Open Chronicles Iniquitous Inquiries

[Meliant]

An outside influence brushed against his thoughts. Meliant's eyes instinctively shifted over the crowd and settled on a specific table. There sat an otternali and a komodo, and with them a pair of two distinctly foreign women. Oh, that must have been torturous for them. It probably smelled like wet dog and sulfur over there. Alas that he could not intercede. Their honor was sure to be challenged by such grim company.​

​

He missed the first half of Natasha's answer and did not resume paying attention until "whores and ale" came up. Meliant scoffed lightly at Cosimo, though his attentions quickly shifted when Natasha signaled for someone else to join them.

Eamon. Meliant glanced him up and down an immediately discounted Cosimo. This man looked like a killer, even unkempt as he was.

Meliant followed them dutifully to the table but remained standing. He was working, after all.​

 

[Eamon Thorne]

The one person he was not expecting this den of vices was Natasha. She was one of the few creatures in the world who knew his true self. Much like he knew what she truly was. Was she the one who...? No, because when she greeted him it was with surprise.

"Ah, dearest." He drawled as he settled back and watched them all join his table. Suddenly the corner of the room seemed awfully crowded.

"I believe one of our acquaintances made contact with me, practically demanded me to be here." Eamon pushed the small parchment over to the woman and allowed her to read the cryptic message. Come alone. The Blind Luck. Blessed Pagiano's Eve. It wasn't much to go by but perhaps Natasha could recognize the handwriting.

While she was doing it he looked to Meliant and Cosimo Imiliane.

"Charmed. Both of you know Natasha? Then you must truly be good company."

Meliant seemed dangerous. Cosimo seemed... present.

His attention shifted back to his old friend at the table. "And what are you doing here? Are you here for a drink or something... more involved?" In other words, was she planning on eating either of these two gentlemen or was that just a coincidence.

Just put a bit more civilized.

 

[Natasha]

"Brandy...ale...I'm sure you'll wish you could afford to never go back to either after you finish your Chernova Reserve." She mused as they approached and sat down.

Meliant remained standing. Of course he did. His armor rustled with that wary tension he always held, eyes scanning the gambling hall as though someone might sprout fangs and lunge for her throat. Natasha had long since accepted that his watchfulness was more stubborn than it was useful, but it was still endearing in its own way.

Still, she preferred him seated. Her lips never moved, yet her voice slithered into his mind- smooth like silk ribbons threading through his thoughts. Come now, Meliant. Do sit. You're making the others nervous. We are among friends, old and new. There is no danger here. There was a pause, then the barest whisper of amusement- cooing even. In a way she knew unsettled him.

Unless, of course, you suspect I am the danger.

She did not expect an answer. Most often, she was met with quiet. And yet, she could feel the slow coil of his discomfort, fingers flexing at his sides before stilling. A dog who knew his leash would never break.

Satisfied, she turned her attention back to Eamon. Finding him here was truly a surprise. It had been...years? Longer, perhaps. And yet, he remained unchanged in that peculiar way of his like a man who had learned to bend the world around him rather than let it shape who he should have become by now.

I believe one of our acquaintances made contact with me.

Her interest sharpened, leaning in slightly where the dull hum of the gambling hall faded into irrelevance. "Did they now?" She murmured, tilting her head, a gleam of curiosity sparked behind her dull eyes. "And who, pray tell, had the audacity to demand such a meeting?"

Are you here for a drink or something more involved?

She noticed the way he acknowledged both Meliant and Cosimo, a soft grin breaking her uncomfortably blank expression. "My, everyone is curious about my intentions tonight, aren't they? Can a woman not pay her favorite establishment a visit during the holiday?"

 

[Meliant]

Meliant turned his head one way as if wincing. Oh, that presence... Natasha made a compelling point. Most people who intruded in the minds of others often did. Not at all, he thought, or attempted to think. It didn't really matter. She would read the unease in him, the momentary tightening of his hand around the hilt of his sword before he relented.​

​

A serving wench was moving past him, who he abruptly caught by the arm and transparently startled. Meliant's own problems had a habit of being passed down to the unfortunate nobodies who just happened to be in proximity.​

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"Ale," he said to her, quite emphatically. "Please."​

​

They were all apparently friends here. It would be rude not to... Partake. He released her, and she hurried off. Meliant cast one more skeptical eye at the dog-and-sulfur table before seating himself in another chorus of creaking metal plates.​

 

[Eamon Thorne]

Natasha Meliant Cosimo Imiliane

"I have no earthly idea." He murmured softly as he watched Meliant oscillate between frightening the serving wench to causing his chair to creak under the weight of his armor. That one was dangerous and Eamon decided to keep an eye on that one, certainly.

"There are only a few left alive here on Alliria. At least the ones that remember our escapades." It meant that the list of people was very small indeed.

"Even less that would be willing to call me out and make me wait in a place like this." His attention shifting back to Natasha. "When I saw you I thought it might have been you, actually. But by your expression I can see that's not the case."

Perhaps it would have to remain a mystery. Whoever pulled him to this place had abandoned him just as promptly.

"A woman can do anything she like." Eamon said in response. To those around them they'd only hear a flirting notion at most. Just a suggesting tease. But between Natasha and Eamon another knowing message was passed around.

You are not a woman and so you have to be careful with what you do.

But Eamon had always been the careful one of them both.

"What have you been up to?" Attention flicking once more towards Meliant and Cosimo. Wondering what exactly their role was, since she pointedly had not explained her intentions just yet.

 

[Cosimo Imiliane]

As the apparently old friends became reacquainted, Cosimo motioned to the waiter to bring him another round of that Reserve - it really was quite good.

He did pout somewhat at Natasha’s implication that he couldn’t afford it - what was the point of all the rich sable he wore if it didn’t properly mark him out from the rest of the riffraff.

Cosimo turned to regard the bodyguard in plate, “Well I don’t know about you but I’m planning on getting royally pissed.”

Hopefully his proximity to the fellow in plate armor would keep the beastkin from just walking over and jugging his brain for debt delinquency.

“You a betting man, Sir Armor-Indoors?”

 

[Meliant]

Meliant's lips thinned. "Sir Meliant. And only when I favor my odds."​

​

He did not trust this disheveled dandy. He rather expected some manner of trick or practical joke to be brewing. The server returned and dropped off his ale, departing quickly and wordlessly. Fair enough. Meliant did not reach for it yet.​

 

[Lorelei Darke]

“You have my apologies and gratitude. I was not aware this was a private game.” Lorenzo said to the woman. He then affirmed Zeevir’s comment.

“The Ranger presence is not what it once was. There are certainly less lives and coin flowing from the Reach.”

Tipping her brows up at the man in a silent acceptance of his appology, Lorelei said nothing further on the matter. Instead she straightened herself in her seat once more, idly thumbing through her cards while taking the first starting pull on her cigarette.

"Do not stray far from our interests, Zeviir."

He will not, she said to her sister's mind, I am paying him too well. Here, and her hand lifted the cigarette which was not a cigarette from her lips to offer it to her sister. The cloud she exhaled from her lips was purpleish in hue and held a faint minty aroma. She was content amidst the crowd, so the Sten did little for her. For Aristeia, it would be the soothing balm she needed to make it through the evening.

We don't have much left, she reminded her. Savor it.

Zeviir, to his credit, tipped a hand to the white-haired sister and offered her a wink, "Not to worry, m'lady. The sharing of news is customary at the gambling table."

"A pity, truly. It is a beautiful city. A man learns to appreciate the trappings of civilization when he spends most of his days either on the battlefield or hunting things and creatures in places where most wouldn't venture to set a foot on even if threatened at sword point."

"But, there's an opportunity in it all. The city ought to be protected better, and I heard, although I cannot verify the veracity of the rumor, that the merchant council intends to recruit a large contingent of mercenaries for that exact reason. Not your run-of-the-mill cutthroat bastards, but rather... professionals. People with a pinch of creed and a splash of fidelity to their character."

To this man Lorelei allowed her attention to wander, giving his a slow look from his midsection to his top. This took some time, given the man's stature. Handsome fellow, too. She'd not come across a man of such height in... well, she wasn't going to age herself.

If he was speaking truth and not simply gloating falsehoods to garner clout, he would be one to keep tabs on.

"The rumors are true," Zeviir accepted new cards from the dealer and gave them a cursory glance, though his own attention remain beyond the game, "but the merchant council cannot agree on how to pay for such a force. Given the city's poor record of payment for such forces... they will be hard pressed to find such quality men at arms that have not already been burned before."

 

[Afanas]

To this man Lorelei allowed her attention to wander, giving his a slow look from his midsection to his top. This took some time, given the man's stature. Handsome fellow, too. She'd not come across a man of such height in... well, she wasn't going to age herself.

If he was speaking truth and not simply gloating falsehoods to garner clout, he would be one to keep tabs on.

"The rumors are true," Zeviir accepted new cards from the dealer and gave them a cursory glance, though his own attention remain beyond the game, "but the merchant council cannot agree on how to pay for such a force. Given the city's poor record of payment for such forces... they will be hard pressed to find such quality men at arms that have not already been burned before."

Afanas wasn't so naïve as to ignore the red-haired beauty measuring him up. His eyes went to her, taking in her features. She was classically attractive, with high cheekbones and healthy, blemish-free skin that gleamed with a gentle, almost imperceptible shine.

He gave her an awkward, almost apologetic smile, displaying stygian gums that were smooth and shining like polished latex.

His teeth were perfect, almost human-like, with the exception of four dagger-like fangs jutting from his mucosa, two in each jaw.

They glinted viciously, their whiteness emphasized by the dark backdrop of Afanas' maw.

Before he could disgrace himself by uttering an uncouth remark, Afanas coughed and rerouted his focus to the komodi.


"Ah-hah. That is where I come in, my horn-headed friend. I've kept in touch, so to say, with King Jürgen Kaiser for a while now. If all goes as planned, Alliria will have at its disposal cream-of-the-crop soldiers, veterans of bygone wars and aspiring knights, among others.

A small, knowing expression crossed his chalky countenance before perishing with all the swiftness of a mayfly on its second day of adulthood.


"From what I've gathered, King Jürgen doesn't seek coin to replenish his coffers, as he already enjoys opulent wealth. For that matter, I'll let you imagine what the king of the forgotten city might want in recompense."

 

[Aristeia Darke]

He will not, she said to her sister's mind, I am paying him too well. Here, and her hand lifted the cigarette which was not a cigarette from her lips to offer it to her sister. The cloud she exhaled from her lips was purpleish in hue and held a faint minty aroma. She was content amidst the crowd, so the Sten did little for her. For Aristeia, it would be the soothing balm she needed to make it through the evening.

We don't have much left, she reminded her. Savor it.

Aristeia stiffened only a fraction as her sister offered her the Sten.

She loathed taking it in this form. A prepared tea would be been much preferred, but an establishment like this did not look as if they kept the good porcelain out back, or even knew how to brew a nice tea.

Then I will save it for later. She told her sister, shaking her head as if Lorelei could see her. I can manage without it...

And that is what she would tell herself.

To Zeviir, Aristeia managed a small smile before lowering herself into the seat beside her sister, the one occupied by her brilliant crimson robes folded neatly. She let it rest on her lap, clearing her throat and taking on a more quieter approach to being at the table.

She was Lorelei's voice tonight.

Why is it the moths always find your flame, sister? The amusement came through her thoughts, and yet her expression gave nothing away.

 

[Dominic Valentino]

Dominic sits silently in his seat, listening to the other patrons speak about the various goings-on in the city. For any self-respecting businessman it was important to know when to shut up and listen. He had known about the supposed security force, but had not yet been notified just where these guards would be coming from.

The news caused Dom to take a long drag from his cigarette. He looked down at his own cards, absentmindedly shuffling them in his hand.

By now, it was clear to Dominic that he was sitting at the table with some strange folk. The tall one was basically yelling on a box that he was a vampire, and the two women...well, he wasn't sure of their game but whatever they were smoking had a strange smell to it.

"Doesn't matter who they get. The merchant council is corrupt, so so will the guards be."

 

[Cosimo Imiliane]

“Odds huh,” Cosimo held the glass to his lips, eyeing the armored man over the rim, “And how do you fancy those with your… employer?”

He leaned closer, conspiratorially, “A woman like that? Surely you must have tried rolling your dice with her. Tell me how was it… Oh what’s wrong, my Autumn haired friend? Trouble with your sword?” He made a suggestive motion with his pinky.

 

[Natasha]

When Meliant finally sat, Natasha rewarded him with a close-lipped smile- one of her quiet approval, though they both knew she was far too pleased with herself. Her voice filtered into his mind once more, like silk slipping through, curling in the shadows of his thoughts. Good boy. Delicate, purring. A master to her favored hound.

But her attention didn't linger on him, no. Her focus settled back on Eamon. It had been years, but time had done little to dull their particular brand of conversation. Words spun, light and unassuming, but underneath curled and licked at the edges of something sharper.

"You thought I had sent the letter?" The devourer was amused as she swirled her wine, watching the bloody liquid catch the dim candlelight. "I fear you'd be correct in your realization that I sent no such thing. But," She paused, her gaze flickering upward through her dark lashes, lips curving ever so slightly. "I would like to see it. I may recognize the handwriting."

Their exchange carried the air of mild flirtation, though words were nothing more than idle indulgences, rather than a careful game of veiled truths. Still, a flicker of annoyance slipped through her mental tether to him, threading into his mind like breath at the nape of one's neck.

You should know better than anyone. I am always careful.

Out loud, she exhaled something like a sigh, stretching the moment between them before providing an answer to his next inquiry. "Oh, you know." She mused, "Enjoying the celebrations. A drink. A game or two. I happened to step inside this gambling hall, and, well..." She gestured lightly, as though the rest was easily self-explanatory.

I did not intend on catching a stray. Her gaze flickered toward Cosimo. But he approached me, and there was something peculiar about him. I was considering a taste. Unless you have any objections.

A sip of wine. The faintest hum of amusement in her throat.

As for the bodyguard...he is simply my favorite hire. It has been years, Eamon. You will have to forgive me. My last guard, you see, met his unfortunate end when he no longer served me.

Another sip. A delicate smile while the other two chatted. She had missed these conversations.

 

[Meliant]

The conversation between Natasha and Eamon faded from Meliant's attentions. He stared balefully at Cosimo with the sort of aggrieved but resigned expression one wore when they knew they were being goaded - successfully - into a contest of arms.

"I'll hear your forthright apology. Now, please."

He was distinctly aware one would not be forthcoming. It was only perfunctory to say so, however, before steel was to be bared.

These merchant families loved their duels. Their was not an iota of decency or nobility in their veins, so it was no wonder they had no qualms in spilling their own blood. It was worthless. Up-jumped commoners, one and all.​

 

[Cosimo Imiliane]

A dramatic sigh, as Cosimo lolled back in his chair, though he couldn’t hide the way his lips twitched up in the slightest of smirks.

“Apologize for what, not being a droll bore like you?”

The boy took another sip of his reserve, though his other hand, beneath the table, rested on the hilt of a parrying dagger.

“Must we do this little dance, my flame haired paramour. You can just tell me you loathe the ground I walk upon and we can get on with the charade. I think I hit a little too close to the mark. I’ve seen the way you glance at her. It’s alright, we are all lechers here.”

 

[Meliant]

Meliant thinned his lips and slowly stood again, chair scraping against the wooden floor.​

​

"You might benefit from some boredom." The knight's posture remained relaxed. Both hands came to rest idly on the hilt of his sword. "I find your speech insulting. I shall be obliged to demand satisfaction if you will not recant."​

​

Something in Meliant's tone suggested someone exceedingly patient explaining a rather common procedure to someone exceedingly dull.​

 

[Cosimo Imiliane]

“Demand satisfaction?”

This idiot didn’t know who he was. What a stupid, stupid idea. Cosimo currently held the most first-blood strikes of any of the mercantile families. Except of course… for one outstanding exception.

The boy stood languidly, one hand resting on the hilt of his rapier.

All that armor would look so silly when he ran the auburn haired brute through the neck with a thrust.

“What sort of backwater proto-sapien barony did you crawl from? Recant this.”

Cosimo tossed out the rest of his drink in Meliant’s face.

 

[Meliant]

Meliant found himself splashed. Truly these people were indistinguishable from the barbarian centaur tribes which ranged the Taagi Baara. He wiped his face with one hand and flicked the droplets to the ground. Chernova Reserve, intermingled with the barest hint of peasant backwash.​

​

Now Meliant was properly upset. A vein became varicose along his face, forming an arc around his eye. It pulsed once before fading again. Something remarkably cursed was churning within.​

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"Well."​

​

What little distance existed between them was suddenly closed as Meliant launched himself at the contemptuous rake in a brutal tackle.​

​

After dragging him to the floorboards, the armored knight began the rather laborious process of punching Cosimo about the face and head. This would continue until circumstances conspired to stop him.​

​

 

[Lorelei Darke]

The unknown man to her right with his perfect teeth and open display of a predator's grin had bought him intrigue, but only insomuch as her interrupted evening would allow. Both the conversation and the game, having meant to be private affairs, were now fully and irreparably broken. She fixed her komodi contact with a look that said as much for her displeasure on the matter and he afforded her an apologetic smile and a losing shrug.

There was nothing to be done for it without making an unnecessary scene. Given the attention they'd garnered without any effort at all, she was loathe to think what causing any further fervor at the table would do.

Perhaps it was best to fold for the night.

It is a natural byproduct of minding one's own business, dearest...

Lorelei placed her hand down on the table, face-down, and moved to stand from her seat. The height of her put her over the heads of everyone in attendance aside from the otternali and the handsome face with fangs to her right, "The hour has slipped past our notice. Gentlemen, I concede my game and broker to your devices for the evening."

"So soon, my Lady?" Zeviir pleaded as he stood from his chair in a show of propriety to her.

"I'll be in touch again, Zeviir. My sister and I have had a long journey and must attend to our... what do the ladies here call it? Beauty sleep?"

 

[Cosimo Imiliane]

Cosimo had a lot of thoughts running through his drink-addled mind. Mentally preparing to go outside and have a proper duel. Wondering who in this gambling den he could call on as a second. Did he have time for another drink? And thinking about how the woman he had insulted really was rather comely. Cosimo was thinking all these, rather leisurely, eyeing the door behind Meliant. The alley? Maybe over by the river?

The train of thoughts came to an abrupt halt, much like a baggage train suddenly falling off a mountain pass as Cosimo saw a blur of motion and then felt an armored shoulder crunching into his gut. The air whooshed from him and he struggled to breathe.

This proved even more difficult as gauntleted fists started whaling down on him from above like crude hammers. One opened up a gash on his forehead and blood streamed into his eyes. Everything hurt. Oh gods. He still couldn’t breathe.