Quest Disposable Parts

[Imogen]

It was inside an ill lit tavern on the outskirts of Vel Anir that Imogen found herself, every sod worth his salt inside the city rejecting her offer of employment the moment it fell from her spell-coated lips.

She could encourage a man to want to please her. She could implore that he take on her desires as his own. But for all the spells she had inside her spell book, none could break a man's will and make him see things her way. It all came down to choice.

And so far? No man was enticed enough to take on the Dreadlords for her. No matter how much oomph she put behind a spell-coated kiss.

To those inside the city, their fear of the assassins was founded and unshakable. And so she skimmed the faces of the men drinking before her, her stained-red lips pursing as she tried to gleam a face from out of town.

 

[Corvus]

Corvus wasn't drinking. In fact, when Imogen walked in, he and a few others were playing dice in the back. With his cup in hand, he shook the small cubes around the interior, pouring them out onto the stained surface of an old, notched wooden table. Leaning forward, wild hair of brown and grey swinging into his eyes, he carefully used his forefinger and thumb to pull individual dice out of the pool.

Those around him watched intently, a bit of tension in the air as they, too, kept score when he pulled out individual dice.

There, truthfully, wasn't much to mark him out from any other human, aside from the fur pelt he had slung around his shoulders, making his already broad shoulders yet broader still. Instead, he stood out starkly because of his companion; a snowy white wolf, ears up, eyes scanning it's surroundings while it's master played his game.

"Easy now, Sarky." The man rumbled in a rich, though quiet, baritone. "I can smell your fear from here."

A thin man, more bone than person, looked taken aback by the remarks. "Wh- ho- never!" He protests, and Corvus cracked a grin visible through the messy tangle of his beard.

"Or maybe that's just your lack of bathing."

The table joined him in a low, rumbling rough that had more akin to thunder than the sudden stormfront that commonly came with drunken revelry - these men were sober, that much was immediately clear.

 

[Imogen]

The night moved on, Imogen not inclined to join any large groups of rowdy men. No, her work was better done one on one, and so she spent the time sitting at the bar. A glass of wine sat between her fingers, out of place in this room of ales. Her clothing reeked of wealth, finely made despite their relatively simple nature.

Man after man she engaged in varying levels of conversation, and man after man was dismissed or left with a sharp laugh and the shake of his head.

One such man returned to the card table, still shaking his head in disbelief. "What a right crazy bitch."

"What'd she want?" Asked another, leaning forward with a gleam to his eye.

"Offering a pretty little penny for a body guard. To take on Dreadlords." The table erupted into laughs, half of disbelief, half mocking such a thought.

Imogen sighed from across the tavern, slowly shaking her head and pocketing the bag of gold that had been present countless times before.

She stood to leave.

 

[Corvus]

Corvus quirked a brow at the grumbling, then followed the man back to the woman he'd been speaking with. His dark brow rose further still, and then his head tilted. "Dreadlord?" He asks, not having heard the name before. That was the downside of traveling as often as he did - he didn't know the lay of the land anywhere he went.

Everything was new, and every enemy fought potentially disastrous in that they might be someone who could run him out of town, though such things were unlikely. He had to acknowledge it, though, because you didn't name your group the 'Dreadlords' without something to back it up.

Something frightening his friends. "Excuse me." He says, standing abruptly. With purposeful strides, he crossed the room to the woman, gripping her arm briefly to stop her from walking towards the door - he'd released her before she could even cock her hand back to slap him.

"You were looking for help?"

 

[Imogen]

Imogen stopped short, her shoulders squaring off to the sudden heavy presence over her. She tilted her head half over her shoulder, eyeing the man there with pinched skepticism.

A quick cursory glance was casted over his form, the furs over his shoulder noted and filed away. Not from around here, perhaps? Or just use to cold nights, either way, it was a promising start on her quest to find someone none the wiser of Vel Anir threats. He certainly didn't look like a man off the streets. But after a night of failure and flat out mocking rejection, she regarded him warily.

"And you are?" She asked thickly, turning to face him in full. She raised a brow, the unspoken question hitched there-- exactly how can someone like you help me?

 

[Corvus]

He was a good head taller than her, and from behind wayward strands of brown and grey hair he regarded her with dark eyes. Behind him came Scalf, his wolf, and it looked to her with the curious intelligence common among the more precocious canines one came across.

Though, of course, he was a bit more dangerous than your average street mutt. Corvus brushed a palm over Scalf's head, his other hand resting on the pommel of the longsword hanging from his hip.

"Corvus." He replies, in a voice thickened by his raising in the far northeast. His words were pronounced sharp and hard as a fjord's jagged rocks, and he raised an eyebrow just as she did. "How much you paying?"

 

[Imogen]

She casted an uneasy glance at the wolf, creatures like that only found in her life if they were skinned and stretched out on floors.

Her eyes flickered back to this Corvus after a moment, regarding him a bit keener as she took in his accent. From the north, then. Perhaps there was hope.

She wordlessly slipped her hand inside her cloak, flashing out the sight of a coin bag, clicking with movement.

"Fifty gold at the start, One-hundred after the task is done. Do you know anything about holding a sword?" She challenged, her voice soft and prying. It wasn't expressed doubt on his skill, instead more imploring him to reveal them.

 

[Corvus]

"Let's not ask silly questions." He retorts, a brow lofted at what she was willing to pay. That was far more than most would see in several years labor. Perhaps there was credence to this 'Dreadlord' title. Still, he was wearing armor and carrying a sword; that counted for more than most. Neither were cheap things to own.

But, more important was what he said next. "It's quite clear you're getting turned down at every opportunity. Regardless of my skill, or lack thereof, I'm obviously the only one taking you up on this... I'm likely the best yer gonna get."

 

[Imogen]

Her eyes pinched ever so slightly, her lips puckering in displeasure.

"If you're the best I'm going to get, perhaps I just shouldn't do the mission at all," she bluffed. But there was no way she'd ever do that. If a half trained-oaf was all she was going to get, then she would take it and use it to give her the best odds possible. It was better than the alternative.

She pocketed the bag and gestured to bar. "Are you thirsty?" She offered. Already, she was brushing past him, following the movement was the most delicious scent of spices and... ... something that would catch his nose. Unidentifiable, but... almost place-able. In a way that stood on the tip of his tongue and wrapped around his thoughts in a faint distraction.

 

[Corvus]

"Well perhaps you shouldn't then." He retorts calmly, palm still stroking over the head of his wolf. Sizing her up again, he raised a brow, and then the left corner of his lips twitched in amusement at her offer of a drink. She didn't wait for a response, though. She moved past him, and it was impossible to miss the smell that accompanied her.

There was no way that smell was natural - you wanted to bury your nose in it. Whatever it was, she must have spent a fortune on it. This, most assuredly, was not the place for this kind of woman.

Wetting his lips without realizing it, he took a moment to compose himself and followed after her. Clearly he would need some self control for this discussion. She was already distracting. "Sure, ale is fine." It was always watered down anyway. Safer than drinking water, too, especially this close to the city.

Finding himself a seat alongside her, he settled in, his wolf dropping onto it's haunches behind him to watch his back. "What's yer name, miss?"

Imogen

 

[Imogen]

"Imogen," she said, dismissive to the question as she waved her hand for the tender's attention. After all the coin she had already spent buying each man before a drink, the tender was quick to comply. The tankered of ale was swiftly placed down before him. And the last glass to the bottle of fine wine she had left behind. She had been lucky to find such a thing here. As it turned it, it was a special treat the inn owner had been saving for a long time.

A treat that enough coin could buy.

She had been at this for some time, but seemed none the less affected by her drink as she plucked it up between two fingers and sipped, glancing Corvus over.

"Why the wolf?" She asked bluntly, her questions going straight for the unexpected.