npc inbox: taravast

[groundrules]

NPC INBOX: TARAVAST

Reach out to your (not-so-)favourite NPC here, putting their name in the comment header. Try to keep it to just quick text/audio/written exchanges or inquiries that can accept summarised answers, please!

PREVIOUS NPC INBOX FOR ARC I: SA-HARETH & STAIRS OF SIGHS

	MACALUSO Earnest and moderate nephew of Bonaccorso, seeking to succeed his grandfather. A pursuer of astronomy, accountancy, diplomacy and elemental magic, with a long history of supporting the witches of Bessis. Champions firmer ties with foreign citadels to improve Taravast's access to armies and resources. Looking to choose a bride.
	VANNOZZA Beautiful and fierce niece of Bonaccorso, contending to become the next Ilia Doxe. Mind of a scientist and a lady of the hunt. A practitioner and frequent visitor of the necromantic and healing sectors. Has entertained and turned away more lovers than the heroine of a particularly sappy romance novel. Often indisposed.
	RIGARDA Lively, charismatic and gossip-prone lady of the highest echelons, received at every gathering. Can slaughter half a dozen reputations with the right twitch of her brows before breakfast. An associate of the Merchant's and old friend of the current Ilia Doxe of Taravast, Bonaccorso. Indifferent in the game of succession. Loathes crumpets and witches.
	THE LAVISH LOCALS From the witches of Bessis or Attaryl to academicians, politicians, nobles, servant folk, artists or protestors — if you’ve got a question, someone can surely supply an answer.
	THE MERCHANT The patron saint of etiquette and the eastbound getaway expedition. Seems to largely trade information alongside wares. Appreciates spices, strategy and collaboration. Has an eerie and overly cautious manner. Committed. Defends the benefit of the many, to the detriment of the few.
	KARSA Sorceress, young (?). Employed by the Merchant and deferential to him. Talented but fiery and frequently impatient, intolerant of fools. She will get today's job done yesterday. Struggles to sympathise with men, objections and those who cannot absorb information quickly. Enchanted the group's translation devices. Only available until 28/12.
	ASGEIRR The ghost of a scholar monk. Haunts the tattered execution cloak that the party stole from the La Rea bank in Sa-Hareth. Once a champion of equality and freedom, he faced ire for converting his followers against the regionally profitable trade of slavery. Soft-spoken but wise and just, slow to regain his strength. Will speak to those who visit his cloak in brief interludes. Favours necromancers.

SA-HARETH

"HALTHAM" | ANURR The undead warlord Anurr, previously posing as gentle-mannered giant Haltham. An embodiment of Sa-Hareth's cold storms and wind, who regained his territory from contender Unhalad with the inadvertent help of the party in Arc I. Frostily rational and amenable to some negotiation.

Comments

[bearshermark]

"Of course I did," Eleven says through the tightening of his stomach: the first lie he'd been forced to tell. "I'd wanted to see the city."

[aprescoup]

"And all these other people," Bonaccorso murmurs with a slow grasp of Eleven's wrist, thumb strong over the pulsing vein. "You knew nothing of one another? Not a word spoken before you arrived, as a matter of coincidence?"

[bearshermark]

His jaw tightens, pulse racing beneath the insidious grip.

"Those of us that traveled together had spoken some," he admits, fighting to keep eye contact. Goddess, if he ruined everything here.. "The road was long, after all."

[aprescoup]

For a heartbeat, it is as if silence swells with anticipation. Then, Bonaccorso's grasp yields first. He falls back into his seat.

"It is a long road, yes. And lonely. Men should make friends." He holds himself still. "A pity these friends are now your enemies."

[bearshermark]

He doesn't dare move in the silence that follows. Eleven swallows, eyeing Bonaccorso with more wariness than before. The words sound more like a threat than an observation.

On second thought, he wouldn't mind terribly if the man's life slipped from him more swiftly.

"..I prefer to think of them as rivals."

[aprescoup]

"And I prefer to think that my niece and nephew will not ruin each other in their pursuit of my inheritance," he counters, steadfast where he lies, old eyes slanted. "But we both know better."

When he calls for his attendant, it is nearly as if the man materialises, light footed, of nothingness. "Please, see my guest away with a gift of fresh pears from the gardens. It is the tree's first fruit season. If I am not meant to witness a second, let this one be shared with friends."

[bearshermark]

Eleven stands, inclining his head shortly. He curls his fingers to keep them from visibly shaking.

"Thank you," he says shortly, too rattled and anxious to be away to think up further niceties. Already, he knows isn't going to brave consuming the fruit- let alone risk one of his friends.

[malicing]

Chaos can be payment to some, but Xue Yang is a special example, isn't he? Most want more than that; something lasting.

"Two parties could have a secret alliance." he arches his brows curiously at the shiver, "They are both healthy and strong. I do not foresee them perishing."

[aprescoup]

"To speak of otherwise would be a tragedy and treason," he offers carefully, and does not stray his eyes from Jin Guangyao's, does not falter. Let this be understood, a plain truth between.

But something startles him to a frown, appears to torture him. "Do you believe in either?"

[weifinder]

As is his wont, he arrives at such a time as the sun burns to nothing on the horizon, leaving its painted forms of corals and violets to taper into the deep dark pallet of night overhead. He comes in full form with a new gown, fitted to accommodate what he lacked in chest, while still implying something might, possibly, be there, were he more blessed in pectoral muscle than he has been, in months past. The mask is new as well, black and painted with reds to match, turning him into a dichotomy of reds, blacks, and pale skin that arrives at her door, such as it is, with a basket over his arm. Tucked in: fruit, sweet and ripe and cradled on fabric, and he expects it all to go untouched, unless he partakes of it himself.

Fragrant, and bountiful as any wished for harvest. Fertile fields, fertile minds, fertile wombs and so on.

Such as he is, there's a winning smile, and an introduction to any guards, before the rap of knuckles on doorframe. Never the wolf to come a'calling, for better or worse, though he still lurks outside doors and the circles of fires burning bright at night, attracting all wild things, rather than keeping them at bay.

[aprescoup]

The lady is a frail creature, her beauty effervescent. The hour seems untimely for her: her attendants open her private quarters, where a knelt maid already fits her mistress in a gossamer robe of sheer spider silk, the silhouette of her body pleasantly perceptible and bare beneath. What is imagination? A ruse, for such moments.

If the lady Spina shares the flushed modesties of her virginal attendants, she does not show it. Indeed, she hardly shows any interest at all, but for a nod when Wei Wuxian inches close, a wave to one of her countless fainting sofas.

"Please. How many I assist you, my sweet?" But she smiles. "How handsome you are. May your womb be fertile."

[weifinder]

Imagination a ruse too often alluded to for his experiences in this city, since arriving; be it within his purview as this goddess reincarnate, or the way his eyes stay easily on her face, and his lips stay easily in their somewhat charming curve. Neither of them cut imposing figures, both more bone and skin and lengthy muscle, more lovely than stalwart, and part of that eats at him, comes as a concern mingled with so many factors in his mind as to settle him in his skin this moment.

"Handsome, perhaps, but it pales before beauty worn in such easy confidence."

To the sofa it is, then, and a now practised turn and swoosh of skirts as he sits, knees apart, feet inched under the sofa's lip.

"May yours be all the more so, to whatever degree you wish it. I'm happy to extend to you every blessing, Lady Vannozza, you need only ask." Blessings in a more earnest and less godly aspect, such as it is.

"Would you prefer me to remain masked?" A gesture toward his face, and no indication of discomfort either way. It's not hiding a blush or a flush or anything much, though he calculates he should see her, that's the effect here isn't it? Heavens above, he had not counted on seeing as many undressed women (or men, but what's exciting in that, he knows the male body, he's now visually, strikingly aware of the female) in the whole of his life as he has in little more than a month.

[aprescoup]

For a moment, he speaks, and her hands cradle the gaunt nothingness of her belly, as if to accept his blessing. To wear it. Then, she laughs. "Bare your face."

And, a measured gaze washes Wei Wuxian's body, lands squarely where his cloth bundles on his lap. "Bare everything, if you wish, I haven't known pleasure since mistress Wen's visit. I have the hour."

Vannozza's maid, for one, remembers to flush. Her mistress stays entirely unconcerned, extending a hand for the girl to ease of her rings. "Unless, of course, you did come burdened with purpose, and we have something to speak of."

[weifinder]

He loosens silk ties, allowing the mask to fall into waiting hand, settling to his side, propped up against a pillow. And he laughs, a light sound, lips curling up into a more generous smile as his eyes darken a touch.

"I came burdened with fruit and purpose, and should both those be dispensed with, make of me what you will. I'm equipped," he says, lazily, "Though compared to some artefacts, less hardy."

An even lazier turn of his hand to the rabbit mask, fecundity and dedication without pause in one.

"When you inherit leadership of the citadel, what are your plans for keeping it in the hands of the living?"

[aprescoup]

Fruit. The maid seems beguiled, chasing the abandoned fruit basket with the rapt attention of a girl who, unlike her mistress, seldom receives gift. With a nod, Vannozza allows her to attack the offerings, shivered hands gathered around a fig.

The lady Spina herself stays distant, walking the room before sitting at Wei Wuxian's side to tease the outline of his dismissed mask.

"When, you say. Not if. I like that. Though, I am forced to remind you, I win what I have. I earn. I do not merely... inherit." She dons the rabbit mask, holding it up sooner than knotting it behind her head. "But... when I seize control, we will no longer stand oblivious, or on the defensive. We are armed with considerable, inexhaustible magic. We need not wait for the dead to come to us. And we can demand handsome pay of our neighbours, to serve as true death on their behalf."

[weifinder]

The fig splits under the maid's attention, ripe and heavy with juice that flies at her face and drips down her fingers, aching for a ready mouth.

Wei Wuxian allows a lazy observation of the lady as she approaches, the appreciative look that is her due, paired with a nod, and then nothing else about it less than focussed on person, rather than the portrait she paints in sheer gossamer and silk.

"Winning an inheritance, as it is. Lines of protocol are what they are, and never let it be said you did not fight for what you earn." No, not for a family with undead haunting their private grounds, and at that, his lips tick up at the corners. "I must admit, I've never had a private encounter quite as laced with adrenaline as the one I was recently enough invited to by shared pleasant company. Scintillating times."

But, of greater import:

"You already have those ways? I admit it's a comfort to think barren fields may not be left to remain so indefinitely."

[aprescoup]

"My dear boy, my sweet lady," she murmurs, and it seems the humour's known to both: a man, housing the spirit of a goddess, and Vannozza Spina's eyes sparkling with knowledge more. "You ask a great deal of my secrets. Allow me to say only this: where there is a will, there are ways. And I am a wilful creature."

And her will turns to dismissing the mask once more, thrown absently on the sofa again. "You're not of Taravast. You'll leave with the season. What matter is this of yours?"

lady vannozza

[inferus]

( the message will be delivered by one of his disciples to be given to lady vanozza. he keeps it vague enough, but it is generally seen as polite to send word first instead of simply showing up uninvited, and he doesn't entirely trust the amulets still for privacy purposes. it is strange to be in this position. in hell, it is others requesting an audience with him. he hopes to find out information at the very least even if he doesn't know if he can help or if he wants to help. it depends on what is being summoned, why it is being summoned. )

Lady Vannozza,

I humbly request an audience at your convenience. I may be able to be of assistance.

-Wrath

[aprescoup]

( A note in kind: )


Greetings,

I do not often endeavour to speak to my cousin's champions. I find their interests boringly misplaced.

Stare first your reasons.

With grace,

Vannozza Spina

[inferus]

( It is interesting how she phrases it. Boring. It reminds him so much of his brothers, of himself even. An eternity leads many things to be boring, but he supposes a royal life could be as well, having to interact with many with their own motives. )

A wise choice, my lady.

I was attempting to give you privacy over messages which may easily be intercepted to what I assume you want few to know. I have heard you have been in the necromancy district recently for a special reason. I am not a necromancer, but I have powerful magic. I believe I may be familiar with the type of magic you seek. I do not offer this out of the goodness of my own heart as I assume you are offering compensation. If I am wrong, disregard this message.

I would only offer my help if I felt what you offered was worthy. If you are not interested, I take no offense. It would be a risky gamble on your part, and it might be more prudent to not take such a chance.

With grace in turn,

Wrath

[aprescoup]

My beautiful boy,

How do I know you offer service, and not daggers?

No. Give no answer. I cannot know. I cannot trust. I take instead my gamble.

My quarters, an hour past sundown.

Come alone.

Vannozza

[inferus]

Wrath arrives alone promptly at an hour past sundown. He had hoped the mention of the gamble might intrigue her enough to accept the proposal especially if she is prideful at all. Of course, he meant everything he said. He rarely lies. For all that he is viewed as 'wicked'. It is her choice, and he offers it to her as he would anyone else without judgement if she should accept or deny the offer.

Little is more valuable to him than choice.

He is a careful strategist himself, and he does not want to walk into a trap though she has little to gain by trapping him and potentially much more to gain by hearing him out. Call it a remnant of navigating the Houses of his brothers' that he takes a few minutes to memorize all potential exits and to note how many guards there are. Just in case.

Wrath steps up to the door when he is allowed past the guards and then knocks at her door, waiting patiently.

[aprescoup]

The hour cuts long into the night, but the lady's rooms show the tarnish of recent visitation. Whatever Vannozza's nightly occupations, they appear to steer towards the crowded and the discreet. Wrath is received with the dignity and flourish of any guest, attendants hastening to offer him a seat, a pleasantry of sweets, wine.

The lady herself makes a delayed appearance, dressed scantily in a threadbare night robe, parted from her ornaments. She prowls the room, air at once predatory and distant.

"Does my cousin know you are here? I feel... honour-bound to nearly alert him."

[inferus]

Wrath does not take the offered sweets nor wine. After his experience at the masquerade, he is avoiding human food once more, but he does sit, taking stock of the room.

He watches her step inside, taking note of the predatory way she does so. It is something he recognizes, being a predator himself. His shoulders straighten, and his gaze remains on her face.

"He does not. I did not realize you were honour-bound to one another in such a way, my lady."

They do appear to have a rivalry of some kind, but they are family at the end of the day. His own brothers would not care in the slightest about diving house daggers into one another- not that it kills them, but loyalty and honour do not exist beyond following demon rules.

"Feel free to tell him if that is what you wish. We are both taking a gamble tonight." Truthfully after what happened with the poisoning, he could not stomach being considered her cousin's champion nor does he consider himself hers, but he was honest that there may be a transactional value to his helping her.

[aprescoup]

She laughs emptily, freely. "We are cousins, despite the... state of our current affairs. We were children together. Then orphans. And now, we are this. How times change us."

Not enough, it would seem, to warrant a hastened exile, to usher Wrath out. She hesitates, then calls for a cup of her own wine, teasing each mouthful. "Word has reached you well. I am calling on... individuals of especial talent. Are you experienced in necromancy?"