Dragon

Land of Karchan

Blood At The Road


Roleplay

Malvi maintains the silence a little longer, aware of the presence of someone by the board but it's not until the pungent cigar smoke tickles his nose that he takes notice of the newcomer. "You uh.... you got another one of those?"

Casimir removes the roll from his mouth between finger and thumb, his words puffing the smoke from his jaws, "I might. Why?"

Nailah leaves the forest in a silent step, a faint smell of blood coming from her but not anything to be seen. A tilt of her had as her stone grey eyes flicker over the two and eavesdrops over the conversation. Then opting to stand behind the blind man Malvi, lifting a hand to try to brush the hair above his ear as she whispers "Smoking is bad." Then a little louder to Casimir with a pointed look "Wouldn't you agree?"

Malvi leans backwards legs rising into the air before flicking himself to his feet. His blindfolded eyes stare in the rough direction of Casimir's voice while he pats his pockets. "I've not had a cigar in years... the Wardens a stingy bugger and he put them on the contraband list..... you uh.... you open to a trade?"

Malvi flinches slightly, not expecting the presence behind him to touch him though he recovers quickly "Smoking is very bad for you, knocks years off your lifespan. I, however, am an immortal elf god and it will do me no harm."

Casimir quirks a brow at Nailah, "I would not agree. No." A light smirk crosses his lips. His gaze flits to Malvi, free hand digging into his pocket for a second cigar. He steps closer to the other man, "What are you offering? I'm interested." His own burning cigar is brought to his lips again to allow its delicious cancer fumes to fill his mouth, sending a pointed look right back at Nailah.

Nailah lifts her brows in surprise at the denial the elf has but there is a flicker of humoured amusement in her smile. Hushing quite dramatically with a dry tone she repeats An elf god ? Pray tell, what are you the god of? The disgusting smell of burnt tobacco? The patron of yellow fingers? Or perhaps the deity of dirty dentures?" Then gaze snaps to Casimir and eyes narrow, upon her cheek the flesh seems to almost lose colour into a gray, a little like fracture crack appearing for a semi second before it is gone and no sign but a bright smile "Then you are a mere fool my dear."

Malvi pats his inside pockets, eventually rooting out a small glass vial filled with a violently pink liquid. Grasping it by the neck he holds it out in front of him, as he begins to extol its virtues "This is a one of a kind, no longer made, blue fire liquor made by the great brewmaster Gypsy herself. It has been known to cure what ails you, give you the sexual virility of a horny werewolf, clear up acne and reverse hair loss! You won't find a better deal anywhere if that I can assure you. It comes with its own certificate of authenticity and it can be yours today for the lowly price of one single cigar." While he waits for Casimir's reply he turns his blindfolded eyes to Nailah and raises his nose a little "Oh, an unbeliever. I'll have you know I'm the god of lies and blindness. I'm also the dwarves god of stripped bolts because only an elf would use such shoddy materials that the bolt would strip that quickly."

Casimir chuckles out more of his smoke from Nailah's reaction, "Fool or wise, 'Patron of Yellow Fingers' sounds pretty bada**." Then chuckles heartily as he eyes the pink vial with a mirthful smile, "Sounds too good to be true. It's a f**king deal," He chortles more and accepts the potion, the replaces its place in Malvi's hands with a cigar. "Here, man. Need to light one now?"

Nailah glances to the supposed blue fire liquor, lofts a brow on seeing the colour and then promptly rolls her eyes as Casmir accepts the deal. To the siren, that has answered her question on whether the server of the Purple Ladies Club is a fool or not. Muttering to herself but also in response to Casimir too, she says "You probably think yellow snow is a delightful desert too." However one of her favourite topics of deities is one of the topics of conversation so as Malvi anoints himself in holy titles, she slowly nods as if entertaining it to be the truth, though of course not seen "Well perhaps I should be able to arrange a meeting between you and my god? After all you must enjoy mingling with your kind rather than us lowly lot?"

Malvi smiles, turning the cigar and running it under his nose, savouring the spicy scent with closed eyes. "Thanks, but I've got this..." he says, waving away Casimir's offer. Slipping a small knife from his pocket he pokes a hole in one end and cleanly slices off the other, placing the round tube between his lips. Putting the life away he raises his hand and counjours a small flame, inhaling deeply as he puffs on the cigar before he tilts his head back and blows out an enormous cloud of blue tinged smoke with a look of pure pleasure.

Malvi turns his gaze towards the siren and nods "Well of course the home of the gods is far more entertaining. I mean you've got the games with Fate and Chance, though I swear they both cheat. Not to mention the food, so divine. But it's nice to come down here every so often, you wee mortals are gone so quickly that there's always someone new to meet." Baring his teeth in a wide grin he takes another long drag on the cigar and blows a smoke ring over Nialah's head.

Casimir grins roguishly to the siren, "You have it confused. The yellow snow is p**s. The red snow is the dessert. If you want a sip," he lifts the vibrant pink brew with a glint in his eye, "..you can just ask. No need to be bitter." The potion is then tucked in fist to his pocket, while he witnesses the blind man's smokey display. "Nice. How long did you say it's been since you had one of these?"

Nailah jerks her head back unimpressed by the smoke that comes her way, a frown sinking on her face and that pale and unnatural grey tint returns to her skin. She bats the smoke away and turns to the side, no longer facing Malvi. An arch brow rises at Casimir but then she goads "You...drink it all now." But without warning, without a heads up, the skin upon her back parts in large bloody slits, a pair of wings, grey and mottled apart fro a few razor sharp 'feathers' nestled between them, slowly slide out of the broken skin, a few red smears of her own blood left on them. Then a glance to the side, eyeing up the distance and a sudden stretch of her wings to attempt to knock the cigar out of the blind man's hand, a splatter of blood coming from the swift spread too.

Malvi is just in the process of raising the cigar to his lips as the siren transforms. The iron tang of blood and the unusual rustling triggers dormant reflexes as the elf steps backwards, arms stretching to the sides away from the bladed appendages. This movement is about all that saves him from losing his hand at the wrist, though his body has to contort backwards as the wing slashes up his body, parting his shirt cleanly though he can't quite avoid the very tip of the wing as it scores his chin, blood dripping to the ground. Grabbing the two halves of his top, he displays them to the siren while he bellows at her "This! This was my favourite shirt! Now look what you've done!" As he rants you can see the smooth expanse of his chest is scarred, an intricate design picked out in what at first looks to be gold ink in a sigil.

Casimir tilts his head when she demands him to drink the potion, then witnesses the violent, but slow protrusions of bone and feathers from her back. Covered in blood. His gaze narrows a bit and he inhales the smoke of his cigar this time instead of letting the smoke keep in his mouth. The fumes billow out from his nose. He leaps a couple steps backwards away from the couple but did not manage to avoid the splash of siren blood, so his clothing, albeit black, and his light skin are all splattered with it. The teen examines Malvi and frowns a bit as the sharpness of the woman's feathers makes itself know and has its way with the stranger's shirt. The teen stares at the siren. He sucks his teeth. Back to Malvi, "Damn..I'll find you a new one. Just don't get yourself killed."

Nailah flutters her wings gently then once they had struck, much like a delicate creature would rather than a dangerous one. More of the blood falling off and the wings nearly clean. Then time taken to slowly fold them behind her back but distracted by the gold mark upon the blind man's chest. Still, it is time for dry humour as the smile the siren wears is saccharine sweet "Now it is my favourite shirt." Nailah however turns and steps towards Malvi, bending a little to get a closer view of the mark but she glances behind her at Casmir and hisses "Drink." with a small flex of of her wings she then returns her attention to the mutilated chest and mark, tentatively reaching out with the aim of touching it.

Aurea arrived at the road in a hush, dark hood pulled low over her brow, icy green eyes peering out from below its hip. She'd been in solitude for weeks, now, as if preparing for something; but now, the witch was at the road again, and just in time for a bloody spectacle it would seem. Her full tinted lips twisted into a devilish smirk at the siren's display, but rather than intervene -- after all, Malvi probably deserved it -- she moved to address the board and its notes, leaving her own there despite the goings-on behind her.

Malvi hears those sickly sweet tones inching closer, the minute press of air against his bare skin as Nailah's hand reaches out towards his chest. With a grin that rivals the fox that caught the rabbit he moves just out of her reach and pulls his shirt off, baring a chest of lean muscle and the ever present sigil. Exposed to the light you can now make out that the design is not in fact a gold tattoo but actual gold poured into a deep wound, each movement causing the metal to flex and bend a little as though it were still molten. "Well," the elf says, his voice just barely tinged with repressed anger. "If it's your favourite shirt now, you can keep it." And with that he mops up the blood from his pale skin with the tattered garment and drops it neatly over Nailah's outstretched hand.

MaDahmer sort of hobbles down the road, keeping her weight on the bloodied pitchfork she is using as a cane. There is a significant amount of blood on her old, laced dress. Her clothing looks to have been once white, but has seen much use over the years and is now ore of a stained yellow color. The still-drying blood is much o an improvement.

Casimir says [to you] : "No, thank you. I've had my fill." He wipes her blood from his face and flicks it at the ground, then takes another draft from his cigar, once again in a manner against the rules of smoking cigars. Another round of smoke swirls from his nostrils. His gaze strays to the vampire that just dropped in, then back to Malvi who so effortlessly taunts the siren. His expression is stuck between amusement and concern.

Nailah blinks as the garment is now dropped upon her hand and promptly drops her arm for the torn material to drop unceremoniously to the floor. Still like a cat eyeing a mouse, the strange symbol upon Malvi's chest is on intrigue "What is that on you?" Then and only then does she glance to Casimir as if he would know, spotting the witch but in her shroud of a hood, unable to read if the woman has any understanding on the mark upon the blind man and finally to the old woman who looked like she had stood in slaughter house like a lover would when caught in summer rain. Straightening up and temporarily taken on a back foot as to what one of the numerous oddities she should look at, she then whispers to those who had been on the road for a little while as if they were all allies "One of you lot can sort out that woman."

Malvi speaks in a very offhandish way, as though repeating from memory. "It's an ancient enochian sigil of binding, designed to seal and limit the powers of an even more ancient "Demon" to stop its personality exerting influence over the memory of this host. Ink wouldn't take so I had to carve the sigil into my skin and fill it with molten gold to stop it healing...." Taking a long puff on the cigar, he lets the smoke flow from his lips as though her were a Dragon, two pillars spiralling towards the blue sky. "But then again, I am the elvish god of lies....."

Aurea doesn't know what the heck is going on. Archaic sigils of aureate hue, the siren ... the pitchfork-woman, as Aurea was now inclined to call her. Very American Gothic, if that was a thing. Full lips curled into a roguish grin as she turned from the board, her note now pinned there to call for assistants. But it was almost as if someone -else- was more in need of assistance. What in the nine hells was Malvi up to? In a hashtag-worthy 'not my problem', Aurea turned her attention toward MaDahmer, giving the blood-speckled woman a thorough top-to-bottom, drawing in the fresh metallic aroma of blood with a deep inhale. "What oh, what, do we have here?"

MaDahmer just continues hobbling slowly southward, leaning on her red-stained pitchfork. She is sobbing about something. "Oh Ernest...gods forgive an old fool. I loved' yeh. I killed yeh I did, stabbed right through the stomach with 'is own pi...pitch form." He old woman cried tears that dry the moment they hit her cheeks, the tears of the very elderly. Judging by her age and demeanor, she probably doesn't even know anyone else is here. "Turn myself in, I will. Where is my sister? Oh...oh Ernest."

Nailah gets a thoughtful look dash upon her face, flexing her hand as she imagines hooking her nails into that chunk of gold molded to the scar upon the blind man's chest, ripping it out and seeing if the demon that maybe within Malvi would show. Plus of course the actual golden chunk she believes would be a rather darling decoration for her home. Still that is not to happen today, instead she simply says an ominous "Interesting...." Still her wings ruffle, glancing around the road at the count of people and deeming it too many to take to the skies here so instead she nods and says "Perhaps I will learn more of it another day....whatever your name is." Yet her departure is halted by the break down of the bloodied old woman and her sudden confession, a loft of brows in ...approval it looks like but nothing said on it as she starts her way south before she would take to the skies.

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Last modified on March 12, 2017, 14:55:08