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Old January 19, 2010, 12:37 PM   #1 (permalink)
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La Mort de Café and the Patter of Light Rain

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Cafe Parampoulos was one of many cafes along the main, a pretty standard coffee house with round tables in a brick building, quaint, not quite gentrified-trendy and not quite dingy. The large patio opened out on the wide boulevard of the Main except during winter, when it was too rainy to sit outside. It had long been just another cafe, but in the past several eras it had become the meeting place for all of the mages living in Secyclion.

In a city of only 8000, there weren't many local mages, all of them occupied with the Obelisk, the island's minor Arcana institution. But Secyclion was the Empire's beach, and somehow its flotsam and jetsam always wound up littering it after a storm. Decadent aristocrats, prodigals, retired adventurers, and the usurped powers. For some reason this far-flung pearl in the Eunesian seas drew them all. It was small and underneath Imperial radar, far from important events, but it was no dead backwater, and it had the life of a real city. There were two recent arrivals: a number of Jaedaxian families, both impoverished refugees and stinking-rich nobles, and all the way from Aelyria Prime, ex-Rakrya.

Long before the return of the ancient Aelyrians to the Empire's capital and the end of Emperor Julos' reign, the Rakryan government had essentially ceased. The mageocracy had been replaced by Julos' tyranny, and many of the intellectuals and revolutionaries wound up ostracized or departing the government as it became obvious Julos was casting aside the mageocratic ideals in favour of his own powermongering. The mages left as Julos went insane. Some went home, to wherever they'd come from, but they were often met with persecution. Few regions in the Empire had supported the Rakrya. So they went to the cities run by mages, many to Vers (Julos' hometown) and to Mystique. And many came to Secyclion, hoping to retire from the affairs of the Empire, or distance themselves from Julos' tyranny. In Secyclion, a city so used to foreigners, down-and-outs, and any kind of Mainlander, they didn't face much opposition. The Secyclionians hadn't been affected much by Julos. Besides, an Archmage Dracolich had been the governor of Eunesia at the time.

And so the ex-Rakrya became coffeehouse revolutionaries. They came to Cafe Parampoulos to debate over mageocratic manifestos, to exchange theories and techniques in spellcraft, or to bitterly sip Rauan coffee and cognac with their cynical compatriots.
 


Fourth Cycle of Immanis, Winter, Era XVI PF

Fething rain. It was raining for the third time since Rougenoe arrived on the island and he had only been around for a handful of candlemarks after leaving Ieffreon. Not that the Medonian was not used to rain during the winter, he was all too used to it. The problem with Eunesia was that it lacked the dreary conditions of his own city. Rain was just making the whole place muggy and humid and Rougenoe was beginning to feel dirty. Straylor had been kind enough to alight Rougenoe of the necromancy hunts still going on in Eunesia. He recalled seeing a blurb in The Herald about a good old-fashioned witch hunt, but lack of results had led the Medonian to believe it was all but over. Tenacious pricks, Eunesians. He slogged his boots through the muddy path, sheets of rain beating out an erratic tattoo on the hood of his cloak. Ahead he spied a cafe that seemed to be quiet busy despite the brightening's downpours.

If it was not for the necromancer hunts Rougenoe would not be wasting his time on Secyclion. But that little tidbit had intrigued the Medonian. Granted this part of the kingdom was known for a little dark debauchery given its history but the fact that people were still foaming at the mouth on their hunt meant there must be at least the shadow of necromancy around. Rougenoe would find it, he was already closing in thanks to his compass. He looked up at the cafe again. But the Medonian was not on a strict time schedule, he could use a cool drink and a short rest to dry out. He stepped under the awning and pushed back his hood. Taking a seat at an unoccupied table he wiped stray rain from his brow.
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Old January 21, 2010, 09:11 AM   #2 (permalink)
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Ah, Secyclion, Secyclion.

This was clearly no Ieffreon, or Olympia, should the Consulate of Enamoria and Thane of Medonia ever been on the former Capital of the Nesocratic Federation. The Eunesians were the same, carefree lot, but the sounds here were so much more garish, and the moment he had set foot on the harbor from Ieffreon, he had been swarmed by children begging for crowns, trying to sell him some useless trinket or lead him to some magical fountain or see some strange sights.

Whatever the means employed by the Consulate to finally get rid of the pestering children, he found himself by the Cafe Parampoulos, and the wide roofed veranda a pleasant invitation from the rain that pelted outside, though just at a distance away, along the black sand beaches of Nephele Bay, the sun was pelting down with no signs of rain at all while just five feet from the Enamorian, beyond the awning, the rain fell down in torrents.

Eunesian weather. As whimsical and capricious as their patron deity -- the Sea Archon Markalin.

The smell of coffee, pastries and other assorted beverages mixing with the wet smell of earth from the outside the first thing that hit him as he enters the relatively empty Cafe.

There was something that instantly lend the impression that this was no ordinary cafe. Something in the air; and the patrons... who all seem to bear this strange aura, and the slightly agelessness in their eyes that more often than not revealed someone a practitioner of the arcanic gift.

If Rougenoe was to sit and eavesdrop on the conversations happening around him, some of the whispers from their patrons would further reiterate his nagging suspicion that this was no simple coffee establishment. Far from it, in reality.

"I'm telling you, I summoned this Incubus the other Darkening... I'm so sore I can hardly sit."

"Raw... absolutely red... raw."

"Forget the Mareians, they will never share their knowledge to intermingle the Essences. I say, we kidnap an Ancient and then force...-"

His observations cut short as a middle height child, no more than fifteen approached him, an apron worn over her short Eunesian skirt that bared her shoulders that bore tiny brown freckles moved to stand beside him, slowly making a sound with her throat to draw his attention. If he had been studying the other patrons inside the Cafe, he would notice that her features also resembled that of the woman standing behind the counter, likely her mother.

"Chairete, what can I get for you, Kyrio?" The child had the hair of a fiery furnace, and the eyes of amber, a pretty little thing, and she barely had the hints and curves of a woman, more boyish than a woman she would become, almost a little androgynous.
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Old January 22, 2010, 12:07 PM   #3 (permalink)
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The Medonian was sitting observing the street outside the eaves and the natural world beyond what civilization had carved in the bosom of the island. Whether he was paying attention or not it was difficult to ignore someone regaling peers with the tale of supernatural buggery. Deciding it was probably more futile to attempt to ignore the conversation he listened to it idly as he watched the rain drip down from the awning.

Rougenoe turned his eyes to the side to notice the young woman apparently at his elbow to take an order. "Serale." The Medonian tilted his head slightly and scratched absently at his eyebrow with a fingernail. "What are the specials?" The southlander was busy thinking about where to move his search from here. He could continue his search by compass or ask the fellows a few tables over about the witch hunts. A tempting idea if not for the talk about incubi, Rougenoe had done his time with a succubus and one experience with a demon consumed by lust was enough for the Medonian. An incubus would just be a rung lower on the ladder of revulsion and awkwardness. Perhaps the former was the most amiable of options.
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Old January 27, 2010, 01:39 PM   #4 (permalink)
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The child seemed well-versed with her job and as she rattled off the specials to the man in an accent that was hard to understand -- the thick Eunesian so evident in her voice; though she was speaking slowly as if knowing that she had a strong accent, and that Rougenoe, clearly a Mainlander judging from his attire and appearance, would likely not understand a single word she said if she spoke fast. The two that had been conversing about 'supernatural buggery' had been reduced to muffled giggling amongst themselves and it was almost impossible to make out what they were talking about now, not that the Consulate truly wanted to know.

"We have baklava with pistachio and cream, Karidopita, which is a walnut cake, as well as Kourabiedes, a buttered pastry with almonds. We also have a cheese platter, as well as imported Mextaxa from Olympia as our specials this Brightening."

Of course, there were the usual wares that were served displayed on a large chalkboard that looked to be not updated for a long time, and like the specials aforementioned, most of them were Eunesian confectioneries, with the recommendations being their Ruaun coffees that were rare amongst the Kingdom since the Caliphate of Rau is more or less termed a terrorist nation, as well as several grades of expensive wines that were of Eunesian make.

The rain had stopped as suddenly as it had began, though the winds still galed. It was hard to tell though, slate-gray clouds still blindsided the Suns and left the sky ugly as a bruise, and the air was still wet from the fresh rain and the air still carrying the delicious scent of rain with wet earth.

Several interesting looking people had entered the Cafe as the waitress droned on with the specials. There was a man with strange violet eyes entering, the skein of his hair covering the tips of his ears even if his features already betrayed his Elvish ancestry. There was a manner about him that was decidedly strange, like the way he looked at everything in such a shrewd manner that belayed his intent in a place like this -- recognizing the expression of a man who was looking for something since Rougenoe was also doing the same.

Behind him was a couple that possibly looked local, a tall and broad man with a smaller female companion in his arms. Greeting the waitress who replied the Eunesian greeting in kind, their demeanor seem to suggest that they were regulars, both were don in the fashionable Secyclion styles, and they sat down on a table beside the Consul and Thane, conversing in Eunesian.
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Old January 29, 2010, 01:23 PM   #5 (permalink)
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Though he was getting better at understanding the islanders' accents some of the more local fare was still difficult to mentally digest. Rougenoe never had much of a sweet tooth so buttery pastries and cake confections were nearly lost on the mainlander as he listened over the patter of hushed giggles coming from the nearby table. He distracted his attention from the giddy mages by focusing on the newcomers entering the cafe's eaves. A rather normal looking couple of man and woman, lovers it seemed, held each other with large smiles and glowing aura as they passed. The man before the couple had been much more interesting, halfie or quarter given the cheekbones and willowy like frame. More importantly were the guest's eyes, not so much the color which was out of the ordinary, but their intensity. The way the eyes burned through the establishment made it quite obvious the fellow was visiting for more than just a nice pastry to pass the rain.

Rougenoe nodded to the girl at his elbow. "Cheese dish I think. Also coffee, local, I'm not made of crowns." He gave the girl a small smile and let her whisk away to take care of the other guests. Leisurely he let his gaze fall to the couple nearby as they spat Eunesian back and forth, do doubt full of forget-me-nots and sweet nothings that curl the toes of all but the most disasterous of young girls. After a few moments Rougenoe allowed himself to turn back over the edge of his chair and look to the violet-eyed man before passing to the red hair attended counter to see how his order was coming along.
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Old February 8, 2010, 11:43 AM   #6 (permalink)
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The girl nodded, made a strange face at Rougenoe's comment that he wasn't made of money, but then had skirted away to take the orders from the other patrons before the Consulate and Thane could say anymore. Mainlanders and their ways were strange, and the Islanders knew better than to try and second guess them.

There were more patrons moving in as the rain eventually stopped -- generally people trying to dry off and wanting something warm. Eunesia or not, the winds were still chilly and cold when blown across wet skin. The conversation that the Enamorian had been privy to before had now changed to something utterly mundane and meaningless to the man -- about some new and rad colored rogue that is on sale in Chelseanna.

Watching the shrewd Elf, however, Rougenoe would notice him suddenly rising from his seat, his facial features suddenly twisting with sudden dread, and then turned into mild outrage as if offended. Eyes grew heated and were focused on the latest newcomer to the coffeeshop.

"You!" The words were practically spat out.

The other creature simply smiled -- a light twitch on his face that were obviously Elvish... though there was something odd about him. There was something about him that made Rougenoe's skin crawl, as if there were a million insects suddenly scrambling and scrabbling at his skin, trying to get into his veins. He had high, delicate Elvish cheekbones, a lithe figure that was cloaked in dark robes and had protrusions of what seemed like... the stumps of... what would have been... wings, sticking out of his back. He however, said nothing, a mocking gesture of 'I come in peace' with his arms and then the silvery hair that was slightly damp with the rain turning towards the woman who spoke next.

"Have a care, Salrangos, you will start no fights in my cafe." The red-haired woman spoke, her eyes flashing with a perplexed expression, turning over to the newcomer with suspicious eyes, but clearly not wishing any violence this Brightening.

"I will not abide the company of a Jorelite, Celestina. I suppose then, I should leave." The man turned and started moving out, with nary a pause to look at the creature that had caused such a reaction in the man before, even if the moment where he had moved pass him was almost a culmination of distilled violence waiting to be fulfilled, and when it did not happen, the tension that had accompanied this particular one at his arrival did not dissipate.

These accusations were of course, no small affairs. After all, was not Rougenoe's own friend victim to the same trials very recently? The climax of the Eunesian witch hunt may have been passed, but the residual concerns and worries were nonetheless still very present and relevant.

Cafe Parampoulos was suddenly quiet, all eyes, some obvious, some attempting to remain subtle following the strange creature until he sat down on a table just right by the Consulate and Thane.

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Old February 15, 2010, 02:11 PM   #7 (permalink)
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At least it was apparent Rougenoe had not stopped in the cafe because of its service. Nonetheless he only passed a dull look to the girl before she uprooted herself and scampered to the counter. As to the contents of the cafe his interest was waning. The two men from earlier had boiled down to little more than vapid drivel about Chelseanna. The lovers too were engaged in hand holding and smiles of contentment that looked it's drippings might melt steel for its sheer power. The grotesque intoxication of love, true or untrue, was a powerful swerve that could upturn even the staunchest of will.

Waiting on his order Rougenoe bounced his calf against the resting knee to cause his foot to swing forward and back lazily. The murmur of nothing important fell away as the sound of a chair shuddering against the ground as it was pushed back and the man of obvious elven descent stood violently. Rougenoe turned slightly in his seat to look at another figure that had entered the establishment. The Medonian's dun-colored eyes followed the line of sight to the accosting figure. As his eyes landed on the person he could feel the small hairs on his body begin to stand and a cool, clammy sensation flitted across his skin. Thin, reed thin, the elf; his skin smooth and perhaps one shade too pallid for the normal but nothing rare. The deep color of his robes, the silent, ominous sheer proportion of his presence and the minute protrusions from his back made the elf so undesirable. And while his actions did not disturb a soul in the establishment his attendance, included with whatever strange feeling clung to the being like some invisible dangerous rabble of supporters made the entire affair awful.

In the background silence ensued as everyone's eyes were riveted to the exchange happening in the center of the cafe. Rougenoe could only assume some waited with baited breath though the human could only stand to the side with himself partially tensed with whatever was the problem. Hopefully if it came to violence, and for a moment he thought it might, the attacks would not spill to the flanking tables and put Rougenoe in personal danger. A remonstration from the fire-crowned woman behind the bar and the non-aggressive stance of the latest arrival left the elf, or half-elf, nothing but to leave rather than stand the attendance of a well-known Jorelite.

When the subject of such impassioned ire sat down on Rougenoe's flank he let his eyes gaze absently out at the street, occasionally turning to check the girl's progress on his order and giving a snippet of a look the robed person's way. Once his order arrived and he waved the girl off Rougenoe sipped on the cup of coffee. As if he had forgotten in recent time, beans strained of their essence was still not a pleasant taste in his mouth. The Medonian wrinkled his nose slightly before he placed the cup back on the table and dabbed at his mouth with the provided cloth napkin.

"A Jorelite was it," the human said noncommittally. "You should be careful, I hear the church headhunters are quite bloodthirsty in Eunesia. I'm sure they have little problem jumpin' ties to Jorel to witchcraft and necromancy itself." He looked over at the figure and giave him a tight, emotionless smile before returning to the plate before him.
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Old March 22, 2010, 03:13 PM   #8 (permalink)
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"Oh, but I'm not just a Jorelite..." A keen eye trained towards the Medonian Human, and the politician would find himself in a situation where he came face to face, indeed, with one of the most talented and trained of mages upon the Kingdom. Eunesia itself may seem insignificant politically or economically when compared to the vastness of the Kingdom -- after all, both its population and geographic land size were many times dwarfed by the other provinces.

What they lacked in size, however, Eunesia was home to some of the most illustrious mages that ever walked the realms of the known world -- namely the Mareians that had revolutionized spellcasting to such an advance degree that some claimed rivaled the innate abilities of the Ancients, as well as the Archmystic Toristen from Ieffreon who took months to regained his Archmagery in the aftermath of the Aethergem fracture to become one of the most respected Mystics alive.

And then there was this one.

Wearing an expression that belayed nothing, not even the slightest glimmer of hint as to what he intend by being here, his fingers steepled, turning his head with deliberate slowness -- the immaculate grace of a natural ruler, as if nothing in this world could ever hasten him to impatience.

As eyes fleeted nervously from one another, fed by the discomfiture by being in the presence of this particular creature, he continued with a disarming smile that was neither friendly nor hostile -- it was merely creepy, and coupled with the strange light in his eyes that seemed forever prismatic, drinking up all the colors around him as if it was a leech that sucked the vibrant out of everything around him. Indeed it was strange that a mere mortal could command such an enfeebling presence and make people feel such an extent of unease just by being near them.

Around them, people were intimately attempting to eavesdrop into the conversation without appearing so. No one reached forward to serve the strange Elfin-like creature, not even the red-headed propertier who reserved only disgruntled suspicion and respect for the creature, it seemed.

"...I'm on the cover of the 'Big Book of Scary Bastards'." He slinked his head towards the Consul and Thane, and instantly, the sickening sensation of thousands of insects suddenly squirming on his arms, and the beads of perspiration being to creep down Rougenoe's sideburns.

There was no action or gesture to suggest that he was trying to intimidate the man, nor was his expression aggressive. Instead there was a dangerously poised smile that suggested that this one was so powerful self-contained that even if the roof caved upon them that instant, his demeanor would still hold.
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Old March 24, 2010, 12:28 PM   #9 (permalink)
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Well, no one was just a Jorelite. If anything following Jorel was a complementary attribute to another larger and more pervasive part of the person. It was not a surprise that the largest correlation was with people whose brains were absolutely riddled with madness and brain swell. As for the others, it was hard to say how much of a true acolyte of chaos one was when they retained perfect mental faculties and the mortal need to put the world in boxes if only so they might understand it. The look on Rougenoe's face as he pondered such things was not completely different than a cow chewing cud.

He was brought out of his own thinking by steepled fingers. Rougenoe glanced at them. He was already forming the base characteristics of the person next to him. An archetype his profession alone made the human all too familiar with. If others in the cafe seemed immediately struck by the figure conversing with the Medonian he did not seem overly concerned. Whether it was experience or ignorance to the fellow at his elbow no one could really say for sure.

Before the infamous necromancer could say anything about his notoriety Rougenoe had already pegged him. This was someone who had no desire to hide his practice and instead seemed to revel in the stigma associated with his calling. His pallor and perhaps something in the movement and presence of his body made the human believe perhaps his compatriot was not exactly, alive. The ice beneath Rougenoe's feet was thinning rapidly. Even with that knowledge and his own rationale the gaze struck at him brought a fresh glean of sweat to his brown and neck. It was a perfect disarmament except for one infinitesimal thing, the look of his face.

Rougenoe noticed it fully now and rubbed at a bead of sweat distractedly with the back of a hand. The discomfort of his proximity seemed to bay and rein in if not put to flight completely. The Medonian furrowed his brow and moved his face slightly closer as his eyes washed over the necromancer's features. There was familiarity in visage. His tongue ran roughly along the back of his teeth as he thought. In a coming moment of revelation he lifted and eyebrow with the interesting coincidence.

"I don't think we've met before, but you look like someone I knew a while back." Slap on a pair of wrist manacles, give him a wooden sword and a few cycles of malnutrition and he could have been a dead ringer for the fellow Rougenoe had met briefly in Malice.

With at least some perspective on his situation Rougenoe leaned back in his chair slightly. In his position he might as well go for nothing short of the razor's edge. "So, do you entertain cafes with coffee as well or is it just to wax your celebrity?" A smart comment no doubt but with the current presence it seemed a necessity. Even a small bit of umbrage and good-natured ribbing could show his nerves.
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Old April 18, 2010, 08:04 PM   #10 (permalink)
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"Really? I've always thought myself unique. Then again, I never always looked like this. Still, I'm hurt." Again the implication that he perhaps used to be more fearsomely appointed -- and given how he was emanating all these waves of crippling terror just makes it so much more interesting, perhaps, for the Thane and Consulate to just find out who... or what exactly he was dealing with.

As for truly being offended? It was hard to tell given the crystalline smile plastered on his lips, and the teetering madness that seem to just require the slightest provocation to be released. And then what? To simply destroy the cafe and all the patrons within would be bathos, but the creature had long since grown bad of such sadistic games. They were, if anything, childish and inconvenient; the pleasures brought by such distilled violence brief, volatile, and leaves a somewhat bitter taste in his mouth after.

Already, eyes cast in Rougenor's direction from the other patrons seated nervously within the establishment shone of blatant disapprove; in some cases, almost pity... perhaps for a prospectively painful fate that had already began to play out in macabre horror in their minds, fueled by irrational imagination.

"If you're buying, I'm not going to say no." A wide brimmed smile that was neither pleasant nor nice. Rather there was the impression of a predator trying to keep the prey off guard before delivering the killing blow. The fingers stopped steepling as a poised grin crept up his grotesquely handsome features -- it was as if the natural beauty... the elvish eyes and cheekbones were not a blessing as much as it was a curse; colored by something infinitely unholy and unliving... and so made those that was alive so... uneasy.

"Though I would imagine you'd want to make amends to my hurt feelings." Voice taking almost a dangerous tone, though a throaty laugh slowly dispelled that notion, if indeed taken in. The madness and chaos in his eyes seemed tampered by an unknown quality that seem to make this particular one different. It was hard to explain that hazy attribute that had somehow altered him; and indeed, while his movements were graceful; almost like the Elves themselves, so ethereally so, there was something about this one that belayed the impression that he did not truly belong to this body... a certain awkwardness that could be felt.

This time of course when he spoke, there was also the expectant glimmer of curiosity now as well as the inherent wariness that people of power inevitably expect from strangers. Paranoia, it was called, and it affects all ranks, all people, all races. No one was free from that, not even the seemingly confident.

And neither is this one, it seems.
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Old April 23, 2010, 02:29 PM   #11 (permalink)
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"Well you know what they say, there's no such thing as an original. Everythin's just a spin on somethin' else." It was becoming peculiarly odd, Rougenoe's encounters with those tainted by darkness. Such events had become especially noticeable of late. Jaedaxia, Ieffreon and now Secyclion all had their own bits of darkness drawn to the Medonian. He was beginning to doubt it was a coincidence, there must be something about him, whom he was that was drawing such creatures and things to him. Like a black candle flame he drew the dark-stained moths closer and closer to his flicker. And just as a moth might flutter too close and be engulfed by its obsession too did Rougenoe wonder if they grew too close if he would incinerate them. The bite of a viper to the one who carries him through trust, was he too destined to share his poison despite desire and oath. 'It is in my nature. You knew what I was.' Dark thoughts filled the human's head but little did he know in mere cycles he would be faced with a dream that again would hammer home the danger of the moths gathering about him. But could he help himself, change his fate as it seemed to be paving the path before him cobble by cobble?

The feeling of things creeping up his flesh, clammy hands with sweaty palms and the hair on the back of his neck rising. The same aura washing over the cafe, nearly crippling it to literal level, was not lost on Rougenoe but greatly reduced. The dead, the undead, the hurt and pain, fear and the grotesque black places that resided in the corners of mortal hearts were all too familiar. His skin was becoming too tough, the value of shock and impending dread a near every-brightening sensation to the Medonian. Yet this was different or rather a magnitude Rougenoe had never encountered. It radiated off his table partner like the searing rays of fething suns in the heat of summer. There was no need for Rougenoe to ask about the mage because there was only one sort of person who could command so much dread in the air about him by very presence. A presence that indeed made even colors in mid-brightening dim and shade. His companion was a necromancer and not the sort Rougenoe was typically affiliated, beyond a master's power. The very air about him exuded power and the electric hum of powerful arcana. He walked the brightening in open daring, feth he was wishing, someone would make a go at him. Rougenoe could understand, what good were rippling muscles if never flexed and worked to release the euphoric glee of power and practice put for exhibition.

That was the exact reason Rougenoe was treating him as a person and not the god-like entity his power commanded from the masses. If nothing else the lack of decorum was usually a novel experience, Rougenoe had learned that from political office. He too had craved simple interaction without the preface and distance.

"Not particularly," the human responded with blase. "You don't have to fish for a pastry to nibble, if you really want one I'll oblige. No need to fake hurt feelings." Rougenoe added a pastry to his order wondering how long it would take for the order to actually be mustered with courage and delivered. The Medonian let out a soft sigh and held out his hand in greeting, "I'm Rougenoe." He waited a moment before continuing, wondering how to broach the subject considering his foreign environment and unfamiliarity with the necromancer. "I assume you have pets? Of perhaps you call them servants, compatriots, slaves? If you wouldn't mind indulgin' me?"
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Old May 9, 2010, 11:43 AM   #12 (permalink)
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A slight puff of feint annoyance again, though the point seemed to be ceded at this point as the creature stopped pressing it... for now. Instead he seemed genuinely amused at the next question that was posed, eyes narrowing for a moment, followed by a very subtle twitch of his lip.

"I personally prefer to call them 'minions'. 'Pets' would actually mean I have a level of attachment or affection to them, and I'm hardly one for such useless emotions." Waving his hand dismissively before he moved on to the next point, his grin ever poised though there was no warmth in that smile. It could have been a growl or a sneer -- it was equally intimidating.

"And as for 'slaves', that's just derogatory, don't you think?" A wide brimmed grin as the red-haired propertier moved toward them, a look of indignant on her face. She, however, seemed to be untouched by the cripping aura that emanated from the strange creature. Clearly having stepped up to be the one to take their order, rather than allow the diminutive girl that had accosted Rougenoe before.

"Unless you're offering yourself?" The smile widened as he then turned to give the red haired woman a glance, though still keeping his attention on the Human male, expecting a rather witty reply back, given the glint in his eyes. To the outsider, it almost seemed as if the powerfully old necromancer was toying with his prey, amusing himself before dealing the fatal blow; though Rougenoe would understand from his dealings with such ilk that this one was slightly different... yet painfully similar to the others. This one did not care for flexing his arcanic muscles to show off... only when it was necessary.

The paradox of power after all, was that those with the least are always the most willing to use it.

"What do you want, Kaith?" The woman murmured plainly, clearly having no patience in dealing with this creature who now had a name. Her eyes flashed suspiciously at the Thane and Consulate, before deciding that keeping them rivet on the necromancer was perhaps more necessary and that he was likely the bigger threat to the safety of her other patrons in the cafe.

Kaith. Big noise up North, and if Rougenoe had been savvy enough with Eunesian politics, the name would ring more than a few bells, given that the name was that of the former Elfin Governor of Eunesia, and known for numerous atrocities committed during his tenure, including rumors that he had, at one point, been the right hand man of the Prince of Lies, Jorel himself. He had disappeared Eras ago, and right after, Ieffreon had reigned as the Capital of the Nesocratic Federation... though now he seemed to be back and no longer unknown... back on everyone's radar.

If, of course, this was the same Kaith that the woman was addressing.
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Old May 27, 2010, 10:52 AM   #13 (permalink)
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The Medonian made a dully amused sound at the rear of his mouth concerning the distinction of minion and pet. Perhaps there was some truth to the difference being a level of affection, but certainly there were pets that would bite the hand that feeds. Even if such pets were not of the norm, certainly pets carried the connotation of loyalty rather than something than a term applied almost explicitly to incompetent wage earners rarely worth their pecuniary increment. "Shackles, of iron, fear or coin are shackles all the same."

Following his fellow necromancers lead Rougenoe too broke his gaze to inspect the flame-haired proprietor sashaying in their direction with something more severe than a haughty demeanor creased over her features. As to offering Rougenoe's own servitude he ignored the question plain enough. To focus his energies on another person was much like he would imagine ignoring a starved mountain cat while in the same locked room. It taxed his nerves certainly but like dealing with any predator, panicking would only provoke it. If only to remove his active mind from the ever present danger of the situation the Medonian tempered his attention to the cafe owner and forced himself to pay excruciating attention to her. There was clear tension between the woman and the elf, but the sort of familiarity and poise of a situation that was in now way new or unexpected. Despite the familiarity of the encounter it seemed it was no far the easier for the woman to bear.

Kaith, Rougenoe knew that name. His nerves now on a back seat he began to wrack his brain for information. It was not long before he unlocked the memory of the name. It was not one the Enamorian was utterly knowledgeable of, though the back of his mind retained some rudimentary schola information of the Nesocratic Federation. Said information had been taxed in recent time. His friend and coincidentally, Governor of Eunesia, had an affinity for rambling while in his cups. And when his friend was involved after a brief stint of absence cups were always involved. The name Kaith had come up when Rougenoe had used the forethought of the event to ply his friend for information concerning the local necromancer hunts. Hokum and ridiculous fear for the most part but it was certain now that a very powerful mage resided in Secyclion and beyond that he was doing quite the opposite of hiding. All indicators, if only circumstantial at this juncture, pointed to this Kaith being the former governor. Atrocities, Jorel, necromancy, power and elf to boot all linked the being across the table from the human as being a rather infamous blast from Eunesia's past. Clearly Rougenoe had struck gold concerning his search, but finding a skilled necromancer was bounds easier than convincing one to impart his teachings to an interested student.
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Old June 5, 2010, 04:37 AM   #14 (permalink)
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"Celestina, I'm hurt by your subtle suggestions that I'm here to cause trouble." The Elf replied in a voice filled with cold mockery, his eyes flashing in a manner as if trying to goad the woman into fighting him even though the woman was too wise to do so. If what Rougenoe had heard was right, then this man was also once the rumored Avatar of Jorel, his henchman in the world of the living, wielding immeasurable powers denied the common mage.

"No disrespect Kaith, but I have no time to play your games, not this Brightening." It seemed that the woman, even if she clearly wanted the man out of her establishment, reserved enough... respect... or fear for the man to be polite. She casted a suspicious eye towards the Consul and Thane, perhaps wondering just what kind of man would choose to willingly associate with a man such as Kaith. She turned her eye back to Kaith, crossing her arm with renewed severity.

"Salrangos will be returning with the lynch mob. You and I both know that. The attention will be bad for business." Salrangos likely to be the enraged Elf that had left as Kaith had entered, the one with the dark hair and strange violet eyes. The other patrons, it seems, have already began to pool out of the Cafe, perceiving the likelihood of an arcana catastrophe that was to ensue. There seemed to be a silent code of conduct by mages when within the Cafe, at least, it seemed that the matron of this place was trying her best to enforce it, to keep the peace even between rivals and archenemies.

"If you wish, Celestina, you will never have to worry about Salrangos ever again; should you just say the word." The former Governor murmured with a sudden dark thought flashing across his face -- an indication that he would gladly do away with the Elf with the least excuse. He smiled a toothy grin, but there was nothing nice or warm about that gesture, and instead Celestina shivered as if suddenly affected by that debilitating aura that seeps out of the man's pores.

"And so can he, of course." Kaith turned a discerning eye towards the seated Rougenoe, seeming to imply the knowledge that he knew Rougenoe was a practitioner of arcana -- though whether or not he knew that they were both Necromancers was anyone's guess. Kaith was as slippery as an eel and twitchy as a cat; making it hard to realize just what was racking within the sanctums of his mind.
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Old July 1, 2010, 07:20 PM   #15 (permalink)
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If it was the same person anyway. There was of course the off chance who he was currently seated with was just someone from Eunesia who had the unfortunate or conversely fortuitous chance to have the same name as a god's chosen messenger on the mortal plane. But it was becoming more and more slim that such a chance was the reality and instead the more obvious was that the Medonian was currently seated with a very bad dude.

Rougenoe stayed in the background as he dissected the exchange. It was easy enough to realize who Salrangos was and that there could be trouble in the future if certain steps were not taken to avoid it. Indeed, Rougenoe could hear the sound of chairs rubbing roughly in protest against the cafe floor as more than a few of the proprietors looked to make themselves scarce from said trouble. The Enamorian was beginning to get the feeling that this was not exactly something new around this part of Secyclion. And given the reaction it seemed there might have been a few small spats of disagreement before. Rougenoe furrowed his mouth when he was mentioned. It was not quite an expression of emotion but more a reflection that Kaith's intent, assuming there was any meant for Rougenoe with the words, had fallen flat. The Medonian necromancer could hardly take time to try and count out the number of times and different people of varying competence who had let similar words fall from their lips. The impact thus had a rather strict statute of depreciating returns. Almost to the point might be more surprised if someone of Kaith's mileux did not express such a thought.
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