RPG Harlequin,Raiha and a cask of amontillado

[The Harlequin]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]OOC: You made me make the thread, so you can just live with whatever jumps out of my head...Apologies in advance

Just another random note: If you aren't the Harlequin or Raiha, then you'd better have a damn good reason for posting here. If you are the Harlequin, please PM me and tell me what the hell is going on...


IC: [I]The wind seemed to determined to get inside. The inn shook slightly with the thunder, flashed in and out of darkness with the lightning, and rattled under the pounding rain. The wind however, it gave no purchase, no matter its insistence. The patrons huddled into their cloaks in the glum knowledge that the crotchety old inn would eventually lose the battle, and were making sure the inital onslaught was not the one that vanquished them.

The fire tried to reassure them, tried to boast of its own virility and strength, but with its quavering, puttering spurts of flames, it wasn't fooling anyone. The innkeeper had given up tryin to attract people into actually drinking anything. Many of them, sitting motionless for hours, were still holding their first tankard, untouched. Not even tasted. But sitting there, without one, had seemed wrong, and they wanted the comfort of the familiar, well worn grip of the handle, so all had bought one.

The inn, you see, was the warmest place in the village. And on Bitternight, in the middle of Winter, when the cold could well kill, being in the warmest place in the village was scant, perhaps even cold, comfort. Pun unintended. The village itself, placed as it was in the foothills of Mount Rabashii, was surrounded by dire conditions as a given. The foothills faded quickly, breaking into the Serpent's Sands, an almost impassable desert. A freak valley on their eastern side, sloping back into to the mountain that sometimes sheltered, sometimes broke, them was home to lush vegetation. Caught between three climates that should not be able to coexist, the village of Weirat was a place of extremes.


Which was why Vicante Amphrael sat, alone, on the upper floor of the inn, perusing over a typically dusty tome, his eyes narrowing slightly when the text's crazed author had the teremity, the outright audacity, to disagree with him. Which was quite often. But Vichante lived in eternal hope. Hope of darkness. Hope of retribution. Hope of decay, destruction, death. Hope, ultimately, of oblivion. His patron, Dhirak, was the embodiment of that hope.

Dhirak, god, or perhaps demon, of Corruption. Dhirak, the Soul Fire. Dhirak, the Lost. Dhirak, the Despoiler. Dhirak. A Prince of the Abyss risen, no elevated, to godhood, by the sins and festering evil inherent in mortals. Dhirak. The god that Vichante Amphrael was a cleric to. He was an intermediary, a messanger. A harbringer.

Which is why, as Vichante sat reading, when the tome told him the Dhirak had been contained by the Host, that deluded pantheon of gods and goddesses that sheltered mortals from their own well deserved destruction, Vichante could do nothing but laugh.

His harsh, almost racking mirth fled quickly, replaced with an inhuman emptiness that few ever acquired. Few were so blessed with waking oblivion. He lay the tome aside, the pages sending a small duststorm scurrying to the safety of an inanimate, sedentary, object. He stood up slowly, his chilled muscles feeling the burn as blood started cycling faster. Very quickly, the cold was gone. The other villagers might have envied him, had the price not been so severe.

Outwardly, Vichante cut a figure. An imposing one. Not from any physical size or strength, but through a sheer measure of leashed force. Vichante as two inches over six foot, and nearly a third that across the shoulders. His waist was narrow, his torso defined without being bulky. In fact, his ribs showed through in many places. His arms and legs were muscular, but the muscles hid themselves until required, a wiry strength that was easy to underestimate. He was a large skeleton, that had not fufilled its potential for physical prowess.

The well made, and oft-used chain mace at his side spoke different. As did the lithe grace with which he moved. As did his cultured, yet chilling voice. As did his touched eyes.

His face was grey. Many thought it an affectation, along the lines of a rouged noble. His face was naturally grey, the hollows of his eyes and his lips darkened to black. The eyes themselves were nightmarish. At first they seemed quite normal, even if slightly too white to be normal. Pale blue irises, normal pupil, slightly dilated. Nothing unusual. If one watched for a while though, a small black line crawled out of the pupil, snaking its way, like a leech, across the iris, out over the white, before fading into it. The line writhed. Like it was in pain. Like it sought escape from whatever hell existed in Vichante's head, and was pulled back through its only medium of escape. Another natural sign. A sign that marked him out as one apart. His hair, raven black and strangely silky, fell down around his face in a thick mass, almost feminine in appearance. The only hint of softness about him.

Vichante interlocked his fingers and stretched to his full height, until his joints popped. The wind howled outside his window again, as it did every other window in the village. All sorts of strangers inhabited this disparate place, outcasts from normal society. All survivors of something. Many came broken, many came bent. Living in a fosaken place like Weirat, optimism, innocence, never lasted long. But then, few who came were ever innocent. But even from people like this, the scum of civilisation, Vichante had to hide his real purpose. A sense of honour permeated this place. A sense of defiance. Weirat's inhabitants had eked out the harshest existence imaginable, and were more than willing to defend it from any threat, whether raging desert nomads, the civilised kingdoms to the west and south, or a cleric of the infernal in the upper rooms of their only inn...[/font][/color][/I]

[Raiha]

[COLOr=royalblue][i]Outside, in the harshest of weather, two creatures moved as one. Genitian, a huge black draft horse, and his mistress, a tall hodded figure, kept on pressing through the impossible elements. The one ridding was grasping a long staff of cherrywood, and seemed to have something about her that was non-real. That was easy enough to believe. This was, after all, the land of freakish things.

The village came into her sight and she nudged Genitian to keep on going. He reared, silver mane and tail fanning out behind him; at last, a destination that promised him warmth, oats, and a bucket of water. His mistress clung on like a tick and the two shot forwards into the night.

Inside the inn, people sat up. Heavy hoofbeats came into their range of hearing. Outside, the woman swung of her horse with practiced ease and took Genitian's jaw rope in her hand. She led him into the livery stable, then kicked open the doors of the inn. Nearly everybody present leapt up like they had been present....and quite a few women screamed. Then she removed her hood, and smiled. The doors clanged shut behind her and she quietly made her way over to the table. She murmered something to the innkeeper, who immediately poured her a glass of wine.

The people stared. Here was something new. A lone woman of some sort, alone on the trail, coming in for a drink. It was like the stories and ledgends they passed down among themselves....and one approached her. Bless his soul. She looked up at him. His breath caught in his throat. Across her right cheek was a scar like the personal symbol of the goddess K'Jenica. A crescent moon and a small diamond next to it. He paused. She smiled once more.[/i]

"May I help you?"

"How did you....get out here?"

"I rode a Shire stallion. How else did you suppose I arrived in such good time?"

[i]Then she turned back to her drink and continued to drink it slowly.... Vicante watched her, half amused. Humans were so fragile....but not this one. He highly doubted she was of the human race at all.[/i][/COLOr]

[The Harlequin]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]The cold, and a certain blase outlook on life, kept the arrival of the woman from being too momentous. The patrons turned back to their slightly warm cloaks and untouched tankards, frowning slightly as the woman actually drank hers. Vichante gestured to the barkeep, ordering a drink for himself. It was of a far inferior quality to what he was used to, but sacrafices had to be made. This sacrafice just didn't scream enough...

The woman looked around the room, eyeing the patrons with an almost obvious derison. Vichante gathered himself up, drawing back into himself, and her inital inspection missed him. Having sounded out the potential threat, she returned to her drink. He could see the muscles slowly relax, the wiresprung body slowly uncoiling. He could almost see the pulse in her necks slow. Vichante knew a lot about the way people worked. It was part of the reason he was what he was. Because he didn't work, and all his life he had had that impressed upon him.

Vichante, absorbed in his study, let the haze around him slip slightly, coming back into physical focus. The woman looked around a second or so later, her eyes coming almost immediately to rest upon him. She met his gaze calmly, a questioning eyebrow raised.

A dark wyrm chose that moment to crawl out of his pupils. She started, but didn't seem scared. A unique one this creature, very unique. A possible interesting. A possible hinderance. Maybe even a possible threat.

Vichante's hand absently rubbed the wellworn haft of his heavy chain mace. Mentally, darker corners of his mind started to awaken. If neccessity arose, not a threat for long. Dhirak's will for this place would not be so easily thwarted.[/font][/color][/I]

[Raiha]

[COLOR=royalblue][i]Her eyes flickered and she drained her drink quickly. The bartender looked at her meaningfully, and she smiled back. He leaned over the counter and exchanged a few words with her. She slapped down the required amount of silver, then stood to go to her room. Before she completely exited the room, she looked straight into Vichante's eyes and sent him a swift mental image.

He started. A flood of pictures crashed through his brain. A woman screaming, a child crying for her mother, a wild horse rearing in the night, seven stars encircling the moon, and a red eye. Staring into his soul. Then her name, written in smoke from a burning village.

Lifé.

Cool and healing, but with a strange tilt to it. Then she went up the stairs and disapeared. Once in her room, she set down her concealed package and left the door unlocked. She unpacked her leaf blade and set it down on the nightstand. Then she sat down on the bed and slowly took off her leather garments. Once down to her bare skin and black lingere, she pulled the covers up to her waist and started to remove her 6 earings and gauntlets. These she laid out on the table, silver sparkling in the flickering light of the candle. Footsteps registered in her ears and she leaned against the wall, leafblade jumping into her waiting palm.

A knock on the door, followed by the stranger's soft voice behind it. She smiled, raised one hand, and waited. The door instantly swung open, and he walked in.[/i]

Vichante: ....Lifé.

Lifé: May I help you?

Vichante: Why are you here?

Lifé: Why is a servant Dhirak here?

Vichante: ......I'll ask it again.

Lifé: No need. My mision here is simply to see the sights before I go north to the Temple of Aerin.

Vichante: And why do you ask about Dhirak? What is he to you?

Lifé: ....he simply is. I have no quarrel with his servants. So you can stop thinking about drawing your weapon and facing a half clad woman.[/COLOR]

[The Harlequin]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Vichante: And you can stop thinking about that blade suddenly relocating itself, to a position of closer proximity to certain vital organs of mine...


Lifé: Ah, but it's more tantalizing than anything else you have to offer.

[I]She smiled at him, arching an eyebrow. He bent his head forward slightly, cocking it to one side. He grinned back, eyes wide. His voice was soft, amused, insane.[/I]

Vichante: You wouldn't like the results.

[I]Another dark wyrm crawled out of his pupil. He raised a hand up to his eye and wiped it away. It crawled along his finger, no longer writhing. He shook it off, where it fell to the floor. As soon as it touched the wood, it ballooned into a snakelike creature nearly two feet long. The strange, malformed head reared up and snarled at Vichante, before it darted out and latched onto his leg.

As the blood flew over its grossly deformed maw, Vichante let out a booming laugh. As the blood hit the ground, more strange snakes appeared. He held out his hand, a harsh incantation running over his tongue. The snakes shimmered, and drew themselves up, staring at the cleric the way a cobra stares at a snake charmer. Or the way it stares at a mouse...

He beckoned them in, and they came. The crawled up his legs, over his torso, back into his dark eyes. Sucked back into the hell they sought to escape from.

Vichante looked back at Lifé. She didn't seem too impressed.[/I]

Vichante: Spilling a lot of blood would be inconvenient.

[I]He turned away, walking out the door. Before he closed it, he paused, and made one final comment.[/I]

Vichante: Dhirak has no especial ill will towards Aerin, but any stay of clemence is bound by harsh restrictions.

[I]With that he left, returning to his own room, and firmly bolting the door behind him. His chain mace rested beside his bed, several other weapons nearby. He thew off his heavy cloak, and removed his shirt. He threw himself onto the bed, folding his arms behind his head. He lay staring at the ceiling a long time before he was sucked into darkness.[/font][/color][/I]

[Raiha]

[COLOR=royalblue][i]Lifé's lashes parted and the first thing she saw was the afterimage of her nightmare. Faceless god. Tormenting her soul. She stood and put on her usual black clothes, then sheathed her blade. With a simple flick of her wrist, she adjusted her cloak and went down the hall to what she understood to be Vichante's room. She smiled broadly and opened the door. He was still asleep, and she took the oppertunity to draw her blade and place it lightly across his throat.

His eyes opened slowly and smiled at her. She winked and drew the cold silver away. Then she sat down lazily next to him and touched his pale skin.....[/i]

Lifé: You are different.

Vichante: .....and you are not?

Lifé: Yes, but I have a peace with myself for it...do you?[/COLOr]

[The Harlequin]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Vichante turned on to his side, resting his head in his hand, his arm forming a triangle. There was a long moment of silence before he answered. His voice was unconcerned, he seemed somehow unfazed by the entire situation. Almost as if he often woke with people pointing weapons at him. Actually, now that he thought about it...[/I]

Vichante: I have not the peace, the serenity you speak of, true. But there is something deeper, something that is paradoxically more profound.

Lifé: Oh?

[I]Vichante sank back down into the bed, and his next word was a whisper. It was forced, driven outwards, like it was some parasite that needed to be expelled for growth. Catharsis in a single word. "Oblivion".

They lay in silence a while, Lifé showing no signs of moving anytime soon, Vichante showing no signs of voicing any kind of objection. He merely stared at the ceiling, lost as it was in the pale darkness. She stared at the reflection of moonlight on his pale skin, thinking thoughts that Vichante had not the inclination to decipher.

Vichante turned his head slightly, giving her one last, searching glance. A sudden rakish upturning of his lips flashed across his face and was gone, then he turned back, eyes slowly closing. Within seconds, he was asleep, his body stiffening ever so slightly as his dreams encompassed his mind.[/font][/color][/I]

[Raiha]

[COLOR=royalblue][i]She smiled to herself. This was definetly something Aerin would have a field day over. Lifé searched the flat of the leafblade in her hands, the pads of her fingers running across the barbs and hooks. It seemed to glow a soft pastel green in her hands, and she smiled again. Then she put it away and returned her focus to Vichante's pale features.

He reminded her of the dream she had escaped from. Only in this time and place, he looked far more secure with himself. If her dreams were any indication of the past, it would make sense. But they could be the future. Aerin enjoyed such trickery as this.....she should've known.[/i]

Lifé: ...Hecate's blood never fails.

Vichante: Hmmmm?

Lifé: Nothing. Go back to sleep.

Vichante: What about Hecate?

Lifé: I was remembering the lines of the incantation to summon her. Perhaps she would be able to explain something.

Vichante: What?

Lifé: ....something.

[i]She smiled at him mysteriously, then leaned over and brushed her lips against his. The scent of moonflowers enveloped him, and his better judgement escaped. Then she stood and left abruptly.

With a light movement, she slipped out the hall windows and landed next to the hitching post. Genitian greeted her and stood still as she mounted. She nudged his left side and he cantered down the road.[/i]

Genitian: .....[i]You smell like a male creature.[/i]

Lifé: It's nothing serious.[/COLOR]

[The Harlequin]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Vichante waited a long minute after the sound of the horse faded from earshot before letting the smile touch his lips. If she really wanted to play it that way, then it might be a little more interesting than he'd first supposed.

Hecate though...That was a more interesting piece of the board. Still, if she chose to get involved, he had no doubt Dhirak would simply go say hello to a few friends...Iychtu Xvim, Tsien Tsin'g and Habiek in particular. Of course, an alliance of those four would scare the entire pantheon into disarray, but then, that's what they were there for. Dhirak, Lord of Corruption. His province was the secret thoughts men held in their mind that festered like disease. As well as the desire to turn the entire world into a waste land. Iychtu Xvim, The Keeper of Secrets. He controlled the darker side of the arcane, the esoteric. All energies strange and perverted answered to him, and he alone knew what his cause was. Tsien Tsin'g, The Changer Of Ways. The bringer of Chaos in all its forms, from disorder and strife to mutants and abominations. He sought to twist the world into some hideous vision of his own. And Habiek, The Creeping One. Bringer of disease, things that leeched from life itself. Oh, now wasn't that an irony for you. Habiek, with his penchant for irony, had probably taken on interest or two in the girls life already.

Vichante lay silently, smiling at the uncaring ceiling. Perhaps that dark alliance would be for the best. Perhaps he should do what he could to provoke it. Provoking a goddess...Now that could be interesting.

He got up and rebolted the door, refusing to think on how she'd opened it in the first place, before lapsing back into sleep. Making sure that he wasn't awoken before the reasonable hour of, say, noon.[/font][/color][/I]

[Raiha]

[COLOR=royalblue][i]Genitian snorted, steam escaping from his wide open mouth. They had been moving quickly....and the time of the ending was closer than before. Lifé smiled and reined in her steed at the gates. She dismounted and removed the jaw rope. Then she opened the lock with her nails and loped through the doors. The Temple of Aerin seemed to sigh in greeting, and the well oiled doors swung silently open for her. She padded in and knelt before the altar.

A soft voice whispered in her ear and she tilted her head to one side....hair falling across her eyes like a shade.[/i]

"Have you met him yet?"

"Yes......"

"And?"

"He tasted so young......but he was corrupt."

"Dhirak?"

"Yes."

"Did you talk to Hecate yet?"

"No......not yet. But she is my next task. The full moon is tonight."

"Good. Use the Promethean Flower."

"......as you say....so I shall perform."

And your third shall be Jenica's lair. She must be notified."

[i]The voice left her as quickly as it had come, and she smiled to herself. The forest of the Ages would beckon and call to her until she agreed to come.

Lifé left quickly, making the symbol of obesiance with her fingertips, then raced out into the morning sun.[/i][/COLOR]

[The Harlequin]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]The morning, of course, was ghastly. Most of the villagers having fallen asleep in the inn, with the dawn came the bustle, mainly made by the innkeeper, to get them out. For a town full of people who weren't hung over, they were remarkably recalcitrant. Vichante stood slowly, unconsciously going over a series of exercises that in theory were to limber him up for the day, but in actuality were the transition between sleep and wakefulness. Interupting him at that point was not really recommended. Many people came out of sleep like they'd been bears hibernating for the winter. Vichante came out of it like foresaid bear had been in a coma for a few months, with a badger with a chip on its shoulder for company.

That, of course, was mainly because Vichante slept maybe once a month. He slept like the dead, and disliked being awakened even more than they did. He was really, really considering simply blowing the inn up around him, before he realised there were one or two other priests, even without including Lifé, had she even returned at all, and that such an action would probably get him in more trouble than it was worth. Damn it... At least the village could have done him a favour and woken him up with a brawl, then at least he'd have something to do...

Now there was a thought. Vichante sent his thoughts downwards, into the still full common room. The people were tired, disgruntled, and uncomfortable from their rest. It would be easy to incite them into a rabble.

He seeded thoughts of release, release of anger, release of tension. He blinded them to thoughts of injury, except to those they bore deep grudges against. A thousand small woes seemed to jump into their minds, clamouring to be acknowledged.

Basically, they finally realised how **** the day really was.

Angry words echoed through the room. A broken bottle somewhere, the sound of a fist striking flesh...then the glorious din of pandemonium. Vichante raced down to the stairs, leaping over the railing and taking someone out with boots to the shoulders rather than risk the projecticle battered stairs. The dynamics of a barroom brawl were a lot more complicated than they looked.

Vichante, landing in the midst of a jostling mass, knew all about brawls. He immediately spun around, hand up to block the chair. He was slightly wrong, it was a bottle. Similar to the way one would block a dagger, he slammed the bony ridge of his left forearm into the edge of the glass, shattering it backwards over the wielder. His right arm swept in with a hook, that snapped back into another forearm strike, this one to the man's throat. He pulled it back rather than followed through, then spun, sending it out in a backhand, into the spine of a man currently choking a smaller victim. He stumbled forward, releasing the man he held, and spun to face Vichante. His face contorted as his former victim hit him in the back of the neck. Vichante had already turned, and was promptly grabbed by the collar. His left arm came in, down, around, and up, forcing the man's elbow upwards. Vichante slammed his head forward, breaking the man's nose. His right arm was occupied, someone having inconsiderately grabbed onto it. As his left arm disengaged the first man, a third grabbed it to, and the two holding him promptly began to pull in opposite directions. Vichante focused on the one on his right. He started with a sidekick to the stomach. Then a crescent kick to the head. As he broke his arm free, he pulled the one on his left towards him, pivoting and punching him in the face with his newly liberated arm. He pulled his left back as he did so, freeing it and putting it in the place a reactionary fist normally sits. Since the opportunity was so perfect, he punched the man with his left hand as well, this one midsection. The man doubled over, and Vichante shoved him under a table, which someone almost immediately fell on. Vichante simply turned to find another opponent. If only they were all roaring drunk.[/font][/color][/I]

[Raiha]

[COLOR=royalblue][i]Lifé and Genitian's heads whipped around at the same time. She hissed through her teeth and leapt onto his back, then up into the air. Time was of the essence.

With a simple spoken word, six wings shoved themselves out of her spinal cord, and into the air. She put her head down and snapped them together. Genitian calmly waited for her to return......it wouldn't be long.

Moving like a juggernaut, she plowed through clouds and birds alike, totally unaware of the chaos behind and before her. The village came into view and she landed in front of the inn door. With a well placed kick, the door was knocked down and the end of the chaos was revealed. Vichante sitting on a broken table, picking his teeth and looking pleased with himself. Lifé smiled and walked over to the barkeeperless bar. She poured herself a glass of wine and calmly drank it down.[/i]

Vichante: What's with the wings?

Lifé: You know....I should banish you.

Vichante: Try it.

Lifé: That's alright. I'd much rather flirt with you, then let you fall on your ***.[/COLOR]

[The Harlequin]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Vichante: That'd be a neat trick, considering I'm already sitting on it.

[I]Lifé strode over and gave the table a swift kick. It collapsed under the cleric, who promptly fell on said ***. He looked up, laughing.[/I]

Vichante: Well there you go. You didn't even have to endure much flirting.

[I]Lifé looked at him in something close to frustration, before turning to survey the empty, ruined tavern.[/I]

Lifé: Why did you start this?

Vichante: I was bored, they woke me up, and I leave today anyway.

Lifé: Oh? Where to?

Vichante: Up the mountain.

Lifé: I'm sure you've heard the horror stories behind it?

Vichante: Why do you think I'm going there?

Lifé: Doesn't a cleric of Dhirak have anything better to do than be a ghost hunter?

Vichante: Not ghost hunter, emissary. Tag along if you'd like.

[I]Lifé muttered that he could be certain she'd do just that. Vichante slowly got up and poured himself a wormwood, watching Lifé in amusement. A groan sounded from under one of the tables in the corner. Vichante gripped a section of the bar top and heaved, pulling it off. Keeping the momentum, he spun, and hammer threw the large section of wood into the corner the noise had emanated on. The projectile struck a table, but there was another large smack, and then silence. Followed by snores.[/I]

Vichante: Interesting that they can all act drunk so convincingly...no?

[I]Without further word, he drained his glass, smashed it on the ruined bar, and strode out to the stables, sweeping past Lifé. His horse was a large black stallion of course, fiery, and not in the least bit happy with his company. Not that unlike Vichante...[/font][/color][/I]

[Raiha]

[COLOR=royalblue][i]Genitian twitched his ears in annoyance, then closed his eyes and melted into the air.

Vichante grinned darkly and prepared to mount his beast until he felt Lifé's hand on his shoulder. He turned to find her, deviod of her former annoyance and instead felt her fingers searching their way up his neck.[/i]

Vichante: Do you always treat men like this?

Lifé: ...hardly. Of course, I called Genitian, who will be here soon. We have time to wait until then.

Vichante: I'm not going to wait for that.

Lifé: Oh yes you are.

[i]Before he could open his mouth, she moved like a lynx and planted her hands on both sides of his face.[/i][/COLOR]

[The Harlequin]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Vichante smiled ever so slightly. He brought his hand slowly up between Lifé's, fist curled except for his pointer finger. He tapped her once on the nose and dropped his hand. She eyes registered a slight confusion. His grin turned sharkish... His hand came up outside hers, darting down and through in an "s" shape, coming up just outside the elbow on her other hand. He brought his hand back outwards slightly, effectively spinning her around, grabbing her arms just above the elbows as he did so, pulling them in opposite directions. He pushed her forward against the wall, his body close behind hers. Lowering his head to within an inch of her ear, he gave a soft laugh before speaking.[/I]

Vichante: Sorry Darlin'. There's very few beings that tell me what to do. Even fewer that dictate what I feel.

[I]He released her and vaulted onto his horse, Drystaarth, and, with a typical flourish, was off. Lifé stood there, slightly surprised. It wasn't that often that someone managed to pull something like that. She heard him gallop off, and sighed slightly. A few second later, she heard him apparently returning. She strode outside. He was waiting there calmly.[/I]

Vichante: Didn't you say you were coming?[/font][/color]

[Raiha]

[COLOR=royalblue][i]She rolled her eyes and signaled to Genitian. He stopped short and smiled to himself. With a gracefull leap, she landed behind Vichante and put her arms around his waist.[/i]

Lifé: He's waiting for us on the path you are going to take.

Vichante: And which would that be?

Lifé: The deep black forest one you idiot. You said it yourself.

[i]Amusment registered in his eyes and he turned Drystaarth's head towards the road. At the same time, he contemplated her movement. She had seen his destructive power, but didn't mind being less than two centemiters away from him. Apparently she had more guts than had given her credit for. Or she was not really afraid of his power. Either way he felt slightly flattered. She smelled wonderful.[/i][/COLOR]

[The Harlequin]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Or perhaps she was simply trying to unsettle him. He rode easily, despite his unfamilar passenger. He held his reins almost negligently, allowying Drystaarth to do as he would. The horse, which wasn't actually a horse, but the description would do, served Dhirak as faithfully, though less independently, as he did. If Lifé realised the creature's strange nature, she didn't seem fazed. Drystaarth settled into an easy gallop, long bunching strides that were uncannily smooth. They ate up ground at a ferocious rate, without the slightest discomfort. Which probably explained much of Vichante's riding style. He sat leaning slightly back, looking straight ahead.

Lifé was a little more adventurous. The first Vichante knew, there was a slight tug. Long, sharp nails started running over the taut skin of his stomach, slightly harder than was comfortable. He sighed.[/I]

Vichante: I assume you're having fun?

[I]For answer, Lifé teasingly dug her nails in, slightly harder than before. Vichante sighed again, then brought his arms back to his sides, catching one of her hands. Nonchalantly taking a hand of the reins, he reached behind him and grabbed her opposite side, his forearm pressed against her stomach. He pulled back, twisting his arm and sliding back, setting her lying face down on Drystaarth's unsaddled back. The rode like that only a moment before she dug her nails in again, this time his Achilles tendon. Vichante replied through gritted teeth.[/I]

Vichante: Truce. You can sit there, if you stop touching me like that.

Lifé: Oh, but this is more fun.

[I]Vichante rolled his eyes and braced to endure a long ride.[/font][/color][/I]

[Raiha]

[COLOr=royalblue][i]Her training in vaulting hadn't been for nothing. She leaned back until she was staring at the ground behind them. Then she sat up and laced her fingers in his hair, smiling all the while. Genitian looked up from where he was grazing and leapt out onto the path. She howlbarked at him, then kissed the side of his face and jumped off of the beast's back. Genitian turned and she landed on his own broad back, perfectly and easily. She flicked the jaw rope over his face and lightly turned it to one side. He sidestepped with uncanny grace for a Shire, almost as lightly as a Lipazzaner, then stopped.

Drystaarth sniffed the air from Genitian, then sat back. Satisfied.[/i]

Vichante: May we?

Lifé: Of course.

[i]Drystaarth took off at a full gallop, hoping to overcome the Shire, but to no avail. He followed just as quickly, the feathering on his hocks fluttering in the wind.[/i]

Lifé: Don't be hasty now Drystaarth.....[/COLOR]

[The Harlequin]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Vichante heard Lifé's remark, but his horse didn't seem interested. Vichante was willing to allow him to wear himself out, even though that would be a mental thing rather than a physical thing. A creature such as Drystaarth was not concerned with stamina, but he did get bored quite easily.

They continued apace, Drystaarth with teeth, more fanglike than any natural horse, bared. Vichante turned to Lifé, noting that she was allowing her horse its own behaviour as well.[/I]

Vichante: You know, this could just make this journey a mite faster than expected.

Lifé: It's up to them, and it's not like we don't all have things to do.

[I]Vichante looked critically at Drystaarth.[/I]

Vichante: Oh, he has places to be alright. But I'm not too sure he really wants to go back to them.

Lifé: I thought he would prefer Dhirak's plane.

Vichante: Not as interesting.[/font][/color]

[Raiha]

[COLOR=royalblue][i]She pursed her lips and waggled one finger in his face. Genitian moved quickly, faster than usual, eager to keep up with the creature before him. Lifé grinned to herself then adjusted her chain belt.

Eventually, the silence was broken by the whisper of the walking trees. She glanced behind her. The spirits walked slowly, gently, followed by fleeting shadows of dryads and nymphs of all sorts. If Vichante noticed, he didn't care at all. Sprites followed the footsteps of the her horse, feeding on the energy displaced by him.[/i]

Lifé: Life is beautiful.

Vichante: You're dellusional.

Lifé: No, I see flowers where others see weeds.[/COLOR]

[The Harlequin]

[font=gothic][color=crimson]Vichante: Which is probably why you're delusional.

Lifé: I was speaking metaphorically.

Vichante: I know. But most people smell flowers, and we all know weeds have more interesting properties than most flowers.

Lifé: Oh, I have a strange feeling that you wouldn't object at all.

Vichante: I someone doubt I'd need to.

[I]Lifé didn't grace him with a reply. The forest started to close around them, and slowly grew darker.[/I]

Vichante: If I were you, I'd stop looking for the spirits. They'll soon start to get nasty.

[I]Lifé simply glared at him. Vichante shrugged boredly, and continued along. Pretty soon, the particular spirits he was here to ...see, would show up. And it would probably take a little coercion to get them to do what Dhirak wanted.[/font][/color][/I]

[Raiha]

[COLOR=royalblue][i]The wolfpack howled far off in the distance. Lifé reined in Genitian, cuped her hands around her mouth, and howled back.[/i]

"We are very brave and strong,
To resist us is to welcome death,
Dhirak and Aerin guide our hands,
Fear our power."

[i]Genitian's eyes rolled and smarted. Her voice seemed to fill the entire forest, more than the wolves ever had. Drystaarth screamed and reared wildly. The echoes died down and soon left the forest in comparative calm. She sighed and sat back. They wouldn't even think of letting their voices be heard again. She smiled and Vichante looked slightly annoyed.[/i]

Vichante: Did you have to advertise our presence to the entire forest?

Lifé: Considering K'Jenica is the mother of this territory, and she hates sneaking visitors, yes. Besides, they know we're here.

Vichante: Prove it.

Lifé: We're still alive. If they didn't know we were here, the wolves wouldn't speak. And the sprites wouldn't be tasting the hoofprints of Genitian. They would be chewing on his tail.

Vichante: ....clever.

Lifé: And by the way.......when the Javjene shows up, try to be somewhat polite.

[i]He was about to make some sort of smart comeback when the aforementioned spirit rose out of the nearby trees and uttered a low sort of moan. She smiled and held up a hand. The Javjene purred, then turned his flat shifting eyes upon Vichante.[/i][/COLOR]

[The Harlequin]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]Vichante didn't look particularly surprised. Or particularly concerned.[/I]

Vichante: It is not you that my business concerns, so step aside and allow me passage, and I'll be out of the way as quickly as possible.

Lifé: Something about polite was it?

[I]Vichante ignored Lifé's muttered admonition and concentrated on the spirit in front of him. Some kind of silent communication flicked between them, and the Javjene did not look pleased with what Vichante was saying. At last, the cleric broke the silence in a calm tone, that did nothing to disguise the ulimatum.[/I]

Vichante: Alright then. You can kill me, or at least destroy this body, and Dhirak and a few of his...associates will personally turn this forest into a new outpost for the damned.

Lifé: You've forgotten the other elements in this equation.

Vichante: Oh?

Lifé: K'Jenica, Aerin, and most importantly to you, myself.

Vichante: Why me? Look, to all respective entities who not only don't like me wandering around here, and also further don't like me not liking wandering around here, and further don't like it when I tell you that cetain business associates of mine don't like you not liking me wandering around here, this will be a lot faster, a lot easier, and a lot less messy, if I simply walk through, get to the Overrilth, deliver Dhirak's message, and walk away.

[I]No one seemed to be paying attention. In fact, Vichante got the idea that he was being ignored on a mass scale, despite there only being two entities that were apparent.[/font][/color][/I]

[Raiha]

[COLOR=royalblue][i]Javjene hissed and arched his back. She saw his muscles slowly tense, then leapt off Genitian's back and held up her staff. A warding device quickly flashed into being before them. Lifé sighed and pointed her left hand at Vichante.[/i]

Lifé: You just had to mouth off. When we could've just gone on quietly...

Vichante: Sue me.

Lifé: I'd much rather stradle you.

[i]She jerked her right hand, the one holding the staff. The Javjene growled, but stopped moving. With a nudge or two, Genitian leapt forwards and flashed through the trees with blurring speed. Drystaarth was magnetically pulled after her, connected by a chain of energy. Vichante was about to protest the treatment when the forest abruptly opened again and they stumbled onto a huge body of water. Lifé pulled up short and jumped off Genitian's shoulders.[/i]

Jenica: So.....you've arived. With a boy toy.

Vichante: ..... .... ....

Lifé: Not exactly.[/COLOR]

[The Harlequin]

[font=gothic][color=crimson][I]If Lifé had any doubts that Vichante was who he said he was, they were dispelled now. His response was a sarcastic drawl, one that gave the impression he'd dealt with more hostile deities before.[/I]

Vichante: Whatever lights your fire my dear. I doubt you'd like the rest of the bargain though.

[I]Jenica was not conveying a lot of amusement. Vichante was, but he was hiding it behind the sarcastic drawl.[/I]

Vichante: More to the point though, I'm more interested in certain things you have custody of.

[I]It was Jenica's turn for flat amusement. Her response though, was directed at Lifé.[/I]

Jenica: You're a big girl now. Surely he didn't need to come all the way in here to ask me for your hand.

[I]It wasn't obvious which denial came out first, or which was more vehement, Vichante's harsh laughter or Lifé's sharp retort. [/I]

Vichante: I'm far more interested in the Overrilth.

[I]Any trace of levity fled.[/I]

Jenica: Why?

Vichante: There are certain beings there that Dhirak would like the services of.

Jenica: And what makes you think that I would ever aid Dhirak, in this or anything else?

Vichante: Probably the fact that Iyachtu Xvim, Tsien T'sing and Habiek are going along with him.

[I]Jenica stared at him, anger radiating outwards. Vichante faced off calmly, unfazed and uncowed.[/I]

Vichante: Either I gain access to the Bazaar, or things get a little different around here.

Jenica: And would the loss of this forest be no less than what those petty godlings would do with the beings contained in the Bazaar?

Vichante: I'm here to bargain with them, not coerce them. The ones I seek are notoriously intractable.

Jenica: And just who in the Bazaar of Overrilth do you seek?

Vichante: I'll keep that to myself and Dhirak. Merely allow me to say that they have no interest in the wanton destruction of life, and that they have no qualms about refusing Dhirak and his cohort anything.

[I]Jenica's eyes narrowed, as she started to grasp his patron's plans.[/I]

Jenica: You're treading on dangerous ground.

Vichante: Overthrowing a pantheon always is.

[I]Jenica had had a vague idea that that was the ultimate plan, but the confirmation seemed to shock. Lifé hadn't had a clue, and was even worse.[/I]

Vichante: Either me, or someone a little less diplomatic about the whole thing, so destroying me on principle is not your best option.[/font][/color]