Sanguine Dirge IC

[Yzmael]

The elf watched as the situation unfolded in a curious direction. Suddenly, everyone had their weapons pointed towards the woman and the Hou-- Wolf, made her way towards the woman with clear intentions of wanting to know her reasoning. Mygdos was very curious himself. He wondered what kind of reasoning was behind such a barbaric assassination.

What followed after was a brief unison of the group as they all joined together to understand this woman's actions, a very small fraction of unity that allowed them to actually feel like the squad they were supposed to be. Mygdos was rather proud of the children. They understood well enough to know that in the most drastic situations, banding up together was the most intelligent idea. He understood that as well, after all. As the group united and each started asking their own questions towards the Vampiric Knight. Kiyoko in her own way seemed like she was rather surprised at the Knight's strength. Mygdos, on the other side, was still pointing his sword towards the Knight's neck, and he definitely didn't intend on just letting her go...

She then spoke up, talking about how Xarl was a traitor and how all that he had told them was a lie. Mygdos sighed. The most difficult part about her words was that they were true. Mygdos could confirm that what she was telling was true because right now the woman was being manipulated in a very real way. He could see the fine threads of magic going from the child vampire's eyes into the Knight's soul. Such a thing was only possible thanks to his status as a Specter. He knew well she was telling the truth, but there were still unclear things. That's beside the point that, although that was true to her, it didn't mean it was the real truth. She might've been manipulated into thinking she was an agent of the Dirge. Then again, she stated she was here to join the Dirge, which further made it difficult for him to trust her words fully. Mygdos was about to pull his sword through her neck and kill her off before Mr. Goody Two Shoes showed up and order everyone to cease their aggressions. He even went as far as saying he was "sorry for everyone's actions". Mygdos almost laughed at that statement. Coming from a group of people who were about to go on a mission to overthrow a government, a group who had just seen someone kill and drain someone's blood in cold blood and a group who was still not believing her words, he'd say that was a pretty normal reaction to it all.

Mygdos trusted the child vampire's magic, mainly because he saw it himself, but he didn't trust this woman's antics and the way she acted self-righteously, almost similar to the foreigner. He scoffed as the child vampire let her go and he could see in her very soul the hunger for blood. Elyan had told them to prepare and take rest, but Mygdos didn't need rest, and he didn't need food, and he obviously couldn't care less about his voyage. Dead men didn't need to eat or sleep, they just needed a motive to stand still, nothing else mattered.

As soon as the spell broke out, Mygdos was ready to take a step forward and hear more about the reasoning behind the woman's actions, aside from what she had told them earlier, that was, until he heard Elyan's words. Immediately, his face showed a form of both anger, rage and distaste. He frowned and scoffed as he turned around. What kind of fool would invite a cold-blooded killer to walk alongside them, and even worse, one who had just killed someone right in front of them. Although what the vampire said was true, that didn't mean she had told them the entire truth. She simply answered his questions.

As he turned his back towards the duo, he made his way away from the group and towards his isolated corner on the end of the respite, the same place he had previously shown the Wolf. Such a fool couldn't be taken seriously. Mygdos would make sure to remember how Elyan discarded the group's necessity to know as much about this woman as he likely needed to know and thought of himself as more important than everyone else to only him know about her true words. However, the elf didn't intend on letting this continue. He too would hear all that this woman had to say.

He looked towards one of the corners of his isolated room, and then he pointed towards the shadows that encrusted them. From that shadow rose a body made out of the smoke that was present and in a couple of seconds, a sentient creature of shadows appeared. Not a shadow in itself, but a clone made out shadows. Much like him, the clone too had the ability to stalk his prey and go unnoticed, perhaps even more than him, since it had no heartbeat, no breath, no blood in it. He stared at his creation, chuckling to himself before he sat on the ground and took a position that would allow him to completely focus on controlling the shadow.

As he assumed full control, the shadow made it's way across the Respite, sticking to the place it was most unseen, the shadows itself. It was difficult to see it move and when it stood still, it went invisible, even if there was some light illuminating it, the shadow would look to be a simple byproduct of the light or merged with the shadows present, a true malformation of reality that made it look completely invisible. It moved swiftly and quietly towards the duo that now was going to the dark hallways of the respite, the perfect place for it to hide. The shadow followed after the two, with it's presence completely unnoticed. When it stood still and when Mygdos focused, he could keep it's presence a complete mystery, even should someone stare right at it. Lacking the true capability of either seeing magic or seeing through the cape of the darkness, it would be very difficult for both Vera and Elyan to see this creature, not unless they fully and completely focused on noticing their surroundings.

Whatever it was this woman was hiding, Mygdos would know... And he didn't intend on keeping this to himself. It was for the good of the group...

 

[U.N. 0W3N]

This was just a fine first night as new agent of the Dirge. Everyone bore their fangs and readied themselves to latch on to each others' throats. He's witnessed the first of great horrors of humanity. And, now, he had engaged himself in one of two particular topics no stranger should have converse first: religion and politics… especially religion. Here he was, already forming himself a nice pity party as chaotic flames licked around him.

The day wasn't even over when the first member of the Dirge was felled by a stranger, an assassin that clearly had reasons to draw their blade towards the giant's throat. But, right now, it was none of his business. What he preoccupied himself with his engaging in the bottles of assorted wines he discovered in the Respite to fog the mind, cool the soul, and to numb the body for the night. At least, it'll help the halfling get some sleep tonight.

As Mali's cheeks brightened slightly, company came his way. Quicksilver eyes fell on the buxom woman. The kat'shari/azmq'liaea mix approached, making the halfling wonder if this was going to end in another tongue lashing and butting heads. But, finally… FINALLY! There was someone sane among their ranks. As she invited herself to drink, Mali was already getting one of the clay cups ready for her. Poured to the rim, he handed the cup over and raised his. "Sihh!" he gave a quick toast before finishing the rest of his drink. With a wet gasp, he slammed his cup on the table and began to work the cork off the next bottle.

The orc accepted the proffered drink, greedily gulping it down before Mali had even finished opening the fresh bottle of wine. Why, it was such a small cup when compared to the size of her hand -- something more suitable for sipping tea really -- she couldn't help but drain it dry in a single swallow. To Mali maybe these tiny clay cups were the correct serving size, but in her culture, and humans too for that matter, she was used to being poured a pint of alcohol in a big beer stein or huge drinking horn. What little liquid there was in the cup she held barely gave her a buzz. She looked over at the halfing, hopeful for a refill, when she heard him speak again.

"It may not be ambrosia straight from the teet of the Gods, but I believe the wine will serve its purpose, no?"

"Maybe if there was more…" The female orc muttered, though her new found friend did not take notice.

Finally, it felt like Mali was in his own environment. Albeit, the air was pretty thick with blood and tension… maybe it was more like a tougher bar than usual? "You didn't speak your name earlier. May I ask for it now?" the tone of his voice changed to suit the situation. A light, carefully practiced purr escaped as he sipped on the wine.

The woman answered, "Of course; my name is Ghegari." Then she gave a glance towards the wine bottle he had set aside shortly after uncorking it. "And you introduced yourself earlier as Mali, is that right?" She made a sly grab for the wine herself while she engaged him in conversation. Hey, if he'd forgotten about it, she wasn't going to wait for him to pour her another helping. She'd just have to help herself. "Ah yes, it's nice to make your acquaintance, Ghegari. You're correct as well. Mali's the name."

Ghegari didn't get the chance to do so though, because low and behold, their numbers seemed to increase as new company was attracted by the offering of wine and something light to finish off the evening. One of the more boisterous one of the group stepped forward and claimed a seat at the table. Once more, Mali seized the wine bottle away from the orc's encroaching hand and was quick to pour some for the new arrival and set the fellow member down the path of lamalssa fi'falas jajaalzzu or "peace at the bottom of the bottle." "Iah'alrr libyaj raa'lakbisha," Mali greeted the raven-haired woman, "There is no trouble. Please, join in." Where did the rest of his cup go? One minute, he just topped it. The next, he was staring at the the bottom with not a drop of wine left. "Hmm? Oh yes… I am Mali. You're Scarlet, right? You spoke up at the end of the ceremony if I recall."

Seeing that the small man was too distracted by chit-chat to even fill up his own empty cup again, Ghegari grabbed the bottle -- this time successfully -- and began pouring some more wine for herself first, then did the same for Mali, before yet another woman approached their humble party.

With prominent ears and a boisterous, foreign tongue, this strange character seemed the least likely to join in on good tidings. But, alas, Mali was wrong… for all the right reasons. Along with producing something much more suitable to banish the nightmares and bring happy tidings, she was about the spirit of this peaceful moment: a chance to bond with fellow members. Raising his glass and passing another to the dog-earred woman, Mali couldn't help but join in this conversation. "I think that was the most brilliant thing I heard all day. Apologies for the rudeness, but I can't recall your name. May I have your name and a bit of this um… Teehaaar you have?"

Ghegari shared the halfling's excitement for the fruit liquor. "This stuff you have, you say it's strong?' The orc tossed back what liquid she had left in her cup, eager to replace it with whatever the new woman had brought to the table. "I would love to try some for myself. You're right about the wine, it is weak. I guess for our friend Mali here, considering his size, it really doesn't take much to get him drunk." She joked at his expense.

 

[noodle]

[fieldbox="Raven Willow Ashdown, red, dashed, 10, Courier New"]

Raven frowned, though it would have gone unnoticed by most people. A small furrowing of her eyebrows ever so quickly, a slight wrinkle of her nose, the look in her light eyes, and a slight downward tilt of the corners of her mouth were the only clues to her confusion. This woman...this...vampire...had murdered one of their own. Then claimed that he was a traitor to them, and that she was sent to join the Dirge?

....what?

The assassin, however, said nothing, but kept her pale eyes locked on the woman as she and their leader walked away, the others' words and protests not really penetrating her train of thought. Yes, she would keep an eye on that one. And it looked as if she wouldn't be alone in this matter. The archer was certainly disgruntled, and shot a sass-filled remark toward them as she left. And the robed figure, what was his name? She had forgotten, but that was besides the point. He had gone after them.

With a small sigh, Raven pushed her hood down again after sheathing her daggers and strode inside, still lost in thought. Why would their leader trust her so easily? Did he know something they didn't? It upset her to think that he was keeping such large-scale secrets from them. That wasn't how a team was supposed to work, was it?

Then the scent of alcohol, strong and enticing, wafted its way into her nostrils. How dare they have a drinking party without her?

Troubled thoughts discarded to ponder over later, the girl made her way into the room where the others were. Her eyes were sparkling in amusement as she made her way over and pushed her way into the crowd.

"Now who's having a party without me?" She pouted jokingly. Then, before she got herself a drink or someone gave her one- whichever came first- she turned to the archer. What was her name? Oh yes, Scarlet. Hm.... Maybe she was better at remembering names than she thought. "You're sarcastic," she remarked absentmindedly. "I like that." A grin flashed across her face for a moment, then she returned her attention to the alcohol.
[/fieldbox]

 

[Promedai]

[fieldbox="Dr. Harmond Blackwell, grey, dotted"][bg=white]It was not that long since Elyan left, entrusting the children to the lycan's care. It was not very long at all since Blackwell obeyed and took the little ones with him to the refectory, where he began his work. But he could not forgot, could not focus, could not wipe from his mind the image of that man with his bleeding hand, the delicious red rivulets running down from his fingertips onto the floor. Stained tan skin and nails, the white edge of trimmed bone dirtied by blood. Fingers curled into a fist, closing into the tattered cut, trying to conceal it. Still, the liquid seeped out.

To be clear, Blackwell was not entranced by blood the same way a vampire would be, but he could not deny that he craved to taste it. That salty metallic copper sauce dressing delectable flesh. He had run his tongue over his teeth in temptation; the man's canines were noticeably longer than normal, sharper and more pointed, though the tips of them were not shaped to pierce pinpricks into the skin -- the key difference between dogs and drinkers of blood. A similar urge was there though... to bite. He had to swallow hard to stop himself.

Both he and Elyan had been forced to show incredible restraint in not reacting to what was happening as they stood only a small distance from each other -- the coordinator pretending that he wasn't in unbearable pain; the doctor pretending that he wasn't in unbearable hunger. The tension between them was thick enough to cut with a knife. That humble, docile smile the wounded man showed him didn't help to ease it either; if anything, it appealed to the lycan's predatory senses, acknowledging him as prey, one that pleaded for simple mercy since it did not believe it could fight back. But his mind was being torn in half by a better understanding that this man meant to be his alpha, in terms of pack mentality. He was not to be toyed with. That was when Blackwell realized there was something else, another maddening urge that did not involve eating Elyan. As he stood there gritting his own teeth to maintain control, seeing his superior doing the same to keep from crying out in agony, the doctor wanted so badly to be able to take that pain away. The muscles visibly tightened around Elyan's eyes and mouth as he tried to talk, attempting to keep his calm composure, and it was excruciating to watch, knowing that he would not accept aid. It took great effort for the doctor to not act instinctively at first sight of the ragged gash opened up again, pooling red into the leader's palm.

He knew, however, by the man's measured words and the determination alight in his eyes, he would not allow this distraction to delay what needed to be done elsewhere. A member of the Dirge had died while their leader was not around; they needed his attention foremost at the moment, just as the children needed the doctor's treatment more than Elyan did.

Blackwell did what was asked of him once he went to the refectory, which he then worked to re-purpose into a makeshift operating ward. The privacy of his young patients was secured by his request that no one else enter the area while he was at work, unless they had important business concerning the Sanguine Dirge. Briefly, he wondered how soon he would be assigned to autopsy the body of whoever had died after Elyan addressed the incident. He'd be lying if he wasn't dying to know who it was and how they'd met their demise. To die on the very first day of assembly; he couldn't imagine the embarrassment a warrior must feel at failing so spectacularly.

The doctor sniffed the air. Various herbs available around the room offered him their latent talents. He identified them by scent and some distant recollection of apothecary recipes he'd studied in his spare time researching alternative medicine. That seemed like it was all so long ago, when he was still human. How many years had it been since then? He did not know. Gathering a handful of ingredients, he believed he could brew a consumable sleeping agent, a tea of sorts that would tranquilize the children. He supposed along with poisons, his ability to craft medicinal concoctions qualified him as a chemist as well as a physician and surgeon. The herbal tea worked like a charm; it was easy to coax the kids to drink it and it did not incite any panic when it started to slowly lull them into a state of slumber. To ensure they would remain in that state, only then did the doctor inject them with an additional drug that would make numb both in mind and body. They had been sitting on the edge of the large table when he told them they could lay down if they got tired. They did so dutifully, drifting off shortly after closing their eyes.

Blackwell made sure to wash his hands very well with strong soap and fresh water, for he intended to take care of the girl child first, and what he would have to do for her feminine health was a little invasive. The men who held her captive had been rough with her in ways that would require thorough cleaning and ointment to help heal the internal walls that were raw and inflamed from overuse. He performed this task with professional detachment. Her anatomy was nothing more than a sum of individual parts; he looked at her like she was a machine, only focused on what he needed to fix so that the rest of the equipment would continue to operate in tandem.

Her brother was the one that could not be repaired as easily. Thankfully, Blackwell brought with him better tools this time, no longer content with borrowing the rusted ones housed here at the Pilgrim's Respite. Using a sharp saw, the doctor cut off the jagged end of the boy's ruined arm. As the meat fell away under the edge of the blade, Blackwell eyed the red slice that laid there like a bloody steak. His thoughts were drawn back again to Elyan's blood. The way it looked. The torn meat of his palm. The doctor felt his blade sawing through bone now. It was tougher to get through, so he sawed even harder. The entire time his eyes was cast far across the room, unfocused on the surgery as his vision was blinded by images in his mind. The doctor's face twisted into a terrible grimace wrought with hunger. His teeth grinded against each other. He sawed at the arm more aggressively, imagining the meat he would tear into with his teeth the same way he tore into it with his saw. Stripping it from the bone, feeling the pull of tough muscle rip apart and the gritty texture of it on his tongue. Abruptly, the blade chopped into the table with a loud thud. Blackwell winced, realizing what he had done. He did not mean to remove that much of the stump. A growl rolled low in his throat as he worked with what he had left. He hurried to finish what procedures remained before tossing a blanket over the boy and walking out of the refectory.

He was hungry. It was imperative that he found food before he found himself eating his patients instead. He passed what appeared to be a party of women surrounding a single halfling male he'd met earlier in the day. The doctor didn't know their names, or at least he couldn't recall them at the moment. None of that was important to him at the present time. He stalked off towards the kitchen in search of sustenance.[/bg][/fieldbox]

 

[RedArmyShogun]

With the other shadowy figures arrival, Kiyoko is momentarily distracted. "Eh? Ah.." Turning her head to look down at the Halfling, name was Mali wasn't it? Orc was Ghegari, the archer was Scarlet, that one she would know from scent alone... curious.. And the one who smelled of cat was Raven.

What caught her off guard was the Orc asking for some of her liquor, looking at her as if she were stupid. "Wha...Ah.. That's right you aruetiise are bit more individualist than us. Anyway name's Kiyoko Sanada, Kyo works on the field." Leaving the bottle where it is on the table, the Wolf eared woman ponders sharing a custom of her people with this group. It couldn't hurt, and if the others were brought it, might lower the body count they left.


As if to make the point for her, the Doctor came by smelling of blood, an almost crazy, frantic look to his actions. A wild one as her people would term it, in need of breaking.. Though that also wasn't in her duties to deal with... Though it was discomforting knowing he would be the Doctor... More and more, this job with the Dirge was looking dicey. But a contract was a contract. If she weren't worth her word, then what good was she?





"In my lands we have a tradition, here your lot, always counts on cooks, or others to make your meals, then you go, sit down, eat. Always have some useless shrills of men and women to serve yah too..what glory and honor can be had there.." Sitting the cup down next she stares at them.

"Our Traditions are much different, we operate and fight as a pack, even when we fight alone. We try and keep peace within our own ranks by encouraging group think.. Mind you we aren't one for taking orders, like toy soldiers.. You can just suggest something sensible and we'll go together on it.. Ah prattling aren't I, hahaha...ah.."

Rubbing the back of her head with a right hand, the assassin regains her barrings and continues. "By setting that down, it means you all can have some, I only have the one bottle, so share, rest are in my stores. For the main meal, we normally in my lands will make a communal stew, some side items and drink. Everyone contributes, or they don't eat. Song or some form of entertainment is also suitable, or setting the fire...though I bloody hate that job.. Maybe let the redhead do that. I myself play a knife game with a bit of song, bring alcohol, or tend the stew pot."

Scratching the back of her head again, the wolf eared girl sighs. "What I'm saying is, I'm willing to share my liquor later, if you all are willing to share in on the rest of that... I doubt our Vampires will much care for it, but maybe they will...just none of yer shit, talk'n about the messiah kid at the fire.. We heathens like to go to hell with a full stomach.

The deadman I might try dragging here.. And of course that buy'ce hair of a leader of ours too.. Might not much like em, but he is leader, so even he is welcomed to the fire. Same with the runt.. You're a bunch of aruetiise.. but if I'm going to give yah some of our liquor, might as well give you some of our culture. Hell maybe I'll cook some tiingilar, or bring some of our black ale."






Grinning a bit at that, the woman snatches up a knife from one of the nearby tables, flipping it in her left hand, without so much a pause or worry. "Ne'tra gal, Black Ale.

Ne'tra gal mesh'la, jat'isyc, bal, wayii, jahaal'got!" Translating her song, the knife flips almost as if well practiced. For all the blood thirsty nature of her people, they were practical, enjoying the simple things in life, foisting a since of comradery within their own ranks, inclusion even. Translating the words she had just spoke, the knife lands hilt first in Kiyoko's hand. then is flipped up once more, repeating the process.

Black ale looks good, tastes good, and - by golly - it does you good!"

"So drink up aruetiise, but share, and if you want more, then be ready to lend a hand when yah next see me. Normally as yer people see fit to stay off on their own, mine do the same. I won't be come'n to beg or carring yah a plate of supper, but I won't run yah away neither if yeah know how to be proper."

With that out of the way the woman starts to whistle a hymn of some sort, twirling the blade with each flip.

"So that one is...ah, free I guess, any after, well, sing, bring food items, contribute some way and there may be all sorts of liquor, ale, spicy beer, meats and stews.." Smiling she stops the knife mid flip, impaling it in the table, with a flick and throw of her left.


"Don't and next place that'll be is in yer hand."

Having finished her talk, or warning the young woman sets her cup down, looking at the rest with a shrug. "Well? Go ahead, enjoy."

 

[EmperorsChosen]

As the archer took her place among the Orc and Halfling, the two seemed to welcome her without issue. Typically, Scarlet would be more bantering, but with the day she's had, she currently had the face of someone trying not seem unpleasant despite their exhaustion. "The wine is weak? Tis a shame... Verily I could use something stronger about now... Not to sound ungrateful, Ser Mali. You and the lady, Gheghari both saved yourself some headache by avoiding the commotion outside, so if my tongue is unintentionally sharp this evening, I hope you don't pay it much mind."

As if on cue, the wolf then appeared with stronger ale, or so she claimed. Scarlet wasn't exactly on friendly terms with the lycanthrope, but then again, her irritation was directed elsewhere and the assassin was apparently trying to be on better terms, so it was a good chance for the two to boost their relations a bit. "Oh, the furry assassin joins in?" Chimed the archer as she spotted the woman. Kiyoko had verified verbally that she was offering booze, among explaining other aspects of her culture, and Scarlet could admire that manner of teamwork. "I won't praise you for all your beliefs, Miss Wolf, however I find it easy to look upon that form of coexistence and cooperation; everyone pitching in, that is." More or less, Kiyoko was saying that what she dealt with was give and take. "I tend to repay what I owe, though I rather not look at it that way... An eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth... My mentor would say that often, though neither he nor I were very zealous. Perhaps I'll cook one of these days in return for some of your drink, Wolf."

Giving a light smile at that, the woman seemed genuine, if not tired mentally. Soon, another joined the group; an assassin too. It was one of the more quiet ones, but a smartass in nature akin to Scarlet herself. Smartasses typically didn't get along with each other's kind, but she could somehow see her befriending this one. Maybe it was because of the age difference? Perhaps she saw something of herself in the girl? Who knew. The ember archer was too fatigued to think more on it. The girl seemed to care for her sarcasm, to which Scarlet appeased her with another comment. "Oh? The youngling dares come to drink with the grown ups? Careful, lest we have to carry you back to bed with Ser Mali in tow." Mustering up a smirk herself, she took a cup and was among the first to poor herself one of the wolf's ale, too tired to deal with or react to the woman's antics.

She had almost killed someone earlier that day, honestly she should be happy that she was only possibly threatening a stab wound for mooching.

 

[noodle]

[fieldbox="Raven Willow Ashdown, red, dashed, 10, Courier New"]

Raven kept a blank face throughout Kiyoko's lecture, eyes serious and nodding along. In any case, she looked completely sincere. She didn't want to be on the wrong end of her blades, and insulting the Wolf seemed to be a bad idea, considering how short-tempered she had already proved herself to be. But she couldn't help but want to be a little bit of a smartass to the woman who seemed much too serious and focused on her past and tradition to stop talking about it for three damn seconds.

Oh well. She was here to make friends, not be an annoyance to a wolf assassin.

The werecat dropped the serious look and took on her usual smirk instead, focusing her attention on the archer next to her, who had, to her delight, sassed back again.

She laughed, her lips twisted into a half smirk, half grin. "Let's see what happens," she replied evenly. "You may be surprised, O old one, perhaps I will be the one carrying you to bed." As she said this, her hand snatched the bottle from the table as Scarlet set it down, pouring herself a drink and then passing it off to whoever wanted it next. "Of course, we could all end up getting drunk and waking up in this very room with bowls on our heads and each other's shoes on," she shrugged.

...that was not a memory, she swears it.
[/fieldbox]

 

[Promedai]

[fieldbox="Ghegari Don'orah Greygrim, green, solid"]Ghegari was beginning to like the wolf-girl a little more, if only for her harmonious values and simplistic lifestyle; the woman was surprisingly reasonable in certain ways once you got to know her work ethic. None of that would diminish their disagreements on other things, of course, but it would at least soften the subject. The orc could see her now as a wild soul, rather than a chaotic one. Kiyoko was not a cruel creature. Her abrasive attitude was to be expected of a tribal lycan, and much like the wolf that she was bred to be, under all that aggression, she also possessed an inclination towards teamwork which would not fully surface until her companions had earned her respect.

"Thank you for sharing, Kiyoko." Ghegari raised her glass. "To learn of your traditions is an honor, and to partake of your liquor is a blessing." Her words weren't just a weird formality; she meant it sincerely. The wolf-girl probably wouldn't appreciate the sentiment since it sounded impersonal, like something a person would say under obligation to show gratitude to their host. That was a problem Ghegari struggled with whenever she spoke; her sentences were too carefully crafted to be convincing. Instead of speaking casually, she always came across sounding pretentious, spewing poetic speeches at people who did not want to hear them. Wasn't an orc supposed to be good at carrying rough-cutting, coarse conversations? Wolves, apparently, were a lot better.

Speaking of which, she spotted the lycanthrope doctor coming back from the kitchen, calmer now, having dealt with his condition. She had wanted to wave him over the first time she saw him, but he looked to be in a hostile mood on his initial trip past the party.

The doctor glanced in their direction, and Ghegari took that as her opportunity to beckon him. The man's footsteps slowed to a stop when he saw her signaling him to come closer. A trace of confusion, belied by curiosity settled on his face before he moved towards the table. Stooping low, like a waiter, he bowed his head down to listen to the orc alone.

"Yes?" The man murmured.

"I'm sorry, doctor; I don't even know your na--"

"It's Blackwell." He informed her before she finished asking.

"Well, I am Ghegari. I'm uncertain if you know everybody by their names alre---"

"I do." The doctor interjected again. "I've been supplied with all of the information I need to perform my duties for the Dirge, which includes making myself familiar with the names of my potential patients."

"So you know Samuel?" She inquired.

"The young knight? Yes, I know of him."

"Have you seen to him yet? He was wounded in that altercation with the assassin earlier; you must have heard about it by now."

There was a long, worrying pause.

A sharp intake of breath came from Blackwell suddenly when he realized that Samuel might've went to bed without treatment, because the doctor did ask not to be disturbed while he was busy working with the children.

Ghegari got the same shocked look on her face, except hers melted into a molten glare, which she shot at the doctor in that instant. "Go find him. Now." The orc demanded, though keeping her voice low. "By the gods, if that boy dies tonight..." She didn't even need to finish her sentence for the doctor to know -- her sharp and burning stare was enough to show she meant him harm if he failed to save Samuel.

Blackwell gave the muscled woman a curt nod, then left the table.

The bottle of liquor that Kiyoko brought was looking better than ever now. Ghegari started pouring herself some, filling up her cup to the brim, then setting the bottle back down with a heavy hand. "Looks like I'm going to need a whole lot of this tonight." She sighed to herself.[/fieldbox]

 

[Sir Basil]

Elyan ag Mórgwnystrad
Male / Twenty Five / Human
"Each man is a hero and an oracle to somebody."

Ω QUARTERS Ω

The foreigner walked with her. He did not turn his head, at the sounds of the Dirge - their complaints, their dismay. He walked forward, the sounds of his boots clicking against the stones where a different Elyan had died. The voices of his followers followed after him. He could hear their spite, dripping from their voices. He could hear the anger boiling in their throats, their doubt for him, their doubt for their mission. He didn't need them to believe in him. Regardless of whether or not they believed, he would still be. However, if they did not believe in him - they would not be inclined to follow him. He considered this, tasting the criticism - and with it, the motivations of his followers. Some were here just for violence, some were here just for payment - some were concerned that he was a traitor too. But the truth was, no matter how long Elyan went through their words, no matter how many times he went through the dialogue in his head - there was the same, persistent problem. He did not understand them. Not a single one of them. He was, body and soul, a foreigner.

The paintings on the hallway changed as Elyan walked forward. The vines and teeth gave way into abstract patterns of fruit and flowers - interspersed with the occasional glossy eye - inlaid glass in the plastered walls. They were blue, and stared at him as he passed them with the hooded blood-sucker. His fingers curled in front of him, almost instinctively. He grasped the thumb on his right hand with the fingers of his left, while his left thumb became knotted in the fingers on his right hand. He breathed something out, but the words were neither intelligible, nor audible. The words echoed in his thoughts. He continued to think them, over and over, a mantra as they moved through the corridor of Eyes; Yr wyf Elyan, the foreigner thought to himself, Arglwydd y Gwerin , sydd â'r llygad drwg unrhyw bŵer drosodd. I am Elyan. I cannot be hexed. Still, there was a chill that ran down his spine, and a dull ache in his hand. The paper was still in his hand, knotted around his palm and fingers, crumpled by his gesturing. He looked down to his tightly held thumbs, and then, back up towards the walls. The glass-inlays became less and less frequent, but there was still a prickle in his neck. It was as if somebody had said Cysegredig over his grave, long before his time.

Elyan undid the curls of his fingers, and looked down, towards the many folds in the paper. His eyes skimmed across the surface. His bloody hand has stained the surface of it. Red was seeping into the page. He did not unfold it. Not yet. He cleared his throat, and continued to move through the hallowed halls. He gestured with his arm to the side, ignoring the blood that dribbled from his hand. It hit the tiled ground with a dull drip that echoed. He looked down at the spot where it had stained the ground, and then, back up at her - the bloodsucker - the vampire. He smiled thinly, and then, flicked his fingers idly towards the hallway. His words were clear, and pleasant - cold mead, not warm, but still honey-sweet. "Come this way, if you would." He guided her through the halls, and closed his bloody hand into a fist. The pain in his chest was almost unbearable. Under his curriass, he could feel the Duenos piercing him, cutting him, but his smile remained fixed upon his face.

The foreigner led her deeper into the halls of Skarisfall, down many hallways, through arches, down stairs. All the while his hand was a tight fist, and the blood was drying. The wound had begun to close, but there was a sticky tight sensation on his chest, as if it would crack with any sudden movement. He wouldn't know until she was gone. He looked at her, to keep his mind off of the pain, off of the numbing in his fingers, the tingle under the nail. She has sharp blue eyes, like knives or broken glass. She had eyes like the kind found on Skarisfall walls, but he didn't know what that meant yet. Her face had a sharpness in her, something she was holding back - but that could not be the case. He had seen what the Not-Child had done to her, the way that she charmed and played her. He understood that for what it was - witchwords, like his own. He thought of a story - about a man who could be many places, and his younger sister who knew every secret - but he banished it from his head. Words were wind, or so the witch had said. Words were wind, but the pain in his hand was real, the pain in his chest was real. The hallways were real, and so was she. So, Elyan looked at her.

The vampire was tall, she was sharp, and she was hard. He could taste something under his tongue, a strange, earthy taste, like he had swallowed a mouthful of marsh-ground. The foreigner could taste roots and dust under his tongue, when he looked at her. He turned to glance at the door before them. The taste in his mouth dissipated, as he looked at the door. It was a hardwood door, with a square golden lock set to one side of it. The lock had been carved so that it looked as if a monster would eat the key. There was thinly engraved line across the tiles before the door-frame. The groove had been filed with a white, granular substance; salt. Elyan's smile remained on his face, cheeks flushed, as he pressed his thumb against the paper in his hand, his bloodied one reaching into a side pouch. His fingers brushed against the leaves of a stolen herb, but then, a metallic jingle emerged. The foreigner had pulled out a small brass key, which he slipped into the door's keyhole. He couldn't taste the dirt, until he turned to the vampire once again.

His smile faded, as the muddy taste filled his mouth again. He maintained a placid, tranquil expression nonetheless. He looked at her the way a lake looks at a sky. Elyan twisted the key into the lock, and the door slid open. He led her into a small, rectangular room, with no windows, or other doors. It was a sparse room - with a hard-wood bed and a straw mattress. Blankets were piled on it, along with embroidered pillows and a knit rug from Tadun. The walls were unpainted, rough plaster. A mirror of polished bronze hung on one wall, with inlaid turquoise beasts marching along the frame. Beneath the mirror, was a small pottery basin, filled with water. Linen cloth sat next to it - waiting to be used for drying. A large leather bag sat in one corner of the room, and a few candlesticks were precariously perched on an iron-wrought steamer chest. The chest had runes forged around its sides, and a heavy lock - a lock made of tarnished silver. A bit of white hair hung from around the lock's mouth, and the key was nowhere to be seen. Elyan turned his head, and looked back towards her, with amber eyes. "I apologize for the intimate setting," His auburn bangs fell infront of his eyes, but he did nothing to brush them away, "I wanted to be sure that we were not interrupted."

Elyan smiled again, and stepped into the room, sitting down on the trunk with the clink of armor. He felt the paper - still tight in his grip. He unfolded the letter the vampire had brought with her, and set it down beside him on the trunk. He glanced over it, but his eyes snapped back to her - and the yellow in them seemed solar, too bright for a man's eyes. With his look, came the taste of soil. His mouth tasted like rust flakes from forgotten tools, buried beneath the earth. He pressed his fingers against the wound on his hand. It ached. He sighed, and abruptly rose from his spot, moving towards the basin. He sank his bloody hand into the water, turning his back to her. The clear water clouded with red. He continued speaking, "Let us begin with proper introductions. I am Elyan of the White Bay — and you were sent by the Elders." In the mirror, his reflect was distorted, making his eyebrows looking higher on his head than they were, but he nonetheless was cocking his brows, listening for the answer.

As Elyan listened to her reply, he reached for one of the linens. He began to rub his hand dry, and whatever remaining blood was still caked on it. The linen was stained pale pink. "Regardless of what the Elders' asked of you — I am the Coordinator." He said his title almost with a resignation to his voice. The foreigner did not have a swell of pride in his throat, but simple acceptance, "You cannot murder indiscriminately. Not even a traitor." He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes looking slightly glazed and sticky, almost damp. His mouth had become a small, pursed line. "If you were designated to be a member of this company, I suspect you know that.'

Elyan sighed, and folded the towel next to the basin. The sigh was similarly expressed to his words - resignation, acceptance. It wasn't annoyed so much as it was understanding - understanding of the unpleasantness that would come next. He did not look at her, staring deep into the murky water of the basin, watching the ripples of the water catch the dim light. "Killing - without explaination - has led both you and I into a precarious situation with our comrades. One cannot curry favour with violence - and why would our company have reason to believe you? You made a mistake." A note of harshness crept into his voice, and it sounded strange. It didn't sound like him - it sounded like somebody else, from somewhere else, inhabiting his voice. "And should your motives prove legitimate, we will discuss the consequences of your mistake."

The foreigner lifted his head from the basin. He did not look at the vampire. There was no taste in his mouth. In his head, he could hear the words, echoing in the spaces between the ear and the jaw, rattling inside of him. Make sure you remember your failure… His gaze went to his reflection instead. He watched his features swirl in the hammered bronze dish. His mouth corners twitched. The foreigner looked back towards the vampire, and he tilted his head, eyes dancing across her face, searching her expression. He gestured with the point of his chin towards the steamer trunk. The harshness left his voice, leaving behind a slippery softness, like satin sliding off the weaver's wheel. His voice was quiet as well, and controlled, as Elyan asked her, "What does your letter say, miss?" He clearly expected her to read it to him - but it was not so much a demand, as it was a request. If she did not honour it - so be it. Elyan knew how he would respond. He knew what he would say. He had seen it before, in a dream. His hands were coated with blood. The reflection wasn't him. The hair was in the trunk. It was all as it was before - and even if he wiped the blood from his hand, he couldn't change his face.

 

[BlueFlameNikku]

Collab post between @-Vesper- & @BlueFlameNikku

Samuel had left for the woods to train a little while after dusk began, leaving his armor, shield and sword by his bunk while he went and retrieved three dull training blades and made his way to the woods a few minutes walk away from the barracks. His shoddy bandaged leg still seeping blood into the white fabric as he walked.

Within a good few hours or so the young knight had already worked up an astonishing amount of sweat and had broken two of the training swords as he made countless attacks at a single oak tree; completely covering one side of it with carved slash marks. His breathing was heavy and ragged, his bare chest a and back exposed as he had removed his cloth under shirt, sweat dripping down in buckets from his forehead, chest and arms. Despite his age his upper torso was very well toned and muscular, clearly from the training he has endured for two years. His bandage now almost completely soaked in crimson as he reached down for the last training blade that wasn't shattered; staring at the tree that was now riddled with slash and cut marks.

Samuel kept imagining that woman standing in front of him; her speed...her strength. If these were the kinds of "monsters" he was going to be up against as he was now he simply die without a second thought; so young Sam would fall back on the one thing he knew how to do; train, adapt and learn.

He didn't have strength like a man such as Xarl had or the speed and strength of that woman. As Samuel would clutch the handle of the training blade tightly with a scowl before speaking quietly to himself with a growl and heavy breaths... "I can't beat strength like they've got... Gotta be faster...faster..." After saying this Samuel would continue to shadow spar, quickly dodging slashes and blows from his imaginary Vera training partner and retaliating back, striking the tree with great force, already chipping the newer blade. His arms were clearly swollen by now and his hold body was riddled with fatigue.

Nearby, a small branch could be heard cracking underfoot as someone approached the edge of the treeline. This was the doctor's way of introducing himself to Samuel; if he had intended to go unnoticed, he would not have stepped on the branch so blatantly. The boy was already pushing himself to the point of exertion, it would not have done him well to give the young man a heart attack by sneaking up unannounced.

Just as Samuel pulled back from a swing a the blade he heard a sudden twig snap loudly just off to his left. Exhausted as he was his awareness was by now means hindered if not heightened at his current state. Young Sam quickly spins on his feet pivoting to the direction he heard the sound and points the dull blade straight towards Blackwell as look of intense concentration on the boy's face that slowly turns to a more relaxed posture as Sam lowers the blade with a surprised expression before speaking after catching his breath.

"Oh, I'm...I'm sorry. Um...your the doctor. I'm sorry I don't recall your name sir."

[BCOLOR=#ffffff]"You can call me Blackwell."[/BCOLOR] The man answered.

Samuel still clearly saw the age gap between himself and the doctor that stood aways from him. It was common for Samuel to still address people with Mr, Ma'am.

"Also, I was hoping that I was far enough out that I wouldn't be disturbing anyone's rest. Guess I'm sorry for that too."

Sam letting out a quick laugh before his eyes go hazy and his body goes limp before falling to the ground, dropping the blade as his body his the ground with a thud.

Blackwell was beside the boy in a split second. He dropped to his knees, pressed a hand against his neck to check his pulse which was still beating, but faintly, even for all of the strenuous activity the boy had been through. On top of that, his temperature was much too cold to be normal. Then again, the doctor was forced to remind himself, the file he'd read said that Samuel was cursed with spectralism, something Blackwell understood as a suspended state of death. The spirit could come free of the body, but the body still needed to be taken care of to keep it alive, so that the spirit would have something to come back to. He wasn't sure if being a specter also affected the body though, decreasing its requirements to continue functioning, such as a slower heart rate, lower core temperature and only being hindered by blood loss after an incredibly significant amount was missing.

The doctor looked down at Samuel's leg, seeing a river of red flowing freely from the poorly bandaged appendage. The boy's exercising had only forced all of that blood to drain out of him faster. What a fool.

Blackwell peeled the wet bandages apart as easily as tissue paper -- which they probably were, since Samuel applied them himself. The wound was wide open, ugly and leaking. There was no time to take the boy back to the refectory to properly staunch the bleeding; he'd already be an empty cold corpse by then. No, something needed to be done about it now. Luckily, being a lycan allowed him take action immediately. It was a messy sort of solution, one that would surely be met by protests from the patient if they were aware of it, so it was a godsend that Samuel had slipped away into unconsciousness.

He held the boy's leg in his hands, lowered his head and lapped at the wound. He ran his tongue across it, tasting blood and raw meat, but his hunger had already been sated not too long ago, so the flavor held no sway over him. No urge overtook him to eat Samuel. The bleeding soon stopped, the flesh started to stitch together just slightly, enough to close the cut and keep it from pouring anymore. Blackwell licked the skin one last time, letting it settle, then laid the boy's leg back down gently on the ground.


Samuel could faintly feel a presence next to him over the course of the next few moments; along with some feelings of touch and moisture but he would chuck that up to being his injury bleeding again. As Samuel's body fully relaxes and injury starts healing do to Blackwell's efforts. Samuel would rise from his body into his ghost form. It looks just like how he is currently except for the fact that he was glowing a with a dull golden color and was nearly transparent. Floating slightly above his body and Blackwell the ghost boy would frown slightly, floating back away a few feet before speaking, his voice was still young but the words would hang ever so slightly longer.

"Thank you...Mr. Blackwell... I... I don't know what to say really..." "Except maybe take it easy for the rest of the evening..."

Sam was very shy about his specter curse, even now he was desperately shying away from the doctor as much as he could but knew he had to stay close to his body for safety reasons.

Rising up on his feet, the doctor dusted off his clothes, a curious look in his eye as he gazed up at the ghost floating there in front of him. [BCOLOR=#ffffff]"Tell me, truthfully; after you were injured..."[/BCOLOR] Blackwell began. [BCOLOR=#ffffff]"...you were told to come see me, weren't you? Yet you did not." [/BCOLOR]His tone was as neutral as it could be kept with it's edge of accusation. [BCOLOR=#ffffff]"Instead I find you here in the forest, pushing yourself to the point of passing out. Why is that?"[/BCOLOR]

Samuel's ghostly posture continues to shy away, clasping one ghostly hand upon the opposite arm but continues to speak.

"I...I was only told to go get patched up...and I knew you were busy with the children." "...and...the reason why I'm out here...is because...I don't want to fail again...I don't want to fail you all...I don't want to fail the Dirge..." These next few words being said only within his own mind..."...and...I'm afraid..."

Samuel wasn't just shy now, he was afraid. Afraid of what would happen if his body were to die once again. He feared that he wouldn't be able to join his family in the afterlife because of what he has become and that terrified him more than anything that he couldn't be any closer to death at every waking moment and not have closure that afterwards he could see his father, mother and little sister's faces again.

The doctor sighed deeply, eyes downcast. There were so many things he imagined he should say. So many things that Samuel needed to understand, but he knew the boy would not. The Dirge had already lost a life today; if they all continued to act on their own, as individuals unconcerned with how heavy their death would weigh on others, then the group was as good as dead already and their mission would be little more than a lost ideal. [BCOLOR=#ffffff]"We work together as a team, Samuel... we won't let you fail if you put your faith in us. Because if you fail, then I've also failed you as a doctor, and Elyan has failed you as a leader, and I will not allow that to happen. We are accountable for every single one of you, whether you act without our knowledge or not, we will still suffer the consequences of your actions."[/BCOLOR] Blackwell hadn't realized he was yelling until he reached the end of his tirade. He let out another long breath before speaking softer this time. [BCOLOR=#ffffff]"My doors are always open to one of our own. So please.... don't let me hear from Ghegari again that you've gone off without getting my help when you're hurt."[/BCOLOR] With those words, Blackwell walked away.

Samuel's ghost form listening silently to Mr. Blackwell's words, nodding his transparent head as the doctor turns about and walks away. The ghostly boy floats slowly back to his body and stares at it for a moment, again taking in the fact of what he was no matter how badly he pretended not to be. To forever by stranded in the middle of a tight rope high above the endless pit of sorrow and darkness that awaited him. He phases back into his body; upon standing up now back in flesh and bone young Sam would find it astonishing that Mr. Blackwell healed his injury so quickly, giving a few jumps in delight before cleaning up broken bits of sword around the area and returning to the barracks where he would make sure to now rest until morning, heading Blackwell's words in his head up until the morning would come. Though Blackwell's tone sounded more like a scolding that an uncle would be giving a nephew the mentioning of Ghegari and Blackwell offering to help Samuel in the future was a pleasant feeling Samuel would hold onto throughout the rest of the night.

 

[U.N. 0W3N]

Needless to say, the combination of company and booze led to a foggy evening... and an eventful wake up. (Tune in next time when stress isn't eating at my brain like a zombie).

 

[Akashi]

Both her and Elyan had parted ways from the rest in the small unit within the Dirge. Vera kept her calm demeanor throughout the base, following the leader deeper into it. She clearly noticed how unique the place was, but at the same time, she couldn't help but keep her eyes on the back of the man who was almost if not shining like the sun itself.

Her blue eyes squinted ever so slightly, keeping quiet, not uttering a single word as they went from one corridor to another. Down some stairs, hallways and doors. Vera simply nodded to him when he spoke while on their way, though she found it quite odd that they'd end up in his chambers of all places to talk. Every single member of the unit were unique and abnormal in some way, but the leader, Elyan gave off a different vibe.

She couldn't help but think of his arm, or rather his hand that had blood dripping from it. And her vampiric tendencies did not kick in. She wasn't hungry, nor did her affliction kick in. Having drained the giant she executed, she was basically full. Now that they were inside his chambers, a more curious expression was plastered on Vera's face.

Obviously, she did not have the need to say anything, but once she took a seat, the conversation finally began. Vera pulled her longsword and placed it on the table. Her blue eyes had observed Elyan throughout the base, and were still focused on him. He acted quite odd, and she felt that the man before her was there, in the chambers, with her, but at the same time, he wasn't. What was going on in his mind? Or so she started thinking.

Elyan, the coordinator introduced himself, and knew why she came. Vera's expression did not change, it was more or less serious. Staying quiet as the Coordinator spoke. About her punishment, or the way she made her presence known to the Dirge, to his specific unit.

Once the man was done talking, he asked her a simple question. About the letter, and what contents it held. Vera's eyes glanced at the bloodied letter, before her attention moved back to Elyan. Or rather, his golden eyes. The woman finally removed her hood. Her long black hair fluttered ever so slightly. Her features more visible than before. Her tender yet deceiving lips. "Before I start. I'll introduce myself."

Her voice was much more calmer now than before, before she continued. "I am Vera Gambriel, and like you said, I was sent by the Elders." She took a moments pause.

"I was sent to join your unit within the Dirge, and to defuse a situation before it got out of control. The Elders had told me about Xarl before I arrived to this.. Respite." Vera's will was unwavering, even if the Coordinator threatened her with punishment. She was a strong woman, but alas, she had to comply, and continued with her explanation.

"I couldn't allow Xarl to get suspicious, and saw an opportunity I couldn't ignore. If I had joined the unit with him there. His plans to strike your unit may.. Or rather, could have been shifted, or sped up." Vera stood up from her seat, and grabbed her sword on the table, holding it.

Her blue eyes fell on the letter, before she grabbed it with her vacant hand. The seal of the Elders was placed on it. She did not open it to reveal its contents, but rather, kept on explaining. "He was a spy, and was probably waiting for the right moment, or where the unit would be most vulnerable, to strike. It could have been in Askal's Deep, or somewhere else. However, I do believe that my actions, have become a thorn in our enemies plans."

"I do not know what information the letter holds. Only that it was for you, and your eyes only. However, I can confirm that most of what I said, is probably in the letter, and perhaps even more information regarding the one I took care of." Her mind was slightly somewhere else. Obviously the rest of the unit, or even Elyan himself may not believe her, and her first impression wasn't exactly the best.

"I do apologize if this puts you at a difficult position with the others in the unit, as it probably has with me as well. I may have to earn your trust as well, no matter the contents the letter holds, and with the rest upstairs." Her eyes glanced at the ceiling above her.

"However, I do believe I'll get the opportunity to redeem myself or earn this units trust if I'm allowed to stay. If you still have to punish me for my actions, or to earn favors amongst the members of this unit, then so be it."

"Allow me to explain something else as well." She took a pause, because something Elyan told her in the beginning had rushed to her mind.

"I did not attempt to gain any favors from the unit, or from you through my actions. I was ordered by the Elders, and accomplished what I had set out to do. I do not want favors from others, nor am I looking to get some, as I don't see the need for them."

"If I did, I would have blatantly said that I did you all a favor by removing something that would eventually halt you and the unit at some point in the future. I do not expect to gain something positive from the unit through my actions either."

"We're all here for the same cause, and I hope I'm allowed to be a part of your unit, and get a chance to earn this units trust."

She placed the letter on the table before her. Silence echoed throughout the beautiful room. Her eyes were on the seal. Her index finger casually drumming on top of it. Her eyes moved back to Elyan. "If there is something more you would wish to know about. This letter will provide you with such information. However, I do believe I've told you most of what the Elders intend on revealing with the letter, as I'm sure you've figured it out already."

The only reason for why Vera did not openly read out the letter, was because of what the Elders said. That it was not for her eyes, her mind, but for the leader of the unit. "If you require me to read this letter, then I'll read its contents out for you." If the leader did not care about the Elders or what they told Vera, she'd accept his wish. She just wanted him to confirm it directly, so she was sure.

Looking at the door to her side, the exit, she didn't have much more to say or add. Her expression was a tad bit curious. She felt that something ominous was lurking outside. Something that was odd. Though she did not feel the need to address. Perhaps the base itself gave a vibe such as that.

 

[Sir Basil]

Elyan ag Mórgwnystrad
Male / Twenty Five / Human
"Each man is a hero and an oracle to somebody."

The foreigner stared at her for a long moment, his honey eyes dark and sticky - like sap from an old acacia tree. His fingers laced in-front of him, dinegrs knotting around one another. His palm was throbbing, he could hear the pump of blood swelling up in the base of his hand, rushing through his veins to this point of pain. He curled his fingers tightly, pressing the tips of his nails to the interior of his hand. A bit of water dripped from his hands down, down to the tiled floor. Where the water landed, it stained the rough tiles dark - and wiped away a few centuries of dust. His chest hurt - but the stabbing sensation had gone away. Now, it was a low, dull ache that made his skin feel prickly and numb, a sensation of a thousand dull needles beneath skin that could not longer feel it. Elyan could feel the name crawling across his chest, like the mark of Crëwyd. Staring at her, Elyan wondered if she had been marked too.

Elyan knew where vampires came from. The story been told in these halls, the story began only a few chambers away, where the first Elyan's blood has been spilled on the ground. He remembered how the story had ended, after his namesake lay dead and broken on the ground. Crëwyd sipped at his brother's blood, he had performed the first murder. The Gods reached down and pressed their thousand hands against his skull, burning away all the pigment from his skin - making his crime visible to all who saw him. None would give him shelter, none would share their food with him. When he did taste food, it simply went to ashes in his mouth. It tasted like nothing. Cursed by both the Gods and the world, he travelled far away, to the Land of Llangefn, to forget his transgressions. But he had gone too far. Crëwyd found no peace in the mountain lands. He found only a terrible hunger, for he had tasted his brother's flesh, and it had changed him. They didn't speak his name. It became lost. Vera Gambriel. The name cut through the past. The foreigner tilted his head, the red hair falling infront of his eyes, and he looked down his nose at her. He smiled placidly, while his thoughts drifted back towards the vampire infront of him, rather than the first murderer.

Elyan waited for her to finish her speech. he listened to the way that she spoke it, and he titled his head to the side. Her words seemed practiced, rehearsed, as if she was reading from a script that he could nto see. His fingers flexed open and closed at his sides, expelling small droplets of water as he did. He listened to the way she paused, after she explained where she had come from. It was intended to have an impact on him - but he already knew. He could feel her voice growing in strength, and force - her words were accentuated such that it made it sound like she believed each and everyone. Elyan's eyes stayed on her mouth, watching it move. The gentle curve of her lips, the sharpness around the corners of it - it made it look like she could speak daggers rather than words. But his resolve was just as strong as her words, and his eyes remained trained on her face. His smile grew slightly, as she spoke to him, a gentle progression as with every word she said, the more his smile stretched. It never looked looked smug. The way that his eyebrows curved, the way that his features softened, made his smile look piteous. His expression wasn't understanding, anymore. It was something else.

The foreigner watched her hand go to the sword. He tilted his head, and then, watched as she grabbed the letter. The paper crunched in her hand, the blood smears on it had no doubt altered its contents. He considered for a moment, his smile shrinking slightly, and then more as she continued to speak. Elyan opened his mouth after she paused in a middle of the monologue - but then, he closed his mouth. The foreigner would dream the answer to his unasked question, and he bid it leave him. Instead, he tilted his pointed chin in her direction, leaning into her words. He too, continued to watch her mouth. He blinked at the appropriate intervals. He nodded when he was suspected to. But all the while, his smile began to fade as the vampire - Vera - continued to speak. He shook his head as she finished her words - when she asked if he required her to read the letter. He lifted his eyes to stare at hers. They were so bright, so blue. They looked almost brittle in her sockets, as if touched, they would shatter. Vera had a glass face.

The foreigner moved across the room, and knelt infront of the steamer trunk. The candlelight made the wroughtiron bands that held it together glitter with a a strange orange fail. This was the trunk with the hair in the lock, dragged all the way from the White Bay, and sailed across the sea with Uddyr Many-Scars and his company. Elyan pressed his fingers against the mouth of the lock, tugging gently at the lock of white hair. His fingers moved upwards, to touch his fingertips against the carved runes. He traced their engraved letters, touching the thorny rises and falls of a language that was no longer spoken. He stared at the runes on the trunk, rather than at her. His smile was gone, but his eyes were bright. He opened his mouth to speak, his words crisp - but smothered under the sweetness of his voice - , "Miss Gambriel." He said, pronouncing her name with a heavy emphasis on the middle of the word, "I hope you do not mind if I ask you some questions. I'm a bit confused.'" He looked over his shoulder, and gave her a quick stretch of his smile, that vanished as soon as it was seen.

"If the Elders were aware that Xarl was treacherous," He began, as he rose from the trunk. His fingers curled at his sides. "Why did they not tell me? I spoke to them only an hour or so ago - they could have easily contacted me prior to the ritual's undertaking, or communicated with me via an emissary." The foreigner's tone wasn't accusatory. It was confused - almost begging for the vampire to provide him with an answer. There was almost a desperation in his voice - but it was subtle, hidden under cordiality, and careful enunciation; "Do you happen to know why that Elders would choose to communicate with you, rather than me - it seems as if it is something I should have been made aware of, is it not?"

Elyan's eyes went to the sword in her hand. It was a long, dark blade. He wondered where the iron and steel that made it up came from. Perhaps it came from those northern lands, where Crëwyd had fled the judgement of the Gods and men. He had dreamed once before, of the Land of Llangfen. The foreigner had wandered those hills in the guise of a woman - a witch who had lived in these lands a long time. She had sensed him coming , and she waited for the arrival of Crëwyd in a house forged in the black iron hills, with red vines that grew all up and down the sides of it - vines as red as blood. She waited for him, holding out a lantern to the first murderer. When he came to her door, he was old and thin, pale and unearthly as moonlight. She knew who he was. So she made him soup, and welcomed him into her house. Elyan was she, and she was the Noswaith, a Cailleach from Llangfen who had lived in the Eveningfell all alone - and she had the sight as well, the same sight that Elyan had. When he dreamed of her, she looked at him - and her eyes were terribly blue. As blue as Vera's. He remembered what she had said. You are chosen. Her breath smelled like metal on the forge, like burning embers. She had smiled at him - he was outside of her. The marked one asked who she was talking to. And then, the dream ended. Elyan looked away from the sword.

The foriegner pressed him thumb to the center of his palm, and stared at her with his warm amber eyes, and smiled in a small way. It was the same, conspiratorial smile that shows on the face of a spy. It was the smile of a secret being shared, "I do not think that your actions were an attempt to gain favours from this unit. I am hopeful, however, that you realize that your actions were rash — and that while we all answer to the Elders," Elyan's eyes gleamed in his face, "I'd like to believe that you would extend me courtesy, as your Coordinator, of knowing what your plans are. Especially when your actions had such serious consequences. " The foreigner caught the way that she looked towards the door. He looked there too, and took a deep inhale of breath. he could taste nothing. But when he looked back at her, the taste of gravedirt returned to his tongue, as gritty and ashen as it always was.

"I will read the letter, but I would appreciate answers to what I have asked - I realize that this is a complicated situation." He opened his wounded hand, and glanced down at it. The cut on the palm had sealed over, a pale, thick line that crossed over the lines of his palm - the heartline, the lifeline. He frowned down at it, and closed his eyes for a moment. But only a moment. He opened his eyes again, and offered her the calm, tranquil smile of a man waiting - but not demanding, not anxious. "The elders are only a few chambers away. Perhaps you and I could talk this over with them - I'd like to know more about the situation, and I imagine you would like that as well." He tilted his head, "If Xarl was as large a threat as you claim, they'll appreciate hearing that your work has been concluded from the source itself. '

Elyan plucked the letter up from the table. He did not open it, or even look at it. His eyes were trained on her, as the taste of ashes grew bitter in his mouth. Her eyes were terribly blue.

 

[Akashi]

"My conviction.. It is the same as the Dirge. I stand by their cause, like you. That is why I am here." The woman knew her answer clear as the day. Every single member, or the majority of it was there for the same belief. People from all over the world were a part of this organization.

However, t was not surprising that the Coordinator still had his doubts, his questions. Vera was well aware of that, especially when the letter was least of their worries. The woman did not really have the perfect response to most of what he asked. Why the elders had her take care of Xarl, and why so discreetly, as to the unit being oblivious to the fact that one amongst them was a spy.

"You may be right.." She began, looking straight at the man. "I do not question the Elders." There wasn't much more for her to tell Elyan, or as to reveal. She couldn't stop him from having his doubts.

Though at the mentioned of the Elders being that close by, her expression became curious. She couldn't help but wonder how eager this man was to have some form of an evidence. The only one who could have backed her up where the Elders, or so she assumed the Coordinator believed. Obviously, the letter could have been forged.

Vera closed her eyes for a mere moment. There was one particular reasoning as to why Xarl's treacherous acts were not revealed to the unit by the Elders, or more specifically, to Elyan himself. "It is the way the Gods demanded it occur. It also ensures that Xarl would stay complacent and not as prepared for an attack since he already completed the training and made his way into a unit seemingly without being caught. As such it was the most logical way to dispose of him and ensure he received no hints that he was discovered to be a traitor." There wasn't much more for her to tell, or make sense of. Perhaps the Elders themselves had more than just one reason behind this. Why they had an outside come and take care of this.

"The reason for why the unit, or you, specifically weren't told about Xarl was to make sure he wouldn't be suspicious of the unit. Like I mentioned earlier, if there was a whiff of some odd actions by the unit, after Xarl's true nature was revealed, his plans could have drastically changed." Vera knew that this was nothing more than just a mere inquisition.

A brief moment passed, before she continued. "Since the Elders are only a chamber or two away, and if it would satisfy your curiosity, then perhaps paying them a visit will help give you the answers you need." What really made her curious was his barrage of questions. If they were so close by, this interrogation would not have been neccessary.

"Besides, if I truly was an enemy, I would have killed the young knight you have in your unit as well." The Vampire woman had a firm expression on her face. Her blue eyes peering right back at Elyan's. By the time anyone in the unit took action against her, she could have gotten rid of two of its members. The only reason the young boy, the young but inexperienced knight was still alive was due to her hesitation, due to her ability to confirm, her question. To the fact that he was not her second target.

 

[Sir Basil]

Elyan ag Mórgwnystrad
Male / Twenty Five / Human
"Each man is a hero and an oracle to somebody."

The foreigner considered. His eyes skimmed her face, staring at those cold blue eyes with his warm ones. She was not human - none of them were human anymore. Vampires. She was one of Crëwyd's brood, who came from the Land of Llangefn, where the ground seeped with iron and red-rust, and the leaves gleamed with oil as they would from a morning new. He had breathed that acid air in his dreams, and watched it hollow out his insides. That was what his foreign eyes had seen, when they looked through the eyes of another - and they had seen her, but not her. An woman who clutched at the arm of the first murderer, who had the same bright eyes, and same sharp looks. As Elyan looked at her, he traced the lines of her jaw, the roundness in her cheeks, the broadness of her brow. She was not human anymore, if she ever had been. He could not rely on human decency, or human sin, to guide his thoughts on her. And so, Elyan had to consider.

First, he listened to her. The Gods demanded his death - or so the vampire told him. Elyan's eyes flickered like embers. The Gods did not speak to him, not about this. Not about anything. They showed him dreams and memories, but the Gods did not demand anything from him. His tongue brushed against the back of his front teeth behind his smiling lips. He listened to why he had not been told, why he had not been asked to handle this himself. His mind could not understand why - why was he not the one who had been entrusted with this information? He was the coordinator. That was his duty - his duty was to coordinate, to direct. The word came from a word in his language. Cydlynu — which was about coherency, not coordination. His duty was to be coherent in his actions and speech, and that was something that rang false and hollow when he looked at this vampire. Her eyes were too bright, too blue. The witch was in them, the witch who had taken Crëwyd into her arms. He had heard - that when Crëwyd fled into the Eveningfell, and the witch found him — she had fallen in love with him. He had something that nobody else in the world had; murder. Nobody had ever murdered before, but he had with him this heavy black coat of not death - because everyone dies - but murder. Elyan's expression remained the same, soft mass of features - he wore soft smiles and ready nods. But in his head, reflected in his eyes; murder was before him, and murder looked back at him.

So he looked at her - and he looked at her until he knew what he had to do. He reached to take the letter from her hands, and unfolded it, piece by piece, corner by corner. His eyes scanned the bloody paper, and his lips moved slowly, as he conjugated verbs from the written common-tongue into his own language - hushed bits of Gweringair slipping from inbetween his lips. Elyan's fingers pressed against the red stains, and the colour sank into the lines on his fingers. His eyes unfocused from the letter. He was looking at the stain on his hand, at the way that the blood sank into his fingertips. He could feel the pain in his chest from where Xarl's name was carved. It had scarred, but the scar was deep. he could see the purple and pink letters in his minds eye, letters that spoke more than a name. Make sure you remember your failure… Xarl had been his failure. But he knew why - because Xarl had been his responsibility, and he had failed him. But, it was because he had failed Xarl that he could find the truth.

Elyan looked at the vampire, with his warm and honey eyes. He looked at her, and he didn't see her, he just saw those terrible eyes, burning bright and blue in her face. He set the letter down on the thick woven fabrics covering the simple bed. He smiled a small, comforting smile - warm and soft, gentle enough to melt butter without burning. He held his hands out infront of him, but did not look down at them. He kept his eyes on hers - so blue, so terrible. His fingers splayed in-front of him, palms facing downward. Through the gaps between his fingers floated motes of dust - standing out bright in the air from the candlelight. His fingers trembled slightly, and the dust motes stopped drifting. They froze in place, as if transfixed by the movement of his hands, before, they rapidly drifted up, into the palms of his hands, where the wound throbbed. He flipped his hands over, the wound throbbing. The dust had made an ashen halo around the scar. Elyan's jaw tensed. In his eyes, it looked like the Mark of Crëwyd, cursing him for all time - making him less or more than human. He thumbed it, slightly, pressing his nail against where the grey started around the pale line of scar tissue.

From where his thumb pressed, the dust began to float upwards, forming and changing. It stretched and bowed, until there was a grey bird the size of Elyan's fist in his hand, looking at him with yellow eyes that looked almost like his own. The foreigner lifted his head, and looked towards the vampire. His mouth twitched, broadening his smile. He then looked down to the bird, and murmured to it, whispering to it in a combination of his own, lost and forgotten tongue and the Common tongue that he learned so much later. "Find the elders," he murmured to the bird. It flapped its small wings, "Ask if this is legitimate. If they know Vera - and if they ordered Xarl's death." The hum of the blood under his skin spoke its answer to these questions - but Elyan did not want to do anything rashly. Rash actions led to mistakes - and he had already made enough of those. The bird opened its break, with a twittering song that meant something, to somebody - but not Elyan. He did not speak the language of birds, as the Feaseia had in the days when he wandered the earth. The foreigner rolled the red and white scrap into a small tube, and placed it in the grey finch's mouth.

Elyan watched as the bird left his hands. It squeaked, and shot past her - or would attempt to - going down and out the empty door to find the elders that it had been sent to find. He looked at her, with his golden and tawny eyes. He gestured towards the rest of the room. "Please. Make yourself comfortable." He leaned slightly against one of the hard plaster walls, folding his arms across his chest. His breastplate made a scraping sound as he did so. His chest burned, as if it was infected, and he stared at her, his smile still warm, his tone still honeyed. "Why have you joined the Dirge? You say you have the same convitions - but I imagine that all of us have different reasons for being here." His thoughts drifted to what the wolven girl had said - with her brash and discordant voice. Just here for the money. His wounds tingled, as he remembered the few moments he had spent with Xarl - the reason why he was here. He was just here for the fight, for the opportunity to spill blood. He was not here for the Gods, nor men. But now, he was with them — or he wasn't.

Elyan cocked his head to the side, and laughed lightly. "I apologize for the procedural. But I am sure that you can understand, that when a man has died - his death must be understood." His cordial tone slipped slightly, but the end of his sentence. He made movements with his lips, as if he had suddenly tasted something too sour. It was that ghostly taste of ashes on his tongue, the grit of dirt between his teeth - dirt and ashes that weren't there. Elyan cleared his throat, and his smile stretched again, this time, apologetic, sympathetic. His words were quickly stated, and heavy with an unspoken apology - for inconveniencing her; "You will be free to leave, when the bird returns."

The pain in his chest told him differently. The Elders will know, the thought to himself. The Elders will know what best to do. Even their not-knowing would tell him something, tell him something that the grave-taste under his tongue had been telling him all along. But for now, he looked at her - and murder looked back.

 

[Sarokhor]

The night of drunken bliss and tales of culture between the various members of the group at the respite comes to an end out of the necessity for rest. The bonds formed may have been minimal but it is a step in the right direction for group cohesion. As each person retires to their quarters for the evening without incident the night passes peacefully and the dawn breaks. The early rising routine is highly pounded into one's head during training and thus even the stone cold drunken members of Elyan's group wake, hungover or not. The first order of business of course would be a hearty meal for those who require such sustenance. As such it only makes sense that the majority of them will meet up at the refectory like even the trainees do. Monks, priests, nuns, blacksmiths, artisans, trainees, and seasoned veterans all share this communal room. With room enough for all the only issue is sorting through the morning crowd to find specific individuals. The tables were kept well polished and set for meals at various points of the day, a stark contrast to the effort put into keeping the medical rooms sanitary. Even now during this early morning bustle the young boys and girls who tend to the refectory rush about cleaning up dishes, spills, messes, and changing out the empty dishes for freshly cooked replacements. There was a great variety of dishes to choose from...

Roasted ham, crisped bacon slices, fried eggs, grilled slices of bread, jams and herbal/spice rubs for topping any dish, then there were the soups, fruits, and grilled vegetables. One does not want for food in this mountainous religious sanctuary despite the lack of fertile soil and proper farmlands. Trading and magic are the source of such abundance and neither have failed as of yet... While the others may be eager to get to the refectory, Aloette had a different location she had to visit. She knew this journey would require some cattle to accompany her lest her hunger leave her weak before making her rabid. The aristocratic vampire also needed her morning fill of blood after a good night's rest. She arrives at the cattle pens and doesn't bother to look at the humans on display, picking 2 men and draining them dry without hesitation. Her fangs doing their job to tear open wide holes in their necks and puncture their carotid so that each beat of their hearts shot blood down Aloette's throat without much effort needed on her part. It took her mere moments to drain them both and wipe her face with a fresh crimson handkerchief. She picked out a travel set of 4 well trained nearly mindless human cattle before she made her way to the refectory, seeking out Elyan and the other members of the group she was assigned. She liked almost none of them but that would have to change one way or another. She couldn't afford to have ill thoughts of those she needed to depend on and work with flawlessly. She made up her mind to be a bit more social today to help build these bonds. But first she needed to find them... her late arrival to the area in question made her one of the few not seated and thus much easier to spot

 

[RedArmyShogun]

Kiyoko having finished her morning rituals and training, sniffing the morning air from her sleeping spot in the forest, the buildings before her stunk of death as always, she would obey her contract, but the very nature of this place...

Grunting, it was time to deal with the lunatic cult once more. "Caavla sa shebs be'striili." With no one around to need to give the translation to, the girl spits on the ground. Heading towards the refectory to gather with the rest, plus to pick up some supplies, the wolf eared girl covers her face. Letting out a silent growl and snarl.

The cause of this became clear rather quickly, gazing at the four duped humans and the Vampire mistress, it wasn't a good death or a good life, even slavery had some better aspects to it than this. They were still human.. Glancing at the girl, how could one trust her in battle? In the end everyone and everything that wasn't her own kin was a potential lunch...well no, she was in a hurry to kill her own kind after all.. Then there was the fact they now had two... If rumors were true, they needed two bodies every day or two.. With the noble airs the little one wore, she rather doubted that one would care to miss her blood tithe. So many bodies.. Course one could say chickens and cows were the same, but she would settle that debate with a fist to the face rather quickly.




So long as the vampires lived, they would always be oppressed. And who could blame any for turning on them..it was like living with a jungle snake, no matter how many hats it wore, it would still one day swallow you.. Narudar, temporary ally - specifically your enemy's enemy, where both sides know this is an alliance of convenience and not a lasting pact. That word perfectly fit the child with her fodder in tow parading them for all to see. Many of whom in the room were human.. Or maybe they were just braindead axillaries..

Biting on her lip under the mask, there was no need to concern herself with this. Walking off with a laugh she mutters to herself. "Fighting for the freedom of what fake child.. A buffet line?" Never a supporter of the cause, at least Kiyoko wouldn't become disillusioned with it.

But how would the Archer and woman who smelled like a cat react? The Doctor, given his display last night, likely would want the leftovers. But the Halfman and Orc...oh they would likely have issue with it, given how they acted with events before, never mind Sam, that one would likely break before they returned by her guess. As to the leader... Shuddering at the thought of him, that man wasn't normal.. Even by their standards.. Then there was Mygdos, his reaction over time would be hard to predict.




Given her own ideals of honor, Kiyoko couldn't say she was happy with it. Suddenly this assignment seemed to have turned into an even more rotten station. Noting those seated Kiyoko hurries about her business, the less time in here the better. Hurriedly barking out orders to a supply worker, who allows her in the back. Setting about to gathering supplies, she mostly goes for food with high calorie intake, rather than that which was "tasty". A normal Chicken could provide enough for three meals for an average person, she needed more, and some items when surprisingly cooked or mixed with others, could in a smaller size provide that intake without needing to gorge herself on food that didn't meet that criteria.

 

[BlueFlameNikku]

Barracks and on the way to the Refectory

It was early morning the next day when young Sam sat up at the commotion of his past peers getting up and moving about the barracks getting ready to head to the refectory for the morning meal like any other day. However, as soon as Samuel finished putting on his armor, retrieving his things as well as his pack for the trip a group of four trainees approached him as he sat upon his bed and started a conversation of sorts. Like any other military barracks word traveled quickly and it was obvious that it hasn't been long since Samuel's training was complete and he obviously was packing a traveling bag.

The four trainees were all slightly older than Sam ranging from the ages of eighteen to twenty one, all of whom knew the response that Samuel gave to them that he of course couldn't talk about the mission but the five commenced with some small talk mainly consistent of remembering funny events during the past two years or so like barracks pranks on fellow trainees and particularly stand out sparring matches as all five of them made their way to the refectory; some of them even messing with Sam on the way about his own mess ups and shortcomings during training like the time Samuel got his face beat in real bad by "Big Mathew" during a sparring match or how Samuel didn't have much power behind his swings another one would say. All the while the young knight would just laugh along with them even if they were making fun of him.

Communal Room (Refectory)

This bantering would continue as they entered the communal room of the refectory with one of the four trainees spewing out "Hell, I bet Sammy ain't even gonna make it back unless he magically grows a fucking spine!" After which the group of four made their way away from Samuel to go get some food before sitting down at the table. Sam wasn't laughing anymore as he noticed Aloette and Kiyoko within the communal room as he hopped that neither of them heard him laughing along with the people who were just insulting him for he knew he already appeared to be worthless enough the previous day. He would try his best not to make eye contact with either of them hopping that they didn't notice anything that just happened as he made his way over to get a small portion of food consisting of a small mug of water, a slice of bread and a single bacon strip before sitting down at the corner seat of a fairly empty table.

The young knight knew full well he didn't have to eat at all but he wanted to eat just a little bit for two reasons. One was so that he wouldn't forget the taste of food and the second was because he didn't want to let go of such a normal activity because of his curse. But because he didn't want to be wasteful so he would only eat and drink in very small amounts. Amounts of food that other warriors would look at and question how the fuck a warrior could function off such lack of sustenance. But Sam knew the dead like him didn't need much of anything to keep walking around like an abomination. The boy would quickly eat his bread and bacon, cleaning is now even more empty plate and starts sipping at his water every now as he would keep his head down but occasionally just look about to see what was happening around him; noticing the happy and joking gestures and smiles of other trainees talking among each other.

After a few moment of observing others in silence Samuel's mind would drift back to the confrontation he had with the woman from yesterday along with everyone else then to Blackwell's words last night...we work together as a team. Samuel would think to himself...what is a team if the team leader forsakes his squad members as he remembered how Elyan was one of the only people who didn't bat an eye in concern for Samuel despite bleeding across the ground and nearly having his throat slit and then defending said woman who almost killed him without explanation. Elyan had a certain face about him...but Samuel wouldn't be following any orders from him anytime soon as Samuel would sit thinking angrily at this in his seat. He would protect the members of there party like how he has been trained to

 

[Akashi]

Once she was back in her own quarters after the inquisition by the Coordinator was done and over with, she never slept. Vera was crouching, leaned against the wall with her silver longsword being supported by her shoulder. Her left hand was lightly placed on the blade itself. The woman was always on guard, no matter day, or night. Besides, sleep was the last thing on her mind, nor did she actually need it.

Luckily, the window in her quarters gave her a good view of the sun, the skies. There were more than ample enough of thoughts that ran through her mind as the sun eventually settled down. As the skies turned darker, the moon showing up, its moonlight shining inside the room, her blue eyes never wavered. If anything, one could consider her to be in deep thoughts. About her own future, about her own past, and what lied ahead while being a part of the Dirge.

The moon eventually disappeared into the skies, as the sun finally returned, a clear reminder of a new day ahead of themselves. Time passed, hours were forgotten, and the woman had her hooded cloak cleaned and ready. Obviously, during her "sleep" she made sure her armor was back in a better shape. The blood was removed. The longsword was polished, but this all happened before she started to 'sleep'. However, now, like most of the others, she decided to leave her own quarters.

Her longsword was in her hand, there was no need to keep it hanging by her hip. Her cloak had covered her silver armor, but her face, and her long black hair was not covered by its hood. Once she made it to the Refectory, there were more than one person who gave her an odd look. While some completely ignored her. Vera did not care, nor did she pay it any mind. Being a Vampire, she did not require food, but it was something she ate from time to time. It was mostly because she wanted something that'll remind her that a part of her is still human, and to retain such a part, perhaps divulging in food like other normal humans would be good for her mind.

She grabbed a tray wit her vacant hand and placed some simple food. Some bread with beans, tomato soup and a glass of water. Once she had prepared herself some food, she walked around in the refectory before her eyes fell on the young Knight who almost lost his life to her. Vera eventually stood across the table he was seated on. Her blue eyes peering down at his face, until the man noticed her presence. "May I take a seat?" Vera asked with respect.

It would probably be an awkward moment for the young knight before her, however, Vera had her own reasons for taking a seat across the same table as the boy. No matter his response, she decided to take a seat anyway, before, like any other human, started eating her food. This may as well come as odd or weird as hell to the knight before her. A fellow knight at that.

@BlueFlameNikku