vii. unseelie locked. voice.

[vrykolakas]

I need extra hands for seasonal work, mages in particular; mages who can work with heat and fire, all the better. Or weather, shit. This cold is slowing down work at my spire; the Ninth, up on the coast, devilish cold even without the Roc's influence. We lost a young man to it yesterday. I need ice melted, walkways made safe, snow shovelled, water heated, just more people.

Coppers for ordinary workers, silvers for mages, as well as all my very tenderest and heartfelt sentiments of good will. Do something drastic and lasting and we'll discuss gold.

[LOG POST.]

Comments

voice.

[powerful]

You don't happen to have means for instant transportation, do you? I can help you with what you need, but I'm not exactly close to where you are.

voice.

[vrykolakas]

There's a fairy ring here; if you're close to one, ask it for Srathmarbh.

Otherwise... [He makes a tch'ing sound, thoughtful.] Potentially. Where are you and how useful do you propose being?

[Blunt, but he's busy as hell; puca are quick, not instantaneous, and a ride out to collect her could take anything from ten minutes to a couple of hours.]

voice (to) video.

[powerful]

I'm in Nimh Gleanne, closest to the seventh spire. If my notes aren't outdated, the closest available ring is at least a day's travel. As for my usefulness.

( she flicks the locket to its visual function, and points it toward a very welcoming, and warm, looking fire. ) I'm a Sorceress of Caer Scima. And I'm very good with fire. ( she holds her hand out toward the blaze and it flares up, nearly catching the ceiling of her tent. ) If that helps you make a decision.

voice

[vrykolakas]

[...]

Give me a few hours.

[Fair enough.]

voice

[powerful]

Stay warm.

( l o l )

- > action

[vrykolakas]

[Perhaps two hours later, the sound of hooves and smell of burning rings through Nimh Gleanne, and an awful, caterwauling voice snarls,] Here she is she's here, that little sorceress you were hunting. Hiding in the trees. Can taste her brain. All her bad fears and nightmares. Fucking witches!

[To which the reply comes, in the rough, hoarse voice she had heard over the network earlier:] Calm your godsdamn tongue, Accalon, and quit your bragging.

[They come into view, a great black horse-shaped thing with a smoky mane, its hooves aflame with purplish fire; astride it, the Brucolac, who flashes a fang in a crooked smile.] Sorry for my mount's...ah, just sorry for all of it.

action. i'm like sitting here wondering why i've never thrown cassie at him before this is glorious

[powerful]

( cassie hears the hooves before the voice, but she reacts to the first, menacing voice. she makes no hesitation to step out into the open. there's a flicker of fear inside of her, but she doesn't allow the instinctual darkness to flood her bloodstream. thanks to waver, she's got a much better hold on the dark magic. it's a fight-versus-flight response. her jaw is tense and she's prepared to roast a bitch alive, but the second voice staves off the need.

she relaxes, but not entirely, and the smile she offers is tense. )

I'd hardly call brain-tasting a bragging right. But it's no big deal. ( she eyes the whatever-the-fuck suspiciously. then she disappears inside of her little makeshift tent with a quick 'let me get my stuff', barely mumbled. taste her brain? what a freak.

most of her things are already together, but she has a couple of last minute additions to her small pack. it doesn't take long for her to dismantle the cloth from the tent. magic's awesome that way. she bundles herself accordingly, straps the bag to her back, and turns toward the fire. she holds her hand out toward it, open-palmed, and focuses. as her fist closes, so do the flames douse themselves. water seems to be drawn out of the ice and snow around them, turning to droplets, and she gathers them all up into one concentrated space to throw on the ashes. not that there's any risk of starting a fire in these woods, not with the weather this way, but she doesn't want to risk it.

cassie turns back to the brucolac and his weird thing, but she approaches slowly. )

It's not going to eat me, is it?

action. ikr, i'm enjoying this a great deal c:

[vrykolakas]

'Eat you! Little witch, this one's in much greater danger of—'

Shut up, Accalon, [the Brucolac says, easy and calm,] you cock-gobbling nag. He won't eat you. [He reaches into his pocket and pulls out something he delicately unwraps...ah, it's a mint humbug. When he tosses it into the air, Accalon whinnies with pleasure and whips his head around to catch it, crunching it between sharp yellow teeth.

The Brucolac leans over and extends a hand.] Come on up. Sit before me, its safest. We'll ride to the nearest fairy ring and go from there. Ten minutes at most.

My name's the Brucolac, by the way.