Firiona Vie Everquest

((This will lead into a conflict with Dalharen hopefully, will run it here as all involved can read and post. This first post has a bit of violence in it, but the rest should be considerably more diplomatic . So please don't move it to Crows as the non alliance cant read it there. Enjoy, and join at will, we want a war! ))

She pulled her dagger out of the corpse with unnecessary force. She glared down at the vacant eyes of the whorehouse master lying in a pool of his own blood atop his bed, a fatal wound to his chest. She would not even give him the honour of drinking his blood, not a drop passed her lips. She sneered in disgust and got off the bed, wiping her blade clean on the silk covers. He would never hurt another girl again anyway, she thought wryly. Sheathing her dagger, she casually left the room and sauntered down the hall of the only home she knew in her childhood. The familiar sounds of the women’s ‘work’ from behind closed doors, each recognisable to her. No one noticed her, there was no one to do so.
She stopped outside one room and listened. Hearing no sound she opened the door a little and peeked in. The room was different from the last time she had been here and the scent was different too. A dusky haired Tier’Dal woman slept on the bed, a bare leg hanging out over the edge. This was not her ebon haired mother. Where could she have gone? Udariu had been here for years and was one of the favourites, she would have had no reason to leave. Kalsari had begged her enough times but to no avail. Frowning, she pulled the door shut again and continued on her way out, unseen by the dozing receptionist.
She stepped out into the coolness of the streets and started upon her way home, though was toying with the idea of finding a meal. She kept a casual pace, knowing fine well that no one would notice her handiwork until the morning. But she began to sense someone following her. She did not look back, for that would alert them to the fact that she knew they were there. But she could hear their heavy and somewhat clumsy foot falls, whoever it was did not have the silent grace of a trained Assassin. Then the smell hit her much more sensitive then before sense of smell. She wrinkled her nose but kept walking, turning a corner, then a few yards down, turned again and stopped. She heard the other enter the street and pause at her apparent disappearance. They began to move again, and Kalsari reached out and grabbed them as they passed, slamming them against the wall with such force as to stun them momentarily but kept her hand on them. She looked up at her stalker, a good three feet or so taller than her, and glared at his Trollish face.
“Care to explain why you are following me Troll?”
“Iz been told to! Julk always do what his is told!” She almost laughed at his expression, obviously not used to being manhandled by a young Tier’Dal female.
“Who sent you?” she demanded.
“Uhmz…Lord Ham…Hali…Halsieth! He be one of dem dragon men.”
Kalsari frowned. “What would a Drakkin want with me?”
“Mez not know, him jus tell mez to keel pretty darkie lady Kalsaaree.”
“Well how did you know it was me, there are many ‘pretty darkie ladies’ in Neriak.”
“Mez ask people, dey tell me what you look like.” His eyes drift down to her neck where hideous scarring covers much of it’s right side, down as far as the top of her collarbone. She scowled, while not ashamed of it, annoyed that the scarring marked her so easily. She would have to wear more high necked clothes. “Fine” she snapped, causing him to look at her face instead, almost mesmerised by her purple rimmed intense blue eyes. “Tell me of this Lord of yours, where might I find him?”
“Mez find him in da Kinsblood Inn, it be in da Commonlands. Hims only go dere to hire people.”
“Does he hire often? Does he have a list of random strangers to have killed off?”
“Hims only told me you Kalsaaree.”
She digs her dagger a little further into his stomach (not quite having the height to reach his throat), a trickle of blood running down and soaking his ragged pants. “I did not give you permission to call me by name Troll.”
He winces. “Don’t hurt me, mez no want to die!”
She grins wickedly, and rams the dagger right in to the hilt. He slumps to his knees with a strangled cry, effectively slicing his own stomach open as he goes down for she holds the dagger perfectly still. Kneeling, he is the same height as her and she leans forward slightly, despite the smell and his guts spilling out over her feet. “Then you should never have been born.” She whispers and pulls the dagger out and slits his throat.
A few minutes later she leaves the alley carrying his grizzly head by its sparse hair, her armour glistening with blood in the neon lights of the city. A trail of blood shows her passage home as she wonders about the one who hunts her.

((to be continued in the morning))

~ Vendayvian grins darkly from his shrouded spot in the darkest of shadows very near where the young Assassin dispatched the troll. Such hate in one so young.. this could be difficult... but was i not so different in my youth? his thoughts ring in his ears.
Remembering his own path guided by his own hatred and the difficulties he endured because of it, he dicided to speak with Kalsari another time about letting her personal hates cloud the Dark Fathers Will... His thoughts turn to the conversation he had just overheard.. what would a Drakkin want with her death?.. Ven shrugs mentally.. What ever it is.. he would do well to forget this foolishness.. I will naut take kindly to anyone trying to kill my finest apprentice.. Crimson eyes flare from the darkend shadows as his thoughts progress then fade to nothingness as he leaves the area..

A hooded figure carrying what seems to be a picnic basket stops within sight of the Kinsblood Inn. With a glance at the faded sun high in the sky, the traveller pulled back the hood revealing a pretty Fier’Dal with jet black hair and intense blue eyes rimmed with purple. She continued her approach, hoping that if her hunter knew what she was he would not expect her in daylight hours. She carried the basket on one arm as though it simply contained her groceries, her outfit common though she wore mail underneath. She entered the Inn and cast a casual gaze over the room. The common room was quite full, with honest looking people, but some more unsavoury types too. She could see three Drakkin, but none looked to be of any importance. She went to the bar and smiled sweetly at the barman, knowing human weakness for the doe eyed elves. She had disguised herself such for this reason as well as the fact that the illusion hid her marking features.
“Could you perhaps tell me if I might find a Lord Halseith here?”

What had he gotten himself into?

The question had echoed through the archmage's thoughts like haunting knell, scattering all his stoic attempts at meditation like flighty pigeons.
Shifting restlessly the young man gave up with a frustrated sigh and rose to walk to the window that provided the only illumination to the interior his darkened room, the silence disturbed only by the rustle of soft cloth robes. Rays of the setting sun bathed the land in crimson flame, staying just long enough to light the path of the farmers who toiled always under its searing gaze as they made their weary way home.

How desperately did Alsurin wish to be one of them, walking home with aching muscles as reassurance of a hard but well spent day, towards a warm house filled with the hearts of those you gave sweat and toil for. It was idle romanticism of course, yet to become anything else would surely be a mercy, something other then a spider patiently waiting for his prey.

Obtaining the information from the barkeep had been easy, despite his resistance. She was sanguine as well as assassin after all, she had other means to get what she wished. Leaving the slightly dazed human, she made her way up stairs and along the hall until she came to the room she sought, still carrying her basket and glad that the herbs she had put it with its contents disguised the smell somewhat. The smell of death and decay bothered her little, but it was a distinct smell that she didn’t wish to be traced to her as she passed.
She glanced at her hands briefly checking her illusion was still in place, then rapped twice on the door before pushing the door open. The setting sun blazing its fiery rays through the window drew her attention to the man standing by it. She instantly recognised him from that night some times before her turning where she had stumbled into Surefall Glade.

“You!”

The Fier'Dal leaned with her back against the wall that separated her from Alsurin's room, unknown to him for she was sure they'd try and stop her. The sun also streamed in on her, seeming to set her hair on fire with its glow. She stood still, simply waiting.
She heard footsteps on the landing stop outside the next door, followed by two swift knocks.
Silently, Jetamio made her way towards her own door and opened it quietly but she needn't have bothered judging by the the others exlamaition.

"You!"

Jetamio groaned inwardly, she had forgotten that Alsurin had been present when this Kalsari had come before. Evidently the girl recognised him even if she was not immeidiatly recognisable. Jetamio slipped out of her room and edged along to Alsurins door where the girl had entered...

Alsurin winced at her exclamation, his nerves flooded with the illogical impression of having indulged in betrayal. It was completely unfounded of course, his web was woven with the intent of benefit for all involved, even, perhaps especially, the woman standing in shock at his doorway. The scholar's mind accepted this logic with little complaint, being as this maze was of its construction anyway. Yet, the strange whims of what others childishly called the heart seemed to stir restlessly, luckily their consent was neither necessary or even advisable. Whispering a brief prayer to the Xegony, beseeching the queen of winds to grant him the calm and clarity of her element, the young man turned towards the long expected intruder.

She was wearing the same illusion that had shrouded her form on that odd day within the wooded depths of Surfall Glade. However, now the drakkin was the one unmasked, only this time the revelation of duplicity was no accident, the gods had a taste for irony.

"Come in Kalsari."

Recovering her composure, she realised she had come further into the room. She froze when she heard the door close softly behind her and she turned around to see a red haired Fier'Dal standing in front of the door calmly. Kalsari blinked, her skin crawling as comprehension dawned on her. This was the woman from the visions she used to have before she became immortal, the woman whose eyes now shone with ethereal gold as she watched the sanguine. After a moment when Kalsari saw that the woman was not going to leave the door, she turned back to the Drakkin and remembered her basket. She stepped forward slowly and placed the basket within his reach before stepping back again.

"A gift for you... Lord Halseith." she glanced back at the woman, her skin still crawling but unable to keep her eyes off the enigmatic Fier'Dal for long. Something about her made her think of Tajer's son, yet they couldn't be more different. She looked again at Alsurin, her face impassive again as she waited for him to see her 'gift' to him.

The mage's pulse quickened slightly as Kalsari stepped beneath the the circle of runes crudely scratched in the ceiling. He caught himself and shrugged in attempt to loosen his muscles. It was not yet time.

As the assassin neared him, Alsurin's eyes flicked to Jetamio and sighed. She had come of course, why would something inconsequential like a husband's earnest wish stop her? Ro burn that woman's stubbornness! Bringing his thoughts in rein, the drakkin bit his lower lip.
Remember, calm as air....

"A gift for you... Lord Halseith."

It took Alsurin a few seconds to fully distinguish the gruesome trophy from among the basket's seemingly innocent folds. Narrowly resisting the urge to retch, he turned back towards the window, feigning the need for fresh air. He shouldn't be surprised of course, it was a wonder the drakkin hadn't expected that. Yet, for some reason he expected Kalsari to.....the mage shook his head in disgust. 'Lord Halseith' had ordered the bumbling fool to attempt assassination and fail. Julk didn't have to killed, it was frivolous and unnecessary! Grimacing at the audacity within his logic, Alsurin split his face into a smile that seemed more like a expression of pain.

"How disappointing, nightblades within my homeland possess more skill then to require deadly force against a hired thug." The drakkin's voice was taunt with controlled but scathing anger. "It is no matter, you wish to speak with me? I see we have acquired an audience."

Her eyes narrowed slightly as his quickened pulse reached her sanguine senses, the sound of blood rushing through his veins from his strong heart alluring to her. Despite killing twice recently, she had fed from neither, the first being denied even that small honour and troll blood simply did not appeal to her at all. Her change was fairly recent, the hunger still strong and right now she was particularly hungry. She resisted the urge to lick her lips to torment him for she was still unsure just how much this Drakkin knew of her. If he didn't know what she was, it would be a nice surprise for him later.
She couldn't help but smirk when she saw him pale at the sight of the grizzly troll head and turn away. It was exactly the reaction she had wanted and felt momentarily proud of herself. But she did not savour it for long, for she sensed something amiss though couldn't say what. The Drakkin was afraid yes, but she also sensed anticipation from him. Listening carefully, she could hear no one else in the nearby vicinity and a glance behind her told her that the Fier'Dal had not moved from the door. A quick scan of the room showed no sign of traps, though it never occurred to her to look up.
Unsatisfied and on alert she eyed the Drakkin again when he spoke.

"Speak with you? About the weather perhaps? This seasons harvest?" her voice softens slightly, velvety, almost as mesmerising as her intense blue eyes that burned like hot sapphires. "Or perhaps your motive for wishing me dead?"

((Lol, sitting here for like 5 mins trying to log in as Tortha, didn't realise it had been changed ahem, anyway...))

Jetamio did not move from the door. She did not know what Alsurin had planned exactly, because she was not supposed to come. She had been all but forbidden, so naturally she came regardless. She would not stand back and let others risk their lives for her while she sat cooped up in safety twiddling her thumbs. True, she was a shadow of her much younger self, but she was not helpless.

She thought she saw him tense when the rogue got closer but he quickly recovered himself. She was sure the assassin had sensed it too for she hesitated a second, glancing around the room quick then at Jetamio. The Druid was surprised at how young the rogue could appear when she was unsure, yet she walked with the calm assurance of an adult when she was certain.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Alsurin noticed her and she felt the frustration in his gaze. Normally she would have laughed, for she liked to wind the mage up, but this was no time for such games. She cared little if he wanted her here or not. She had stated a few times that it must be her who takes what was hers, though no one seemed to heed her words. They did not understand, and there were somethings she was just not willing to divulge yet.

She still stayed at the door as they conversed, though quietly drew her small filleting knife and sliced her palms open. Slipping the knife back into it's sheath, she stood with her fists clenched loosely and silently willing her body not to heal so fast as it normally did. Then, she simply waited.

Alsurin looked out upon the land now slowly drifting into the peace of night, drumming his fingers upon the windowsill. Jetamio had warned him about the sanguine, their natural charisma could be just as deadly as their physical augmentations. Thus the archmage kept his eyes away from the gaze now boring into his back, and held anger now purified into a cold burn within him. "Wish you dead? Surely if I desired such a thing, I would have hired a individual with far more competence then the fellow whose life you wasted."

The drakkin looked up the setting sun and sucked in breath through his teeth. After only a after pause, he continued with uncharacteristic openness, there was not time to play guessing games. "Julk was sent in order that you might apprehend him, his skills being naturaly suited towards such an end. I assumed that he, being a quite simple creature, would reveal being hired by my alias in response to minimum effort on your part."

Alsurin's voice became progressively more bored as the narrative continued, the plan, while his, had been disgustingly simple by necessity, devoid of any true creative spark. "Naturally one graced with the knowledge that someone seeks their last breath will strive for further information. I instructed the troll the return to me at this location when the chore was finished. I knew he would not succeed obviously, but having you wander the countryside in search of me was far less convenient.....then simply waiting for you here."

Hovering in medatative silence, his back flat against the roof, Stormfollower was dimmly aware of the conversation taking place below him. His mind traveled far off in the astral realm of spirits, pacing and practicing the moves to come. The cloudy immage of the scene beneath him only dripped through with the most faint of impulses.
His conciouse mind was deeply suppressed awaiting the single word from Alsurin that would spring his body into action. But his subconciouse now detected a familiar soul in close vacinity to the hair trigger trap that was about to be sprung.
"Jetamio!" His mind reeled momentarily threatening to fling him back into his near lifeless body "No! ..this will complicate things greatly, her concience for this beast creates confusion" his subconciouse mind, now given free reign of his body, clenched his fists, tightening his grip on the fine strands of his newly made mithril net.

Her hands were hot and sticky from her own blood now but she kept her fists closed, silently praying that Kalsari was too concerned with Alsurin to notice. Then she suddenly felt a ripple of surprise and a tug on her heart and she barely restrained a gasp. Her eyes darted around carefully, trying not to move much and therefore alert the rogue. Storm was nearby, she was almost certain. Her eyes wandered to the ceiling for the first time and saw the runes etched on it. She couldnt read them, but she didnt need to be able to to know it was a trap.
Her eyes snapped to Alsurin in alarm, and she spoke in an old dialect of Elder Elvish, fervently hoping that Willowen had taught it to his student.

"Whatever you do, do not touch the pendant! You do not know what is at stake!" Her eyes pleaded with him to just for once understand. She did not move from the door though, trusting them enough to do whatever i is they were going to do, and would only step in as a last resort. "Please..."

"Ah..." she replied, in the kind of tone that showed she realised she was in deep trouble. But before she could come up with a more substantial reply, the Fier'Dal suddenly spoke in some strange language that sounded very vaguely like Elvish. Her tone was slightly frantic, warning even and Kalsari dared a glance back at her. Again she was struck by this strange woman who seemed completely unfazed by her gaze unlike the Drakkin who avoided her eyes.
A familiar scent drifted to her, rousing her hunger, and her gaze drifted to the Fier'Dal's hands from which blood seemed to drip from occasionally. She shifted uneasily as she fought the urge, her eyes taking a slight crimson glow. The womans blood was very alluring, and yet there was something not quite right with it either, something she could not identify. Perhaps she was sick, but Kalsari doubted that judging by the rest of her.
She ripped her gaze away from Jetamio, concentrating on the Drakkin instead as she tried to keep the beast under tight rein.

"Well now I am here...state your business with me."