Advertise/Affiliate Other Forum Main Page The World Before You Play

To Kill a Mage (Minfeveer)

Started by HighLordMhoram, July 30, 2017, 04:54:26 AM

Previous topic - Next topic

0 Members and 2 Guests are viewing this topic.

HighLordMhoram

The mordecai had fought well. Graven stood over the man's bullet-riddled corpse and wiped his knife clean. It had taken some hard fighting to lure his enemy into position where his men could fire and kill him. It was a shame that mordecai bodies were somehow immune to his magic. Otherwise he would have made a good servant.

He heared footsteps approach him from behind and looked over his shoulder. Orson, the leader of his once-dead bodyguards, looked down at the mordecai dispassionately. "What do we do with the body?" he asked.

Graven sheathed his knife and said, "Cut off the head and leave it at the base of the mountain as a warning. Maybe it'll keep them off our backs for a while." He clapped Orson on the shoulder. "How many is that this year now? Seven? Eight?"

"Ten," Orson replied. "Three mordecai among them."

Graven shook his head. "A lot less than last year. Maybe they've finally given up, the bastards." The rest of Graven's once-dead were making their way down from their shooting positions towards them when Orson looked sharply towards the nearby bend in the trail.

"Someone is coming," he said, drawing his flintlock pistol. The other once-dead aimed their rifles, but Graven held up a hand to keep them from firing. Whoever came around that corner would find themselves staring down the barrels of half a dozen firearms.

Minfever

Fawn had been given little intel before beginning the hunt.  All she had been told was that this man, this creature perhaps, was able to raise the dead and used his powers to devour souls.  A formidable foe, for certain, but very little inspired fear in her these days.  It had been a long time since she last felt her heart palpitate at the notion of a job.  Those were years ago, though, when she was just a fledgling criminal gradually discovering her budding prowess. 

She stood in front of a crudely fashioned mirror, that was propped up on an equally crude desk, a commodity not often found in an inn of such poor quality.  Mirrors were rare, but she had managed to procure one during her travels and never parted with it.  This mirror meant more to her than it would to anyone else.  It was where her transformation took place.  Without it, she would never see the visages she created that so cleverly fooled the masses.  Standing in front of her mirror and shifting was part of her regimen, now, a very integral part.  She stood, naked, pale as a cool cup of milk, eyes a crystalline ocean blue with an unnatural diamond sheen when set against the light, and pale, nearly white blonde hair that fell to her tailbone.  She was a beautiful creature in her own right, though she never could see it.  To her, her natural form was a nuisance, unnecessary and bold.  In fact, she endeavored to be quite the opposite.  She constantly worked at becoming more and more difficult to distinguish among her fellow creatures to avoid ever being recognized.  She never used the same disguise twice, lest she somehow become recognizable.

Today, she would morph into something beautiful and sublime.  A pale of complexion, raven-haired, blue eyed huntress, seemingly unknowing of the area; a simple wanderer.  Devilishly beautiful, the kind that most men would desire.  It never hurt to be pleasing to the eye, even if she never had intentions to seduce anyone.  She found that the more beautiful one is, the more accepting others become of you, and in this particular situation, she needed to seem as trustworthy as possible.

She allowed her form to let go of its current shape, the colorless skin suddenly filling like watercolor paint with fleshly tones.  Her hair grew even longer, the silver fading and then deepening into a charcoal black.  Her eyes assumed the appearance of piercing human eyes, long black lashes framing orbs of azure blue.  Her eyebrows darkened and thickened, her lips and cheeks gained a rosy flush of color, and she watched as the rest of her body acquired the shapeliness and hues of a lovely girl in her twenties.  That was enough, then.

She donned her leather hunting outfit and gear and was sure to hide a dagger in her boot and between her shoulder blades.  She outfitted herself with weapons necessary for the hunting of animals and humans alike.  After finishing a meal of cheese and ale, she realized the place the sun occupied in the sky and saw that it was finally time to leave.

The trek wasn't long, as she had taken a room at an inn that was within the city closest to the mountainous range Graven called home.  It took her two and a half hours to finally track her way to the grouping of men; at least, they looked like men.  Though, they had a zombie-like glaze over their eyes.  They were otherwise quite alert and alive, except for that twinge of experience in their gaze, as if they had seen death.  These were the creatures she had been warned of.  What they didn't realize was how long she had been watching them.  As alert as they were, they weren't expert enough to hear the pitfalls of a practiced assassin.

Until...  Her foot hit a patch of dry leaves that had been hidden beneath a layer of wet dirt.  Blast!  She cursed beneath her breath, and made peace with the fact that, whether she liked it or not, this was her entrance.

She held her hands up by her shoulders and stepped out from behind a bush and a slender tree that had provided cover.  She had her bow over her shoulder as if she were in the midst of hunting and had suddenly stumbled upon them.  She straightened her shoulders and calmed herself.  It seemed she was unfazed by the mass of firearms that were pointed at her.  She nodded to Graven.

"Do you really think you need all of those guns to take me down?  I'm flattered."  She smirked and awaited a response.

HighLordMhoram

Graven blinked. He didn't know what he had been expecting, but he certainly hadn't expected a beautiful young woman to emerge, look at his once-deads' guns as if they were toys, and speak to him so flippantly. Nevertheless he managed to maintain his composure, not letting a flicker of his surprise reached his face. He made a hand motion, and his men reluctantly lowered their guns. "Whoever you are, I think you've wandered into the wrong part of the mountains."

"Who sent you? Was it the Church?" Orson snapped. It was a somewhat ironic accusation, as he still wore the priestly clothing he had died in when he had come into the mountains to try to kill Graven years ago. He strode up to the girl and grabbed her by the shoulders. "Tell us now, or you will suffer the consequences," he said, not angrily, but matter-of-factly, as though her death would be nothing to him but stepping on a bug.

Before the girl could respond, Graven put a hand on Orson's shoulder and made him step back. "You'll have to forgive my friend," he said in a neutral tone. "He gets a tad overprotective after someone has just tried to murder me." He looked the huntress up and down with his pale eyes. She was gorgeous, sublime. Although part of that beauty might have to do with the fact that he hadn't been with a woman in over forty years. Nor would any woman in Connlaoth want a monster like him.

The thought made him take a step back and half turn away from her, staring out at the valley in the distance. "I'm sure you've heard the stories about the man who dwells in these mountains," he said. "The one who partakes in unholy magic? Who raises the dead and steals childrens' souls? If I were in your position, I'd be shaking in my boots."

Minfever

A Priest, or so it seemed, shook her violently and manhandled her as if she were a rag doll.  He demanded to know if she was of the church.  So peculiar.  She normally would have destroyed him then, easily and swiftly, but her plan was not to make an enemy of her true target.  She allowed him to do as he wished, unable to contain a slight smile as he tried to intimidate her.

Graven's eyes spoke more than his words.  It wasn't uncommon for men to be distracted by her feminine form.  It was, after all, part of the role she played.  Sometimes playing the innocent, sometimes seeming worldly, it never mattered.  As long as she looked the part she could play whatever role she wanted and usually get away with it.  Men were so simple.

Once the priestly ogre of a man let her go, she watched Graven callously purvey the valley below.  She listened, knowing full well who he was but never letting on.  Instead, she acted as any traveler might.  Oblivious.

"You steal childrens' souls?  I'm afraid I haven't heard that about anyone.  I only just arrived, but if you're in the business of soul stealing, you might want to set your sights on something more worth while than a child."

She glanced cautiously back at Orson, awaiting another bout of anger from him.  She couldn't help it.  A flippant tongue came naturally to her, and in this case, was necessary to bring down Graven's walls.

"I suppose I would be shaking in my boots if I had a reason to, but I haven't heard anything like what you've mentioned and I feel as though, if you really were all that terrible, you wouldn't be sparing my life at this moment."

HighLordMhoram

Graven winced as is the girl had slapped him. Orson stood nearby, his eyes fixed on the huntress with murderous intent, but he payed his second no mind. Someone who had never heard of the rumors against him? Who didn't even know who he was? It seemed impossible. But the world was a big place, and perhaps she was new to this region. Or it could be a trap. The idea occurred to him, of course, but what kind of assassin would casually stroll up to a supposed killer and monster and start running her mouth?

She was pretty. She didn't seem to have a fear of magic. And she didn't know who he was. Every instinct within him screamed that he was being foolish. He should kill the girl, not out of malice, but simply because she could reveal his location. And yet, another voice gave him a different idea.

"I don't," he said finally. He turned back to her. "Steal souls, that is. That's one of the more exaggerated rumors about me." He motioned for his men to move forward. "My name is Graven Vries, and unfortunately you've trespassed into my domain. I can't let you go. Not yet, at least. Not until I'm convinced you won't reveal any information about me to the Church." It was a flimsy argument, of course, but what other reason would make the girl stay up in the mountains with him? "You'll come back to my home until I decide what to do with you." He looked her over once more, met her eyes, then abruptly turned away and stalked up the trail. Two of the once-dead seized her, binding her wrists with strong rope before leading her after their master.

Minfever

Fawn was now suddenly effected by his words.  He was a dangerous man, she knew, and his lack of emotion and his will to detain and possibly kill her put her on the defense.  She was alert to everything around them, in case she needed to make an escape.  Perhaps, she had played her hand too quickly here.  None the less, she was still alive, and he didn't seem in the soul-stealing mood.

As they passed the many bodies of the mordecai she memorized how they had been slain.  Much could be said about a man's character simply by the way he conducts battle.  Graven had his minions do the dirty work, which told her that perhaps he was weaker than he pretended to be.  Or else, he was too arrogant to allow himself to bloody his own hands.  Time would tell what she would find out about him once they reached their destination.  Perhaps, she wouldn't have long to find out anything, and if so, then she deserved the death that would await her.

Still, no fear shown on her face as she was ruthlessly pushed along the trail to wherever they were going.  She would go quietly, demurely, allowing them to believe she was just a wandering woman on her own, and would pose no real threat.

One thing remained on her mind during the journey.  Why would he lie to her about stealing souls?  If he really wanted to remain a threat to her he wouldn't have put up this farce.  It was peculiar, but a man like him would be hard to understand at face value.

HighLordMhoram

It was only a few minutes of walking until they arrived back home. Home, for Graven and his men, was a series of caves carved into the side of the mountain, cleveerly concealed from view by a natural ridge of rock. Fawn's escorts unbound her hands and forced her to crawl on her hands and knees through the extremely low entryway, Graven doing the same thing ahead of her. After a moment, they emerged into the entryway.

For the inside of a cave, it was surprisingly clean and comfortable, with several carved stone seats and a bearskin rug on the floor. The rough walls held a few sconces for torches, but they were almost unnecessary thanks to an opening high above that allowed natural sunlight to pour through. The light reflected off of bits of mica embedded in the walls, making them sparkle like a starlit sky. Graven sat in a roughly carved stone seat and exhaled, clutching at his ribs. Orson brushed past Fawn and went up to his master.

"Broken?" he asked as he crouched by Graven and prodded his ribs gently. The animancer hissed and waved him away.

"Bruised," he said. "That last mordecai packed a punch, I'll give him that." He shook his head as the pain slowly faded, then looked over at Fawn. What in hell was he going to do with her? What madness had possessed him to bring her here? "Stow her in one of the spare rooms," he said finally. "Give her food and water if she asks. I'll be in to speak with her in a moment." Once he had composed himself and knew what exactly he wanted to say to her. Only once they had vanished deeper into the caves did he realize he hadn't even asked for her name yet.

The once-dead responded with swift, uncompromising obedience, leading Fawn down the hallway by force if need be. The cave system was quite extensive, apparently, consisting of a rather large kitchen and dining area and several long hallways with curtained-off doors on either side. The guards shoved her into the room at the far end of the hall, where she would find a bedroll, a bucket, and a low chair and table. "Do you need food?" One of them asked, his glazed eyes completely unfeeling as he asked the question in a dispassionate tone.

Minfever

Fawn glared at the bucket and spit in it.

"What I need is freedom." she demanded.

She made her protest loud enough for Graven to hear.

Fawn wondered at what he was planning to do with her.  He was capable of almost anything with the powers he possessed, but luckily, she had her own magics to show him to perhaps help him recognize her innocence.  She had to play the part of a mutual magic user.  To her, Connlaoth was simply a place to pass through, or at least, that was her character's feeling about it.  She is aware magic is forbidden, but is too much of a rogue to worry herself with their beliefs.  She is simply passing through.  And Graven interrupted her hunting.

"I'm not hungry." she bitterly said to the male zombie before her.

Then, her voice changed.

"Curious." she smiled and was barely loud enough for Graven to catch, "I wonder why he doesn't have any women around."

HighLordMhoram

Graven reluctantly allowed Orson to provide him with gauze to bandage his ribs, though he winced at the once-dead rough medical treatment. Once he was ready, he started to make his way down the hall towards the girl's room. He had heard her shouting about how she wanted freedom earlier, much to the annoyance of everyone else in the cave. Hopefully, by the end of their talk, he might be able to grant her wish. Get her out of his hair for good.

"Curious. I wonder why he doesn't have any women around." Graven paused outside of the room as he heard those words. Her voice seemed different. Lower, more seductive. Suspicion leaped to his mind immediately, but he forced it down. Of course the girl would try to seduce him. She probably thought that was the only way she could survive. Graven's undeserved reputation tainted his relationship with everyone.

Steeling himself, he passed through the curtain and said, "You make it sound as though women are some kind of collectible trophy. Though to be fair, at least trophies wouldn't complain so loudly." He turned to the guards. "Leave us." They complied immediately, exiting the room and heading down the hall. When their footsteps had faded, Graven started pacing back and forth across the room, wondering what to ask.

Finally, he said, "Let's start simple. What is your name? Where do you come from? And what in hell were you doing on my mountain?"

Minfever

Fawn smirked a little at the joke he made at her expense.  If anything, she at least had a sense of humor.

"I was simply remarking on the lack of feminine quality in your little regime.  Your male servants are a little rough."  She rubbed her left shoulder while eyeing Orson.  "My name is Fawn.  I have no idea where I come from, and I didn't have a clue that this was your mountain."

Nearly all of it was true, and she never used her true name, or even the same name, when making contracts so she felt safe enough to use it here.  Honestly, she had no idea where she came from.  She had been an urchin as a child and grew up learning the ways of the streets, how to survive anywhere.  Perhaps the truth beneath her words would further assist her lie.

"Connlaoth is too citified for me.  I'm used to taking to the forests, mountains, glades.  Besides, they don't much like people like me."  She lifted her palm to the air and a flicker of fire produced itself at the center, licking at the space above and then crawling along her hand, "Had I stayed in the city too long I might've been at the mercy of a different threat."

The blueish flame crawled up to her elbow and then seemed to slink and dissipate into the nook of her arm.

"But as luck would have it I found you instead."  She gave him a mocking smile, "So here I am.  Lucky as always."

HighLordMhoram

"I'm not exactly awash with willing females flocking to the mountains," Graven said. "The only women who come up here are adhara, female mordecai. And for whatever reason I can't raise the corpses of mordecai or adhara. Something to do with their negation of magic, I think." The tone of his voice left no doubt to Fawn that he didn't exactly enjoy having to kill women.

At her explanation of her name and origin, he snorted. "Fawn, eh? A nice name. And I know you're not a spy at least. A spy would have come up with a better lie than that." He listened to her speak a bit more. Then she raised her hand and caused fire to spring up. Graven took an involuntary step back before willing himself to hold his ground. Clearly, if she had wanted him dead, she could have killed him right away.

"I'll be damned," he said once the flames had faded. "I have to say, I never expected to run into another magic user in these parts." This meant that he had no reason to keep her here anymore, really. There was no way she would go to the authorities, in case she revealed herself. But he didn't want her to go. Suddenly it came to him that they were standing close together. Her curves and sheer, physical nearness made him feel as nervous as a schoolboy. He looked over her shoulder, staring at the wall, up at the ceiling, anywhere but at her body. "Well, I suppose that proves you won't turn me in. However, it's getting a bit dark. Why don't you stay the night in here? You can leave in the morning, if you wish."

Minfever

Fawn realized he wasn't exactly subtle, even if he was trying to be.  Maybe it was her years of experience with men or perhaps it was his lack of experience with other live individuals, but he wanted her, and she knew it.  She imagined it would be quite lonely living with the raised dead corpses of other men, and in turn would dampen one's knowledge of social graces.  She had such a curiosity about those men...  She knew they were un-dead but she couldn't betray that.  She needed to have some semblance of ignorance.  She felt a sudden pang of pity for those men.  Men who had all been destroyed in combat against Graven only to become his unknowing slaves.  None of this was betrayed by her features, however.  She remained cordial and teasing with Graven as she had been.  She needed to reach beyond those walls he put up and tear them apart from the inside.  She needed to become his friend, and perhaps more, if she were to complete her mission.  Sometimes, she thought, the journey to death takes more time than expected.  She felt that this might be one of those times.

She smiled a little at him, aware of their closeness and the change of his breathing.  He was an attractive man, early thirties, a little weathering of someone with experience.  She had been with plenty of men and had learned that she appreciated many different features.  However, she had to admit, Graven was particularly good looking in her opinion.  Maybe it was the story in his features.  Every person's face told a story, but his... He had quite a tale to tell.  She would discover it all before she killed him.  She collected the stories of everyone she killed.  It helped her to remember each and every one of them.

"Well, I could use a bath, and I guess I'm hungrier than I thought.  You were in the way of a decent hunt, so I guess that's the least you could do."

(For some reason when I imagine Graven I keep seeing Sir Jorah Mormont from Game of Thrones lmao  Also, I changed my description of Graven because I looked at his profile and realized I had described him incorrectly.)

HighLordMhoram

(Lol. Hopefully he isn't as creepy as Jorah was with Daenerys)

Graven shrugged. Her request seemed fair enough. "Alright, then. I'll have one of my men escort you to the baths. Then you can have some food in the mess hall." He turned away, the image of her bathing hovering about in his mind, and left the room. "Orson," he said, somewhat surprised to find his second standing right outside. The man had changed out of his tattered priest's clothing, which was only worn these days to intimidate trespassers, and was now in a simple wool shirt and trousers. His bare feet must have allowed him to approach unnoticed.

Graven wasn't very surprised by that; Orson had been incredibly stealthy in his old life, so there was no reason for that to change now. "I want you to show miss Fawn where the baths are," he said. "Clear out anyone else inside, and make sure no one enters until she's done." He could afford her that bit of privacy, at least.

Orson's slightly glazed but sharp eyes met Graven's. "I don't trust her," he said softly. "She is hiding something. We should kill her."

Graven snorted. "Do you know what I just saw, Ors? She conjured up fire. She's a magic-user. There's no way she'd turn me in to the Church, or she'd risk being killed herself." He held up a hand to stall further questions. "Just do what I ask, alright? She'll be gone in the morning, most likely, and then we'll never have to think of her again." And with that, he brushed past the once-dead and made his way back to his own quarters.

Orson stared after him for a moment before turning and entering Fawn's room. He stood in the doorway, arms crossed, feet planted firmly on the ground. "I know you're hiding something," he said evenly. "Be warned; one wrong move, and I'll kill you."

Minfever

(Oh, I don't think Graven's creepy :-)  I like him!  I think it was because I had just watched an episode of GoT with Sir Jorah)

Fawn had been kneeling down to leave some of her things in the room they had given her, when Orson interrupted.  Her kind eyes met his and she smiled a little, almost as if she pitied him.  She sighed heavily and stood up.

"It must be exhausting protecting someone else's life when it is constantly under threat."

She dusted her hands off and walked toward him, "I understand.  I'm someone knew, a threat.  I'll be on my way, soon enough, but Orson... have you ever thought that maybe your master needs a little companionship other than his men?  A friend?"

She waited for him to lead the way to the baths without expecting an answer and extended a hand to communicate that she was ready to move on.  She couldn't tell if Orson was simply overprotective of his master and unaware of how right he was, or if Orson truly had a keen enough eye to see right through her facade.  She had an inkling that it was the former, but she had to be on her toes to proceed forward with any sort of success.

HighLordMhoram

The once-dead man's eyes held nothing but hostility and suspicion. "I don't get exhausted," he said. "Once we are resurrected, we need no sleep. The rooms we have are provided merely for privacy." His expression darkened. "And I doubt you are the kind of 'friend' he needs. You're a distraction, nothing more. And t his entire situation seems a little too contrived to be a coincidence. I won't allow you to catch us off guard." Without another word, he turned and led her down the halls to the baths.

Those baths were another small wonder of this place. In fact, Graven had made his home in these caves precisely because they connected to a small cavern with a natural hot spring. The room Orson led her into was larger than any other in the cave system, and was filled with steam. The hot springs bubbled merrily in the middle of the room, a large, shallow pool fed by a waterfall from far above. The pool looked big enough to hold the population of a moderately sized village, and Fawn had it all to herself.

Orson made his way back to the door. "I'll be on guard outside," he said, in a tone which told her I'll be right there if you try anything. "There's no other way in or out, unless you feel like climbing a hundred feet of sheer rock. Once you're cleaned up, there are towels in that alcove over there, and fresh clothes. Don't take your time. We'll be having supper shortly." Having spoken his peace, Graven's second ducked out into the hall and stood with his back to the springs, though he listened intently in case Fawn tried to sneak up on him.

Minfever

Fawn was in awe at the architecture of this place.  It was magnificent and massive, the steam from the hot spring wafting along the ground making it look like something from the prehistoric era.  She slipped delicately out of her leather hunting outfit until she felt the warm air greet her skin.  Slowly and cautiously she stepped into the hot spring, allowing her body to gradually adjust to the heat.  It was wondrous, a luxury not afforded to most people.  The rumors about Graven always left her with the feeling that he lived like a cave man in the mountains.  She had expected nothing more than a small alcove in the side of the mountain, but what Graven had created here was a dwelling far more grandiose than what even some wealthier people could afford.  She wondered how long he had lived here.  They said he was older, but she knew he couldn't be more than a couple years past thirty.  She pondered this as she slid her entire body into the silken warmth of the water.  She also wanted to know if he really did steal souls or if that truly was an exaggeration.  She submerged her head beneath the surface of the water, her raven hair becoming a long ream of silk within the water.  She brought her head back up and took in a breath, running her fingers through her hair and traveling toward the water fall.  Fawn stood up and curiously looked behind the fall, then stepped into the pouring water and laughed a little at the ticklish feeling it gave her.  She slipped back into the pool for a bit and once she felt clean and refreshed she stepped out of the pool and took advantage of one of the towels awaiting her.  Though no one was watching, it was truly a sight to behold her shapely, yet slender form, the work of a master artist.  She had grown to think of shifting as an opportunity to refine her talent, and refine it she had over the last several years.  She dried her body and reached for the clothing that had been provided.  She realized as she touched the fabric that this must have been another woman's outfit at one time.  She grimaced at the thought that they might be reused clothing from a kill.  With a sigh of resolution she lifted the clean garments and began to dress herself.  It was a simple white dress which fit her form exquisitely, the tailoring of it drawing tightly below her breasts and around her waist.  The sleeves were short and complimented her slender arms.  The dress fell to her feet as she was just a little short for it.  Gathering her leather gear, she stepped out to appear beside Orson.  She smiled and ran a hand over her slender stomach.

"I'm famished. Where is the supper you speak of?"

HighLordMhoram

If Orson felt any lust or desire at the sight of her, none of it showed in his expression. He simply said, "Follow me," and led her down to the mess hall Fawn had passed when she was first escorted to her room. The clatter of plates and utensils was already audible as the pair emerged into the wide, tall cavern where long stone benches and tables stood for the men to eat around. A large fire crackled in one corner, a massive cauldron of stew bubble over it. Most of Graven's men were already seated and eating. Graven himself sat with them, as if he were their equal and not their master. But when he saw Fawn, he froze with his spoon halfway to his mouth.

She was a vision. Gods only knew where she had found that dress, but it conformed to the contours of her body exquisitely, revealing the curve of her breasts and hips, and its crisp white color contrasted with her dark hair. Seeing their leader's expression, the once-dead around him suddenly found another table to sit at, leaving him alone, staring at Fawn. He recovered quickly and started eating again, waving Fawn over to sit across from him.

"I can see--and smell--that you found your way to the baths," he said dryly, trying to salvage his dignity by resorting to sarcasm. "Where did you get the dress by the way?" Mordecai and adhra came to scour Graven's mountain at least five times a year, and he didn't exactly keep an inventory of every item they took in his mind. Perhaps he had simply forgotten about that particular dress. The thought of who its former owner might have been sobered him up quickly, turning his half smile into a dour frown.

Minfever

Fawn watched the men filter to different tables, leaving Graven alone for her to accompany him.  Her walk as she approached was light and lithe, as if she were accustomed to treading delicately to avoid alarming her prey.  However, in this situation, Graven had no idea she was out for bigger game.

She settled across from him and smiled at his crass comment, then turned it around, "So the lavender oil I use is noticeable after all.  It's such a faint scent, sometimes I wonder if it's worth using at all."

She settled the bundle of her leather hunting outfit next to her and folded her hands in her lap.

"It seems one of your men must have found it for me." she reached up and ran her hands along the side of her breasts and down to her hips, as if to smooth the fabric, "Should I change?"

Her eyes traveled from her own form to his face, and she let her hands settle at her sides gripping the stool beneath her.

"Actually, I don't care what you think." she snidely commented, "If anything you should care what I think.  I am your guest, after all."

Her eyes ran around the length of the ceiling and around to the furnace and the men sitting away from them, gazing at her surroundings.

"This is a beautiful place you've made.  How did you accomplish this by yourself?  Honestly, when you said I should accompany you to your home I expected something far more indigenous than this."

She figured, her turns of flippancy and interchangeable kindness would begin to win him.  A fearless, gentle creature with the confidence it took to survive on her own.  That was what she was, anyway.  It didn't take much acting on her part.  She always felt it best to be herself when getting to know someone.  It was easier to speak the truth and act the truth than to try to remember a string of lies.

HighLordMhoram

Graven had to hand it to the girl; she was good, to be able to match his verbal sparring. He opened his mouth to answer her question about the dress, to tell her that he really didn't care either way, when she cut him off by saying that she didn't care what he thought. The abrupt turnaround made him laugh. "You're not like other women, are you? Or have females gone collectively insane in the last forty years?" He asked jokingly, inadvertently dropping a hint as to his age. If he could remember back forty years, he must be far older than he appeared.

He acknowledged her praise of his home with a shrug. "I didn't make this place, actually. Trust me, if it were up to me to make my own shelter I'd have frozen to death long ago. Most of it was already formed. The hot springs and the main caverns are natural, I think, but the hallways and rooms were carved out long before I found this place. Probably some kind of smuggler's den that was abandoned" He looked around the room. "Although I suppose I've cleaned up the place pretty well."

His stew finished, Graven pushed the bowl away from him and leaned back, observing Fawn's movements with feigned boredom. "So tell me, as one mage to another; how exactly does your magic work?" That was the only topic he knew for certain they could both share, and discussing it was part of his plan to get her to stay. If he could convince her that living here was better than hunting on her own, she might stay with him. For a while, at least. He just needed to know what she liked and disliked, what made her tick. He had to convince her that they were alike.

Minfever

Fawn, for all of her complaints about starving, was suddenly not eating much.  She realized her folly and picked up a spoonful.  Graven ate quickly, she observed.  Most men did when not bothered by the social graces others lived by.  She observed, however, that he seemed eager to converse with her, to get to know her.  This was positive for her, and she had to give it to him; if she were alone for so many years, forty years?  And she had met someone for the first time who shared her gift...  She would be eager to see them stay, too.

She responded to his remark about the collective female race being insane with a laugh.  It wasn't always necessary to have a retort.

She ate a little bit and listened, then furrowed her brow a bit.  Forty years?  He kept alluding to this number.
For the first time since they had met, she was looking him over, taking in every detail of his build, his skin, the fabric of his shirt...  She wasn't subtle about it, as she wasn't really subtle about much of what she thought.  He was a handsome man, but this incongruity between his body's age and the length of his life bothered her.  What was he, exactly?

When the subject of magic came up, she turned her head a bit, "You know, I really have no idea.  I think about something, an element of some sort, and I become capable of wielding it.  I haven't had any formal instruction, only the little parlor tricks I learned by myself."

(Sorry, I had to go back and fix it)

Tags: