Post by Joliette Thorne on Jun 1, 2006 20:11:59 GMT -5
Caste and Tene's Second Meeting
Tenebrae appears in the midst of a miasmic cloud of shadow, very like the one she left in, stepping forth serenely and with little of the fluster about her previously. Looking about the room, as darkness wafts behind her in tattered fading fragments, she offers all a smile and wave. "Ello, all. I missed you too much to stay away."
Diiroehn 's deathlike fashion issues, cold optics glittering as they glide about the room's patrons. Only acknowledgement is given to Tenebrae, aside nothing. 'Click' are the bones that continue their rapping, forked tongue darting about the face in serpentine manner.
Castellian is but a stoic presence against Giolla's battered counter, rugged arms laid atop the dark-stained wood. Hanging from squared shoulders, his cloak is all but a tattered remnant of its former self, a testimony to the cool discontent eminating from the ebon-flesh warrior's frame. Cresting his head is a thick mane of snow-white hair, thin and silken, trailing back to pool about his muscled back. Upon Tenebrae's entrance, he remains as he was before, statuesque and still.
Tenebrae tilts her chin toward the drow. "Still got that sword, I see. Hope you've remembered not to touch the metal."
Castellian said to you, "Shall I return it to thee?"
Tenebrae offers Diiroehn a warm smile, the metal tips of her heels making a soft ticking sound to rival that of his bony fingers as she steps lightly across the weathered floor toward him, seat taken at the Lich's side.
Tenebrae turns toward Castellian, her smile fading not in its warmth. "If you don't want it, pet, I'll take it back, certainly."
Diiroehn 's death's head grin is contrasted to Tene's warm smile, his face forever to be askewed in that wicked expression. Jowls lower, -a single roach fallilng from the breached mouth-, as vocals emit from the blackened depths. "You wish more information on the gravesite?"
Castellian contorts abruptly at his seat, torso twisting 'round with a savage explosion of sinuous strength and serpentine quickness. An arm, tightly muscled and black-skinned, is set sweeping out by the Drow Lord, and from his deft fingers sails the putrid blade once cradled cautiously at his side. The blade, a cold and fetid steel, pierces the air with a wicked twist, screeching and whining as it streaks out toward the table before the vampriss and her undead companion. The blade's impact is resounding, crisp and frightening, with the full length of it buried sidelong into the table's inch-tall side. Cracked asunder, forced to part about the stricken brand's intrusion, the table wavers, shuddering against the impact's telling force. For a moment, there is naught but the still of the tavern's shocked silence, and then abruptly the impaled length of oak is beset by tendrils of putrid yellow and infectuous green. The fibrous splinters of ale-stained xylem are first in the corruption, drawing in on themselves and withering against the killing touch of their impaler. Then, in a chain reaction that arcs throughout the entire table's once sturdy surface, the oak yields to some horrendous plague, suffering visibly as it withers before finally collapsing in on itself. There, through the cracks in the once stout table's surface, the mephitic stench of all things vile is unleashed, curling visibly over the stricken piece of furniture in a noxious, emerald cloud.
Castellian speaks abruptly in his haunting tongue, melodic and flowing, touched by the ancients perhaps. "A curious toy, indeed."
Tenebrae , most fortunately having withdrawn her presence from the table at the intial 'thwang' of the blade's piercing it, and therefore escaped the deadly touch of the malignant verdigris-hued blade, and the ripple of it's excrescent disease. Snapping her gaze to the drow, lips firmly compressed, she waits for the rot to pass as it rapidly does, taking a good portion of the table with it. She reaches calmly for the hilt, sheathing the ghastly weapon at her side. The bulky thing sits badly, but with dignity she stalks over to the ebon-hued individual, leaning in once in his proximity to speak in a quiet, cool tone. "You might watch where you're tossing things, pet. Liable to make a mess of things, elsewise." She offers him a chilly smile.
Diiroehn is caught within the plumes of the fatal cloud, plague spreading itself within the Lich's blackened organs to deteriorate the same innards. Tombstone optics roll backward in their seeping sockets, veins of a noxious yellowed hue. Does this dead animate suffer the same fate as the table? To be withered until utterly broken in a heap? Not true, in fact as a thick swarm of locusts are abruptly spilt forth from his already open mouth; their insect bodies afflicted with the disease instead of the host that carried them. Skeletal feet stride back, carrying the undead further from the smog.
Castellian tracks a patient gaze along Tenebrae's frosty features, eyes a flawless collection of unmarred ivory. They are stark white, with no visible pupil, and a result is a most intense stare that seems to unnerve Tenebrae very little. Thin, but present, his smirk reveals itself and a hint of the teeth beyond. "All that thou touches becomes a mess, Soul Eater. I wonder if it this you protest, or the lack of pleasure in being the cause."
Tenebrae's nostrils flare delicately, the only outward sign of the ire rising within her as she regards Castellian with utter nonchalance. Then she suddenly breaks into a smile. "Dost thou presume, prithee, to assault the pride of a lady, in her own establishment? Thou surely hast lost sense of thy noble origins, drow, and hath evidently left thy manners behind in the hole where thou didst originate."
Castellian retorts easily, his own smile growing, though once again the reasons seem as ambiguous and guarded as the Drow Lord himself. "This tavern is thine? I would dare say otherwise, Soul Eater. For, while my home is with the Lady in her mountains, I would dare claim thee have no more claim to it than I. Thou will pass from this land, eventually, like the stench from thou's blade. Foul, poignant, and then naught. Such is the manner of things in regards to time, as thou has seen. No, Soul Eater, thou shall tell to me... What doth an orphan, a hollow heart as it were, know of purpose and nobility?"
Tenebrae visibly bristles, tendrils of shadow creeping from the corners her mouth to caress pallid cheeks as she casts a gaze as dead and flat as a desert pan toward the drow. "It is mine, because it is my home. That is my claim, none other. It is, then, more mine than yours, elf, if logic stands at all in your mind. And.." She paces lightly as she continues, truculent stare cast toward the uneven boards of the floor. "I am not a Soul-eater, but a shriver of sin, or soul's darkness, as I prefer it called. The orphan part, I'll give you, though I question how you came of this knowledge. As to my awareness of nobility, I admit to growing up a simple street urchin. But I've learned a thing or two, in my time. Distinguishing between a true noble and a complete arse who speaks prettily, being one of them." Her eyes rise to meet his once more, the set of her jaw indefatigable.
Castellian turns idly toward Tenebrae's slender frame, regarding her with that flawless stare as the words leave him, melodic and low. "Then thou has arrived, once more, to the beginning. I am Castellian D'Onri. Thou art fair at pretending import, but fairer still when honest. Tenebrae, as I have heard, vampire and witch. Curious. Predictable."
Tenebrae makes a soft derisive sound, though the amber-lit flare in her eyes dampens somewhat upon her reciept of Castellian's reply. "I would say well met, Castellian D'Onri, but it seems hardly fitting in these circumstances. Think of me what you will. I am as I am and have come to be. I have earned the right to be called both vampire -and- witch. What earned you the right to be named noble, apart from the travail of your mother as she spat you forth in the darkness?"
Castellian laughs openly, the sound a tangled, masculine mess of melody and humor. "We all have our secrets, Tenebrae. Come, tell me, why dost thou smile like the cobra? Whom do thou plan to charm? For, if thou wouldst accept the teachings of the Drow, I would dare say a beauty's smile is only as hypnotic as it is honest." And with that, the Drow Lord leaned briefly toward Tenebrae's lithe frame, betraying to her a more private, and teasing grin.
Tenebrae leans a hip to the bar, a subtle smirk dancing at the corners of her rose-hued lips, before she breaks into laughter, the harsh, almost metallic edge bleeding from her tone as the soft sound rises to be lost amidst the hubbub of the tavern. "Truly, thou didst learn well at thy mother's knee the art of charm, as do all the more cogniscent of your kind. I hoped not to charm you in the slightest. I -was- hoping to get it through to you that I am not somebody to be throwing diseased swords at, nor be spoken to like a common wench. For I assure you, darkling prince, I am most uncommon."
Tenebrae frowns slightly, and adds: "Nor am I a wench."
Castellian offers forth but a simple challenge, his arctic gaze lifting to find Tenebrae's own and hold there. "Beauty is never common, Tenebrae. But, I wonder, could thou prove it to a... friendly skeptic?"
Tenebrae 's ebon lashes drop to sweep the parchment of her cheeks in unison, several times, her lips pursing slightly. "Sorry, I'm not following you. Did you want a fight?" She looks to the heavily muscled drow almost hopefully. "Or was it something else you had in mind?"
Castellian replies as a deft hand lifts, the palm cradling with a certain hint of reverance the feminine arch of Tenebrae's slender hip. "Had in mind? I am afraid that so far even that pleasure has been denied to me."
Tenebrae bites down softly on her lower lip, tip of sharp fang resting just hard enough to break the tender skin of her lip. Sucking lightly at the wound, the vampiress does not take her eyes from those of the drow as she moves in lithe cohesion away from the bar. "If you'll excuse me, Castellian D'Onrii, I have some business to attend to, briefly." She reaches a slender hand to the space between them. "Tenebrae, pet, is my name. Just in case you'd forgotten, or hadn't heard it spoken."
Castellian smiles faintly for a moment, though it remains brief. Turning, he once again allows his attention to be taken by Giolla. The two, chatting casually, clearly harboring some kind of unique relation.
Tenebrae is suddenly sombre as she watches the dwarfess and drow take up what seems a familiar conversation, a plan to question the barkeep on the matter a later time forming in her mind. She slips away toward the seated undead, grasping the back of a chair to swivel the seat toward her, before sitting astride, arms folding to the wooden rung at the top. "Diiroenh. I believe you were speaking of an odd-seeming grave?"
Tenebrae stares at the undead a while, his utter lack of motion something of a concern.
Diiroehn lowers his charred, crackling vocals for Tenebrae alone to hear.
Diiroehn whispered to Tenebrae, "The grave of the extraordinary Magus, the one known as Yvus. Have you heard of him?"
Tenebrae leans in closer to the cadaverous mage, nodding slightly as she speaks to him in low tones.
Tenebrae whispered to Diiroehn, "Aye, that I have. Had something of a name for himself, a whiles back. Now, tell me what about this sepulchre has caught your attention so. "
Diiroehn whispered to Tenebrae, "Powers radiate from it constantly, strong ones! If one could siphon those energies..."
Tenebrae 's eyes widen at the Lich's words, and she sucks a little harder on her wounded lip.
Tenebrae whispered to Diiroehn, "Aye... this might be of benefit. But how? I mean, my necromancy skills may be of use. I'll offer them to you gladly, should they be needed."
Diiroehn whispered to Tenebrae, "I don't know yet, though it will take much. Very much."
Castellian said to Riev, "Thou stands a remarkable icon, crafted of horseshit, and standing tall for all small-pricked incompetants everywhere."
Castellian said to Riev, "A goliath rat amidst mere cockroaches. A paragon of dim-witted malcontent."
Riev looks over to the drow, the mage staring a deathly gaze upon him, magic seems to lay in upon the stare as the drow's form can feel the magic of the mage freeze his bones, preventing his movement, "If only wit mattered, you might get somewhere in life."
Tenebrae told Diiroehn, "Well, the help of myself and I dare say a number of your clansmates, should you want them, will be at hand hwen the knowledge comes to you. Will that be all? I have a drow to annoy, and will shortly take my rest."
Castellian said to Riev, "Put your masculinity where your mouth is? Death duel?"
Riev said to Castellian, "I have other engagements that must be filled first, but yes, I do believe I will."
Castellian said to Riev, "Splendid."
Riev said to Castellian, "Indeed."
Castellian said to Riev, "You let me know. Do make it soon."
Tenebrae snickers lightly, resting her head upon her arms.
Riev said to Castellian, "Can't wait."
Castellian said to Riev, "Quiet. If you listen hard enough you can hear your dick shrinking. Why don't we do this duel now?"
Riev said to Castellian, "You can fight me whenever you wish, I have no qualms. But, if you can't lift yourself up to strike without even asking, then I am afraid it is you who has no manhood."
Castellian said to Riev, "Well, we have it then. Let's get our judges and lay it out."
Riev said to Castellian, "I said if you wish to attack, attack."
Tenebrae shrugs. "Death isn't forever, you know."
Diiroehn nods, "One should embrace it."
Tenebrae raises a brow to Diiroehn. "Are you angling for a hug?"
Diiroehn said, "No, I'm not."
You nods, biting at her lower lip again, a little harder this time.
Castellian goes back to chatting with Giolla.
Riev said to Castellian, "Insult someone then not attack them? Yet you wish to take my life, funny."
Tenebrae licks parched lips, a few paces taking her to bar, elbows leant to clean if not overly polished surface. "Excuse me, Giolla..." She smiles to Castellian and the dwarfess. "Might I bother you for an ale?"
Castellian briefly cants his head at Tenebrae's approach, sliding his pallid gaze along her lithe frame for a brief moment.
Tenebrae fishes in her pack for a few stray coins, those offered the barkeep afr above the worth of the ale. She winks at Giolla, who sighs and slides her a foaming tankard.
Tenebrae returns the drow's brazen assessment in kind. "One for you as well, then?"
Castellian comments wryly to Tenebrae as his attention slides onto her tankard. "Interesting choice for a 'lady'." He allows naught further but a subtle shake of his head, declining with dignity the vampriss' offer.
Tenebrae snickers softly, raising the pewter vessel to her lips for a quick sip. "Vampire, yes. Witch, absolutely. But the lady thing.. that was an outright lie."
Castellian once again extends a deft hand, his fingers walking up from Tenebrae's rounded hip to advance steadily up her sleek side. "Perhaps that is for the better."
Tenebrae offers no response to the drow's bold caress but a subtle shift of weight from one leg to the other. "Perhaps. Once an urchin, always one, I suppose. At the core, anyways." She takes another sip of her drink, gaze levelled at Castellian's own.
Riev said to Vargnaroth, "I wish that when people say they wanted something they would rise up and do somethign besides say words... Even if not an official duel, they can still fight."
Riev exits south.
Castellian said to Tenebrae, "Timid, indecisive, does not suit thee."
Tenebrae said to Castellian, "Just as well, then, that I am neither, isn't it? I do, however, wish the pleasure of finishing my ale."
Castellian replies with a non-commital nod. "Of course."
Tenebrae drank a dwarven ale.
Castellian conceals a smile and takes a half-step from the battered counter, hand lifted in parting toward Giolla.
Tenebrae drains the tankard, pale hand risen to wipe the foamy leavings from her lips, before swivelling on the metal tip of a heel and turning toward the stairs. Said boots make faint noise as she steps around the torpid forms of drunken dwarves, strewn where they'd fallen in the aftermath of the night's revelry, as she makes her way toward the staircase. Hand clasping to bannister, she pauses for the briefest time to raise a slender brow to the ebon-skinned dark-elf, and begins her ascent with langorous tread. Once above, she takes a scant second to appraise Castellian, the body seemingly carved with expert care from a solid block of jet, the silken fall of hair cascading down his back. One step brings her abruptly to his nearest proximity, slender thigh raised to rest against his hip as she reaches up to clasp her hands about his neck. One quick thrust, and the vampiress is in his arms, legs wrapped about him. Her lips brush against his as she speaks. "Pick a direction, noble drow."
*And here true love begins. .. We fade to black, amid a montage of images of rockets launching, waves breaking, and trains emerging through tunnels.*