Acher Ostendramm (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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zenderael_mmo2013-05-17 06:58 pm
fearnoreproach) wrote in zenderael_mmo2013-05-17 06:58 pm
Entry tags:
Acher: Profit
Who: Acher, The Vairya
When: Saturday the 12th
Where: Acher's Castle, Lower Everea
Before/After: N/A
Warnings: Violence, death.
Acher sat on a high wooden seat, in the audience hall that had once been the hunters' banquet hall. He converted it to a throne room of sorts, though his throne was hardly so grand. He had not yet claimed the title that he considered his, by rights of origin, so he honored the old ways: he wore nothing more than the small, iron circlet due to him as a count. It was a slight callback to the life that Lera gave him -- really, it sickened him to have to rely on the very thing he sought to leave behind -- but that status of nobility impressed mercenaries easily.
He would need mercenaries, in time.
He felt vaguely unsuited for the task ahead of him. He was surprised when his guest arrived, asking to speak with him, but even if he had little warm regard for her, one did not turn away a guild leader. He suffered through the irritation, thinking idly that the warhound's blood pumping in the back of his mind -- the first full vial he risked in days -- was enhancing that irritation.
The Vairya stood, now, all smiles and confidence. She projected that confidence easily and almost, almost put him at ease. Behind her was a small group of rogues, who kept a respectful silence. It was not a trait that Acher found common to their ilk. Theoric stood to his left, the bearded man crossing his arms and frowning. He had no love for the rogues, either, but Acher was not inclined to turn them away.
"It is a shame," the Vairya continued, "what happened to Aerveas."
"Perhaps," Acher said, "had he had more allies, then he would have survived the day."
If the barb cut deep, she did not let it show. "Perhaps." Acher saw the flicker of silver between her lips when she spoke; her tongue quite literally turned silver after she consumed Xumurdad's. "But he is dead and you are alive, Lord Acher. I think that, given the circumstances, you could overlook my previous actions' affront to your principles."
"And what would you know of those principles?" he asked. Acher had never been good at holding his irritation in; it stung now. "I want a Zenderael where Earth's men do not rule us. I see you bring one before me, even now." He jabbed a finger at one of her retinue; a dusky-skinned young man, whose leather jacket was not of Zenderean make. He knew it was a generalization, at first, but the widening of his eyes told Acher that his accusation was correct. "Your actions impeded that."
"For good reasons," the Vairya sighed. "Lord Acher, dearest, you know what I am. I seek profit -- and at the end, Aerveas was going to lose that war. I suspect you will show more restraint." Theoric chortled loudly at that and Acher tried to hide a smile. The Vairya deflated and sighed. "Okay, even I couldn't make that sound convincing."
Acher snorted and rested his chin on his clinched fist. "So the queen of liars comes to my hall and tells me the truth: that she intends to use me for profit."
"I can get valuable goods," she said. An edge entered her voice.
"I can pillage them myself and for cheaper than the exorbitant rates you've offered," Acher said. "What of the fact nearly every guild leader is now of Earth?"
"Necessary," she said. He rose an eyebrow and gestured, indicating for her to go on. The Vairya frowned at him, then, before she nodded her head. "I traced out some of the patterns. Aerveas was too stupid to understand, of course, but large-scale merges occurred in tandem with god-organs changing hands. I can't be sure of how it worked exactly, but Earthers having them seemed to make it go more smoothly."
That stabbed through Acher. Had Xumurdad betrayed Its creation so thoroughly? Did they require handing power over to the Earthmen, simply to preserve their world? What sort of monstrous plan was that? His lips hardened, into a line. He looked to the side, to Theoric, and the mercenary frowned and nodded at him. He looked back at the Vairya. "I see," he said. He stood up and walked closer. "Then it had to be done."
"It did," she agreed. "But you see the position it puts us both in. We were on the losing end of the war." And, Acher thought, she had second thoughts about their mercy and their inability to kill her after they felled a god. Acher folded his arms over his chest.
"It does." He had never been a good actor, but he tried, now. He pushed a smile to his face. "What of yours?"
The Vairya laughed. "Ah, my lord, I'm afraid giving up a slice of godhood is quite the opposite of profitable."
"So it is." He smiled. "Let us seal our future together, then, Lady Vairya." He offered his hand towards her. She smiled back and took it, shaking his hand. His fingers gripped her wrist, firmly, and he saw her eyes widen. His strength was too great for a simple gesture of agreement and he saw that realization in her eyes. Instead of stoking the warhound's blood, he burned all of his store at once. He moved forward with lightning speed, standing in front of her. "A future you would throw away."
"What--"
"My loyalty is to Zenderael. You confessed that you would see some of it destroyed for your own life," Acher said. "Consider this your payment."
She reached one hand down to her side, drawing a dagger out faster than he could blink. Her rogues were doing the same. In an ordinary situation, he would be dead; however, he had the blood of something divine fueling him. Acher slammed his head forward with the force of a freight train, headbutting the Vairya. Her scream ended midway through, as the force slammed into her skull. Her head burst like a dropped melon, red mist, shattered bone, and grey matter flying out at all angles. Most of it splattered in front of him, while some ran down his face. Only the silvered tongue remained. It flew through the air, hit the flagstones of the banquet hall, and bounced a few times before rolling to a stop.
He felt the inhuman strength leave him, all of the warhound's blood gone, and felt that surging desire for more. It left him feeling weak, woozy, and unfocused. He ignored it, but not easily, and let go of her hand. Her body finished crumpling to the ground.
Acher looked at the other rogues for a moment, before he settled on the youngest: the dusky-skinned, nervous young man whose legs were shaking. "You have seen how quickly and easily I can kill," he said, "and you know how little love I have for Earth." He motioned with a flick of his wrist to the tongue on the ground, pointedly ignoring the blood running down his face. "I found your dinner, boy! I suggest you eat it."
The rogue stumbled forward, grabbed the tongue with a shaking hand, and took his first bite. Acher smiled, calmly, and sat back on his wooden throne. He waited until he finished, watching as the boy looked like he might wretch. Then, he motioned to a door to the side.
"Out."
When: Saturday the 12th
Where: Acher's Castle, Lower Everea
Before/After: N/A
Warnings: Violence, death.
Acher sat on a high wooden seat, in the audience hall that had once been the hunters' banquet hall. He converted it to a throne room of sorts, though his throne was hardly so grand. He had not yet claimed the title that he considered his, by rights of origin, so he honored the old ways: he wore nothing more than the small, iron circlet due to him as a count. It was a slight callback to the life that Lera gave him -- really, it sickened him to have to rely on the very thing he sought to leave behind -- but that status of nobility impressed mercenaries easily.
He would need mercenaries, in time.
He felt vaguely unsuited for the task ahead of him. He was surprised when his guest arrived, asking to speak with him, but even if he had little warm regard for her, one did not turn away a guild leader. He suffered through the irritation, thinking idly that the warhound's blood pumping in the back of his mind -- the first full vial he risked in days -- was enhancing that irritation.
The Vairya stood, now, all smiles and confidence. She projected that confidence easily and almost, almost put him at ease. Behind her was a small group of rogues, who kept a respectful silence. It was not a trait that Acher found common to their ilk. Theoric stood to his left, the bearded man crossing his arms and frowning. He had no love for the rogues, either, but Acher was not inclined to turn them away.
"It is a shame," the Vairya continued, "what happened to Aerveas."
"Perhaps," Acher said, "had he had more allies, then he would have survived the day."
If the barb cut deep, she did not let it show. "Perhaps." Acher saw the flicker of silver between her lips when she spoke; her tongue quite literally turned silver after she consumed Xumurdad's. "But he is dead and you are alive, Lord Acher. I think that, given the circumstances, you could overlook my previous actions' affront to your principles."
"And what would you know of those principles?" he asked. Acher had never been good at holding his irritation in; it stung now. "I want a Zenderael where Earth's men do not rule us. I see you bring one before me, even now." He jabbed a finger at one of her retinue; a dusky-skinned young man, whose leather jacket was not of Zenderean make. He knew it was a generalization, at first, but the widening of his eyes told Acher that his accusation was correct. "Your actions impeded that."
"For good reasons," the Vairya sighed. "Lord Acher, dearest, you know what I am. I seek profit -- and at the end, Aerveas was going to lose that war. I suspect you will show more restraint." Theoric chortled loudly at that and Acher tried to hide a smile. The Vairya deflated and sighed. "Okay, even I couldn't make that sound convincing."
Acher snorted and rested his chin on his clinched fist. "So the queen of liars comes to my hall and tells me the truth: that she intends to use me for profit."
"I can get valuable goods," she said. An edge entered her voice.
"I can pillage them myself and for cheaper than the exorbitant rates you've offered," Acher said. "What of the fact nearly every guild leader is now of Earth?"
"Necessary," she said. He rose an eyebrow and gestured, indicating for her to go on. The Vairya frowned at him, then, before she nodded her head. "I traced out some of the patterns. Aerveas was too stupid to understand, of course, but large-scale merges occurred in tandem with god-organs changing hands. I can't be sure of how it worked exactly, but Earthers having them seemed to make it go more smoothly."
That stabbed through Acher. Had Xumurdad betrayed Its creation so thoroughly? Did they require handing power over to the Earthmen, simply to preserve their world? What sort of monstrous plan was that? His lips hardened, into a line. He looked to the side, to Theoric, and the mercenary frowned and nodded at him. He looked back at the Vairya. "I see," he said. He stood up and walked closer. "Then it had to be done."
"It did," she agreed. "But you see the position it puts us both in. We were on the losing end of the war." And, Acher thought, she had second thoughts about their mercy and their inability to kill her after they felled a god. Acher folded his arms over his chest.
"It does." He had never been a good actor, but he tried, now. He pushed a smile to his face. "What of yours?"
The Vairya laughed. "Ah, my lord, I'm afraid giving up a slice of godhood is quite the opposite of profitable."
"So it is." He smiled. "Let us seal our future together, then, Lady Vairya." He offered his hand towards her. She smiled back and took it, shaking his hand. His fingers gripped her wrist, firmly, and he saw her eyes widen. His strength was too great for a simple gesture of agreement and he saw that realization in her eyes. Instead of stoking the warhound's blood, he burned all of his store at once. He moved forward with lightning speed, standing in front of her. "A future you would throw away."
"What--"
"My loyalty is to Zenderael. You confessed that you would see some of it destroyed for your own life," Acher said. "Consider this your payment."
She reached one hand down to her side, drawing a dagger out faster than he could blink. Her rogues were doing the same. In an ordinary situation, he would be dead; however, he had the blood of something divine fueling him. Acher slammed his head forward with the force of a freight train, headbutting the Vairya. Her scream ended midway through, as the force slammed into her skull. Her head burst like a dropped melon, red mist, shattered bone, and grey matter flying out at all angles. Most of it splattered in front of him, while some ran down his face. Only the silvered tongue remained. It flew through the air, hit the flagstones of the banquet hall, and bounced a few times before rolling to a stop.
He felt the inhuman strength leave him, all of the warhound's blood gone, and felt that surging desire for more. It left him feeling weak, woozy, and unfocused. He ignored it, but not easily, and let go of her hand. Her body finished crumpling to the ground.
Acher looked at the other rogues for a moment, before he settled on the youngest: the dusky-skinned, nervous young man whose legs were shaking. "You have seen how quickly and easily I can kill," he said, "and you know how little love I have for Earth." He motioned with a flick of his wrist to the tongue on the ground, pointedly ignoring the blood running down his face. "I found your dinner, boy! I suggest you eat it."
The rogue stumbled forward, grabbed the tongue with a shaking hand, and took his first bite. Acher smiled, calmly, and sat back on his wooden throne. He waited until he finished, watching as the boy looked like he might wretch. Then, he motioned to a door to the side.
"Out."