Dragon

Land of Karchan

Grave Time at The Graveyard.


Summary

Riggs and Hela visit the graveyard in Solol where ghosts may rise during the month of October however it ends in death.

Contains Bad Language & Gore

The Roleplay

Hela had sent Riggs a letter, one that had said that there was a slight rescheduling and she would be in contact in due course but given the fact that the artist had a slight tendency to not take knocks on the door well and let alone any other in the village, the village went through their postmen very quickly, the one they had was very inept and this letter might never have reached him, it might have been dropped in a puddle and the ink ruined to make it unreadable. Still there was the artist just leaving the observatory, her usual bun in a state of mess and wearing a simple cut burgundy dress, nothing fancy or with flair and tucked under her arms a bouquet of flowers. The brunette is just hesitating outside the door, keys gently jingling in her hand as she tries to decide on whether to lock up and leave the visiting astronomers locked in so it would be an easy lunch for her later or to do what she knows is less risky, don't take them prisoner and wait till nightfall to hunt outside the village.

Riggs had gotten a letter (or the remnants of) from the same barkeep that he sought on a daily basis. Between the two of the them, they sort of figured out that the letter came from Hela...orrr from Riggs' mother, who wanted him to badly come home and tend to the farm and stop chasing the dreams of riches and fame. It couldn't have been the latter, so based on the assumption that it was Hela, he decided to wander back to the observatory and the strange woman who resided there. Through the streets his quiet steps carried him--until he spotted Hela from afar. He could have easily chosen to sneak up on her but he chooses take the more noticeable approach by making himself heard as he arrives at the steps. "Flowers? For me?" He clearly jests, hoping that will thwart another attempt at her grabbing him by the throat.

Hela clenches her hand tight the moment her thoughts are shattered by the voice of another, a little tightening of her jaw in frustration and she pockets the keys and then turns to look at the man who inadvertently might have save lives of those studying the stars. A small strained smile as her quiet voice pierces the silence "Well shit, the surprise is spoilt now isn't it? And to think I would have sent you chocolates next week and a hamper of kittens and puppies the week after." The way she delivers that is so flat, so serious, it would take even those who know her well to figure out if she meant it. The sheer ridiculousness of the statement should give it away but when she had been human, or more accurately when she had been happy, there would have been a hint of a smile to give it away but there was none. Stepping away from the door so the stones on the path crunch under her shoes, a little closer to the mercenary but invading his space in the slightest "Seren." is all she gives as a serious answer, the name of the girl that died over a quarter of a century ago, the nobody that had been murdered and had been the catalyst to the events that had caused the curse. Most people in the village would know exactly what Hela meant by uttering that name, even more so this time of the year where just some ghosts of those buried in the graveyard rise and though Seren never had, it had almost become a tradition to see if she would, leave a gift at her grave to tempt her. Yet lacking in charisma the artist then bluntly asks "Are you going to come or just stand there on my path cluttering it up?"

Riggs doesn't show much more than a faint grin and an evenly dry, "You're so thoughtful." to her response. Chocolates though, he didn't mind. Cats on the other hand...nope. The stones crunching beneath her feet gives sign to her encroachment, causing him to take a step back just in case. "Seren?" He repeats, casually. Head cocked to the side in confusion. "I've heard the name in lowered voices but not much more than that." It didn't mean that he wasn't curious--he didn't want to bother the local folk about it. "Maybe you're in my path," comes his smartass remark before a more serious nod. "Sure. As long as you keep your hands to yourself."

Hela had that small temptation to tell him the tale in the full glory, tell him the theories, the rumours, the suspicions and she even thinks about it for a second as she nods down the path in a prompt for him to start the brief walk with her down the dark path where no streetlights illuminate, relying only on the slight glow of the moon in the sky and eyes used to the darkness to navigate. Instead of the whole detailed tale, he gets the bullet pointed version "Seren Deveraux. Young girl, seems unspectacular in every way was killed when the circus first came to town. Villagers blamed the circus folk, killed half of them, the rest escaped and came back a few years later not the charming entertaining bunch they were before but changed, monsters, dark magic and..." a glance up to the sky that never sees the sun "Of course the curse. Smaller side effects such as the graveyard is one where this time of year a few dead rise, no pattern as to who, why or anything to link them, seemingly completely random. I used to hope my father's ghost would appear, used to come here every year to see if he would, never did. Seren never comes either though her appearance would be far more important, if she did, she could finally tell people who she was killed by, prove the cult innocent or guilty. Personally I hope she never does, I think some mysteries should remain unsolved." By the time her words were over, they were just passing through the gates of the garden of the dead and the tales were certainly true, around the famed name a fair crowd but throughout the cemetery the pale spectral shapes of souls passed, some with those friends or loved ones visiting, some alone, forgotten or unknown by those alive. However it is near the entrance that Hela stops, holding out the bouquet to Riggs "It is meant to be bad luck if you don't leave something for Seren and I need you to not be tainted by such a thing, you need to leave this for her."

Riggs walked at the same pace that Hela had chosen as they strolled down the path. Through his blessed night vision, he glanced at the haunted faces that peeked through tattered curtains as the two moved along. He was a new face in town, which probably explained their curiosity. Or it was Hela, who drew a studios glance from him a time or two. He wanted to know how someone who could be considered as pretty in a natural world, turn into something so vile. Death in Disguise he thought to himself before her words once again found his ears. "Maybe she doesn't want anyone to know, " he proposes as he pushes against the gate, causing the metal frame to groan sadly. "Lord knows I wouldn't." As his eyes turn to Hela and her bouquet, there's some suspicion but he chooses to abide by her wishes and take the flowers. "If you say so, lady. Lord knows I can't have any more bad luck."

Hela tilts her head just slightly as she considers Riggs' opinion on why the murdered girl doesn't rise from the grave, letting it sit in her mind for a moment before out comes her own theory before she can stop it from being blurted out, a teeny tiny spark of amusement lighting up her face in almost a smile "I don't even think she is buried there." Then it is gone, just a memory and lost in time as the cool blasé expression more close to a frown than anything else takes over as she catches the little clues of suspicion. A throaty "Hmm." comes from her, she can understand full well his perceived wariness of her, his dislike of being around her, after all everything from her last name, to what she is, where she lives, all of it screams for a person not to trust her, not to go near her but she needs him on her side, for now at the very least, until his job is done. So a few reminders are given to him "You are safe Riggs. You have no soul. Until you do reclaim your soul, you are safe around me." That isn't quite true but he has far better chances of surviving her than most. Then the steps start again, this time winding around the tomb stones, some old, some new, passing the ghost of a sobbing child, curled up by his grave that makes her death being over two hundred years ago and even the brunette waits long enough for her whispered ears not to be heard by the young dead. "She comes back every single year they say, never has had any visitors. So I don't think even they get a choice of whether they show up or not." Though they are nearing the small crowd around the large elaborate headstone of the famed name, giving Riggs enough time to leave the gift and letting her thoughts stew. Her particular thought becomes on whether if the mercenary became buried in the ground here if he would rise, without a soul, how could he? But this was not a land of science but magic, barely a person here didn't defy some rules or laws and then it is her looking at Riggs with curiosity, not even the smallest attempt to hide it. Finally she comes out with her question "Do you feel empty without a soul? Lost? Unsettled? How different does it feel?"

Riggs is overcome by an overwhelming sense of suspicion as he considers Hela's theory, "For some reason, I think you know more than you let on." And that's where he leaves it as he is faced with her own forewarning of his safety. "It's been almost a century since I've had one and in doubtful that I'll ever get it back." It's not like he missed it or anything, but maybe one day he'd be just fine in finding his final rest. Onward with Hela he then moves, one hand gently sliding over the cold tombstones they pass by. Hela's whispered words send a chill up his spine as he lowers to a knee and places the flowers delicately on the base of the headstone. It's true that he didn't want to believe her, but the thrum of one of daggers against his chest told him to abide. Once finished, he moves away from the gathering, only to be faced by her question. "There's an emptiness of sorts," he says softly. "Like a hunger that is never to be fulfilled. There's no shame or remorse even though there should be. I can die as well, but on the third day I will rise from the earth, much like I am now. No matter the circumstance of my death. For me, the wheel just keeps turning endlessly."

Hela doesn't actually believe in the superstition around the grave but she likes the entertain the idea and a greater part of her likes the charm of of the superstition, the way it brings people to do strange acts for someone they never knew and whose only importance lay in her death and that single thing that happened to them all at some point, had changed the lives of so many after her time. Arms fold in front of her chest as she looks at the paid killer before her as he enlightens her on his state. He probably should never have uttered those words for knowing he would rise again from any grave and any death, it just made the wraith want to see that. Perhaps one day, not today and not until he had done his job, that was her priority before anything else. Once the gift is left, she starts leading them a little further down the graveyard, passing an old man and his old ghostly friend laughing over some tales of their youth and to a spot a little quieter, pulling out her packet of cigarettes to claim one, light one and with the curl of smoke leaving her lips, she then says "So you are doomed to live an empty and eternal life. No end but a continuous cycle. " A little lift of her brows before she just declares her opinion on it "Well that is just tragic, isn't it Riggs?"

Riggs isn't really sure if he believes Hela or not. There is always the case though that if she is telling the truth, he's damned even further. So for now, he will play his cards with how she leaves them. Thankfully, they move on, hopefully far away from this place and the superstitious few that had gathered. The few gravestones that are left are read with passing glances, as their names would not be remembered to the merc. He hated this place and his traveling companion wasn't much better. A god damned wrath. His attentions are pulled from the scenery to her as she lights her cigarette and shares her endearing opinion. "Until I find the demon who has my soul, yes. As far as it being tragic....." he shrugs. "...I don't believe so. At least I don't have to indulge in the souls of others to feel a little something. I mean, is it really worth all of the trouble?"

Hela in some ways would be able to relate to not being enamoured with the village, she used to find it charming in the macabre ways but now one of the many, it was her place to hide and her cage. The merc would never know how deep his dagger of words had sunk into her, she didn't show it outwardly though inwardly she was reeling from his own opinion. The brunette definitely deserved it but it didn't mean she could deal with what she dealt to others. So instead the merc gets a cool look as she bides her time in strangling her pain down to suffocate it into silence, one more drag of her cigarette and a slight lift of her chin as the sin that is pride keeps her mask of nothing on her face. "It isn't just about feeling emotions. If I don't feed the monster in small and frequent doses, then it will take over. Who knows what will happen then? The one who made me killed his whole family when his monster took over, his wife, his parents, his siblings and even his children. He lost his human self for months. I am not going to do that. And look, even you see the importance of having a goal, even if impossible, unlikely, you have to have a goal and hope for something." The pack of cigarettes is then held out to the merc to take as she turns to look at the cemetery "Why are you here Riggs?" That question hangs for a moment with just the whispers of the breeze in the trees to fill in the silence "There is something about you that is more...honourable for lack of a better word, than people who live here. Don't get me wrong, I don't think you are a good man at all, far from it. Hell for the right price you are willing to kidnap or kill a person. Yet you aren't a monster, I don't mean just physically, racially or whatever but as a person. You want to know why to things as if that will help you understand, you judge, you don't seem entirely comfortable here, you look at me in a way I think sometimes you might be close to throwing up in your mouth." However she isn't going to let him answer, not until she throws her own theory out as it comes to her suddenly "You are hiding, you are self exhaling yourself, punishing yourself. Come to live here with all the sinners because you think you are one? You perhaps committed some great atrocity in your past that you can't forgive yourself for?" The artist does indeed like an elaborate theory.

Riggs has lived a long life, long enough to know when he has overstepped his bounds. He didn't need to see nor feel Hela's grief, but somehow he just knew. He could issue a simple 'sorry' and move on with it but doesn't. In time, she'll get over it. And if he looked away, it would all disappear. For him, that was the easiest way to solve a problem. He had to look back at her eventually, and when he does, he says, "What makes you so certain that he wasn't just some sick bastard that wanted to kill his family anyway? Maybe he just used the monster as an excuse to fulfil his own morbid desires." Crow black eyes hold form upon Hela as she questions his own motives. Why is he here? Why did he dream of this place? What was it about this land stricken with darkness that called to him. "I don't know why I'm here," he says as he takes the offered pack of cigarettes and pulls one free before handing it back. "I just am." The strike of a match provides the only spark of light, bringing about the chiselled features about his face. A face that is hindered by a tensing jawline as the cherry of the smoke blinks at Hela. "I don't know what to think of you." Comes his honest answer as clouds of grey chase his words. "That's why I react to you the way that I do. And no, I wouldn't say that it's worth throwing up over. " And here's the brief moment of where his past flashes before his eyes. Indeed, he was once honourable. A fine man and a better warrior. But he was stricken by greed, greed that lead him to sell his soul...to her. The collection of his past is washed away with a hard blink, refreshing his cold stare upon Hela. She may have hit a nerve. "That's an incredible theory, but you're wrong about me, lady. I've done nothing that I regret."

Hela might have met her match in finding someone who could stitch together wild motives and theories as Riggs gives his own on her maker and though she doesn't turn, her hazel eyes do glance to the merc out of the corner of his eyes. "I am absolutely certain he didn't want to. The shame he had when he told me and the anger he had at me when I completely and utterly destroyed the way for him to redeem himself. You know the story of Jekyll and Hyde, he was like that, two different people. Mine is a little tighter stitched than his was." There is a flutter of amusement as the mercenary claims a strong stomach around her and she adds to the growing mental list of things to experiment with Riggs, this time making note at one point for him to see her fully turned into her wraith form for there isn't many a person who could keep their stomach contents still on seeing that grotesque horror but that mental bet is not put into words, instead it is him she focuses upon "You are a liar or in denial. I absolutely hate those people who say they have no regrets and they...." there is a grimace on her face before she puts on a more 'perky' and saccharine sweet tone "...wouldn't change a thing about their if they got given the chance." A little rumble of a growl curls in her throat as she adds in her usual tone "Anyone would be an idiot if they passed up a chance like that." Then her annoyance calms from the stormy waves it had threatened to go into "But that is fine Riggs, I don't expect you to tell me all your secrets. After all, like I said, some mysteries should remain unsolved....and others should only be discussed after copious amounts of alcohol to dull the pain."

Riggs finishes the remainder of his cigarette and tosses it lazily to the earth. The toe of his boot puts an and to the vice while the last clouds of grey leave his lungs. "I could tell myself I'm a saint a thousand times until I eventually believe it. Same goes with anyone else. But if that's what you believe, then perhaps it's so." Little did he know, he'd find his own irony in his words with Hela's next exchange. An exchange that draws a dry chuckle from the merc at first, then comes the darkness. Much darker than that that blankets them. "A liar, maybe. But denial..." His head shakes. "...I don't think so. I don't do what I do for any sort of salvation. It passes the time and puts money in my pocket." He had a mountain of it, amassed from others poor decisions. "But anyone else that's a monster, like yourself, why wouldn't they take that chance?" Deep down, he would take the same opportunity. But the fear of a mortal life would severely hinder that decision. Again, he knows he's stepping over the line and pads the brakes. "You said alcohol. Are you buying?"

Hela 's own cigarette is burning dangerously close to the fingers but she likes the warmth of it and the threat of it and doesn't drop it just yet, pursed lips twitch a little in annoyance at his first words, her views stubbornly unchanged. Though soon a philosophical thought takes over her and she murmurs more to herself than to the mercenary "Humans are the original monsters of the world." In some sense there isn't too much that morally separates the two in many cases but a quick blink to snap herself out of it and now it is her turn to laugh, a little too loud for a graveyard and it carries over the expanse of the grounds and there are a few disapproving looks shot their way. She doesn't notice though for the incredulous look she gives the mercenary is focused and completely unwavering "I am not buying you a drink. I have to pay you two and a half thousand gold. soon. I am not in a position to buy anyone a drink. If you want booze, you will have to make do with the cheap white wine I have in the house if you are really fucking lucky there might be some expensive bourbon left over that needs to be claimed."

Riggs allows the words, 'Humans are the original monsters of the world' play in his mind over and over again. For these words, he has no argument. For in this case, she's right. There were countless times that his monetary gains grew because of simple jealousy or greed. The muscles of the merc's face pull up on one side, forcing a half-grin. "You make it sound like an insurmountable task. I could have easily asked to pay half up front. Something I should have done. But if that's all that you have to offer, I'll take it." A tattooed arm extends, showing off the greens, blues, yellows and reds that sleeve up his arm, revealing a finely inked dragon. "I'll even try and be...nice."

Hela is truthfully struggling to come up with the money, work was light and given the fact her main income came from memorial portraits of the recently deceased, not out of choice this advice was taken but out of necessity, there was a lack of deaths of those who had loved ones enough to commission a piece, that and after having hired him and checking her bank account, it was a lot less than she had thought, finances having taken a drain on trying to find where her maker had run off to. She did have a couple of avenues left to explore before the time to pay came but whether they were successful or not would be found out at the time. As his arm is held out, she doesn't take it in the way that it was offered in, instead his wrist is taken in a tight grip and his sleeve pushed up a little higher to look at the ink "You went to someone with talent at the very least." Then his arm is dropped, no longer touched and she starts the walk back to her home where the drinks are already paid for and but they only make it to the outside by the time a sobbing voice pierces the quiet spot. The brunette's steps stop and Riggs's arm is grabbed to stop his steps, metres from the observatory door then her gaze slowly climbs up the building to where the sorrowful sounds come from and there on the lip of the domed roof is the silhouette of a person, outlined by the pale moon light. "Not again..." she starts to say and she was just about to warn the mercenary but there is no time, with a sudden sickening crunch and sharp snap of several bones, a small spray of blood splattering on the brunette and there is the broken body of the one who had been crying on the roof just in front of them, barely having missed them and their limbs and skull not having fared well from the fall. She had been through the a couple of times, an agitated sigh escaping her lungs as the back of her hand wipes the few drops of blood off her cheek, a little hint of anger in her tone "I hate when people do this. They should just commit suicide in forest like everyone else." Then she catches the slight black tinge to her finger tips, subtle twisting her arm to see the veins on her wrist turning darker and there is an abrupt change of plans "No drinks tonight. You need to go Riggs." Chin lifting and turning her head to look squarely at him, not at all inviting negotiation or argument and though it might be hard to tell in the little light of the eternal land of the night, her lips also seem to have turned darker as utters one more word for him "Now."

Riggs might be the type of person to eventually let Hela off for free. He had more than enough money stashed away to keep him set for some time. Perhaps he's owes her that just for the time spent with him. The arm offered wasn't exactly for her to take, it was more of an issuance of 'Proceed'. Not that he doesn't mind someone admiring the work on his arm. His other arm shared the same work just for later mentioning. "Thanks," he offers before they move along. Little did he know, her cold grasp would again take hold of his arm as they approached the steps. It didn't take keen senses to overhear the moans coming from above, or psychic abilities to see of what's to come. Gravity plays it's game on the prisoner as they throw themselves from the roof, leaving the merc in an awe inspired moment before the splatter of warm blood sprays across his cheek, vest and boots. There isn't anything that can be said as he watches Hela begun to change. It doesn't take a genius, he knows what's coming. Though he should be rattled, he smiles coolly and takes his cue for departure. And a shower. "I'd consider keeping them somewhere closer to the ground." He mentions as he disappears into the darkness.

Go Back

Last modified on November 19, 2017, 06:38:48