashion: once the newly grown fangs were clear of Portea's throat, her fingers shot out to clamp a vice-like grip upon the back of Caedan's neck. and direct the girl's snapping and meat-flecked maw toward the hapless soldier. "Drink, pet. Now you can drink deep." She'd wait until the new-sired was firmly latched to the man before letting go, and mentally crossing her fingers that the unpredictable female would for once... do something expected. "How deep is Portea’s wound?" The vampiress' voice would rise above whatever bestial sounds Caedan made and the protests of the angry dragon, both . "It looked bad. We'll need a healer."
Caedan hears Portea, really she does, but at this exact moment in time, she could care less about marks, dark or light. His plea falls on metaphorically speaking, deaf ears. Then suddenly something is bumping into her, interrupting her meal, a thirst that isn't quenched. She can see the pulse vibrating rich sustenance throughout the Cenrilian's body, and lusts after it, lusts for it as she has never lusted for anything else, save sanity -- and only that on occasion. She's debating lunging for that when her current meal is dragged away by a horrid smelling creature with a beating heart, and then she's debating lunging for Dietrich, when her mouth is abruptly steered towards the Cenrilian. She's got experience under her belt now, and so as not to waste precious, brilliant vitae, she bites gingerly into his neck, letting her fangs pierce his flesh, not rip it. The well of blood that greets her is the same as that if she had gnawed open a giant hole in him; she eyes the others warily as she feeds, eventually opting to drag the soon-to-be carcass into the hole meant for her burial, where she can eat in peace and not worry about funny smelling half-dogs stealing her meal, or other vampires going off with it. It's survival of the fittest, human or vampire ... or werewolf.
Portea is nearly unconscious by the time Dietrich hauls him out of the fray, eye-lids starting to flutter closed. "...uughn.." He groans with the pain, oh the pain, it's so overwhelming it's blinding, if his vision wasn't already blurred from the loss of blood, that is. ~Stay with me, Portea!~ Mnementh projects violently into the psion's mind, keeping him awake, at least on the most basic level, a low growl continually issuing forth from his barred teeth. Even though it's the dragon's 'voice' echoing throughout his mind, the voice he hears is that of the vampiress, his vampiress, and her voice is soon accompanied by a crystal clear image of her calling out to him. An attempt to swallow makes him gasp in pain, eyes widening as he grows steadily more aware of his surroundings. Gingerly does he lift a hand to his neck, unable to tell what he's feeling due to an overwhelming numbness throughout his body, so he opts to just lie still, unable to do much else.
Sophie is rather confused by all the strange occurrences going on. She had after all thought she was on her way to a funeral. In Caedan she sees not a corpse, but a newly sired Vampire! There is however another corpse or soon to be one, a stranger to her....She is immediately drawn to help Portea, of course. The first priority is to stop the bleeding. She applies firm pressure to the wound. She then relaxes, and focuses herself, drawing energy from the world around her and channeling it into the injured man, firstly she concentrates on closing the wound, so he will lose less blood. Secondly, she sends her awareness within his bones, into the bone marrow and stimulates it to produce more red blood cells to replace those he has lost. Lastly she channels a little energy into his entire system to help his recovery. She is tiring and decides to cease channeling any more life energy, she just holds Portea, watching over and protecting him.
Kasyr reaction to the whole affair, once Portea is 'saved' at least for the moment and the gift he had initially coaxed to this place had finally been put to use, was simple enough. Merely, the tiefling would offer Tenebrae a bemused look of sorts, before simply taking a seat across from Caedan. Not in the immediate vicinity mind you, as it was not his intention to raise her hackles. Rather, at what he'd deem a safe enough distance, so he could simply observe her- seeming to find her an altogether engrossing subject. How she was going to change from what she already was... It was an odd thought.
Dietrich snarled, snapping jaws full of fangs at the well-intentioned Sophie when the woman approached. He could smell that she was lycan, and that was a comfort, but it would take some coaxing to release the fragile psion her care. The beast that is Dietrich was soothed eventually, however, and Sophie was allowed her soft ministrations, eyes flecked with gold watching both the healer and the surrounding Cabal members warily. But there would be no extended period of time when the woman held the man; he was gently, but insistently, taken back into the lycan's protection. He'd known Portea for only a short time, but he'd heard him speak of his beloved so tenderly... it seemed wrong to let another woman hold him so. Caedan was eyed with a mixture of pity and revulsion, and the other two vampires were regarded with a tense sort of truce within Dietrich's eyes.
Fate was a fickle thing. Tene had only just voiced the need for a healer, and here was Sophie, as willing to lend her healing arts as ever. The lycaness was given a very sincere look of thanks, even as Dietrich snarled and grumbled at the woman's intervention. At least he'd let her close to do her work; no idiot was he, though Tenebrae did not expect Portea to keep fools for company anyway. With the psion's patching-up underway, Caedan occupied with her grisly meal for now, and Kasyr hovering over the girl, she even found the presence of mind to offer Mnementh a wave and silent glance of apology, if the dragon was at all paying attention. The necromancer would slip closer to the tiefling, then, exhaustion dragging on her every step. As tired as she was, she nevertheless had all care of duty toward her sireling, and nothing would prove too much effort to keep her safe. "Ashen, we must get her home..." Where exactly 'home' was, she assumed he'd know already. "... as soon as she is finished." Indeed, the guard was running low on blood already, his flesh attaining that chalk-whiteness she knew so well. The psychic was still drawing on his throat as if to make sure she had every last ounce of her meal, though her eyes -- were they more blue now? -- drooped heavily with the fatigue natural to a newborn vampire. If fortune favoured them, they'd have no trouble convincing her to come along quietly. The drowsing psychic at last dropped her prey, head nodding heavily, and Tene would look to Kasyr again for his help to get her out of that hole and away. But not before she'd speak a soft farewell to Sophie, and say to Dietrich, "Tell him we must meet soon, will you?" The necromancer spoke with all the confidence of someone assured the psion would survive his wounds.
Portea blinks a few times, still only seeing the one person that could pull him back from anything. His eyes remain an unfocused blur, though his pained groaning stops as the pain slowly eases away, though not completely, for the lycaness' work remains only partially complete due to her fatigue. Mnementh takes notice of Tenebrae, giving her a slight nod of his snout in return before his gaze falls back upon the psion. The bleeding has indeed stopped, though there is still muscle and nerve damage that will take time, and most likely some extensive healing, to recover completely, and even then, he'll still be left with some kind of scar to remember this day by.
Kasyr only turns his attention away from Caedan for the briefest of moments, and that is only at the coaxing that his name provides. Still, the look which is affixed upon Tenebrae is one of acknowledgement and understanding- the hybrid pushing himself back up to his feet now that his Ward was both sated and weary. From there, not a moment was spared: the hybrid unfurling his scarf from about his neck if only to grant it to Caedan for the moment, figuring her habitual game of unweaving it might keep a tired mind occupied and ensure her docility as he'd move to one side of her- fully prepared to sling an arm about her and help her to her feet. From there, the tiefling would be more than content to allow Joliette to lead the way back to Home. Content, What an odd turn of phrase {or thought}, for something that was supposed to be a funeral.
Dietrich nodded slowly, still remaining in his wolven form in preparation for the journey back to the forest with the psion in tow. "I will," he assured her, voice gone from baritone to bass as it rasped over the words. "I am Dietrich," he informed her, quite on a whim; the more friends-- or something of the sort-- that he made in this strange land, the better. "And you are, m'lady?" He could tell she was usually a woman of elegance, when not fisting her hair in desperation, and addressed her as such with only slight mental hesitation. He stood slowly with a groan, muscles aching ever so slightly even as the man was handled as gently as ever, quite understanding when the prompt for the vampiress' name went unanswered. And so he watched as they headed off, letting them get somewhat ahead of the trio-- one winged, one mortal and one furred-- before he began his own procession to the West.
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