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A Housewarming Gift
Bit of backstory: Sry has been Elene's student since the days when he was a Grook Cabalist. Even throughout his life, he's always regarded her as such, no matter where his life took him.
Upon returning from a long slumber, it seems Elene wants her pound of flesh and to remind her student who's in charge and that even though he's fled to the Spirit side, that's not going to stop her.
WARNING: Some strong language and it's very violent.
With knowing shrewdness, a cloaked figure says to you, "You rebuilt your house. Already dedicating the rest of your life to Enorian, little romeviti?"
Opening one eye to glance at Elene from out of the corner of his peripheral vision, you say, "Hardly. I was napping."
You have emoted: Sryaen heaves a low sigh as he reluctantly straightens his posture. He shifts his legs to the side, planting his boots quietly upon the grass though he still remains seated in the hammock as his eyes fully open to look upon a cloaked figure. "You didn't bring your dog with you this time," he comments dryly.
A cloaked figure doesn't appear to be convinced. One scarred hand rises to sweep her silvery hair off her shoulders, before pressing fingers into her cheek in brief thought. Then, there is a rustle of cloth as the woman draws close to you before leaning close to you, close enough to touch lips. "Miss him already?" she enquires.
You have emoted: Sryaen's expression remains neutral as Elene draws close. "Like a boil on my ass," he replies flatly. "Let's step inside before he sniffs his way here," he adds, motioning with his hands so she will allow him to stand.
A cloaked figure's pale gaze gleams and her lips twist briefly.
You have emoted: Sryaen inhales sharply before gently swinging his body upright out of the hammock. He gestures with a hand as he moves towards the door, his slender fingertips curling around the handle.
A stately marble foyer.
The foyer is enormous, esoteric, powerful, cornered by mighty pillars of marble that grip at the
ceiling high above. The center of the room depresses approximately a foot into a circular basin of sorts, edged with cushions to accommodate guests. A middling-sized fire pit is dug into the center, exuding a comfortable heat to stave away the chill air. Set into the northern wall are a mighty pair of wooden doors, painted in deep red, and near them, a staircase that hugs the wall, leading up to the balcony above. Through marble archways on either side of the room can be seen a study and atrium. Several settings of decorative swords, emblazoned and painted with red and green heraldry, cross eternally on the walls. A three-sconce decoration of faceted amethyst has been mounted on the wall here. A cloaked figure is here. She wields a blackened warhammer in her hands.You see exits leading north (open pine door), northeast (open pine door), east, west, up, and out (closed pine door).
Without much flair, you say, "Ta-da."
You have emoted: Sryaen folds his slender arms casually across his chest while gesturing with a
fingertip. "Well? Have a look around. I know you didn't come down here to just stand in my foyer," he says in his usual low, harsh tone.
"Hmm," Elene murmurs, now that she feels safe enough to draw down a profane cloak of ambiguity. Her gaze flickers to and fro, before she steps forward and onwards into the house.
Elene licks her lips.
A shadowy atrium.
Only the occasional, fleeting star is visible past the dark clouds blanketing the sky above. Shadows swirl all around this rather large, open room. Exquisitely tinted glass windows shield most of the atrium from the outside light, adding a slight jade tint to the area due to the decoration of two greenish serpents entwined together upon the windows. There are several benches here, pushed along the edges of the room, to allow easier access to the main feature of this room. Underneath the window, on the far edge, is a well-kept garden, glowing softly with violet and dark-bluish hues. A large picnic basket lined with a gray plaid quilt sits here. There are 10 twilight blue roses here. Elene Arcan, Savant of Jherza is here. She wields a blackened warhammer in her hands. You see a single exit leading east.
Ichored lips part to form a mirthless smile as Elene's gaze rakes across her surroundings. Shadows rise on all sides, the gloom of the surroundings almost suffocating-- save for the soft jade tint from the high windows.
You have emoted: Sryaen casually leans against the doorway, his arms still folded across his chest as his gaze lingers upon Elene's figure. "You never answered me last week," he observes simply. "Why you came down to visit."
A sharp turn upon a heel brings Elene striding back to you. Not much is seen upon her features, the mask of polite neutrality taking over her demeanour as she steps past you, off to visit the rest of the house.
Within a sandy training pit.
Emerging from the long hallway leads into this stalwart training yard. Thick marble pillars border the perimeter, through which the light is filtered into a harsh grid over the court. Mounted on a rearward wall, a lion's head of granite and obsidian cries out in never-ending, frozen umbrage. It roars a steady current of clear water, collected beneath in a basin, set flush against the wall. The yard proper is a wide and somewhat sunken pit, accessible by either the perimeter steps or by a daring hop in. Tons of fine, black sand fill the pit, deep enough to sink ones foot in but shallow enough that a fall still carries the impact of the harder marble beneath. At the arena's periphery an iron weapon rack juts out of the sand, brimming with menacing weapons, some blunted and perfect for more innocuous training, others decidedly more dangerous. The continent of Sapience unfolds in miniature across the face of a war table. An ebon-grey cabinet filled with practice weapons is mounted here. Elene Arcan, Savant of Jherza is here. She wields a blackened warhammer in her hands. You see exits leading north and east (open pine door).
Her voice soft and silken, Elene Arcan, Savant of Jherza says, "Do I need a reason to visit you, my Sryaen?"
You have emoted: Making no attempt to answer that question, Sryaen offers one of his own, following behind Elene and idly tapping his knuckles against the war table. "Is he a new student of yours?" he asks, arching a slender eyebrow towards her.
Having lost interest in house viewing now that she has achieved it, Elene returns her full and
unrelenting attention upon you. Silver scars stretch and mar the surface of every available skin,
the old trauma of past having survived through the years. Bare feet makes no sound as she traverses the floor, eliminating all distance between you and her. "I have new students," she elaborates, clarifies, and then tilts her head to the side. "And it seems he's very jealous of you."
You have emoted: Pressing his knuckles lightly against the table, Sryaen allows his emerald gaze to search Elene's face. "Really?" he responds, sounding genuinely surprised. "And here I was jealous of just how much he seemed to be in tact. And under the delusion that you didn't own him," he continues, his lips curling into a faint sneer as the words escape his mouth.
A faint tinkling of laughter, and Elene leans forward and across the table to reach you. The woman's hands seize ahold of your uniform, dragging you to her.
You have emoted: Sryaen doesn't resist the motion, instead taking a half step towards Elene as his eyes remain locked upon her features, his expression seeming unimpressed.
The other hand of Elene brushes gently past your face, fingers outlining your jaw before flitting
upwards to trace your lips. And then, the woman finishes her inspection by circling your eyes. "I
took an ear from him. I'd very much like to take your eyes. It seems it hasn't lasted for very long. My personalised brand for students."
You have emoted: Sryaen lifts a slender hand in a motion to grip at Elene's wrist with his fingertips.Upon hearing her words, anger flashes visibly across his features. "An ear? A -fucking- ear?" he hisses, bits of spittle flying past his lips. He exhales a slow, fluid breath and his expression and body language suddenly become more neutral. "You'll need to get permission to take any more from me," he states firmly yet cryptically.
"SHE TOOK MY FUCKING EYES. GOUGED THEM OUT. AND ALL NAOS GOT WAS HIS POOR LITTLE MONGREL EAR CUT OFF," Sryaen's internal dialogue screams within his head.
"Permission?" The word is spoken icily, Elene's gaze flattening as a snarl is ripped from her lips.
Madness seeps into her features, chasing away her polite, calm demeanour and leaving behind the true nature of the woman. Her arm tugs violently, muscles rippling as she bodily drags you across an immense, detailed war table. "I own you, student. I molded you, Sryaen. Why does everyone have to PISS ME OFF TODAY?"
You have emoted: Sryaen slams the tip of his dirk into the war table, its tip slicing across the
wooden surface in an attempt to slow the sudden, violent motion. His features twist darkly, rage and hatred overtaking his countenance. "I said what I said," he barks through gritted teeth. "Unless you want to 'discuss' it," he teases, flicking his tongue across his lips in a familiar gesture.
Another vicious snarl, the countenance of Elene twisted beyond recognition. The grip upon your
uniform is impossibly tight, and though her action to drag you over to her is slowed by the dagger stabbed into the table, she doesn't seem to care. Her features draw close, and her breath feels warm against your face as she murmurs, "I. Want. Your. Eyes."
You have emoted: His fingertips curling around the hilt in a white-knuckle grip, Sryaen emits a
breathy grunt as he wrenches the dagger from the table. He dips his head towards Elene, hissing a low whisper against her cheek.
You murmur to Elene, "I heard a story about how you got your fucking jaw ripped off."
You have emoted: Sryaen pulls back briefly as if to gauge Elene's reaction before he continues, "You want to do that shit, you go tear apart your new toy. You do not do it with me."
Her anger explodes in tremendous fashion. Elene's body trembles with unmitigated rage, the trigger of which does not actually seem to be caused by you. The expression upon her features is terrifyingly alien, the woman so far gone in her emotions. "I hate all of you," she hisses, "I hate every single one of you." She lets go of her grip upon your uniform now, her scarred hand swiftly darting over to snare your neck in a crushing grasp. "Why does no one want to indulge me?" She rambles on. "Am I unwanted? Am I too much of a pushover?"
Elene starts to wield a jade sacrificial dagger in her left hand.
You have emoted: Sryaen's voice comes in a low, choking noise as Elene's fingertips curl around histhroat. He lashes out with his other hand to curl the tip of the whip around one of the cabinet legs and his arm flexes powerfully while he tugs back hard to send the weapon rack in her direction. His eyes widen at seeing the jade dagger in Elene's hands, and his jugular pulses with adrenaline beneath her grip.
With surprising flexibility and agility, Elene leaps upon an immense, detailed war table, narrowly
avoiding the weapon rack as it crashes over towards her. She nearly loses her balance as the impact of furniture against furniture resounds in the room, but then uses her grip upon your neck to steady herself. There is no rational thought in the Azudim's palid gaze as she sends a jade sacrificial dagger stabbing down towards your face.
You have emoted: Deftly flipping his dirk in his hand, Sryaen lifts it to send the tip in a brutal,
stabbing motion towards the back of Elene's calf while her grip keeps him pinned to the table. In an attempt to minimize damage, he shifts his chin an inch to the side. His mouth contorts as a bloodcurdling scream tears its way out of his throat as Elene's dagger slices effortlessly past the flesh and muscle of his right cheek, eliciting a satisfying gushing of blood that spatters across the table.
Pain registers to Elene as she hisses in response, her pale gaze flickering with some shaken form of clarity-- but it is temporary, and madness consumes her fully in its grasp as she snarls like an enraged animal. Blood stains an immense, detailed war table as she struggles with you, her dagger continue to carve a careless trail of carnage across those features.
Lady Kalena Kavoros tells you, "Good morning, Squire."
Harshly, you hiss afar to Kalena, "HELP." His voice trails off into what can almost be certain to be a gurgle of blood."
You have emoted: Sryaen wrenches the dagger down, tearing the tip further down Elene's calf towards your ankle before his fingertips release their grip on the hilt and shadows pour forth from his palm. His eyes go wild as he screams horrifically, moving to tear his face away from the dagger carving up his face but leaving bits of flesh and muscle pinned to the table. Maneuvering with surprising agility, he slips underneath Elene and moves to dive into the shadows shrouding the room.
Lady Kalena Kavoros tells you, "What is going on?? The door is locked?"
Blood spills in large quantities down Elene's now lamed leg, your dagger slicing through sinew and tendons in a crippling pull of the blade. The man, however, has put himself away from her reach as you maneuver with agility, sliding underneath her to seek comfort in the shadows.
Lady Kalena Kavoros tells you, "Sryaen, I need you to talk to me. I cant prism to you, I cant
brazier you.. I cant get to you."
You have set a new description. This is how you will now appear:
He is a typical Azudim is a long-limbed, feral creature with flawless skin the color of ash. Arcane runes zig-zag across what flesh can be seen in seemingly calculated design, accentuating the curvature of muscle or outlining solid, powerful bone. His face has been brutally carved up and his torso is absolutely covered in his own blood.
You have emoted: Sryaen slides across the floor leading towards the second story balcony, blood pouring from his face and leaving a clear trail.
*Sry moves, falls from his balcony to the foyer to let Kalena in*
Your pose is now set as:
Sryaen is here laying on the floor in a pool of his own blood.
Kalena slings open the door and nearly trips over you, her boots leaving bloody prints as she darts around you to clear the area. "Who.. Elene?" she asks, running back and dropping next to to you on her knees. "What happened?"
His face brutally carved up and making it difficult to understand him through all the blood, you
say, "Grghh..mmnhhh."
From afar, Elene hisses harshly to you, "Fine." The woman's voice exudes tiredness, the anger
previously filling her subsiding into little more than just bitterness. "Have it your way, Sryaen.
I'm going home.""
You have emoted: Sryaen reaches out with a powerful hand to grip at Kalena's boots and he shakes his head almost imperceptibly.
Kalena works her way around you, lifting you to rest against her knees in an attempt to keep you from choking on your own blood. Unsure of what to do, she digs out a crafting cloth from her pack and tries to clean off some of the blood. "Okay, okay. Calm yourself." she murmurs, attempting a soothing. "You're safe, you're safe." she continues speaking while wiping blood from your mouth. "Can you tell me who did this?"
You have emoted: Sryaen tilts his head to the side, coughing up copious amounts of blood from the bloody swathe carved past the flesh and muscle upon his right cheek. His eyes roll lazily around in his sockets as he struggles to look at Kalena. His chest rises and falls in heavy, labored breathing as he struggles to speak; his tongue moving visibly behind the wide opening in the side of his face.
Harshly, you hiss afar to Kalena, "I fell down the stairs.."
Kalena notices the gaping hole in your cheek and does her best to keep her facial features calm and comforting, lightly sliding the already blood-soaked cloth to your cheek and apply pressure. "You have to stay with me, okay? Stay awake, keep your focus on me Sryaen." she states softly down to the man resting in her lap. "Listen to my voice, and just breathe. You're safe. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."
Lady Kalena Kavoros tells you, "Sry.. I am not a fool."
You have emoted: His brow contorting in pain, Sryaen exhales another slow, labored breath as he lifts his hands to rest them atop his chest in an almost defeated manner. His blood-flecked emerald gaze shifts to focus upon Kalena.
Harshly, you hiss afar to Kalena, "I am fine now, really. Thank you. I just need a moment.."
Kalena tilts her chin down to examine you closely, searching for further wounds while blindly
digging for a clean cloth. A soft smile breaks across her features while her head slowly shakes from side to side. "You dont get rid of me that easily, Squire." she states, her voice still calm and soothing while she uses the new cloth to dab away blood still keeping pressure with the opposite.
Kalena looks up at Eoros from her place on the floor with you halfway pulled into her lap, the pair resting in a pool of blood. "He was attacked." she tells her sister while she continues holding pressure to the gaping hole in your cheek. "We need to close this wound on his cheek or he damn well may bleed out."
You have emoted: Sryaen's eyes flick towards Eoros as he remains silent, though emitting a low grunt as Kalena maintains pressure against the hole on the side of his face.
Kalena shifts from side to side to help guide you a little farther into her lap, leaning forward
over the man and lightly pulling away the cloth she's been holding firmly to your cheek. The petite redhead holds her breath to keep her features neutral while she appraises the injury then covers it back up. Turning her glance down to you, "Can you breathe alright?"
You have emoted: Sryaen offers a single, faint nod of his head as his body language relaxes
somewhat. His eyes shift from Kalena and Eoros up towards the broken balcony, the railing splintered as if someone had come crashing through it from the second floor above.
Eoros appears in flash, her posture still sleepy but her eyes are bright and alert. Brushing the
sand off her uniform she seems to take in the situation with a raptor-like gaze, "your methods are a bit more gentler, sister" she murmurs as she approaches her twins side. She kneels and leans forward, her fingers lightly touching the bandage to move it slightly to check the severity of it. "I tend to cleanse in fire" she finally says, "but a tailors hands.."
You have emoted: Sryaen gives a more vigorous nod of his head at Eoros' words and he gestures towards her with a slender hand.
Kalena follows your gaze upwards while Eoros looks at the wound beneath her hand. Eyes squint while examining the broken balcony then lowering her chin to look at where your body is. At the nod in her lap, she looks back to you then to Eoros. "With the size of this wound and lack of tissue sister, I'll have to take skin from his back and place a few stitches.. then you'll need to singe it. There is not enough for me to close and stitches will just rip." she says, free hand reaching forward to rub lightly at your chest.
Lady Kalena Kavoros tells you, "Sryaen.. this is going to be excruciating for us to fix."
Eoros is already moving before the gesture stops, a dagger pulled from some hidden crevice in her uniform as booted feet take her towards the fire pit. Her movements are quick, efficient as she pulls a bottle from her pack to cleanse the blade before even placing it in the fire. From her
crouched position, she turns to look over her shoulder, "We will need to be quick then, are you
ready?"
You have emoted: Sryaen clenches his jaw as best he can, causing the corners of his eyes to crinkle in pain once more. His blood-flecked gaze shifts once more to Kalena and he nods again, curling his fingertips into tight, white-knuckled fists by his side.
"Set your blade in the fire, sister. I need you to support him and hold him steady so I can get a
piece of skin from his back. We need to be quick about it" Kalena tells Eoros calmly, shifting her
weight to get a grip under you and hefting him upright. Using her shoulder, she holds the man in place while digging out a needle and thread.
Eoros leaves the dagger in the fire, letting the blade heat up before shes moving over and kneeling. The knees of her uniform soaked in blood, she reaches forward for you to brace him against her body, one hand moving to support the bandage so Kalena could move.
You have emoted: Breathing a low grunt as his body moves, Sryaen creases his brow slightly. The tightening of his facial features elicits a low growl from him while his eyes follow Eoros and
Kalena.
Kalena lifts your shirt from behind while Eoros supports the much larger man, petite hands roaming across exposed skin to find a suitable piece. She pulls out a very sharp blade and a clean cloth, cleaning the cool steel. Pouring out the remainder of her whiskey on the blade, she continues to wipe the blade clean while looking at Eoros. Finally satisfied with the cleanliness of her blade, she scoots back over to get behind you once more. With a steady and practiced hand, she inserts the blade tip carefully underneath your skin while making sure not to puncture the muscles beneath. She moves the knife quickly but gently in a circle while she removes the patch of skin, careful to not destroy the edges or inflict more pain than is necessary. Once the final cut is made, she packs the new wound with a bandage and hurries up off her feet to circle around Eoros. Kneeling next to the pair, she tilts your head to the side and fits the new patch of skin against the gaping hole. With a nod, she digs out a needle and threat and sets to work with stitching the skin in place on the four corners of the skin. Satisfied, she drops the needle and moves around you once more but this time taking a seat behind the much larger man and wrapping arms and legs around you tightly to hold him in place. "Now, sister." she murmurs with the nod of her head.
You have emoted: His throaty growl intensifying briefly as Kalena moves and works behind him, Sryaengrits the teeth on the untouched side of his face while his body stiffens as if to brace himself for the next round of incoming pain.
Eoros tilts her head, golden eyes watching her sister's progress before the weight of the man is
taken off her. She shifts from her knees and towards the fire pit, her hand reaching for the blade of her dagger with a soft hiss and a mumbled 'should have used the longer handle' before her booted feet take her back to their side. She nods, her hand braced against your head to hold it in place before her other comes up to place the flat of the blade with a sizzled hiss.
You have emoted: Sryaen's neck muscles strain visibly as he struggles to contain a muffled scream. His arms tense powerfully by his side and his fingernails claw uselessly against the marble flooring.
Kalena winces from behind you at the sound of your sizzling flesh, her arms and legs gripping
tighter to the man. Bright green eyes set on Eoros though she whispers towards you in an attempt to offer some form of comfort. "You're okay, I know it hurts but it's almost over.. you've got this, pain is temporary."
You have emoted: His legs kicking slightly as he writhes in pain within Kalena's lap, Sryaen exhales a heavy, labored breath out of the undamaged side of his mouth. His facial features remain contorted in agony while his nostrils flare to accompany a sudden intake of breath.
Eoros' features are impassive, teeth gritted as her jaw clenches. She holds it until she is sure
everything is held together before she pulls it away and tosses it somewhere near her feet. The hand that is braced against your head is now suddenly gentle, a light stroke given before she pulls back and crouches down. "That should do it" she murmurs, "a bit of whiskey to help with the pain." Her hands pull back, raptors gaze suddenly filling with more warmth than before as she moves to get a cup.
You have emoted: Sryaen puffs out a heavy, shuddering breath; bits of saliva trailing from his lip. His eyelids slip closed briefly while his fingertips curl loosely around the cup that's slid into
his hands, and his body relaxes visibly.
Kalena exhales a soft breath at Eoros' words, relaxing her tightly held grip around you. She
produces some clean cloths from her pack and beings to shred a particularly long piece into strips. She first starts to dress the wound she created on your back, pulling out the packing and crushing up some anabiotic pills onto a clean scrap. She presses the treated scrap of cloth to your back and uses the shredded strips to secure it in place around your body, tying it off tightly. "His face should be left exposed until the burns scab, dont you think?" she asks Eoros.
Nodding, Lady Eoros Kavoros says, "Yes, and proper cleaning on it."
Kalena stays behind you for the time, giving the man a support to lean against. "You'll need to see me in a day or two so I can clean it and keep it from getting infected." she tells you softly.
"Until then, nothing but rest for you. No fighting, no hunting, nothing." she directs, pushing
herself upright and gripping you underneath the arms to help the man up. "To bed with you, Squire."
You have emoted: Sryaen emits another low grunt as he leans heavily against Kalena; the tall Azudim struggling to stand against the height of the smaller Idreth. He gestures towards the northern door with a slender, bloodied hand.
A secluded bedroom, shaded by an ancient tree.
The bedroom presents an illusion of open space, with large, wide windows set shallow into the walls, their edges hidden by marble pillars the diameter of a man's forearm. In the rear center of the room there is a large bed with a thick, wooden frame. All of the bedposts save for one are enormous and hand-carved with old Ankyrean glyphs; the last joins a tree that grows from the corner of the room, its roots dug into an earthen portion of the floor just for the purpose. The tree serves as both support and canopy, sheltering those who would sleep beneath. The granite walls of the room are decorated with the hides of beasts and hanged trappings of various origin: Numerological trinkets, Spirean signet rings, geometrically-shaped crystals, and various crests and insignia from the offices of the Infernal Knights. Resting against the wall is an ornately carved oaken wardrobe. A huge bed is here, carved from oak and piled in furs and cushions. Lady Kalena Kavoros is here. She wields a shining steel longsword in her left hand and a shining steel longsword in her right. You see a single exit leading south (open pine door).
Kalena does her best to support you while slowly moving into the bedroom and to the bed side. She keeps a firm grip while moving around the man to gently lower you to the bed, the tiny woman struggle with the vast size difference of the two. She pulls a pillow down to make sure you have somewhere soft to lay your head then moves back to lift your legs into the bed.
You have emoted: His expression twitching in familiar recognition upon entering the bedroom, Sryaen allows himself to be guided towards the bed until his frame is situated comfortably atop it. He folds his hands calmly atop his lap as his gaze shifts from the ceiling to the room and then finally to Kalena.
"Get some rest, and alert me when you wake. I'll need to tend to your cheek." Kalena directs, gaze lingering on the freshly singed skin. "Do you want me to stay while you rest?" the redhead offers.
You have emoted: Sryaen offers a single shake of his head, but otherwise doesn't move at first. His chest rises and falls to accompany a more normal breathing pattern, and he lifts a slender hand towards Kalena. His jaw tenses slightly as if he were going to attempt to speak, but only manages to swallow hard; the flesh upon his throat shifting visibly during the motion.
Kalena gives a singular nod in return while leaning forward to pull a blanket over you. "Alert me
when you wake, Squire." the petite woman repeats while giving a last look over the man. "Rest."
Opening one eye to glance at Elene from out of the corner of his peripheral vision, you say, "Hardly. I was napping."
You have emoted: Sryaen heaves a low sigh as he reluctantly straightens his posture. He shifts his legs to the side, planting his boots quietly upon the grass though he still remains seated in the hammock as his eyes fully open to look upon a cloaked figure. "You didn't bring your dog with you this time," he comments dryly.
A cloaked figure doesn't appear to be convinced. One scarred hand rises to sweep her silvery hair off her shoulders, before pressing fingers into her cheek in brief thought. Then, there is a rustle of cloth as the woman draws close to you before leaning close to you, close enough to touch lips. "Miss him already?" she enquires.
You have emoted: Sryaen's expression remains neutral as Elene draws close. "Like a boil on my ass," he replies flatly. "Let's step inside before he sniffs his way here," he adds, motioning with his hands so she will allow him to stand.
A cloaked figure's pale gaze gleams and her lips twist briefly.
You have emoted: Sryaen inhales sharply before gently swinging his body upright out of the hammock. He gestures with a hand as he moves towards the door, his slender fingertips curling around the handle.
A stately marble foyer.
The foyer is enormous, esoteric, powerful, cornered by mighty pillars of marble that grip at the
ceiling high above. The center of the room depresses approximately a foot into a circular basin of sorts, edged with cushions to accommodate guests. A middling-sized fire pit is dug into the center, exuding a comfortable heat to stave away the chill air. Set into the northern wall are a mighty pair of wooden doors, painted in deep red, and near them, a staircase that hugs the wall, leading up to the balcony above. Through marble archways on either side of the room can be seen a study and atrium. Several settings of decorative swords, emblazoned and painted with red and green heraldry, cross eternally on the walls. A three-sconce decoration of faceted amethyst has been mounted on the wall here. A cloaked figure is here. She wields a blackened warhammer in her hands.You see exits leading north (open pine door), northeast (open pine door), east, west, up, and out (closed pine door).
Without much flair, you say, "Ta-da."
You have emoted: Sryaen folds his slender arms casually across his chest while gesturing with a
fingertip. "Well? Have a look around. I know you didn't come down here to just stand in my foyer," he says in his usual low, harsh tone.
"Hmm," Elene murmurs, now that she feels safe enough to draw down a profane cloak of ambiguity. Her gaze flickers to and fro, before she steps forward and onwards into the house.
Elene licks her lips.
A shadowy atrium.
Only the occasional, fleeting star is visible past the dark clouds blanketing the sky above. Shadows swirl all around this rather large, open room. Exquisitely tinted glass windows shield most of the atrium from the outside light, adding a slight jade tint to the area due to the decoration of two greenish serpents entwined together upon the windows. There are several benches here, pushed along the edges of the room, to allow easier access to the main feature of this room. Underneath the window, on the far edge, is a well-kept garden, glowing softly with violet and dark-bluish hues. A large picnic basket lined with a gray plaid quilt sits here. There are 10 twilight blue roses here. Elene Arcan, Savant of Jherza is here. She wields a blackened warhammer in her hands. You see a single exit leading east.
Ichored lips part to form a mirthless smile as Elene's gaze rakes across her surroundings. Shadows rise on all sides, the gloom of the surroundings almost suffocating-- save for the soft jade tint from the high windows.
You have emoted: Sryaen casually leans against the doorway, his arms still folded across his chest as his gaze lingers upon Elene's figure. "You never answered me last week," he observes simply. "Why you came down to visit."
A sharp turn upon a heel brings Elene striding back to you. Not much is seen upon her features, the mask of polite neutrality taking over her demeanour as she steps past you, off to visit the rest of the house.
Within a sandy training pit.
Emerging from the long hallway leads into this stalwart training yard. Thick marble pillars border the perimeter, through which the light is filtered into a harsh grid over the court. Mounted on a rearward wall, a lion's head of granite and obsidian cries out in never-ending, frozen umbrage. It roars a steady current of clear water, collected beneath in a basin, set flush against the wall. The yard proper is a wide and somewhat sunken pit, accessible by either the perimeter steps or by a daring hop in. Tons of fine, black sand fill the pit, deep enough to sink ones foot in but shallow enough that a fall still carries the impact of the harder marble beneath. At the arena's periphery an iron weapon rack juts out of the sand, brimming with menacing weapons, some blunted and perfect for more innocuous training, others decidedly more dangerous. The continent of Sapience unfolds in miniature across the face of a war table. An ebon-grey cabinet filled with practice weapons is mounted here. Elene Arcan, Savant of Jherza is here. She wields a blackened warhammer in her hands. You see exits leading north and east (open pine door).
Her voice soft and silken, Elene Arcan, Savant of Jherza says, "Do I need a reason to visit you, my Sryaen?"
You have emoted: Making no attempt to answer that question, Sryaen offers one of his own, following behind Elene and idly tapping his knuckles against the war table. "Is he a new student of yours?" he asks, arching a slender eyebrow towards her.
Having lost interest in house viewing now that she has achieved it, Elene returns her full and
unrelenting attention upon you. Silver scars stretch and mar the surface of every available skin,
the old trauma of past having survived through the years. Bare feet makes no sound as she traverses the floor, eliminating all distance between you and her. "I have new students," she elaborates, clarifies, and then tilts her head to the side. "And it seems he's very jealous of you."
You have emoted: Pressing his knuckles lightly against the table, Sryaen allows his emerald gaze to search Elene's face. "Really?" he responds, sounding genuinely surprised. "And here I was jealous of just how much he seemed to be in tact. And under the delusion that you didn't own him," he continues, his lips curling into a faint sneer as the words escape his mouth.
A faint tinkling of laughter, and Elene leans forward and across the table to reach you. The woman's hands seize ahold of your uniform, dragging you to her.
You have emoted: Sryaen doesn't resist the motion, instead taking a half step towards Elene as his eyes remain locked upon her features, his expression seeming unimpressed.
The other hand of Elene brushes gently past your face, fingers outlining your jaw before flitting
upwards to trace your lips. And then, the woman finishes her inspection by circling your eyes. "I
took an ear from him. I'd very much like to take your eyes. It seems it hasn't lasted for very long. My personalised brand for students."
You have emoted: Sryaen lifts a slender hand in a motion to grip at Elene's wrist with his fingertips.Upon hearing her words, anger flashes visibly across his features. "An ear? A -fucking- ear?" he hisses, bits of spittle flying past his lips. He exhales a slow, fluid breath and his expression and body language suddenly become more neutral. "You'll need to get permission to take any more from me," he states firmly yet cryptically.
"SHE TOOK MY FUCKING EYES. GOUGED THEM OUT. AND ALL NAOS GOT WAS HIS POOR LITTLE MONGREL EAR CUT OFF," Sryaen's internal dialogue screams within his head.
"Permission?" The word is spoken icily, Elene's gaze flattening as a snarl is ripped from her lips.
Madness seeps into her features, chasing away her polite, calm demeanour and leaving behind the true nature of the woman. Her arm tugs violently, muscles rippling as she bodily drags you across an immense, detailed war table. "I own you, student. I molded you, Sryaen. Why does everyone have to PISS ME OFF TODAY?"
You have emoted: Sryaen slams the tip of his dirk into the war table, its tip slicing across the
wooden surface in an attempt to slow the sudden, violent motion. His features twist darkly, rage and hatred overtaking his countenance. "I said what I said," he barks through gritted teeth. "Unless you want to 'discuss' it," he teases, flicking his tongue across his lips in a familiar gesture.
Another vicious snarl, the countenance of Elene twisted beyond recognition. The grip upon your
uniform is impossibly tight, and though her action to drag you over to her is slowed by the dagger stabbed into the table, she doesn't seem to care. Her features draw close, and her breath feels warm against your face as she murmurs, "I. Want. Your. Eyes."
You have emoted: His fingertips curling around the hilt in a white-knuckle grip, Sryaen emits a
breathy grunt as he wrenches the dagger from the table. He dips his head towards Elene, hissing a low whisper against her cheek.
You murmur to Elene, "I heard a story about how you got your fucking jaw ripped off."
You have emoted: Sryaen pulls back briefly as if to gauge Elene's reaction before he continues, "You want to do that shit, you go tear apart your new toy. You do not do it with me."
Her anger explodes in tremendous fashion. Elene's body trembles with unmitigated rage, the trigger of which does not actually seem to be caused by you. The expression upon her features is terrifyingly alien, the woman so far gone in her emotions. "I hate all of you," she hisses, "I hate every single one of you." She lets go of her grip upon your uniform now, her scarred hand swiftly darting over to snare your neck in a crushing grasp. "Why does no one want to indulge me?" She rambles on. "Am I unwanted? Am I too much of a pushover?"
Elene starts to wield a jade sacrificial dagger in her left hand.
You have emoted: Sryaen's voice comes in a low, choking noise as Elene's fingertips curl around histhroat. He lashes out with his other hand to curl the tip of the whip around one of the cabinet legs and his arm flexes powerfully while he tugs back hard to send the weapon rack in her direction. His eyes widen at seeing the jade dagger in Elene's hands, and his jugular pulses with adrenaline beneath her grip.
With surprising flexibility and agility, Elene leaps upon an immense, detailed war table, narrowly
avoiding the weapon rack as it crashes over towards her. She nearly loses her balance as the impact of furniture against furniture resounds in the room, but then uses her grip upon your neck to steady herself. There is no rational thought in the Azudim's palid gaze as she sends a jade sacrificial dagger stabbing down towards your face.
You have emoted: Deftly flipping his dirk in his hand, Sryaen lifts it to send the tip in a brutal,
stabbing motion towards the back of Elene's calf while her grip keeps him pinned to the table. In an attempt to minimize damage, he shifts his chin an inch to the side. His mouth contorts as a bloodcurdling scream tears its way out of his throat as Elene's dagger slices effortlessly past the flesh and muscle of his right cheek, eliciting a satisfying gushing of blood that spatters across the table.
Pain registers to Elene as she hisses in response, her pale gaze flickering with some shaken form of clarity-- but it is temporary, and madness consumes her fully in its grasp as she snarls like an enraged animal. Blood stains an immense, detailed war table as she struggles with you, her dagger continue to carve a careless trail of carnage across those features.
Lady Kalena Kavoros tells you, "Good morning, Squire."
Harshly, you hiss afar to Kalena, "HELP." His voice trails off into what can almost be certain to be a gurgle of blood."
You have emoted: Sryaen wrenches the dagger down, tearing the tip further down Elene's calf towards your ankle before his fingertips release their grip on the hilt and shadows pour forth from his palm. His eyes go wild as he screams horrifically, moving to tear his face away from the dagger carving up his face but leaving bits of flesh and muscle pinned to the table. Maneuvering with surprising agility, he slips underneath Elene and moves to dive into the shadows shrouding the room.
Lady Kalena Kavoros tells you, "What is going on?? The door is locked?"
Blood spills in large quantities down Elene's now lamed leg, your dagger slicing through sinew and tendons in a crippling pull of the blade. The man, however, has put himself away from her reach as you maneuver with agility, sliding underneath her to seek comfort in the shadows.
Lady Kalena Kavoros tells you, "Sryaen, I need you to talk to me. I cant prism to you, I cant
brazier you.. I cant get to you."
You have set a new description. This is how you will now appear:
He is a typical Azudim is a long-limbed, feral creature with flawless skin the color of ash. Arcane runes zig-zag across what flesh can be seen in seemingly calculated design, accentuating the curvature of muscle or outlining solid, powerful bone. His face has been brutally carved up and his torso is absolutely covered in his own blood.
You have emoted: Sryaen slides across the floor leading towards the second story balcony, blood pouring from his face and leaving a clear trail.
*Sry moves, falls from his balcony to the foyer to let Kalena in*
Your pose is now set as:
Sryaen is here laying on the floor in a pool of his own blood.
Kalena slings open the door and nearly trips over you, her boots leaving bloody prints as she darts around you to clear the area. "Who.. Elene?" she asks, running back and dropping next to to you on her knees. "What happened?"
His face brutally carved up and making it difficult to understand him through all the blood, you
say, "Grghh..mmnhhh."
From afar, Elene hisses harshly to you, "Fine." The woman's voice exudes tiredness, the anger
previously filling her subsiding into little more than just bitterness. "Have it your way, Sryaen.
I'm going home.""
You have emoted: Sryaen reaches out with a powerful hand to grip at Kalena's boots and he shakes his head almost imperceptibly.
Kalena works her way around you, lifting you to rest against her knees in an attempt to keep you from choking on your own blood. Unsure of what to do, she digs out a crafting cloth from her pack and tries to clean off some of the blood. "Okay, okay. Calm yourself." she murmurs, attempting a soothing. "You're safe, you're safe." she continues speaking while wiping blood from your mouth. "Can you tell me who did this?"
You have emoted: Sryaen tilts his head to the side, coughing up copious amounts of blood from the bloody swathe carved past the flesh and muscle upon his right cheek. His eyes roll lazily around in his sockets as he struggles to look at Kalena. His chest rises and falls in heavy, labored breathing as he struggles to speak; his tongue moving visibly behind the wide opening in the side of his face.
Harshly, you hiss afar to Kalena, "I fell down the stairs.."
Kalena notices the gaping hole in your cheek and does her best to keep her facial features calm and comforting, lightly sliding the already blood-soaked cloth to your cheek and apply pressure. "You have to stay with me, okay? Stay awake, keep your focus on me Sryaen." she states softly down to the man resting in her lap. "Listen to my voice, and just breathe. You're safe. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."
Lady Kalena Kavoros tells you, "Sry.. I am not a fool."
You have emoted: His brow contorting in pain, Sryaen exhales another slow, labored breath as he lifts his hands to rest them atop his chest in an almost defeated manner. His blood-flecked emerald gaze shifts to focus upon Kalena.
Harshly, you hiss afar to Kalena, "I am fine now, really. Thank you. I just need a moment.."
Kalena tilts her chin down to examine you closely, searching for further wounds while blindly
digging for a clean cloth. A soft smile breaks across her features while her head slowly shakes from side to side. "You dont get rid of me that easily, Squire." she states, her voice still calm and soothing while she uses the new cloth to dab away blood still keeping pressure with the opposite.
Kalena looks up at Eoros from her place on the floor with you halfway pulled into her lap, the pair resting in a pool of blood. "He was attacked." she tells her sister while she continues holding pressure to the gaping hole in your cheek. "We need to close this wound on his cheek or he damn well may bleed out."
You have emoted: Sryaen's eyes flick towards Eoros as he remains silent, though emitting a low grunt as Kalena maintains pressure against the hole on the side of his face.
Kalena shifts from side to side to help guide you a little farther into her lap, leaning forward
over the man and lightly pulling away the cloth she's been holding firmly to your cheek. The petite redhead holds her breath to keep her features neutral while she appraises the injury then covers it back up. Turning her glance down to you, "Can you breathe alright?"
You have emoted: Sryaen offers a single, faint nod of his head as his body language relaxes
somewhat. His eyes shift from Kalena and Eoros up towards the broken balcony, the railing splintered as if someone had come crashing through it from the second floor above.
Eoros appears in flash, her posture still sleepy but her eyes are bright and alert. Brushing the
sand off her uniform she seems to take in the situation with a raptor-like gaze, "your methods are a bit more gentler, sister" she murmurs as she approaches her twins side. She kneels and leans forward, her fingers lightly touching the bandage to move it slightly to check the severity of it. "I tend to cleanse in fire" she finally says, "but a tailors hands.."
You have emoted: Sryaen gives a more vigorous nod of his head at Eoros' words and he gestures towards her with a slender hand.
Kalena follows your gaze upwards while Eoros looks at the wound beneath her hand. Eyes squint while examining the broken balcony then lowering her chin to look at where your body is. At the nod in her lap, she looks back to you then to Eoros. "With the size of this wound and lack of tissue sister, I'll have to take skin from his back and place a few stitches.. then you'll need to singe it. There is not enough for me to close and stitches will just rip." she says, free hand reaching forward to rub lightly at your chest.
Lady Kalena Kavoros tells you, "Sryaen.. this is going to be excruciating for us to fix."
Eoros is already moving before the gesture stops, a dagger pulled from some hidden crevice in her uniform as booted feet take her towards the fire pit. Her movements are quick, efficient as she pulls a bottle from her pack to cleanse the blade before even placing it in the fire. From her
crouched position, she turns to look over her shoulder, "We will need to be quick then, are you
ready?"
You have emoted: Sryaen clenches his jaw as best he can, causing the corners of his eyes to crinkle in pain once more. His blood-flecked gaze shifts once more to Kalena and he nods again, curling his fingertips into tight, white-knuckled fists by his side.
"Set your blade in the fire, sister. I need you to support him and hold him steady so I can get a
piece of skin from his back. We need to be quick about it" Kalena tells Eoros calmly, shifting her
weight to get a grip under you and hefting him upright. Using her shoulder, she holds the man in place while digging out a needle and thread.
Eoros leaves the dagger in the fire, letting the blade heat up before shes moving over and kneeling. The knees of her uniform soaked in blood, she reaches forward for you to brace him against her body, one hand moving to support the bandage so Kalena could move.
You have emoted: Breathing a low grunt as his body moves, Sryaen creases his brow slightly. The tightening of his facial features elicits a low growl from him while his eyes follow Eoros and
Kalena.
Kalena lifts your shirt from behind while Eoros supports the much larger man, petite hands roaming across exposed skin to find a suitable piece. She pulls out a very sharp blade and a clean cloth, cleaning the cool steel. Pouring out the remainder of her whiskey on the blade, she continues to wipe the blade clean while looking at Eoros. Finally satisfied with the cleanliness of her blade, she scoots back over to get behind you once more. With a steady and practiced hand, she inserts the blade tip carefully underneath your skin while making sure not to puncture the muscles beneath. She moves the knife quickly but gently in a circle while she removes the patch of skin, careful to not destroy the edges or inflict more pain than is necessary. Once the final cut is made, she packs the new wound with a bandage and hurries up off her feet to circle around Eoros. Kneeling next to the pair, she tilts your head to the side and fits the new patch of skin against the gaping hole. With a nod, she digs out a needle and threat and sets to work with stitching the skin in place on the four corners of the skin. Satisfied, she drops the needle and moves around you once more but this time taking a seat behind the much larger man and wrapping arms and legs around you tightly to hold him in place. "Now, sister." she murmurs with the nod of her head.
You have emoted: His throaty growl intensifying briefly as Kalena moves and works behind him, Sryaengrits the teeth on the untouched side of his face while his body stiffens as if to brace himself for the next round of incoming pain.
Eoros tilts her head, golden eyes watching her sister's progress before the weight of the man is
taken off her. She shifts from her knees and towards the fire pit, her hand reaching for the blade of her dagger with a soft hiss and a mumbled 'should have used the longer handle' before her booted feet take her back to their side. She nods, her hand braced against your head to hold it in place before her other comes up to place the flat of the blade with a sizzled hiss.
You have emoted: Sryaen's neck muscles strain visibly as he struggles to contain a muffled scream. His arms tense powerfully by his side and his fingernails claw uselessly against the marble flooring.
Kalena winces from behind you at the sound of your sizzling flesh, her arms and legs gripping
tighter to the man. Bright green eyes set on Eoros though she whispers towards you in an attempt to offer some form of comfort. "You're okay, I know it hurts but it's almost over.. you've got this, pain is temporary."
You have emoted: His legs kicking slightly as he writhes in pain within Kalena's lap, Sryaen exhales a heavy, labored breath out of the undamaged side of his mouth. His facial features remain contorted in agony while his nostrils flare to accompany a sudden intake of breath.
Eoros' features are impassive, teeth gritted as her jaw clenches. She holds it until she is sure
everything is held together before she pulls it away and tosses it somewhere near her feet. The hand that is braced against your head is now suddenly gentle, a light stroke given before she pulls back and crouches down. "That should do it" she murmurs, "a bit of whiskey to help with the pain." Her hands pull back, raptors gaze suddenly filling with more warmth than before as she moves to get a cup.
You have emoted: Sryaen puffs out a heavy, shuddering breath; bits of saliva trailing from his lip. His eyelids slip closed briefly while his fingertips curl loosely around the cup that's slid into
his hands, and his body relaxes visibly.
Kalena exhales a soft breath at Eoros' words, relaxing her tightly held grip around you. She
produces some clean cloths from her pack and beings to shred a particularly long piece into strips. She first starts to dress the wound she created on your back, pulling out the packing and crushing up some anabiotic pills onto a clean scrap. She presses the treated scrap of cloth to your back and uses the shredded strips to secure it in place around your body, tying it off tightly. "His face should be left exposed until the burns scab, dont you think?" she asks Eoros.
Nodding, Lady Eoros Kavoros says, "Yes, and proper cleaning on it."
Kalena stays behind you for the time, giving the man a support to lean against. "You'll need to see me in a day or two so I can clean it and keep it from getting infected." she tells you softly.
"Until then, nothing but rest for you. No fighting, no hunting, nothing." she directs, pushing
herself upright and gripping you underneath the arms to help the man up. "To bed with you, Squire."
You have emoted: Sryaen emits another low grunt as he leans heavily against Kalena; the tall Azudim struggling to stand against the height of the smaller Idreth. He gestures towards the northern door with a slender, bloodied hand.
A secluded bedroom, shaded by an ancient tree.
The bedroom presents an illusion of open space, with large, wide windows set shallow into the walls, their edges hidden by marble pillars the diameter of a man's forearm. In the rear center of the room there is a large bed with a thick, wooden frame. All of the bedposts save for one are enormous and hand-carved with old Ankyrean glyphs; the last joins a tree that grows from the corner of the room, its roots dug into an earthen portion of the floor just for the purpose. The tree serves as both support and canopy, sheltering those who would sleep beneath. The granite walls of the room are decorated with the hides of beasts and hanged trappings of various origin: Numerological trinkets, Spirean signet rings, geometrically-shaped crystals, and various crests and insignia from the offices of the Infernal Knights. Resting against the wall is an ornately carved oaken wardrobe. A huge bed is here, carved from oak and piled in furs and cushions. Lady Kalena Kavoros is here. She wields a shining steel longsword in her left hand and a shining steel longsword in her right. You see a single exit leading south (open pine door).
Kalena does her best to support you while slowly moving into the bedroom and to the bed side. She keeps a firm grip while moving around the man to gently lower you to the bed, the tiny woman struggle with the vast size difference of the two. She pulls a pillow down to make sure you have somewhere soft to lay your head then moves back to lift your legs into the bed.
You have emoted: His expression twitching in familiar recognition upon entering the bedroom, Sryaen allows himself to be guided towards the bed until his frame is situated comfortably atop it. He folds his hands calmly atop his lap as his gaze shifts from the ceiling to the room and then finally to Kalena.
"Get some rest, and alert me when you wake. I'll need to tend to your cheek." Kalena directs, gaze lingering on the freshly singed skin. "Do you want me to stay while you rest?" the redhead offers.
You have emoted: Sryaen offers a single shake of his head, but otherwise doesn't move at first. His chest rises and falls to accompany a more normal breathing pattern, and he lifts a slender hand towards Kalena. His jaw tenses slightly as if he were going to attempt to speak, but only manages to swallow hard; the flesh upon his throat shifting visibly during the motion.
Kalena gives a singular nod in return while leaning forward to pull a blanket over you. "Alert me
when you wake, Squire." the petite woman repeats while giving a last look over the man. "Rest."
I apologize if I'm a little rusty with my emotes; it has been 10 years. Heh. But I'm glad to get back in the saddle with roleplay. Here's to many more logs and interactions!
Also, major props to Kalena who got ambushed with this RP as soon as she logged in. Eoros for so willing to jump in and help. And Elene who I've missed RPing with so, so much.
Tell me how I'm doing!
(Web): Mileta says, "Okay... Sry is an edgelord..."
(Web): Dreww says, "Sryaen just wants to be the best Dhar boi and slaughter everyone."
10
Comments
Tell me how I'm doing!
Galilei wanders in at first to acquire some wares, but offers Elene a bandage after seeing her bleeding out from her leg. She reminds Elene that it's best to take care of themselves first, because no one else would take care of them, and wanders off.
Deciding that that might not necessarily be true, Elene hedges a bet and calls for a guildmate's assistance.
(I like to colour my logs, so forewarning about colourful text!)
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Elene:
height of six feet. Gray-skinned and slender, she carries herself with a palpable air of agility and
predacious gentility. A shimmering curtain of argent hair cascades from her high crown, ending just
beneath the woman's shoulder blades. The silvery silken tresses neatly frame the woman's small face
and are drawn to rest behind jade-tipped ears, though one appears ill-attached, with small stitches
holding it against the side of her head. Blazing a pure white against the setting of her dark-toned
skin, her luminous eyes are perched above an aristocratic nose and a pair of ichor-ridden lips,
often worn in a thin, expressionless line. Precise numerological markings scar the stretch of skin
along her jawline, meandering down to cover her graceful neck. Imprinted in sharp relief upon the
back of a scarred hand is the brilliant image of a golden crown: a blatant emblem of dominion.
(pinned neatly upon her gown) : a striped orchid
(pinning her hair behind a petite ear) : a bloodstained Black Rose hairclip
(resting elegantly upon her brow) : a stately, silver filigree circlet
(draped elegantly across her back) : a profane cloak of ambiguity
(gleaming vicariously upon her right arm) : a twining armlet of jagged, blackened platinum
(semi-hidden beneath folds of cloth) : a black weaponbelt of the Spheres
(snugly fitted upon her index finger) : a jewel-encrusted earthen wedding band
(worn around one wrist) : a length of jade and onyx prayer beads
(slung lightly over a shoulder) : a stygian ritualist's satchel
(ensnaring an ankle with its silvery chains): a repulsive anklet of canine teeth trophies
(hanging upon the other wrist) : an encaged miniature duskywing butterfly
(slung loosely from her back) : a gem-lined banded shield
(studiously slung over a shoulder) : a sturdy scholar's book bag
(hooked into the flesh of one wrist) : macabre chains of razor glass
(resting within the hood of her cloak) : a tiny whale swimming inside a globe
(wispy cloth draping the body) : a pale gown of snow-white
(dangling from her weaponbelt) : a modest blue and green fan
(inked into the marred skin of a wrist) : a flickering elemental brand
Nyrus:
(neatly pressed) : tailored black trousers
(the top handful of buttons left open) : a long-sleeved button-up gray shirt
(worn on the feet) : a pair of gray leather dress shoes
(covering other attire) : an Archivium scholar's robe
(worn on a finger) : a red-hued obsidian ring
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(Tells): Harshly, you hiss afar to Nyrus, "Nyrus."
(Tells): Nyrus' psychic whisper trails through your mind, "Elene, how are you?"
(Tells): Harshly, you hiss afar to Nyrus, "Poorly." The woman is curt, though the word is underlined by brief whispers of pain. "Do you know how to treat wounds?"
(Tells): Nyrus' psychic whisper trails through your mind, "Erm, well, I may be a touch out of practice, but I've healed a wound or three in my time. Gashes, incisions, the likes. Are you hurt?"
(Tells): Harshly, you hiss afar to Nyrus, "Yes."
Standing before the ebon pylon of Bloodloch.
The tenebrous cavern ceiling looms ominously high overhead. This cave offshoot appears to be like any other naturally formed room of cool stone. Stalactites hang from the ceiling, dripping water droplets onto their twin stalagmites to create a primal sound. The dark stones carry flecks of dark red that shine unnaturally brightly from the energy of the pylon, bathing the chamber in a fell red light. Mogrov Raf sits amongst the crates and barrels of his shipment here, inspecting his manifest with a narrowed eye. Stretching toward the cavern ceiling, a basalt pylon etched with red runes is here. A statue of Ulgar, father of all Trolls is here, one arm extended toward the sky. Unthig looks around dimly. A stout donkey stands patiently by, waiting for a burden. Shifting in and out of phase with reality, a harlequin portal floats in the air here. Resting on the ground is a cube-shaped silver sigil. A sigil in the shape of a small, rectangular monolith is on the ground.
Leaning against the wall of this cavern, Elene appears to be bleeding copiously from one leg.
Nyrus is immediately assessing Elene upon entering the cavern, eyebrows raised in a frenetic display of alarm. "What happened?" he asks sharply, taking no time to close the distance between her and you.
Elene's features are pale, and she shifts slightly. The new position reveals the extent of her injury: the leg is sliced down the flesh from the back of the knee to the ankle, deep enough to reveal bone. A wave of her hand, and the woman struggles upwards, lifting herself onto both legs tenderly.
Curt, to the point, Elene says, "My student."
Nyrus can't help but grimace as he witnesses the wound completely. The Azudim shifts into a squat just adjacent to Elene. "Do not put your weight on it," he encourages with a light, bracing touch of her thigh. He glances this way and that, as if attempting to diagnose the surrounding environ. "This is not a sterile place," he concludes, offering Elene a furtive glance. "Can we get you to the Archivium?"
Elene shifts her entire weight on her unaffected side. The woman seems determined not to let the pain get to her. Stubborn steps take her to Nyrus' side, leaving blood-soaked steps in her wake. "Yes," she answers simply.
-- move move move --
An argent library in the Archivium.
This large chamber stands off the main hall of the Archivium, and is crafted from light, argent wood. The ceiling is high and domed, supported in turn by strong crossbeams, and slopes downward into walls created from uneven arrangements of stone. Thinly mortared together, they serve as a framework for shelves built of the same wood as the ceiling and floors; these immense bookcases are filled, top to bottom, with books. A movable ladder, connected to the junction between ceiling and wall by means of a curving rail, permits access to the higher shelves. The floor is occupied by an array of couches, chairs, and tables, providing no shortage of places to read the available literature. A small sign indicates that LIBRARY CATALOG will list the materials in this library. An ad-hoc laboratory has been arranged in this room, tables, vessels, and chemicals spread out in a wide swath.
"Come on, up onto the table - easy now," Nyrus instructs as he lightly attempts to shift you towards one of the tables dotted about the room. He gives this room too an assessing glance, lips curling downward into some semblance of dissatisfaction. "This is likely the best we'll get for the time being," he concludes.
With Nyrus' assistance, Elene manages to clamber up upon a table. She makes some effort to clear it beforehand, however, sweeping scraps of paper from its surface and pushing books away to give her a wide berth. Blood drips like a torrential rain with every motion, and the exposed bone beneath that wrecked leg makes a sickly wet sound.
Just as quickly as you're situated, Nyrus is getting to work, darting this way and that across the lab. He firsts washes his hands in a nearby basin, then just as quickly grabs up a mortar and pestle. Depositing a handful of various herbs into its base, he sets to smashing its contents into a viscous paste that he dilutes with water. "This should help numb it just a touch," he speaks over his shoulder as a hand reaches for a syringe beside him. With practiced precision, he draws forth some of the resulting liquid into the syringe, then turns on a heel to face you proper.
"Honestly, some of my students can get quite testy," Elene mutters, but does not do anything else. Her palid gaze does watch Nyrus with flickering interest as he busies around the ad-hoc laboratory. "You've done this for another before, Nyrus?" she asks.
"Who is the student?" Nyrus conversationally inquires, as if the notion would help to somehow distract you from the torrent of blood currently exiting the body. Once more he finds himself settling into a squat next to you, syringe at the ready. His jaw sets as he inserts the needle adjacent to the wound and injects a touch of fluid, then repeats that very process another four or five times across the wound's length.
As he carefully injects the fluid, Nyrus Cardinalis says, "Once or twice. My father was quite the.. pot stirrer, I've helped tend to his wounds a time or three-dozen."
The woman tenses, feeling the fluid burn upon contact with her exposed flesh. The table which Elene lies upon looks more like an island of crimson as it stains her pale gown and starts to drip upon Nyrus while he works. However, the paste seems effective, whatever it seems to be doing as she starts to relax and tense less. "Sryaen," she answers.
Nyrus nearly drops the syringe he holds as he fumbles for a moment at the name. "It seems your student is my father," he aptly notes, sparing you the quickest of glances. Once again he turns his attention to the wound, setting the syringe aside. Utilizing both hands now, he grasps a section of calf delicately in each hand, thumbs positioned on opposite sides of the gaped flesh. "We truly do live in a small world," he mumbles as his thumbs begin to slowly, carefully massage the flesh there.
A tinkling of laughter erupts from Elene in response to Nyrus. "How intriguing," comes her voice, cool and silken. Composure has returned to the woman, and she stares down at Nyrus. Her gaze is sharp, almost piercingly intense as her wounded leg is massaged. The bleeding has stopped, but the shredded flesh still bears evidence of harm. "How /amusing/. His son is helping to treat the wounds he caused."
"Yes well, it wouldn't be the first time I've cleaned a mess he'd created," Nyrus remarks as he continues massaging the flesh. A sparking crackle of sorts erupts from the tips of his thumbs that coax their way into the flesh beneath them, though the ensuing sensation felt is more than likely dulled just slightly. "Why did he do it?" he queries as the flesh beneath his thumbs begins to slowly - quite slowly - knit itself together with a rough, sloughing noise accompanying the wound's motion.
The familiar crackle of shadow-infused knitting resonates in the library, and Elene's mangled leg slowly begins to heal. The sensation is dull and does not seem to cause her much distress, the paste having done its job without too much fuss. Blood begins to congeal beneath the woman's prone frame, and with a scarred hand she flicks bloodstained hair off of her. "His eyes. I asked for his eyes. He defied me."
After a pause, you say, "I never really wanted them, though. I wanted to test if the bond we've forged in the past still held strong."
Nyrus chances a glance towards you, distracted from his work by the explanation for a moment or three. Whether he finds the admission not altogether surprising or simply sufficient is yet to be determined, but nevertheless he continues massaging the flesh back into a workable position. "I'm not sure he cares much for the bonds he's forged in the past," the man admits as he drops his hands onto his thighs, paying no mind to the ensuing bloodstains the action now leaves upon his trousers. "A Templar, can you believe it?" he queries as he reaches towards his nearby pack to withdraw a needle and bit of thread. He dismisses the notion with a shake of his head.
"I can't," Elene actively agrees. "He never struck me as a man who could adhere to the Templar ways." The woman calmly delves into her thoughts, allowing silence to settle upon her surroundings. Then she stirs, turning to her side upon the table, having tired of lying flat down. She props her elbows up and rests her head in her outstretched palms. "I've learnt that a Templar's duty is a burden to them. It's a service borne of selflessness, where they hold themselves to a high moral standards to ease the suffering of all upon the world while trying not to sacrifice anyone for it. Mercy first, before the sword." She quietens, "And therefore I do not think Sryaen has it in him to understand what is asked of him."
Explaining as he produces the needle and thread, Nyrus Cardinalis says, "I've knitted what I could, but you'll likely need some stitches for the last little bit there."
Nyrus listens attentively to the perspective as he sets to work on closing the wound with needle and thread; his first insertion of the needle is a touch shaky, but his hand steadies as the repetition seems to bring back with it the familiarity of the motion. "I've learned from him to keep an eye out for myself, as a priority," the man acknowledges as his hand weaves up and down over the incision, needle piercing through flesh over and over again in a steady staccato. "We are what we are, and our nature will call to us no matter how hard we try to stifle its voice," he comments as he reaches the apex of the wound, just up behind the knee. "He will not forever ignore that call."
"It seems that advice is a familar one I've heard given to me of late," Elene muses and echoes the words she's recently heard, "'Take care of yourself, because no one will do that for us.'" Her withered tongue escapes from the confines of her mouth, wetting her ichor-ridden lips as she delves into thought. "This is my problem," she expresses honestly, perhaps not caring if she reveals more of her thoughts, "I've learnt to sacrifice myself for the sake of others." A frown. "For their growth." A soft hiss erupts from the woman as the piercing of Nyrus' needle prickles through her senses, and she stops speaking to watch him as he works down the long gash at a steady pace.
After a soft exhalation, Elene says, "We shall see, Nyrus. Everyone is capable of change, after all. Until then, I will continue to watch over your father."
Nyrus once again finds himself earnestly listening, his attention split between your words and his work at hand. Having reached the top of the incision, he gives the string a light, yet consistent tug that closes the remnants of the gash from bottom to top. "We're our own puppeteers are we not?" he muses to you as he gives a final pull of the string, severing it from the makeshift stitches he'd created. "We have an obligation to keep an eye out for those we care for, yes," he cedes. "But, even those same people can find their priorities shifting to their own whims." He runs a finger lightly along the length of the stitches, admiring his work for a moment as he allows silence to reign. "If we act with our own state at the forefront of our minds, well, I do suppose we've got just a touch more control in this tumultuous world, mm?"
Without waiting a single moment, Elene swivels her legs off the table and onto the floor, ready to test the quality of the stitches. The woman looks like she's been through the worst time of her life; her gown is thoroughly soaked through with blood and sanguine stains mar her scarred flesh, turning her into a crimson demon. She appears satisfied with the job as she moves her wounded leg carefully, then puts weight on it. "Wise words," she comments, "But there is no gain to be had without a little bit of pain." Her ichored lips inch upwards to form a feral smile, before she turns to regard Nyrus in a disconcertingly interested gaze.
A predacious lilt in her voice, you say to Nyrus, "I think I have more I'd like to learn about you, Nyrus, about the son of a father who studied under me."
Nyrus watches the appraisal of the work with a glint of curiosity, shoulders tense as if anticipation of an impending fall. "Do still try to rest it a bit," he encourages with a slow nod, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as no such fall occurs. It's only now that he takes the opportunity to survey himself - he too is covered in blood, flecks of crimson spread across his face, up the length of his arms, and nearly everywhere else upon his clothing. His inspection is cut short though as you speak, and he returns his focus. "I do hope under less.. bloody, circumstances," he says, lips cracking now into a wry semblance of a smile as he punctuates the notion with a drawn out, relieved exhalation of breath he seems to have been holding onto. "Or at least neither your blood nor mine, anyway."
Softly murmuring to herself, you say, "Exquisite self-control for a vampire. To be swamped with the scent and flood of blood, but not be tempted to sup."
Amusement dancing across his face at the notion, Nyrus Cardinalis says, "If I gorged myself every time I was met with blood, I'd be at least three-times my size."
A nod of her head. A directed glance away from Nyrus to the ruined table and the books upon it. Elene trails her attention back to him, and her lips twitch slightly. "I'll schedule you in for a drink at the Savvy Serpent in more relaxed circumstances. In the meantime..." A scarred hand gestures, "I'll leave you to clean this up, while I get myself cleaned up."
And then Elene is gone, vanishing through the entrance to the library.
I love that Elene didn't know Sryaen was Nyrus' dad, and the dynamic that happened there. There's something to be said too about both of these things happening at the same time. While Sryaen is having a wound caused by a former ally patched up by new allies he's still acquainting himself with, Elene is being fixed up by Sryaen's son. There's a bigger picture of the dynamic there changing, and it's kinda telling in itself, and I love it.
You both are strong writers. I can't wait for the inevitable interaction with Sry after this. I also loved seeing two incredibly different sides of Elene from the first part to the second. She's scary, and everyone knows it, but the interaction between you two there outlines exactly why. Major props to both of you for also being willing to take some pretty big hits/damage in your fight.
I.. also spotted like 90 typos of mine. Thank you for bearing with me while I shake off my rust.
Tell me how I'm doing!