Jaezred and Sorrel do a little business in the dark
Dec 12, 2021 11:33:06 GMT
Queen Merla, the Sun-Blessed, Jaezred Vandree, and 2 more like this
Post by stephena on Dec 12, 2021 11:33:06 GMT
Written with the mighty Jaezred
The peephole on the heavy door to Sorrel's cell slides open. A pair of crimson eyes, part of an obsidian-skinned face, stare down at her, curious and appraising. "You are Sorrel Darkfire?" a male, Elvish-accented voice sounds from behind the door. "You are the one who went berserk in the Feywild, yes? Well, I got word that you are selling some items. I'm interested in the potion of invisibility and one greater healing potion — would you take 350 gold pieces for the lot?"
Sorrel picks up the Elvish accent and turns towards the door, intrigued.
“I am Sorrel Darkfire. At your service and your family’s. And you have heard correctly. Who do I have the pleasure? You know so much about me, and yet I don’t believe I caught your name.”
“Oh, at my family’s too? But with your current state, we would need to put certain clauses in the contract,” the deep voice jokes and lets out a low chuckle. “I am Jaezred of the House Vandree of Menzoberranzan.”
Sorrel sits up sharply. A drow... Whilst technically Toothy was a drow, he bore as much resemblance to the Teachers in the Dark Rooms at the House as a kitten to a panther. And she had heard this name before, she was sure of it. If she'd had time she would have run through the memory rituals, but - however unlikely the setting - this was her guest and drow guests were not to be kept waiting.
She stands and rapidly extinguishes all but three of the candles that usually banished shadows from every corner. "Forgive my delay..." she says, the appropriate deference in her voice. "I will invite you in, but I must first... Nessa, could you?"
The aassimar cleric at Jaezred's shoulder steps forward and turns the ancient key in the huge iron lock then steps swiftly inside and slips two rope cuffs around Sorrel's wrists. She opens the cell door and bows her head.
"May I ask you to leave any weapons outside? We have a chest beside the door. It is for your safety not hers."
The man standing in the doorway is a tall, broad-shouldered, well-dressed dark elf with long, silken-white hair tied into a ponytail. He nods to Nessa, takes out a couple weapons — a hand crossbow and a dagger Sorrel would recognise as another halo knife — and deposits them in the chest. When the cleric is satisfied, he steps into the cell, hands resting on the spider-topped cane he plants on the floor.
His crimson eyes almost seem to glow in the darkness, and they stare directly at Sorrel. “I must say, I’ve never done business in a prison cell before. There is a first time for everything indeed,” he says.
Sorrel permits herself a quiet smile. Prison cell transactions weren't usually this formal. She had seen the inside of at least four - five if you included Lord Va'ath's dungeons - and deals that took longer than 30 seconds always ended badly. But this gentleman would survive effortlessly, she was certain.
"I apologise for the precautions - we aren't yet sure exactly what the dangers are," her eyes briefly turn a pleading gaze to Nessa. "It seems that only spilling my own blood draws out the..." she shudders. "But it is a work in progress and caution is advisable."
She allows herself a few seconds to try and summon his name. "Forgive me, but I could swear I am familiar with your name. Would I have heard it on the lips of Lady Imryll?"
Jaezred lifts an intrigued brow at the mention of her condition. "You very well might have, Miss Darkfire. Her ladyship and I are closely acquainted."
Sorrel's face is pained. "Then, my lord, I am ashamed to take your money. I owe the Lady Imryll a great debt. In a moment of great need she released me from grave harm. If this were any ordinary time I would give you these potions as a token of my gratitude to her. At present, my situation is... less than ideal, and frankly I am in great need. I cannot take 350, however. I need 300 gold and that's all I will take from you. And understand that I see this money as a loan. The potions are yours. The gold I will return one day. Please apologise to the Lady Imyrll. In any other circumstance I would gift you these and more. The debt I owe her is great indeed. If this is acceptable to you, I cannot perform the transaction myself..." she raises her manacled hands wryly. "But Nessa will arrange matters. And my lord, please leave Nessa some way that I may contact you when I am able to repay the money you have leant me."
Jaezred is visibly surprised. "Well, you are certainly an interesting one, Miss Darkfire! I will never say no to a discount or more money, but am I correct in understanding that this gold I am about to give you will be spent in trying to find a cure for...whatever condition ails you?"
Sorrel considers her answer carefully. "In a roundabout way, yes," she says slowly. "It is possible that no cure can be found." Her eyes search for Nessa again. "In which case, I have specific plans to rid the world of this curse forever. The money will help ensure that it never returns. If I can find a cure, I will return your money myself with thanks. If not, Nessa will ensure the money finds you."
"I find it hard to believe that it is something your High Diviner cannot cure you of," he says, a gleam of curiosity dancing in those red eyes. "Well, if you are going to show me this much generosity, I may as well try to give you a clue to solving your problem, if I can. This condition — I'm guessing it is not something you were born with, otherwise you would not have become a mercenary. Attacking your allies is simply bad business. And rumours of an adventurer going berserk had not reached my ears until recently, so I must deduce that this curse, as it were, was recently acquired. Am I wrong?"
Sorrel bows her head in assent. "I had the misfortune to engage on unfavourable terms with a resident of the Shadowfell who seems unwilling to return home," she gives a twisted smile.
"Is that so?" He rubs his chin thoughtfully. "This curse, when it rears its ugly head, what is it like for you?"
Sorrel shivers. "The spirit is always with me, always talking to me, although the walls of this temple mute it a little. And it has given me certain appetites. But when I cut myself it's powers grow and it..." she closes her eyes. "It can take my muscles as its own and it needs blood. It can never have enough. Only when I am alone will it subside. And the Lady Imryll's grace gave me solitude in the middle of battle, saving me from the greatest crime in the House creed - taking the life of a comrade. She allowed me to keep my life and, more importantly, my honour."
"I see... And this resident of the Shadowfell, who were they?"
"I do not know. They manifested as a mist that turned men into monsters - we found the corpses of good men who had torn each other apart with their teeth and nails. I am not sure if this thing inside is part or all of that horror. But I know that it can leap from soul to soul, so if you were to kill me now out of kindness at my misfortune, you would become its new home."
"Hmm," he intones. "Fascinating. Well... "You have been to the Feywild, and you've felt how it heightens the emotions within you. The Shadowfell is the opposite of that. When you spend time there, you start to feel sullen and empty. Perhaps as a consequence of that, there are these creatures— no, monsters, that live in the Shadowfell, borne of concentrated negative emotions, like rage, hatred, fear, and so on. These monsters are those emotions made manifest. I have fought one of them before, tough bastards. "Needless to say, what you have is not quite the same thing, but perhaps it is similar in nature? I might be wrong, it's very hard to tell without a thorough examination."
"I believe it is hunger. A dark hunger that can never be sated. In truth, it feels so old that in my wilder moments I wonder if it is the first hunger." She gives a mirthless laugh. "But in my wilder moments I wonder many things and few of them are to be trusted."
"Hunger, eh? It seems to me that whatever resides inside you may or may not be trying to turn you into one of those Shadowfell monsters I mentioned."
“It will fail," Sorrel speaks firmly
Jaezred's lips curl up into a small smile. "That's the spirit. Well, if you do end up trying to get it out of you, you should be prepared for a fight, but you already know that." He glances sideways at Nessa. "Well then, shall we proceed with the transaction?"
Sorrel bows her head. "Nessa will arrange everything outside. Please forgive my informality. It is hard to rise and bow as custom demands but please hear the gratitude in my voice. Nessa will also give you a token. If I survive and free myself of this infestation, I am forever in your debt. If I do not survive, this token will give you whatever you need from the Dark House - investigation, protection, vengeance... all and more. The House will fulfil the obligations of its servant."
He waves a hand. "You are forgiven, Miss Darkfire. Thank you, it is good doing business with you. And whatever comes next, I wish you good luck."
He steps outside to give Nessa the 300 gp and collect the goods, giving the token in particular a curious examination.
"Oh, and I shan't forget to deliver your regards to my dearest Imryll!" he calls from outside
As he examines the intricate runes on the obsidian stone, he hear's Sorrel's voice. "Please, my Lord, do pass on my gratitude and have her understand the debt I owe her can never be repaid or forgiven. Where I am from, this debt extends until the end of her life. And I hope it is my honour to repay it. It has been a privilege and a pleasure my Lord, and goddess willing, I hope we meet again."
"I'll pass it on. And yes, I'm sure we'll meet again, this place is far too small."
The peephole on the heavy door to Sorrel's cell slides open. A pair of crimson eyes, part of an obsidian-skinned face, stare down at her, curious and appraising. "You are Sorrel Darkfire?" a male, Elvish-accented voice sounds from behind the door. "You are the one who went berserk in the Feywild, yes? Well, I got word that you are selling some items. I'm interested in the potion of invisibility and one greater healing potion — would you take 350 gold pieces for the lot?"
Sorrel picks up the Elvish accent and turns towards the door, intrigued.
“I am Sorrel Darkfire. At your service and your family’s. And you have heard correctly. Who do I have the pleasure? You know so much about me, and yet I don’t believe I caught your name.”
“Oh, at my family’s too? But with your current state, we would need to put certain clauses in the contract,” the deep voice jokes and lets out a low chuckle. “I am Jaezred of the House Vandree of Menzoberranzan.”
Sorrel sits up sharply. A drow... Whilst technically Toothy was a drow, he bore as much resemblance to the Teachers in the Dark Rooms at the House as a kitten to a panther. And she had heard this name before, she was sure of it. If she'd had time she would have run through the memory rituals, but - however unlikely the setting - this was her guest and drow guests were not to be kept waiting.
She stands and rapidly extinguishes all but three of the candles that usually banished shadows from every corner. "Forgive my delay..." she says, the appropriate deference in her voice. "I will invite you in, but I must first... Nessa, could you?"
The aassimar cleric at Jaezred's shoulder steps forward and turns the ancient key in the huge iron lock then steps swiftly inside and slips two rope cuffs around Sorrel's wrists. She opens the cell door and bows her head.
"May I ask you to leave any weapons outside? We have a chest beside the door. It is for your safety not hers."
The man standing in the doorway is a tall, broad-shouldered, well-dressed dark elf with long, silken-white hair tied into a ponytail. He nods to Nessa, takes out a couple weapons — a hand crossbow and a dagger Sorrel would recognise as another halo knife — and deposits them in the chest. When the cleric is satisfied, he steps into the cell, hands resting on the spider-topped cane he plants on the floor.
His crimson eyes almost seem to glow in the darkness, and they stare directly at Sorrel. “I must say, I’ve never done business in a prison cell before. There is a first time for everything indeed,” he says.
Sorrel permits herself a quiet smile. Prison cell transactions weren't usually this formal. She had seen the inside of at least four - five if you included Lord Va'ath's dungeons - and deals that took longer than 30 seconds always ended badly. But this gentleman would survive effortlessly, she was certain.
"I apologise for the precautions - we aren't yet sure exactly what the dangers are," her eyes briefly turn a pleading gaze to Nessa. "It seems that only spilling my own blood draws out the..." she shudders. "But it is a work in progress and caution is advisable."
She allows herself a few seconds to try and summon his name. "Forgive me, but I could swear I am familiar with your name. Would I have heard it on the lips of Lady Imryll?"
Jaezred lifts an intrigued brow at the mention of her condition. "You very well might have, Miss Darkfire. Her ladyship and I are closely acquainted."
Sorrel's face is pained. "Then, my lord, I am ashamed to take your money. I owe the Lady Imryll a great debt. In a moment of great need she released me from grave harm. If this were any ordinary time I would give you these potions as a token of my gratitude to her. At present, my situation is... less than ideal, and frankly I am in great need. I cannot take 350, however. I need 300 gold and that's all I will take from you. And understand that I see this money as a loan. The potions are yours. The gold I will return one day. Please apologise to the Lady Imyrll. In any other circumstance I would gift you these and more. The debt I owe her is great indeed. If this is acceptable to you, I cannot perform the transaction myself..." she raises her manacled hands wryly. "But Nessa will arrange matters. And my lord, please leave Nessa some way that I may contact you when I am able to repay the money you have leant me."
Jaezred is visibly surprised. "Well, you are certainly an interesting one, Miss Darkfire! I will never say no to a discount or more money, but am I correct in understanding that this gold I am about to give you will be spent in trying to find a cure for...whatever condition ails you?"
Sorrel considers her answer carefully. "In a roundabout way, yes," she says slowly. "It is possible that no cure can be found." Her eyes search for Nessa again. "In which case, I have specific plans to rid the world of this curse forever. The money will help ensure that it never returns. If I can find a cure, I will return your money myself with thanks. If not, Nessa will ensure the money finds you."
"I find it hard to believe that it is something your High Diviner cannot cure you of," he says, a gleam of curiosity dancing in those red eyes. "Well, if you are going to show me this much generosity, I may as well try to give you a clue to solving your problem, if I can. This condition — I'm guessing it is not something you were born with, otherwise you would not have become a mercenary. Attacking your allies is simply bad business. And rumours of an adventurer going berserk had not reached my ears until recently, so I must deduce that this curse, as it were, was recently acquired. Am I wrong?"
Sorrel bows her head in assent. "I had the misfortune to engage on unfavourable terms with a resident of the Shadowfell who seems unwilling to return home," she gives a twisted smile.
"Is that so?" He rubs his chin thoughtfully. "This curse, when it rears its ugly head, what is it like for you?"
Sorrel shivers. "The spirit is always with me, always talking to me, although the walls of this temple mute it a little. And it has given me certain appetites. But when I cut myself it's powers grow and it..." she closes her eyes. "It can take my muscles as its own and it needs blood. It can never have enough. Only when I am alone will it subside. And the Lady Imryll's grace gave me solitude in the middle of battle, saving me from the greatest crime in the House creed - taking the life of a comrade. She allowed me to keep my life and, more importantly, my honour."
"I see... And this resident of the Shadowfell, who were they?"
"I do not know. They manifested as a mist that turned men into monsters - we found the corpses of good men who had torn each other apart with their teeth and nails. I am not sure if this thing inside is part or all of that horror. But I know that it can leap from soul to soul, so if you were to kill me now out of kindness at my misfortune, you would become its new home."
"Hmm," he intones. "Fascinating. Well... "You have been to the Feywild, and you've felt how it heightens the emotions within you. The Shadowfell is the opposite of that. When you spend time there, you start to feel sullen and empty. Perhaps as a consequence of that, there are these creatures— no, monsters, that live in the Shadowfell, borne of concentrated negative emotions, like rage, hatred, fear, and so on. These monsters are those emotions made manifest. I have fought one of them before, tough bastards. "Needless to say, what you have is not quite the same thing, but perhaps it is similar in nature? I might be wrong, it's very hard to tell without a thorough examination."
"I believe it is hunger. A dark hunger that can never be sated. In truth, it feels so old that in my wilder moments I wonder if it is the first hunger." She gives a mirthless laugh. "But in my wilder moments I wonder many things and few of them are to be trusted."
"Hunger, eh? It seems to me that whatever resides inside you may or may not be trying to turn you into one of those Shadowfell monsters I mentioned."
“It will fail," Sorrel speaks firmly
Jaezred's lips curl up into a small smile. "That's the spirit. Well, if you do end up trying to get it out of you, you should be prepared for a fight, but you already know that." He glances sideways at Nessa. "Well then, shall we proceed with the transaction?"
Sorrel bows her head. "Nessa will arrange everything outside. Please forgive my informality. It is hard to rise and bow as custom demands but please hear the gratitude in my voice. Nessa will also give you a token. If I survive and free myself of this infestation, I am forever in your debt. If I do not survive, this token will give you whatever you need from the Dark House - investigation, protection, vengeance... all and more. The House will fulfil the obligations of its servant."
He waves a hand. "You are forgiven, Miss Darkfire. Thank you, it is good doing business with you. And whatever comes next, I wish you good luck."
He steps outside to give Nessa the 300 gp and collect the goods, giving the token in particular a curious examination.
"Oh, and I shan't forget to deliver your regards to my dearest Imryll!" he calls from outside
As he examines the intricate runes on the obsidian stone, he hear's Sorrel's voice. "Please, my Lord, do pass on my gratitude and have her understand the debt I owe her can never be repaid or forgiven. Where I am from, this debt extends until the end of her life. And I hope it is my honour to repay it. It has been a privilege and a pleasure my Lord, and goddess willing, I hope we meet again."
"I'll pass it on. And yes, I'm sure we'll meet again, this place is far too small."