|
Post by Joliette Thorne on Jul 2, 2007 23:59:42 GMT -5
--The Dragon’s Head Inn--
Tenebrae was already seated at a small table beside the window. With a gracious sweep of arm, she invited the man to a seat.
Darian appears from the north. Rheven nods, moving across the room swiftly and taking the indicated seat. "Thank you. Getting down to business...what is it you propose?"
Tenebrae set two bottles drawn from her pack on the table, and reached to slide the window closed. "Your country is.. a wasteland. My proposal is that we open trade. An exclusive contract. In return, I will help you rebuild, in whatever manner I can." Rheven raises a hand, indicating a refusal for the bottle that's assumedly his. Nevertheless, he listens intently, responding only when he is certain she's done speaking. "Yes, yes, I see your point. There has been...some reconstruction going on, through what I have been able to force my army to do, but they, of course, will not work with such a meager pay for long. Trade is needed, admittedly. What, in specific, do you want out of my half of the agreement?"
Tenebrae pursed her lips, pondering. "What I am really after..." she continued, ".. is military aid. Vailkrin has become uncertain of late, and allies are necessary. The trade is simply a way to seal that alliance." Tene really wasn't all that good at diplomacy. "So, I thought to discuss what resources you had." Rheven said to you, "That can be arranged...Venturil's military is quite competent, though a tad strained in the funding department...nevertheless, they are quite experienced. Perhaps you know a woman named Jacklin...she is the I have handed full control of the army to. I oversee her, of course, but she knows a bit more on the intricate matters of war than I do. Speaking with her, when you're able, would be better in the case you're seeking specifics...she has been upgrading weaponry lately, from what she's told me recently."
Darian wafts through the stalwart, dwarven entryway, grating close of door as his tread meanders like ghosts through a catacomb whose skulls and splintered bones, Kings draped in velveteen Darkness and shroud in spidersilk, can only fail to entertain them - his tocking hips incizing the dank and stagnant airs of the tunnels, his form imbibed by the silken weaves of the canopy as he reclines upon the pinache mattress like a fork-tongued demon restive on a crescent moon. An arm shivered the veil, falling with lackluster to pull it back and reveal his face heap of darkling tresses strewn like Night upon a plain about the beddings. His fingers limply beckoned toward the bottles, his eyes like the maw of an iced cavern, wreathed in eyelash icicles and exhaling frost, as they met with Tenebrae.
Tenebrae 's features stilled at the mention of Jacklin. "I know the woman. I have found her not the most trustworthy individual in the past." The vampiress popped the cork from her own bottle and took a sip. "But I suppose, should you keep a tight leash on her, she'll do for the now. Weapons are something I'd be interested in, indeed. Now, I have a few ideas for your lands. One of my own people is a powerful druidess, and there's several others of that ilk that I am on good terms with. I am tending toward the idea of bringing the fertility back to your lands via magical means, and building a prosperous farming community. Rich land will draw the people back, as there's little in the way of farming-lands elsewhere, and foods are expensive. Might I have your thoughts?" Tenebrae 's breath would catch at the sight of the King of Roads' slow meander toward the bed, her lips breaking to a smile as bright as the first dawn after a bloody war, and took up the remaining whisky. Bottle in hand, she stood, grinned an excuse to the King of Venturil, and delivered the drink to the hand of the vampire lolling on there. "You do have the oddest way of showing up..." Sitting primly on the edge of the silken cover, she returned her gaze to Rheven, slightly apologetically. But then, Darian was not one to be denied, even in the presence of royalty. Rheven raises a hand to his chin, stroking it as he mulls over the offer. First, though, he addresses the concerns of Jacklin. "I trust her well enough, and find her quite competent. She no longer serves in the Cult, so her loyalties are only in Venturil...I see to that. But, I am quite intrigued by the possibility of rejuvenating the land itself...Venturil is a backward province, this I will not deny. However, it has much potential...not to mention I heard of an untapped resource nearby, from a quite worthy source. But I'll fill you in on that a bit later..."
Tenebrae 's eyes narrowed at the mention of an 'untapped resource'. But nodded, to the request of future discussion. "You are amenable, then, to the ceremony? It will take time, and much effort. But I do think it could be done. Might you have your men turn thier hands to tilling the dead soil, in preparation?"
Rheven nods firmly, stifling a sudden yawn suddenly. Rising to his feet a moment later, he speaks once again. "Yes, that can be done rather easily. So sorry I must cut this short, but it's been quite a long eve. Soon, I will speak with Jacklin and get you the specifics of what we may offer, militarily, if you don't wish to speak with her yourself."
Tenebrae stood, offered the monarch another slight bow of shoulders. "Very well, Majesty. I will summon my druids, in preparation. I am not opposed to counsel with Jacklin, but prefer your presence. Rest well, Rheven. We will speak again soon."
Rheven nods, offering a similar bow in response - turning on his heel, he offers a simple nod to Darian before his steps lead him out of the room.
Darian raised his hand slightly in the direction of the departing King, like willows in a glen that yearn with the wind toward the East. "A soldier. One soldier, as well, you must send for our disposal." With this the cork was shattered and the bottled gutted. Tenebrae turned back to the Wanderer, as Rheven closed the door. "One soldier? What would you want a soldier for?"
Darian drank a whisky.
Tenebrae 's eyes rolled ceilingward briefly. "Nevermind, then. And I suppose it's as useless to ask you where you've been?" The vampiress huffed, shook her head in half-mocking disapproval. "I had thought you gone away."
Darian 's head, slightly askew on the glimmering fabrics of a pillowcase with shadows glutting the tresses that nestled his features, pulled slightly forward as hand was extended toward Tenebrae's shoulders like fist from the grave begging a cemetery creeper to join it in Hell. He tugged her downward lightly, intermingling his knuckles with her hair and through its length to brush along her back. "I had thought to go away."
Tenebrae descended as his grasp bid her do, head canting back at the tangle of fingers that gathered up dark hair, eyes down-turned to keep his own in view. Her palms pressed to the bedcovers on either side of him, arms held rigid to provide space between the Wanderer and herself. "Oh?" He might catch the shred of a wounded tone in there, spoken lightly. "What was it, then, that moved you to return?"
Darian 's fingers clasped Tenebrae's hair at the root, grip tightening as his neck swiveled aside and he lay her in its crook, still yet his other hand communing with her tresses and every divot to wander along her spine. Darian breathed like a wolf pronged with a stag's antlers and chilling at the extremities with the coming of Death. On occasion, his throat involuntarily loosed a growl with all the effort maintaining a Breath, or two or three, would require a creature who longed only for the strength to give a last howl as the blood fled his frame and the moon lay low on the horizon to mock him with Dawn. In a shift and a blur, Darian was standing, pacing, slicking his hands through his own hair, muttering to the dust and the Listeners in the Stone.
Tenebrae was abruptly on her own, body dumped stomach-down to bedclothes and the lips that had brushed his throat only moment before bereft of touch, and word, and left agape. She could hear the pacing, his breath rasping, and rolled over to sit up, fingers grasping leathern garment-hems to bring her to a semblance of dignity. Her eyes followed his movements, the restless steps back and forth summoning in her mind the vision of the panther caged in Larket's zoo; she was hesitant to speak further in case it increase his agitation and bring the comparison any closer to accuracy. So she watched him, waiting-- for what she did not know, and could not guess.
Darian vanished. The door opened, the door closed. Perhaps his last whispers had sung the Listeners to sleep and the Deeper denizens of the world could blanket with moss and snore out earthquakes that rent the ground and swallowed villages. The only noise was breath from within the luxuriant rooms.
Tenebrae heard the door close. Her eyes closed, opened again slowly as if the action might somehow reverse time and have him return so she could speak, say or do something to cause him to stay. But there crept in her mind a noisome doubt that she could have effected his remaining there; his intent had been to leave, and he had left. The room rang with his absence, and she lowered herself to the bed again, her gaze on the ceiling briefly before she pulled a pillow across her face as though that downy cushion could stop the silence being so very loud. She rose, once she'd gotten herself in some manner of control, and slipped from the room to the hallway, her intent to head back to the Corpse for a few stiff drinks and a studied avoidance of the piano.
The burrows of the dwarven demesnes wafted with plumes of rockdust and the tune of heelclicks that shook them free. Nothing. Nothing in these halls, there had to be nothing, not a pulse, not lips to utter the growls gnawing along the crevices of the tunnel walls, no hands for the taking of Tenebrae's throat, for the crushing of her form against the door like a hummingbird against the petals of peace lilies choked and stony with frost and hoar, Wintry exhalations. Nothing - Nothing - Nothing. But Nothing wasn't supposed to be able to peel up the slits of skirts, to trail viewless claws along thighs with a whispering catch on pores like the tune of a man whistling down the street outside your window just as a knife catches his throat from somewhere in the black, black Shadows of cities deepening with Dusk. Nothing couldn't crush a jugular, nothing could never part thighs - My god, Nothing shouldn't be able lodge itself in an artery like a tear in the tincup of a Priest on a streetcorner, panhandling for Sins. Nothing's lips couldn't swathe themselves in another's blood, Nothing couldn't make another moan. Nothing couldn't drain you to the marrow, not on nights where thoughts ghost about a castle-spire like bats soaked in blood, not on days where dreams burrowed deep, deep in the soil and fanged the roots of sunflowers to hear their pollenic screams. No, No, No - What was this Nothingness, this Blackness, this Chaos? What was tousling hair and nibbling lips and peeling flesh with raking, nonexistent claws? What could part the grain of a dwarven door with a pick-axe that didn't exist at all? What maw could smear with blood and sway down a hallway with heelclicks like a Beast that haunts your periphery in those feral minutes to Midnight, accompanied by padfalls and humming? What was Nothing after all, if It could do such things? My god, to be raped by Darkness that seeps in every sluiced and sweating pore like snakeholes in the witching hours. My god, what Darkness is this?
Tenebrae had nothing in her mind but those drinks and a fireside, and was turning toward the landing when hoarse and grating vocals sounded like the death rattle of a knell and a hand snatched her by the throat, backed her hard against a door. Her eyes were wild, wide, lips parted to a shocked 'o', and she surged to fight the force that so bound her in its choking grip. But struggles were met with greater force, a maw lowered to sink fang to her throat in a pitiless snap and suckling while she strove against the chill sensation of the muscle pressing her, holding her in a stillness made of necessity and terror. Her heart tripped an unsyncopated cadence, fingers hooked like a madwoman's to rake invisibly flesh as whatever demon possessed her now splintered the timber beside her ear. And kept on ravaging, in unrelenting fervour. It wouldn't occur to her then to make any associations... all she knew was the pain, the fear and a riveting thrill she couldn't very well help that coursed hot as the shame that dripped like spilled smelter over the brimming edge of her mind, to sear her to the core. And when her mind over-roiled, and she failed in her fight, went limp against the attack, it would stop. Just like that, and she'd hear the footsteps of a nonchalant monster that mumbled a tune.. almost familiar.. and stepped away with a faint tap-tapping, leaving behind a grim trail of her life in finger-tip streaks on the walls as it went. And she’d crumpled to the floor, knees risen to her chin and legs hugged tight by blood-flecked and violated arms, sore and bleeding, and her head tilted up in an attitude of prayerful appeal to ask... what Darkness? Only to find the suspended handle of a pick.
|
|
|
Post by Joliette Thorne on Jul 3, 2007 0:02:44 GMT -5
--Hanging Corpse, After--
Tenebrae pushed the door open, the timber of it still fresh enough to scent of oak, the hinges squeakless. Scarlet runnels graced the white expanse of throat, arms and decolletage; her features were Galatean ivory, lips white as if painted with chalkdust. Only the blood and gouges where nails had run divots and channels through flesh broke the monochrome of her, as she stepped quietly toward the fire, to collapse in her chair with a shuddering sigh, one arm rising weakly to summon Steadman and those pale lips mouthing an order for 'cold comfort'.
Redhale leads his animal companion to a table near the northernmost wall. He produces a bottle to sip from, relaxing as he rests his left hand on the table. His right hand produces another bottle from his bag, unusually placed on the tabletop this time, and he offers it to Velve from his seat, head inclined slightly.
Terra blinked towards the vampire at that, a long, slow blink. "Yes, we allow such behaviour. Really, sir, there are less fights in this building then most any other drinking establishment." With a curt nod towards drink and glass, she'd move away. "Once more, I hope you enjoy your drink. If you do not return, so be it. I can only apologize for others mistakes once, and will not assume it my own." Redhale struggles to hide some amount of guilt as Tenebrae enters, obviously a woman he holds respect for, though feeling he has done all he can to make amends tips his head in greeting as she passes..
Velve finally drops down from his perch atop the rafters and lands quietly on the floor. He stands up slowly before approaching Redhale and giving him a slight bow before taking a seat at the table next to him. A sigh escapes his lips as he gives the offered bottle a nod of approval, "Every time I see that ogre he is always causing some sort of problems. One day he will learn... Maybe." At that he took the bottle and raised it in a silent salute to Redhale, "To long lives and longer patience then we should have? I don't know. I've never been very good at speeches and the like." He gives a slight shrug.
Tenebrae sat, shudders washing over her spine in choppy waves, her mind an unsteady boat that rode abyssal seas of waking dreams; she saw... no, -felt- still the bite and rend, the fervour... dullish eyes flitted from face to face, as she tugged a cork from a bottle delivered in haste, and slugged the viscous half-clotted liquor back as though it were mother's milk, she the fretful infant.
Terra wasn't expecting any more from Redhale, nor looked to holding conversation about the brawl. Steps were taken to closet, mop and bucket brought out and moved towards the source of the blood. Quickly cleaning it away and ending with a wet floor and ruddy water, Terra would sigh once more. Why had she woke up again? The bucket was dumped outside the door, stowed away shortly after as the elfess settled back behind the bar, kneeling as if hiding. If she couldn't see them... maybe they couldn't see her. Jabari said to Tenebrae, "Thirsty?" . Tenebrae said to Jabari, "Come, kneel by me,” and gestured to the man to join her there, by the fireside.
Terra was humming as she rose up from behind the bar, face a bit more flushed now. Now, a cheery smile would be delivered to all, fading a bit at Tene's current state.
Redhale turns in his seat to face Velve more fully, "He does act as most of his kind do." The half elf sighs and takes a drink from his bottle, "Though I feel he will become tame easily enough. If he doesn't he will probably become decoration..." His eyes scan the walls of the tavern, "And don't mind speeches, toasts are for birthdays and weddings... or funerals... Thank you once again for your... Insurance, again I offer my services should you ever need me." Redhale speaks the last tipping his head in some sort of respectful yet casual bow.
Jabari makes as if to say something back to her, but more or less, caves, his leg bending as he slowly starts to kneel by Tenebrae.
Dulcinea slowly slips off her barstool, returning to her earlier vacated stool more towards the center of the bar. Overhearing the males' conversation as she passes, she scowls to herself, shaking her head, a hesitation in her step as if thinking to address them. Her shyness overcoming her compassion, she lets out a sad sigh, before continuing on to her seat. Fingers dug to clavicle and crest of shoulder, Tenebrae turning Jabari about so his back rested against the base of the chair, leather-clad calves pressed to either of his hips, and the woman bent to whisper to him in a voice as sere as a desert wind, "No other have I made my own. Not by choice alone, do I do so now. But Fate decrees you mine, and so do you. Thus, we are bonded; in blood and in life, for all time, or until Death's hand lifts us up and free from the hell of it all." He'd feel her swathe of ebon hair shifting against his cheek and she bent to retrieve a cup from her pack. Upright, she brought her forearms to rest on Jabari's shoulders, the richly tooled goblet dandling in the fingers of one hand. "Hold this, will you?"
Velve offers Redhale a smile, "I do think a good ogre head would look good there." He points to the mantle above the fireplace, "Though I think you are right about the toast." He looks to the whisky for a moment before taking a shot of it, "As for providing you with... Insurance.." He gives him a sly grin, "Think nothing of it. Consider yourself under my protection. Should you have need of me all you need do is ask." He then takes another long pull from the bottle before resting it down on the table. He gives his head a shake as the alcohol burns down his throat and fills his body with warmth, "I must take my leave for now but perhaps next time the ogre comes in he will be more.... tame?" Tenebrae gave 1 unholy goblet to Jabari.
Jabari shudders, once more finding Tenebrae pressed to him, the assassin never one much for touch and his lingering shyness still showing. Trembling hands lifted, taking the goblet from the woman as his eyes closed, his breath held slightly as Jabari attempts to contain himself.
Redhale chuckles a little, replying to Velve, "Indeed. Fare well, and thank you again. Until next time." His right hand offers a slight wave, fingers pulling themselves up from the table.
Dulcinea slips off her chair, and silently makes her way over to Sylverbane's table, glass of water in hand. Giving the woman a shy grateful smile, she sinks into a chair, another sip of water taken before she relaxes a bit. "Th-thank you, again. I ap-p-preciate this."
Sylverbane smiles "Its fine dear. And to be honest, I think he would of giggled if you held his hand dear." Velve arises from his chair and sweeps into a bow for Redhale. Arising slowly he whispers, "I almost wanted to see what Lucidious could actually back up with his words so bold but he is merely a small toad in a pond of wonders." Velve takes hold of the whisky bottle and gives Redhale a salute with it before moving out the door and slipping into the cool night. Tenebrae 's features were impassive, the slim-bladed kris-knife slid from its sheath at her hip brought forward over the assassin's shoulder to join with her other hand. As shakily as he might hold that vessel, still there was not a drop spilled when the blade was drawn over the pad of her palm, thin slice to join the scratches already in evidence, and rich crimson of deep-drawn blood would spill into the cup. "Hold it still." Another whisper, ebbing to silence. "Drink." Sylverbane smiles "When will your brother arrive? Do you feel safe dear or still afraid?"
Jabari waited for the last drop, looking into the cup tentatively, staring at his own reflection in the crimson, the blurred vision he was seeing almost representing what was going to happen him, a new shade of Jabari being revealed in the depths of the cup. His head tilted back slowly, paying no attention as to where he was located on Tenebrae, not caring as he started to drink the thick fluid, the scene almost motherly as deep gulps are audible, the assassin careful not to let a drop escape his lips. Sylverbane nods softly and smiles "Dont be worried dear..I think you should be safe now." Dulcinea smiles, nodding her head, relaxing even more as the tavern seems to be quieted. "Yes, I th-think so too. Its v-v-very n-nice here, when n-no one is f-f-fighting." Sylverbane nods and smiles "That it is. It is good when it is quiet..I can get some peace and quiet for me and the unborn one." She smiles and pats her swollen stomach gently, seeming quite happy today. Dulcinea follows the woman's motions to her belly, a soft smile on her face. "How f-f-far along are you?"
Terra pinched her arm in attempt to drag herself from the sleepy state she continued to drift in. A shy smile was given towards the others, "Anyone wanting something?"
Tenebrae bent to him, as she felt the press of his skull on her belly, shifting back to allow freer movement and angle of spine, and her fingers of the undamaged hand would trace across his shoulder, catching to the neck of his garment. The other hand bled on, the vampiress for the now uncaring as to the spill of it on floor or man. Chalky lips, their blood drained only an hour before by the phantom bite of another, sank to abrade the warm flesh of Jabari's throat, a tender press. And when she scented him with a deeply-inhaled gust of breath, and heard his pulse singing loud, fuelled by her own sanguine and tainted life, those lips opened and a fang-flash gleamed crimson with reflected flame, before she bit down on him as a hungry child to a sweet plum, and drank.
|
|
|
Post by Joliette Thorne on Jul 3, 2007 0:04:24 GMT -5
Sylverbane smiles softly " A couple of months." smiles to Terra "Could I have a water please?"
Terra nodded towards the pregnant female, moving futher behind the bar to recieve a jug. The item was half-filled with ice, capped off with water. Two glasses were brought along with it, both recieving the water from the jug which was then set near Sylverbane. "For your friend too." Dulcinea was acknowledged with an inclination of blonde head, before Terra stepped away.
Sylverbane smiles softly and nods "How much do I owe?"
Senzal raises hand and nods in direction of Terra "Dark vodka for me, if you will."
Jabari, eyes widened and shocked, pressed back further against Tenebrae, the cup drained swiftly as she sank her lips into his neck. Muscular chest pushes out as his head lifts up, exposing more neck to Tenebrae as the back of his head cradles softly into her neck, body shivering at the feel of it all. A loud sighs exits his body, no more breath taken while she drinks.
Terra brought flattened palms skyward, "Already paid for, but thank you." Senzal brought a smile to the elfess' lips before another shotglass was brought out, the liquid pouring easily into the container before it was delivered to him. "Enjoy it, again."
Dulcinea smiles shyly at Terra, a soft "Th-thank you," given to the woman as she presents the water.
Sylverbane smiles and nods. "Anyways. The little trouble maker is killing my back already!" laughs softly. "The father doesnt appreciate that though...Hes still quite..eh...lets say trying to build a family with me." she winks softly with a laugh. Senzal said to Terra, "Thank you."
Dulcinea said to Sylverbane, "I've b-b-been trained in th-the ways of a h-healer...if ever you n-n-need any help, you h-h-have only to ask m-me."" Sylverbane said to Dulcinea, ""Thank you miss, but thats alright. I do not wish to ask anything of you but your name and friendship dear. My mother is the one who does all my healing, considering shes so fussy.."
Terra accepted the gold with a grin, tucking it away and returning to the bar. Sylverbane was regarded once more, "Who is the father?" Sylverbane smiles softly to Terra, offering her a seat "Rama Delavian."
Dulcinea laughs quietly, a understanding, somewhat wistful smile quirking her lips, "Yes, m-mothers c-c-can b-be like that. My n-name is Dulcinea. You c-c-can c-call me Dulcy, though, if you w-want."
Sylverbane smiles gently "I am Sylverbane. But you may call me Sylver."
Dulcinea leans across the table, offering Sylver her hand. "A p-pleasure to m-meet you, Sylver."
Redhale re-enters the tavern, an early morning walk apparently having done good for his as he walks confidently through the area to sit at a free table. Still, he avoids the others' gazes as he navigates around the tables to his chosen spot before slumping into his seat with a huff of breath and dumping his bag onto the table before him.
It was difficult for her to take it slow. She hungered, the blood he'd taken in now almost the last she could spare, and his was so sweet... already tainted with her own, she could taste the vampire's curse in each swallow as it gushed over her tongue. But slowly she went, jaws working gently, eyes closing in pleasure, and in agony of soul-- now, he would bear her imprint, and the Darkness claim him even as she did. Fate would hate him, and shadows lap his ankles like willing dogs. On she drank, 'til his pulse went thready and weak, and still on, until his flesh softened as muscles failed. Only then did she bring that dribbling wrist to his mouth, pushing it hard on slackened lips. ~Drink~ He'd hear the imperative his mind, feel the mental shove to action as her will subsumed his own, for the last time in his mortal life.
Sylverbane smiles and takes her hand, shaking it firmly "No, the pleasure is mine dear."
Terra declined the seat with a genuine smile, "I'll stand, easier to get to the drinks that way." The last name rung a famaliar bell but Terra couldn't place it, a concentrated look passing over and settling as she thought it over. "Have you named it? The child, I mean."
Sylverbane shakes her head "I have a nickname, but thats all...Waiting to see if my baby is a girl or a boy."
Jabari lifts his hand, pressing against the back of Tenebrae's head as she drank from his neck, pressing her head further into his neck, encouraging her as she drank, his will already no longer his own. As the wrist was lifted towards him a small kiss was pressed to the skin at first, and trembling, he lifted his other hand, taking her hand in his own, pressing it to his mouth, a kiss slowly formed into drinking, small gulps certainly heard from the woman as he slowly started to consume her life-blood.
Terra had learned both their names from eavesdropping, turning in kind to give each a smile. "Well, ladies, the clinic needs a bit of help so I'm going to tend to that. I'm sure you'll be alright here... The name is Terra, by the by." With an exaggerated wink the vampiress would remove herself from the bar, passing a wave to Redhale. Sylverbane smiles softly and nods to terra in way of goodbye. She sighs softly and slumps in her chair. "Morning sickness should be called all hour sickness.." Dulcinea laughs quietly, nodding her head in agreement with Sylver. "So, I've heard from some of my former p-patients." Sylverbane nods softly and smiles "I had it badly last night..My father had to come and help me." Redhale can't pretend he is comfortable with the scene occuring over by the fireplace. Eyes long since averted he shakes his head a little at the noise, humming quietly to himself in an attempt to block out the sounds without annoying anyone too much. As if it will help more than usual he produces a previously opened bottle of his own and drinks all that is left in it quickly, coughing a little after the rushed gulping. Dulcinea frowns in sympathy, her brow furrowing as she looks at the other woman. "How bad did it g-get?"
Sylverbane smiles "Quite. Nearly passed out from exhaustion!" Dulcinea shakes her head, sighing softly. "You could use some tea..."
Tenebrae and Jabari could, to a casual observer, have been mistaken for two lovers frozen in a tender moment, he kissing passion to her wrist, she bent to whisper, perhaps, or return a kiss to his throat. The forgotten goblet rolled to a stop by the hearth-bricks, a single drop rolling from the gold rim to oak below, as the cyclic draughts they took went on, blood fed to blood and back again, neither wholly sated and neither wholly drained. Thus is would remain, a while, until his thirst took a sharper edge, his lips gape wider to allow the first prickling bite.
Jabari drags his tongue slowly across Tenebrae's wrist, fully lapping, clearing the blood away for just a moment and despite the lack of fangs slowly his teeth sought to rip into her skin. Slowly his jaw moved, a passionate kiss perhaps to her wrist, or the sawing over her skin, the ripping of her flesh, letting more blood flow into his mouth, the assassin eager and hungry, teeth sharpening themselves against her skin as he drinks.
Redhale would be as most casual observers oblivious to the actual happenings between Tenebrae and Jabari, had he not the apparent experience and senses to know it for what it was. His muscles tensed and relaxed as he managed to turn his thoughts away only to find them drawn back. He reached for another bottle and opened it promptly, spilling a small amount before pressing it to his lips, lifting his mask a little even to make such easier, at the same time revealing a rather unkempt beard beginning to grow and a small amount of a slightly less impressively unmarked visage that some might have seen before and note. He takes two long draws from the bottle, panting a little afterwards, and resumes, finishing what was left before placing in on the table before him with a light thump, eyes moving to the door, feeling he may have to leave if the alcohol didn't do it's trick or the others cease soon enough.
Tenebrae could not smile, as that infant jab of fang pierced already-rent flesh to deeper veins. But inwardly, her near-exhaustion waned as their bloodsong waxed and the thrill of conjoined vitae coursed through her like the tawdry rush of lust mingled with the sweet pang of love's dawning. ~Drink~ Tene urged him on, fuelling the growing thirst; there was not enough for both, as it should be- he'd awaken to vampiric life with a surge of need so powerful as to overcome any hesitation in his still-mortal mind, and they would rise, and hunt. ~Drink~ Her fledgling grew pinions of ivory, long and sharp, and did as she bid.
Redhale reached for another bottle of the same, then decided to take another one, though even this one looked the same to you. The half elf opened it with the thumb of his right hand and again drunk from it, sucking it's entire contents down in a few long chugs. After he had finished a small burp was issued and he began to sway a little. He looked around the room, gaze passing all, including the two others, without query or care. Even part of a smile could be seen on lips that had not been fully covered once the mask was dropped back into place. The half elf fixed his gaze straight ahead and nodded once, consciously it would seem rather than from sleepiness or anything of the like, before falling fowards onto the table. The bottle, still in his hand at the time, fell down to the floor, cracking with a sharp tick though not shattering.
Jabari continued to rip and tear at her flesh, lips making love to her skin as it continued to soothe his addiction, providing what he needed and nothing sated his lust more than that. He was almost ignoring her on his neck as his tongue played at her wrist, attempting to coax more and more from her, his body becoming more and more active, pulse stronger and stronger. A small groan and long and wanted exited his throat, the kind you'd hear from two lovers meeting after a long parting, the kind of groan that rang true in all ears, pure want for the woman's blood, pure long for anything she had to give as his mouth continued to consume all, an insatiable hunger only attempting to make the pain less and less. Sharp fangs proved to make this sting lesser, opening her wrist more and more to him, giving him more and more of what he wanted, Jabari forgetting himself, acting as a babe and attempting to take all that Tenebrae can give.
Tenebrae 's fugue was shattered, along with Redhale's bottle, the sound breaking through the miasmic thrum of hearts beating in time as loud as cannibal-drums. Eyes slitted open, green gaze resting on the half-elf where he sat, and for a moment all she saw was prey, until his features unblurred and cognition did the same. Jabari would feel a wet, warm breath, the slide of fang from vein and skin as she raised her head. "Enough now." It was a hiss, spoken to her broodling's ear, as she tugged her violated limb from his eager mouth and tensile grasp. "Now, we feed." Palms would push him forward, and Tenebrae stood on legs unsteady as a new foal's. She would watch him, then, until he found the strength to rise, her body a shield between the starving new-sired and Redhale's own. "Come, let us journey to the Kelay Road. There, we'll wait."
Thea appears from the north.
Jabari slowly starts to rise from between the woman's legs, his hands rising, lifting him with the aid of a chair. His body seems unstable, unfamiliar with the experience he is in, muttering, "Kelay Road." To himself, the vampire eager for more.
Thea offers a sleepy gaze about then waves to the trio, "Morning."
Thea blinks, feeling now that she had interrupted something, "Oh dear.." Redhale stays lying asleep, head on the table, though his muscles spasm as he does, perhaps in a dream or some sort of delusional state. Either way, he does not move enough to be in danger of slipping from his spot, and any words he mutters are either incomprehensible or unheard.
Tenebrae ushered Jabari toward the door, and out into the fell light of the Dark Lands. Cloaks would shield them on the journey to the mortal's town.
Tenebrae led him over the packed dust that served for a road, the pair heavily cloaked against the sun's burning light, until they came to a copse of trees that lined either edge of the passage. High branches met overhead to give adequate shade so that their hoods might be drawn back, and Tene tugged the new-sired's arm to pull him into the shadowed recesses of the wood. Hunger-haunted eyes mirrored her own as she spoke low, and quickly. "This first feeding-- you'll be tempted to tear them to pieces. Don't. Don't give in to that animal urge, force it back like a whipped animal until you master it." She paused, scented the air. "Listen. Always, the first feeding is a brutal hunt, for the sake of expedience. But those who give in to animal lust become like a beasts. Therefore, you'll follow this order, or I'll kill you: only take nine swallows. Nine. I will count the times your throat clenches. One more than that, and my sword will render you unable to disobey me again."
Jabari looks at Tenebrae for just a moment, nodding in acceptance to her rule, the vampire's arm shaking slightly with anticipation.
|
|
|
Post by Joliette Thorne on Jul 3, 2007 0:09:48 GMT -5
Onde nods at Thalia in response, making his want known a moment the Lycan's voice carries over all and any banter of the tavern, "I need a drink for me and my friend here. Who's serving?" His mahogany brows arch in question as he looks over the usual suspects. Thalia laughed lightly as she watched Onde, probably couldn't hide her amusement had she tried. Sely shifted at her feet, most likely bored of staying in one place too long. Thalia would pat his side lightly, his cue that he could wander about as long as he stayed out of trouble, and the hound trotted off in the direction of the fire. Tenebrae, to most who knew her, had a certain veneer of civility laid over her vampires' nature, a last and desperate grasp at humanity that masked the predator below. How very thin this veneer actually was, not many who frequented the Hanging Corpse would likely know-- she'd been tamed these past years by a desire to nurture the vestigial shred of her long-dead mortality, largely the product of her union with Leo; the part that loved, and could be loved, and was not the merciless predator named 'Tenebrae'. But what she'd come to realise earlier that day, as she'd sat and screamed and bled in a hallway at the Dragon's Head Inn, was that it had had never really existed-- even as a mortal, she'd had little of humanity about her; the human girl she'd once been was in fact only ever an ideal, a dream born of longing, that had died in a puddle of fluids on the floorboards at Giolla's only hours before. So, the wild-eyed creature that strode now across the oaken boards of the Hanging Corpse tavern was pure and unadulterated Tenebrae; a vision of Spite in a scarlet dress, her lips drawn over fangs in a hideous snarl, the sound of it shrill as a panther's scream, a pickaxe clutched in one hand and the other clenched in a fingernail-punctured fist at her side. Tenebrae, it might be discerned, was not in a very good mood. And what that vampiress wanted now, more than anything in the world, was to sink that pickaxe deep into the mahogany heart of Darian's precious piano. Unfortunately, the chords that rang across the room as she moved that way told her that Darian happened to be on it. The vampiress mentally shrugged, stepped up and swung the pick back, imbedding it with a sickly 'crack' deep into the mid-chest of Darian himself, already hating herself for causing him that lesser pain.
Tenebrae said to Darian, "I think you forgot this."
Onde 's lack of patience this eve cause him to get up and walk over to the bar and behind the counter. Looking over the alcoholic drinks he finds a few for himself and Thalia, leaving a few gold coins on the counter for Tene and the bar manager before walking back to his table. Placing a bottle in front of Thalia he nods, "Here ya go, I've found this stuff to seriously do a number on me as of late." Thalia smiled as the drink was placed before her, brows arching slightly as she turned her gaze upwards to Onde. "You've been here a lot as of late? Why's that hun, trouble in Paradise?" She wasn't meaning to come on sarcastic, though she thought she might be so. With a light shrug, she took a swig from the bottle, the liquor a welcoming burn at the back of her throat, hitting her stomach as a warm sensation, and she stifled the giggles that almost leaked from her lips.
Darian had been playing, Darian had been dandling ancient Wisdom with keys as his fingers drove sharpened notes through subsoil to heft up with the Kings of Old and inquire of their rotting jaws the answers to the nameless questions of the world. Why does darkness rise from the earth as though every pine were a coffin-nail uprooted to unhinge the dankest secrets of Bale upon a world? Why do meadowlarks unfurl with song, coo in sleep, and drowse with dreams that quake the dead as though through the sleep of crooning fowls corpses might wake and listen? Why does blood fall slower, the moon wax and wane like a surging surf on a shore in but two or three blinks of an eye, why does one feel each breath more than any other taken when that Breath is your Dying one? And then, quite simply, a pickfall over his shoulder, and he felt each breath like no other before it. Onde lofts a brow at Thalia and smirks, "No, I almost live here you could say." He drinks the dark liquid of his bottle and watches her a moment, "Thinks have been fine, had to actually be drug out of here the other night." He chuckles before taking a rather large gulp of the moonshine that goes down a little rough and causes the monk's face to cringe somewhat. Tenebrae was trembling head to toe, a violent shivering interspersed with breaths that strained at her chest as though it was her own and not Darian's that had stood in stead of the crack of pickaxe to mahogany instrument. Her hands were clawed, knees dipped to a readiness and poise that spoke of expectation; of his counter-strike, if he had it in him to make one, or his ruin. She'd have spoken, were the words not bunched like fists in her throat, and her mind not a blur of passion for Death, and her heart not as black and soiled as the Wanderer's coat. But she couldn't, so she stood, and watched him, and trembled. Thalia gave a short laugh before she took another drink of the alcohol. She was quiet a moment, searching for words to say from somewhere in her head. "What I meant was, why've you been here so much lately, doll? I mean, what keeps yah on the bottle?" She tapped the liquor bottle for a moment, raised her eyebrows at him. "Why all the drink, eh?" Onde shrugs in half answer to Thalia's question, "Because it helps me sleep at night." He takes another drink from his alcohol bottle and continues to speak, "I've seen much, killed many, and sinned more than any monk should. Drinking it what keeps me sane and the memories away." He smirks slightly, "Why are you in such a mood for a hard drink to forget this eve? Something eating at your insides as well?"
Thalia smiled as she set the dark bottle back onto the table top. Her right elbow rested on the table, her fingertips still lingering against the bottle, as if she feared leaving it for a moment. "Oh no, I'm not done with you yet. So before you try and pick away at my brain, well..." She paused, eyes light as she watched him. She leaned back in her seat, taking another quick drink of liquor. "...I'm not sure that I'm drunk enough for that yet..." She paused again, another light smile as she stole another drink from her bottle. "Can't you just, I don't know, repent or something? Cleanse your spirit?" She realized by that point she might have been babbling. She had never been one for heavy alcohol, as she couldn't stomach it very well. But it tasted to good to let go, and so the questions bubbled forth.
Onde takes another large gulp from his drink before answering, "Yes and I have. But that doesn't make me forget. This does, even if for but a short while it is an ecstacy that spiritual cleansing can't compare to." He nods and stays how he is sitting watching Thalia a moment, "Aside from that I just like the flavor and feeling of being drunk I suppose."
Thalia was silent as she listened, nodded slowly as Onde finished, and took another swig of her drink. The bottle, now already a little more than half empty, and was starting to take its toll in her. The corners of the room were a bit fuzzy in her mind, her head light, but she felt good. A light smile on her face, she took a longer swig, enjoying the thick taste it left on her lips and tongue, drinking it into her mind as it passed her lips. "Aren't you... not supposed to like alcohol or something like that...?" Onde laughs somewhat, "No, I'm not supposed to, however I say that is more a priest thing than a monk. Who cares though? Not me." He looks down at his half empty bottle of dark moonshine and smirks, "Care to go for a walk after you finish?" He lofts a brow before picking up the bottle and tilting it up, chugging the remaining half of the liquor before placing the empty glass bottle down. Terra entered, Jacobo dropping the umbrella that was held above to prevent the rain from soaking her through and through. The male followed her to the bar, where they both sat. "Jacobo, we're going to be good friends, right?" Jacobo eyed her with a smile, nodding.
Velve stirs from his slumber in the rafters above. His crystal blue eye opens to reveal the world around him while his other 'eye' rests in its alcove where the eye patch generally resides. With quick hands he pulls free the eye patch and replaces it over the stone before shifting to look down upon the patrons and see who resides in the tavern this night. He waists no time with stretching or even a yawn but simple drops down from the darkness above and lands, with not the sound following him but the soft tatter of his cloak. He proceeds to move towards the bar and sit in quiet observation for the moment while he taps a soft beet on the wooden top of the counter.
Thalia stood slowly then, a bit without grace. Her smile grew and she tilted the bottle upward to finish her drink. The liquid scorched her throat with delicate flame and she welcomed the sweet torture as it filtered into her stomach. She took Onde's hand lightly in her own then as she let the empty bottle fall a short distance to the tabletop. The bottle tilted for a moment before falling to its side onto the table, rolling a light ways before stopping. Thalia giggled lightly, the fingertips of her right hand held lightly against her lips, her left hand still in Onde's hand as she tugged him lightly towards the door.
Darian breathed. Perhaps a man does forget he's breathing, perhaps a man merely refuses to acknowledge such facts that fetter in mortal coils, perhaps a breath is like a crescent moon - and when it has finally faded only then may its presence be noted through its absence. Darian's hips pivoted his form limply around, the dimples in his spine crushing keys that were flecked with the blood of Tenebrae, the blood yet caked still his maw and the moveless drips along his clavicle. His arms spread on the piano, his head tilted with its own weight, his legs extended and ankles hooked, the convulsion wracking through Darian crackled his spine like the coalescent words of Devils that spoke flames through woodlands and villas and mouths they'd thought to kiss with brimstone. Darian looked Tenebrae in the Eye. "That, my dear, hurt." Fingers curled about a haft like smoke that curled about the moon and drifted toward unquiet dreams. Rib's clutched at rusty edges, begging them to stay within a breast as the pickaxe egressed a lower lung that seeped with purloined blood like an egret from a pool of moonlit waters. It was limply tossed aside, the pectorals above the wound intermittently spastic with severed sinews. Rise. Step. Grip a bottle by the neck. "Is that, then, what you crave?" His eyes at hers, inescapable as your own gaze in a misty mirror. Fingertips circling the divot in his threadbare jacket and breast, one plunging inward. "Hurt, Pain, Agony, Torture?" His bosom rose and fell like a tide that raced the moon to a blur of fog foam, blood from his own fingers like demons noosed and hung from a crescent moon as they fell slowly, surely, ineffably to dry and mottle with dust upon the planks. As his body quivered, as his right lung began to fail, as his fingers curled involuntarily, with one scraping the inside of his own, cold lung, Darian chuckled. Jacket undone, peeled from him like a panther from its hide. Shirt relinquished, a black and bloody crinkle on the floor. Darian stood, chest twitching like mites evading moonbeams in the feathers of Fate, and still lighted with a kiss. Cork spat, liquor poured to intermingle with the blood, trickling through the wound, searing neurons like the slaver of an acid-tongue that licked along his ribs. Darian's eyes never left Tenebrae. "Well, that is not so complicated, I should think." Bottle broken, glass skittering, wolves howling, jagged bottleneck gouging at the pick's exit-wound, spine apoplectic as a forest in a gale, eyes on Tenebrae like stars long-dead yet exuding their wintry stare at the world, even from the grave. A wrist twisted and glass tore at flesh. Darian grinned. "As you wish."
Tenebrae stepped back, featured twisting in rage and horror at the gurgling wound in Darian's chest alike, his words ringing like churchyard bells in her near-shattered mind. She could scent her own blood on him, blood he'd stolen when he'd ravaged her, like an unseen and ravenous incubus, in the hallway at Giolla's and left her on the floor as though she were some blood-drained and castaway husk. She could see flecks of her own blood on his mouth, and under those claw-like nails. Darian had stolen, that night, one thing she would never give, even willingly-- her pride-- and Tene had every intention of taking it back. As the vampire staggered up from his seat, the ghastly wound sucking and heaving with the effort to draw breath, she'd back up just those few paces, nostrils flaring widely and eyes set on him like a basilisk's. His gory antics with the bottle were viewed with a deliberate and carefully managed disdain, his words bringing her chin high in defiance, though within she was crippled with shame at herself for allowing his attack. The bottle was raised, glass shattered and the vampiress saw this as the opening gambit to battle, every nerve shrieking for her to lunge, stab, kill-- but she waited for that first strike. A blow that never came, as Darian pressed and jabbed the jagged glass to the open wound in his own body. Somehow, it would have been better had he slashed at her. She froze, stared at the Wanderer with an incredulous brand of revulsion. "What.. what are you..." It was a ruse, a trick, a means to get her off-guard. It had to be. Her wrist snapped downward, the Bloody Wire she'd once been famed for uncoiling to its full glittering length, and she waited for the strike that was inevitably coming-- he would have to make that move; feed the rage of a woman scorned.
Darian 's eyes rolled back into the recesses of his skull like crypt-worms scurrying toward they deathly cuisine. The bottleneck dropped. His flesh chilled the floor moments after. Somewhere, you may be sure, a coyote sang the world to sleep.
Tenebrae stared at the body. "Gods damn you, you insane son of an orc-whoring b..." A well-overwrought glance was cast to Velve. "Think you might run, fetch a healer?"
Velve stands up slowly and looks over Tenebrae, "If you like I can heal, though with herbs and bandages. I have no magical means of healing but my salves could provide you aid." He looks over Tenebrae before giving his bag next to his foot a little kick, "It would be the least I could do.. Since I did a slight bit remodeling the night before." He gives a slight shrugs and patiently awaits her answer.
Tenebrae nodded, her face a blank canvas whereon only shock tainted the white. She dropped the garrotte. "Please try..."
Tenebrae knelt beside Darian’s body - for all intents and purposes, and lack of pulse, that it what it seemed- and gashed her own wrist open - re-opened it - with a fang, and pressed it to the vampire's slack mouth. "Don't you go. Don't you dare." Tenebrae whispered, "Magical..." Her eyes sought those of the drow. "Velve.. Lady Myrall..." She whistled, through dry lips, for her crow, the undead bird swooping from its perch among the rafters to wait while a plea for aid was tied to its leg. Maladroit set out to find the dwarven Queen, waiting for the door to swing open and let him out. Velve reaches down and picks up his bag before moving next to Darian. Unceremoniously, he drops the bag to the ground before kneeling before the body. He takes a moment to pause and observe the situation at hand before muttering a few ideas to himself. Finally he gives a slight nod and begins digging through his bag, "First step of order is to feed him." He pulls out a bottle of blood and holds it out to Tenebrae, "Work this carefully down his throat, it will provide more sustenance then what your blood can provide. I've modified its contents a bit and it will help heal his internal damages." With his other hand he reaches in his bag and pulls out a jar of salve and places it over the wound from the pick axe, making sure to cover both sides of it. He then pulls forth a tube and slides it through the salve along with a funnel in which he places atop the tube, "This is going to help stop his internal bleeding once the I pour my cocktail."
Redhale plods into the tavern astride his lion, head bobbing with each step it takes like a rag doll. The bedraggled man slides of the beasts back once in the door and shuffles towards an empty seat, heaving himself into it, left hand held in right. He doesn't bother placing his bag down, instead letting it slip from his shoulders to the floor with a clunk. The half elf turns to face the table before him and folds his arms upon it, his head in turn resting upon them. Tenebrae 's crow would flap in, as the door swung ajar, an alight on Darian's chest, unable to help but give the horrendous wound a little peck.
Myrall slips quietly into the tavern, a quick glance registers a number of familiar faces, but she makes no move to acknowledge any at first.
Tenebrae collected Maladroit, hurriedly, the undead bird cast aside in an indignant ruffle and plume of errant feathers. Tenebrae glanced up. "Lady Myrall.. " Her voice was strained, cracked. "It's the Wanderer... " She gestured to the prone vampire, the wound caused by his own pick and her hand littered with bits of glass. "Help?" Velve turns his gaze to look at the one who has entered and smiles at Myrall's impeccable timing, "This one," He points to Darian, "Is in need of some healing. My herbs and such can only do so much."
Myrall 's eyes flit to the wounded man, he is not well known to her, but no stranger either. She twists her head around towards Tenebrae, silently asking the woman's permission to intervene.
Tenebrae said to Myrall, "Velve here has tried poulticing and salve, but it seems..." The King of Roads was surely fading.
Myrall nods, and gives a small jerking bow before crossing to the man and dropping to her knees, cautiously she leans in close to inspect the wound, aware that after many days travelling she is not the most fragrant of specimens, she turns and call for water, so she may wash her hands at least, before she tries to administer any aid.
Velve arises from his position next to Darian and moves to get some fresh clean water from behind the bar. He grabs a bowl, a few clean cloths and fills it with water before walking back over to Myrall and setting it down next to her, "Here you go."
Myrall looks up with tired sad eyes and manages a small smile of thanks to the Drow, before quickly rinsing the grime and dust of the last moons travel from her hands. As the water turns a murky grey, the previously unseen shimmer of the priests hands begins to break through. With a small nod of satisfaction, she now leans over the mans gapping wound, looking up she catches Velve’s eye "Hold his shoulders down, for if he should come too, he isn't going to like this one bit."
Darian growled. Eyes open like rents in a quaking earth, tube pulled from his chest and crafting the air to stab into the jugular of Tenebrae, rising, pummelling, fanging. Knuckles shattering themselves on cheekbones, a sternum, like a Dragon fallen to the rocks that would crush about him as a crypt with creaking bones. Bare-chested and smeared with blood he dug his bootheels over and over into the chest of Tenebrae - Screaming, screaming, screaming, screaming. Until at last he fell atop her, and saw no more of the world, and knew no more of consciousness. His muscles twitched with agony. Darian, from somewhere deep in his craggy larynx, Growled.
Redhale flinches a little as Darian strikes out. The half elf raises his head sluggishly and remain silent, surprised by the outburst and mostly unsure as to what is going on. He makes to move closer, wanting to help, but stops himself, looking down at his hands and body, shaking his head. The man continues to watch, perhaps in some form of shock.
Where Myrall had but one dying vampire to deal with, initially, now she had two. Artery torn to shreds, ill-afforded blood arcing high to spray in jets, the former necromancer fell back; Darian’s boot-blows to her chest seemed moot. Beneath him, the vampiress’ heart rapidly slowed to a snail’s creep, then a planets’ turn, then a near… stop.
|
|
|
Post by Joliette Thorne on Jul 3, 2007 0:10:25 GMT -5
Velve growls softly as Tenebrae is inturn injured greatly. He moves quickly over to her and takes her in his arms. Lifting her up and away from Darian as to avoid another attack on her. He moves her over to a table and sets her down gently on it before placing his hand firmly on the artery with one hand. Using the power of one of his greatest tools, he summons forth a long blade to float in the air next to him, on which he ungracefully runs his own wrist against to cut a good sized wound on his wrist. He places his bleeding wrist over the Vampiress' mouth and lets his blood pour in to her while still holding her wound closed as best as he can.
Etum meanders in, and immediately notices Redhale. "Meanie kill Popo..." He reaches for his mace, but changes his mind and puts his right hand to his side. "Maf said Etum behave...Etum sorry attack Meanie!" The ogre bows his head. "Etum forgived?"
Redhale hangs his head upon seeing the situation. The man he did not know, but Tenebrae he held deep respect for, and almost couldn't believe that she could be injured. He would offer his help, could he do anything. Still, his body language makes it clear he is willing to help should there be need for him.
Velve summons five more blades, similar to the one already floating next to him to move over to Darian and pin his shoulders. Each blade pressing firmly down against him with the flat part, forcing him down but in such a way as not to injure him should he begin thrashing. He gives Myrall a weak smile, "Two places at once seems to be my specialty today." He concentrates on the blades and holding them steady while continuing to let his blood feed Tenebrae.
Myrall turns to Vale, unspoken commands, and fly between them. The Vampyric illusion nods and goes to the Lady Tenebrae's side, plunging her hand deep into the vampire's chest, seeking out the now still heart, in an attempt to keep it pumping until Myrall can reach her, as she has been ordered.
Redhale turns his head slowly towards Etum upon hearing him speak. The half elf replies, words low and calm, though somewhat weak, "Forgiven. I am sorry for your goat... Too bad really. Quiet now, come, sit..." He gestures to the ground by his table, automatically assuming such a beast might break a chair, before turning his attention back to the other happenings in the tavern, hanging onto the edge of his seat.
Tenebrae was insensate; no bite came in greeting to that freely proffered wound. Only by virtue of the small bit of vitae that managed to trickle down her slack throat did her almost completely drained vampiric body respond, with a feather-soft and thready pulse. She would need more. Much, much more, as her wound seeped steadily through the drow's desperate fingers.
Myrall nods as Darian is pinned, and takes a deep breath before, grasping both jagged sides of the wound in one hand, balling her fist so that the soggy, blood staing flesh is drawn together, effectively sealing the wound. She then places her free hand over the top of her clenched fist, and starts to hum, a rasping discordant noise that seem to cause her whole body to vibrate and quiver, but with each harsh note, the soft blue glow that surrounds the priest, grows in intensity and brilliance, until after only a few moments, none could look at her without shading their eyes.
Tenebrae 's body convulsed, back arcing to an agonising angle as the healer's familiar shoved digits deep inside and squeezed.
Etum notices the commotion, and even though he is retarded he sifts through the actions of those helping the vampire, and decides that Darian is the aggressor. "Etum help!" He yells as he runs over to Tenebrae. He looks to Velve, "Etum feed! Fight!" The ogre bites his arm, and places it the Vamp's mouth, freeing Velve to take care of the fighting.
Redhale 's concern apparently lies mainly with Tenebrae, and finally he chokes out some clear words, spoken to Velve as he is the one apparently tending the woman though perhaps better answered by Myrall, apparently the more practiced healer, "Can... Can I help?" The man asks, standing slowly, unable to take his eyes from the rather bloody scene.
Velve could feel her light pulse between his fingers and by the looks of it and by the feel of so much blood passing through his fingers, he could tell that at the moment her only saving grace was that of Vale. Velve growled softly before raising his arm up and allowing enough of his transformation to take place so that his teeth turned into dagger like fangs. He wasn't able to prevent his long silver hair from taking on streaks of green but he cared little. He bit harshly into his wrist and felt the pang of sinews being cut and veins being torn. He would have winced if he could have felt the pain, however, he delved deeper into his transformation to dull the pain into an uncomfortable drain. He again placed his wrist over her lips to allow the freely flowing blood to fill her mouth. The taste of his own blood incited him and he had to fight against his natural instincts to kill and thus forcing him back into full drow form where his wrist burned with a furious and unforgiving pain that made Velve bite his lip. He leaned down and pressed his lips to her ear as he whispered, "Death is not an option. You must live for there is much yet to do. Now fight, fight for all your worth and take this blood that is now rightfully yours to take." Myrall 's voice seems to erupt from deep within the shimmering haze "Vale is as much you creation as mine Sir, help her! Give her strength to continue with her task, she is yours to command."
Etum steps back, seeing that the drow was handling the feeding.
Vale says nothing, her long black hair covers her pale face as she kneels beside the vampires body, stoically continuing to pump the heart of this woman in time with the thrumming of Myrall's own heart that is echoing through her mind.
Tenebrae gulped and gulped; from what wound she was scarce able to tell nor care, the vampiress not merely knocking at death's door but kicking the thing in... Velve's near-immortal life's blood gave her strength, the ogre's primeval vitae more... and the hand that squeezed her not-yet-dead heart kept it all flowing. Peridot eyes-- hardly that colour anymore - flung open, and her head turned toward Darian... he seemed so very far away. Somewhere, an infant wailed. "Help... him..." It was all those injured lips could form. Would it be enough?
Darian 's blood pooled from his chest, lain face down as to best allow the blood to leak from it. He coughed, he choked, he spasmed, his spine contorting. Hell, he was probably already dead. A snake is known to quiver with its death, after all. Redhale looks to Myrall as she instructs him "But... I'm not sure I can... I've been..." He would go on but, regarding what the others are doing to help, closes his mouth. He moves closer to the crowd gathering around Tenebrae and stumbles a little. Opting to kneel down he begins to sway slightly from side to side. A low humming noise joins the buzz of sounds in the tavern and licking tendrils of light akin to white fire grow from him to the illusionary being aiding Tenebrae. Vale's eyes begin to glow with the same light that bonds her with her creator and Tenebrae would feel a new power in her heart, aiding the manual pumping with a kind of energetic pulse. As Redhale sways he drops a little, muscles apparently very tired, though he keeps up the flow of energy from him to Vale. The vampiric illusion works harder, an odd rippling just beneath her skin, as Redhale's left hand seems to fall off. An empty gauntlet falls to the floor revealing a mottled stump at the end of his arm, though the man ignores it, continuing.
Velve pressed his wrist firmly against her mouth and pushed her head away from the sight of Darian and Myrall. His blood was now spilling free from his artery and through the pressure on her mouth from his wrist, forced her to face the roof. He whispered again, "His life is in your hands, if you live so shall he. Hang on to life and you have nothing to fear. Concentrate on your life right now and he will be fine." He removed his lips from her hear and moved his head above hers where, through his ring, cast a tunnel of darkness so that her eyes could only transfix on his one eye. His eye turned the color of fresh blood as to further incite her to feed and keep her mind on that of which she needed, the survival of her own life.
Etum hears the plea for assistance to the other, and quickly sunders over to him. The ogre pulls the swords off of Darian, and flips him over. "Etum help!" He bites the already bleeding wound on his right arm, and pulls off a strip of his own flesh, allowing more blood to exit his body. He places the wound over the mans mouth. "Drink!" Etum says as he flexes his hand in an attempt to release more blood.
Myrall allows her shoulders to relax slightly and the glow that envelopes her begins to pal as the wound starts to heal over, but she does not stop, instead she grips the flesh hardertwisting it almost viciously, willing the man beneath her grasp to respond to the pain.............to fight back, to fight her for his life. As she knows only when he does so, will he find his way back. Darian slows. That's all that can be said. The only thing to quicken could have been his breath, the swell of his lungs beneath Myrall's fingers. He understood pain. It was familiar. Constant. Ogre-blood and grins, ogre-blood and grins.
Tenebrae feeds, and feeds... slowly her wound slug-crawls to a suppurating halt. She would struggle; not for life, itself, but for view toward Darian. Gulp, and gulp-- would it ever be enough? Still, her throat-wounds seeped. Within her, a seed fluttered, as new blood circulated. Perhaps a triple-death would be avoided.
Myrall again relaxes slightly as she senses the man's breath starting to quicken. 'He will live' she thinks as the glow surrounding her fades to almost nothing. Letting go of the still vividly red, but sealed wound she shifts her positions slightly calling over to Redhale and Velve "How are you doing over there? Need me? Or have you got it under control?"
Redhale responds to Tenebrae's subtle movements, his current albeit inderict connection with her helping him understand what is going on despite his eyes being closed. A second hum, slightly lower in pitch, joins the other, the two so close their volume fluctuates as the soundwaves enhance and dampen eachother. A few seconds later the air above and to one side of his head shifts, a kind of whooping sound being heard as some sort of lens appears. The newly formed object, substance something like glass or water, bends light so that from Tenebrae's point of view Darian can be easily seen, if a little distorted. Redhale may be smiling beneath his mask, which you notice now has a rather sizeable, ugly crack across it, as he knows his new illusion is complete. You also notice his robes seem shabby, torn and frayed, even stained in multiple places.
Velve summoned one of the blades to loop its way through the strappings of his bag and bring it to him. Quickly, trying to waist no time, he removes his hand from her throat and grabs a jar from his bag.. Suddenly his mind faulters and the blade falls to the floor along with the bag. He was surprised by the sudden dizzy spell but shook it off just as quickly as it came and opened the jar with one hand. He slid his fingers over the thick salve and smeared it over her throat. With the introduction of blood came the solidifying ingredient to make the salve conform and harden as to act like a bandage but instead allow the wound not to continue to bleed. It would make it slightly harder for her to swallow but he helped her by gently massaging her throat in order to coax her body into swallowing, willingly or not. He could not tell if the darkness in the corner of his eye was from the ring or of something else but he cared not. He just needed to buy a little more time. Etum smiles, and giggles as he senses everything calming down in the room. He looks around with a dumb smile on his face until he is hit with a dizzy spell from his blood loss. He almost falls, but catches himself with his bandaged left hand, and yells out. He looks at his hand, and his eyes tear up, but he leaves it there to hold his balance.
Darian lolls his head away from the thick wrist at his lips, subsuming restful unconsciousness. Tenebrae, her wound closing and the effect of new-infused blood doing both souls in her a deal of good, sighed a breath that spoke of life returning; no death-rattle this, but a genuine breath. Whatever ministrations continued with the near-dead Darian, it'd be clear that all their considerable effort paid off, for Tene no longer moaned his title and the man himself seemed much restored. Etum looks down at the man, and gets wide eyed. "Uh-oh!" The ogre moves away, thinking the man dead. "Etum sorry! Etum try help!" He looks to Myrall, and starts crying. "Etum try help...Etum kill man!" The ogre pushes his right arm against his body to stop the bleeding, and starts rocking back and forth.
Velve can feel the steadying state of Tenebrae and pulls his hand away, clutching it in the grasp of his other hand. He raises the wounded limb to his lips and gives a little taste to his own blood before moving to his bag to find a bandage, "I believe she will be alright. She just needs some rest." Redhale tunes in to the now relative calm in the room and ceases his casting, the line from him to Vale vanishing with an audible snap and the lens like device melting back into the air. The man opens his eyes, takes a moment to notice the condition of his clothes, and gets up slowly. He limps over to a chair, nodding to the others in the room, and collapses into it, looking fairly small in his state.
Myrall places a kind hand on the Ogre and smiles her voice harsh and rasping but still gentle "No, you did help. He is not dead, just resting. Rest is good you know, gives the body a chance to heal." Etum glances down at the jury-rigged splint covering his busted hand, and starts to cry, the pain of balancing on it finally hitting him. "Etum need Valkor!" he cries.
Velve looks back to Tenebrae at the sound of her voice and her words. A curious glance falls across her form as he wonders exactly whom those words were meant. Though he would not worry about such now. Instead he reaches in his bag and pulls out a wrap where he ties it around the wrist tightly and gives it a nod as it will do for now.
Etum nods, and tries to stop crying. "Etum need Valkor...Valkor make Etum happy...Valkor friend! Valkor help Etum join Valkor clan!" He smiles at Myrall. "Valkor Etum greatest friend!"
Myrall gently removes the splint from the crying Ogres hand and covers the wound with her own talking softly the whole time "Valkor is a good man, he is my friend too you know? He is a clansman of mine. I am Myrall, perhaps he has mentioned me?"
Etum stares at Myrall for a second, and then smiles and titters. "Valkor need talk Myrall Valkor said. Etum know Valkor child!" He laughs, and bounces slightly. "Sylverbane Valkor child! Sylverbane Etum friend!" Myrall hands start to work their magic on the damaged hand as a faint blue glow envelopes both her own and the much larger hand of the Ogre, but she doesn't take her eyes from Etum's face "Valkor needs to see me you say? Can you tell him I will be in these lands later, if he needs me."
Redhale grumbles a little, waking up from his dreamy state. He observes himself again and huffs a little, though more in resignation than surprise. He looks over to where his other gauntlet lies and shuffles over to it, snatching it from the floor and returning as quickly as he can to his seat. All the while he attempts to keep the end of his left arm concealed.
Etum nods, and laughs. "Sylverbane have baby!" He titters, and then his jaw drops. "Valkor have Etum baby! Etum find egg. Etum gift egg-baby Sylverbane!" Demont hums and shrugs, pondering if he should offer aid, or what aid could be offered, but truth be told, he didn't really feel like helping.
Myrall 's brow furrows as she lets the now mend hand drop from her "Really? It does sound like I need to have a chat with him, but for now I must depart I fear. It has been a long fortnight on the road and sleep calls to me."
|
|
|
Post by Joliette Thorne on Jul 3, 2007 0:31:52 GMT -5
Abreast the Corpse's walls, just between it and the Mayor's residence, resided an anthole. Decidedly, by the morrow the Queen ant would dead, the motley assortment of those servicing her bereft, and the meat-stock of the Corpse's kitchen once more safe from the plundering insectual - and, perhaps, it would entail that Steadmen could serve meat that was not diseased or gnawn upon by the fidget of midgeling pincers, though one must, perhaps, give the barkeep far more credit in his nefariousness and spite than all that. Such things aside, we might return to the case of the soon-to-be dearly departed Queen of the Corpse's neighboring anthill. Were one studious, and so inclined, one might notice a legion of these marching in-step to and fro beneath the Tavern door, popping with the occasionally fated step of patrons walking over the ants, bogged by the dust ladening the planks in millimetres just high enough catch an ant at the ankle and drudge his tread like mountain man knee-deep in snow and bluing at the knees with winter's frosting lip-prints. This perilous venture, of the most dashing and riveting sort, the sort that little six-legged bards will sing of in squeaking voices while sawing a miniature grass-blade lute, the sort that required the outwitting of mice, the determination to never wander from your destination, even with a myriad of sundry goods quite ready and willing to be swindled from various abandoned and untended plates dotting tavern tables - No, if you're an ant and there's a corpse in the corner, you feast upon it, through all tribulations imaginable- You Feast! And so, with the blood caked upon his bare-chest like ice upon a pond where a watery demon knows his sleep, Darian was feasted upon - far too many farthings from consciousness to do much more than growl on occasion as the flesh from about his assortment of wounds was plucked, wrenched, and trotted back to a lair that was, after all, underground, though a few feet short of a Grave. The ants trotting ebuliently, then, fro and to this sumptuous cuisine, really had no reason to suspect that their hard efforts would slay their queen, leave them like a riderless before the swarming armies of Fate stacked against them. Woe! little ants, Woe! To feast upon the deathly fleshes and give your Queen the first bite! Ah, poor ants, poor ants.... And Steadmen, Woe Again!, shall have to find another means of poisoning his customers! Oh, what sorrow shall come these insects, Ants and Steadmen alike, on the looming morrow... With a swish of his claws along the paltry seal of the pincer-gnarled hole in his chest, Darian growled. Selidor stumbled into the tavern, not really caring what he looked like, and walked about the building, unable to keep his balance well. These people looed funny to him.
Terra jerked suddenly, noting the entrance of the few that passed. On accident, honest, the glass would tumble over and cause Terra to jump off the stool. "No fair!" She'd mumble, looking to see if Trist caught any of it in his lap.
Eilyo sniffles lightly, her head still laying upon the table before her. Apparently the woman has begun to weep, her slender shoulders trembling slightly.
The door cracks open slightly, and then is pushed open the rest of the way to just barely allow a figure to slip in. This form would make the slight rustling sounds that denote chains as he takes a station near a chair in the back. If one cared to look enough they would find that he had blood matted blonde hair, the bangs of which fell into the gaze of jade tinted grey eyes, whilst the rest of his locks fell to about two inches shorter. The optics set into his sockets would seem kind enough, granted, the harsher side of nice. His torso would be bare, aside from the fresh blood and gashes that litter and dot the pale skin. Beneath this skin is the build of an athletic gladiator, one who needs to fight to live. Pitch black chains, much like those seen holding unwilling gladiators in the slave market behind the Dark Arena, wrap from his wrists up to the shoulder-side of his biceps, harshly hook-spiked bracers of equally black metal are bound to his forearms, wrist to elbow. At each of his sides resides a rather plain looking broadsword, each housed in an equally plain looking sheath of black metal, his hands could be seen hovering somewhat close to these blades' hilts. These pale and worn hands would be gloved in equally worn leather netting, an interesting alternative to leather wrapped sword handles. Worn yet somewhat new pants of braided leather adorn his lower extremities, coming down his legs to fall just over the tops of worn, but well-gripped leather boots that seem to have the look of scale greaves to them, though in leather. Fresh blood litters over all of his clothing, gashes visible in numerous places about his form, he would seemed to have gotten in a rather brutal scuffle. A netted hand reaches up to weave through his hair, trailing over his pointed elven ears which seem to have miraculously avoided any look-incriminating damage. He lowers himself into the chair with another rustle of chains and looks about the tavern assessing the happenings, the surroundings, and the people. Tristram most likely did, and goes about swiping at his pants as another low grumble reverberated throughout his chest. "No fair what! Sven's sake." Oh did he grumble and fuss his disapproval.
Sevian slips into the pub in what he hoped was a muted manner. Hooded hues scan the various patrons with a lackluster scrutiny before he trudges to the bar before promptly crumpling atop a stool. Terra swatted at her own arm what got sprinkled with the wine, biting back a snicker at Tristram's long-winded complaints. "It fell too soon and got on me." Bending over the bar she'd grab a rag and dab at Tristram's pants in attempt to clean them. "Oh hush. You have dozens more of these."
Selidor stumbled about the bar for a moment before plopping down next to Terra, either by grabbing a chair close to her and sitting in it, sitting on the table/bar next to her, or sitting in her chair with her. He wondered what Zeltis had given him, but he didn't really care, it made him feel good. Tristram ack'd when she brushed at his pants. That wouldn't do at all. Not even a little bit. He pranced back out of arm's reach, and regarded her suspiciously, though he quite honestly didn't mind the sight of her tidying up her own attire and appearance. He edged to the door then, and would beat a hasty retreat back to Gualon for a change of clothes.
Terra frowned then, sulking back in her seat to find that Selidor had swapped it. "Eek, I'm sorry." She'd stand then, slap the rag on the counter, and sigh. "Trist, wait." She called after him, hopefully before he left through the door. "I'll go with you to buy new clothes to make up for those?" Biting her lip through the evident lie, she waited.
Tristram held the door open for the newly-sired vampiress, and grumbled yet again under is breath, though his eyes twinkled, if only briefly. Jabari enters the Hanging Corpse, frowning gently, though he seems for the most part to be in control, the newly turned vampire moving up to and resting at the bar, hand moving to wipe off some saliva from his mouth.
In a corner of the room, on a table, beneath a blood-sodden blanket, Tenebrae was a chrysalid of pain. Broken bones, nail- and fang-rent throat, a heart squeezed to life by cold and spectral fingers... all of pulsed as one mass of the same pain, and as she half-slept, in that doze the shocked and wounded take that is near enough to death to bring Hope back to even the most hopeless of dreamers, she was crooning a lullaby; for whom, not even she could know. To anyone observing, this cocoon of blanket would now and then shift, as its occupant slowly roused from the gentle cradle of Night, almost ready to be born to the harsh world beyond, make her first cry of pain, seek Darian in an agonising moment of panic. But just yet, she was rocked and lulled, crooning her song, warm in a twilight bliss.
Jabari said to Tenebrae, "Are you, alright?"
Sidonia said to Jabari, "What... happened?" A nod is given to Darian in his corner and Tenebrae on her table, respectively. "It looks as if they tried to kill each other."
Jabari said to Sidonia, "From what I heard, they did."
|
|
|
Post by Joliette Thorne on Jul 3, 2007 0:52:11 GMT -5
Terra stared with wide eyes and a drunken giggle, though she was quite sober. "You'll have to be a bit more specific, or you'll know things you'd rather not..." Darian growled. Weeping children lie in a bed and dream wakeful of never having to hear such sounds through the cracks in their windowpanes as the moon is blotted with darkling form whose hair raveled with breeze and starlight. An ant in a waddle along his lips, a flick of tongue, a grate of teeth the minutiae of exoskeleton - a roll of pallid flesh like smoke from lungs on a night where the moon died and wolves mourned her with blood, eyes singeing holes in hair like moonbeams through the obfuscating foliage of a sycamore rooted in a riverbank that Death skipped along with a dirge in her heart and at her lips - Darian rose, gazed, furled him in Tenebrae and Tenebrae in his arms and tresses, the blood from opening wounds leaking against her breast as his bare chest brimmed with candlelight and stagnant bloodstains. Darian growled, and footsteps skittered from their forms.
Thalia had to smile then, a light smirk rather, her mind wandering. She could play Terra into quite the risque scenario now and again, and she shook her head lightly. "I want to know everything. Now come on and spill already." Eyebrows arched slightly to the young woman across from her, and she shifted the fox in her hands, Ciara giving off a slight yip of annoyance at being moved. Virote settles down in the back of the tavern thankful for a drink and what seems to be recognizable company.
Leoxander enters the tavern's main room from the cellar, not an uncommon entrance at all. He looked a little tired, and not in the best mood, but Leo was in fact clean shaven, should you manage to see through the overgrown shag of blonde in his eyes. Standing upright, his spine popped audibly, but his expression didn't change from the solemn look he wore like a mask, almost as often as he wore an actual black cloth one.
Leoxander saw Terra first on that initial glance around. Terra had spotted the movement of cellar doors first, and quickly became agitated. She rose then, as if to slam the doors back down, but Leoxander coming from them caused a pause and a tiny smile. "So you do leave that cellar. I was starting to worry..."
Sylverbane stirred and woke from her slumber, she did not know she had fallen asleep so easily. She rubs her eyes gently with a sigh and a yawn, stiffling her yawn with a gentle hand
Tenebrae stirred, in Darian's arms, her eyes cracking open, bloodshot, and groaned. Her vision was limited, fingers twining to midnight hair in an attempt to rise from the table where her near-dead body had been lain. It was still not all that far from death, and as the blanket slipped, those looking might catch a glimpse of blue-black flesh and mauled throat. Again, her vocals sounded, half a word only, and sank once more to a moan. "Don'.." Touch me? Die? Her mind was still swimming with the dreams that'd plagued her that long night through, since Myrall and Velve and a slew of others had aided her healing, such as it was. Leoxander slowed to a step only a step inside, his eyes meeting the healers and relaxing somewhat from a hard, suspicious stare. He didn't go so far as to smile but you couldn't expect too much from a cursed pirate. "Not much to eat down there..." Etum stops in the middle of the tavern. "Shhhh! Vampires need rest!!" The ogre motions torward Tenebrae and Darian. "Vampires need rest!"
Sylverbane smiles softly up to Etum as he hushed the Tavern, she looked over the sleeping vampires gently, wondering if they required assistance still. Terra gave him a lofted brow look, arms protectively settling on her own stomach. "Is that a hint to cook you something?" She didn't exactly mind doing it, if he wouldn't mind burnt vegetables and undercooked meats.
Etum moves over to the vampires. "Vampires need?"
Leoxander would of course be drawn to look in the direction of movement, even shadowed as their corner might be. Her scent invaded his mind and he focused in hard to confirm that it was actually Tenebrae wrapped up with the wanderer. Leo actually didn't look shocked at the scene, though concern at what he began to determine on her skin etched into his brow, causing it to knot at the center. If he was hungry before, it was forgotten then, as he tried to figure out what was going on. He only took one step to Terra's other side, instead of having to look around her.
Leoxander spared Etum a brief look, turning his eyes more than his head. Mismatched irises retreated back toward the vampire pair soon enough, and very simply.. the lines of his jaw defined, revealing some tension creeping into his joints. Etum seats himself at Tenebrae's feet, and plays with his yo-yo. Leoxander said to Terra, "Yeah..." He finally spoke after that long pause, looking over his shoulder at the healer, "Would you?"
Terra stalled, shooting a glance towards the lycanthrope before nodding. "Sure I will. W-what'll it be, then?"
Terra followed Leoxander's move with a simple pivot at the waist, breath halting when she came to realize the scene. "They're awake," A soft observation, eyes flickering closed briefly to add a silent prayer of thanks. She wouldn't approach yet, still unsure of what had occurred or what would. Leoxander and his hunger were briefly forgotten, a tentative move made towards the couple.
Leoxander watches Terra carefully as she passes him, or at least begins to approach their way. He was trying to put things together without asking dumb questions, since obviously he'd missed something. Darian 's knuckles gripped down on Tenebrae, their shattered bones disavowing movement and spasming his hands slightly. When he deigned to breath his chest quivered, the lining of his inner lung where the pick had imbedded itself dimpled, the hole in his chest bleeding slightly. The face of Tenebrae looked the sea at night, writhing with purples and blues and blacks that knew no moon - and when touched, it would shiver in waves of agony as though the depths knew Sentience and Pain at once. When the ogre cam toward them, Darian shot a glance of icing deserts and tundras made of souls, before his brow to the cushion of his own bloodmatted locks abreast the slumberous Tenebrae.
Etum smiles as Sylverbane sits with him. He puts away his yo-yo, and looks at Sylverbane. "Sylverbane want stay? Etum happy. Etum thank Sylverbane." Sylverbane smiles and nods "I'll stay. Your welcome Etum."
Etum looks up at Darian. "Etum save life! Vampire have Etum inside!" He looks down. "Etum help...Etum nice..."
Iris stands knocking her chair back which caused a loud thud "PARTY!!" She shouted.
Etum jumps up. "Sit! Shh! Vampire need rest! Sit!"
Terra reserved a glare for Darian that likely went unseen, as Terra snapped focus quickly towards Etum. "You did a good job, Etum. Thank you."
Leoxander took a few more deep breaths through his nose, taking in scents and stories as best as half an animal, half human could. His eyes roamed back toward the pair, trying to decipher the quiet murmur he'd thought he'd heard from Tenebrae even as he answered Terra. "Something bloody..." There was a hint of malice in his tone, and curiously, his hand curled into a fist until scarred knuckles popped even louder than the vertebrae in his back had. Boldly, the lycan stalked toward the vampires, and the ogre at their feet, slowing to a stop when he came to stand near or above them, depending on their leverage. His gift seem granted when the aroma of blood washed forward, unmistakable, and he could feel the sonic waves of suffering in the air, creating an deathly aura around the pair. He was within reach.
Sylverbane jumps up from the loud thud with suprise, she was getting annoyed at the noise.
Etum stands in front of Iris. "No party! Etum please....no party." He looks at Tenebrae. "Vampire need rest..." Tenebrae let out a pitiful sound as the vampire's fingers were laid on that beaten face of hers, a low cry that did the job of describing her agony and fear; last she remembered those fingers were bunched in fists, and beating down on her... Eyes that could not open fully widened, her breath paused, but when he sank his head down and no further blow came, it'd dawn on her that he was not dead, and sobbed softly. One arm curled up to wrap about his neck, a means to struggle upward, and the sounds of the tavern burst in her slowly gathering awareness, the lights, the... she turned to look over her shoulder, toward... Leo. His shadow filled her vision, his scent redolent and familiar. And emitted another slow groan.
Leoxander spared the ogre a wary glance, but reserved his sights mostly for the King of Roads and the woman who supported his damaged body. Slowly but surely, Leo began to lower into a crouch beside them, his tattooed arms finding a casual purchase upon his bent knees. Etum smiles, and creeps over to Tenebrae. "Vampire need?" The massive beast kneels down next to her frail frame. "Etum help! Vampire hungry?" He puts his arm on the table, the bandage covering Darian's feeding site stained red. Etum pulls off the bandage, and asks again, "Feed?"
Terra had moved to the kitchens some time ago, retrieving a slab of meat and a piece of bread for Leoxander. It would be left on the counter, abandoned as Terra cringed at the sobs that filtered through the air, over the sounds of chaotic drunks. Steps were taken towards the pair yet again, nothing left to prevent the approach. In silence, she merely stared, waiting. Leoxander lifted his eyes to Etum, who seemed to be kneeling at the opposite side of the two as he was. Ogre or not, that didn't stop Leo from giving him a firm push to his shoulder when he neared, likely sending him toppling back away from the vampires if he didn't dodge or catch himself. Leo was a bully like that. Iris exits north.
Sylverbane sighs gently helping Etum as he falls giving Leoxander a cold stare. She blinked softly and helped him up
Terra said to Leoxander, "Leave him alone... That man you're pushing around is the one who helped save Tenebrae's life."
Leoxander responded in a low, unstable growl when he heard the aggression in Terra's tone, still crouched over what he assumed his mate and her companion. Etum falls back, catching himself with his right arm. The sudden flexing of hismuscles caused the wound to begin bleeding, quite profusely. "Meanie! Etum help..." The ogre grabs his arm, and hold it to his chest as he begins crying.
Tenebrae 's eyes had shifted from Leo.. only the prospect of replenishing her blood-starved body could have made them do so. The scent of it almost sent her mind reeling back to unconsciousness, and she'd struggle to free one arm, turn, reach for that meal. When it was denied her, she hissed, glared at the one who'd removed the ogre from her clutching grasp.
Terra would return the favor in spades, if she could manage such a task and not sound like an upset mouse. "Don't growl at me either. I'm helping. If you're not going to help, then don't hover like that."
Terra said to Etum, "If you'll allow, feed her. She needs it."
Etum closes his eyes, and tries to stop his tears. "Etum nice. Etum save Vampires! Meanie...." The ogres eyes start twitching beneath his eyelids, and his eyebrows lower, taking on an angry look. He sees Redhales lion slaughtering Popo, and Redhale attacking him. His heart fills with torment as he thinks about the past events, and he begins trembling.
Leoxander snapped his words at Terra in a husky tone, one that held the definition of a growl underneath it. "I'll hover if I bloody feel like it." But the anger wasn't directed on her long, and his eyes locked onto Tenebrae's with the bridge of his nose starting to crinkle. Reason was fighting a losing battle with his tendency to get mad, easily, and there were a lot of people glaring at him at that moment. Still, he set his vision on what was probably a pale light green, lacking it arctic shine.
Sylverbane sighs gently holding Etum closely, in a motherly embrace. Hushing him gently, with a soft lullaby and gentle whispers. Darian growled. Tenebrae was awake. The rank stench of the living gathering about them. In short, Darian growled. In long, Darian growled like the flame-licked rafters of a building choked with its own ash and preparing to cave inward on every being trapped inside with a conflagration like demon breath as coals burnt a hole in the night for the sun to rise through and suck the living waters from the pores of all the world.
Etum calms down, and opens his eyes. He kneels at Tenebrae's side, and places his right arm back in front of her, still shaking. His blood pours onto the table slowly and pools around his arm.
Tenebrae spoke through puffed and empurpled lips, a whisper from her damaged throat. It'd sound more like a plea than she'd like, those dulled eyes trained on a mismatched gaze where strange lights flickered in place of beloved red and blue. "Blood..."
Terra tried to be understanding to Leo's current situation at hand, but was quickly get frustrated with the male. Hands were tossed towards the ceiling in a gesture of defeat. "Fine!" She'd reply, a bit louder than necessary. "Your bloody meat is on the table, eat it when you will and here's hoping you don't do something silly and upset any other people." Stomping away from them, she'd settle near the bar, obviously grumpy.
Tenebrae also winced at that terrible sound, close to her ear enough to hurt. The smell of blood was overpowering.
Leoxander almost felt the ground start to shake underneath him. It was then Leo realized -Darian- was awake. The anger and force in his growl was undeniable, and it immediately called up the feral instinct in the lycanthrope. He'd been oblivious of the fact vampires surrounded him before, but after having one hiss in his face, another stir near his feet, and the third sending him dirty looks, facts definitely settled into Leoxander's split mind. Mismatched gaze darted from one to the other, then the ogre and his companions, and he finally put some smart distance between himself, and the pair huddled close on the ground. He'd find Tenebrae's gaze one last time before Darian's warning was issued, and the rogue didn't just calmly get to his feet and back away, he stumbled and went for the door as if he expected them all to turn at any second, he was definitely out of place. That wouldn't have been a fight, in his observation, it would have been suicide. Terra had wasted her time preparing him a meal, unfortunately. Leoxander exits north.
Etum smiles weakly as the man exits. "Meanie..."
Sylverbane smiles softly and nods in agreement.
Tenebrae might've, in better circumstances, gone after her mate. But then, were circumstances better, he'd not have had cause to leave like that, and she'd not be a bruised and broken mess, nor reaching for the ogre's arm with crabbed fingers, or biting, or drinking and drinking..
Terra was temperamental, that much was clear. It wasn't the disregarded meal that agitated her, causing her to pick it up, but the male it was originally prepared for. Exhaling, she'd move to the door to dump the plate and leave it for the dogs. Etum watches Sylverbane and laughs at her running about. He winces, and braces his body with his left hand so he doesn't fall.
Sylverbane smiles "Sorry Etum...My legs were getting numb."
Etum smiles weakly as his eyes flutter, as he feels the draining of his blood. "Sylverbane ok...Etum think Sylverbane funny...."
Sylverbane smiles softly and goes over to him, worridly. She smiles "You should stop feeding them just now and rest."
Etum rocks forward, but his left arm stops him. "Etum strong. Etum ok feed."
Tenebrae snarled softly, glaring at the woman, as she drank on. The ogre was big. Lots of blood. She'd clutch him just that little bit harder.
Sylverbane looks to him worriedly "Etum, when you feel weaker I'll stop you." Etum lightly pops Tenebrae on the head, playfully. "Vampire no growl Sylverbane. Sylverbane Etum friend!" The pop obviously took a lot of effort, but Etum quickly replaces his arm as his support beam. Tenebrae 's fangs sank that bit harder into Etum's arm as his fist descended on her cranium. Tiny stars floated before the injured woman's eyes, and she closed them, shivering from the chill touch of Darian.
Darian rolled from the table, landing and stalking barechested to a corner where a patron had fallen asleep. His knuckles, Darian's boot tip knocked a nose to breaking and head to arcing upward to crashing against a wall, screams sounding so somewhere petals might be falling to quiver in dew. Darian's maw razored downward, clamped, and the screams whistled through the punctures in an esophageus. Curling his arm about the neck, vertebrae misaligning as his muscles clenched, the luckless barfly was drug from her locus to the table of Tenebrae, where Darian thrust his shattered fingers down her blouse, his fingers unwillingly seizing hold of a purse jangling with change, which was then pressed against the breast of Sylverbane. "Get Liquor. Now." Darian swiveled Tenebrae's head from the ogre's wrist and to the neck of the woman convulsing before him like a corpsed tossed with waves before lolling with its own waterlogged weight and rippling downward to the Depths. "Drink."
Etum closes his eyes, and rocks forward, and his arm shakes below the weight. "Etum sorry....Syl...ve....ban...." The ogre falls forward, and passes out....
Tenebrae cried out when the ogre's flesh was torn from her mouth. The starving vampire turned that feral, predator's glare toward the only other source of food nearby..
Sylverbane nods softly, taking the money pouch "Any liquor in particular?" for a pregnant draconian she was active, her skin had formed to scales and she leapt over to the bar, rummaging through it for strong drinks.
Tenebrae was, at that moment, only an animal, feeding in great ragged gulps, the unfortunate Darian had thrust at her living no longer than the time it took for the vampiress to tear a hole in her throat and shove her face into the bleeding mass of it, shuddering all the while. It'd been cold in Darian's arms, but she was colder without them. She drank her fill, the chalk-pale body of the female tossed aside after as a bone after the steak was gone. Her features further obscured by the blood, she looked more like the monster she was than she had in almost two centuries. Swollen eyes, rimmed in five different dark shades, were turned toward the vampire, a cold and tigerish glare in which there'd be a glimmer of recognition. There was no description for what she felt, then. None, in her wide repertoire of understanding. An excruciating moment was spent rising, then, and slender limbs shook in the effort to uphold her as she raised her face in the ceiling's direction and screamed, long, loud, a banshee's wail of sheer pain and confusion. This coming to a slow end, that gaze once more shifted, to the draconian woman behind the bar, the ogre resting on the floor and, finally, Darian. Sylverbane easily leaps back passing the dragonfire brew to him, twas a strong drink indeed. She looked to Etum with worry. Darian swiveled his neck and spat at the floor, his eyes kept on Tenebrae. "If it doesn't scar the back of my throat, I don't want it."
Sylverbane grins "It will."
Darian swept about the room to a place where a rusted pick had fallen, swept it up and careened through the door with a tocking rhythm to his hips, the newday kissing his barechest with burning light through the clouds that lay womblike above him, ready to birth their rains that would scream in thunderousness upon finding themselves within this damnation of a world. A cork spat, Darian left a smell liquor that gnawed at the doorway planks and a smell of his own flesh burning with Sun that choked the songs from birds and curled each petal he passed as he roamed about the lands, the sky wishing to unfurl itself in a torrent of beams that would leave a bonepile and spilt bottle of liquor.
Tenebrae watched the Wanderer drift from the tavern and into the day, a frown twinging it's painful way across her bloodied brow. Etum was the next thing she saw, eyes drawn to the draconian's motions. The ogre had served her well. How well, she wouldn't know until some kind soul would tell her, perhaps later. But he'd be rewarded amply for the aid she knew of now. Fed, sated even, the vampiress crossed the room on legs more certain than they'd been minutes earlier. The wreck of her cloak was pulled over her head; the clouds might provide more blessed coverage.
|
|