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thotaphobe - Leslie - 04-10-2023
After little deliberation he had gone back to the scene of slaughter. Blood painted fields still streaked along the paths forged by royalty, her remains not far from where they’d been left as if some beast had attempted to drag it away for themselves. Leslie’s mind had not been right, the company of the floral woman distracting from the tasks he once sought to carry out here. Though all one could hope for now was that another had not beaten him to it. Whispered phrases slipping from behind that curved beak before a blade had plunged deep within her flesh.
Pieces of the fallen draconian carved away. Nestled safetly within the comparts of the very satchel carried as his side. A carefully dressed heart, various clawed digits that had not been gnawed on by wildlife (or that behemoth hound that had descended upon that queenly figure), unmarred webbing and branches of wing, yet the most prized of all lay upon her crown. All weaponry disfiguring it delicately removed and cast to the earth where it belonged, those lifeless orbs destroyed yet sockets still in tact. The skull beneath armored scaling no doubt still in remarkable condition given the circumstances of death before connection of that great neck had been severed.
Blood drained from everything gathered, each wrapped in the very cloth and bandages another had provided for injuries which no longer wept. Hardly a sting resonating in those clawed grooves, however, sharp pangs still echoed from deep within the structures of shattered limb. Yet another portion of his battered hide that had lain pieced together by that floral woman. Something one could only assume lay akin to scolding fleeing her lips whenever she’d caught sight of him or any worsening damage where magic had not yet taken hold. Leaving the mending process to start over again. But now hardly a trace of what had once marred remained.
Allowing steps to travel mostly unhindered. Journey made into the nearest city one could find, though with such entrace came that ever plaguing sense of unease. Tension as sights flickered to each unfamiliar face or held to hungry eyes that roved over coverings. Absentmindedly a coat was pulled tighter, a hand pressing briefly to where an egg was carried. Holding it close so that none may bump against it too aggressively and risk breaking through that protective barrier before the creature within was ready. Not a sound yet heard within. Nothing more than an occasional shift offering that promising signal of life.
Though if the crow was going to take care of one other than himself he needed to resupply. He needed to be able to hunt, procure the very flesh the greedy mouth of a draconian would devour. But gathering hunting supplies required money, at least until a hand ailments lay remedied in full and allowed sturdiness into all he crafted. If one could not buy then one would steal. It was as simple as that. A crime he was not unaccustomed with. Yet is it not a potential target that first catches a wandering eye but rather the flutter of parchment pinned upon the wall.
Focus easily drawn over it. A monstrous display etched upon it that resembled no manner of beast witnessed before as if crafted from the description of various tongues. And yet there came similarities in something so picturesque. The structures of a crown, the unique patterning of scaling against her throat, and plastered beneath it lay calling. Wendreda. That was the name bestowed upon her. A devourer of man and beast alike, but was she the fallen mother with a nest robbed bare?
Tearing the posting from where it lay that tinted gaze would flicker. Dancing over the faces which roamed before selecting one who did not bear the abnormalities of wing, horn, or fang. The pale crow’s voice firm in his approach, gloved digits pointing to the picture and words decorating the phamplet in his grasps before holding it closer to the unknown, “Svabol tir wux vucot zahae nomeno Vs'shtakvi? Jahus jaciv ir de wer ajikis thaczil?”
RE: thotaphobe - Lif - 04-10-2023
 "Right... Viera." He reclined against the bar, the hard edge digging into his back and his elbows rested against the polished wood. His stare swept her, shameless in the observation that made a slight flush color her cheeks. Was that what it had been to draw his attention to her to begin with? How easy it had been to fluster her? He couldn't help the slight chuckle that coiled from his lips as he looked away. "Listen, I already told you then. I don't stay in one place. Of course I left, darling." His words, while spoken with a saccharine disposition, came across as anything but. It earned him a firm slap across the cheek, but his simper didn't fall as she stormed away. It definitely wasn't a first. Something strange told him it wouldn't be the last either. Gaze flickered around the bar, drawing through the veil of smoke that clouded the air, the scent of singed tobacco heavy in the dark atmosphere. It stung at the edges of his vision and he would release a pent breath, a strong exhale from between his teeth. "Don't dump my drink." He minded the bar tender as he rose to his feet. He took another big drink from the glass, a light grimace drifting across his features at the burn. "I'm coming back for the rest." Fingertip tapped the neck of the bottle in emphasis. After all, he'd actually paid for this one. He wasn't about to see it kiss the drain. The door opened easily at his beckon, allowing him out. Once in the open, he drew in a hungry inhale, running a hand through the mussed locks of red. His peace, didn't last however, as he heard the quick advance of footfalls coming in his direction. If it was a pick pocket, they would be as sorely disappointed as he the last time he reached in. His peripherals found the owner first, another freak of Lavalles, he pinned. A beast who couldn't control their appetite, perhaps? Someone who'd escaped the red light district? The twisted humor was lost immediately as he realized the figure was definitely intent upon his presence. His mouth opened slightly, brows drawing downwards in a frown before he was sharply cut off. “Svabol tir wux vucot zahae nomeno Vs'shtakvi? Jahus jaciv ir de wer ajikis thaczil?” He blinked, his head tilting slightly as he closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, wondering if he was further down the bottle than he'd thought. "Hold on, hold on. Say that again, slowly." The last word ended, slightly quieter than the first few as he noted the weathered parchment in the unidentified's hand. The one they tapped sharply against in emphasis. Something that probably went along with whatever the hell said. Had the posters already made their way even here? However, his inspection didn't reveal his own face, rather that of some manner of lizard. Was the ass trying to say that was him? "Wendreda." The name was little more than a grunt as it left him, shaking his head slightly. "Sorry, can't help ya. I don't deal with that kind of cold blood." |
Jahi
RE: thotaphobe - Leslie - 04-10-2023
Leslie hardly cared to register the way the man’s brow furrowed, how a look of disinterest had been the first to light that gaze before sharp tone interjected. Insistence for information over the draconian visage plastered upon the now frayed parchment. Only to be met with confusion. Slowly, he said. Talk a bit more slowly? That was something which could be done though it did not stop the way a crow’s tongue clicked in disappointment. Likely another who did not understand the language grown with if the added tilt of a crown was any indicator. And yet all he claimed was slow. That he could do.
“Speak slow? I do,” heavy accent lacing such lyrics though even with the pale bird’s assurance a finger still tapped against the posting once more. Ears perking at the sound of the very name glimpsed, only for hopes to be quickly dashed with the sparse understanding of what came next. Cannot help. Couldn’t or wouldn’t? Or was it he simply did not grasp what was being asked of him? Nothing needed to be dealt with, cold blooded or not. So he would try again. Speaking slower just as the stranger had requested.
Words enunciated, ensuring they were spoken clearly without blending into each other as if talking with one still learning. “Ui nomeno birk aurthon for wux birk sthyr? Wux tir ti rigluin ekess paciscorh persvek gul mior, si jalyur paciscorha mrith coi for wux.” At least if the draconian felled was the very same seemingly plastered over this city’s notice. “Ui Wendreda wer draushum de wer ajikis thaczil?” However, the more he spoke and the longer he stared at those glazed eyes it was obvious this wasn’t working.
Free hand waved in sudden dismissal, breath scoffing in exasperated sigh that fogged the lenses of a mask worn. Only to once again point to the paper in hand. Tapping to the imagery itself rather than any name or promise of reward as if it would give the man further understanding… at least until a far different idea sprung to mind. That parchment abandoned as it lay crumpled in hands that instead turned to fish through belongings. Seeking out the heavy weight tucked beneath the coverings of a coat.
That bundled crown presented proudly, lifted with both hands before pulling it close. The object supported with the very arm which had once been seared by the blast which escaped her jaws while his other hand unwound enough of those bandages to give way to what lay beneath them as if this would clear the mind. That the head of a slaughtered queen would make everything asked of him immediately understood, “Wendredra? Is her?”
Was this fallen royal one and the same? Was she the supposed plague this city seemed to despise with the forgings of such posters? But more importantly, had they attempted to orchestrate the slaughter of a proclaimed beast for glory alone? Only to leave a nest unguarded… it was a reason not good enough when such creatures should be honored. Their lives could only add to one’s own. His own greedy reasons for chasing her head when it had first been spotted. Her aggression had been righteous, a spark ignited for protection of self and her nest. Not the pure evil this place’s pictures painted her in.