november AND december catch-all

[durge]

Who: Haelva & YOU
When: Month of November AND December
Where: Solvunn, Nocwich
What: Big city murder hotshot adjusts to farm life
Warnings: Typical Durge warnings apply

Comments

OPEN ➞ solvunn

[durge]

tba

OPEN ➞ nocwich

[durge]

tba

CLOSED ➞ astarion

[durge]

( Nocwich's eternal night reminds her of the Underdark, a place Haelva is reasonably certain she has never actually lived in for any significant time in spite of being a drow. She can see why Astarion doesn't like it here -- he's only just rediscovered the sun, why would he wish to return to the dark? -- vampire population and easy access to blood not withstanding. She'd asked the same vampire to meet her by the hot springs, enticed by the chance to wash the grime of Solvunn off for a night. Not that it's dirty there, no. It's simply more... rustic, and a lot more cultish.

Even if that was over with, according to most people involved. Haelva isn't certain she believes that. Things like that don't just disappear -- she doubts even the cult of the Absolute will disappear the moment the Elder Brain is defeated.

Most of the townspeople are simply walking past her, giving her a wide birth. Is it the purple skin? The bones that she's started to collect dangling around her waist? Who knows. Perhaps the real reason she isn't being disturbed rests in the rather large but still adorable owlbear cub sitting at her feet, Haelva occasionally reaching down to stratch its downy feathers.

But she perks up the moment she spies the familiar head of white curls, a smile sliding over her face when Astarion comes closer. )

There you are. I thought you might have slunk off in the shadows at the thought of pampering yourself.

( It's a gentle tease: she knows he'd never. )

[ancunin]

[ Haelva (and the bloodwine) are the only reason he has for being here. She doesn't need an extra reason to entice him, but he's not entirely opposed to the idea of spending some of their meeting time at the hot springs.

She's easy enough to find, Haelva must be the only drow in this entire realm. The bone belt is new, though. Makes him feel practically underdressed in his simple white shirt and nicely fitted trousers beneath a dark cloak. Oleuni Square is the sort of place he'd rather not stand out. ]

You must be mistaking me for - [ before he can finish that thought by slandering one of their companions, his gaze slides from Haelva to the familiar creature seated at her feet. Surprise colors his features and he points at it. ]

- is that our precious little cannibal? [ A beat, and he frowns, raising an eyebrow at her. ] How?

[ Is Solvunn Summoning random animals now? Or did she just happen upon another orphaned owlbear? ]

[durge]

( She snorts, amused. Precious little cannibal indeed, and Haelva ducks down to scratch the owlbear's cheeks in fondness, as if to say that it shouldn't listen to the mean vampire. )

In truth, I'm not certain. I'd been reminded of our little friend after a brief stint into the Horizon, and suddenly, well. ( She gestures. Here it is, in all its delightful glory. ) It only stays for a half an hour before vanishing for the day.

( She's put in mind of a familiar more than being a magically Summoned version of their companion, and is certain Astarion will come to the same conclusion. Though why it wasn't Scratch is beyond her; that would have been at least easy to explain away to whoever had questions. And then, because she simply cannot help herself: ) Go on, you can pet it.

[ancunin]

[ Oh? The time limit seems odd (Arcana: 11), don't wizards summon furry little beasts from time to time? Although he thinks a furry owlbear might be at odds with her whole bones and skulls aesthetic. He squints at the chubby creature warily before kneeling down to ruffle its cheek feathers, cooing in a voice that doesn't quite match the words: ]

If you bite me I'll have you stuffed and mounted...!

[ He wouldn't, obviously. He has no idea how to taxidermy.

He glances up at Haelva, an eyebrow raised again. ]

He's not coming with us, is he? [ It already smells like wet dog everywhere... ]

[durge]

( That has her grinning, petting the feathers as if to soothe him from Astarion's words. Clearly the threat is real, though she hardly looks offended. After all, she knows she's said worse to actual people. Probably. )

I bet he tastes absolutely wretched, anyway. ( She coos, in the same tone as he. ) Why don't you go for something more tasty, like Shadowheart if she ever shows up, hmm?

( Astarion's skepticism almost makes her want to say that of course he is, would he deny the owlbear cub a chance at a refreshing bath? But she restrains herself, if barely. )

No, I won't make you suffer through that. ( Haelva waves a hand, dismissing the familiar-ish creature before offering her arm to him. ) Shall we?

[ancunin]

[ He scowls at her briefly, but doesn't bother protesting. Instead, let's make fun of Shadowheart! ]

I was curious if her conversation might affect her flavor, from sour to sweet - well no, maybe sweet is pushing things. Perhaps... less like a lemon and more like a slightly unripe orange...

[ As he muses over this he straightens. With the little beasty dismissed, they might as well get moving. He offers her his hand. ]

We shall.

[ Whether she accepts it or not he'll lead them to the hot springs. ]

So, any interesting gossip from the farm?

tw durge stuff

[durge]

Hardly a desirable vintage. I stand by what I said before, if I had to pick any of our companions you would be my first choice. Theoretically.

( She could, if she cut their throats and let the blood pool in cupped hands -- rich, warm, red -- and took a sip of each one in order to judge their taste. Astarion is right there, within reach, all she has to do is reach out and slit his throat. She knows how, she's done it so many times before.

Haelva ignores the Urge. The offered hand is met with a soft sound of surprise before Haelva can stop it, but she takes it with a warm smile and a gentle squeeze. )

Wouldn't you know it, yes. Solvunn is rife with gods, you see, and I might have found one that no one is familiar with yet. Zalyshyty, it calls itself. ( Haelva uses her free hand to dig through a pouch, coming up with a small, brass coin that she's more than happy to pass off to Astarion so he can examine it. ) I think I'm going to see where it goes.

( The gods are as real here as they are in Faerûn, and who knows -- perhaps they'll find some answers as to why they ended up here, how they ended up here, considering that she is not the companion he knows. )

[ancunin]

[ An odd look crosses his features for a moment before smoothing over. It's still... unnerving, sometimes, when she speaks like that. About conversations they've had - when it's Tav he remembers having them with. He thinks about his conversation with that girl Hilda and her situation. Not exactly the same, but similar.

It's easy to return her smile, though. To give her a playfully rakish look at her surprise.

But then he rolls his eyes. Zally-shitty. What a mouthful. Astarion already has no love for the gods of their own realm... ]

See where it goes? Like it's a stroll down to the market fair... [ He scoffs in disbelief, irritated. ] Not to mention - if no one is familiar with it - how are you even sure it's not some blighted devil looking to pull one over on you?

CLOSED ➞ jaskier

[durge]

( Testing out the limits of her new familiar in Nocwich has her wandering around during the time it seems to exist with the bumbling owlbear cub trailing after her. Who acts much like her erstwhile little cannibal friend that it might as well be it, except for where it very much isn't. Still, it's nice to have a friend around considering her only other friend is stuck in the Free Cities.

It's less nice to have it make a beeline for the most ostentatiously dressed individual and attempt to bite at anything shiny it sees on the man. Which is quite a lot of his outfit, gods above and below. Haelva rushes along behind the owlbear cub, waving her hand to dismiss the summon once she gets close enough; and inclines her head in apology. )

I'd no idea it would display magpie tendencies when I summoned it-- ( She's not really the sort to apologize if she doesn't need to. ) Perhaps it's been taking lessons from a friend of mine.

[cointosser]

[It is only having so much experience with Mog doing the exact same thing that Jaskier quickly lifts his bejeweled hand out of a snapping beak with a startled "shit!", blinking when the creature (and what a rotund and large creature it was) seemingly disappears.]

The fuck was --

[And a woman -- a beautiful, beautiful woman -- appears immediately after, though Jaskier can't help but draw his eyes to her ears. Another elf. He's never met so many elves in such a short time in Abraxas. And he's never seen one that has that... jeweled skin tone. Like light through an amethyst.]

Oh, please, don't worry. It looked -- I mean, it looked a little terrifying, actually, but adorable all the same. [And a summon, she says. Like his birds? Oh, he's hardly met anyone who bothers with magic that crafts animals, of all things.] What was it? Some sort of fat gryphon?

[No one can blame him. If Mog swallowed a large ball, it'd look like that.] You needn't have called it away at all.

[durge]

( Sometimes Haelva forgets that her kind is as unusual here as it is back in her own plane. At least people knew what she was there, she supposed, squishing the urge to cover her ears from his gaze. )

An owlbear cub. Less inclined to violence and cannibalism than the one I was familiar with back home. ( Decidedly not a gryphon. ) Most likely because this one doesn't need to eat.

( She blinks, and shakes her head. ) It was nearly time for it to vanish. I'm unbothered, truly.

[cointosser]

An... an owlbear. Is that, er, literal? [Because Jaskier is suddenly imagining a bear trying to copulate with an owl, and it's nightmare fuel. Perhaps it was a very large owl... or very small, poorly-endowed bear?

This is a dark path he's going down.]

Oh, who doesn't indulge in a bit of cannibalism now and then? [His laugh after makes it sure this is a joke. A monster eating its fellows is hardly worthy of note. Now human cannibalism, on the other hand --] I must say, it's my first time seeing an illusionary, er, creature. [Calling her pet a "monster" feels a bit insulting.] I've only ever had my own birds.

[One appears, seemingly from nothing, onto his shoulder: the very kestrel he himself can turn into, sharp beak and eyes on the elf. It flutters its wings.] Lovely to meet a fellow... appreciator. [Of summoned animals. Obviously. Perhaps she's a druid, even? He offers a hand.] Jaskier, Master Bard, at your service, my lady.

[durge]

( Oh, she's going to disappoint him greatly when he finds out what her magical specialty is. )

Literal enough in that's what the species is called. As big as the largest bear and then twice as big again, with the temperament to match. ( The cannibalism remark makes her flinch almost unperceptively, though she cannot recall indulging in it herself, there's always the little issue of what else she's done in her... former life. Anyway. ) The best I can explain it is a familiar I've managed to summon, in spite of never caring about that particular spell before. Though you've your own birds?

( Oh. So he does! She smiles at the small thing, marveling at it before he introduces himself. And while the overly familiar manner is strange enough to her -- Gale remained the only one to want to shake hands upon meeting him -- she takes his offered one. ) Haelva, necromancer and relative newcomer to Abraxas.

[cointosser]

[That's not entirely imaginative. If it is not from the forced copulation of two very different creatures, he can only imagine because it's an owlish face on the body of a bear. Which does, still, denote the question of its ancestry...

They shake hands, though funny enough, it feel as awkward to him as it does to her. It's only he's met so many people who greet each other that way -- when he'd much prefer to kiss the back of her pretty purple hand.

His brows raise into his bangs.] A necromancer! Truly? [A newcomer does not surprise him. There's not a chance he would've missed her if they ever crossed paths.] You don't happen to hail from Wallachia, do you?

[It's a long-shot. And there is nothing to say all necromancers know each other. But there is a pang in his heart for Hector still, and even a taste of what he was again sends a bolt of excitement through his heart.]

[durge]

( Haelva shakes her head, sorry to disappoint. )

No, Faerûn. Though I do not know if you've heard of such a place -- there's only myself and a friend from that place here, as far as either of us can tell. ( It doesn't feel particularly lonely, perhaps because she remembers nothing of the majority of her life. But, wait-- ) Are you familiar with Alucard, by any chance? He mentioned that there once was a necromancer here...

( And it pains her, in an academic way, that he left nothing of interest behind for her to study, to learn. )

[cointosser]

Faerûn... Faerûn... a rather poetic name. Where have I heard that before? [He taps his chin; he attaches to this puzzle immediately in order to hide any disappointment that may cross his face from her answer. (Of course she doesn't. He has long since accepted he will not see Hector again, unless fate should be particularly unkind to him.)] No, I don't think it sounds familiar.

[Though it doesn't mean much. He does know many people, it's only --

He pauses, swallowing heavily. It's not Alucard's name, it's that he mentioned Hector. In what capacity? (Possibly the same one he himself did.)]

I do, actually. He's my business partner, and very beloved friend. And that necromancer he mentioned, I assume, was Hector. He was my lover, for a spell, before he... [He makes a deflated gesture with his hands, a real point of sorrow passing his features.] Returned to his home, by whatever power decides such things.

CLOSED ➞ astarion (dec.)

[durge]

( Haelva hadn't planned on getting anyone a gift the month before, when she'd first heard of the winter tradition. But then Nanaue had dragged the Leviathan ashore and she'd come up with an idea. Nocwich being blocked off means she can't exactly turn it into wine just yet, but she can give Astarion a bottle of it and say there's another being turned into Bloodwine for whenever he'd care to pick it up. But beyond that, well. She knows he's into fine things, none of which she can easily find here.

But she can work with what she has.

Wool in Solvunn is easy enough to come by, so she'd had a cloak made of it -- dyed a rich red, hemmed in gold thread, edged in the fur from a beast she'd come across in the woods. Killing it hadn't helped quiet the Urge, but it had been worth trying. The Free Cities was all desert, from what she understood, so he likely would have no need of it during the summer -- but the nights could get cold enough now to justify it, to say nothing of their regular trips to Nocwich. Or, failing all of that, he could use it as a blanket.

Her gifts wrapped in plain packaging (and then rewrapped, when they needed to inspect it), Haelva waits at the town center, perched on a bench, owlbear cub at her feet. No hot springs for the two of them today, at least not until Astarion had drunk as much as she could spare him. She's glad, though, truly, that others are willing to give him what he needs to survive instead letting him exist solely on the animals with which he's normally slaked his thirst on here and likely back in his world.

Luckily she's not waiting for long, and neither of them blend into the crowd. )

Ah, there you are.

[ancunin]

[ The inspection for his gifts took a bit longer, specifically for one very heavy and questionable item, but since it isn't a weapon (unless she plans to beat someone over the head with them) he finally manages to get beyond the portal area and to where they mean to meet.

He scrunches his nose at the sight of the stinky little beast at her feet, exaggerating his distaste for the owlbear cub - he can't have it or anyone else think he actually likes it, even if it's not the same one. His gifts appear to be in a plain sack, which he carefully sets on the ground as he sits down on the bench. ]

Here I am. [ he chimes back, already starting to dig through the bag. ] Shall we get this started? I'll go first.

[ Just in case his gifts are worse than hers, it seems the less uncomfortable way to do this. If he seems in a rush, well, he genuinely can't remember giving someone a physical gift, if he ever did. He must have, once... ]

Let's start with... these. [ Out of the bag come a very heavy set of manacles, for both arms and legs. He frowns at them thoughtfully, then her.] Although, I meant to give these to your earlier so technically they don't count...

[ Guess which item got him questioned on the way in. ]

[durge]

So quickly-- ( She starts, almost about to protest before she sees what he has in his hands. He might not remember ever giving gifts, but Haelva couldn't possibly imagine something better than the gift he'd presented her with, the chains clinking ominously together as she takes them from him -- heavy, and well made. No one, once locked in, would have a chance to break free unless blessed with more physical strength than she. Relief overtakes her features as she tests the hold herself, though she isn't truly doubting his choice. ) How many times am I allowed to thank you this evening? I wouldn't want to waste them so quickly but--

( She sets them aside with care, careful not to draw too much attention to them, so that she can turn her full attention back to him. ) I mean it, truly.

[ancunin]

You're welcome to extol my generous nature and impeccable taste all evening, darling.

[ This he offers with a sly look, although he's quick to keep moving on - selecting the next item, a simple leather-bound journal and writing quill to go with it. These he sets on the bench between them. ]

For keeping track of whatever odd thoughts or memories flit through that wonderfully deranged head of yours. I wasn't sure if that backwater of yours had discovered paper yet. [ His voice holds a teasing lilt, although his expression sobers after a moment and he continues bitterly: ] Sometimes I regret not keeping a journal to do the same, but I suppose it was probably for the best.

[ If Cazador had found such a thing in his possession, it would've just been another thing to punish him for.

He's quick to grab the final gift, much smaller than the other two. A simple, little box that he opens before handing to her. Inside is a necklace. ]

It's meant to hold perfume, there's a stopper right there, you see [ he points ] - although you could keep poison in it instead... but right now it's only a blend of ginger, incense and saffron. The closest equivalents, anyway.

[ They don't exactly have all the same ingredients here. ]

[durge]

I'll be certain to lavish it upon you.

( The journal and the necklace are both surprises, and he hardly gives her time to process one before the other -- they're still beautiful gifts, and with the manacles-- gods, he might never have given a gift before but he's startling good at it. Something about it makes her feel seen in a way she hasn't before, at least not that she can remember. People likely never gave her a gift before, or at least one that she would now want to remember.

She's quiet for a moment, her fingers tracing over the cover of the book with open appreciation before moving to the perfumed necklace. That, she knows, is certainly richer than anything she's owned before, at least in taste.

And then, turning to Astarion: )

Thank you. They're beautiful. ( And, because the urge is overwhelming: ) May I hug you?

( Her gifts seem shallow by comparison, except perhaps the last one that she didn't have to bring anything for. The urge to throw her arms around him in an open expression of thanks, of understanding, of the idea that there is someone here who she can trust is strong. But she knows better than to surprise him at this point, she doesn't want to scare him off with things that neither of them have much practice at. )

[ancunin]

You can even try giving it a sniff next time your uninvited urges return.

[ Focusing on another scent - whenever possible - sometimes helped distract him from his own urges.

He's focused on tracking her reaction, watching her expression when she goes quiet. At the question he seems surprised, eyebrows lifting as he pauses for a moment before answering. ]

I - alright.

[durge]

( At his permission she will wrap her arms around his torso, the side of her face pressed against his shoulder. He's cool, not unlike stone in the shadows of a sunny day -- comforting in its absence of heat. How very Drow of her, she thinks, to find such a thing the opposite of unnerving. If he will let her, she'll remain like that for a moment or two longer, speaking against the fabric of his shirt. )

I'm afraid mine will pale in comparison to yours. You're awfully good at this. And quite sweet besides.

( She breaks the hug with a small squeeze of reassurance -- more for herself than he, before digging into her pack to pull out the wrapped bottle. )

A friend of mine dragged something unusual to shore the past month, and considering what happened when you drank from a bear, I'd be cautious with that. I've tried to keep it as fresh as possible, but I can't imagine it's as good as drinking from the beast when it was alive. So... I went and left another bottle with the locals to be made into Bloodwine, which will hopefully age better.