[DND] [M] Heart made of glass, my mind of stone.
#1

WARNING: This thread contains material exceeding the general board rating of PG-13. It may contain very strong language, drug usage, graphic violence, or graphic sexual content. Reader discretion is advised.

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ooc; for jace! 8D

Nervously, Morrigan adjusted the straps of her shoulder bag. She was simply fiddling, playing with the strands of sinew that were starting to fray and come loose. Taking a deep breath, the almost-yearling tried to steady the thumping of her heart in her chest. This is childish, Morrigan thought to herself. I shouldnt be afraid of trading with strangers. But still, the tightness in her chest persisted. Within her bag she had managed to scrounge up some new herbs, and she had brought along some others that had been gifted to her in her travels. There was also the matter of the new poison that the witchling had been experimenting with, thought that wasn’t ready to sell or even show others yet.

Mentally, she went over what was inside her bag. Some dried Valerian, marigold leaves for dyeing, and opium. Fingering the palm sized pot within the fabric, she looked over at The Ugly Coyote, and resigned herself to go in. What was the worst that could happen? Straightening her shoulders, Morrigan raised her chin and walked over to the bar. Ducking inside the door, several different scents hit her at once. The tang of homebrewed spirits hung in the air, as well as the different smells of strangers muddling together. Eyes adjusting to the dimmer light, Morrigan looked around.

It didn’t take long, and soon she was seated across from a rather formidable looking wolf hybrid. He was older, hulking, and fairly intimidating. Her items for trade sat across the table top, plain for all too see. The opium sat in its container, exposed while the lid rest beside it, a few marigold petals lay scattered – somewhat poking out of the fat satchel full of them, and the Valerian neatly bundled together. The witchling knew the Valerian and marigold weren’t worth much, but the opium seemed to be the valuable commodity and the wolf sat silently, considering. Crossing his arms, he huffed out, a gesture clearly meant to appear as unimpressed. “ Listen, “ The male started, his voice bored and monotone. “ This is all pretty basic stuff, but I’ll do you a favour and take it off your pretty little hands. “ With a wink, he reached into his own bag, much larger, and carefully placed several items beside hers for consideration.

“ I think you’ll find this more then fair, princess. “ He chuckled, amber eyes flashing as the stranger focused on her. At the nickname, Morrigan felt her temper rise in her chest and the smile on her face became forced. Irritated, she glanced down at what lay on the table, trying to not look confused and unsure.
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#2
[+000]
NPC: Ooc

She should not get involved. Idle thoughts, as her calculating eye ran across what the little witch girl presented for perusal. The pure scent of opium was enough to make her remember the beach... and recall such other glorious memories. Helena breathed it in, allowing the taint of other herbs to follow it. A chaser to the shot of spirit.

Worship me, whispered her own voice from long ago and far away. She could hear him answering, pleading, begging with her. Too black and too green and entirely too much. She had swallowed his devotion then, soaked up all of his fervent, masochistic love.

Tipping her glass, she quaffed the entirety of it, swallowing this all too.

Those memories alone were enough to live off of. Fortunately, she did not have to. She got to have her cake and eat it too. Deviously acquired, it remained all the more delicious for that fact.

Along with this there came a reminder, that such idle, furious desires no longer had their need to be kept behind lock and key. What danger was there here, where Ashen members frequently were intoxicated in their streets, and she did not have to care at all.

She was aware, intrinsically, from much practice, of the worth of what was offered almost immediately. Weighing and judging and creating her own list of payment were part of herself now, it happened naturally, automatically.

Helena's brows furrowed as the wolf-male began to pull out his own offerings. She chafed, as did the witchling, at his casual misogyny. Willingly, Helena waited to see if anything would be argued. The young girl offered no refute, and hedged without much surety.

Distaste, for the pelt was of poor quality, along with the bone knife that had seen better days and a coil of badly made cordage that she wouldn't bet not to snap with the least amount of wager. Sucking in her breath, she emptied the cigarette between her teeth to ash and spewed out the smoke, turning her head away in disgust.

For the memories given unintentionally, Helena could feel magnanimous.

Again, this large fish in such a little pond, Helena would be the only one to cheat her fellow Ashen.

"Fair?" She snapped viciously, leaning forwards in her seat, "Zhis shit iesn't worth zhe breath to talk about iet."

He gaped at her sudden intrusion, at the venom in her voice and the burning touch of her eyes as they pinned him to his seat. Turning, Helena looked at the fey-eyed witchling,

"Ma chérie,, zhis man ies trying to cheat you. Your goods are worth more zhan his." He began to protest and her head snapped back to him,

"Écume." Helena hissed, snake-like. Few could match her stare, when it was leveled upon them with ferocity, and this cowardly creature was not one of the strong, he looked away, muttering under his breath, gathering together what little courage he possessed in his swine's heart before trying and failing again to look back at her.

There was little class to be found within him, and even eager as she was to engage herself in a lower level of sin and vice, that was too far a tilt for her to stomach in silence.

~~~

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#3
It took her a moment, but when she realized what lay before her a displeased grimace replaced her forced smile, and pastel-hued eyes peered up at the male with a incredulous look. Really? A breath began to build in her lungs, mouth moving to ask how he thought opium for a shitty knife and a rope was a fair trade, but someone in the nearby vicinity inhaled sharply. Before Morrigan could even register who the voice belonged too, she struck like a viper.

"Fair? Zhis shit iesn't worth zhe breath to talk about iet."

They both gaped, but Morrigan recovered quickly, having the sense to regain her composure. Her eyes slid to the woman who appeared to emerge out of a cloud of tabacco smoke from nowhere, though it seemed she had been seated next to them and heard the ridiculous offer forming. Embarrassed, the witchling flicked her ears back slightly but adopted a steely look as the viper focused her gaze on her. Beautiful was an understatement, long dark curls framed a pointed face, all angles and reddish blush spread across her muzzle. Her eyes mirrored Morrigans, bright, warm shades in yellow gold and red amber to the witchlings cooler, pastel hues.

"Ma chérie,, zhis man ies trying to cheat you. Your goods are worth more zhan his."

The wolf tried to protest, but was quickly silenced. He mumbled under his breath, something about being a ‘ nosy bitch ‘ and Morrigans nostrils flared. The chit chat in the bar around the trio seemed to ebb and flow in volume, but she could hardly take her eyes off of the red woman before her. Her aura seemed powerful, foreboding, almost predatory. It was sort of intoxicating to witness, and yearlings eyes slightly glazed over as a familiar warmth spread down her chest, drinking in the scene before her.

Clearing her throat, she turned to the wolf and narrowed her gaze, her mouth drawn into a hard line. “ I’m inclined to agree… What else do you have to offer? “ Leaning back in her seat, the chair creaked slightly and she adopted an indifferent attitude, crossing one knee over the other and relaxing her shoulders. “ This is fresh Opium. Surely you know of its effects? “ Glancing at the viper woman, Morrigan recalled a bit of gossip she had heard in her wanderings around the territory. Something about an evil witch infiltrating their ranks, previously apart of Salsola… The mysterious pack of slave keepers. Not much was known about them, except they were murderous and evil and had wiped out Inferni, an older pack several current members used to be apart of. Interesting. Morrigan smiled a little as she considered. Tall, dark and dangerous?
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#4
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NPC: Ooc

Her lip curled, the edges of her teeth revealed, and eagerly forwards she leaned, absorbing the prey-like response of him. Those blaring alarms spun their screaming deep in her ears, chase, capture, kill. A mantra she had lived and survived by. Too bad, too bad she was not a Dragon-Queen to order such execution any longer.

She had murdered far greater men than him, had watched them take their last breaths and the light leave their eyes. Perhaps he saw this, there in the lines of her face and the shadow behind the gaze he could not bring himself to look at.

Helena's cavernous, wicked smile was everything that nightmares came from, and, of a similar motion, both women turned to look at the trader man, who gulped visibly, and scratched at the back of his neck nervously. Her hands were red, red, red, even when they were clean. Stained in sin and vice.

With a smooth motion, she slid closer, and it was clear she was not going to remove herself from the situation now that an accord was not to be struck in a diffident favor. The opium. She wanted it.

"Y-yeah, I know..."

The man leaned, fumbling about in his bag, and produced a bottle of deep purple liquid. It sloshed readily as he handed it over to Morrigan for judgement. Helena assumed it was wine, though only a sniff and taste test would prove how truly valuable it was. Good wine was worth its weight in gems. At least, to those who sought it.

~~~

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#5
ooc - wc - 428

The male stuttered, looking like he wished he was anyplace else on earth but here with them. The energy that rolled off of Helena was palpable and pulsed in the air, and she felt a shiver race down her spine as pale eyes took in the predator staring down her prey, looking through his eyes right down to his bones. The male saw his end in those fiery eyes, embers still burning in the pit of ashes of all the men before him. He would not be the last, of that he was certain.

Morrigan observed intently, this was real intimidation unfolding in front of her – and it was breathtaking.

The attention then turned to her, and Morrigan wasn’t sure she was prepared. At this point all she had offered was false bravado, but she was keenly aware in the presence of Helena she was well out of her depth. Something dark lurked in the depths of those pools of red-hot lava, and at once she realized where the rumors came from. The woman herself was a beast among the sheep, laying in wait for the chance to pick off the flock – one by one. The question was, who would she gobble up first?

It mattered not where Helena had come from, what things were said behind her back. If there was any truth to it, she would burn them right where they stood until there was nothing but a scorched mark upon the earth. Morrigan was fascinated, but had the decency to feign boredom, switching up her focus from the woman to her side to the simpering fool before her. If this was the role she would play, well, why not have some fun. Her eyes flicked down to the bottle and back up to the male, considering, the gears in her head turning, mulling the trade over. She reached for the bottle with no shame, winking at him before taking a swig brazenly.

“ Hey! “ He began to protest and Morrigan sushed him with a defiant finger thrown in his direction, a stony expression carved onto her otherwise prim features.  “ How do you expect me to test the trade? “ Scoffing, the witch swirled the bottle and sniffed above the opening. It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t worth the Opium. “ I’d rather not, I think. “ The youth finally answered after a long moment, signaling to Helena that the wine was so-so. Hell, she could probably make her own better anyhow. This was a pack that produced its own alcohol and had it’s own bar.
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#6
[+000]
NPC: Ooc

If the younger girl found the crushing weight of her aura oppressive then she hid it well from the outsider in their midst; but Helena saw much and more, dipping her stained fingers deeper into the souls of others than she had any right to do. It mattered not, and the eminent Dragoness laid claim to whatever she saw fit. She took possession where it pleased her.

Ragged traders aside, she would consume what was presented purely for the fact that she could. Never satisfied, never satiated. Her hand disappeared into the pocket of her pants, dragging out another cigarette that she lit without ceremony from the flickering candle in the middle of the table, drawing in a breath stained with nicotine and exhaling a plume of smoke directly at his face.

Some very dark impulses were being wrest from their slumber. Helena could remember, the man in the snow with his bleeding leg; And how so very beautiful Andrew had appeared with his sharp-angled face smeared in blood. She could hear those crunching, cracking sounds, of bones and muscle popping, ripping, tearing, and the drip-drip of rust tarnished melt-water.

I'll see your death and fuck my husband on your corpse.

The man cringed backwards from the expression on her face, turning away with a sickened grimace dancing across his pallid, square-jawed muzzle.

Unconcernedly, Helena reached for the bottle too, taking a swig of the purple contents. She let it settle on her tongue and tantalize the taste buds. Mediocre, but not the worst thing she had ever tried. Morrigan expressed her distaste for the paltry offering.

"What else?" She snapped, watching coldly as he shuffled about in his little bag of disappointing tricks. Fumbling, he dumped it out on the table and just barely avoided upsetting the candle.

Her rose ears canted forwards, giving the already imposing woman a very sinister cast. Candlelight guttered and sputtered, casting writhing shadows across one half of her face, illuminating her yellow eye fiercely.

All of it was garbage, in some capacity or another, whether in craftsmanship or just in the type. There was not much demand for rusted old earrings, or bones carved into facsimiles of animals. Helena scoffed derisively, a disgusted snort of breath threw the dice of her opinion onto the table between them.


~~~

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