(( Parsed with my AOL Log Parser that works with DM logs too apparently! And formatted in GBText.))
Lord Ayreg: Of course. Like lightning. Very small lightning,
mind, but lightning nontheless. A magister like yourself once
called it staticism.
Tara Rynieyn: ::Enter...the Cockroach Killa...in a similar outfit to
last's night fashion disaster...it's just brief wisps of material draped
over her flesh and tied together haphazardly with string...and yes
there is that nasty little garter again:: (s) Gods why does it have to
be so damn cold...
Tara Rynieyn: ::Sending a glare to the outside as she pauses in
the usual place to sweep her violet eyes about the tavern:: (s) An'
windy...hate wind.
Lord Ayreg: ::He leaned forward, almost conspiratory. Ayreg was
an educated man, after all, and anything new was very nearly
remarkable. Except the absurdness that went on down at Fool's
Luck Bay, anyway::
Tara Rynieyn: ::Seeing just the man she needs for a task she
wants done, she stalks over to Ayreg and once at his table, props
an unsunned hand on an equally pale (and visible) hip in standard
provocative fashion:: (s) Eventide Jodiah.
Tara Rynieyn: ::Her eyes roll heavenward at the sight of Varick
and his most boring topic of discussion and she mutters::
Professor Death....
Lord Ayreg: ::His eyebrow twitched, exhaling a stream of
blue-gray smoke. He gave a wave of his hand:: I am afraid I will
have to end this lesson for now, goodman. ::His voice lowered as
he rose from his place AT THE BAR and turned:: (s) Angels of
mercy forgive us, but I now dance with the demons. ::His lips
twitched to Varick one last time before he walked toward Tara at
what is normally his table::
Tara Rynieyn: ::AT THE TABLE, she sneers::
Lord Ayreg: ::It is, after all, not a long trip. He seems to be
favoring his left leg as he walks, by the way. Dropping into a chair
he pulled out just seconds before, the table clatters as he swings
his booted feet up onto the edge. His voice seemed unusually
curt, and his lips pulled into a tight smile. With the proper
application of a liberal amount of imagination, it might even be a
smirk:: What do you want?
Tara Rynieyn: ::She switches her hand to the other hip, gazes
down at him, the position he's in and rolls her eyes again:: (s)
What is best for all concerned but at the moment, I require
sustenance. ::a finger up and hips a-swaying she's going to the
icebox:: I shall be right back.
Tara Rynieyn: ::She retrieves the black box that bears her name
from within, slams the icebox shut, reaches up to get a glass from
the rack overhead, and returns to Jodiah's side, pouring herself a
nice tall glass of someone else's blood. Yum:: I require a weapon
that is unlike any other, Jodiah an' you ::sharp look to him:; are
going to make it for me.
Lord Ayreg: ::Ayreg rubs his knee idly, grumbling to himself. He
thought about that Dupres character from before, mentioning
Longden and some dinner. Dupres was lucky to have left as
quickly as he did -- Ayreg almost languished the idea of sending a
message to Longden through Dupres. The kind that's delievered
in a purely physical way; by the pounding of flesh::
Lord Ayreg: And why would I do that, Tara? ::Her return was
more sudden than he expected, and
he was almost caught daydreaming:: What makes you think I
can even make a weapon?
Tara Rynieyn: ::Her eyes flash as she turns back to Jodiah::
Because it is what I wish an' I always get those sorts of things ::a
brief chuckle, eyes twinkling now:: Besides, I dun feel like callin
on Thor to do it. He's much too ornery.
Tara Rynieyn: ::As if Jodiah was not ornery, ha! She gestures,
eases into the chair that pulls itself out from under the table and
crosses her legs slowly for his benefit::
Lord Ayreg: If you want a weapon unlike any other, girl, you'll
have to do it yourself. ::Slightly sunken eyes stayed very
squarely focused on her face. Ayreg knew the bargaining posture
of a woman when she wanted something, and they were far too
eager to use their feminine wiles to achieve their ends::
Lord Ayreg: I see no profit in it for me.
Lord Ayreg: ::He rubbed his knee again, gloved hand working the
flesh:: What sort of weapon, though? I am curious.
Tara Rynieyn: ::She sets the glass down on the table and begins
to fiddle with the garter on her exposed thigh, bringing it higher,
then lower, and then settling on somewhere in the middle. Her
expression does not change although she would very much like to
snarl at him she knew the Death Knight wasn't going to have any
of that:: Name yer price an' I'll double it. ::gesturing to his second
question:: One that will be capable of dispatching a certain demon
that attacked a Pixie friend of mine.
Tara Rynieyn: Apparently when I said no one was to touch her,
he did not get the memo ::she grins, her eyes seeking his once
more::
Lord Ayreg: Hellspawn are so rare, these days. Large fellow,
likes grog?
Tara Rynieyn: Aye
Lord Ayreg: I know the one. What makes you think I am capable
of such a thing, Tara?
Tara Rynieyn: I hear things, Jodiah, lots of things, you know
::murmuring::
Lord Ayreg: Oh, truly? What sort of things? ::His head turned
toward the table, but he realized he left his almost-empty tankard
at the bar. She had a glass, though. He extended his hand out,
palm-up, fingers spread lightly and arched. His fingers twitched
toward himself, and it was clearly a "Give me" gesture::
Tara Rynieyn: ::Smiles noting Brian's arrival and crosses her
arms over her chest:: I hear ye are a competent smithy an' given
yer past which just so happens to coincide with mine I'd say the
sort of weapon I require for this task is something you can not
only do but do well
Tara Rynieyn: ::a brow lifts at his finger gesture:: Are you
suggesting I get you a drink?
Lord Ayreg: No, I'm suggesting you let me borrow yours.
Tara Rynieyn: ::She chuckles:: Oh, by all means, have some
::she wriggles her fingers and the dark bottle that has the blood of
that young boy who just couldn't keep his mouth shut and paid
with his life for it, in it, slides over to him along with the glass that
she just had her mouth on and which is now empty::
Lord Ayreg: ::Of course, Ayreg doesn't know any of this. He
takes the bottle and tips it, refilling the glass. Setting the bottle
back onto the table, he lifts the glass between his fingers and
swirls the liquid about like some kind of wine:: You are correct. I
know my way around a forge. What sort of weapon, specifically,
do you require?
Tara Rynieyn: A sword that when swung unfolds into a
two-pronged whip of sorts.
Lord Ayreg: Sword-whip. Hm. ::His brow furrows, and his lips
twitch as they attempt to pull into a frown::
Lord Ayreg: And, I'm presuming, you wish a mystical nature to it,
to ensure the demon's death?
Tara Rynieyn: ::Turning back to Jodiah, nodding:: Aye, I would
hate for something to go wrong.
Lord Ayreg: There is a chance. Perhaps. The making of such a
weapon is very complicated, and time-consuming. It will require
very special items, as well.
Tara Rynieyn: ::Her brows furrow, she hated complications::
What do you require?
Lord Ayreg: A trip to the Shadowlands, for one. The rest of the
ingredients are more mundane in their location.
Lord Ayreg: And.. out of curiosity... after you have vanquished
this hellspawn? Hm? What do you plan on doing with the blade
after?
Tara Rynieyn: ::She leans forward suddenly, her eyes widening
as if she just might be afraid:: (s) You don't mean to involve Miss
Skye in this do you?
Tara Rynieyn: ::She could just hear the conversation now: The
White Queen on one side and the Priestess of Rhilshen on the
other, double-teaming her with questions and disappointed looks::
Lord Ayreg: ::He waved his free hand, his other still holding the
glass of `wine`:: No, of course not. Though it would be nice to
have someone guarding my back. There are places in Stygia
known as soulforges. They are identical in every way to the
blacksmiths you know here... only the stock they use is not steel,
nor iron.
Tara Rynieyn: ::Jodiah had, as far as she was aware, not been
properly introduced to Miss Emma Frost a.k.a. The White Queen
and she hoped she wasn't around for that introduction::
Tara Rynieyn: (s) I am quite aware of these places, Jodiah. ::she
squints, her nose wrinkling::
Lord Ayreg: ::Actually, has not been properly introduced to the
White Queen yet. Knows her, knows of her, but never actually
introduced. Their relationship was one of superior to subordinate,
and many years ago::
Tara Rynieyn: It might surprise you to learn that in the six
centuries I've languished in this godforsaken Hell called Rhy'Din, I
have pretty much seen it all ::eye-roll, headshake::
Lord Ayreg: Then you know what happens there, and the poor
bastards that go in, and do not come out. ::His lips twitch, lifting
the glass toward his lips:: For this weapon to work, Tara, I will
need some stock from a soulforge, from Stygia. And it will not be
easy.
Tara Rynieyn: I have a few people in mind that would not only love
to go with you into Stygia but would most assuredly come back
out ::flash of a grin and now she's going to get another glass since
he "borrowed" hers::
Lord Ayreg: ::Was gonna give it back. Just hasn't gotten around
to it yet. Honest!::
Tara Rynieyn: ::Mmmhmm:: Curses! Does no one clean the
dishes around this place! ::fingering one dirty glass after another
on the rack overhead:: Just a moment Jodiah
Lord Ayreg: ::He tips the glass, finally, deep red fluid rolling into
his mouth, and down his parched throat. He lifts the glass,
peering at it intently. That is no wine::
Tara Rynieyn: ::Resigns herself to the fact that she would have to
use a tankard and picks one up, grumbling about it as she goes
back to her seat:: (m) Whoever heard of one drinking blood from a
tankard? It's outrageous, really.
Lord Ayreg: ::The taste was recognizable, of course. Ayreg..
was no stranger to the taste of blood. He took another deep drink
from the glass, finishing off its contents. As Tara sits, he looks
up to her:: Vintage?
Tara Rynieyn: ::A shrug:: Not really
Tara Rynieyn: I acquired it some weeks back. ::kicks her bare
feet and legs up onto the table::
Lord Ayreg: ::He sniffed, staring at the now-empty glass. He
seems to be murmering his thoughts aloud:: (m) Somehow...
preferred boys. Puberty was best.. something about the
hormones. Carotid gave the best.
Tara Rynieyn: ::She makes a face at him, whipping out her
nailfile:: What are you babbling about?
Lord Ayreg: ::He shook his head as if to keep from lapsing into a
dream. He looks back up to Tara, his eyes for once actually
raking across the length of her exposed leg, up to her gartered
thigh:: Nothing. Who did you have in mind to accompany me to
the Shadowlands?
Tara Rynieyn: ::Two nights in a row the Queen O The Gypsies
comes a-knocking! What the hell's gonna happen?:: Do you have
any preference?
Tara Rynieyn: ::smiles and wriggles a friendly wave to Isuelt::
Lord Ayreg: Someone who knows what they're about. Who isn't
squeemish at the sight of death. Who knows one end of a sword
from the other.
Tara Rynieyn: Well, any number of the Helstons could
accompany you though ::her nose scrunches up as she grins, a
secret kind:: one of them wants to have m'head but the rest all
like me. For instance, my Aunt Nyx.
Lord Ayreg: And who will bloody well listen when told to do
something.
Tara Rynieyn: ::Points at him:: You really must stop that, Jodiah.
Lord Ayreg: ::He set Tara's glass back onto the table between
them:: Stop what?
Tara Rynieyn: ::Flexing her legs, brushing them off even though
they have yet to get dusty. She just wanted to draw attention to
them since he was gawking and he was, wasn't he?::
Lord Ayreg: ::Raking one's eyes over them once does not qualify
as gawking, no::
Tara Rynieyn: Yer pisspoor attitude. ::snort:: Honestly, how do
you expect to find a woman to love ye if yer always so damn
brutish.
Tara Rynieyn: ::Raking, gawking same damn difference!::
Lord Ayreg: Funny. ::Tight-lipped smirk returns:: I didn't know I
was supposed to be looking for a woman to love me.
Lord Ayreg: And none of the women I've seen yet... inspire me.
Tara Rynieyn: Mmm..I'm sure ::the fifth roll of her eyes in just
under an hour. We have set a record, sports fans!::
Lord Ayreg: You really do not believe me, do you?
Tara Rynieyn: No ::stare:: I do not.
Tara Rynieyn: ::waves at him:: Anyhow, let us continue the
discussion lest I fall asleep or bite someone, whatever comes to
mind first.
Lord Ayreg: Indeed. It is important, Tara, because the
Shadowlands are dangerous. If someone doesn't do what needs
to be done when it bloody well flaming needs to be done, it
endangers the entire raid. I, for one, would rather not die in the
land of the dead. Something about irony I don't care for.
Tara Rynieyn: ::She slaps her palm down on the table and
growls:: All right! I get yer point! I'll <censored> accompany ye,
just quit goin on an' on about it, aye?!
Lord Ayreg: Someone you know who is powerful, talented, and
resilient. They don't have to become my whipping boy, just need
to follow orders until we're out.
Tara Rynieyn: ::Hand up, eyes wide:: I don't follow orders well.
Forget I said a thing.
Tara Rynieyn: ::Pinches the bridge of her nose and thinks:: (m)
Powerful...resilient...follows orders well...hmm.
Lord Ayreg: ::He leaned back into his chair again:: The weapon
itself can be crafted with mundane materials. To give it the killing
edge, though, it will require soulstock to be melded to its surface.
Tara Rynieyn: ::Looks sidelong to him:: Would it bother ye if the
man in question likes to dress up as Maid Marion once in awhile?
Lord Ayreg: Maid... Marion...?
Tara Rynieyn: It's from a play ::groans and looks at him as if she
believes he's lived in a bubble all his life:: You don't get out much,
do you?
Lord Ayreg: Socially? No. How could you tell?
Tara Rynieyn: ::smirks:: I told you, I hear things.
Lord Ayreg: Indeed. My payment we can discuss later, if at all. I
will ask again, though.. what do you plan on doing with the
weapon after it is used?
Tara Rynieyn: An' besides the door to room twelve is very easy to
unlock an' if what ye got in yer room is any indication of what it's
like to be reclusive, you, Sir, would be brought up on charges for it.
Tara Rynieyn: ::Gives him a look, this one more akin to "Get a
Life" than "How's that bubble?"::
Tara Rynieyn: I dun know, donate it, sell it, showcase it
::gesturing:: How should I know?
Tara Rynieyn: Jodiah I have so many weapons it's ridiculous. My
palace armory is more like a museum for mayhem than a
collection of gifts and purchases.
Lord Ayreg: ::Ayreg's face turns to something that is very similiar
to stone. So. She had been in his room, had she? Fury raged
through the death knight, but he kept himself under control for the
moment:: I will engage the commission, Tara. When you have
someone who will accompany me to the Shadowlands, then it will
be finished. It only needs to be applied to the weapon after
construction is finished.
Tara Rynieyn: I need a stiffer drink ::gets up quickly and
practically runs to the bar. This time she's on the patron side and
she waits patiently for Miles to get done speaking::
Tara Rynieyn: One moment, Jodiah! ::calling out to him as he
speaks and she rounds on Miles, her expression desperate:: (s)
Miles, please, moonshine, something to dull the senses.
Lord Ayreg: ::As she left the table, Ayreg thought about to
midwinter's night, and the dream he had. He knew there was
something mystical about Tara, in terms of a kind of power
beneath her surface.. what if it was no dream, after all? Wiry
muscles flexed across his body and the gears of his mind turn.
Thinking about the dream, he did not remember the door being
unlocked to begin with::
Tara Rynieyn: (s) I can't believe I'm saying this but bless yer
heart, Malign ::snatches up the drink, tosses him a coin, and
scurries back to Jodiah::
Tara Rynieyn: I'm sorry, what's this about my fine hind quarters?
Lord Ayreg: ::And that's what happens you daydream too much.
Ayreg's eyes open, deposited back into his chair by the Nexus::
Tara Rynieyn: ::Back in her seat, it's like she never left, but she
had and she doubted very much he noticed. She looks him up and
down, mainly concentrating on his attire and makes a few mental
notes to suggest, perhaps in a more private setting, that his
clothing is in dire need of replacement::
Lord Ayreg: ::Men sign lifetime commitment contracts when they
buy clothing. What can ya' do? His eyes cut back to her,
regarding her intently:: Not to change the subject but... Do you
have powers of a magical nature, Tara?
Tara Rynieyn: ::She knew nothing of this dream and was
probably teasing him about being in his room but she can phase
through doors. It's like a card trick to a magician, very easily done
without too much effort::
Tara Rynieyn: Not that it is any of yer business, Jodiah, but aye, I
am a vampire. ::there, it was out in the open, wag your tongue at
will::
Tara Rynieyn: That an' I have been gifted with the blessing of the
Shadows by a man you might recall named Naebliss. ::she grins::
He was the second in command of the guild The Wheel of Time
Lord Ayreg: I know of the Nae`bliss. More of a title, than a name.
Tara Rynieyn: ::she leans back in the chair and gestures to her
navel. There is a circular rune type marking on it and it appears to
have been burned there by someone's hand, Naebliss's hand, in
fact::
Lord Ayreg: ::Circle wheel with spokes, and a snake twined
around it, eating itself?::
Tara Rynieyn: ::She sneers at him:: (s) I was his lover, an' that is
what I called him. Title or not.
Lord Ayreg: ::Or something kinda' similiar, anyway?::
Tara Rynieyn: ::Yes, that is exactly what it looks like::
Lord Ayreg: ::Go memory, go memory...::
Tara Rynieyn: ::Way better than mine, that's goin back a ways::
Why do you ask about my abilities?
Lord Ayreg: ::Jodiah nods faintly:: I knew of him, all the same.
You have a great many marks on you, Tara. I do, as well, though
nothing quite as fancy. A lifetime of scars, born of pain and strife,
and much gnashing of teeth.
Tara Rynieyn: ::It is now that she sniffs at the white lightning
Miles made. It is very possible that he slipped some cyanide into
it when she wasn't looking as that blasted Malign had been trying
to kill her since the dawn of time it seemed::
Lord Ayreg: Oh... no reason. ::One thing Ayreg could not do very
well was lie::
Tara Rynieyn: ::Or a very close approximation thereof.::
Tara Rynieyn: ::Now he speaks of scars and the hellcat just loves
to show them off so she stands but before she can start pointing
them out like the badges they were she spies Obsidian and waves
to her:: Sidsta!
Tara Rynieyn: Two of my favorite friends are here ::a hand to her
heart, gesturing to Isuelt and Sid:: This makes me happy
Lord Ayreg: ::His lips twitch for a moment, and he pulls his right
glove off. He held his hand up, palm-out for her to see. In the
center of his palm was a thin, dagger-width scar:: Behold, the
only violent thought Imari Stark ever fostered.
Tara Rynieyn: ::Odd she didn't detect the harmonious elflocks
from outside, perhaps she was distracted...oh yes, Jodiah:: This
tattoo was a mistake actually ::she points to the word "Ashes" on
her outer thigh:: It was supposed to say "Asher" for a boyfriend I
once had.
Tara Rynieyn: ::Blinks at the scar or maybe it was the name he
just invoked:: Imari!
Lord Ayreg: ::His head rose as she did, and he had become used
to her attention being refocused thirty times over the span of a
conversation:: Yes. Imari Stark. Wife of Rayfe, the Harlequin.
Tara Rynieyn: ::She tries to remember if they had discussed
WDV:: I know who the Lady Stark is, Jodiah. She was once like
an aunt to me.
Lord Ayreg: ::They have not:: Oh, truly? Hm. Then we should
end our discussion of her there then, if you hold fond memories of
her.
Tara Rynieyn: I took the place of Lady Destiny as the Second in
Command of the Emerald Knights when she went to study with
the Wardens of Loreil.
Tara Rynieyn: My sister Silvana Stone ran the guild. She is, or
was, the mortal enemy of Alysia Skye, my friend. ::tips her head,
grinning madly::
Lord Ayreg: Was that after her divorce from Rayfe? I understand
they seperated some amount of time after I... became more
inactive in the realms.
Tara Rynieyn: I was often at Ironguard Hall. My brother was a
high-ranking member of White Dragon's Vengeance. Rayfe
presided over my wedding to Leto Atreides. He an' Imari were our
firstborn son's godparents.
Lord Ayreg: Ironguard Hall. ::He mumbles to himself:: Then you
must know the frost dragon, Tiari?
Tara Rynieyn: It was before. I was no longer welcome at their
halls after I married Soulights LeVey. ::frowns::
Tara Rynieyn: Aye, that I do. ::The frown remains:: This is a sore
subject with me.
Lord Ayreg: With me, as well. ::His fingers slid over his torso,
unbuttoning his high-collared coat. Pulling the right side of the
coat half-down his arm, he pulls the drawstrings on his shirt. Pale
flesh exposed beneath as he moved the shirt, but corded with wiry
muscle. His fingers slid over his chest, finding a particular spot::
Here... feel here. Feel the impression of the bone being bent.
Tara Rynieyn: ::Her lips purse but she places her cold fingers to
his breast:: Did someone strike you with an anvil? ::she couldn't
think of anything else that could make such an impression but
you can be sure Jodiah could::
Lord Ayreg: A nasty run-in with a flail. ::His thin lips pulled back
now, sort of a genuine smile. He seemed to enjoy telling war
stories:: And its owner, a man with a terrible temper by name of
Kain, was most upset that I was bedding his property without his
knowledge.
Tara Rynieyn: ::Her head tilts, suddenly very interested in the
surname of this "Kain":: Kain, who?
Lord Ayreg: ::His head turns, and the gears of his mind worked to
fill the name. After a brief moment he looked back to her::
Locke, if I recollect. Yes, Kain Locke.
Tara Rynieyn: ::At that name the vampire gasps so loud her
lungs hurt and she stumbles back, eyes bulging::
Lord Ayreg: ::His chin lifts, peering at her:: What is the matter,
Tara?
Tara Rynieyn: ::It is like someone cold clocked her and she falls
to her knees, grasping a nearby chair for support and begins to
wheeze::
Lord Ayreg: ::Still not one for being noble. All the same he slides
out of his chair and crouches beside her, wiry figure still exposed
through open shirt and coat. Every movement reflected in the
twist of muscle across his torso:: Tara?
Tara Rynieyn: (w) I know that name
Tara Rynieyn: ::Slowly she looks up to him, swallowing hard,
tears in her eyes:: (s) I was third-link on his chain. ::She gestures
to the inside of her left thigh where the mark of the Black Dragon
of House Locke is quite, undeniably, clear::
Lord Ayreg: Oh, then you probably knew he was ill-tempered, as
well. ::He opens his hand to her:: Come, back to your chair.
You're making a scene.
Tara Rynieyn: ::She takes his hand and stands, smiling over to
Sid, grateful to her concern::
Tara Rynieyn: (s) He was a bastard from the moment of
conception, Jodiah.
Lord Ayreg: ::He shakes his head, pulling her up to her feet. His
voice was soft, and strangely lacking in its normal coldness:: (s) I
knew. I did not wish to remind you that you were once property.
It... can leave an impression, on someone.
Tara Rynieyn: He was also Brutin's protege, that is, until he
enslaved me, an' was the reason why Brutin decreed no one could
enslave me ever again.
Tara Rynieyn: I do not mind what I once was, it is the name that
upsets me. He an' I have a history that is very violent, if not deeply
sad.
Lord Ayreg: Of course. Like lightning. Very small lightning,
mind, but lightning nontheless. A magister like yourself once
called it staticism.
Tara Rynieyn: ::Enter...the Cockroach Killa...in a similar outfit to
last's night fashion disaster...it's just brief wisps of material draped
over her flesh and tied together haphazardly with string...and yes
there is that nasty little garter again:: (s) Gods why does it have to
be so damn cold...
Tara Rynieyn: ::Sending a glare to the outside as she pauses in
the usual place to sweep her violet eyes about the tavern:: (s) An'
windy...hate wind.
Lord Ayreg: ::He leaned forward, almost conspiratory. Ayreg was
an educated man, after all, and anything new was very nearly
remarkable. Except the absurdness that went on down at Fool's
Luck Bay, anyway::
Tara Rynieyn: ::Seeing just the man she needs for a task she
wants done, she stalks over to Ayreg and once at his table, props
an unsunned hand on an equally pale (and visible) hip in standard
provocative fashion:: (s) Eventide Jodiah.
Tara Rynieyn: ::Her eyes roll heavenward at the sight of Varick
and his most boring topic of discussion and she mutters::
Professor Death....
Lord Ayreg: ::His eyebrow twitched, exhaling a stream of
blue-gray smoke. He gave a wave of his hand:: I am afraid I will
have to end this lesson for now, goodman. ::His voice lowered as
he rose from his place AT THE BAR and turned:: (s) Angels of
mercy forgive us, but I now dance with the demons. ::His lips
twitched to Varick one last time before he walked toward Tara at
what is normally his table::
Tara Rynieyn: ::AT THE TABLE, she sneers::
Lord Ayreg: ::It is, after all, not a long trip. He seems to be
favoring his left leg as he walks, by the way. Dropping into a chair
he pulled out just seconds before, the table clatters as he swings
his booted feet up onto the edge. His voice seemed unusually
curt, and his lips pulled into a tight smile. With the proper
application of a liberal amount of imagination, it might even be a
smirk:: What do you want?
Tara Rynieyn: ::She switches her hand to the other hip, gazes
down at him, the position he's in and rolls her eyes again:: (s)
What is best for all concerned but at the moment, I require
sustenance. ::a finger up and hips a-swaying she's going to the
icebox:: I shall be right back.
Tara Rynieyn: ::She retrieves the black box that bears her name
from within, slams the icebox shut, reaches up to get a glass from
the rack overhead, and returns to Jodiah's side, pouring herself a
nice tall glass of someone else's blood. Yum:: I require a weapon
that is unlike any other, Jodiah an' you ::sharp look to him:; are
going to make it for me.
Lord Ayreg: ::Ayreg rubs his knee idly, grumbling to himself. He
thought about that Dupres character from before, mentioning
Longden and some dinner. Dupres was lucky to have left as
quickly as he did -- Ayreg almost languished the idea of sending a
message to Longden through Dupres. The kind that's delievered
in a purely physical way; by the pounding of flesh::
Lord Ayreg: And why would I do that, Tara? ::Her return was
more sudden than he expected, and
he was almost caught daydreaming:: What makes you think I
can even make a weapon?
Tara Rynieyn: ::Her eyes flash as she turns back to Jodiah::
Because it is what I wish an' I always get those sorts of things ::a
brief chuckle, eyes twinkling now:: Besides, I dun feel like callin
on Thor to do it. He's much too ornery.
Tara Rynieyn: ::As if Jodiah was not ornery, ha! She gestures,
eases into the chair that pulls itself out from under the table and
crosses her legs slowly for his benefit::
Lord Ayreg: If you want a weapon unlike any other, girl, you'll
have to do it yourself. ::Slightly sunken eyes stayed very
squarely focused on her face. Ayreg knew the bargaining posture
of a woman when she wanted something, and they were far too
eager to use their feminine wiles to achieve their ends::
Lord Ayreg: I see no profit in it for me.
Lord Ayreg: ::He rubbed his knee again, gloved hand working the
flesh:: What sort of weapon, though? I am curious.
Tara Rynieyn: ::She sets the glass down on the table and begins
to fiddle with the garter on her exposed thigh, bringing it higher,
then lower, and then settling on somewhere in the middle. Her
expression does not change although she would very much like to
snarl at him she knew the Death Knight wasn't going to have any
of that:: Name yer price an' I'll double it. ::gesturing to his second
question:: One that will be capable of dispatching a certain demon
that attacked a Pixie friend of mine.
Tara Rynieyn: Apparently when I said no one was to touch her,
he did not get the memo ::she grins, her eyes seeking his once
more::
Lord Ayreg: Hellspawn are so rare, these days. Large fellow,
likes grog?
Tara Rynieyn: Aye
Lord Ayreg: I know the one. What makes you think I am capable
of such a thing, Tara?
Tara Rynieyn: I hear things, Jodiah, lots of things, you know
::murmuring::
Lord Ayreg: Oh, truly? What sort of things? ::His head turned
toward the table, but he realized he left his almost-empty tankard
at the bar. She had a glass, though. He extended his hand out,
palm-up, fingers spread lightly and arched. His fingers twitched
toward himself, and it was clearly a "Give me" gesture::
Tara Rynieyn: ::Smiles noting Brian's arrival and crosses her
arms over her chest:: I hear ye are a competent smithy an' given
yer past which just so happens to coincide with mine I'd say the
sort of weapon I require for this task is something you can not
only do but do well
Tara Rynieyn: ::a brow lifts at his finger gesture:: Are you
suggesting I get you a drink?
Lord Ayreg: No, I'm suggesting you let me borrow yours.
Tara Rynieyn: ::She chuckles:: Oh, by all means, have some
::she wriggles her fingers and the dark bottle that has the blood of
that young boy who just couldn't keep his mouth shut and paid
with his life for it, in it, slides over to him along with the glass that
she just had her mouth on and which is now empty::
Lord Ayreg: ::Of course, Ayreg doesn't know any of this. He
takes the bottle and tips it, refilling the glass. Setting the bottle
back onto the table, he lifts the glass between his fingers and
swirls the liquid about like some kind of wine:: You are correct. I
know my way around a forge. What sort of weapon, specifically,
do you require?
Tara Rynieyn: A sword that when swung unfolds into a
two-pronged whip of sorts.
Lord Ayreg: Sword-whip. Hm. ::His brow furrows, and his lips
twitch as they attempt to pull into a frown::
Lord Ayreg: And, I'm presuming, you wish a mystical nature to it,
to ensure the demon's death?
Tara Rynieyn: ::Turning back to Jodiah, nodding:: Aye, I would
hate for something to go wrong.
Lord Ayreg: There is a chance. Perhaps. The making of such a
weapon is very complicated, and time-consuming. It will require
very special items, as well.
Tara Rynieyn: ::Her brows furrow, she hated complications::
What do you require?
Lord Ayreg: A trip to the Shadowlands, for one. The rest of the
ingredients are more mundane in their location.
Lord Ayreg: And.. out of curiosity... after you have vanquished
this hellspawn? Hm? What do you plan on doing with the blade
after?
Tara Rynieyn: ::She leans forward suddenly, her eyes widening
as if she just might be afraid:: (s) You don't mean to involve Miss
Skye in this do you?
Tara Rynieyn: ::She could just hear the conversation now: The
White Queen on one side and the Priestess of Rhilshen on the
other, double-teaming her with questions and disappointed looks::
Lord Ayreg: ::He waved his free hand, his other still holding the
glass of `wine`:: No, of course not. Though it would be nice to
have someone guarding my back. There are places in Stygia
known as soulforges. They are identical in every way to the
blacksmiths you know here... only the stock they use is not steel,
nor iron.
Tara Rynieyn: ::Jodiah had, as far as she was aware, not been
properly introduced to Miss Emma Frost a.k.a. The White Queen
and she hoped she wasn't around for that introduction::
Tara Rynieyn: (s) I am quite aware of these places, Jodiah. ::she
squints, her nose wrinkling::
Lord Ayreg: ::Actually, has not been properly introduced to the
White Queen yet. Knows her, knows of her, but never actually
introduced. Their relationship was one of superior to subordinate,
and many years ago::
Tara Rynieyn: It might surprise you to learn that in the six
centuries I've languished in this godforsaken Hell called Rhy'Din, I
have pretty much seen it all ::eye-roll, headshake::
Lord Ayreg: Then you know what happens there, and the poor
bastards that go in, and do not come out. ::His lips twitch, lifting
the glass toward his lips:: For this weapon to work, Tara, I will
need some stock from a soulforge, from Stygia. And it will not be
easy.
Tara Rynieyn: I have a few people in mind that would not only love
to go with you into Stygia but would most assuredly come back
out ::flash of a grin and now she's going to get another glass since
he "borrowed" hers::
Lord Ayreg: ::Was gonna give it back. Just hasn't gotten around
to it yet. Honest!::
Tara Rynieyn: ::Mmmhmm:: Curses! Does no one clean the
dishes around this place! ::fingering one dirty glass after another
on the rack overhead:: Just a moment Jodiah
Lord Ayreg: ::He tips the glass, finally, deep red fluid rolling into
his mouth, and down his parched throat. He lifts the glass,
peering at it intently. That is no wine::
Tara Rynieyn: ::Resigns herself to the fact that she would have to
use a tankard and picks one up, grumbling about it as she goes
back to her seat:: (m) Whoever heard of one drinking blood from a
tankard? It's outrageous, really.
Lord Ayreg: ::The taste was recognizable, of course. Ayreg..
was no stranger to the taste of blood. He took another deep drink
from the glass, finishing off its contents. As Tara sits, he looks
up to her:: Vintage?
Tara Rynieyn: ::A shrug:: Not really
Tara Rynieyn: I acquired it some weeks back. ::kicks her bare
feet and legs up onto the table::
Lord Ayreg: ::He sniffed, staring at the now-empty glass. He
seems to be murmering his thoughts aloud:: (m) Somehow...
preferred boys. Puberty was best.. something about the
hormones. Carotid gave the best.
Tara Rynieyn: ::She makes a face at him, whipping out her
nailfile:: What are you babbling about?
Lord Ayreg: ::He shook his head as if to keep from lapsing into a
dream. He looks back up to Tara, his eyes for once actually
raking across the length of her exposed leg, up to her gartered
thigh:: Nothing. Who did you have in mind to accompany me to
the Shadowlands?
Tara Rynieyn: ::Two nights in a row the Queen O The Gypsies
comes a-knocking! What the hell's gonna happen?:: Do you have
any preference?
Tara Rynieyn: ::smiles and wriggles a friendly wave to Isuelt::
Lord Ayreg: Someone who knows what they're about. Who isn't
squeemish at the sight of death. Who knows one end of a sword
from the other.
Tara Rynieyn: Well, any number of the Helstons could
accompany you though ::her nose scrunches up as she grins, a
secret kind:: one of them wants to have m'head but the rest all
like me. For instance, my Aunt Nyx.
Lord Ayreg: And who will bloody well listen when told to do
something.
Tara Rynieyn: ::Points at him:: You really must stop that, Jodiah.
Lord Ayreg: ::He set Tara's glass back onto the table between
them:: Stop what?
Tara Rynieyn: ::Flexing her legs, brushing them off even though
they have yet to get dusty. She just wanted to draw attention to
them since he was gawking and he was, wasn't he?::
Lord Ayreg: ::Raking one's eyes over them once does not qualify
as gawking, no::
Tara Rynieyn: Yer pisspoor attitude. ::snort:: Honestly, how do
you expect to find a woman to love ye if yer always so damn
brutish.
Tara Rynieyn: ::Raking, gawking same damn difference!::
Lord Ayreg: Funny. ::Tight-lipped smirk returns:: I didn't know I
was supposed to be looking for a woman to love me.
Lord Ayreg: And none of the women I've seen yet... inspire me.
Tara Rynieyn: Mmm..I'm sure ::the fifth roll of her eyes in just
under an hour. We have set a record, sports fans!::
Lord Ayreg: You really do not believe me, do you?
Tara Rynieyn: No ::stare:: I do not.
Tara Rynieyn: ::waves at him:: Anyhow, let us continue the
discussion lest I fall asleep or bite someone, whatever comes to
mind first.
Lord Ayreg: Indeed. It is important, Tara, because the
Shadowlands are dangerous. If someone doesn't do what needs
to be done when it bloody well flaming needs to be done, it
endangers the entire raid. I, for one, would rather not die in the
land of the dead. Something about irony I don't care for.
Tara Rynieyn: ::She slaps her palm down on the table and
growls:: All right! I get yer point! I'll <censored> accompany ye,
just quit goin on an' on about it, aye?!
Lord Ayreg: Someone you know who is powerful, talented, and
resilient. They don't have to become my whipping boy, just need
to follow orders until we're out.
Tara Rynieyn: ::Hand up, eyes wide:: I don't follow orders well.
Forget I said a thing.
Tara Rynieyn: ::Pinches the bridge of her nose and thinks:: (m)
Powerful...resilient...follows orders well...hmm.
Lord Ayreg: ::He leaned back into his chair again:: The weapon
itself can be crafted with mundane materials. To give it the killing
edge, though, it will require soulstock to be melded to its surface.
Tara Rynieyn: ::Looks sidelong to him:: Would it bother ye if the
man in question likes to dress up as Maid Marion once in awhile?
Lord Ayreg: Maid... Marion...?
Tara Rynieyn: It's from a play ::groans and looks at him as if she
believes he's lived in a bubble all his life:: You don't get out much,
do you?
Lord Ayreg: Socially? No. How could you tell?
Tara Rynieyn: ::smirks:: I told you, I hear things.
Lord Ayreg: Indeed. My payment we can discuss later, if at all. I
will ask again, though.. what do you plan on doing with the
weapon after it is used?
Tara Rynieyn: An' besides the door to room twelve is very easy to
unlock an' if what ye got in yer room is any indication of what it's
like to be reclusive, you, Sir, would be brought up on charges for it.
Tara Rynieyn: ::Gives him a look, this one more akin to "Get a
Life" than "How's that bubble?"::
Tara Rynieyn: I dun know, donate it, sell it, showcase it
::gesturing:: How should I know?
Tara Rynieyn: Jodiah I have so many weapons it's ridiculous. My
palace armory is more like a museum for mayhem than a
collection of gifts and purchases.
Lord Ayreg: ::Ayreg's face turns to something that is very similiar
to stone. So. She had been in his room, had she? Fury raged
through the death knight, but he kept himself under control for the
moment:: I will engage the commission, Tara. When you have
someone who will accompany me to the Shadowlands, then it will
be finished. It only needs to be applied to the weapon after
construction is finished.
Tara Rynieyn: I need a stiffer drink ::gets up quickly and
practically runs to the bar. This time she's on the patron side and
she waits patiently for Miles to get done speaking::
Tara Rynieyn: One moment, Jodiah! ::calling out to him as he
speaks and she rounds on Miles, her expression desperate:: (s)
Miles, please, moonshine, something to dull the senses.
Lord Ayreg: ::As she left the table, Ayreg thought about to
midwinter's night, and the dream he had. He knew there was
something mystical about Tara, in terms of a kind of power
beneath her surface.. what if it was no dream, after all? Wiry
muscles flexed across his body and the gears of his mind turn.
Thinking about the dream, he did not remember the door being
unlocked to begin with::
Tara Rynieyn: (s) I can't believe I'm saying this but bless yer
heart, Malign ::snatches up the drink, tosses him a coin, and
scurries back to Jodiah::
Tara Rynieyn: I'm sorry, what's this about my fine hind quarters?
Lord Ayreg: ::And that's what happens you daydream too much.
Ayreg's eyes open, deposited back into his chair by the Nexus::
Tara Rynieyn: ::Back in her seat, it's like she never left, but she
had and she doubted very much he noticed. She looks him up and
down, mainly concentrating on his attire and makes a few mental
notes to suggest, perhaps in a more private setting, that his
clothing is in dire need of replacement::
Lord Ayreg: ::Men sign lifetime commitment contracts when they
buy clothing. What can ya' do? His eyes cut back to her,
regarding her intently:: Not to change the subject but... Do you
have powers of a magical nature, Tara?
Tara Rynieyn: ::She knew nothing of this dream and was
probably teasing him about being in his room but she can phase
through doors. It's like a card trick to a magician, very easily done
without too much effort::
Tara Rynieyn: Not that it is any of yer business, Jodiah, but aye, I
am a vampire. ::there, it was out in the open, wag your tongue at
will::
Tara Rynieyn: That an' I have been gifted with the blessing of the
Shadows by a man you might recall named Naebliss. ::she grins::
He was the second in command of the guild The Wheel of Time
Lord Ayreg: I know of the Nae`bliss. More of a title, than a name.
Tara Rynieyn: ::she leans back in the chair and gestures to her
navel. There is a circular rune type marking on it and it appears to
have been burned there by someone's hand, Naebliss's hand, in
fact::
Lord Ayreg: ::Circle wheel with spokes, and a snake twined
around it, eating itself?::
Tara Rynieyn: ::She sneers at him:: (s) I was his lover, an' that is
what I called him. Title or not.
Lord Ayreg: ::Or something kinda' similiar, anyway?::
Tara Rynieyn: ::Yes, that is exactly what it looks like::
Lord Ayreg: ::Go memory, go memory...::
Tara Rynieyn: ::Way better than mine, that's goin back a ways::
Why do you ask about my abilities?
Lord Ayreg: ::Jodiah nods faintly:: I knew of him, all the same.
You have a great many marks on you, Tara. I do, as well, though
nothing quite as fancy. A lifetime of scars, born of pain and strife,
and much gnashing of teeth.
Tara Rynieyn: ::It is now that she sniffs at the white lightning
Miles made. It is very possible that he slipped some cyanide into
it when she wasn't looking as that blasted Malign had been trying
to kill her since the dawn of time it seemed::
Lord Ayreg: Oh... no reason. ::One thing Ayreg could not do very
well was lie::
Tara Rynieyn: ::Or a very close approximation thereof.::
Tara Rynieyn: ::Now he speaks of scars and the hellcat just loves
to show them off so she stands but before she can start pointing
them out like the badges they were she spies Obsidian and waves
to her:: Sidsta!
Tara Rynieyn: Two of my favorite friends are here ::a hand to her
heart, gesturing to Isuelt and Sid:: This makes me happy
Lord Ayreg: ::His lips twitch for a moment, and he pulls his right
glove off. He held his hand up, palm-out for her to see. In the
center of his palm was a thin, dagger-width scar:: Behold, the
only violent thought Imari Stark ever fostered.
Tara Rynieyn: ::Odd she didn't detect the harmonious elflocks
from outside, perhaps she was distracted...oh yes, Jodiah:: This
tattoo was a mistake actually ::she points to the word "Ashes" on
her outer thigh:: It was supposed to say "Asher" for a boyfriend I
once had.
Tara Rynieyn: ::Blinks at the scar or maybe it was the name he
just invoked:: Imari!
Lord Ayreg: ::His head rose as she did, and he had become used
to her attention being refocused thirty times over the span of a
conversation:: Yes. Imari Stark. Wife of Rayfe, the Harlequin.
Tara Rynieyn: ::She tries to remember if they had discussed
WDV:: I know who the Lady Stark is, Jodiah. She was once like
an aunt to me.
Lord Ayreg: ::They have not:: Oh, truly? Hm. Then we should
end our discussion of her there then, if you hold fond memories of
her.
Tara Rynieyn: I took the place of Lady Destiny as the Second in
Command of the Emerald Knights when she went to study with
the Wardens of Loreil.
Tara Rynieyn: My sister Silvana Stone ran the guild. She is, or
was, the mortal enemy of Alysia Skye, my friend. ::tips her head,
grinning madly::
Lord Ayreg: Was that after her divorce from Rayfe? I understand
they seperated some amount of time after I... became more
inactive in the realms.
Tara Rynieyn: I was often at Ironguard Hall. My brother was a
high-ranking member of White Dragon's Vengeance. Rayfe
presided over my wedding to Leto Atreides. He an' Imari were our
firstborn son's godparents.
Lord Ayreg: Ironguard Hall. ::He mumbles to himself:: Then you
must know the frost dragon, Tiari?
Tara Rynieyn: It was before. I was no longer welcome at their
halls after I married Soulights LeVey. ::frowns::
Tara Rynieyn: Aye, that I do. ::The frown remains:: This is a sore
subject with me.
Lord Ayreg: With me, as well. ::His fingers slid over his torso,
unbuttoning his high-collared coat. Pulling the right side of the
coat half-down his arm, he pulls the drawstrings on his shirt. Pale
flesh exposed beneath as he moved the shirt, but corded with wiry
muscle. His fingers slid over his chest, finding a particular spot::
Here... feel here. Feel the impression of the bone being bent.
Tara Rynieyn: ::Her lips purse but she places her cold fingers to
his breast:: Did someone strike you with an anvil? ::she couldn't
think of anything else that could make such an impression but
you can be sure Jodiah could::
Lord Ayreg: A nasty run-in with a flail. ::His thin lips pulled back
now, sort of a genuine smile. He seemed to enjoy telling war
stories:: And its owner, a man with a terrible temper by name of
Kain, was most upset that I was bedding his property without his
knowledge.
Tara Rynieyn: ::Her head tilts, suddenly very interested in the
surname of this "Kain":: Kain, who?
Lord Ayreg: ::His head turns, and the gears of his mind worked to
fill the name. After a brief moment he looked back to her::
Locke, if I recollect. Yes, Kain Locke.
Tara Rynieyn: ::At that name the vampire gasps so loud her
lungs hurt and she stumbles back, eyes bulging::
Lord Ayreg: ::His chin lifts, peering at her:: What is the matter,
Tara?
Tara Rynieyn: ::It is like someone cold clocked her and she falls
to her knees, grasping a nearby chair for support and begins to
wheeze::
Lord Ayreg: ::Still not one for being noble. All the same he slides
out of his chair and crouches beside her, wiry figure still exposed
through open shirt and coat. Every movement reflected in the
twist of muscle across his torso:: Tara?
Tara Rynieyn: (w) I know that name
Tara Rynieyn: ::Slowly she looks up to him, swallowing hard,
tears in her eyes:: (s) I was third-link on his chain. ::She gestures
to the inside of her left thigh where the mark of the Black Dragon
of House Locke is quite, undeniably, clear::
Lord Ayreg: Oh, then you probably knew he was ill-tempered, as
well. ::He opens his hand to her:: Come, back to your chair.
You're making a scene.
Tara Rynieyn: ::She takes his hand and stands, smiling over to
Sid, grateful to her concern::
Tara Rynieyn: (s) He was a bastard from the moment of
conception, Jodiah.
Lord Ayreg: ::He shakes his head, pulling her up to her feet. His
voice was soft, and strangely lacking in its normal coldness:: (s) I
knew. I did not wish to remind you that you were once property.
It... can leave an impression, on someone.
Tara Rynieyn: He was also Brutin's protege, that is, until he
enslaved me, an' was the reason why Brutin decreed no one could
enslave me ever again.
Tara Rynieyn: I do not mind what I once was, it is the name that
upsets me. He an' I have a history that is very violent, if not deeply
sad.