Post by Joliette Thorne on Mar 2, 2010 8:19:05 GMT -5
Bralgin lopes languidly through the door, a look of distant grief on his face and a cloud of deathly stench and flies in his wake. Bent almost double, as was the way in these small hovels, he scuffled up to a table and flopped himself wearily down, with perhaps an uncomfortable amount of skin shedding as he did so. He looks around himself, not really through interest, but just to see who he had to ignore today.
Jolie was enjoying a rare moment of quiet, the tavern-owner ensconced in the deep embrace of one of those oversized, over-stuffed armchairs by the goblin-hearth, her heeled boots resting on a threadbare ottoman, crossed at the ankle. She was small, mortal, dark of hair and green of eye, and currently engrossed in the glowering flames, where she saw faces and animals, palaces, angels, demons, a porcupine... the non-action of simply allowing the images to impress their shapes upon her mind, each passing from her passive attention as it was replaced by the next, was oddly soothing to the woman who must think of everything, everything, all of the time. Thus, it was Steadman stationed at the bar, where only the requisite sleeping drunk slept, face-down in a thin puddle of drool and old ale until Bralgin wanders in. The surly one-eyed man unplugged the cigar-end from his lips and drawled, "Getchasomethin'?"
Jolie's pale green eyes were next found peeking over the back of that chair, the fire suddenly the second most interesting thing in the tavern.
Bralgin gave a cursory glance at everyone around. Not anything special; a few half breed orc creatures and a human. He grunted, shifting uncomfortably in his mis-matched armour and cramped up against the wall. He felt uncomfortable around the living, probably because they were beautiful, hot blood flowed through their intact limbs and they actually needed to breathe. It peeved him beyond belief, but then the inside world meant that the carrion eaters couldn't get at him...
Jolie swivelled her body so that her knees pressed into the chair's plump cushion and her elbows rested on its back. Those startling eyes were still affixed the troll, with a mix of quizzical amusement and sharply studious curiosity. Not an iota of disgust, though-- the once-necromancer knew just what it was to be dead, and her mortal heart held an edge of compassion that had crept in like a lost dog these past few months. A soft greeting spoken in common troll-tongue, taught to her by Urghdak Trollson, rolled over her lips. In it was a hint of apology, for her current incapacity to halt the poor creature's obvious state of decomposition.
Bralgin heard his own tongue spoken, possibly for the first time in years if he could actually remember, and slowly craned his gangly neck around to peer through dead eyes, that seemed more like scabbed cataracts, at the tender looking human who called to him. He understood, but at the same time he did not understand why she spoke to him at all, with her fresh lungs and liver. He retorted with a similar greeting, though his voice was hollow, deep and grated like steel on stone. He no longer felt sorrow for himself and he did not seek it from others, so who was this creature who sought his company...?
Jolie dangled over the edge of the chair a moment longer, her delighted grin at the animate corpse's reply of marked contrast to the dour nature of his own response. The greeting had depleted her of all knowledge of the language, her lessons being not that far advanced as yet, so she ventured a few words in regular common, "I have no magic to offer, but still have a few preserving decoctions out back, if you'd like them?" Her birdlike frame was a sudden flurry of activity, as she clambered over the chairback and dropped with a steely 'clack' of heels to the stone floor. The diminutive female propped herself against that furnishing, for now. "I have not seen you in the Dark Lands before. Yet, you are not newly risen. Have you travelled far?" Though several other questions burned her tongue, she held them back. A heavy clomping sound echoing up from the cellar's stairwell drew her attention that way briefly, but it was only seconds before Jolie was focussed once more on the motley-clad undead.
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Bralgin had seen this form of living before; the excitable, eager to help lowlives that gawped in wonder and then tried to make you do party tricks in the street. But wait... This one was speaking of him like no other, wanting to know things about his past. He paused and held his polluted eyes upon her for a few moments, taking in her exemplary figure and outfit, that one time in the distant past he may have fought over, but saw nought except the flowing of the blood in her veins. Coming to, he focused his thoughts to forming sentences, "No... I am old. I am from under the earth and from under the mountains... though it does not come to me from where or when... it has been so long." he rasped back, with small pieces of what might be throat accidentally being spat out, "I need no... things to keep me together... human." he gave her another glance, but this time grinned with an almost full set of black teeth, "I am Troll-kind... human... I fix myself when I am broken... but then when I am fixed, it dies again..." he said mournfully, looking down at the shedding and growing skin, which caused patchwork effect all over the poor creatures body.
"Of course..." It was barely a whisper, the mortal's eyes widening at her realisation of the horror of Bralgin's existence. Not so long ago, she'd have regarded him as a mere curiosity, perhaps a useful one, to be taken into service or counted among those who were not to be trusted. Such icy calculation still existed in her, but it was not all of her now, and the compassion that may irk the undead when mistaken for pity shone in her verdant regard of him. What does one say, to such a revelation? The ancient creature could not even be offered repast for comfort. Joliette pressed her lips together in thought, then pushed off the chair she leant on and stepped forward. Halting not quite a long arm's length from Bralgin, she tilted her head a little. "I know what it is to be cold and draw no breath. To miss the passion, the scent and taste of life. Old One, eternity is a pitiless maw, for those who must travel it. But small purposes can distract. Have you any master? A task to keep yourself from the abyss?" All this was spoken very quietly, the words now and then muffled under the continuing trudge of boots ascending the cellar. At last, the source of it could be discerned: Urghdak the Vicious, who had been the Outcast, who was once the Urchin, drew his colossal frame to full height once he cleared the steps, his shaggy head given a shake to free it of cobwebs and their makers.
Bralgin held for several moments, piecing together the words ushering forth from the full, red lips of the living and constructing into sense in his ravaged brain. This one had clearly some knowledge of the dead, death and things beyond life, but clearly was not dead. She was fortunate and he ignored the anger for now, as she had probably brushed upon his own fate of spending endless ages of lifeless existence. She was close now, and he could feel, in this empty place, the very warmth issuing forth from her as she stood nearby. What was it to feel life, to allow the wind to pass by rather than feel it run through, like so many sharp blades in the core of his soulless form, and to comfort oneself by the flame; to feel joy in its presence. He turned his doubled, moth-eaten frame in her direction, still large and agile, despite the slow and encumbered brain that struggled like legs through tar to operate it, "I see... you see... you might know." he struggled out, trying to make some sense. It had been some time since normal conversation and even longer in the tongue of those above the ground, "I have had a one who called himself master... but he suffered my fate unto eternity... human, he angered the earth... for bringing me... and others hence. It swallowed him... many seasons ago... for his crime, but..." he looked upon her again, with bottomless sadness, "... It took not me with him thus, into the ground to... rest." And with that last word he hushed himself, a forced exhalation that would silence the world should it choose to hear.
Jolie was nodding, her swathe of silken hair a black ripple on her shoulders, while the ancient spoke. Oh, she did know, all too well-- had her own 'master' not been similarly swallowed, though into a fate far from anything like the earth? Though her abandonment to the living world was nothing but a blessing, and the vile thing who'd made her his puppet, or tried, was banished by her own hand.. still, she did her best to know, to understand. "There is a struggle coming, here, in the Dark Lands. Or, at least, I foresee it with only a mortal's senses. Every sword would be valued, in that event. Unless.." once more she glanced at Trollson, a hand raised in the usual greeting replied to in kind with a thick-fingered paw. "Unless it is only rest you seek.”
Bralgin stared blankly at her, trying to resist the ever present urge to take this young soul's heart and plunge it into his own breast to feel it beat there, as he had several other times before. He knew not of the Dark Lands and he knew not of struggles above the earth, save those between beasts that eat or are eaten. She seemed to want him to fight, but did she want him to fight so that she could live, or he be redeemed? He was thoroughly confused and closed his eyes that saw only grey in the light of day, "I know not your lands here in the above... and I know of no forces ready to... smash, as rocks against rocks. In the earth... all we feel is he cold and the damp... the rumble of feet above, though... human... we care not for events that cannot supplant our misery." He raised his eyes to meet her inquisitive face, and with no more intention to wrench organs free of her body, looked with more intent, "Who are you... human? And what would you have me do?"
Jolie was well-versed in the urges of the dead, both her former variety and the troll's own. Urghdak, trained to watch for her subtlest signals, stood like a vast, ugly effigy of himself, so still was he, bristling with the duty he would gladly discharge: to have the once-necromancer's back, should a patron prove more than a little rowdy. But that second signal never came, the mortal observing no reason for it. Instead, she deigned to reply, "They call me.. Joliette. My name is Joliette." How close this being came to drawing from her that appellation se could no longer, with any conscience or truth bear. "Jolie, if you like." The second question was more difficult, many factors at play in complex potential combinations playing out in her innermost mind before she spoke, "I don't know yet. Not exactly. Not enough has come to pass. But I could always use a right hand." Her faint smile was wry. "And it is my guess, feeble as it is, that eternity has grown tiresome enough that it may prove distraction, if only a gnat-span's worth. It would be my honour to give this small thing to you, Ancient."
Bralgin listened to the girl now with some interest and with lessening hatred. He delved deep into his lengthy memory and recalled fear of the living. There was fear of enemies that had shown themselves, fear of enemies who were hidden, and fear for enemies that could be there if given time. Her fear was the latter, and his mind began to sharpen as he listened and spoke in turn, starting to oil the cogs of his derelict thoughts. Though what this girl wanted was, to a lesser extent, selfish to ask of a stranger, he saw that she was offering him something that he didn't expect; an allegiance. He drew himself upwards, until his head was dangerously close to the ceiling beams and gazed wide-eyed at her, as if she had turned into a dazzling gem, "I... you wish to help me... by helping you!" he roared in realisation, though the vocalisation required some work, "You... need my help... and you..." he struggled for a moment, "Jolie... will be not my master, but Bralgin's... friend?" he inquired, slowly stretching out a patchy finger to caress her tiny face, so full of vitality. He acted as a dim child, though only due to the coarse, roughshod passage of time and echoing loneliness. This was as close as he came to jubilant in his present state and was quite a new experience.
Jolie laughed softly, her small hand patting the reanimated flesh on the back of his larger one. "Not master. I would not, even if I could, enslave one such as you, Old One. Yes, a friend, perhaps, though that term only comes to fruition with time. But a good word as any, and it will do, until then." Her peridot gaze squinted up at his overhanging form. Asking the undead their names was a tricky business, at best. Safer just to ask, "What should I call you?"
Bralgin was surprised that this young one would touch him in return, as it had happened so seldom without the inclusion of a sword or halberd. But the Troll's understanding seemed set now and he gave a toothy grin, along with a strange scraping sound that ought to have been a chuckle. Friend was, indeed, not the correct term, but considering she was the only person in the world that he knew of, she was as good as his longest standing and best ever friend. Her own question was interesting as well, for he had never really thought about other people wanting to know his name. Thankfully, he had never forgotten, as it was the only thing that was not taken from him throughout his tiring existence, "I am... Bralgin. You, Jolie, call me Bralgin." he said, indicating between them so that he emphasised the point, "And Bralgin calls you... Little Jolie, and you ask Bralgin to do things... and Bralgin will do things." He didn't intend any disrespect in calling her 'little', it was a simple memory mechanism so that he wouldn't forget, as was often the case.
Jolie nodded again, committing the name to memory. "Bralgin. Much is afoot, and I must garner information to aid in knowing what course to take." She gave that purse of lips that often accompanied a silent train of thought. "For now, you may call the cellar here home. It is cool and not too damp, and quiet, for the most part. That is, if you need such a place." She cast her gaze about for her pack. "I have some business to attend. The one-eyed man at the bar is Steadman, the half-troll is Urghdak." Here, Jolie lowered her tone, "He is proud and ill-tempered, but a staunch man in a pinch." As though the Old One would care about the inner workings of her guard, but it was conversation. "Until we meet again, friend, rest well."
~ LATER ~
The door at the top of the stairs eases open a crack, from which hushed voices filter through. One deep and distinctly male, the other most definitely a woman's. "...don't worry. She told me he's down there. I just need..." the conversation waxes and wanes, alternating between baritone concern and alto indignation. Finally, the door is jerked open nearly to the extent of it's hinges. As well oiled as they are, no expectant creaking groan of protest issues forth. Only a spill of light to silhouette the woman coming down the stairs. In shadow she descends, one boot-shod foot placed cautiously before the other. Mahri's tied her hair back into a loose braid that hangs down her back, the billowing black linen shirt obscuring the form beneath while the leathers encasing her bottom half do quiet the opposite. Every graceful predatory move screams 'hunter' to anyone with sense enough to notice. If not, then the sheath strapped just above the top of knee high boots should be warning enough. It's not drawn into leather covered palm yet, her bare fingers exiting bluntly ending finger-holes in the gloves. The only concession to the loose fit of the shirt are the two leather cuffs from wrist to forearm, all considered protection from a blade that, when drawn, is as harmful to herself as to those who become its target. At the bottom step, the lycan pauses and peers into the dimness. "Ey, troll. I know ye'r down 'ere. C'n smell ye. I wan' t' talk t' ye." Until she knows the exact location of their guest, Mahri isn't going to take one more step into the cellar. At least, not with Steadman keeping a beady eye on her and Jackie ready to race down the steps should something seem amiss.
Bralgin had made himself quite at home in the spacious cellar underneath the tavern, with the ceiling almost high enough to accommodate his substantial frame. Some of the crates had been moved around into a makeshift table, some form of seat, and a small gathering of decaying matter was swept into a bed of sorts. The Troll himself was identifiable immediately from the smell, having abandoned cleanliness some decades ago, but the sight of Bralgin was somewhat more terrifying. The creature stood a decent 10 feet from the floor and was hunched a little, from force of habit, which left the mismatched and ramshackle armour at awkward angles on his gangly frame. Dirty black hair straggled down over eyes which were deep red and glazed over with what looked like scabbed cataracts, not to mention skin which constantly flaked and seemed to reform where dead clumps fell. Upon hearing the female voice call out, the rotting form brought himself upright upon lanky legs which still held sinew as thick and as tough as tree roots. This voice was not as soft as the last woman's, though it mattered little; pleasantry was not a factor in his mind. Bralgin brought himself lumbering into the half-light, so that the woman could see his haggard form better, not that she would particularly want to, and called back, "I am here… Wolf… I was told to stay here by… Little Jolie." The voice was hollow and deep, like a grater against a rock, heard from the bottom of a well, "What do you… want to talk to Bralgin about…?"
Mahri stared at what she'd thought had been a pile of rotting meat. In fact, she completely dismissed the idea of having Steadman clean it out. Swallowing the lump of what can only be described as bile, the lycan takes the time to rise up a few steps. So as to be on eye-level and all. Silver-grey, with dilated pupils to accomodate for lack of light, those cold eyes traveled from head to toe of the creature bathed in half-light. "Wha's yer business wit' Jolie, firstly. Secondly.." Might as well put into use the manners that Jolie is always telling her to use, "do ye need anythin'? Food, drink." What did a walking corpse eat? Vampires were easy. Give them blood and they were happy. Traye was..something different, but this rotting troll was new territory to her. She so hated the unknown.
Bralgin looked purposeful, which was considerably better than his last conversation, as the ancient Troll had not interacted with anything sentient for almost an age and was quite lucky that his Common was still usable. He listened well, understood, then gave a loud and raucous cackle, that shook the crates at his giant feet. His breath carried a smell of death, decay and fragments of things that did not bear thinking about, considering that many of his organs had not required use for some time, "Bralgin… is amused. So many… like Little Jolie want to know if Bralgin… needs food. Bralgin needs no food. If food goes in… food does not help and does not nourish." he replied, sounding as genuinely jovial as a dead Troll could. Then his voice changed again, remembering there was more he needed to say, "Little Jolie talked to Bralgin… said that there was help that Bralgin… could do for Little Jolie…" His breaths were long and aggravated, like the very effort of breathing was not natural for him. He stared with clouded eyes at the woman and waited for more words.
Mahri almost went for the dagger. Almost. Until she realized that was laughter coming from the bag of bones, not a portent of imminent attack. Something flew from that gapping maw and struck her on the cheek. She was, to be quite frank, afraid of what it might be. Rather than wipe it off, it will stay right where it is. "Yeah, well, I don' know t'much 'bout yer kind." Still wary, if a bit more at ease, the Tavern's manager and head of security ambles as casual as she can down the rest of the stairs. Her destination: one of the tables kept down here. One word and the element of fire flares to life at the tip of the candle lodged in the bottle. Streamers of wax decorated the sides of the impromptu candle holder. "So, she's keepin' ye down here 'til she needs the help she told ye about, eh?" Speculatingly, one finger taps the curve of her bottom lip. "Well, I need someone upstairs. T'keep t'e peace." From the corner of her eye, she watches the decaying Troll. Or as decayed as he can get anyway. She highly doubted limbs would start falling off anytime soon. "Or do ye like it down 'ere t'at much?"
Bralgin was a little surprised, considering that nobody had wanted to speak to him at all, let alone do anything for them before he came upon this place. He listened carefully. Social interaction was still not Bralgin's strong point, despite the fact that he had done a surprising amount of it recently. He had even bought a new pair of boots that fit, seeing as the unadorned feet seemed to cause distress amongst the living, and even paid for them with money that he hadn't killed anyone to get this time; something that Cave Troll hoards were still useful for. Taking a well placed step forward, the Troll leaned down so that his oversized, not to mention quite drippy, nose was a comfortably close so that he could speak more quietly, "You want Bralgin… to help upstairs? When the naughty people are here?" he struggled a little, but his rusty brain had got the gist of what was wanted of him, "Bralgin do this… But when Bralgin know who naughty people are?" he asked intuitively. He would get the hang of conversation again; he used to be quite clever when his master taught him, but that was some time ago.
Mahri did her absolute best not to shrink away from the Troll, and managed quite beautifully too. "Ah, yes. T'at's what I'm wantin' ye t'do. Ye don' even have t' worry 'bout knowin' who's good or bad. Someone'd let ye know." Mostly Urghdak, Steadman or herself. "Ye don' have t' be stuck down here." Meeting rhumey eyes with her own, the lycan'll patiently wait to see what the undead will do. After all, how much of the brain could be left in such a putrid shell? Although, and she'd have to admit this even to herself, he didn't seem at all stupid. Benefits of the doubt went a long way with her. "Ye could get paid too, aside from what Jolie's given ye."
Bralgin gave the Lycan a quizzical glance, though it looked a lot like a grimace. A gangly finger reached up and assisted a large, slimy lump descend from his nose, before swiftly flicking it away, knowing that such things were apparently discordant with polite conversation. He let his frame slump with an awkward creak onto the crates that temporarily served as a seat, "Bralgin… not paid by Little Jolie… not kept here. Bralgin wait for Little Jolie here… so Bralgin is easy to find." he responded, giving a nod to help assert the point to Mahri as well as himself, "Bralgin not stuck here… but Bralgin help Wolf with naughty people upstairs. No need money… no need for many things." he said with as much emphasis as he could manage from his flaky hands. He hoped she got the general message, but he also looked down at himself and gave what looked like a disdainful glance at himself and his 'condition', then returned his gaze to the Lycan.
Mahri's mouth quirked upwards at the corners. She knew exactly the point he was trying to make. Given the things she's seen and done, a bit of this or that falling off the troll didn't bother her. "Aye, I see w'at ye mean." Rising fluidly from her seat, she cants a look his way. "Bralgin, m'name's Mahri. S'long as ye keep ye'self in this Tavern, Jolie'll be able t'find ye. T'ough, I t'ink she could find ye jus' about anywhere." It's actually, quite amazing that they'd held this conversation as long as they had, but the whole point of it was to that the lycan could get a measure of Jolies newest aquisition. "Ye come upstairs when ye feel comf'table. Got it?" Lofting a delicately shaped brow, she waits for her answer before heading up that way herself. So far, neither barkeep or dog had seen fit to come charging downstairs. Of course, that's because she'd promised bodily harm should such happen.
Bralgin nodded in understanding, though the whole impact of the deal hadn't entirely sunk in and may take a couple of minutes to get absolutely straight. He commited her name to memory and made a conscious note to try and avoid calling this one "Little Mahri", as something about her did not seem to justify the title. He'd think of some other pet name for her that was easier at some point. For the time being, the great Troll merely gave a half grin and said, "Ok, Bralgin come up soon…" and allowed Mahri to leave, as he could see she might be quite keen to.
Jolie was in the way of that ascent, having trodden the boards quietly enough as to seem to appear at the last-from-bottom stair of a sudden, unless Mahri's nose wasn't all that deadened from inhaling the shed particles of the Old One. In that shadowy space, she was a small figure, a glint of green eyes. A white smile. "So you found him." She'd mentioned the troll, earlier, in the hope Mahri would. That he'd still be there, for her to find... "Ancient." That was spoken to Bralgin, as she stepped out into whatever light was available, if any. Onto the cellar's stone floor, at any rate. "Good to see you again." Mahri may find it peculiar to observe Joliette paying deference to anyone at all, let alone an undead troll. But she did, with a deep nod, her tone of voice. The dead have little to admire, it may be supposed, but the ability to stay relatively whole over centuries was somewhere on that very short list. '
Bralgin stood again, rearing his tall frame toward the lofty ceiling again and gave a nod to Jolie, as he had picked up from interaction was an acceptable gesture, "Hello Little Jolie…" he returned without particularly changing expression. He couldn't say that he was pleased to see her again, but something about the familiarity was comforting. He thought it strange that people would speak of him above ground, but that thought would wait until later, as for now, he was content to concentrate upon the conversation at hand.
Mahri stops just as she's about to put her foot on that bottom step. Trying to appear as nonpulsed as possible by the seemingly sudden appearance, she meets green eyes with her own steadily. "Aye, I did. Offered 'im a place upstairs too." Her tone implied that the other woman's approval, while not unwanted, was not exactly being asked for. Stepping out of Jolie's way, Mahri leans back on the bannister-arms folded-in such a way that suggested she was also keeping an eye on the mortal woman. Since her transformation, trouble followed more closely at the raven haired woman's heels, and Gods help anyone should anything happen to her. Becoming the silent bodyguard is second nature and may go unnoticed. What doesn't go unnoticed and warrants another raising of a brow, is the difference with which the troll is treated. Respect she understands and he must have done something to earn that much of it from Jolie. Now the lycan's curious.
Jolie answered Mahri with a slight arc of brow, as to her being informed of the troll's 'placement'. The other brow settled lower, a wry expression for the lycaness' protective mien. "I shan't be eaten by rats, Mahri, relax." There might be a slight fore-finger jab to ribs attempted as Jolie passed her, to take a seat on one of those rough tables. Her neck tilted, so she might gain full view of the troll's features. "War has been averted." She sounded almost disappointed. "With words. Or will be, when they're spoken." Damn politics, it irked her to the core, depite the way she always seemed to get embroiled in it. "But there's a task for you yet, Old One." A sidelong glance to the third present, a knowing one. Then she looked back to Bralgin. "There's a gathering, whose ranks need thinning. I do not want them eradicated. Just unnerved. It's my feeling that one or two of the lesser minions being dispatched may just do that." She'd pause, apparently to examine her fingernails, giving the troll time to digest her words.
Bralgin sat down again, with a little suddenness, which didn't seem to bother Jolie as she spoke. He took in all she said, leaning a little closer to make up for the build-up in his slanted ears and nodded, though of whom she spoke or why war was likely to happen escaped him completely. It was fairly simple enough and would keep him entertained for a while; knock around some above-dwellers who sound like they are causing trouble. Easy work for big hands, despite the big hands sometimes peeling some flesh off. "Bralgin will… scare people for Little Jolie." he said, in a very matter-of-fact way, his deep croaking voice adding something sinister, "Bralgin does not know… what words people say. Bralgin does not like words." he said, with a slightly ruffled brow, "So Bralgin… help Little Jolie and… Mahri with people upstairs." This was said with finality, as it seemed to set in stone within his own mind too, and his posture became more rigid and definite along with his thoughts. He looked down upon the two and waited, always infinitely patient, for the next person to speak.
Mahri's harrumph turned into a grunt when a finger found it's mark. Narrowing her eyes slightly at the woman, she simply presses her lips together, in no hurry to ascend the stairs now. She's getting used to the smell of rot. It's a good thing she stayed it seems, the look recieved is met with one of intense interest. Something like anticipation shivered down her spine. No war, but covert operations seemed to be her speciality. A slow menacing smile draws her lips apart. Indeed, she was beginning to see what Jolie was after. "Braglin and Mahri will both take care of bothersome people." The next step would be deciding initial targets. The ultimate end of this gathering should, in her mind, come at her own hand. A flash of red-hair flits through her memory. Plots with-in plots, that's what distracts her from the rest of the conversation. What Jolie didn't know..well, we know how that particular saying ends.
Jolie frowned. "A different upstairs. Too much blood on my boards will leave a bad scent in too many noses." She studied the troll, at closer vantage now he was seated, the patchy skin, the black gleam of his teeth, those dreadful, dead-fish-belly eyes, and smiled. "Trouble rarely comes to visit us here. This trouble, in particular, never. So..." she looked to Mahri, then. "Kelay seems a better option. Perhaps with a few portraits done, so Bralgin can know their faces." Pictures speaking a thousand words, and all. "He'll need to be shown the way there, perhaps." Leaving that task hanging in the air like a noosed corpse, she almost fell off her perch trying to reach across to brush a cobweb from the Old One's arm. "If this pleases you, that is. My own people will be told to avoid the place." She'd make sketches of them, too, so he'd know who was off-limits, as far as any slaughter went.
Bralgin watched the tiny hand as it removed the bedraggled filth from his arm, not particularly minding nor caring, seeing as what lay underneath was probably less appealing. But it did dawn upon him quite suddenly that her behaviour toward him was a mark of respect and, above all, trust. This cemented it for the Troll, alongside the fact that Mahri seemed to respect her, that Jolie was the person he should associate himself to above all others. He had never heard of Kelay, nor did he know of these aforementioned gathering, so he would need as much help as possible, "Yes, Bralgin likes pictures." he said with a good deal of emphasis, "Words take long… in Bralgin’s head," he said, tapping his skull and loosening a little bit of scalp as he did so, "And no splatting in the upstairs… but lots of splatting… outside." He turned and studied Jolie's form in some detail, as she was doing to him, and noticed little difference from before. Her clothes had changed a bit, but she was still petite -to him- and still full of life and quickness. So quick and impatient, these living creatures, no waiting around. Something he was getting used to slowly.
Mahri kept silent, still even. Almost as though she were trying to blend into shadow, stone and wood. Mission not accomplished, catching Jolie's look and giving a short nod of agreement. "Not on their home soil, nor ours. That seems neutral enough." Was that a note of blood-lust eagerness in her voice? If that was missed, the gleam in her eyes couldn't be. And, it seemed she was also about to agree to more. Would it never end? Probably not. "I can do whatever showin' he needs, Jolie." Though remaining inconspicuous with him would prove rather difficult to say the least.
Jolie -was- petite, even by human standards, a fact more evident when she was not standing on steel-forged heels that served her vanity as well as her capacity for causing damage in a pinch. She let the room be quiet for a time, for the word-indiced dust stirred in the troll's mind to settle, only nodding her agreeance to his summary. At length, she spoke again, "I will make you a special picture, as my thanks to you." It was the only thing she could think of to offer the troll. For what could he possibly want? She'd been doing much puzzling on his nature, in her absence, searching for better means of understanding him and his existence. Possibly out of sheer shame she'd not seen his fate as clearly as she could have, before he explained it to her. In whatever case, it was all she had to offer, and did so, and moved right along like an impatient mortal to the next thought: "How do you think the dead should exist, Bralgin?" The mortal winced a little. "I mean. Those who would be masters, who'd disturb the rest of the dead. Enslave them. Do you think that's a terrible thing?" She glanced to Mahri, mouthing a silent 'thanks' to the woman, who was proving her worth to the "family" more by the minute. Not that Jolie required such proof-- but damned if she didn't get a little happy when it showed up.
Bralgin was silently grateful for the time to allow thoughts to slot themselves into place, which was seldom possible in a normal conversation with the Troll. But he was getting better with it. What he didn't quite anticipate was the question Jolie sprung upon him, not to mention the amount of thought it required to give an appropriate answer. He sat upright and looked up to the ceiling, as if the cold stones would herald some degree of inspiration, whilst a hand became clasped upon his leg; quite a thoughtful pose for a Troll. He wasn't at all sure what he thought about it, being honest, but he knew he had feelings around the subject which, like words needing sorting, needed organising into some sensible order. "Well…" he began, though stopped for a few seconds more, "Bralgin does not… enjoy being dead." he said, returning to a more general seated position. "But Bralgin has never been… gone dead. Not dead for good. Always… living dead." He wasn't sure if he was making any sort of sense to anyone else, but he carried on regardless, "Bralgin does not hate his master… did not hate him when he took care of Bralgin… taught him… spoke to him. But master was… taken, so Bralgin turned into… this." he looked at himself and then back to Jolie, knowing that she would understand, she was clever like that, "I think… dead should be dead. But dead like Bralgin… should not be forgotten… not be left alone." He sat again, perfectly still, his point spoken. It probably wasn't the answer she was looking for, but it was the answer he had.
Mahri, satisfied that all is well, turns on her heel and makes her way up the stairs. Jackie was probably bothering Steadman or Cook. At least, that's the generalization she makes for her strategic withdrawl. Voices faded into murmers as the door closes behind her. Soon, so very soon, things will get to rolling along. If she could hardly wait...we'll chalk that up to her hunter's nature.
Jolie did understand, and the answer she'd wanted was whatever the troll was willing to give, so her desire there was met in full. Her answer was brief, and delayed by the wave she gave the departing Mahri. "That's why I gathered my people to me, Bralgin. I grew so tired of being alone." For some reason, she felt able to say these things to him, as she might not even to her close associates. "It's good to belong. To know things, trust things." She had the feeling she didn't need to elaborate, so did not. Instead, she crossed her legs on the table, and propped her chin up with a small, bunched fist, simply watching the Ancient a while. She had other questions, ones that might dredge the swamp his brain had become over time, for the body of his living memory. But she didn't want to tax the undead too much, and there'd been so many words already. "Would you like me to show you my home?"
Bralgin felt some degree of comfort in Jolie's words and understood her perfectly. He had spent the better part of an age not having anyone to trust, so he knew how important that could be for those who were alive. And he had noticed Mahri leaving. He was a creature born of the dark and had spent countless years in the pitch black, so the Lycan had little chance of sneaking off unseen. He might be dead, but the Troll didn't miss much, "Mahri… she is more frightened… than she wants Little Jolie… to think she is." he said in a very pointed way, purely from observation, "Mahri did not… seem to like Bralgin… very much. A little bit… scared, for a wolf. Not like Little Jolie. Little Jolie is not scared of very much." This seemed to need voicing for some reason, though he could not figure out why yet. "And Bralgin… will see Little Jolie's home… if she wants Bralgin to."
Jolie gave him a quizzical look; his observations noted, but coming as something of a surprise to the woman. She opened her mouth twice to say something in return and failed, leaving her gaping like a waterless fish for that brief time. "I suppose I should learn to be scared, now I'm..." A glance down spoke "mortal". "Not what I was." But power shed itself less easily from the mind than the flesh. "I was one of those people, Bralgin. A necromancer. Death, the dead, the dying..." The prey. "I was with them, since I can remember." A little too close to the heart of things, now, she sidetracked. "Mahri is smart. Sometimes it's smart to be afraid, also." Her smile was brief, but genuine. "One day I'll take you see it, for real. But it's a long way from here, a very long way. So...." She slid off the table once her legs were disentangled from each other, and hunted about until she found what she needed-- a small piece of chalk, used for tallying odds back when the cellar was a fighting-pit. This in hand, she took up a seat again, this time kneeling on the floor close to Bralgin. "It's called Eternity." Long, sweeping lines were drawn on the dark stone, coalescing into the sketchy outline of a ship. "She's a warship, a schooner, fast as the wind." Broad sails, topped with a skull and bones flag -- cleverly drawn in negative on the black surface. "I used to get horribly seasick. But I'm used to it, now." She'd keep sketching in details, lapsing into silence to better concentrate on giving an accurate depiction.
Bralgin followed as best he could with what the young one was saying, and took in that she had been undead herself once. That was easy to understand, owing to how comfortable she was around him, but he didn't understand how it could be good to be afraid. Perhaps his eyes didn't see as much as they should; but at the same time, perhaps they saw more. But as she began to draw on the stone for him, he leaned in even closer, watching how the lines became shapes, then objects, and how the objects began to tell a story with her words. It was fantastic! He hadn't had this kind of interest or excitement for centuries, and he kept absolutely silent so as not to distract or interrupt Jolie in any way. It was an unusual feeling for the Troll, but as the time passed and he heard more from Jolie, saw her pictures, heard her words; the more he felt that no harm should come to her. Like something wouldn't be right if she were hurt somehow. In his own primitive way, Bralgin was forming a bond to this woman, whom he despised for being alive, but treasured for the same reason.
Jolie finished the picture with a little flourish. "There." She glanced up, eagerly, as if hoping he'd be looking. On seeing that he was, indeed, she broke into that white smile again. "Of course, she's much more beautiful in person. So to speak." Clambering upright, she used her palms to sweep chalk dust from her clothes. "I'd take you there, now... if I didn't have to go." That the woman was weary showed in the dark-smudge circles under her eyes, the hours of negotiation prior to her arrival having taken their toll. "But next time I see you, I'll show you my people. And if you like, you can see Eternity for yourself." Whatever irony existed in that statement was beyond her, and Jolie only tilted her head as a mimed question mark, waiting for reply.
Bralgin had indeed been watching closely, and barely took his eyes from the crudely crafted picture as he spoke again to Jolie, "Yes, Bralgin will like to see Eternity..." as if in reply, the complexity of the ironic situation not quite dawning on him yet. But being a creature of instinct, he knew that unlike himself, the living needed rest, and so he could not keep Jolie here for much longer. He almost felt unhappy that she needed to go, but for the short amount of time it would be before he saw her again, in comparison to many decades alone, did not really matter. He instinctively knew that even for a small person, Jolie could look after herself and was unlikely to come to harm from those above just yet. He raised his head to look level at her, remaining silent for a moment or two before saying, "Little Jolie... need rest. Bralgin needs no sleep, not for now. Bralgin will be... here when Jolie is rested." he said, though much more softly, his breaths seeming more like deep sighs now, rather than the unaccustomed grating it was before. He gave a slight nod, as though signalling that she need not wait upon courtesy with him.
Jolie felt a pang at "not for now", the implications of it spoken by the troll terribly poignant. She nodded, yes, she'd see him soon, and smiled again, and turned for the stairs she'd ascend quickly, without looking back.
.
Jolie was enjoying a rare moment of quiet, the tavern-owner ensconced in the deep embrace of one of those oversized, over-stuffed armchairs by the goblin-hearth, her heeled boots resting on a threadbare ottoman, crossed at the ankle. She was small, mortal, dark of hair and green of eye, and currently engrossed in the glowering flames, where she saw faces and animals, palaces, angels, demons, a porcupine... the non-action of simply allowing the images to impress their shapes upon her mind, each passing from her passive attention as it was replaced by the next, was oddly soothing to the woman who must think of everything, everything, all of the time. Thus, it was Steadman stationed at the bar, where only the requisite sleeping drunk slept, face-down in a thin puddle of drool and old ale until Bralgin wanders in. The surly one-eyed man unplugged the cigar-end from his lips and drawled, "Getchasomethin'?"
Jolie's pale green eyes were next found peeking over the back of that chair, the fire suddenly the second most interesting thing in the tavern.
Bralgin gave a cursory glance at everyone around. Not anything special; a few half breed orc creatures and a human. He grunted, shifting uncomfortably in his mis-matched armour and cramped up against the wall. He felt uncomfortable around the living, probably because they were beautiful, hot blood flowed through their intact limbs and they actually needed to breathe. It peeved him beyond belief, but then the inside world meant that the carrion eaters couldn't get at him...
Jolie swivelled her body so that her knees pressed into the chair's plump cushion and her elbows rested on its back. Those startling eyes were still affixed the troll, with a mix of quizzical amusement and sharply studious curiosity. Not an iota of disgust, though-- the once-necromancer knew just what it was to be dead, and her mortal heart held an edge of compassion that had crept in like a lost dog these past few months. A soft greeting spoken in common troll-tongue, taught to her by Urghdak Trollson, rolled over her lips. In it was a hint of apology, for her current incapacity to halt the poor creature's obvious state of decomposition.
Bralgin heard his own tongue spoken, possibly for the first time in years if he could actually remember, and slowly craned his gangly neck around to peer through dead eyes, that seemed more like scabbed cataracts, at the tender looking human who called to him. He understood, but at the same time he did not understand why she spoke to him at all, with her fresh lungs and liver. He retorted with a similar greeting, though his voice was hollow, deep and grated like steel on stone. He no longer felt sorrow for himself and he did not seek it from others, so who was this creature who sought his company...?
Jolie dangled over the edge of the chair a moment longer, her delighted grin at the animate corpse's reply of marked contrast to the dour nature of his own response. The greeting had depleted her of all knowledge of the language, her lessons being not that far advanced as yet, so she ventured a few words in regular common, "I have no magic to offer, but still have a few preserving decoctions out back, if you'd like them?" Her birdlike frame was a sudden flurry of activity, as she clambered over the chairback and dropped with a steely 'clack' of heels to the stone floor. The diminutive female propped herself against that furnishing, for now. "I have not seen you in the Dark Lands before. Yet, you are not newly risen. Have you travelled far?" Though several other questions burned her tongue, she held them back. A heavy clomping sound echoing up from the cellar's stairwell drew her attention that way briefly, but it was only seconds before Jolie was focussed once more on the motley-clad undead.
\
Bralgin had seen this form of living before; the excitable, eager to help lowlives that gawped in wonder and then tried to make you do party tricks in the street. But wait... This one was speaking of him like no other, wanting to know things about his past. He paused and held his polluted eyes upon her for a few moments, taking in her exemplary figure and outfit, that one time in the distant past he may have fought over, but saw nought except the flowing of the blood in her veins. Coming to, he focused his thoughts to forming sentences, "No... I am old. I am from under the earth and from under the mountains... though it does not come to me from where or when... it has been so long." he rasped back, with small pieces of what might be throat accidentally being spat out, "I need no... things to keep me together... human." he gave her another glance, but this time grinned with an almost full set of black teeth, "I am Troll-kind... human... I fix myself when I am broken... but then when I am fixed, it dies again..." he said mournfully, looking down at the shedding and growing skin, which caused patchwork effect all over the poor creatures body.
"Of course..." It was barely a whisper, the mortal's eyes widening at her realisation of the horror of Bralgin's existence. Not so long ago, she'd have regarded him as a mere curiosity, perhaps a useful one, to be taken into service or counted among those who were not to be trusted. Such icy calculation still existed in her, but it was not all of her now, and the compassion that may irk the undead when mistaken for pity shone in her verdant regard of him. What does one say, to such a revelation? The ancient creature could not even be offered repast for comfort. Joliette pressed her lips together in thought, then pushed off the chair she leant on and stepped forward. Halting not quite a long arm's length from Bralgin, she tilted her head a little. "I know what it is to be cold and draw no breath. To miss the passion, the scent and taste of life. Old One, eternity is a pitiless maw, for those who must travel it. But small purposes can distract. Have you any master? A task to keep yourself from the abyss?" All this was spoken very quietly, the words now and then muffled under the continuing trudge of boots ascending the cellar. At last, the source of it could be discerned: Urghdak the Vicious, who had been the Outcast, who was once the Urchin, drew his colossal frame to full height once he cleared the steps, his shaggy head given a shake to free it of cobwebs and their makers.
Bralgin held for several moments, piecing together the words ushering forth from the full, red lips of the living and constructing into sense in his ravaged brain. This one had clearly some knowledge of the dead, death and things beyond life, but clearly was not dead. She was fortunate and he ignored the anger for now, as she had probably brushed upon his own fate of spending endless ages of lifeless existence. She was close now, and he could feel, in this empty place, the very warmth issuing forth from her as she stood nearby. What was it to feel life, to allow the wind to pass by rather than feel it run through, like so many sharp blades in the core of his soulless form, and to comfort oneself by the flame; to feel joy in its presence. He turned his doubled, moth-eaten frame in her direction, still large and agile, despite the slow and encumbered brain that struggled like legs through tar to operate it, "I see... you see... you might know." he struggled out, trying to make some sense. It had been some time since normal conversation and even longer in the tongue of those above the ground, "I have had a one who called himself master... but he suffered my fate unto eternity... human, he angered the earth... for bringing me... and others hence. It swallowed him... many seasons ago... for his crime, but..." he looked upon her again, with bottomless sadness, "... It took not me with him thus, into the ground to... rest." And with that last word he hushed himself, a forced exhalation that would silence the world should it choose to hear.
Jolie was nodding, her swathe of silken hair a black ripple on her shoulders, while the ancient spoke. Oh, she did know, all too well-- had her own 'master' not been similarly swallowed, though into a fate far from anything like the earth? Though her abandonment to the living world was nothing but a blessing, and the vile thing who'd made her his puppet, or tried, was banished by her own hand.. still, she did her best to know, to understand. "There is a struggle coming, here, in the Dark Lands. Or, at least, I foresee it with only a mortal's senses. Every sword would be valued, in that event. Unless.." once more she glanced at Trollson, a hand raised in the usual greeting replied to in kind with a thick-fingered paw. "Unless it is only rest you seek.”
Bralgin stared blankly at her, trying to resist the ever present urge to take this young soul's heart and plunge it into his own breast to feel it beat there, as he had several other times before. He knew not of the Dark Lands and he knew not of struggles above the earth, save those between beasts that eat or are eaten. She seemed to want him to fight, but did she want him to fight so that she could live, or he be redeemed? He was thoroughly confused and closed his eyes that saw only grey in the light of day, "I know not your lands here in the above... and I know of no forces ready to... smash, as rocks against rocks. In the earth... all we feel is he cold and the damp... the rumble of feet above, though... human... we care not for events that cannot supplant our misery." He raised his eyes to meet her inquisitive face, and with no more intention to wrench organs free of her body, looked with more intent, "Who are you... human? And what would you have me do?"
Jolie was well-versed in the urges of the dead, both her former variety and the troll's own. Urghdak, trained to watch for her subtlest signals, stood like a vast, ugly effigy of himself, so still was he, bristling with the duty he would gladly discharge: to have the once-necromancer's back, should a patron prove more than a little rowdy. But that second signal never came, the mortal observing no reason for it. Instead, she deigned to reply, "They call me.. Joliette. My name is Joliette." How close this being came to drawing from her that appellation se could no longer, with any conscience or truth bear. "Jolie, if you like." The second question was more difficult, many factors at play in complex potential combinations playing out in her innermost mind before she spoke, "I don't know yet. Not exactly. Not enough has come to pass. But I could always use a right hand." Her faint smile was wry. "And it is my guess, feeble as it is, that eternity has grown tiresome enough that it may prove distraction, if only a gnat-span's worth. It would be my honour to give this small thing to you, Ancient."
Bralgin listened to the girl now with some interest and with lessening hatred. He delved deep into his lengthy memory and recalled fear of the living. There was fear of enemies that had shown themselves, fear of enemies who were hidden, and fear for enemies that could be there if given time. Her fear was the latter, and his mind began to sharpen as he listened and spoke in turn, starting to oil the cogs of his derelict thoughts. Though what this girl wanted was, to a lesser extent, selfish to ask of a stranger, he saw that she was offering him something that he didn't expect; an allegiance. He drew himself upwards, until his head was dangerously close to the ceiling beams and gazed wide-eyed at her, as if she had turned into a dazzling gem, "I... you wish to help me... by helping you!" he roared in realisation, though the vocalisation required some work, "You... need my help... and you..." he struggled for a moment, "Jolie... will be not my master, but Bralgin's... friend?" he inquired, slowly stretching out a patchy finger to caress her tiny face, so full of vitality. He acted as a dim child, though only due to the coarse, roughshod passage of time and echoing loneliness. This was as close as he came to jubilant in his present state and was quite a new experience.
Jolie laughed softly, her small hand patting the reanimated flesh on the back of his larger one. "Not master. I would not, even if I could, enslave one such as you, Old One. Yes, a friend, perhaps, though that term only comes to fruition with time. But a good word as any, and it will do, until then." Her peridot gaze squinted up at his overhanging form. Asking the undead their names was a tricky business, at best. Safer just to ask, "What should I call you?"
Bralgin was surprised that this young one would touch him in return, as it had happened so seldom without the inclusion of a sword or halberd. But the Troll's understanding seemed set now and he gave a toothy grin, along with a strange scraping sound that ought to have been a chuckle. Friend was, indeed, not the correct term, but considering she was the only person in the world that he knew of, she was as good as his longest standing and best ever friend. Her own question was interesting as well, for he had never really thought about other people wanting to know his name. Thankfully, he had never forgotten, as it was the only thing that was not taken from him throughout his tiring existence, "I am... Bralgin. You, Jolie, call me Bralgin." he said, indicating between them so that he emphasised the point, "And Bralgin calls you... Little Jolie, and you ask Bralgin to do things... and Bralgin will do things." He didn't intend any disrespect in calling her 'little', it was a simple memory mechanism so that he wouldn't forget, as was often the case.
Jolie nodded again, committing the name to memory. "Bralgin. Much is afoot, and I must garner information to aid in knowing what course to take." She gave that purse of lips that often accompanied a silent train of thought. "For now, you may call the cellar here home. It is cool and not too damp, and quiet, for the most part. That is, if you need such a place." She cast her gaze about for her pack. "I have some business to attend. The one-eyed man at the bar is Steadman, the half-troll is Urghdak." Here, Jolie lowered her tone, "He is proud and ill-tempered, but a staunch man in a pinch." As though the Old One would care about the inner workings of her guard, but it was conversation. "Until we meet again, friend, rest well."
~ LATER ~
The door at the top of the stairs eases open a crack, from which hushed voices filter through. One deep and distinctly male, the other most definitely a woman's. "...don't worry. She told me he's down there. I just need..." the conversation waxes and wanes, alternating between baritone concern and alto indignation. Finally, the door is jerked open nearly to the extent of it's hinges. As well oiled as they are, no expectant creaking groan of protest issues forth. Only a spill of light to silhouette the woman coming down the stairs. In shadow she descends, one boot-shod foot placed cautiously before the other. Mahri's tied her hair back into a loose braid that hangs down her back, the billowing black linen shirt obscuring the form beneath while the leathers encasing her bottom half do quiet the opposite. Every graceful predatory move screams 'hunter' to anyone with sense enough to notice. If not, then the sheath strapped just above the top of knee high boots should be warning enough. It's not drawn into leather covered palm yet, her bare fingers exiting bluntly ending finger-holes in the gloves. The only concession to the loose fit of the shirt are the two leather cuffs from wrist to forearm, all considered protection from a blade that, when drawn, is as harmful to herself as to those who become its target. At the bottom step, the lycan pauses and peers into the dimness. "Ey, troll. I know ye'r down 'ere. C'n smell ye. I wan' t' talk t' ye." Until she knows the exact location of their guest, Mahri isn't going to take one more step into the cellar. At least, not with Steadman keeping a beady eye on her and Jackie ready to race down the steps should something seem amiss.
Bralgin had made himself quite at home in the spacious cellar underneath the tavern, with the ceiling almost high enough to accommodate his substantial frame. Some of the crates had been moved around into a makeshift table, some form of seat, and a small gathering of decaying matter was swept into a bed of sorts. The Troll himself was identifiable immediately from the smell, having abandoned cleanliness some decades ago, but the sight of Bralgin was somewhat more terrifying. The creature stood a decent 10 feet from the floor and was hunched a little, from force of habit, which left the mismatched and ramshackle armour at awkward angles on his gangly frame. Dirty black hair straggled down over eyes which were deep red and glazed over with what looked like scabbed cataracts, not to mention skin which constantly flaked and seemed to reform where dead clumps fell. Upon hearing the female voice call out, the rotting form brought himself upright upon lanky legs which still held sinew as thick and as tough as tree roots. This voice was not as soft as the last woman's, though it mattered little; pleasantry was not a factor in his mind. Bralgin brought himself lumbering into the half-light, so that the woman could see his haggard form better, not that she would particularly want to, and called back, "I am here… Wolf… I was told to stay here by… Little Jolie." The voice was hollow and deep, like a grater against a rock, heard from the bottom of a well, "What do you… want to talk to Bralgin about…?"
Mahri stared at what she'd thought had been a pile of rotting meat. In fact, she completely dismissed the idea of having Steadman clean it out. Swallowing the lump of what can only be described as bile, the lycan takes the time to rise up a few steps. So as to be on eye-level and all. Silver-grey, with dilated pupils to accomodate for lack of light, those cold eyes traveled from head to toe of the creature bathed in half-light. "Wha's yer business wit' Jolie, firstly. Secondly.." Might as well put into use the manners that Jolie is always telling her to use, "do ye need anythin'? Food, drink." What did a walking corpse eat? Vampires were easy. Give them blood and they were happy. Traye was..something different, but this rotting troll was new territory to her. She so hated the unknown.
Bralgin looked purposeful, which was considerably better than his last conversation, as the ancient Troll had not interacted with anything sentient for almost an age and was quite lucky that his Common was still usable. He listened well, understood, then gave a loud and raucous cackle, that shook the crates at his giant feet. His breath carried a smell of death, decay and fragments of things that did not bear thinking about, considering that many of his organs had not required use for some time, "Bralgin… is amused. So many… like Little Jolie want to know if Bralgin… needs food. Bralgin needs no food. If food goes in… food does not help and does not nourish." he replied, sounding as genuinely jovial as a dead Troll could. Then his voice changed again, remembering there was more he needed to say, "Little Jolie talked to Bralgin… said that there was help that Bralgin… could do for Little Jolie…" His breaths were long and aggravated, like the very effort of breathing was not natural for him. He stared with clouded eyes at the woman and waited for more words.
Mahri almost went for the dagger. Almost. Until she realized that was laughter coming from the bag of bones, not a portent of imminent attack. Something flew from that gapping maw and struck her on the cheek. She was, to be quite frank, afraid of what it might be. Rather than wipe it off, it will stay right where it is. "Yeah, well, I don' know t'much 'bout yer kind." Still wary, if a bit more at ease, the Tavern's manager and head of security ambles as casual as she can down the rest of the stairs. Her destination: one of the tables kept down here. One word and the element of fire flares to life at the tip of the candle lodged in the bottle. Streamers of wax decorated the sides of the impromptu candle holder. "So, she's keepin' ye down here 'til she needs the help she told ye about, eh?" Speculatingly, one finger taps the curve of her bottom lip. "Well, I need someone upstairs. T'keep t'e peace." From the corner of her eye, she watches the decaying Troll. Or as decayed as he can get anyway. She highly doubted limbs would start falling off anytime soon. "Or do ye like it down 'ere t'at much?"
Bralgin was a little surprised, considering that nobody had wanted to speak to him at all, let alone do anything for them before he came upon this place. He listened carefully. Social interaction was still not Bralgin's strong point, despite the fact that he had done a surprising amount of it recently. He had even bought a new pair of boots that fit, seeing as the unadorned feet seemed to cause distress amongst the living, and even paid for them with money that he hadn't killed anyone to get this time; something that Cave Troll hoards were still useful for. Taking a well placed step forward, the Troll leaned down so that his oversized, not to mention quite drippy, nose was a comfortably close so that he could speak more quietly, "You want Bralgin… to help upstairs? When the naughty people are here?" he struggled a little, but his rusty brain had got the gist of what was wanted of him, "Bralgin do this… But when Bralgin know who naughty people are?" he asked intuitively. He would get the hang of conversation again; he used to be quite clever when his master taught him, but that was some time ago.
Mahri did her absolute best not to shrink away from the Troll, and managed quite beautifully too. "Ah, yes. T'at's what I'm wantin' ye t'do. Ye don' even have t' worry 'bout knowin' who's good or bad. Someone'd let ye know." Mostly Urghdak, Steadman or herself. "Ye don' have t' be stuck down here." Meeting rhumey eyes with her own, the lycan'll patiently wait to see what the undead will do. After all, how much of the brain could be left in such a putrid shell? Although, and she'd have to admit this even to herself, he didn't seem at all stupid. Benefits of the doubt went a long way with her. "Ye could get paid too, aside from what Jolie's given ye."
Bralgin gave the Lycan a quizzical glance, though it looked a lot like a grimace. A gangly finger reached up and assisted a large, slimy lump descend from his nose, before swiftly flicking it away, knowing that such things were apparently discordant with polite conversation. He let his frame slump with an awkward creak onto the crates that temporarily served as a seat, "Bralgin… not paid by Little Jolie… not kept here. Bralgin wait for Little Jolie here… so Bralgin is easy to find." he responded, giving a nod to help assert the point to Mahri as well as himself, "Bralgin not stuck here… but Bralgin help Wolf with naughty people upstairs. No need money… no need for many things." he said with as much emphasis as he could manage from his flaky hands. He hoped she got the general message, but he also looked down at himself and gave what looked like a disdainful glance at himself and his 'condition', then returned his gaze to the Lycan.
Mahri's mouth quirked upwards at the corners. She knew exactly the point he was trying to make. Given the things she's seen and done, a bit of this or that falling off the troll didn't bother her. "Aye, I see w'at ye mean." Rising fluidly from her seat, she cants a look his way. "Bralgin, m'name's Mahri. S'long as ye keep ye'self in this Tavern, Jolie'll be able t'find ye. T'ough, I t'ink she could find ye jus' about anywhere." It's actually, quite amazing that they'd held this conversation as long as they had, but the whole point of it was to that the lycan could get a measure of Jolies newest aquisition. "Ye come upstairs when ye feel comf'table. Got it?" Lofting a delicately shaped brow, she waits for her answer before heading up that way herself. So far, neither barkeep or dog had seen fit to come charging downstairs. Of course, that's because she'd promised bodily harm should such happen.
Bralgin nodded in understanding, though the whole impact of the deal hadn't entirely sunk in and may take a couple of minutes to get absolutely straight. He commited her name to memory and made a conscious note to try and avoid calling this one "Little Mahri", as something about her did not seem to justify the title. He'd think of some other pet name for her that was easier at some point. For the time being, the great Troll merely gave a half grin and said, "Ok, Bralgin come up soon…" and allowed Mahri to leave, as he could see she might be quite keen to.
Jolie was in the way of that ascent, having trodden the boards quietly enough as to seem to appear at the last-from-bottom stair of a sudden, unless Mahri's nose wasn't all that deadened from inhaling the shed particles of the Old One. In that shadowy space, she was a small figure, a glint of green eyes. A white smile. "So you found him." She'd mentioned the troll, earlier, in the hope Mahri would. That he'd still be there, for her to find... "Ancient." That was spoken to Bralgin, as she stepped out into whatever light was available, if any. Onto the cellar's stone floor, at any rate. "Good to see you again." Mahri may find it peculiar to observe Joliette paying deference to anyone at all, let alone an undead troll. But she did, with a deep nod, her tone of voice. The dead have little to admire, it may be supposed, but the ability to stay relatively whole over centuries was somewhere on that very short list. '
Bralgin stood again, rearing his tall frame toward the lofty ceiling again and gave a nod to Jolie, as he had picked up from interaction was an acceptable gesture, "Hello Little Jolie…" he returned without particularly changing expression. He couldn't say that he was pleased to see her again, but something about the familiarity was comforting. He thought it strange that people would speak of him above ground, but that thought would wait until later, as for now, he was content to concentrate upon the conversation at hand.
Mahri stops just as she's about to put her foot on that bottom step. Trying to appear as nonpulsed as possible by the seemingly sudden appearance, she meets green eyes with her own steadily. "Aye, I did. Offered 'im a place upstairs too." Her tone implied that the other woman's approval, while not unwanted, was not exactly being asked for. Stepping out of Jolie's way, Mahri leans back on the bannister-arms folded-in such a way that suggested she was also keeping an eye on the mortal woman. Since her transformation, trouble followed more closely at the raven haired woman's heels, and Gods help anyone should anything happen to her. Becoming the silent bodyguard is second nature and may go unnoticed. What doesn't go unnoticed and warrants another raising of a brow, is the difference with which the troll is treated. Respect she understands and he must have done something to earn that much of it from Jolie. Now the lycan's curious.
Jolie answered Mahri with a slight arc of brow, as to her being informed of the troll's 'placement'. The other brow settled lower, a wry expression for the lycaness' protective mien. "I shan't be eaten by rats, Mahri, relax." There might be a slight fore-finger jab to ribs attempted as Jolie passed her, to take a seat on one of those rough tables. Her neck tilted, so she might gain full view of the troll's features. "War has been averted." She sounded almost disappointed. "With words. Or will be, when they're spoken." Damn politics, it irked her to the core, depite the way she always seemed to get embroiled in it. "But there's a task for you yet, Old One." A sidelong glance to the third present, a knowing one. Then she looked back to Bralgin. "There's a gathering, whose ranks need thinning. I do not want them eradicated. Just unnerved. It's my feeling that one or two of the lesser minions being dispatched may just do that." She'd pause, apparently to examine her fingernails, giving the troll time to digest her words.
Bralgin sat down again, with a little suddenness, which didn't seem to bother Jolie as she spoke. He took in all she said, leaning a little closer to make up for the build-up in his slanted ears and nodded, though of whom she spoke or why war was likely to happen escaped him completely. It was fairly simple enough and would keep him entertained for a while; knock around some above-dwellers who sound like they are causing trouble. Easy work for big hands, despite the big hands sometimes peeling some flesh off. "Bralgin will… scare people for Little Jolie." he said, in a very matter-of-fact way, his deep croaking voice adding something sinister, "Bralgin does not know… what words people say. Bralgin does not like words." he said, with a slightly ruffled brow, "So Bralgin… help Little Jolie and… Mahri with people upstairs." This was said with finality, as it seemed to set in stone within his own mind too, and his posture became more rigid and definite along with his thoughts. He looked down upon the two and waited, always infinitely patient, for the next person to speak.
Mahri's harrumph turned into a grunt when a finger found it's mark. Narrowing her eyes slightly at the woman, she simply presses her lips together, in no hurry to ascend the stairs now. She's getting used to the smell of rot. It's a good thing she stayed it seems, the look recieved is met with one of intense interest. Something like anticipation shivered down her spine. No war, but covert operations seemed to be her speciality. A slow menacing smile draws her lips apart. Indeed, she was beginning to see what Jolie was after. "Braglin and Mahri will both take care of bothersome people." The next step would be deciding initial targets. The ultimate end of this gathering should, in her mind, come at her own hand. A flash of red-hair flits through her memory. Plots with-in plots, that's what distracts her from the rest of the conversation. What Jolie didn't know..well, we know how that particular saying ends.
Jolie frowned. "A different upstairs. Too much blood on my boards will leave a bad scent in too many noses." She studied the troll, at closer vantage now he was seated, the patchy skin, the black gleam of his teeth, those dreadful, dead-fish-belly eyes, and smiled. "Trouble rarely comes to visit us here. This trouble, in particular, never. So..." she looked to Mahri, then. "Kelay seems a better option. Perhaps with a few portraits done, so Bralgin can know their faces." Pictures speaking a thousand words, and all. "He'll need to be shown the way there, perhaps." Leaving that task hanging in the air like a noosed corpse, she almost fell off her perch trying to reach across to brush a cobweb from the Old One's arm. "If this pleases you, that is. My own people will be told to avoid the place." She'd make sketches of them, too, so he'd know who was off-limits, as far as any slaughter went.
Bralgin watched the tiny hand as it removed the bedraggled filth from his arm, not particularly minding nor caring, seeing as what lay underneath was probably less appealing. But it did dawn upon him quite suddenly that her behaviour toward him was a mark of respect and, above all, trust. This cemented it for the Troll, alongside the fact that Mahri seemed to respect her, that Jolie was the person he should associate himself to above all others. He had never heard of Kelay, nor did he know of these aforementioned gathering, so he would need as much help as possible, "Yes, Bralgin likes pictures." he said with a good deal of emphasis, "Words take long… in Bralgin’s head," he said, tapping his skull and loosening a little bit of scalp as he did so, "And no splatting in the upstairs… but lots of splatting… outside." He turned and studied Jolie's form in some detail, as she was doing to him, and noticed little difference from before. Her clothes had changed a bit, but she was still petite -to him- and still full of life and quickness. So quick and impatient, these living creatures, no waiting around. Something he was getting used to slowly.
Mahri kept silent, still even. Almost as though she were trying to blend into shadow, stone and wood. Mission not accomplished, catching Jolie's look and giving a short nod of agreement. "Not on their home soil, nor ours. That seems neutral enough." Was that a note of blood-lust eagerness in her voice? If that was missed, the gleam in her eyes couldn't be. And, it seemed she was also about to agree to more. Would it never end? Probably not. "I can do whatever showin' he needs, Jolie." Though remaining inconspicuous with him would prove rather difficult to say the least.
Jolie -was- petite, even by human standards, a fact more evident when she was not standing on steel-forged heels that served her vanity as well as her capacity for causing damage in a pinch. She let the room be quiet for a time, for the word-indiced dust stirred in the troll's mind to settle, only nodding her agreeance to his summary. At length, she spoke again, "I will make you a special picture, as my thanks to you." It was the only thing she could think of to offer the troll. For what could he possibly want? She'd been doing much puzzling on his nature, in her absence, searching for better means of understanding him and his existence. Possibly out of sheer shame she'd not seen his fate as clearly as she could have, before he explained it to her. In whatever case, it was all she had to offer, and did so, and moved right along like an impatient mortal to the next thought: "How do you think the dead should exist, Bralgin?" The mortal winced a little. "I mean. Those who would be masters, who'd disturb the rest of the dead. Enslave them. Do you think that's a terrible thing?" She glanced to Mahri, mouthing a silent 'thanks' to the woman, who was proving her worth to the "family" more by the minute. Not that Jolie required such proof-- but damned if she didn't get a little happy when it showed up.
Bralgin was silently grateful for the time to allow thoughts to slot themselves into place, which was seldom possible in a normal conversation with the Troll. But he was getting better with it. What he didn't quite anticipate was the question Jolie sprung upon him, not to mention the amount of thought it required to give an appropriate answer. He sat upright and looked up to the ceiling, as if the cold stones would herald some degree of inspiration, whilst a hand became clasped upon his leg; quite a thoughtful pose for a Troll. He wasn't at all sure what he thought about it, being honest, but he knew he had feelings around the subject which, like words needing sorting, needed organising into some sensible order. "Well…" he began, though stopped for a few seconds more, "Bralgin does not… enjoy being dead." he said, returning to a more general seated position. "But Bralgin has never been… gone dead. Not dead for good. Always… living dead." He wasn't sure if he was making any sort of sense to anyone else, but he carried on regardless, "Bralgin does not hate his master… did not hate him when he took care of Bralgin… taught him… spoke to him. But master was… taken, so Bralgin turned into… this." he looked at himself and then back to Jolie, knowing that she would understand, she was clever like that, "I think… dead should be dead. But dead like Bralgin… should not be forgotten… not be left alone." He sat again, perfectly still, his point spoken. It probably wasn't the answer she was looking for, but it was the answer he had.
Mahri, satisfied that all is well, turns on her heel and makes her way up the stairs. Jackie was probably bothering Steadman or Cook. At least, that's the generalization she makes for her strategic withdrawl. Voices faded into murmers as the door closes behind her. Soon, so very soon, things will get to rolling along. If she could hardly wait...we'll chalk that up to her hunter's nature.
Jolie did understand, and the answer she'd wanted was whatever the troll was willing to give, so her desire there was met in full. Her answer was brief, and delayed by the wave she gave the departing Mahri. "That's why I gathered my people to me, Bralgin. I grew so tired of being alone." For some reason, she felt able to say these things to him, as she might not even to her close associates. "It's good to belong. To know things, trust things." She had the feeling she didn't need to elaborate, so did not. Instead, she crossed her legs on the table, and propped her chin up with a small, bunched fist, simply watching the Ancient a while. She had other questions, ones that might dredge the swamp his brain had become over time, for the body of his living memory. But she didn't want to tax the undead too much, and there'd been so many words already. "Would you like me to show you my home?"
Bralgin felt some degree of comfort in Jolie's words and understood her perfectly. He had spent the better part of an age not having anyone to trust, so he knew how important that could be for those who were alive. And he had noticed Mahri leaving. He was a creature born of the dark and had spent countless years in the pitch black, so the Lycan had little chance of sneaking off unseen. He might be dead, but the Troll didn't miss much, "Mahri… she is more frightened… than she wants Little Jolie… to think she is." he said in a very pointed way, purely from observation, "Mahri did not… seem to like Bralgin… very much. A little bit… scared, for a wolf. Not like Little Jolie. Little Jolie is not scared of very much." This seemed to need voicing for some reason, though he could not figure out why yet. "And Bralgin… will see Little Jolie's home… if she wants Bralgin to."
Jolie gave him a quizzical look; his observations noted, but coming as something of a surprise to the woman. She opened her mouth twice to say something in return and failed, leaving her gaping like a waterless fish for that brief time. "I suppose I should learn to be scared, now I'm..." A glance down spoke "mortal". "Not what I was." But power shed itself less easily from the mind than the flesh. "I was one of those people, Bralgin. A necromancer. Death, the dead, the dying..." The prey. "I was with them, since I can remember." A little too close to the heart of things, now, she sidetracked. "Mahri is smart. Sometimes it's smart to be afraid, also." Her smile was brief, but genuine. "One day I'll take you see it, for real. But it's a long way from here, a very long way. So...." She slid off the table once her legs were disentangled from each other, and hunted about until she found what she needed-- a small piece of chalk, used for tallying odds back when the cellar was a fighting-pit. This in hand, she took up a seat again, this time kneeling on the floor close to Bralgin. "It's called Eternity." Long, sweeping lines were drawn on the dark stone, coalescing into the sketchy outline of a ship. "She's a warship, a schooner, fast as the wind." Broad sails, topped with a skull and bones flag -- cleverly drawn in negative on the black surface. "I used to get horribly seasick. But I'm used to it, now." She'd keep sketching in details, lapsing into silence to better concentrate on giving an accurate depiction.
Bralgin followed as best he could with what the young one was saying, and took in that she had been undead herself once. That was easy to understand, owing to how comfortable she was around him, but he didn't understand how it could be good to be afraid. Perhaps his eyes didn't see as much as they should; but at the same time, perhaps they saw more. But as she began to draw on the stone for him, he leaned in even closer, watching how the lines became shapes, then objects, and how the objects began to tell a story with her words. It was fantastic! He hadn't had this kind of interest or excitement for centuries, and he kept absolutely silent so as not to distract or interrupt Jolie in any way. It was an unusual feeling for the Troll, but as the time passed and he heard more from Jolie, saw her pictures, heard her words; the more he felt that no harm should come to her. Like something wouldn't be right if she were hurt somehow. In his own primitive way, Bralgin was forming a bond to this woman, whom he despised for being alive, but treasured for the same reason.
Jolie finished the picture with a little flourish. "There." She glanced up, eagerly, as if hoping he'd be looking. On seeing that he was, indeed, she broke into that white smile again. "Of course, she's much more beautiful in person. So to speak." Clambering upright, she used her palms to sweep chalk dust from her clothes. "I'd take you there, now... if I didn't have to go." That the woman was weary showed in the dark-smudge circles under her eyes, the hours of negotiation prior to her arrival having taken their toll. "But next time I see you, I'll show you my people. And if you like, you can see Eternity for yourself." Whatever irony existed in that statement was beyond her, and Jolie only tilted her head as a mimed question mark, waiting for reply.
Bralgin had indeed been watching closely, and barely took his eyes from the crudely crafted picture as he spoke again to Jolie, "Yes, Bralgin will like to see Eternity..." as if in reply, the complexity of the ironic situation not quite dawning on him yet. But being a creature of instinct, he knew that unlike himself, the living needed rest, and so he could not keep Jolie here for much longer. He almost felt unhappy that she needed to go, but for the short amount of time it would be before he saw her again, in comparison to many decades alone, did not really matter. He instinctively knew that even for a small person, Jolie could look after herself and was unlikely to come to harm from those above just yet. He raised his head to look level at her, remaining silent for a moment or two before saying, "Little Jolie... need rest. Bralgin needs no sleep, not for now. Bralgin will be... here when Jolie is rested." he said, though much more softly, his breaths seeming more like deep sighs now, rather than the unaccustomed grating it was before. He gave a slight nod, as though signalling that she need not wait upon courtesy with him.
Jolie felt a pang at "not for now", the implications of it spoken by the troll terribly poignant. She nodded, yes, she'd see him soon, and smiled again, and turned for the stairs she'd ascend quickly, without looking back.
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