cuideag

You think you're so smart, parking yourself against a wall. I'm gonna invade your personal space anyway, so NYEH.

"Likewise. Thank you, Melkire." The voice on the other end of the pearl paused. "You're... welcome." Delial Grimsong muttered. The day had been getting stranger and stranger as it went. Wolfsong approached her without blood in his eyes and spoke of a trap clearly laid out for him. "Roen's been taken," he said bluntly and without ceremony. He made no threats, threw no insults and that, perhaps, was what gave Delial an odd feeling above all else. Wolfsong was calm. "Still no show, m'love," Folclind said once she was certain that Delial was finished with her conversation. The midlander girl had served as the middle-man, in a sense, between herself and Crim. Rarely did one pass through Vesper Bay without the other learning of it, and even if they did not pass, they still left word and occasionally something else with the grey-haired girl anyway. Bottles of sour wine, warm words of greeting: it was embarassing in every way and yet Deilal still indulged. She half suspected Folclind enjoyed it, too. "Havent'ye heard from him elsewise...? He's not been in 'ere for suns." "Not a word," growled Delial. It was not like the man she knew as Itarliht to go so long without a visit. As though you should be worried, a voice in her head snapped. As though that man could not handle himself without a woman fretting after him. Have you really gone so soft...? Her nostrils flared. Melkire mentioned Askier vanished from the streets as well, but the boy seemed doomed to making one mistake after the other. There was no denying that the timing of it all was strange, but both men were there when she met with Roen and Wolfsong alike. Both men were there when she told them to leave her be. No, it had to be something else. "It matters not." Delial rose from her table, ignoring the pang in her knees. Folclind smiled kindly to her, and even more so when she set a handful of gil upon the table. "You will give him my regards if he happens by? I've business to attend to in The Shroud." "Of course, m'love. Anything in particular...?" A pecular smile tugged at the highlander's painted lips, so peculiar that she did not even notice it happening. She shook her head, however, raising a hand to wave behind her as she made for the exit. "My thanks, dearest, but... No. No, I shall tell him myself."

Funtimes at Dhemgeim's beach party! Here, a pack of lalas inspect a catte-man and his jewelry. Jajara met Warren Castillle for the first time! Though I don't think they made their introductions...? Next time, you beautiful man. Next time. I am still convinced that Dhem looks like she's gonna eat us. Possibly after tossing one (or both) into the sea. Shark bait. Bonus: the best and worst timing, starring Valirelia Ferox and a partially obscured Impresario Halloween.

To be fair I didn't actually roll Delala Dela.... just because it was already taken BUT STILL. RETURN TO US.

ALL MUST BE LALA. DO NOT RESIST. Delala Dela (IT WORKS OMG) might not be holding a knife behind her back. Who knows? It is a mystery.

My favorite midlander. (Besides Roen, of course!)

OnMqVN8tV8o

^ ^ This more or less. It's not as tricky RPing out in the open where do-gooders might kick your face in if your character is careful and is not doing blatantly not-good things. RP threads and other more private and/or controlled means can do wonders for when you're actually getting down to bad business. Being able to plot things out with the people involved helps a lot, too, IMO, so the goodies and baddies alike can have some reasonable pacing for story developments. And twist!!

I don't care if I'm going to be swimming in a sea of ninjas. I HAVE TO HAVE THAT ARMOR. *throws hands up*

"... K-koporo. Iff'n ya tell anyone I been dressin' up..." "... I'mma break yer face."

"Gharen-senpai, tell us a story...!" Chuchukepa sneaks a Jajara inside the Thaumaturge's Guild. She, of course, decided to dress the part of a novice wizard and was thoroughly frightened by how spooky actual wizards are. Delial Grimsong (her ridiculous legs) and Roen Deneith have their first civil conversation in months. ... very pleased she didn't get punched, threatened with a sword, or held by her throat. 'Twas a good night.

A mere sun had passed before the white-haired woman arrived. Raelisanne Banurein had first approached Delial out of the blue in Limsa Lominsa and spoke of promises and shared interests. Delial found herself thinking back on that first meeting now and again in the idle moments between assignments; that the woman had known her name, her true name, should have been an indicator. That she also knew of Delial's work was another; few ever spoke favorably of her nor her predecessors nor of the odd art they indulged in. Banurein was not a woman of much emotion, no, but that she was actually interested in her methods... It seemed a silly notion to worry of a woman who did not balk of the thought of blood and sacrifice, considering she herself indulged from time to time. True, it had been a while - Aylard was the first in many moons, and that was largely given to a need for discretion. There were few who knew of her allegiance but there was no telling when a wrong move might throw her into the spotlight. The highlander had been awaiting outside the house beneath the cliff-side when Banurein arrived at long last. A aether portal glimmered into being just over the rickety bridge that separated Delial's hideout from the others and from it the smaller woman stepped. She was but a midlander, this Raelisanne, and she made little effort to hold herself as anything more. Her posture was rigid and her bearing was proud in a less glaring way than Delial's own, as if she was content with the cold airs about her going on unnoticed, as if she preferred it as such. Her attire was modest as ever, a long robe of white and blue that played off her elegantly worn hair. Different from usual was an odd mask which seemed to hide her eyes from light. Upon its forehead, a single blue gem glittered. Banurein took a moment to scan her surroundings before she turned to approach the awaiting Delial. Her boots knocked softly over the old wooden planks as she crossed over the bridge to stand before the woman she had come to see. Delial never knew Banurein to he expressive but the mask did well enough to inhibit all but her voice, and even that was almost always cold and flat, not quite a monotone but still sapped of anything to betray her emotions. "Miss Delial," the midlander spoke in her usual even tone. The mask's pitted black eyes seemed to be directed at her company. Their first meeting left her perplexed but Delial did not quite understand the woman then. It could not be said she understood her any more now, and somewhere along the line she had inherited an unconscious feeling of dread whenever the woman was nearby. When they had met in Limsa Lominsa, Delial laughed and mused over her tiny employer. Now she simply nodded, regarding Banurein's precise stride and the shock of icy white hair as warning signs. The missive she had sent was brief and to the point, just as Banurein liked. That she would have come so quickly, however, surprised her. "You came," Delial said. "Good." Banurein gave a single nod. "You have something for me." Somehow, the woman sounded pleased. "I do. Come, come," Delial spoke with a smile, gesturing for the other to follow. Together they rounded the small dirt lawn and up the porch steps. Delial fiddled with the door a moment before she swung it open, going so far as to bow herself towards the smaller girl. "Let us not keep him waiting, hmm? I expect he will be very cross by now." The air inside the house reeked of blood and viscera. Delial had become quite used to it by then but if it bothered Banurein, she showed no sign of it. When she had nothing to say, the mask pointed straight ahead of her as it did then. From the door she could see her prize slumped upon the floor. Gharen Wolfsong stirred, rattling the chains that bound him just as they did the prey that had come before. A single lamp glowed far above his head, bathing him in soft yellow light. The floorboards beneath him were still stained dark even without his shadow pooled over them. He wore nothing but his small clothes and tiny red pinpricks lined up the length of his arm hinted at how and why he was able to be kept in so dull a state. Even with the scant toxin still in his veins, he was able to give Delial a glare so vile and full of rage that she knew if he had even the slightest of purchase upon freedom, she would likely not remain alive and breathing for very long. That glare fixed upon the masked woman, a stranger to him, and he growled low in his throat. "May I present to you," continued Delial, "The one and only Gharen Wolfsong." Banurein's rhythmic footsteps continued along the floor, halting only when she came close enough to be just beyond his reach. "So, this is he," she said curtly. Pitted black eyes contrasted sharply against the pristine white she wore, empty and cold and sterile. There was a pause as she appraised the man as well as the stains upon which he rested. "Mister Wolfsong. You will be my finest specimen yet." "The pride of the Resistance," Delial chimed in. She chose to maintain her distance, settling into a relaxed stance with her arms folded near the open doorway that separated the rear of the house from the fore room. She flashed a predatory smile at Gharen, the points of her canines gleaming. "Miss Delial. What happened to Aylard Greyarm." There was no question in her voice, as if stating it were a mere formality. It was entirely possible she did not even care. "I kept him as long as I could but, alas, he was an old man and that did him no favors. He has been disposed of." Delial's own voice turned flat. She may as well have been talking about the garbage. "The crows have had their feast. I did keep a little something, though. A gift for our friends." Banurein made a small noise of dismissal, a disinterested hum. The gem on her mask glimmered in the relative darkness of the space, a glow faintly mirrored deep in her pitted eyes. "I see no marks on this one yet. I would require your special skills." "I did not wish to spoil him before you had a look," replied Delial. It was as if to respond that Gharen tested and strained against his restraints. His hands had been bound firmly behind his back, pinned between himself and the front of the ancient armoire. Another low growl rose from him as the masked woman lowered herself to a kneel as if to look upon him closely, examining him bit by bit as though he were a mere lab rat. "Mister Wolfsong. You are undoubtedly strong. Physically." Her voice was even and smooth. "I wonder... How strong are you within. Let us test that. Shall we?" She spoke without venom in her voice, almost as if she were offering him tea or cake. It was almost pleasant. Gloved fingers rose and plucked the gem from the face of her mask and even in doing so it continued to glimmer by its own volition. Her arms moved in careful, delicate motions as she leaned closer and reached out to place the gem upon Wolfsong's forehead. As soon as the gem made contact with his skin, it flared into a darker hue, tendrils of smoke appearing at its edges. Those tendrils groped and fumbled over his flesh before, seemingly contended, they abruptly and soundlessly snapped rigid. Gharen's teeth clenched and his jaw tightened as if in pain, and it was not long before Delial came to realize why. The gem itself was somehow burrowing itself into his flesh. Wolfsong shook in pain and rage but he did not scream. Hateful eyes fixed on Banurein and his voice rose as a snarl. "I'm... goin'... te kill ye both." From over Banurein's shoulder Delial continued to stare, her mild confusion at the events unfolding before her betrayed only by the squinting of her eyes. She stared at the dark gem that sunk inside Gharen, quivering violently. Banurein had her ways, and it was not Delial's place to question it. "Mm. Rage." The blue glow from within the black of her mask flickered. "It is an easy emotion. Let us work on that." Banurein rose to her feet and turned to stride towards Delial. "You know the man? Can you elicit more rage?" She spoke quietly in words clearly not meant for the squirming man upon the floor. "Provoke what you will. I would study him for a bit." Delial's perplexed look was shaken off just as quickly as she looked to the masked woman. "Your... pet," she chuckled. "He is quite fond of your pet. The Sultansworn?" She pressed on as Banurein made an unimpressed sound and turned to look back towards Gharen. "Shall I fetch her? Oh, this boy has warned her against me. But we are thick as thieves, she and I." "This will not do," replied Banurein. Her voice was cool and Delial suspected she could hear just the faintest hint of impatience. "I would like to see him angry, Miss Delial. He is trying to compose himself. Discipline the sensations." Looking upon Gharen, she could see her meaning. The man shivered as he gave the two a dark look, obviously pained by whatever the gemstone was doing do him. Delial snorted and set her hands to her hips. Slow, lazy strides brought her further into the room, closer towards Wolfsong. Her heels clicked loud and cold in the otherwise quiet house. Gharen Wolfsong was a cautious man but since she had cornered him, he had made little attempt to hide the rage that burned in his heart. He wore it plainly then, and it lit the otherwise warm hazel of his eyes into something bestial. "Master Gharen, she calls you," Delial began. Where others fought with blade and spell, her preferred weapon was her tongue. Thus far it had earned her the trust of a Sultansworn in perfect connection to the Resistance, as well as the head of the cell's leader. Gharen had little enough to hide behind then. A smirk settled on her lips as she picked through words like one may blades. "Such a sweet thing, so pure of heart. Yet I wonder what you know of her, Master Gharen? You taught the girl. You very nearly fought her. Broke her precious little heart." In her peripheral vision she saw Raelisanne situate herself a few fulms away with a tome opening in her hands. An eerie blue glimmer flickered over her eyes and she could vaguely make out symbols appearing upon the pages of said tome. Gharen himself curled his lip into a slight snarl. He was struggling uselessly, testing his bindings as though persistence would reward him with anything more than wrists rubbed raw. As he worked away, Delial's hand slipped beneath a fold of her robe and she withdrew a drawing. The artistry was fine and of slightly uncommon skill, its subject wrought out elegantly: a pair of highlander women, one old and one young. One of the most striking things about it was the older woman's hair: a vivid mane of red that contrasted sharply with that of her daughter's. Delial sighed wistfully as she held it out for Gharen to see, for he would see none other but the face of his own mother smiling back at him. "The old man had this," she said, careful to inject a note of regret into her voice. It was diffficult; sorrow was difficult to fake, after all. "Faces I'd not seen in years, not since my youth. Of course, they never looked like this when I saw them. They were... much more pained. It was a good hunt. You must have been young." She studied the man as he glared darkly up at her. He worked even more fiercely against his binds, shuddering at the pain it brought. The gem in his skin had turned almost jet black, and the tendrils that stretched out from it seemed to be growing thicker. "The seed of dissidents could not be tolerated, you see, and would that we had not let you escape. Look at you now: parading about as if you actually cared about the struggles of Ala Mhigo." Genuine disgust seeped into her voice, a contempt that rose up her throat like bile. "Insulting. Ah, but we were speaking of Roen, were we not?" She dropped the drawing and it fluttered down, down, down, landing upon the floor between them. Aline Wolfsong and her red haired mother continued to smile up at their wayward descendant. "You must have wondered whatever happened to that squealing little thing that was with you." A mask tilted off to her side. Before her, Gharen Wolfsong began to growl in warning. Delial smiled in a sad way, completely fake. "How blind you must be to your own clan that you could not recognize the blood of your traitorous ancestors walking about before your very eyes. Learning under you, yearning for your companionship. Pleading your forgiveness." She resisted the desire to click her tongue, settling instead with but a slow, disappointed shake of her head. "It is a fortunate thing, then, that she ceased to be yours that night. The Empire takes care of those it desires. The Empire loves its own. You are a cruel thing, Gharen Wolfsong. Roen deserves a better family than you." Gharen's reaction was explosive and had he not been bound, Delial was certain it would have been violent as well. "Ye LIE!" he barked, his eyes drawing wide with shock and rage. The tendrils that snaked over his forehead pulsed, new branches of smokey black stretching out towards his cheek. "Ah!" A hand fluttered to Delial's chest in mock surprise. "Did you not know...? Oh, dear. The secrets we keep from those we love. I would say that you should ask her, but... I wonder if you shall ever see the poor thing again. Indeed, I understand that her father - ah, her... proper father, not that corpse we left in Ala Mhigo... I hear he has been awaiting his dearest princess." Wolfsong was shuddering before her, his powerful frame straining so hard against the chains that held him that for the briefest moment Delial actually worried that they might break. There was no mistaking the sheer hatred in the way he stared at her, nor was there mistaking the way the gem and the magic that seeped from it pulsed and grew as if being fed by the raw emotions burning in his body. "I'm goin'," he snarled, "Te tear yer... lyin' throat out." Banurein remained silent as she observed, turning her masked gaze to Delial but for a brief moment. The blue of her gaze flashed and flickered more intensely, and the pages upon her tome mirrored the pattern of illumination as they flared to life. "It was a mercy," Delial continued. She edged forward another step to kneel and lean close, dangerous close, to the bound man. "Could you have protected your darling little sister then? Could you protect her now? She should have been cut like the rest of your house. Who do you think handed her to the empire." Eyes narrowed and she smiled - no, sneered - at Gharen. "You should be thanking me." The low, persistent growl that had been rumbling out of his throat turned into a vicious snarl and with little enough warning, Gharen Wolfsong lunged hard against his restraints. The heavy armoire groaned and scraped against the floor as it shuffled along with him, chains snapping between flesh and splintering wood. He should not have been able to gain any purchase but had Delial not the sense to back away with a hiss of breath and the scraping of her heels, she would have found herself with the wolf's teeth in her throat. She had little time to consider the anguish that colored his outburst and as she stepped back out of a wider lunging rage, she cast a look towards Raenlisanne. The white-haired woman was regarding her tome intensely, or at least Delial had the impression of intensity. The blue lights flickering over her eyes and upon the pages were unnaturally bright and flaring brighter still as even more of those shadow-tendrils sprouted and sunk into Gharen's skin. After a pause she gave Delial a measured nod. "Excellent." Then she muttered something beneath her breath, turning to regard as three new aether portals appeared beside her, each leaving behind a single featureless cube. A puzzled feeling returns to Delial but she pays it little mind. The woman was a scientist and one well connected within the Empire; the extent of her capabilities were not hers to consider, so she turned back upon the nearly prone figure of Gharen Wolfsong. He continued to growl but it appeared he was more in the throes of a deep and unbearable pain. "All it would have taken," she said softly, "Was for you to say, no. Alas, the poor choices we make." Banurein had set her tome aside and was attending to the cubes. Daintily she held them in her palms, and just as daintily she set them down near Wolfsong. He cast his glare towards her but she does not seem to notice it; rather, she occupied herself with opening each of the three cubes. Then she stepped back to merely watch. From the depth of the cubes slither dark things, nightmarish forms of shadowy black. They moved as spiders did, skittering on dark legs not unlike the tendrils that bound the gem to Gharen's body. A faint purple vapor surrounded what could be made out of their bodies, and the very sight of them evoked memories of whispers of voidsent. "This will hurt, Mister Wolfsong," she heard Banurein say. It was a statement, blunt and cold, moreso than a warning. What occurred next was beyond Delial's understanding though she could imagine in some small way what the man was going through. Those spindly little creatures skittered towards Wolfsong's form and, upon nearing him, sprung to latch onto his flesh. What appeared as near ephemeral limbs sharpened somehow, losing their whispy quality as they seemed to nail themselves into the flesh of his hand and his chest. Oddly, there was no blood spilled; Gharen himself was silent though his lips quivered peeled back from his teeth. Delial hardly noticed that Banurein was speaking low: "Rage will be your undoing, Mister Wolfsong. It is what will break you." Her voice was frigid and precise and with every word those odd, glimmering blue eyes imposed over the strange mask she wore pulsed. "And break you I will. But for now... sleep. We have a journey ahead of us." A silence befell the room as Wolfsong's battle against the pain wore out. He slumped upon the floor with his breath drawn ragged, and though he slept he did not look peaceful. The ugly black veins that had sprouted from the gem upon his forehead reached around to his ears and stained his skin with a sickly pallor wherever it touched. At last Banurein gave a near invisible nod. "He will make... a resilient specimen," she said. Delial's eye could hardly leave the strange creatures that had affixed themselves upon his body. "I knew you'd like him." "Do you believe in souls, Miss Delial?" Such was a question Delial did not anticipate, and it was enough to draw her gaze to the masked woman. She stared at the midlander with as neutral an expression she could muster. "I... Yes. I do." It was as if Raelisanne Banurein was making small-talk, but she was not the sort to do so without purpose. The blue glimmer that had flickered so vividly over sunken, pitch dark eyes were gone and so she regarded Delial with a face blank and cold as the shadows she had released on Wolfsong. "What is a soul?" Her eyes narrowed slightly. Where is she going with this...? "It... is a spark, of sorts," Delial said. "A flame, that which makes life more than just... life." Banurein turned her attention back down to the unconscious highlander. Delial had not yet decided whether or not she liked being unable to see her face, nor her expression. "I believe that spark you speak of, it is nourished by many things. And... it can be undone," she said thoughtfully, "By many things." An odd sensation was tickling at the back of Delial's thoughts. "Is that your aim?" "I want to undo them. And remake them as I wish." "Remake a soul?" The incredulity in Delial's voice was impossible to mask, but Banurein seemed to take no notice of it. If she did, it could very well have been that she did not care about her highlander companion's disbelief. It was unlike a Garlean to hold such matters sacred, a fact Delial often forgot about the people who had made claim of her homeland. "Perhaps. Or perhaps undo it, and see what remains. What is a man with a broken soul, Miss Delial?" "No man at all." That odd sensation was quickly turning into a chilled feeling, a twisting sensation at the pit of her stomach. "A husk. A ghost." "This one," replied Banurein, her unnaturally even voice somehow sounding pleased, "Will be a beast." He had snapped at her like an animal. Had she not retreated, had she blinked, her throat would likely have been torn to shreds. Delial paused to stare down at the unconscious form of Gharen Wolfsong. Had he not recruited himself into the Resistance, she could very well have gone the rest of her life oblivious to his continued existence. When their home was sacked and set to the torch they knew the boy, son of Gregor, was not dead among the embers. It had not been until she had come to Ul'dah on the hunt for Greyarm that the name Wolfsong had even come to her mind. A mercy unkind, she thought. He should have died that night. "I expect he will make an excellent specimen," she said flatly. Banurein knelt beside the man and produced from her person a second crystal which she gingerly affixed at the center of his bare chest. "Let us go, Mister Wolfsong. My lab awaits. The aetheryte crystal in your possession should also bring you to the lab," Banurein added over her shoulder, only half glancing at the other woman. "But I believe you have a delivery to make." Delial nodded and twisted her lips into a smile, though she did not quite look at Banurein herself. "Indeed I do. I shall... attend this one, as you require it. He should be much easier to keep alive than Greyarm." Even as she said it, however, her stomach twisted again. The creatures latched upon his body were unknown to her and she had no idea what it was they were actually doing to him. If they truly were of the void then she had little doubt his life was indeed forfeit to Banurein's experiment. "I will need you to join me soon. I wish to put your... skills, your magic, in addition to my voidlings. I think the two would compliment each other." She waited while the new crystal, a cold blue like the light of her eyes, attached itself to its new host. Then she rose rigidly to her feet and daintily brushed her hands as if offended more by dust or dirt than by the foul things she had held. "Once your spells are in place, you are free to do as you wish. He will serve as better bait, I predict, than the girl's adoptive father." The girl was, of course, Roen Deneith. Delial's initial order had been to watch her and ensure that she would be ready to be returned to her father, a man to whom Raelisanne Banurein wished to gain favor. A man who, Banurein promised, would assist in returning Delial to Ala Mhigo so that she might return into the good graces of the Empire. The Sultansworn seemed little more than a source of annoyance yet it was made made very clear that Deneith was to remain unharmed. "She surprised me," Banurein continued, her tone suddenly icy, "With that attack on the Castrum." Delial raised her brows. Mere suns before she had heard the sound of explosions even from the house in Crescent Cove. Castrum Marinum was mere malms away, a towering shard of steel and light that stood off of Thanalan's coast. "Was that what that was...?" "Her and the Resistance. I vastly underestimated their... resourcefulness." Just as soon as it had come, the emotion in her voice vanished, as if it were something she would switch on and off. Her voice went smooth again, cold in its own way. "I leave you to inform them of this one's capture. If they do not figure it out on their own soon enough. After my experiments are done, they are welcomed to free him as now I expect them to do." "Ah," sighed Delial. Implications were adding up into an unpleasant picture. He had snapped like an animal. "Give them back the... beast, then." "How else will I know my experiment is a success?" Slim shoulders rose as Banurein shrugged at Delial. "They came for the girl's father, who was no one. They will certainly come for this one." She turned back to Gharen Wolfsong, looking down at his collapsed form through that expressionless mask. He breathed oddly as if his lungs had found a distaste for air. "They will come for their champion. The one they placed their hopes on." "Quite so." Aylard Greyarm had been persistent in recruiting the young traitor, stubborn even if Wolfsong, as far as Delial could tell, had done nothing to alleviate the struggles in their shared homeland. Old blood meant little if they were unwilling to spill it. A slow grin set to her face and she shook her head. Greyarm would never appreciate what it was he died for. "You are a terror, my little dove. Woe upon me should I ever find myself in your sights. Now, I should make my delivery. It would be uncharitable of me not to handle it personally, I think. I shall be along as soon as I am able." "Indeed, Miss Delial. Your work has been... very satisfactory so far. The Empire will be pleased." The masked face gave her a single slow nod, a dismissal without so many words. Banurein was fiddling with something at her wrist, a gleam of crystal to match that set to Gharen's chest. A small bow bent Delial towards Banurein and in rising she turned as if to leave. Yet her gaze lingered upon Gharen Wolfsong a moment longer, studying him even as the aether whisked he and his new master away to whatever lab she had set aside for him. She found herself pondering once more if it was indeed a mercy to let the boy he had been run off into the night. "Matters not," she chided herself beneath her breath. The sharp click of her heels returned her to the present, returned her mind to the task at hand. In the other room, innocuously set upon a table, was a wooden box. She collected it, held it delicately in both her hands, as she strode out of the dark, shadowed house. "Still work to be done. I shall see you soon, my dear."

Whaaaaat! What!

Osric Melkire: Perfect Man.

Delial Grimsong counted the bells as they rolled by. The previous day she had spent a whole four bells walking back and forth along the market stalls much to the annoyed eyes of the merchants who tended them. Her steps were slow and deliberate and her frame, however slight for her race, was still larger than most who dwelled in Ul'dah. She loomed over stall and merchandise dismissively and on several occasions instilled upon potential customers the notion that they should be dismissive as well. Yet it was not for their sake that she walked and snubbed all manner of goods. Their last conversation was more a battle than anything. Gharen Wolfsong was no fool: he suggested little and confessed even less, sparing only the most obvious details of his experience with the Resistance. His expression was solid and he wisely kept opposite from her in the small alleyway in which he had found her, giving little room and little opportunity to get too close. He watched her sharp-eyed even if his features were neutral, never missing his cue to grin or frown or, more often than not, remain guarded. He may not have looked like much more than a battle-worn warrior, but he was certainly not a fool. Unlike his dear protege, sadly. Bells in the markets revealed nothing to her. The suspicion was there, shared between his hazel gaze and hers oddly matched. Neither trusted the other so far as they could spit and if she could have told anything of Gharen Wolfsong from what he had shared during heir meeting or from what dear Roen Deneith had given to her, it was that he was a cautious, goodly man. The sort of man who would wonder after Aylard Greymane's fate. The sort of man who would not trust the matter to bumbling Sultansworn. The morning found her optimistic and she spent far too long luxuriating in the Quicksand over a cup of spiced tea and some form of local breakfast pastry. She ignored the chatter around her, the gossip over who was sleeping with whom and which one of Ul'dah's desirable bachelors were eating from the hands of the Syndicate. Rarely would she ever hear words pertaining to the world outside the city, and briefly she caught herself wondering if that was why the starving masses were, for the most part, kept clinging outside the walls. When she finished she left more gil than her meal was worth and, noting an absence, left. She wore supple soft-soled boots instead of her usual heeled ones and they made quiet sounds on the stones as she strutted through the streets, making for the dusty road driving into Western Thanalan. The gate yawned overhead as she passed back into the sunlight and there she made careful show of peering this way and that, left and right and most obviously behind her. And when she was contented that she was not being followed she made show of nodding to herself and, turning upon a heel, began to walk. Her pace was hasty enough to suggest she was in a hurry but not too much of a hurry and within a bell's time the gates of the Silver Bazaar welcomed her. She made a beeline towards the small dock at the bottom of the hill, taking care to pause once more as she handed the ferryman his fee to peer pointedly behind her. There was, of course, nothing to be seen. It did not stop her from grinning as she carefully stepped aboard the small boat. Crescent Cove was quiet as the ferry pulled in to dock. The few that were attending to racks of fish and nets in need of mending did not so much as spare the highlander woman a glance. Working so near to the shadow of the Castrum came with a multitude of benefits, discretion being chief among them. The door to the small house beneath the cliff side was unlocked as she had left it, its interior undisturbed. Those who attended to the Cove understood the nature of that house as well as the intent of the woman who returned to it. The house was as dark as ever but she knew it like the back of her hand. What furniture there was stood dusty and disheveled, arranged haphazardly along the walls as if by blind men. Only one piece stood with purpose, occupying the center of the rear half of the house: an enormous armoire set against the center of the far wall, perfectly visible from the door at the other end. It was to this that Delial strode, her boots making hardly a sound as she glided over the floorboards. She could not help the smile that crept over her face. "Hello again, sweetling," she said to the cold figure of Aylard Greyarm. "Just one last thing..." --- It was at least two bells before the door creaked open with agonizing slowness. Delial had assumed it would take one at the very least to follow her trail, give or take another one or two account for his cautious nature. A column of sunlight stretched across the floor, piercing into deepest dark of the house. Wolfsong's shadow nearly obscured the sight he was meant to see and she was convinced he had missed it until she heard the low growling intake of a breath. She heard rather than saw the hasty steps he made towards the back of the house. He could not see her either as he passed, could not see her as she silently slipped out from where she had been hiding. The light at his feet flickered as her form placed itself between him and his exit and as he started to spin around to face her, Delial delighted in imagining she could see the hairs on the back of his neck rising. All it took was a touch. Her hand reached out to him, her palm outstretched to graze over the nape of his neck. The configuration of her fingers was just right to trigger the ring she wore, an ingenious little thing an old ally had managed to scramble up for her on remarkably short notice. A tiny needle withdrew from its surface and as it pierced the flesh of his neck, another twitch of her fingers released it as well as its payload. Wolfsong raised a hand to swat hers away but it was already too late. She stepped back as he turned around to face her fully. "Honestly," she sighed as she lazily pulled the poison ring from her finger. It made small, hollow sounds as it bounced and rolled into silence somewhere beneath a dresser. "It took you long enough." He touched upon the thin bead of blood welling around the needle's tip, his expression dark and his tone even darker. "So it was ye," he growled. His hand balled into a fist as realization settled in. "Yes, yes, and aren't you a clever boy for having figured it out." Arms crossed as she began to count off seconds in her head. The poison would be kicking in soon enough. "And how very fortunate for me that the last son of Wolfsong would happen right into my hands! It must be fate." Gharen swayed on his feet, the anger in his eyes steadily clouding over. His teeth clenched as he lurched forward to swing his fist at her but it was obvious he was quickly losing his battle against the toxin in his veins. The strength in his body left him like the breath in his lungs and he crashed into a heap on the floor while the other highlander stepped out of his way. "Now, now," she chuckled. "Do not stress yourself, shhh." Delial dropped low to kneel beside him, studying him as a jackal might carrion. "You already know what is coming. But worry not - there are plans for you, much unlike him." Her mismatched gaze rose up to the sight that had so adequately lured Wolfsong in to the house in the first place. Greyarm had been left chained to the armoire just as when the last of his life bled out of him, seeping out into a broad and inky swell that stretched around his body like a shadow that had forgotten its shape. His skin was greying and sunken; his belly was hollow. She lowered an icy smile at Wolfsong while he strained and gasped upon the floor. She reached down to cup his cheek, taking a moment to admire his features up close. It could not be said that he was not handsome for a man who should have been dead. The thought curled a corner of her lip even more tightly. "Embrace the dark, Gharen Wolfsong. Your friends will fall soon enough. The boy, his girl, and the rest. Aylard came to be very generous, but... ah. What of little Roen?" Her head tilted, pausing just long enough to hear another growl gurgle from his throat. "I wonder. We'll just have to see, won't we?" Unfocused as his eyes were, she could still feel the flare of anger that rose in them even as his consciousness slipped away. She was already stepping over Wolfsong's body when his head thudded loud upon the floor, already rolling the sleeves of her favored robes up her arms. There was no telling how long the poison would keep him down and she still had a corpse to dispose of. Delial smiled to herself as she began to work free the chains that held Greyarm in place. "How very like you," she crooned. "All too easy."

Fun with hella cuties and new poses.

I will definitely be sure to bother Demi to come to the next one, then! I'd love to see more of her around. And as for events, that actually sounds pretty cool. I can try to gather up some cool prizes, too. More than just RP prizes but something people could actually want? We could do things like... Lalafell Tossing or something. (Or volleyball. Volleyball works too.) DHEM NOOOOOO

I love this far, far more than I should.

yesss YESSS. ALL MUST BE LALA.

8)

You know D has Askier's back. Say the word!

Fishing time is the best time for a little girl talk.

Seen you around quite a lot but I've never been able to work up the nerve to say hello. I don't know... Highlanders are so dangerous. I love them! Welcome to the forums in any case!

Aaaa I've seen that WHM floating around on Tumblr. Absolutely adore your style!!