A Bond Unveiled
Emblem of Ea - Sunday, August 15, 2021, 8:14 PM
Returning from a false alarm mission, Venom encounters Aryia in the Halls of the Explorer's Guild practicing her skill at reading. Aryia takes concerned notice of Venom's state, and is assured things are well enough, though it's clear to the veiled woman that something is bothering her silent companion. Aryia is plagued by concerns of enemies and demons seeking her and those she cares for, she and wonders at the secret of Venom's collected poise and preparedness. After securing the room they had met in, the conversation becomes one of revelation, and fans the embers of a new friendship between the two adventurers...
-=--=--=--=--=--=<* A05: Adventurer's Council, Great Hall *>-=--=--=--=--=--=-
As the phoenix is Alexandria's national symbol, so too has its Explorer's Council, often called the Adventurer's Council, risen from the ashes of its destruction.
Guards and mercenaries fill the interior of this huge building, one of the largest in its immediate area. Strong, metal walls divide its interior, crafting halls, briefing rooms and offices. A large space near the front has been set aside for mingling and stocked with comfortable chairs to wait in.
This area is catered by one of the Society of Arcanists' more famous chefs, a small lucht with a predilection for otherworldly cuisine and tentacle soup. Security here is as tight as it is anywhere in Alexandria, even more so now after its recent destruction. Sharp eyed sentinels and guards are ever-watchful and all manner of security contraption is said to be residing within the walls of the building. The walls are pristine for now, though not for long, and artfully decorated with murals depicting heroic adventure by members of all communities and races of the region.
The windows to the Council Hall are now stained glass, artfully decorated to depict famous moments in Alexandrian history, ranging from the death of Altima at the hands of the Phalanx Falcis at the end of the Sorceress Wars, to the city triumphantly emerging from the Mists to a changed world. Many spaces have been set aside for new stories to be added, with numerous tale yet to be written.
No matter how many times the Hall has been rebuilt, the statue in the front remains the same: a lone warrior facing off against what is presumably thought to be 'Cuddles the Otyugh Queen', with the Council's motto, below: Anything for the right price.
EXTRAS: +view
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Venom A woman(?) about 5'6" in a ragged black veil and ponc 0s 9m Aryia A heavily scarred mul with a tired look about her. 10s 11h
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-- Objects =--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- [Archives] Dun Morden War Stories
The Plank
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Out <O>
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Explorer's Guild. Evening, past dusk.
It's a warm day outside, recent rains holding a mugginess to the air. Though, some seek refuge in any buildings still open, one being the guild hall itself.
One individual among the throng of adventurers was a scarred mul'neissa sitting at the far end of a table by herself, a fresh journal in hand with a tired look about her visage. She's silently writing away, slowly and methodical with her shoulders slumped.
Soon arriving from the world beyond, the shrouded woman, Venom, makes her way with a mild touch of stiffness in her stride. Her poncho and boots are caked in dried mud among other things, and there are new scuffs on both leather and what little metal she visibly wears. Clutched in her fist is a watermarked scroll of some kind. There is some note as the veiled one's path starts to take her past the scarred Mul'niessa, and with a snap of fingers, she signs a, "Hello. Practicing?" <handspeech>
Aryia looks up from the snap, a little confused at the sound. Her features brighten for a moment, but sullen just as quick. A cursory glance at the journal would confirm that she was, indeed, practicing her writing.
Tired eyes look them over, her head tilting to the side. "Yes, I am. What... did you fall in mud? You okay?" she gestures with her spare hand. Concern melding with her already worried features. <Handspeech>
Venom shrugs a shoulder, "Old foot bridge gave out on me. Landed on the bank. Mostly." she returns via the other hand, not bearing the scroll, "The job was a mistake, the client didn't see what he thought he saw."
She cocks her head a touch then starts to sign with the hand held toward Aryia, "What's wrong?" <handspeech>
Aryia's face grimaces at the thought of falling, her eyes trailing to the other's feet. Hopefully nothing was broken. "Sorry it went bad. At least you're back now." <Handspeech>
Though, the shadow elf sighs and bows her head. So much so her face smooshes against her journal. "I'm really fucking tired, Venom. A lot of shit is going on in a city that wants to either kill me, capture me, or hurt friends I just made. The last thing just happened recently," the pugilist vents without looking. She raises her head, looking up at the outstretched hand. The woman sighs, lethargically reaching out to take it. "Thanks for asking." <Handspeech>
Venom accepts the hand and cocks her head a moment before nodding. Her hand curls slightly tighter around the Mul'niessa's.
She glances to the scroll filling her other hand, then gently draws on Aryia's, though she cam't elaborate on her reasons at the moment.
Aryia was about to go back to getting wrapped in her own head, but she blinks, letting herself get pulled along with whatever Venom had in mind.
Venom isn't in a rush, apparantly, but isn't in a position to explain, just yet. She leads Aryia along toward one of the agents who keep track of the missions.
THere is a look that is interceded by the thrust of the wrinkled scroll. He grunts a bit in irritation, then spends some time straightening it out. A map, freshly annotated in places, such as what looks like a stream crossing. She reaches under her poncho and, in the same manner she seems to easily grab whatever tool she needs, a small bundle of loose pages are produced. One, looks a bit like a journal entry or report, which the agent takes and peruses.
Venom turns to Aryia, then and, with her now empty hand, "When is the last time you got proper rest?" <handspeech>
Aryia scoops her journal up as she lead along hand in hand with Venom, her having to crane her head up to watch the shifting veil as they went. She tilts her head at the map. Did Venom make that? It only raised more questions.
Once they come to a stop, she shuffles on her feet and looks down. Only able to see hands. "A couple of weeks ago," she answers hesitantly. "Barring the couple of times I drank a lot. Like... last time you saw me in town." <Handspeech>
The agent, a somewhat piggy looking older human with a black framed monocle and a low, almost gurgly voice replies, "This seems to be in order. That region will be flagged for extra scrunity going forward, and the proper compensations will be duly forhcoming." as he squares up the map and papers, which he transfers to the second desk behind him for filing.
Venom, for her part, nods with a low sigh fluttering the veil before she begins to sign again, "Not good." a pause, then, "Do you know what they want?" <handspeech>
Aryia rubs her arm, glancing back to the desk before sighing. She gently squeezes Venom's hand before pulling away to sign easier. "Devils and demons like to play with their food," she explains, letting her hands fall for a moment. "And someone from Charn figured out I'm here now so... I've got that to deal with. Remember the explosion on the dock? That was part of that." <Handspeech>
Finally, she looks up at the veil. "You seem like you have yourself all together. How do you do it?" she questions with a tilt of her head, looking for some mote of advice. <Handspeech>
The explaination is processed for some seconds before she actually responds with what begins with a slow nod. It proceeds further as her hands are both freed, "The redhead from the last mission." she speculates.
The shrouded head cocks slightly as she absorbs Aryia's observation about her, takes another second or so to consider that, then, "Personal." she replies with a hand help up in a halting motion. She looks around, then her hands start to continue, "In a quiet place." <handspeech>
Aryia shrugs at the speculation. "Probably not, to be honest. She's got... what is the human phrase? Bigger fish to fry?" <Handspeech>
The elf gives a small sigh at the answer, almost about to give a dejected to acceptance to the answer, but her nonverbal words were silenced. She blinks, her giving a slow nod before looking around with her. Spotting something, Aryia reaches out to take Venom's hand again, leading her off to the same meeting room used before where they first met.
Venom nods on the response in regard to the personality conflict from the other night. She allows her hand to be taken, and this time, it's her turn to follow the other woman's lead to the meeting room. Those are usually discrete. As that goes on, she weighs her options, balancing scales of who knows what measure...
Aryia shuts the door and flips the lock on it, her letting her guard down for a moment. Just for a moment. She wipes at her face before getting herself together and releasing Venom once more.
She plops onto the meeting table, making it her current seat for now as the chalkboard they once used was off to their flank. Milky eyes watch the fellow mute for a moment before she puts her hands on her knees and idly kicks her feet. Waiting for an answer patiently. Any answer was worth its sign in gold in Aryia's scales.
Venom's hand gains incrementally in it's understated tension as the pair proceed into the room, the door locking, up until it's eventual release. The veiled figure walks toward the table after Aryia, swpeeing the room with her shrouded gaze and she rests her weight upon her hands against the table.
There has been silence, but now comes stillness.
A hand lifts, freezes in the air, then settles again.
Shifts.
Lifts.
Settles.
A deeper breath then sets the veils to protacted fluttering, and her hands lift anew, "I was made for this." <handspeech>
Aryia tilts her head to the side, worried she might have asked the wrong question. She fidgets with her fingers, looking on in anticipation for an answer. But sees it slip away. Then come again. Then slide away.
She about to halt Venom herself, with a hand reaching out to push the words down again. But to her surprise, an answer is placed on the scale.
It takes a few moments for the answer to seek in. Aryia's gaze jumping to and fro from the sigh fo the veil, to the tick in Venom's hands, back to where the other mute's eyes should be.
"Made?" she repeats the gesture, mouthing it as well. Her face falls a touch. Though it's one of empathy. She hazards a guess, hoping it was enough to seek out some iota of elaboration, "I'm going to guess it wasn't your choice." <Handspeech>
Venom's fingers quiver just a ghost at the tips before closing into a knot and she nods, then her hands, willfully, almost forcibly unlocked, start to elaborate, "In the ruins. Artifice."
A pause, and the shrouded one shrugs faintly, "Magic."
At last a shake of the head, "I don't know. He made us to be his eyes."
At last for some reason, she reaffirms, "My name is Venom." <handspeech>
Artifice. Aryia's jaw tenses slightly. She'd seen such machinations first hand and what they can do. As well as- wait, he? Surely it wasn't...-
Aryia carefully reaches out and places a hand on her fellow mute's shoulder. "V-n-m," she softly repeats, a hiss at first, but the rest of the sounds would have been lost were there any other noise in the room. Her spare hand gestures, "Did you pick that name?" <Handspeech>
It's a simple question, but, for some reason it seems to take the veiled one a few moments to answer. She is tense under the gentle touch, and the slow shake of her head, when it finally comes, brushes her shroud over the Mul's hand.
Her own falter for a moment, torn perhaps in what to do next, then begin flexing and gesturing anew, "We're named when he made us."
Her head turns toward Aryia, and her hands continue their tale, "I think your land built him. The redhead's accent is like his." <handspeech>
Aryia is patient, waiting, the veil makes her hand twitch, but she doesn't remove it. "Sounds like something The Tyrant does," she mentions with her free hand, ending with a symbol of the diety. The sign for a broken disc, with the handshape for the color black. "It doesn't surprise me that whoever he is built from my homeland. That place is nasty and cruel."
The topic was heavy, that much was certain. But from the tension she could feel under her grasp, she felt like it needed to be abated. "Do..."
She ponders, questioning herself before going full in on the question. "Do you like your name? I picked mine. It's nice to have something that is your own," she attempts to assuage with a wan smile. It's awkward but well meaning, this sort of conversation not one she finds herself in much. <Handspeech>
"It serves." Venom replies, then turns her head slightly toward the hand on her shoulder. There is a statuelike pause, then her hand lifts to gently curl over the wrist of that hand.
Her other hand moves to take up the communication, pausing and continuing in fits and stops, "I will... share... truth."
Her hand opens, moving slowly upward for a few inches before stopping. Then, they start to rise to undo the fastenings of the veils. <handspeech>
Aryia has a retort for the answer, despite how flimsy it was. But her hand ceases halfway as her wrist is held. Right over where abrasion scars were from manacles. She suppresses the urge to flinch.
Her head tilts to the side, mind starting to pick up and race. The unknowns made her afraid of whatever knowledge that was to be shared, but a small part of her was burning with curiosity of the enigma that was Venom. A figure that, to be honest, she somewhat strove to be. An example.
She sits rigid still, her sitting on the table lets them be at eye level with one another so she needn't move at all. But her eyes darted between each of the fastenings. A small part of her hopes that whatever it was wouldn't be piled onto the growing mountain of burdens she had to deal with.
The elf gently squeezes the tense shoulder.
Venom draws the veils off and to the side, partially dragging her hair up over the opposing shoulder, where it begins to slide back down in increments. The mask from before is present, and the exposed eyes within the eyeslits are dark and, perhaps uncertain. Buckles locking at a temple here, along the opposing cheek there, and finally under the chin are unfastened, and the mass is drawn free, bringing more of her dark, silken hair to half shroud common enough features of a young Acanian human, fair of skin.
She turns her attention to the scarred wrist then to Aryia's face, more indecision there, and she signs, "I make this identity..." her hand runs along the poncho, then touches the veils, "into a... mystery. Silent, but loud. It becomes a shield." <handspeech>
Aryia's spare hand plays with a strand sticking out of the hem of her pant leg, having to sit still for an extended period of time becoming harder as time ticked on. She couldn't fidget like normal, or kick her legs (else Venom would be kicked in kind). So she sat there, watching, waiting. Tensing a bit as all was pulled free.
The elf blinks. Then blinks again, rubbing at her eyes with her spare hand. There was a part of her that she was expecting to be face to face with a Golem. Or a tall mul'neissa assassin that made some elaborate ruse to take her out right then and there.
But instead it was the subversion of Aryia's expectations that gives her pause. Her eyes refocus, glancing to each of the features that she was permitted to see for the time being. Trying to commit to memory what she could. "Oh wow," the mute elf mouths, sitting up straighter. They were so focused on the new sight before them that she nearly missed the signs. "Against... him?" she tries to extrapolate.
Tearing her eyes away for just a moment, Aryia removes her hand from Venom and reaches over towards one of the chairs. She swivels it around, puts a boot on the back, and kicks it towards the door. It slides into place, effectively jamming it from the other side. Hopefully that would assuage some of Venom's tension. <Handspeech>
Venom smiles awkwardly at the 'wow' response, her brows knitting some in momentary bewilderment. She slips the poncho from over her shoulders, exposing close fit cotton over the leather trousers, as well as her gunbelt, lined with bullets, though the holster still pines for the Dragonspitter she'd been forced to sacrifice, and a remarkably well wrought pack that accoodates her Thunderbelcher.
Her eyes lower, and her lips part as she takes in a breath, then close and she glances askance at a spot on the table as a hand lifts to comb her hair back out of her eyes and over the shoulder. There is a swallow, and the dark eyes seek Aryia's from beneath uncertain brows as she straightens only to intone a soft, "Against everyone."
Aryia's eyes slide down to rest that was revealed, again surprised with the amount that was hidden away, though she had some inkling that Venom was armed to the teeth already just based on how prepared she seemed. Her head tilts to the side, merely watching her fellow mute gather their courage. Really, Aryia was just trying to lock the visage into her memory, as she wasn't sure of the next time she'd see it.
That, however, garners a reaction.
A wave of frisson shoots over the elf, white hairs on her arm stand up on ends. Eyes wide.
Aryia staggers emotionally for a spell, understanding the weight of just a handful of syllables. She blinks, then glances away, then looks back to the dark eyes before glancing down again and back once more. A hand slowly raises, and flicks a singular digit beside the long ear of the shadow elf. "I understand." <Handspeech>
The Acanian woman shifts her weight indecisively from foot to foot, finally settling the camber of her hip to favor the unburdened side. Her hands clasp for a moment, the elbowlength gloves creaking softly before they part anew, though not to form her response, "I can still... help you set up safe places... show you how to prepare if... if you still want."
Aryia, again, was blindsided as Venom spoke more. A chill shot through her spine as her long ears twitched to hang on to every soft spoken word. There was something forming in her chest, a bundle of emotions that she really hadn't experienced before.
She felt... important.
And that made her smile.
"Y-s... pl-s-. -f th-t's -l-ght?" she responds in kind, an staccato of a flange obstructing an otherwise very hushed, gentle atmosphere. She puts her hands on her knees. Meeting the Acanian's gaze once more. "Th-nk -, V-n-m."
Venom steps forward, closer to the scarred woman, her expression lightening, perhaps some relief of Aryia's acceptance of what she's revealed of her circumstances. She smiles with some lingering uncertainty, yet, and remanding her right glove to softly rattle upon the table,, baring a hand calloused by training and labors in equal measure, which is offered for her to clasp, "You're welcome, Aryia."
There is a bit of surprise as Venom grows closer, Aryia resting a hand behind her to lean on it. Still, however, she smiles warmly. One that does show her missing molars, but at the present, she didn't care. She glances down at the bare hand, her giving a soft sigh of relief and reaching for it and grasping with her own roughed up grip.
The elf, after a moment of contemplation and hesitation, points to Venom with her free hand, then herself. She pauses, and continues by shaking Venom's hand, using it as a substitute for her own hand before she taps the side of her head. "Do you think you and I could be friends?" <Handspeech>
Venom seems somewhat puzzled for a moment by the question. Her eyes half lid for a moment and reopen to affixe on Aryia's.
She smiles, giving the hand a careful squeeze and nods, "I think we can."
The Acanian considers the other woman and closes her other hand around the one in her grip.
Aryia's smile turns into a full on beam, the fatigue that was etched throughout her seemingly lightened. She returns the gesture, her rough and scarified hand held comfortably in place. She motions with a flat palm in the air, then flutters it at her sternum. "Wonderful. I'm happy." <Handspeech>
It's just the two of them in here. No crowding noise of the guildhall, no prying eyes, no expectations set upon them. Aryia turns to the side and scoops up her new journal, flashing it before setting it down. "Do you want to go over some writing practice?" she asks with her free hand. "I think I'm starting to get the hang of it now." <Handspeech>
Venom is once again surprised by the bloom of emotion in Aryia's face, it stirs something deep down, something basic that has been absent for a long time, if it's ever truly been kindled, before.
The silence, the measures taken for the meetings to be secure give her some comfort and at her question, the Acanian gives a nod and draws a chair over to set alongside, pivoted ninety degrees, "Alright, let's see how you're doing so far."
She settles in, her choice in angle accomodating her pack, which she reaches back into, and, as ever, her writing implements are in hand to bring to the table...