It's All An Act (Closed)

[Northrop-Grumman]

Ancient tomes – their stiflingly musty pages browning and tattering from sheer age – were stacked high upon the table’s surface, encompassing the woman seated amongst them like the formidable walls of a fortress, guarding her focus from any surrounding distractions, however few those may be within these halls of silence. In the midst of these barriers lay a solitary opened book of the same antiquated status as the others, containing records of Roanian exploration within Sol and the surrounding areas dated during and shortly after the time she reigned ages ago, and beside it was a notepad, scrawled all over in the Drow and High Roanian languages with little regard for margins, base lines, or even the most basic of grammar.

The one who was continuing to scribble in every manner possible upon these rapidly filling pages, was a drow female, bearing the typical features that one would expect from the race, from the obsidian-toned skin to the blood-red eyes. Lengthy, snow-white hair, tightly braided into a bun and bound by bobby pins, kept the strands away from her sharply-defined face that bared not the slightest in expression, no matter how long she had kept at this work. But the remainder of her body was concealed by overly inexpensive robes – one could very well argue that one could find them in the bargain-bin of a thrift store – that were comprised of grey-dyed cotton. The only parts that could be seen as she was seated were her long, slender fingers and the tips of her toes, constrained by the sandals that she wore.

Now, as her eyes darted back and forth scanning the book’s text, the pencil she held lightly tapped upon the paper, slowly, steadily with every passing second…

[Roania]

"Interesting choice of reading material, most noble daughter of the twilight caves." A man sat down across from her and placed his sunglasses on the table, watching her through lidded eyes. "The Annals of the Magistracy are long and complex, and even the copies this august institution possess are not complete." His eyes scanned the page, aware he was being ignored and determined not to allow that to stand for too long. "The Rule of Neicharsol and the Exile of Hurathaseel of Hazakar... such unwieldy names they had in ancient days, Beauty of the Midnight Hours."

"But what interest could you possibly have in those ancient days?" He followed her fingers and handwriting. "Or perhaps you have no interest in those ancient days, but do have an interest in the forgotten House..." He placed his own books on the table. They made incongruous choices of reading material, perhaps: Elementary Poisons of the Universe and their Antidotes: Volume I and Ancient Literature of the Planet of Nargila. "House Hazakar. Distant ancestors of mine, I believe, though hardly anything to brag about from my current position."

He waited for an answer, and didn't skip a beat when one didn't come. "I am Nesar of Cheruv, Lady Aleanrahel, and I believe that I have met your... brother?" Nesar's eyes wandered over her face for a moment, then smiled sedately. In truth, she was beautiful and young-enough in appearance to be Alakantar's daughter, but the way she held herself told him very much otherwise. Still, no harm in complimenting a woman, even one who was self-evidently determined to ignore everything he said. "I see you're busy, so I will leave you be. Perhaps, however, you might ask a docent to give you information on how to contact me, Lady Aleanrahel, as I believe you might be interested in my collection of House Hazakar artifacts, some of which I believe to have come from very close to your homeland." And with that, Nesar was gone.

[Northrop-Grumman]

Neither the presence of this representative of House Cheruv nor his enticing words detailing the artifacts which he held caused Ire’arra to stir from her work, not even showing him the slightest amount of attention or saying a single word to the man. She merely listened as her pen swirled around on the notepads, taking in everything that was being said, and only when he departed from her did she finally gaze off in the direction into which he left, carefully considering his offer.

------------------------------------------------

Nesar Cheruv walked into his room and stretched his arms up, sighing as he began to divest himself of his clothing. But piercing the silence of the room, came a gentle tapping against the floor, steady and unceasing in its rhythm. It emanated from the opposite corner from which Nesar stood, from a portion of the room that had descended into utter darkness, where light could not piece its thick veil.

Nesar looked into the darkness. “...you know, it is very rude not to introduce yourself.”

“Your assessment may very well prove true to some ears,” came that familiar voice from beyond the veil. “However, might I remind you that I prefer matters unfolding on my own terms.” Like the sudden abruptness of that statement that contained no further explanations, the darkness vanished in the same manner as if one turned on a lightbulb. And there, seated comfortably in one of Nesar's armchairs, her leg crossed primly over the other was Ire'arra.

“Ah, most beautiful flower of the midnight hour.” Nesar smiled smoothly. “Have you come to take me up on my offer, then? I am afraid that I was readying for bed, but I would be willing to share my humble bed with you until morning.”

Her staff sounded a more pronounced thump against the floor this time around at the conclusion of his remark. "I have no such desire to share a sleeping arrangements with a male. If you truly wish to provide me with the details of these artifacts upon daybreak than I may either leave your dwelling or remain seated here in meditation."

“Oh, but most enchanting one, I could not dream of allowing you to remain seated there. Come, I shall show you my collection.”

“Very well,” she stated with nary a hint of emotion in her voice as she rose to her feet and stepped forward with her staff.

“Please, let me.” He took her by the hand, his other arm going around her waist. Before she could respond, he smiled. “Computer, to the exhibit chamber.”

There was a flash of light, and they were both standing in the middle of a circle, surrounded by row after row of, well, junk. Almost all of it. Maybe valuable to someone somewhere, but nothing of much value to Ire’arra. Nesar's collection of pre-imperial relics was limited mostly to goods from the planet he lived on.

“Take a look around. I think what you're looking for is down that aisle.” He pointed with his finger, suppressing a yawn. “I have something I wish to obtain for you, however, so don't wander too far.”

Ire’arra shot an icy glare toward the Roanian male when she pulled herself away from the ensnaring arm and left his immediate presence, meandering through the rows of artifacts laid neatly out before her. But while perhaps they might have piqued the interest of even the most disinterested individual, her attention was drawn by virtually none of them.

“Fabricated morphemes,” the drow bluntly stated. “The existence of House Hazakar’s artifacts within your domicile is unsubstantiated.”

[Northrop-Grumman]

“Oh, do not say so, most charming visitor. I wouldn't bring you here if I could not backup my claims with facts.” Nesar reappeared behind her, his left hand clenched. “In fact, I have something in my hand which I believe might interest you especially.” His ghostly smile flashed across his face. “Something my grandfather says he found in some private collection down on earth and liberated from the barbaric clutches of the 'owner'.”

“Another potential fabrication, perhaps?” snapped her response immediately after he made the attempt to persuade her otherwise, only vaguely listening to the history behind what he held. “I recall the human-derived colloquialism that ‘actions speak louder than words.’ If you truly possess such an artifact, reveal it, prove to me the validity of your claims.”

“Perhaps you should simply close your eyes, Oh Glorious Lady of the Midnight Hour, and allow me to surprise you?” Nesar held up his hand, though, and dropped a necklace down, the chain of silver hanging from in between two of his fingers. At the end of the chain was a shaped ruby, as red as blood... or as red as Ire’arra’s eyes, with a single black stain within it, shaped like an idealized spider. “I trust this does not disappoint, then?”

The polite request to essentially blind her eyes toward everything he was doing was met with great resistance, of course, for she was certainly not here to play these sorts of games and was not entirely trusting of this man. But what would soon be found out, she would not need such a veil over her eyesight to be surprised by what he held.

“My perception must be at fault,” she stated, her voice displaying a tinge of uncertainty in it.

“Now you see it, now you don't?” Nesar pulled the necklace back into his fist, vanishing it into wherever he had been hiding it. “I trust that you're satisfied?”

“I have satisfaction in the veracity of your claims and the existence of this necklace,” she answered him, the uncertainty dissipating as quickly as it had come. “However, this satisfaction does not incorporate the disappearance of said item.”

“Oh, I apologize. Did you want the necklace?” He asked her, pretending to be surprised. “That's difficult, most difficult...”

Her fists tightened around the staff’s neck, twisting it back and forth, grinding its tip into the floor beneath. “Explain,” came the command, the same icy stare from before appearing upon her face.

“There's nothing to explain.” He reproduced the necklace. “It was in a pocket in my cloak sleeve.” He held it before her again, smiling cheerfully. “But I'm not in the habit of giving away my possessions, you see. What is your claim on this necklace, most enchanting one?”

Ire’arra’s crimson eyes were immediately drawn to the dangling necklace once it had been brought before her again, focusing entirely upon the pure glistening sheen of the flawless rubies as it bounced the lights overhead off of it, scattering scarlet rays on the surrounding walls.

“Your possession was once clasped around this neck, irremovable in an age long since forgotten by time.” Her face softened as if recalling some distant memory, buried within the deep recesses of her mind. “It was bestowed upon me as a gift, and I had sworn that never would I remove it from my person for the duration of my existence….but that was not to be…”

“Ah... well, never let it be said that I would steal from a beautiful woman, but nevertheless...” Nesar frowned, tapping his chin, watching Ire’arra. “Is there aught you possess that you might offer in trade?”

The definitive head shake would have been more than enough to provide an answer, but she sought to explain it further for clarification. “My physical possessions consist mainly of these garments and my staff, nothing beyond this.”

“Hrm, this is a problem... And I don't believe you would be so willing to agree with the trade I present.” He frowned and shook his head once more. “Shame, you would be quite lovely if your body lived even to half the promise of your face. No, take your necklace. It suits you far more than it would me, anyway.

“You have my sincere gratitude through my reception of this item,” she stated flatly despite her gracious intent.

Then the palms of her delicate obsidian-toned hands opened to receive the necklace she had longed for all these millennia, and when that familiar weight pressed against her skin, her gaze refocused downward onto the ruby. Without a word emanating from her lips, the gem began to illuminate brightly from within, the pure, unblemished light from behind the arachnid, sharpening the image to its utmost clarity. A faint smile crept up on her lips, as a thumb lightly stroked the smooth precious stone.

“Does it please you, then?” He whispered, watching her eyes slowly. “I am glad.”

“Yes...yes...” she too whispered, almost seeming entranced by the stone.”Expectations had been that I would never have laid my eyes upon it again.”

“You know, it is traditional to reward a gentleman with a kiss when he gives you a gift.”

Her spine straightened and stiffened upon the mere mention of performing such an action, and her gaze shot up to the man, clearly wishing that her thoughts had not been disturbed by these trivial things. “Traditional in the culture of the Radiant Empire but this custom does not exist in my own,” came the standard toneless response.

“Are you sure?” Nesar murmured. “I've read some pretty amazing Drow fairy tales...” The Roanian stalked closer to her, and leaned upon one of his shelves with one hand, then held up the other, counting down in the traditional manner. “Firstly, you break into my home, most enchanting one. Secondly, you insult my collection. Thirdly, you disparage me as a liar.” His ghostly smile flashed charmingly. “And now, I provide you with this necklace, and you have nothing to offer me save your thanks?” Nesar laughed, but gently. “Ah, what a world.”

The necklace soon found itself clenched within her fist and being lowered to her side now that her attention was now fully focused upon Nesar. She listened to each and every one of the wrongs that she had supposedly committed against him and simply shook her head in response once more.

“First, my unlawful entrance into your dwelling had not been considered until this disagreement. Second and tangentially related to the third, you had professed that your possessions entailed a collection of House Hazakar artifacts, when in actuality, you possessed a solitary item from that era. Finally, I possess nothing to trade for the necklace in kind, yet you have freely given it to me. You already have my gratitude in that.” Her expression almost seemed to lighten as she rolled each of these off her tongue, matching everything he placed against her.

“You insult me, my lady.” Nesar held his hand out. “Look around you! It is hardly my fault that you are not interested in weapons of war, old banners, and tattered journals.” His eyes twinkled in merriment. “It is not my fault that you accepted my invitation, either.” The Roanian shrugged. “Still, let it not be said, Most Beautiful Woman, that I am an unfair man. All I ask is that you allow me to place the necklace around your neck. Surely that is fair recompense?”

A certain playful, lightheartedness flickered from her eyes, steadily growing amused by his demeanor around her and the little ‘outburst’ he just had. “Your invitation was indeed accepted, and I arrived without further notice, but avoiding the unnecessary barriers that restrict visitors from your residence. There exists little reason why I should need to endure them,” she answered him without another thought. “In addition, I have great interest from any artifacts of House Hazakar, all of which ceases to be present in this room.” Her hand returned to its place at chest level and opened, revealing the necklace to Nesar once more. “I shall permit you to perform this action, nothing further.”

“Very well.” Nesar unfolded the necklace. “But I shall require you to open your robes just slightly, Dear Lady. A piece like this should be placed on your flesh, after all.”

“Your request is acceptable,” returned the simple response as her belt was loosened enough to allow the upper portions of her robe to be opened, exposing the bare skin beneath, but not enough to be revealing of her chest.

He gently opened the necklace around her bare neck. After a moment's thought, holding the stone, he pulled her robe forward enough to open a gap between it and her chest, and dropped the ruby into it. “Very well.”

Eyelids blinked in rapid succession when he drew nearer then carefully closed over her eyes, concealing her sight in utter darkness and allowing her thoughts to focus entirely upon her sense of touch. The metallic chain slid against her tender skin of her neck that twitched at first, but her breathing slowed, her body relaxed as it reached its final resting place. She was fully aware of Nesar’s placement of the ruby though, but yet had not felt the need to prevent him from doing so.

“I know that which you sought,” she softly whispered, making a blatant reference, then spoke somewhat louder. “But I graciously thank you for placing this necklace upon me…it is…a sensation that I have not endured for quite some time.”

“I'm certain that between the two of us, we could think of a few other sensations you haven't endured, my lady.” Nesar bowed at the waist with a smile. “But you are my guest. I bid you stay for the night, and if you so desire, in the morning I will take you to a place I know will interest you.”

Opened eyes greeted his statement, coupled with the arching of an eyebrow, but she chose not to address the needless innuendo and instead focused entirely upon what he said thereafter. “I shall accept your offer of accommodations for these hours of darkness, with the prospect of visiting the location you reference upon daybreak.”

[Roania]

Dawn came, and with it, Nesar awoke. The Roanian slowly walked out of the room and peeked where he had placed the meditating Irearra, shaking his head at the sight of her in her, to his mind, ugly robe. Still, there was no reason to wake her up he thought as he stretched his wings and glided down the stairs.

After a few minutes, the smell of freshly cooked bunnicken sausage filled the air as Nesar walked into the room, carrying a tray. Sliced next to the sausages was a piece of Helva-Rice toast, and a few more bunnicken eggs rested next to it. "It is time to awaken, most beautiful daughter of the midnight hour." He told her, placing the tray on the table next to her and clapping his hands. "Computer, lights. Eat up, we have a big day ahead of us."

[Northrop-Grumman]

Hardy yet agile fingers, conveying every bit of their masculinity but still remaining sweet-tempered, roamed over every contour of the ebony body, the silky skin tingling from the gentle touch and goosebumps forming along her arms. The roving hands rose the more they travelled and briefly brushed by her ruby necklace, the jewelry swaying lightly across her chest. Ire’arra clasped it in her hand, keeping it from sliding out of place, when she heard a voice call out to her.

Eyes snapped open instantaneously from the unexpected interruption of her thoughts and stung a little when the brunt of the sudden brightness struck her pupils. She winced from the irritation and squinted as her focus readjusted itself to the light, her mind pondering the sensations she had felt in her meditative state.

No allowances were provided for an examination of the man’s facial structure so that I may have a reference when that occurs, but the only noticeable artifact from that would be this necklace. The drow gazed down and realized she still held tightly onto it, even in this reality. Perhaps this may be indicative of a repressed memory of that period of my life when I was with Kar, but however, the presence of that necklace, which I possess currently, does not discount a moment in the world to come.

Inwardly, Ire’arra regretted allowing herself along that train of thought, not desiring those ancient thoughts to constantly eat at her focused consciousness, not wanting herself to long for those times when things were far more different. So she released the necklace from her grasp, her gaze now entirely upon the just-cooked breakfast that sat beside her.

“You have my sincere gratitude for this,” she said kindly, taking an experimentally driven bite of the sausage. “The aroma and the taste are pleasantly delightful, I must admit…I was not aware of your cooking abilities, Nesar.”

[Roania]

"So many people say that, daughter of the midnight hour. Yet, it is all a matter of proper chemistry, and I, with no false modesty, am an excellent chemist." Nesar flashed her his ghostly smile, taking a bite out of a muffin as he sat down across from her. "Sleep well, my lady?" He asked her, studying her form. "As I said, we have a long day ahead of us. We're going to visit the Palace of the Magisters." He made a face at her robe. "I advise appropriate wear. Comfortable sandals, maybe some hard clothing." Nesar sighed for a moment. "We shall not get very far in, but while you are here it might be appropriate to take a look at the ruins."

[Northrop-Grumman]

“My rest fulfilled my body’s physical requirements, nothing further and had not differentiated itself from any other nights in my past, thus it was adequate,” came her plain answer, followed by a exceptionally large bite of the toast.

“The Palace of the Magisters?” Ire’arra rolled the name promptly off her tongue, finding a level of familiarity to it. “It most assuredly piques my interest and I’ve heard it mention by another I have known from long ago. But unfortunately what I am wearing presently does not allow for such exploration and I have nothing appropriate that would serve such a task.” She then directed his attention to several things around her. “My possessions only consist of this flimsy staff, the attire that you see before you, and the necklace, nothing further.”

[Roania]

"So it seems." Nesar replied, his smile not wavering an inch. "This leaves us with a choice, then, my lady." His eyes looked her over. "I may lend you some of my clothes, and you may let them out, or you might take some of my money and purchase the requisite garments." The Roanian male slowly rose to his feet, spearing a sausage with his fork and chewing on it as he walked to the side, throwing open the window.

The Vale of Sorrowing Tears stretched out before them, a long strip of habitable land in the midst of the wasteland and mountains of Altecrast. In the distance, the twinkling lights of the settlement were visible, creeping up along the blasted heath to the north. Just slightly closer was the palatial estate of House Cheruv, where Nesar's father, mother, and younger brothers lived. The Roanian's eye did not linger on any of these, however. Instead, he pointed to the northeast, where a great dark bulk rested, barely recognizable as an artificial structure. "There. I can get us inside using my own computer and one of the side doors, but the main entrance and the internal rooms have been closed for over seven thousand years. No one knows what might be inside now."

[Northrop-Grumman]

Ire’arra continued to dine upon the delicious breakfast before her, chewing methodically and taking small bites sporadically to savor the taste, as she listened to Nesar and considered the two options put forth by the Roanian. “Either method would entail spending your currency to either purchase the necessary attire for my specific use or replace the ones I have battered throughout this expedition. Perhaps there would be wisdom in allowing me to acquire what would be imperative to wear, so that further use would be possible if I were to entertain the possibility of another trip again.”

After finishing what remained of the eggs, she stood from her seat, gently dusting off what marginal amounts of crumbs had managed to fall on her lap – after which she collected them with nothing more than a swish of her finger, and they levitated over onto the empty platter – and stepped over toward the window, gazing outward at their intended destination. “I see,” she whispered, propping her palms up on the sill. “What can be expected in regards to traps and other such security measures? From my understanding and familiarity with structures of that era, they tend to not appreciate the wandering sort.”

[Roania]

"I hardly believe we will have anything to worry about. The accessible quarters have been mostly picked clean, I'm afraid. Shall we see what there is left?"


The Palace of the Magisters had once been a grand and imposing structure, and even now, ruined by seven thousand years of abandonment and decay, it retained its dignity, a vast crenellated building rising from the Valley of Eternal Sorrow, a shadow against the Mountains of Mourning, against which the lights of the remaining settlements upon Altecrast made scarcely an impression.

It was to this building that Nesar Cheruv took Irearra Aleanrahel, his pocketwatch dancing on his finger as he approached the door. "Most beautiful woman of the midnight hour, we shall have to enter through the servant's entrance. It is the only entrance for which codes have been discovered, I am afraid." Yet as they approached it, a strange thing happened. The necklace at Irearra's bosom began to shine, glowing bright enough to be seen through her grey robe.

Words were spoken, then. Words in Low Roanian, a language that neither of them might have known, but for their histories or positions. Nesar, as usual, did not hesitate. His hand shot out and he pulled the pendant up from her robes, his hands somehow endeavoring to move faster than she could see while remaining perfectly chaste. He replied in the same language, a bit stiffly. The unseen voice esponded. Nesar looked up at the sky, and then at Irearra. "Atcatar, ailishune ty semyva." He murmured in High Roanian

Kelyer, Cyselar RiHazakar. Helishune ty semyva makmar.

"Eltyr va sereea." Nesar quietly dropped the necklace back onto her chest, staring into Irearra's eyes, surprise in his expression, but not in his voice as he said, "It would appear, my lady, that we are welcomed as councillors of the Supreme Magistracy." The ground rumbled underneath them, and the great plated doors ahead of them began to open, rust buckling against action but giving in to the overwhelming force. Beyond, lights flickered on, revealing an immense foyer, pillars climbing into a ceiling so high as to be beyond sight. The Roanian tugged on a long ear, then threw his cloak around him, his pistol appearing in his hand. "Shall we enter, my lady?".

[Northrop-Grumman]

Sharply angled ebony ears twitched almost unnoticeably from the language that the drow had not heard spoken in several thousand years, but regrettably her knowledge of it was lacking, beside several words here and there, as during the period that she walked amongst those that had used it, it was never one that was either taught to her or directed toward her. Instead, those Roanians whom she had known used her own language and devices intended to automatically translate what she needed to hear from their own voices. So the words that were flowing forth from this grand structure were beyond her comprehension, beyond providing her with any means by which to answer.

Thus, Ire’arra’s gratitude and acceptance toward having Nesar accompany her this day had risen considerably, as she had discovered that he has some use to him, aside from this sort of tendency of his to maneuver his hands about her in ways which aggravated her a great deal. But that issue was something that she determined to not let get in the way of that which needed be done; though, it would not be just dismissed so lightly.

Crack!

Snapping forward from its resting place upon the ground, the lower end of her plainly carved wooden staff cracked harshly across the back of Nesar’s legs, intending to make her point all the more clear. And then as quickly as it had moved, it returned to its original place next to the drow matron.

“It would be preferable if you consider the reckless placement of your roaming fingers more carefully,” she warned flatly, before gesturing toward the open portal leading into the ruin. “Regardless, your acute familiarity with these ancient ruins far supersedes my own; your entrance before that of myself would be far wiser, I deem.”

[Roania]

"My punishment is both deserved and duly apportioned, dear lady." Nesar bowed at the waist. In truth, he had lost his interest in Irearra as soon as the prospect of new entertainment had appeared. "I would advise you to be cautious. If the electronics systems linked to your pendant are still functioning, there is no way to tell what else might be waiting within to ensnare or damage us." The Roanian frowned as he looked into the tunnel. It was dark.

That was not a pleasant thought to him, he realized. The dark was best avoided, as it put him at a disadvantage that neither his companion or whatever was waiting in there would suffer under normal circumstances. "Hrm..." Regardless, Nesar was hardly the type to allow another to see fear in him. "Very well." He slipped his weapon back into its holster and produced a thin band that he placed around his head. A quick tap, and an orange screen slipped down in front of his eyes, providing him with the knowledge he desired. "Let's go."

All business, the assassin led his companion into the heart of the Supreme Magistracy's quarters. He whistled long and low under his breath, and the doors behind them slowly shut. "We shall be able to leave easily. Yet I do not wish to be followed, and I don't wish to make it too easy for whatever is waiting in here to know that things are different. Ai." He snapped to the air. Something flickered in the distance, but nothing seemed to result. "Hrm. Lights appear to be off. That might be a good sign." He rubbed his angular chin and then turned his head back to Irearra with a smile. "Now, my lady. Perhaps you would be so kind as to say what you, or rather we, are looking for?"

[Northrop-Grumman]

Her cautious yet purposeful entrance into the ancient tunnel and the chilled, refreshing darkness contained within had drawn the ancient drow matron into a sense of ease; after these several millennia, the cool embrace of the air contained within the restrictive corridor brought a great comfort to her and resurged memories of everything that she enjoyed about her previous existence. Her normally rigid body relaxed a degree, and this had brought about the removal of the bland robes that covered her body. But to her own devilish amusement, she knew that Nesar would be dismayed by the fact that upon the discarding of these fabrics, every portion of skin that had been concealed before was still entirely covered by what she wore beneath.

However, the removal brought to light that she had sought out better fitting and more appropriate attire for this little endeavor before she had departed Nesar’s place of residence. A sizeable measure of her figure was bound within a darkened brown leather armor, tightened around her enough to remain securely in place when she walked but loose enough to provide a reasonable degree of movement given her physical fighting abilities. Her sandals had been replaced by boots of the same material that had a better grip upon the terrain she was moving about in and blended in seamlessly with the rest of her armor. A collar, inlaid with a band of flexible metal, which had been lying flat against her shoulder previously, had been snapped up against her neck as had been customary with her people to provide protection for her sensitive and critically important neck and throat, which normally had remained uncovered. The only locations that had remained revealed after this undressing had been her head and the palms of her hands – the armor had provided some covering for the back of her hands, including her fingers, and were secured in place by a soft fabric that was strong enough to take the beating but light enough to not restrict her fingers unnecessarily.

“What precisely do I seek?” repeated Ire’arra ponderously as her nimble fingers unconsciously twiddled with the necklace that had been resting against her chest outside her armor. “My ambitions are to reveal artifacts or knowledge concerning the exodus of House Hazakar from these lands and anything further relating to the last Patrician of the same, Kar Rarnin.”

[Roania]

Nesar frowned and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "And you expect you'll find something here you didn't see in the archives?" The assassin laughed and drew his cloak around himself. "Well, you might be right there." He discretely coughed into his hand, and frowned.

The Roanian drew a small metal sheathe from the confines of his clothing and placed it over his mouth and nose, holding it in place for a minute until it bonded to his skin. "Here, you might need this." He offered a second one to Irearra, his voice becoming slightly tinny. "It will keep whatever particles might be floating around out of your system, unless, of course, you have some sort of..." His lip curled upwards, just slightly. "Magic at your disposal? In which case, please feel free to use that instead. I'm certain would be far more comfortable."

He looked around the room, the distant corners. While Roanians possess a limited ability to see in the dark, it was as a certain depressing monochrome. "I believe that we are within the Gallery of Welcoming." He treated this coolly, as if it was every day that he entered buildings older than his family in the company of a woman old enough to have founded same. "I suppose our first step would be to look for some sort of map to the Hall of Records." Nesar once again rubbed his chin, looking around quietly.

Then there was a soft scuttling sound from behind them. The door they had entered by was slowly closing, forcing itself shut through the same motive force that had once opened it. One by one, the pillars began to glow, brighter and brighter as ancient power sources were drawn upon. A few of the pillars, having failed in the untold millennium since they were last used, flickered and died, but enough remained to light the hall, revealing the faded colors that still decorated the room.

Runes that had once glistened with magic shimmered in the light, ancient relics of a more 'enlightened' time for the Roanian people, while the rotted banners of a thousand conquered worlds and nations bleached quickly, save for the more 'recent' acquisitions, preserved through some means even after all these years. And one of them was a banner of midnight blue, with a stylized sword lying across an open book, the lost symbol of House Hazakar.

Further contemplation, though, was prevented when a voice crackled through some unknown power, filling the entire room. Spawn of treacherous Hakazar, you are brave to return to these halls after all these years. Whatever guile you used to evade the blessed Magistracy's guards will not serve you here. The sentence of death that was passed upon your entire family will now be carried out.

There was a flash of light, and Nesar's hand spun the pistol that had appeared in his hand in a quick circle. "I think they know we're here." He said, pointing to the broken silver orb that slowly fell to the ground.

[Der Fuhrer Dyszel]

[random thread crash]



To some of my favorite RP'ers. Keep up the good work Noggin and Roania.

[/end random thread crash]

[Northrop-Grumman]

The protection handily provided by Nesar, she did not need, for she indeed had suitable magical capabilities are her disposal that could more than handle the issues dealing with the air quality within these ancient ruins. So with a rapidly deployed spell created at just a mere thought, a near unnoticeable ‘forcefield’ formed over her nasal passages and mouth and filtered the air so she would not have to breathe in any of these potentially harmful particles lingering about.

And the continuing darkness permeating the entirety of the room had not created much of a problem for her, but that had not been handled through magical means though. One of the special characteristics of those of her race was the ability to view things within the infrared spectrum, so when she entered into the darkened room, her eyes naturally and gradually changed over to seeing the unique temperature differences throughout these halls. But while it hindered her ability to read written text or examine the minute details of anything, she could still see general objects, what they were, and any movement around the room, especially if it left residual heat – like someone resting their hand momentarily on a cold pillar and then leaving, which would leave an imprint on it for a little while until the heat dissipated.

But that change had not lasted particularly long for these pillars had begun to illuminate and bathe the room in a warming glow that caused her eyesight to gradually switch back over to her normal mode of sight, and this enabled her to see the banner of the former House Hazakar, one that had not been seen since that fateful day those many thousands of years ago when the life she knew was snatched up from her, flying above her head, the details of which were still clearly evident after all these years. However, any pleasant feelings contained from within that she would have wished to last a little longer, quickly dissipated once the death sentence had been placed upon her, as she fully expected it to be attempted considering the nature and capabilities of this building.

“I believe they do,” she stated flatly to her Roanian companion, drawing her shortsword from her scabbard that had promptly begun to pulse – cerulean streams of magical energy twisting and curling their way around the sharpened blade. “A pity. I had hoped for perhaps a warmer welcoming.”

[Roania]

Nesar chewed on his lip and reached into the voluminous folds of his cloak, removing two threaded silver orbs. With a quick twist of his arm they extended into a looping chain of energy that he began to circle, building up speed. At the last moment he let it fly, and it grabbed two of his opponents and dragged them to the ground, coruscating energy frying their circuits. While ordinarily he would have allowed himself nothing more than a satisfied smile, but now he was forced to look to see if Irearra had been watching.

If he had been anyone else, that moment of distraction would have been dangerous, but when another attacker swiped at him he managed to turn and catch the onrushing blade on his arm. It knocked him over, but there was no blood. "Ah." He pushed back up, the durable leather armor struggling against the forcing blade before it was finally caught and stuck. He fumbled for his sword with his other hand, his pistol forgotten on the ground. Now a thin trickle of blood left his armor, and Nesar closed his eyes. "So that's how you want to play, then." He growled, and suddenly his wings were out and beating rapidly, pushing him up and off the ground and forcing the droid to the ground as he drove his own sword into its cogitator. With a weary sigh he sheathed his sword, large black wings beating the aeons of dust up and about as he breathed, patting his ruined arm. "That was somewhat painful." He said in the silence that followed Irea's defeat of the last attacker. "Are you alright?"