Again the lone tower of Trinsic woods is filled with candle light. The charred wood cracks in the fireplace, and a hooded figure writes to a book. For some time Shira, has kept her robes on more than usually. She seems troubled as she writes to a book that is her diary.
The pages of my diary grow full of this same matter. Pondering on the same subject. "What would have my life been like if my parents weren’t murdered?" I’m ashamed how self centred I was as a kid. I was their little princess. I didn’t pay attention as much as I should have back then, since now after years of separation from them, I cant say I remember as much of them as I would have liked. And still.. it feels like I would be schooled by my father.
I stumbled upon a book. "Minion Etiquette" by Morvenius Silverwind. That being my father, though I cant say that I ever used the name "Morvenius". Though It makes sense that it sounds better than Morven on a publication regarding magical beings. The book quite basic matters, but perhaps this was not the case when this was brand new. Though there are some points that I couldn’t have guessed. The book removes the need for some trial and error situations, which of some might lead to a excruciating pain, so I think my father had a point when he was writing this. But was he just an academic? What if he was something more. Morvenius gives me the feeling and a vision of a mage of some sort. Was he something special? Something I was supposed to become?
I have a theory, and Darrol seems to agree on this, that I might have some "natural talent" on magic. If that talent indeed is in my blood, it must have come from my father. It would explain the things of my past and my unnaturally fast learning rate, which annoys Darrol. Though for a man like him this would be probably just turning a blade in his wound. For a man that has lost almost everything, a woman like myself must be painful to watch. I have succeeded in almost everything he once did. At times I have even wondered... have I surpassed him? It's a foolish thing since I do believe that he is what someone might call a "master". A title that is not uncommon among necromancers.
It would have been probably even worse for him if I would have come to his life, as a fully trained necromagus. And when queried about my master, I would have said that I am self trained. It would remove the nudge, and the teachings he gave me. I would have been equal with him, without help. And he would have seen it as that he was somehow weaker to need the help of a teacher.
As wise as he is, that man that I can call my master, my lover and someone very dear to me can at times be the sole cause why my heart aches. He is agitated near me, and and it kills me. This man has lost so much. A life, for starters. That including a laboratory and a library he cherished. A woman that would have been her wife if he would had wished so. And now after that loss he has "gained" me in his life. The differences with us would be too great according to some I bet. He is a farmers son. And I’m of noble birth. That alone would be too much to some, but If with that nobility comes the talent for the thing he is good at, it is just a cruel mocking karma. And after that, something that anyone could be envious I have the health he doesn’t, and what he desperately needs. I cant but wonder if these differences are something that will come between us. I wouldn’t want to any more trouble for this already troubled man. Is my presence causing him pain?
I wouldn’t hesitate to kill anyone that would want to harm him or his family. That much he means to me. But at the same time, every one that has been dear to me at some point has died. Morven my father. Pelia my mother. Derron my uncle. Helen and Tommy, the only real friends I had in my childhood. And even Palis, though I'm not sure of his death. He just left and vanished.
Shira raises her eyes from the diary and stares at the wall. She has a empty and stern look upon her face. “Those are the only words I can put down today.” She mutters, under her white hood. She then heads out towards the mountains. A large shadowy creature greets her. “So, you have come again.”
Nec-Romantic Affairs
Moderator: RP Moderators
Re: Nec-Romantic Affairs
A discreet slip of a letter finds its way on the necromancer Divius Aldemarius' desk. The following text is written within in somewhat whimsical handwriting.
Dear Master Divius,
To my great disappointment I was unable to approach you personally, so I gave this letter to your disciple Corvus instead. I hope the letter finds you in good health and, most importantly, I hope it finds you soon. I have a feeling you're not going to believe this, so you better sit down! You see, just the other day I ran into Miss Shira Silverwind and she told me she had put an end to a very important ritual that was being conducted by your older brother Vasculio and his unfortunate apperentice Darrol.
As for the nature of this ritual, I believe you can figure it out by yourself. However, I regret to inform that, according to my knowledge, Shira disturbed the ritual, and with the help of her undead dragon, bested your brother in combat. I haven't visited Vesper after this fatal incident took place, but I have good reason to believe that there might be very little left of Vasculio and the house he lived in.
When I last saw Shira she wasn't in a very good shape. Since I'm supposed to be in such good terms with her, I did mix her a potion to speed up the healing process. I didn't mix in any of my valuable reagents - perish the thought! - but I suppose I did enough to maintain the illusion that I actually give a pigeon's dropping for her wellbeing.
You might want to keep a few wands of hellfire nearby, just in case. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and as soon as her wounds heal, I think Miss Silverwind might want to get rid of you too, if only to make sure you won't interfere with Stefanun's education. I don't know what's gotten into that woman, but she's proving out to be a fearsome opponent, despite being somewhat off her rocker.
Perhaps you should also send your apprentice to explore the ruins of Vasculio's house? It would be a shame to see his life's work rotting under the rubble and out in the rain. And I don't mean Darrol, I think the sod is relatively alive!
I hope my sincere warning further rubs in the fact that I'd like to remain your resourceful ally, and that I would still greatly appreciate it if you didn't reveal my current whereabouts to Mr. Quedver.
I'm also very sorry for your brother's fate. He had a few disgusting habits, but don't we all?
Your most trustworthy informant,
~Ripkin
Dear Master Divius,
To my great disappointment I was unable to approach you personally, so I gave this letter to your disciple Corvus instead. I hope the letter finds you in good health and, most importantly, I hope it finds you soon. I have a feeling you're not going to believe this, so you better sit down! You see, just the other day I ran into Miss Shira Silverwind and she told me she had put an end to a very important ritual that was being conducted by your older brother Vasculio and his unfortunate apperentice Darrol.
As for the nature of this ritual, I believe you can figure it out by yourself. However, I regret to inform that, according to my knowledge, Shira disturbed the ritual, and with the help of her undead dragon, bested your brother in combat. I haven't visited Vesper after this fatal incident took place, but I have good reason to believe that there might be very little left of Vasculio and the house he lived in.
When I last saw Shira she wasn't in a very good shape. Since I'm supposed to be in such good terms with her, I did mix her a potion to speed up the healing process. I didn't mix in any of my valuable reagents - perish the thought! - but I suppose I did enough to maintain the illusion that I actually give a pigeon's dropping for her wellbeing.
You might want to keep a few wands of hellfire nearby, just in case. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and as soon as her wounds heal, I think Miss Silverwind might want to get rid of you too, if only to make sure you won't interfere with Stefanun's education. I don't know what's gotten into that woman, but she's proving out to be a fearsome opponent, despite being somewhat off her rocker.
Perhaps you should also send your apprentice to explore the ruins of Vasculio's house? It would be a shame to see his life's work rotting under the rubble and out in the rain. And I don't mean Darrol, I think the sod is relatively alive!
I hope my sincere warning further rubs in the fact that I'd like to remain your resourceful ally, and that I would still greatly appreciate it if you didn't reveal my current whereabouts to Mr. Quedver.
I'm also very sorry for your brother's fate. He had a few disgusting habits, but don't we all?
Your most trustworthy informant,
~Ripkin
Re: Nec-Romantic Affairs
"So this bracelet is the key to controlling Shira's dracolich, is that correct?", Divius asks, as he turns an ornate golden bracelet in his hands. He focuses his attention on the gem inset, which holds a fragment of bone within.
On the other side of the tavern table, Darrol Argeledougal nods, still a bit winded from his hasty arrival. "I'm still not entirely sure why she gave it to me now, after so many arguments we've had about it", he says. Darrol is looking worried, as he usually does, but now there's also a hint of grim determination in his voice. "Maybe it's her wedding gift to me", he adds, flatly.
Darrol has spent the entire afternoon looking for Divius Aldemarius, the brother of his former master Vasculio, now presumed dead. The dracolich which is being currently discussed actually played a major part in his demise, driving a bit of a wedge between what was to be a harmonious union between two houses of necromancy.
Truth be told, Darrol doesn't know which side to take himself, but there's no way he will pass the opportunity to extract revenge on the creature that razed his master's mansion to the ground and put an end to the ritual that would have ensured Vasculio his lichdom and the immortality that comes with it. Shira doesn't even have to know - Darrol can always claim the dracolich simply flew away to its well deserved freedom, all the way to the magical candy-colored dragon kingdom in the clouds.
"So, Shira gave it to you, and now you in turn are giving it to me? Do tell, what is it that you expect me to do with it, exactly?"
Not that Divius wouldn't have an idea. He's got more than one of his own, too.
"I want...", Darrol hesitates, taking a few sideways glances like he's afraid someone's listening in on the conversation. Then, with more confidence in his voice, he continues: "Is there a way to make it suffer? I want it to feel agony. Excruciating torment for all eternity."
This outburst manages to take Divius by surprise. He picks the bracelet up again and twirls it around.
"Mmyes, well. All eternity is a long time, but... there are certainly ways to do what you propose."
The old necromancer rubs his temple thoughtfully, and with his other hand reaches into a cup of sunflower seeds, placed on the table next to a copy of the book "Hexes and major Incantations" that he was studying when Darrol interrupted him by abruptly barging in. After a moment's consideration, he speaks again.
"Now, I will not perform the necessary rituals for you myself..."
Aiding Darrol on this quest of his has its risks as it is, and Divius would rather not get caught with the ritual foci in his own hands - not by Shira, and definitely not by that certain other person, either.
"What I can do, however, is study this bracelet and return it to you with a very specific set of instructions. You are a capable necromancer, are you not? It should be nothing you could not handle, as long as you follow the instructions verbatim. How does that sound to you, Darrol?"
For a moment, Darrol simply stares off into the void.
"I'll do it, sir."
On the other side of the tavern table, Darrol Argeledougal nods, still a bit winded from his hasty arrival. "I'm still not entirely sure why she gave it to me now, after so many arguments we've had about it", he says. Darrol is looking worried, as he usually does, but now there's also a hint of grim determination in his voice. "Maybe it's her wedding gift to me", he adds, flatly.
Darrol has spent the entire afternoon looking for Divius Aldemarius, the brother of his former master Vasculio, now presumed dead. The dracolich which is being currently discussed actually played a major part in his demise, driving a bit of a wedge between what was to be a harmonious union between two houses of necromancy.
Truth be told, Darrol doesn't know which side to take himself, but there's no way he will pass the opportunity to extract revenge on the creature that razed his master's mansion to the ground and put an end to the ritual that would have ensured Vasculio his lichdom and the immortality that comes with it. Shira doesn't even have to know - Darrol can always claim the dracolich simply flew away to its well deserved freedom, all the way to the magical candy-colored dragon kingdom in the clouds.
"So, Shira gave it to you, and now you in turn are giving it to me? Do tell, what is it that you expect me to do with it, exactly?"
Not that Divius wouldn't have an idea. He's got more than one of his own, too.
"I want...", Darrol hesitates, taking a few sideways glances like he's afraid someone's listening in on the conversation. Then, with more confidence in his voice, he continues: "Is there a way to make it suffer? I want it to feel agony. Excruciating torment for all eternity."
This outburst manages to take Divius by surprise. He picks the bracelet up again and twirls it around.
"Mmyes, well. All eternity is a long time, but... there are certainly ways to do what you propose."
The old necromancer rubs his temple thoughtfully, and with his other hand reaches into a cup of sunflower seeds, placed on the table next to a copy of the book "Hexes and major Incantations" that he was studying when Darrol interrupted him by abruptly barging in. After a moment's consideration, he speaks again.
"Now, I will not perform the necessary rituals for you myself..."
Aiding Darrol on this quest of his has its risks as it is, and Divius would rather not get caught with the ritual foci in his own hands - not by Shira, and definitely not by that certain other person, either.
"What I can do, however, is study this bracelet and return it to you with a very specific set of instructions. You are a capable necromancer, are you not? It should be nothing you could not handle, as long as you follow the instructions verbatim. How does that sound to you, Darrol?"
For a moment, Darrol simply stares off into the void.
"I'll do it, sir."
Re: Nec-Romantic Affairs
"But father!" Shira yells in despair.
"Now, now child. He proposed to you, and as far I know you should be pleased with this?" Morvenius mutters calmly while blowing thick black smoke from his ivory pipe.
"But, he seems different somehow..." Shira takes a deep breath aiming to calm herself postponing the nearing panic attack. "... he wouldn't ever had the guts to ask it.. and" Shira is stopped from saying more.
"I don't want to hear more of the matter. I wish that you end up in a profitable marriage, and this would be it. You are the one that should continue our legacy, and what would be better than to bind these great families together."
Hesitantly, Shira still utters the word "But..."
"Enough! Your place is to listen to your father, and to obey your future husband..." He slams his left hand to the table cracking the surface of it. He takes as stern look and stares at his daughter. "... as expected."
"Yes father." Shira says, while walking out of the suite that Morvenius had rented from the large inn.
While walking away Shira's eyes begin to tear up. She quickly pulls up her hood and and vanishes in the busy streets of Britain.
Later that day...
Shira sits on a log near a small lake in Vesper outskirts. That same pond has brought hope before, and being near it soothes her nerves yet again. She opens up her diary and starts writing.
That dark void I have felt before in my heart seems to grow larger. The current events should have brought more to my life than I had ever imagined. Yet it feels that I'm loosing the grasp of my life.
The return of my father Morven "Morvenius" Silverwind has been absolutely terrifying. I cant say that I wouldn't be happy to see him again, but our relationship is as if I was that same small child as I was all those years ago. And quite frankly I feel like that when I am near him. It is as if I had lost all that defined me. My independence.
On top of that this situation with Darrol. Marrying him was something I never thought as an option, since he didn't seem like the kind of man that would even want it. Our life together was academical, with some hints of a normal relationship.
I'm in a turmoil of feelings. I know I should be happy, and I know what is expected of me. But Im not sure if Im up to it. Am I ready to become a pawn of a patriarchal society?
As Shira is about to start a new sentence a large figure comes crushing down from the sky severing multiple trees around the pond. Shira falls backwards from the log, and rises her head carefully to look what caused the havoc.
A large shadowy figure stands tall in front of her. The air around it waves and in the center of that waving motion hovers a skeletal structure resembling a dragon.
A deep voice resonates in the forest as the figure yells. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!"
"Now, now child. He proposed to you, and as far I know you should be pleased with this?" Morvenius mutters calmly while blowing thick black smoke from his ivory pipe.
"But, he seems different somehow..." Shira takes a deep breath aiming to calm herself postponing the nearing panic attack. "... he wouldn't ever had the guts to ask it.. and" Shira is stopped from saying more.
"I don't want to hear more of the matter. I wish that you end up in a profitable marriage, and this would be it. You are the one that should continue our legacy, and what would be better than to bind these great families together."
Hesitantly, Shira still utters the word "But..."
"Enough! Your place is to listen to your father, and to obey your future husband..." He slams his left hand to the table cracking the surface of it. He takes as stern look and stares at his daughter. "... as expected."
"Yes father." Shira says, while walking out of the suite that Morvenius had rented from the large inn.
While walking away Shira's eyes begin to tear up. She quickly pulls up her hood and and vanishes in the busy streets of Britain.
Later that day...
Shira sits on a log near a small lake in Vesper outskirts. That same pond has brought hope before, and being near it soothes her nerves yet again. She opens up her diary and starts writing.
That dark void I have felt before in my heart seems to grow larger. The current events should have brought more to my life than I had ever imagined. Yet it feels that I'm loosing the grasp of my life.
The return of my father Morven "Morvenius" Silverwind has been absolutely terrifying. I cant say that I wouldn't be happy to see him again, but our relationship is as if I was that same small child as I was all those years ago. And quite frankly I feel like that when I am near him. It is as if I had lost all that defined me. My independence.
On top of that this situation with Darrol. Marrying him was something I never thought as an option, since he didn't seem like the kind of man that would even want it. Our life together was academical, with some hints of a normal relationship.
I'm in a turmoil of feelings. I know I should be happy, and I know what is expected of me. But Im not sure if Im up to it. Am I ready to become a pawn of a patriarchal society?
As Shira is about to start a new sentence a large figure comes crushing down from the sky severing multiple trees around the pond. Shira falls backwards from the log, and rises her head carefully to look what caused the havoc.
A large shadowy figure stands tall in front of her. The air around it waves and in the center of that waving motion hovers a skeletal structure resembling a dragon.
A deep voice resonates in the forest as the figure yells. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!"
Last edited by Thoran on Sun Mar 02, 2014 3:50 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Re: Nec-Romantic Affairs
Getting rid of old necromancers is not a simple matter. Even after being blasted into oblivion by a younger, rivalling necromagus and her pet dracolich, the embittered soul lingers on. It clings to the smoldered stonework and other debris, trying to latch on to birds and critters that flee if they know what's good for them. It lies in waiting, dreaming of vengeance.
The loyal apprentice couldn't have known there was anything of importance left in the ruins. But Darrol Argeledougal felt that he had to see the place for himself. If only to reassure himself that giving the bracelet to Divius had been the right thing to do. Shira's dracolich has reduced his old master's mansion to rubble. As Darrol inspects a torn piece of what might have been a valuable tome of magic he can't help feeling powerless and frustrated for all that's been lost.
But not all is lost. Just as Darrol is about to leave the desolate scene he feels a sudden shiver down his spine. The air is calm, but there is an eery susurrus somewhere beneath the crumbled roof beams. As the apprentice makes the mistake of taking one step forward, the spirit of his dead master suddenly washes over him, pushing Darrol's consciousness out of the way.
Darrol, what a good boy you are, it cackles maliciously. I knew you would come sooner or later, I knew you couldn't stay away. Now we can-
Ah, stay on your feet, you idiot!
Darrol's body collapses to the ground like sack of bones, his mouth hanging open and his eyes now milky white.
And how in blazes am I supposed to get you to my brother Divius in this state? How is it possible that your feeble mind isn't capable of coping with a possession of such diminutive level?! Or has death made me stronger in spirit? Wake up, stupid boy! I need you to move your legs!
The wind rustles through the dry leaves. Somewhere in the distance a bird is cautiously chirping. A lost beetle scurries over Darrol's forehead as his body lies sprawled helplessly on the ground.
Shit.
...
Very well, it seems I have no other option that to do this myself. Now how can I get to your hands?
After a moment of very determined silence Darrol's hand jerks up and twitches in a macabre manner, as if it had a mind of its own. Then it awkwardly reachers for the satchel of runes Darrol carries on his belt.
This isn't going to be pretty, but you're going to get me to my brother even if I have to make you crawl through the streets of Britain.
And that is exactly what happened next.
The loyal apprentice couldn't have known there was anything of importance left in the ruins. But Darrol Argeledougal felt that he had to see the place for himself. If only to reassure himself that giving the bracelet to Divius had been the right thing to do. Shira's dracolich has reduced his old master's mansion to rubble. As Darrol inspects a torn piece of what might have been a valuable tome of magic he can't help feeling powerless and frustrated for all that's been lost.
But not all is lost. Just as Darrol is about to leave the desolate scene he feels a sudden shiver down his spine. The air is calm, but there is an eery susurrus somewhere beneath the crumbled roof beams. As the apprentice makes the mistake of taking one step forward, the spirit of his dead master suddenly washes over him, pushing Darrol's consciousness out of the way.
Darrol, what a good boy you are, it cackles maliciously. I knew you would come sooner or later, I knew you couldn't stay away. Now we can-
Ah, stay on your feet, you idiot!
Darrol's body collapses to the ground like sack of bones, his mouth hanging open and his eyes now milky white.
And how in blazes am I supposed to get you to my brother Divius in this state? How is it possible that your feeble mind isn't capable of coping with a possession of such diminutive level?! Or has death made me stronger in spirit? Wake up, stupid boy! I need you to move your legs!
The wind rustles through the dry leaves. Somewhere in the distance a bird is cautiously chirping. A lost beetle scurries over Darrol's forehead as his body lies sprawled helplessly on the ground.
Shit.
...
Very well, it seems I have no other option that to do this myself. Now how can I get to your hands?
After a moment of very determined silence Darrol's hand jerks up and twitches in a macabre manner, as if it had a mind of its own. Then it awkwardly reachers for the satchel of runes Darrol carries on his belt.
This isn't going to be pretty, but you're going to get me to my brother even if I have to make you crawl through the streets of Britain.
And that is exactly what happened next.
Re: Nec-Romantic Affairs
As Ripkin accidentally knocks down a row of empty bottles she can hardly hear the knock on the door. The second time it's louder. The self-proclaimed genius alchemist snaps out of her thoughts. "Come on in, the door's open", she hollers and kicks a pouch of dried nightshade further away from the fireplace. After ventilating her shoppe for an entire week she will now remember to keep all flammable reagents tucked away safely. It was a pretty far out super week full of sparkles and great ideas, but it left her poorer by twenty thousand gold and with a terrible headache.
The necromancer Darrol Argeledougal steps inside. "Good day", he says. And, with a cough, "What's this awful smell? Nightshade?"
"Oh hey, prince charming. Always a pleasure. It's not nearly as bad as it was, mind you."
"What on earth have you been doing?" Darrol glances around warily, as if suspecting that there must be some horrible experiment going on.
"Stuff", Rip replies with the confidence of a true con artist. "You're here for those mana potions, right? I'm sure I put them somewhere." The resulting clatter of bottles and vials makes Darrol cringe. "Please find them. I can't wait to get out of here", he says. Ripkin merely tuts and peeks into a barrel filled with colorful potions. She starts looking for anything that has a blue tint on it. "Always in a hurry, you borish man. Why is it that you never come to see me these days?"
"I never did before", the gloomy man replies. He has no reason to be nice to someone like Ripkin. The tanned alchemist was all jokes and smiles, but Darrol knows that it's all just a show. This is a rotten creature he's dealing with. Rip would sell her own grandmother and every other grandmother in the district just for shits and giggles, and she'd probably whistle all the way to the grandmother shop.
Unphased, Ripkin chatters on. "How are you, anyway? And the missus? Still playing around with dracolichs?"
Darrol shrugs. "It's not too good. Not that it's any business of yours... But I think we're having a serious break."
"That's terrible", the lanky gypsy says cheerfully. "Please, tell me all about it. You must be throughly shattered. Now that I look at you, I can tell you haven't had a good night's sleep in ages. I hope you at least have a proper roof over your head."
"I've been staying at the Wayfarer headquarters. Oh, and don't look at me like that. Keep looking at those damn potions, you freak", Darrol barks and gestures in an irritated manner at the wall of barrels that might contain just about anything. Ripkin was a bit of a hoarder. One day all these books, bells and candles would come tumbling down and bury her alive.
"Tsk! I was really looking forward to the wedding, you know", Ripkin says. "Do you mind if I smoke?"
"Mine or yours?", Darrol asks, his voice dripping with venom. He has never particularly liked Ripkin, but the charlatan was currently the only alchemist available. So what can you do, beggars can't be choosers. "And yes, I do mind if you smoke. It already smells like you've been smoking a cartful of wizard's weed in here."
"You horrible little man", Ripkin pipes in. She's already patting her pockets for a smoke. "For your information, my wedding has been merely postponed because of Thoran's health issues. Your wedding was, quite frankly, a stillborn idea to begin with. You necromancers can't have nice things because you don't know how to enjoy life. And you're a bit of a poofter, anyway."
Darrol's pale cheeks turn red in an instant. "W-why I... I don't have to listen to this!"
"Nyaaah... I agree. I guess you ought to listen to your beloved master Vasculio instead, having him wedged in between your ears. Or so I've heard", the gypsy smirks.
The scrawny necromancer is about to lose his temper.
"L-look here, I don't know who has told you all of that, but I've got things under control now. Perfectly under control. And I'm not going to tell you how I did it or who I had to kill!"
Ripkin blinks. "You what?"
"Uh... Forget I said anything. And just keep those mana potions, okay?"
"You found him a surrogate body? Now this I have to hear", Ripkin says. Her eyes gleam devilishly through a veil of smoke as she lights the roll of wizard's weed. Before Darrol has time to recoil, she sits him roughly down on a chair and locks up the shop. "Now spill the beans or I'll take off my clothes and tell everyone it was your idea."
It's a shame there was no one to see the resulting skirmish.
The necromancer Darrol Argeledougal steps inside. "Good day", he says. And, with a cough, "What's this awful smell? Nightshade?"
"Oh hey, prince charming. Always a pleasure. It's not nearly as bad as it was, mind you."
"What on earth have you been doing?" Darrol glances around warily, as if suspecting that there must be some horrible experiment going on.
"Stuff", Rip replies with the confidence of a true con artist. "You're here for those mana potions, right? I'm sure I put them somewhere." The resulting clatter of bottles and vials makes Darrol cringe. "Please find them. I can't wait to get out of here", he says. Ripkin merely tuts and peeks into a barrel filled with colorful potions. She starts looking for anything that has a blue tint on it. "Always in a hurry, you borish man. Why is it that you never come to see me these days?"
"I never did before", the gloomy man replies. He has no reason to be nice to someone like Ripkin. The tanned alchemist was all jokes and smiles, but Darrol knows that it's all just a show. This is a rotten creature he's dealing with. Rip would sell her own grandmother and every other grandmother in the district just for shits and giggles, and she'd probably whistle all the way to the grandmother shop.
Unphased, Ripkin chatters on. "How are you, anyway? And the missus? Still playing around with dracolichs?"
Darrol shrugs. "It's not too good. Not that it's any business of yours... But I think we're having a serious break."
"That's terrible", the lanky gypsy says cheerfully. "Please, tell me all about it. You must be throughly shattered. Now that I look at you, I can tell you haven't had a good night's sleep in ages. I hope you at least have a proper roof over your head."
"I've been staying at the Wayfarer headquarters. Oh, and don't look at me like that. Keep looking at those damn potions, you freak", Darrol barks and gestures in an irritated manner at the wall of barrels that might contain just about anything. Ripkin was a bit of a hoarder. One day all these books, bells and candles would come tumbling down and bury her alive.
"Tsk! I was really looking forward to the wedding, you know", Ripkin says. "Do you mind if I smoke?"
"Mine or yours?", Darrol asks, his voice dripping with venom. He has never particularly liked Ripkin, but the charlatan was currently the only alchemist available. So what can you do, beggars can't be choosers. "And yes, I do mind if you smoke. It already smells like you've been smoking a cartful of wizard's weed in here."
"You horrible little man", Ripkin pipes in. She's already patting her pockets for a smoke. "For your information, my wedding has been merely postponed because of Thoran's health issues. Your wedding was, quite frankly, a stillborn idea to begin with. You necromancers can't have nice things because you don't know how to enjoy life. And you're a bit of a poofter, anyway."
Darrol's pale cheeks turn red in an instant. "W-why I... I don't have to listen to this!"
"Nyaaah... I agree. I guess you ought to listen to your beloved master Vasculio instead, having him wedged in between your ears. Or so I've heard", the gypsy smirks.
The scrawny necromancer is about to lose his temper.
"L-look here, I don't know who has told you all of that, but I've got things under control now. Perfectly under control. And I'm not going to tell you how I did it or who I had to kill!"
Ripkin blinks. "You what?"
"Uh... Forget I said anything. And just keep those mana potions, okay?"
"You found him a surrogate body? Now this I have to hear", Ripkin says. Her eyes gleam devilishly through a veil of smoke as she lights the roll of wizard's weed. Before Darrol has time to recoil, she sits him roughly down on a chair and locks up the shop. "Now spill the beans or I'll take off my clothes and tell everyone it was your idea."
It's a shame there was no one to see the resulting skirmish.