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Post by Nascha on Mar 1, 2019 19:44:12 GMT
The theatre was one of the larger in Waterdeep’s Field Ward – a bustling district where many of the city’s demihumans made their home. The entertainment in the Field Ward was as varied as its people, with the playhouses in the district putting on everything from traditional Dwarven operas to elegantly-choreographed Elven ballets. Tonight, however, it was a simple play (apparently). Some new performance being showcased for the first time, by a young Halfling playwright called Wildonius Quillion – apparently, he was tipped to be something of a genius. But, then, genius was not overly rare in Waterdeep. It was hard for anyone to truly make their mark on the City. Only time would tell if this performance would be enough to raise him above the mediocrity of his fellows. None of that was why Xae was here, though. The woman stood in the box, looking down over the crowd laid out beneath them. She had chosen this position because it gave her the best possible view of the crowded theatre below; a vantage point it would have been impossible to obtain anywhere else in the place. It was not the kind of thing she would spend her own money on, of course. The arts were a frivolous waste of time as far as she was concerned; a way for the ignorant masses to be placated and the rich to lord it over their peers. The box was one suitable for merchants and the moneyed classes; the obscenely wealthy or well-connected had their own, private, booths from which to get the greatest views of the stage. But it wasn’t the stage she was interested in. Her purpose in coming to the place was very simple. There were rumours that The Mystery of the Shimmering Note was active in the Field District; a cult of magic-users of varied sorts who attempted to harness the emotional energy of audiences in order to fuel rituals of malign purpose. She didn’t know all the details on the cult, but she knew that it was her assignment, as a member of the Watchful Order, to observe and ensure that things went smoothly. With her rather impressive bearing, it wasn’t difficult to see why she had been selected for the mission. Tall, proud and coldly beautiful, Xae’s stark white skin and hair – each the exact same, washed-out shade – was a stark contrast against the vicious network of black, red and purple veins which criss-crossed her face and exposed arms; those blood-red eyes of hers and jet-black irises were suitably menacing, and the inky, crushed velvet dress and cape she wore? Well. She looked every inch the part of the person of power. The theatre was not a quiet place, either. Whilst they were elevated above the rabble, there was a reason it was called such. The constant thrum of conversation from the common masses below was – thankfully – not thus-far mirrored by the other well-to-do occupants of her vicinity who were there, ostensibly, to enjoy the performance. “I wish they would be silent.” It was a quiet mutter of disapproval from her, her eyes remaining stubbornly fixated upon the crowd below who were there only to have a good time in the company of their friends, and to whom the concept of the performance was only something to be enjoyed in a kind of abstract fashion. It was not long, however, before a rather tall Tiefling strode out into the middle of the stage, and struck a large steel drum three times. “Lords, Ladies, Gentlemen, and everyone else!” He bellowed, to the uproarious approval of the common folk. “We are honoured this evening to bring you a performance by The Playful Players, sponsored most kindly by Lord Adarbrent.” He gestured to one of the further boxes, where a well-dressed man gave a low bow, and polite applause followed – because even the rabble understood that one shows appreciation to the money behind the entertainment – even if they had all paid their copper piece for entry. “But, without any further ado, our performance for the evening. I am sure you will all enjoy very greatly… The Saint and The Seal!” ( enchilada Wordcount: 689) |
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Post by enchilada on Mar 2, 2019 13:31:41 GMT
Dhaunmyr had originally planned to attend with company - events like this were often more fun with friends around, but he was alone. It just wasn’t a good date for the usual girls he hung around with, and they would probably appreciate the night without Dhaunmyr asserting himself between the two. It was a rather interesting concept to him, what they were celebrating, and in honesty, so was celebrating anything but success. One could say that success is found in a stable relationship lasting a number of years, but what is three years to a creature of hundreds? Almost a thousand? Well. If you were lucky.
Regardless, Dhaunmyr couldn’t exactly complain about the frivolous nature of the day. He himself was a man of frivolous, shallow delights. To what end did wine tasting develop his character? And his never-ending quest to find the shiniest, highest heeled boots that were still comfortable, but with a relatively pointed toe, that complimented his skin tone in colour and clothes in style? That was rather pointless.
He could make an argument for the theatre, however. It was new to him in experience since coming to the surface, but not new in concept. Although as far as he could recall, the theatres in the Underdark were full entirely of horrific events. He’d heard of some rather gruesome plays, but most happened off-stage, the sound of the known yet unknown being even more impactful than watching an actress actually rip the beating heart from a human slave’s chest. Why anyone needed to go to the theatre to see that was beyond Dhaunmyr. The temple was just the same, maybe a little more unscripted, but the same. Then again, he was pretty sure that he wouldn’t be phased either way. He was just so used to the environment in which that stuff happened.
So there he sat, ready for an evening, where for at least a while, he wouldn’t have to be faced with the plain, empty walls of his rented room, nor would he resign to reading fluffy romance books to lighten his lonely mood, while the underlying feelings of being unlovable and yet so terrified of what the closest thing he ever had to a relationship, like, a real one, coming back up into his life, bubbled deep down, unheard thoughts thought so deeply. He needed fuller immersion.
The people around him were barely worth notice. Except the stunning specimen with a delightful taste in the more refined fabrics. In honesty, coupled with all he’d grown up seeing, including the demonic representation of the disgusting gods spun as beauty, his ideas were skewed, but he felt that she carried the confidence that other women and men of her standing were attributed with here. Less like a superiority complex, more like a pride of self, they weren’t better because they were just better, no explanations required, they’d usually done something, had a skill, had a well respected family in good jobs... it was a delightful system that bred understanding between the castes. And you could move between them like day into night if you tried hard enough, or messed up enough. He’d never seen that fluidity before. Of course some had titles, but that was, again, earned, potentially. And taken away, if the need arose. But this confidence registered as beauty. He didn’t regard a great many people that way, but some of them just deserved it. He felt that he had a taste for the unique in most areas these days. But then again, maybe she wasn’t even that pretty, and he was just looking upon something aesthetically pleasing in colour and composition, rather than facial structure itself. The colour of her skin made the contours a little harder to pick out.
He eyed her carefully through his especially combed and straightened hair - of course he wanted to look extra extravagant for this, he rarely got out in places he could mix with people exclusively of his caliber and above - then flicked his head, the white strands rearranging themselves almost perfectly, Dhaunmyr had very compliant hair. Never a bad hair day in his life, never a bit that wouldn’t lie in place, never a time when he just couldn’t get it to look quite right, and his parting was naturally immaculately maintained. He hid the remainder of his mouth behind his hand, still watching her, but ears leaning towards the stage, the performance. There was just something so unnaturally captivating. He couldn’t figure out what it was.
Something managed to push the woman aspect of her to the back of his mind. Just a person. They were both just people. So he walked up to her, stood next to her, and kept his jaw behind his palm. Something about showing his imperfections so obviously before he’d even gotten a word in made him nervous, and it worried him. First impressions are naturally, the determining factor in any interaction. He wasn’t sure how he had made such a good first impression with everyone he’d met so far. He put it down to being the most beautiful man to walk the earth, despite the length of his lips when he smiled and spoke. He didn’t think that would sway this woman too much, but he could hope. He could always hope.
So far, hope had been pretty useful to him, pretty kind. A part of him felt like that it was high time that hoping finally got him somewhere, but another part felt that it was because he placed his hope in the Dark Maiden rather than the limited power that he ever had. It was hard being painfully just-above-average in everything. Almost everything. He made some stupid mistakes sometimes. Probably the worst one was running away, just because life was better here. Although, Eilistraee practically commanded self-preservation, personal enjoyment, fun, above serving under some damn bitc-
“You know, you’re right. I do so hate when people have fun.” He chuckled, mostly to show he was just trying to be friendly.
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Post by Nascha on Mar 2, 2019 18:01:52 GMT
The weight of Xae’s judgement was an almost physical force when she turned her gaze on Dhaunmyr.
No doubt he has been subject to many withering gazes in his life. His society was practically built on the cold and calculating judgement of the Priestesses, after all. It is hard to say whether Xae can approach anything close to that level of weaponised scorn, but certainly her gaze has a level of practiced and calculated disapproval in there.
She was mostly just trying to work out whether the drow was trying to mock her. The gaze which swept up and down Dhaunmyr peeled away layers of dissemination. What she saw was not someone trying to make a fool of her, though. What she saw, was a rather clumsy attempt to strike up a conversation with her by a pretty – if foppish – drow man.
It wasn’t as though she was unaware of how she looked in the dress, either. She had a reputation to cultivate and maintain. She knew rather little about the culture of the Dark Elves, honestly. She knew it was a theocracy, but she had very limited patience for such notions herself. Gods were one of those things that were a fundamental part of the universe, to be endured and negotiated around. It had always seemed to her that giving them more attention than was entirely necessary was only going to indulge and encourage them.
Internally, she ran through a quick consideration of the various ways she could respond. She could cut him down – that would probably be the safest for her mission. If she shut down his nonsense immediately, there was no risk of her being distracted from her work. Or she could feign amusement at what was – she thought – probably supposed to be an attempt at humour. But that might encourage more humour. She, was not a humour-loving individual.
Nevertheless, she couldn’t quite bring herself to smother his attempt to forge a connection. Perhaps it was some vestigial awareness of polite society, but she didn’t want to destroy his evening.
“They would enjoy it more.” She said, curtly, “If they would let the performers work and hear themselves think.”
Her acid tone was directed, therefore, against the nebulous rabble below, rather than her fellow. That was about the level of compromise she could muster. She turned her gaze back towards the crowd below, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly.
“I, am Xae’rilthas Exvandris.” She continued, though she wasn’t looking at Dhaunmyr as she spoke. “You are?”
Of course, by now, the play was beginning to start – though despite her apparent judgement for the common folk failing to give the players adequate attention, she was not paying even the slightest mind to them as the first one strolled out onto stage. A human man in shining silver armour – no doubt painted tin – with a similarly shiny sword, began to belt out some melodramatic nonsense about how he was going to travel far and wide to find the Sacred Seal of his church, a lost artefact of wondrous power which had been lost in ages long past.
So much trite nonsense, as far as Xae was concerned. But the crowd, for all her derision, did seem to be eating it up – which was dangerous; this was exactly the kind of atmosphere which the Cult could harness for their works, if they were in fact present…
(Wordcount: 1255)
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Post by enchilada on Mar 3, 2019 12:22:11 GMT
It stalled him for a second, the stare was just - jarring. In some ways, it reminded him of his matron. No matter the news, good or bad, or even just neutral. Delivering letters, shaky hands. He took them at the door, front door, check who they’re for and - the bigger nicer door, nicest in the house it was dark and purple and there were so many cobwebs and she grabbed his arm and grabbed the paper and...
Dhaunmyr found himself rubbing his forearm, slow and gentle. It had fallen from his face and shook just slightly against his abdomen. He didn’t have to worry about all that anymore, but it was like she was just there... this was a bad idea, but he’d locked himself into it now. But he reminded himself of what he’d decided to say, something that might have turned out better if he’d thrown himself into a low enough bow and introduced himself, although she seemed like someone who would scoff at that too. Life could be so unfair to Dhaunmyr. He was just trying to be friendly, after all. Just kind. If this interaction wasn’t positive he could always learn from it, even if that lesson was don’t talk to women just because they look cool.
He nodded along to her words, for a brief span looking down at his arm, flicking his eyes back up to her with a soft intensity. Like he was wounded. Not necessarily by her, not accusatory, but like he was completely tolerant of the injury, and expected more. A glimpse of sadness, but not that he would do anything to help himself. Dhaunmyr was silently aware of his pushover nature in that regard, he was almost hoping that she’d cotton on and soften just enough to give him a moment to fix the blow.
”I suppose...” He began, quietly. “However, it is just their way. I suppose my line of work makes me more accepting of certain common qualities.” He smiled. His favourite clients, above all else, were the men and women who came to him with months of savings to buy something nice for their spouse. It was so touching. The gold felt so much more genuine, that way, and the gift would be so much more meaningful. He didn’t try to mark up prices for those people, they didnt deserve a merchant without mercy. He felt that that image would get spread around eventually. People would know he was a softie, but he was in pretty much every way, just soft. He couldn’t remember ever experiencing an emotion fully, especially not the rougher ones like anger.
“Ah! Miss Exvandris! I am Dhaunmyr Vivacity.” He extended his nursing hand to her, leaving the ‘harmed’ one slung across him. He put it just within her peripheral vision, but if she ignored it he wouldnt be shocked. She was all too much alike what he imagined an adjusted drow woman might be like unless she was grounded by something or someone extremely significant. The feeling of superiority was just such a great ride.
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Post by Nascha on Mar 3, 2019 14:06:07 GMT
Perhaps engaging was a stupid idea. Now he looked like a kicked puppy, and she wasn’t sure whether to be exasperated, annoyed or remorseful. Tch. It wasn’t her fault that he was like a plum, all soft and easily damaged. Weren’t drow supposed to be cold-hearted and manipulative? This was… irritating.
“I have no interest in the common folk and their many flaws.” Xae said, coolly. “I am a practitioner of the arcane arts. I defend this world from threats which would sunder their peaceful existence into a nightmare of unending horror and torment. They can live and act as they wish, but we should not be blind to the fact that they could be better.”
Superiority was definitely the word to use – Xae didn’t just think she was better than the common rabble below; she knew it. Through her effort and dedication she had studied hard and applied her mind to the mastery of forces beyond the ken of the common person. She was not blind to the fact that the world relied on a certain level of the common folk in order to keep things running smoothly; but she also suspected, deep down, that there was a better way than the one they had created.
Wasn’t that how things had been in the ancient days? A land where even the most dirt-common of people could utilise magic in order to make their lives easier? That was prior to the great reshaping and rewriting of course; when the Gods had taken hold of magic and bent it to protect themselves from the interference of the merely mortal.
There was a slight tightening in Xae’s jaw, and her nostrils flared almost imperceptibly – though Dhaunmyr had likely spent enough time in a society where predicting the moods of powerful women was necessary to survival that he could pick up on the fact that her thoughts had turned in a dark direction. Slowly, she turned her gaze back to regard the offered hand.
Dear Gods, was this man for real?
She took the offered hand, clasping it firmly, and gave a short nod of something like respect. An attempt, perhaps, to salve the wound she had so clearly caused by her casually caustic behaviour.
Behind the pair, the other inhabitants of the box – classical nouveau riche sorts if she was any judge – shared a sardonic smile at their expense which made her blood boil.
Quickly, she drew her hand back, and stood more imperiously.
“What is your trade, Mr. Vivacity? If you—”
She was interrupted suddenly by a terrifying and loud sound from below.
“AWGH! WAGH! URGH! WAGH! AWGH! AWGUUUUH!!!”
Immediately, Xae span around, her eyes wide and scanning for the source of the sudden and insistent barking. About her, pale blue witch-light began to spark and spit across her body as she drew the arcane orb from its hiding place within her dress; a perfect sphere of polished crimson glass licked over with that eerie blue light, as though it were aflame, ready to ignite at her command-
And there it was. On the stage. A huge man, most likely a half-orc underneath the costume, wobbling out and slapping his arms together, wearing an enormous, stitched-together seal outfit to the uproarious delight of the ecstatic crowd.
And this was where Xae’s composure cracked, and a true Drow Matron’s never would. Because her expression turned from one of shock, to anger, to utter, complete disgust. Understanding dawned on her like the slow weight of the settling earth upon a grave, and the full reality of the evening she had been set up for pushed down upon her shoulders.
The witch-light flickered out as quickly as it had begun.
This wasn’t some trite piece of religious nonsense.
The title of the play was a pun.
This was a COMEDY.
How dare they do this to her?!
(Wordcount: 1889)
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Post by enchilada on Mar 3, 2019 14:25:30 GMT
He smiled as her grip tightened around his hand, his other finding its way into a back pocket. It just felt more natural to him to have his hands in his pockets, it felt almost like he was doing something with them, rather than just letting them flap about. He had been expected pretty much all his life to always be busy, always be doing something. If dinner was done being prepared then the kitchen needed cleaning, then the rest of the house, minus the matron’s room, as she would have a slave do hers, Dhaunmyr was not allowed to see in her chamber nor her study, then the windows and walls, then there was the matter of outside the house and frankly by that point he was exhausted - but, there was no time for relaxation. Once everything looked absolutely immaculate there tended to be five or ten minutes for his limited self education, and then, of course, dinner would need serving.
“You know, my dear, there is charm in these things if you bother to look. Although I can understand the enjoyment one may feel from said superiority, there is no superiority without inferiority.” He gestured vaguely with his free hand. “I am a merchant, and my clients range from all kinds of backgrounds. Really the richer, the more I-“
At first, he pursed his lips, then he raised his eyebrows, jolting back slightly when she brandished her magical focus, something he had sold but never wielded himself, recognisable enough as the energy began to spike around it and its owner - and then he covered his mouth, face contorting in a clear attempt to just. Not. Laugh.
The joke itself? Not funny, but he could understand where the commoners came from. Miss Exvandris? Absolutely hilarious, and unfortunately at her expense. Again unfortunately for her, she had shaken his hand, a rather reassuring measure in honesty, one that bolstered his confidence. You wouldn’t shake hands with someone worth less than a human slave. So it was pretty much settled that he didn’t care about the repercussions at this point.
“M-miss Exvandris? What app- what appears to be the-“ He gave in to a quick laugh. “Problem?”
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Post by Nascha on Mar 3, 2019 15:40:59 GMT
Perception Check - HZNtmdYK1d20+31d20+3
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Post by Nascha on Mar 3, 2019 15:50:56 GMT
It is, perhaps, lucky that Xae was interrupted from the conversation by the intervention of the play. There is nothing more infuriating than someone who plainly does not understand what you are talking about. But no. The frustration she might feel towards Dhaunmyr was nothing compared to the disquiet inspired by the subject matter of the play. Not only because it was a comedy, which on its own would have been annoying, but because all at once the crowd below had been inspired into not only paying attention, but they were clearly directing all of their emotional energy in the same direction.
This was precisely the kind of situation that the Cult would make use of.
Disgust turns to concern, and the mask has clearly fallen away from Xae’s dark features. Her eyes dart across the crowd below, and her heart pounds in her chest. A cold sweat trickles down the back of her neck. That intense, crimson gaze of hers suddenly has a lot more urgency to it.
“Why do you think I am here?” She hisses, “Do you honestly think I would have come to this pathetic display to enjoy the entertainment? Use your head.”
Her tone is harsh, but she’s too distracted to care about trampling back over the feelings she had just tried to placate.
There!
Her eyes flickered across the crowd, and caught sight of the one man who was not laughing in the lower levels. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. He was human, wearing clothing of just a slightly better cut than those of the people around him.
He also held in his hands a small device. It was hard to make out the exact details at such a distance, but she was certain that this was the person she had been waiting for. In her head, she ran through the various options at her disposal. The trouble was that, at such a distance, with so many other people around, she had few options which would not themselves start a panic.
“There isn’t much time.”
The celestial-blooded woman turned sharply on her heel, and strode out of the box purposefully, to the scandalised whispering of the moneyed gentry behind her. She had, at least, confirmed that the Cult were in fact in operation here. Now the only question she had to answer was what she was going to do about it.
The Watchful Order had been clear that she should intervene, but it was – as always – left up to her discretion as to how to do so. She was not a physical combatant. She did not have the skill or talent to physically incapacitate this dangerous individual, and nor did she have any true idea what the power he was gathering was going to be used for. She didn’t want to cause a riot, and that meant she needed to extricate him from the crowd – the tools she had at her disposal were very limited, but the vague beginnings of a plan were starting to formulate. She just had to hope that he wouldn’t have moved by the time she got down to him.
(Wordcount: 2415)
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Post by enchilada on Mar 7, 2019 15:31:09 GMT
He was obviously taken aback, the harsh tone absolutely cutting through his delicately constructed wall of tactics of self preservation- a kind of exaggerated self to take the blow while still intrinsically being himself. But the fragile nature of the covering made it easily shattered, while somewhat flexible, it still broke quickly. Miss Exvandris had pulled it up and bounced a few jibes against it, but now it was torn off completely. He covered up his slightly agape mouth. It’s a yikes from me chief.
“I suppose... you... I mean, I was more here for the... social I...”
He stared at her in shock, eventually pulling up and following her gaze down to the crowd. He rather didn’t care exactly what was going on, he was far too absorbed in his own mind for the moment. Figuring out what exactly was the motive in tearing him down, patching their introduction up and ripping his confidence back down again within minutes of meeting. He wished he knew. He just wanted to see into her mind. Goddess.
It took him a moment of deliberation, but after driving enough of a dent into the floor from spinning around on his stiletto, changing his mind over and over, he decided to follow - at a distance. If nothing else, he’d be able to notify someone who worked there quickly, and keep anything from spiralling. If that’s what she was doing - maybe she was seeing something like someone choking, or perhaps someone she knew. She had a funny demeanour - it could well have been a way for her to express delight in the potential of greeting an old friend. But a part of him still worried that it would be morally wrong to not wait and see.
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Post by Nascha on Mar 7, 2019 21:06:33 GMT
The truth, of course, would only be more crushing for poor Dhaunmyr if he could see inside Xae’s mind. The fact of the matter was that being polite to him was an effort, and one which she did not see the point in continuing to indulge past the point where she was actually concerned for the safety of herself and others. Xae was, in her mind at least, the smartest person in almost any given room – it was an annoyance to have to slow down and explain things to others, especially when it seemed so blindingly obvious to her what was going on and what her true purpose being there was.
It wasn’t that she was tearing Dhaunmyr down because she hated the man; she simply no longer cared to exert the effort to be polite.
When he came down the stairs, what he saw was – worrisome.
The crowded lower levels had parted, and the performance – well, the performance continued. Behind them, the theatre troupe continued to run through their oh-so-hilarious deconstruction of the traditional heroes’ journey, through the medium of a stuffy knight and his plucky Pinniped companion. But the figure had turned to face Xae, and the crowd had moved aside to clear a gap between them – the people making it up apparently unaware and ignoring the tension between them to focus on the stage.
The human was middle-aged, though his dark hair was greying at the temples. His clothing was fine, and around his left wrist was wrapped a whirring clockwork gauntlet. He seemed quite unaware of Dhaunmyr, thanks to the distance that the drow was keeping, and the fact that Xae had never let her arcane focus disappear but now held it between herself and the cultist.
“I don’t want any trouble.” The man said, slowly, clearly. “Just let me harvest the empathic resonances I require, and I’ll be on my way. I’m not hurting anyone, and we don’t need to make a scene.”
The set of Xae’s jaw was clenched tight. Stressed. It was true that what he was doing didn’t seem to be hurting anyone, but the Watchful Order had been very clear. She just wasn’t used to being in a situation where she wasn’t absolutely confident in her abilities. The plan she had cobbled together was just that – rushed, desperate. She hadn’t considered all the variables, and the dangers posed by taking on someone like this in a crowded theatre.
Perhaps she wasn’t as smart as she thought she was.
“No.” She said, her voice as cold and serious as the grave. “We know your group is up to something. Trafficking with dark forces. I will not allow you to leave and continue to plague Waterdeep with your perversion of the Craft.”
She sounded a lot more confident than she felt, and the man’s face twisted into a mask of anger. She remained impassive. As cold and unmoving as a statue. Her attitude may be terrible for making friends, but it was also a useful thing to fall back on in times of danger.
(Wordcount: 2926)
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Post by enchilada on Mar 10, 2019 18:32:42 GMT
Dhaunmyr’s skillset was limited to firing shots, selling near useless items to people that don’t need them, and deliberating. For this reason he was inclined to wait and see how things unfolded, he didn’t precisely need to get involved. She definitely had a handle on all this - oh yes, and that meant that Dhaunmyr did not need to step in or make a fuss. In fact, Dhaunmyr was quite content that he could sit out until he needed to step in for someone’s sake - assuming at the present moment that person would be Xae, he decided to at least make himself known to her, if possible.
Dhaunmyr crossed over to the crowd, keeping his eyes entirely off the situation. He walked briskly yet casually, deep enough in the crowd that he was just an audience member, close enough to Xae that he was clearly himself - Dhaunmyr hoped he was at least as much as memorable. He was sure he was within her line of sight, but stopping somewhere past the man. He now made eye contact with Xae, hoping she would understand that he was pretty much ready to drop the asshole - to the best of his ability - should the need arise.
He said nothing, did nothing more. He could keep his hands clean tonight. Maybe.
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Post by Nascha on Mar 10, 2019 19:00:39 GMT
Xae’s eyes met Dhaunmyr’s, and there was a brief flash of gratitude. Her features might not be … expressive, enough to show it, but she was suddenly very glad that she was not facing this man alone. Who knew what was going to happen now that she was directly confronting this dangerous cultist?
The arcane orb in her grasp turned a vivid, violent crimson as she called upon it, and her mouth opened to frame the first word – in the exact same moment, though, the clockwork on the man’s wrist kicked into higher gear. He thrust his arm forwards, and a cacophony of noise swept out – somehow focused intently towards Xae. There was, for Dhaunmyr, the sound of distant laughter and a brief shimmer in the air between the mage and the cultist.
For Xae, the noise was deafening, and the sound struck her with enough force to lift her bodily from her feet and throw her backwards to crash against the door of the theatre. She hit the ground hard, dazed, and it was only years of intense training which allowed her to keep her grip on the orb rather than relinquishing it immediately. Her head was ringing, though, and she couldn’t hear – even as the cultist cracked his neck and flexed the hand within the gauntlet.
“Quite unpleasant.” The man muttered to himself, still, somehow, being ignored by the crowd – perhaps the people whose emotions were being siphoned couldn’t see him? But Dhaunmyr had found the play no more entertaining than Xae. They weren’t part of this.
“I suppose your death will add a piquant note to the symphony, however. Fear always does.”
And the gauntlet came up again…
(Wordcount: 3207)
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Post by enchilada on Mar 10, 2019 19:47:59 GMT
Dhaunmyr finally decided to quit waiting for a clear nod, or anything at all from the woman he’d met upstairs to act.
Be it known that little boys, teens and men in general ought to be seen and not heard, Dhaunmyr ignored it anyway. In his own way, he was very much so to be looked upon, gazed at, perhaps even touched if the right person were to come along. Strangers were far less strange in strange circumstances, naturally, and it did not take him too long to decide that a simple touch would perhaps end the confrontation if he could only choose the correct tactic. It was, of course, the ordinary job of a punch to set someone straight, but not only was Dhaunmyr entirely above the mundane, he had absolutely no intentions of setting anyone straight. Like, ever.
“Now, now, my love.” He let his near-sickeningly gentle, buttery voice quit buttering up. Instead he opted for a tone far closer to that which he knew his unfortunate cousins used down below, a voice that hadn’t passed his lips in a fair while but now it was and it felt so much more real he almost got caught up in the ways they would act, where the hands would go, the action, the scimitar, the evocation of the spider-queen’s name, and oh my sweet darling don’t you know what boys like me do to men like you?
But Vivacity was not a persona to forget, not for an extended period of time, at least. He was only caught up in the ways things could have been, if he had never become himself, because truth be told, Dhaunmyr was never entirely sure of the ways his mind could bend, because the mind in which he dwelled was strictly speaking but months old compared to the decades old body it resided in. Unfortunate, really. It was experience that made the greats and it was experience that Dhaunmyr truly needed. Soon.
The way a drow slaver and the merchant would act were very different, even if the titles were practically the same underground. An obvious threat, one said in a sharpened tongue meant to drive fear would perhaps be the more traditional route, but Dhaunmyr had forgone tradition far too much to bother with some aspects in this case. What he would do is likely put a hand round the neck, crush something sensitive, and take out the whip.
So what he did end up doing, all this in but a flash, was begin to breathe down the crazed man’s neck, graze a hand along his hip and with the other hand, take a strong grip around the wrist outstretched. He was far, far too close.
“I don’t want to have to kill you, you’d make such a delightful walking rug for some low-ranking priestess, I’m sure of it.”
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Post by Nascha on Mar 11, 2019 18:27:29 GMT
Grabbing the gauntlet seemed to do more than anything else to slow the cultist down. It hurt like a bitch, all those whirring parts suddenly pinching quite unpleasantly against Dhaunmyr’s skin, but it never quite had the force to cut. It was a delicate instrument, and whilst Dhaunmyr was not a burly beefcake ready to crush skulls in one hand… compared to the pasty-faced nerd he was now semi-wrestling with, he was more than strong enough to keep the guy under control.
“Let GO of me you, disgusting philistine!” The man protested, struggling as best he could, but there was never really any chance that he was going to be able to force his way free after Dhaunmyr got his hands on him – and with the machinery of his gauntlet all jammed up, he couldn’t, actually… use it.
Blearily, Xae’s eyes focused on the struggling pair, and she forced herself to get back up to her feet. Blood matted her pristine white locks, running down her face in a crazed network of crimson tributaries. She was hurt. Quite a lot, actually, and it annoyed her that she had been unable to subdue this pathetic, mewling, whining weakling without assistance.
“Thank you, for your help.” She said, meeting Dhaunmyr’s eye at last. She wobbled, but she didn’t fall down, as she stepped backwards smartly. “Can you bring him to the foyer, please? I have a spell which will put an end to this nonsense without anyone having to die.”
Because as much as she was severely tempted to make a bloody ruin of the man, she was not a murderer. What would the City say if magi just began mutilating one another in the street? Besides. She hadn’t, actually, taken a life yet. When she did, it would be for a purpose far more noble than her own wounded dignity.
(Wordcount: 3516)
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Post by enchilada on Mar 12, 2019 12:06:38 GMT
Dhaunmyr drew a hitched breath through his teeth, shaking his head slightly at the pinching, but it was far from the worst thing he’d ever endured. He’d held Cinders’ poker, and there was no debate about which end he could take. Not always red hot, but definitely very very warm. And painful. Speaking of pain, he rather wondered if this man had experienced anything of the sort. It would, of course, come soon if he decided to struggle. A man of Dhaunmyr’s size wasn’t necessarily imposing, but definitely painful when the entire weight transferred to just one heel. For now, he took a tighter grip around his abdomen with his whole arm. Deciding what to do if he were to attempt to run was a little bit of sadistic fun for him, a remnant of an old way of thinking.
“My dear, it really isn’t up to you to decide who does and does not appreciate the arts - let me tell you, the art of ritualistic sacrifice is far more beautiful than whatever you would classify as delightful, and if you don’t behave for me, then I know the result outright!”
He kept up his falsehood of being anything like a drow, creatures that he despised so much and yet had stomached far too much of. The antics of such repulsive people were imprinted on his mind as a brand on the forehead of a drunkard, or the arm of a runaway slave. Clear as day, the words were enhanced by his usual behaviour along with the excitement of memory, landed by the slight blurring of time and trauma.
“Of course, my lady.” He nodded, shifting his weight to push the man along as he stepped, directing the struggle towards the foyer, as he was asked. He didn’t understand the situation exactly, but he was inclined to take the side of the person who wasn’t using any odd, pinchy arm gear.
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