Coventina Carmen, the Countess of Oak, finds herself bemusedly sat at an array of tables that looked almost childlike before her. This didn't seem to cause a bother - if anything, she appeared to mind her surroundings little. A lithe arm planted itself at the elbow on the table's top, sprouting to its length of thin fingers which cup and splay beneath the side of her cheek. It supports her and her musings both, a muted amber gaze searching out - away from the people, the festivities - to the gentle twinkling in the night sky above.

She sits outward on her chair, one leg crossed over the other deep within a great silk dress that fans out as a ballgown once it crests her knees. Lace and frills and little red roses, swallowing up the bottom half of her frame. A half-smile feels forgotten on the turn of her lips, paler than their general vivid red and a marvel to the hunger she was suppressing. Her guild symbol is unknowable beneath her arm's skin-tight gloved sleeve: if asked, she'd offer; "oh, some bounty hunting guild," as if bored by the thought. It couldn't be said she was here for the camaraderie ... but a network was a network, and every contact could serve its use. As friend, or as food.

Her hair, tumbling down the height of her shoulder, obscures the arm she rests on with locks that drape across the table - a curtain in the night, and one that the six foot vampiress folds between as if she might disappear entirely in the smallest shadow. A glass of wine - velvet red - stands unstirred and untouched at her side, balanced as a statue as unmoving as herself; and it beckons to others to join her, share a drink, tell me a tale.

[ 315 ]

Karstaag found himself surrounded in a familiar atmosphere of jovial merrymaking, gulping down another mug of ale with a wild roar like it was as natural as breathing. The burly boulder of a man tips his cup with an irritated grunt - empty. A hop, the clang of metal upon the wooden floor as he hobbles over to order another round. His floppy ears wiggle, as he leans against the bar, hands tugging at the leather burrowing into his skin. Karstaag glances across a room filled with mundane faces, alight with festive debauchery until something, or rather someone, catches his curiosity. A blemish? Something that didn't seem to quite belong, sitting all by her lonesome. A blot of ink that dyed the dull crowd in her hue. A beautiful stain, clad in black, with striking red roses that contrast her pale complexion.

He takes his drinks, one in each hand, splashing around as he carries himself to her secluded island. Even while sitting, the raven-haired woman completely eclipses the stout little man, even with the added benefit of his horns - small in stature, but more than compensated for by his rambunctiousness and lack of inhibitions. He bellows a rowdy laugh. "Wha's a pr'tty little thing like you doin' by yerself, eh?" He slams his tankards down and slides one over, presumptuous perhaps, but then why would she be there if not looking for some companionship?  Karstaag climbs up the chair across from her, lifting his cup to take a quick swig of his drink before focusing his attention back on Coventina. His nose scrunches, deep furrow of his brow, with a paw caressing his thick beard. His shoulders relax and his hands motion to tap at the wooden frame of the table. "Aye! A gift fro' yours truly. Prolly a wee bit  cruder o' a drink than yer used to, but that's what makes i' fun! What's yer name, lass?"

[330]

She had been caught by a little beastie in the dwindling hours of the evening, its bark drawing her from the comfortable silence she had settled into like a statue -- her eyes raking back from the skies to glide gracefully over the figure that had saw fit to disturb her. Her gaze turned under the light, reflecting his merriment and that of the crowd that milled in their own festivities, and solidified like a casing around an insect. Her hues went sharp, sticky, and the rowdy dwarf found himself at the center of their trap. She had little experience with dwarves; recounting now, she could remember only a handful in her fifty odd years, mostly shopkeeps and blacksmiths and the like. It was unlike to see them as adventurers.

"Hel ... lo," she spoke slow, partly measured by the intensity of the way her eyes searched over him - from horns, to ears, to the general ... fuzziness of which he hefted about, and partly too in a conceit towards his intelligence. She worried for the spark in his furry little brain if she spoke too eloquently in dichotomy to his own tastes. She'd let her gaze fall from him to the mug he had offered her way and the one his grubby paws still held, plucking her memories for its purpose before she remembered the game of the evening. "Oh," her mouth shaped it so pleasantly, but the word trailed off in escape from it nonetheless. A derisive breath from her nose, alas, and she would entertain his company for the moment. An above-ground dwarf on her call could be a valuable piece.

"Good evening, freefolk," she still mused politely, straightening herself to have a hand roll and gesture to the glass of wine before her. "I brought my own ... but far be it for me to appear rude." It was a sly little game, and one she played with the grace of her other arm taking the tankard between a few of its fingers -- almost like she lacked interest in cupping it in full, lest it rub off its raucousness. She brought it to her lips, sniffed, and offered a tight smile. "Alas, I'm already beside myself in my consumptions. I lose. Oh no."

"What do they call you?" And she shifted quickly, the moment where she set the drink down lost to the split of a second in time. Bored her gaze on him, a fleck of an ember beneath its daredevil's gold. Names had a power - she was never so foolish to offer hers first.

[ 450 ]

Truth be told, Karstaag had long forgotten the pretense of tonight's raucous revelry. The time spent downing drinks with reckless abandon, a faint memory at best and yet he was raring for a little more. Merriment and vulgarity alike in the companionship of the vixen so above it all, sitting alone at her isolated island. His eyes could now linger on her beauty, feasting on all her glorious splendor and he made no effort to conceal his wandering eyes as he spoke. He downs his mug in one elongated chug, never once pausing for air until every ounce of nectar was gone. "Aye, s'pose to tha victor goes the spoils then, lass?" A growl - An exasperated gasp as a hand moves up to trail along his fluff.

His staunch and sturdy frame hefts over the table with narrow eyes and furrowed brows. The vision of a wrathful devil given his ram-like horns. "Karstaag is me name, but you can call me Kars. Yer not likely to forget it!" He bellows out a rowdy laugh, face waning into a lively, cheerful expression as his ears flap. There was a peculiar allure and mystique that the woman possessed that left the dwarf rather enchanted. She was a fabled treasure, existing only in this transient moment and the brigand inside him was screaming to plunder it before it slipped away.

If her eyes were that of a spider, web strung out in an entangling mess to snare its prey, then Karstaag's were the pure invocation of a beast. A sunset in orange and red, hungering for the taste of night's embrace. He leans back in with a scoff. "Ya still dinna answer me question, doll... Wha' do I call ye? Or shall I simply stick with pet names?" His thick fingers tap at the table in a steady rhythm, wry smirk creasing his face beneath his furry beard. It ultimately didn't matter to the dwarf what he called the raven-haired enchantress - only the name gushing from her lips. Enigmatic and mysterious, but not beyond reach for the old dwarf. Rap. Tap. Tap.

[349]

Coventina was not unused to prying eyes and lecherous glares, least of all from the type of man this dwarf purported to be. This led her to not so much as blink in the face of his bravery, the way he bit into her with such a look of thievery ... to be plundered, was she? She'd rest the laurel of her jaw on a single upturned hand off the table, watching him with an expression between boredom and judgment - what his worth would be, if he had the gilding to fit into her cage and pluck a feather. The way her hair shifted was a raven's down in the turn of her head, breathing in the still night air with a taste for the stagnant and a distaste for the boisterity. She was old - give her a break. 

"Kars ... is it?", came that ever even cadence, drifting in practiced patience from her lips to brush those strange demi-like ears. He wasn't a normal dwarf; she had the experience to note that within their first moments, which happened to give him an additional chip in their little game - whether he had yet to realize he was playing or not. She was also in no rush, and she made this aware to any confined to play in her space or be crushed by it. Her every movement was slow, easy. Her every word a single baritone purr in a melody, humming one bar higher only to die back down until she deigned to sing again. "Oh, you're a funny one, aren't you?" It wasn't meant as an insult, drawing again that ghost of a smile.

"Coventina ... you may call me Coventina. If there's anything else to be named, well ... I'm sure we can come to an arrangement. I have an interest in ... how would you say it, my dear? Quid pro quo ... or is it parley?" She teased him, lifting her chin with a flutter of dainty fingertips that gave the impression of anything other. He wasn't a difficult figure to clock with his particular ... countenance. That didn't make her more knowledgeable about its terms. "Whose are you, Karstaag? Fairy Tail? Blue Pegasus ... ? One of the ... funnier ones?"

And thus the pieces moved in their search, the measured way she arched her back heaving her bodice under the curl of her nails.

[ 415 ]

Karstaag was used to prying judgmental eyes, an anomaly in his own exhibit that most would prefer to observe from a safe distance. It's why he found it so prudent to grasp at whatever he desired with bestial paws, voracious and gluttonous only considering the benefit he could gain. A treasure to brandish and toy with, then discard when it loses its luster. If everyone would gaze at him like a dangerous carnivore anyways; why not play the part? Somewhere along the line he started to enjoy this way of life, free to move where his heart desired, never anchored to any single thing. What value was there to pry from the beautiful raven-haired temptress?

A droll crack of a crooked smile and craning of his neck that elicits a soft pop. "As funny as y'are mystifyin', aye, doll?" A question in rhetoric alone. Karstaag leans over the table, chin propped by burly arm, tense molten eyes keenly recording every languid movement as she spun her web. There was a ritual to perform. A game to play. To see which predator could wring the most from the other. "Old Kars is always lookin' fer a good time~" There's a snarl in the undertow, a rumble that wants to gnash and tear, muzzled with a swift movement to grasp at his mug and satiate the aching in his teeth.

"Coventina, eh?" A fitting name for an alluring vixen. A pleased expression blends into his hue, a flutter of his ear that coincides with a tap of wood - once, twice. Nothing to give if there's nothing to gain was a philosophy that Karstaag understood. Of course, he'd prefer to simply take, take, take and give nothing in return, but beggars can't be choosers. He's committed to the game now, entangled in the web by his own volition. "Hahahar! Aye! I get yer meanin', Cov-en-ti-na~" He relished the melody of her name. "Though parley is usually reserved fer enemies... and 'ere I am assumin' we we're gettin' along so well~" A playful tease with a hearty chuckle that booms and halts just as abruptly. "But, I could do quid pro quo~"

He follows the lead of her composing hand as he ponders her next question, lecherous eyes feasting on the curves of her body so readily displayed. Karstaag makes no effort to conceal this act, clicking his tongue in a muted whistle. "I don' belong ta anyone, my dear... not yet anyway~" A flare of heat erupts from his eyes, unquenchable even with the assistance of his liquor. A double entendre and half truth told with a bold face. "Prefer ta take whatever I want and the local guilds don' really appreciate tha' lovely lit'le quirk o' mine." He leans back, an unsteady shift of his lower half while he basks in her splendor. "What about ye, Coventina? Ya don't seem th' type ta enjoy bein' at th' whims o' another."

[488]

A base flirt. It wasn't ineffective. She'd respond with a modest lift to the brow shadowing the one eye she allotted to him from the throne of her hand, playing a finger in a curve beneath a high cheekbone. "My, you've caught me, 'old Kars.' Mystifying, am I? I do admit I enjoy hosting a ... secret or two. Enigmata, even ... perhaps. I'm not unknown to more ... enchanting qualities." Her words were smooth despite the lack of further reflection in them, offering almost nothing between these taut lines or under the emptiness of each hollow sound. It was a door that only allowed light through the slits of its bolts. Still, it rolled off her tongue in enough of a pleasing sound to entrance the mortal prey that oft fell at her immaculate feet. She'd shift ever so slow in place, mirroring the pace at which she spoke, and her legs would cross in the other direction. "You don't seem to be, either. Mm?"

He wasn't a dolt: maybe he preferred to appear like one? He was your typical rowdy dwarf, was he? She wouldn't undercut his lecherous intentions; yet, on each draw from their deck, she sought to gleam a little bit more. Peer with the lever turn of her head to draw both eyes into the molten pits of his own, chatoyant as if drawn to the flame - giving it oxygen on each heave, each breath, each coy smile and bounce she gave to keep him ... happy. "Forgive me. I sought to meet you in your space ... but I'm not as familiar with the terms. I'm grateful to your patience, Karstaag." She'd purr his name, quid pro quo. She wasn't a simple mark. They were both pacing the forest trees.

It was her arm that broke the brokered distance between them, extending it from under her jaw to offer itself palm-up to the strange dwarf. "Yes, you don't seem the ... type. You value your freedom, don't you, darling? I value that in a person. It shows ... oh, how would you say ...," and she'd snap the fingers on the hand she had stretched toward him, a spark lit in her honeyed gaze at the same moment. "Initiative."

"Or is it passion, my dear? Well; there's a certain kinship for either case. You'd clock me again. Two for two." The turn of her lips smoldered under her eyes, making way for her dulcet ploy. "I'm going to have to start learning more about you at this rate, lest our time together not come so ... fairly."

"An answer for an answer, it'll be. No. I don't take orders. I don't belong to anyone ... save myself, of course." An exhalation of humor, running her pointer finger up in a brush along his beard for the passing second of her pause. "You could say ... the way I align ... seeks to serve my whims, freefolk. Whom else's would measure up? You know as well as I ...," she hummed to him, "only the strong survive. The craftiest."

[ 522 ]

Every word liberated from the confines of her lips were permeated with the propensity of a seasoned huntress. A resonant melody from a far off distant shore, beckoning gullible sailors to their perdition. Karstaag was no stranger to that wretched cacophony woven so masterfully with the saccharine tones of a beautiful vixen. But, Karstaag was unlike those unwitting fools. He welcomed the danger of the his desired spoils, following the siren's song straight into her lair, confident that he would survive the night. "Ha! 've lived a hectic life, ma dear Cov-en-ti-na~ Decades at sea tha' all sorta blur toget'er." A crooked smirk and a paw roams to point upward to the two horns adorning his crown. Burnt and molten, black like pure obsidian and just as solid. "I dunno if y'ave an inklin; about what dwarves are s'posed to look like, doll, but... I'm a little diff'rent." He bursts into a little chuckle that cracks into a playful growl and smoldering eyes cool beneath the shade of his eyelids. "A lil' beastie..."

Karstaag was thoroughly enjoying the spectacle of her, the way she shifts in calculated sways, flourishing her most tantalizing aspects. To say his eyes were wandering again would be a simple omission fo the truth. No. Karstagg was indulging himself, eating out of her hand, eyes forged in a renewed heat admiring such abundant treasures. X marks the spot. "Oho~ No worries, darlin'. Nothin' to concern yer pretty little head with." A hum in the roll of his neck, shifting in his seat himself to lean into her outstretched hand. Close. Closer. But, just a touch out of reach. "Mm... Mhm.. Aye, initiative... I 'aven't left behind me old pirate ways completely.. If I want somethin', I take it~ But i s'pose another word fer this would be passion, aye."

A growl is caught in the evergaol, snarling, urging him to gorge himself in the sanctuary of her wintry touch to cool his scorched skin. He was running hot. Paws tapping at the table with fervent thuds - a steady rhythm that mirrored the thumping in his chest. The growl is released into a rumbly purr, ears flapping instinctively to soak up the wisps of measured seduction. He wanted to pilfer his spoils now, but there was value in this game. Patience that would pay in dividends while he howled into the night. "I am o' the same mind, doll... The only one ya can ever rely on is yerself. It's much easier ta jus' use people for whatever ya desire. Treasures, aye? Keep 'em around for power, profit... pleasure" His eyes sparkle and ripple, lava bubbling up to the surface again as he slopes into her delicate touch. "The only question is; Wha' kind'a treasure am I to ye, my dear Coventina?"

[474]

"Oh, really?" Her tone feigned disinterest so well - but he had worked on her, that little tug to her lips and the peculiar light within ochre eyes. They seemed to flicker the barest taste red ... a fire, briefly lit, only to smolder out to a slow burn. She'd look over him, sketching each feature with her drawing gaze until a blink had him framed perfectly before her. The hand she had proferred would lift and heft just under the curve of one of those strange, massive horns, brushing a forearm through the fur of his face in the process. "I hadn't noticed. Maybe there is something incongruous about you, dear old Kars."

Her nail would tap his broad horn before shying back, leaving only her eyes to enrapture him. "It isn't the only thing that makes you atypical, is it? You live ... differently. To even the other freefolk I'm accustomed to. What else makes you the unusual sort, Karstaag?" Some pretense had dropped from the part of her lips, her bodice spanning over the edge of the table and curving just so to tempt him; as if by accident in the crux of her interest, keeping her stare steady and searching through his own. What could cool such magma? Something colder? Something hotter? Her tongue lashed itself with lava in every roll down the roof of her mouth.

"My curiosities ... might require a more direct approach. You're something wholly unique, aren't you? My, my ..." His mentality was not unlike to any of the rowdy sailors or boisterous dwarven men she had met before; but he was a volatile brew of the two, something bubbling and popping and spilling the stone igneous beneath her cauldron. She wanted a taste of the apothic. Just a sip, would it be? He wasn't difficult prey. Maybe, if so, she wasn't either. The difference was the spoils.

She was no treasure. The fool's gold of men with no eye for danger ... or, even, a taste for it. Anyone could see that in the slope of her cheekbone and the raven lock that fell across it, joining a strand after another on each motion until this curtain of night beckoned you to lose yourself within. What happens in the dark stays in the dark. She had surmised thus swiftly: Karstaag, a dwarf crowned in bone and heavy with fire, would be a fair ally to have in the future. The use for his various peculiarities was manifold. Maybe he didn't see it ... but rarity was a power itself. She purred to him, her words as if in the echo of a laugh that never came.

"What are you?" She returned his question, leaving it for her coming answer by a hanging thread. A breath expelled from her nose. A lull to her lashes, lidding half down her eyes to pool every drop of honey in a single glance. "A friend, of course."

[ 502 | 2204 ]

A floral fragrance - sylvan, but tainted with something far more insidious. A bouquet of nightshade. Beauty to behold in violet petals blooming from something so ominously dark emanating a sickly saccharine aroma. Karstaag understands the ebony vine stretched out to honor his crown is layered in concealed thorns, the gesture; a ploy to allure him. The peril of the hunt - the thrill of claiming a treasure so perilous. Karstaag dares the devil to drag him down to hell, a blaze of an inferno imprisoned in his eyes as he stares into her dimming amber. An ear flicks at her touch, sloping down with the lean of his body to relish in such venomous affection. A tip. A tap with such pointed claws. His eyes never break from her snare, only the occasional drift downward to steal glimpses of such a ravishing figure.

White hot knuckles, fleeting cinder in the tightening of his knuckles that sizzle with a thud against the wooden table. "Hmm... I can't speak fer me kin, darlin'. But, let's just say I'm no upstandin' gentlemen. I'm a man of questionable morals! Haha~... But, I'm sure y'ave already figured that out, aye. I'll do just about anythin' if I can get somethin' I want in return." A growl, a huff at the waning of embrace, steam venting from his fervent lips. He bites down, mouth curling upward to smirk and inhales with a thrum of desire caught in his throat. His paw raises, gentle in spite of the urges, following her shadow until his broad fingers loll just out of grasp. A pause to test the waters before he jumps in. A chance to covet the forbidden fruit. "And righ' now, doll... I jus' want you."

His tepid fingers raise and make first contact against the wintry chill of her pallidness, a sizzle and pop that caresses the canvas of her cheek, dragging down again to part her lips with his thumb. A tease for a tease. Quid pro quo. "Whaddaya say we take our lit'le chatsome place a bit more... private? Away from tha pryin' eyes o' people wit' upstandin' morals." A night to indulge in the resplendent penumbra of a grim vixen if she should follow the dwarf's lead to a quieter place. Karstaag slams a pouch of jewels down and finds his footing on solid ground again, hand outstretched in a prayer for a night of sin and debauchery.

[exit]
[404 | 2045]