A Strange Way to Make Friends (Navi007)

As the coach trundled westward, day waned toward dusk, casting the birch forest around into a brilliant display of sunset colors. The passenger, with teal eyes gleaming in the sunset’s most wayward rays, took no notice of it at all. His mind was elsewhere: on the events of the five days beforehand, trying to glean some sliver of information that would help in what would come.

* * *

In the late afternoon, on the bridge over the river on the eastern side of Kedaldown’s sprawls, Omentus Anima gathered his pole and tackle. There were fish biting, but nothing big enough to call a real catch. There was no disappointment about it; Omentus didn’t usually fish to catch something, just to let the hours tick by and give him some uninterrupted thinking time. Still in his haze, he walked to a small bar on the inside of the sprawls, and got a cool drink. For a moment, it sat in front of him untouched, until the apothecary had realized he couldn’t remember how to pick it up. He blinked, bringing himself a little further into the waking world, and shook his head at his own folly. He took a sip from the cold water. Hmm… fresh from the well, he thought fondly. A conversation caught his ear.

“ –ourse, it were a tough thing to do, but it’s not like I haven’t been in similar spots,” a youth Omentus half-remembered boasted. “But hey, now I’m home again, and the gang lords wouldn’t dare touch me. I’m a part of the family, if you know what I mean.”

One of the boy’s friends didn’t seem so certain. “Sure, I guess. But… I dunno if they’ll just take your word for it, Serhulta. Two imperial gold is a lot of money ‘round here.”

“Feh,” Serhulta spat. He reached into his shirt and dangled a silver token in the likeness of a snake in front him, smirking at his friends at the table. They leaned in, amazed by the reality of it.

“You’d better be careful with that,” a plainly dressed man from a nearby table commented, looking in Serhulta’s direction. “Far be it from me to judge you, ‘special if you owe the gang lords money, but I hear the High Priestess can be a terror. ‘f she finds out you faked your way in… you could be a goner.” He kept his voice low for the last part, and arched brows in worry for the boy.

Serhulta cracked into a confident grin, “The priestess is back as far as the Iacun province, friend. I’m amazed there’s even another soul out this far what knows about her. Fair sure I’m safe of her finding out about it.” The boy leaned back in his seat, and ordered another round of drinks for his friends.

Omentus smiled faintly to himself, and got comfortable. The next two hours went by with barely a hitch. Serhulta drank himself into a merriness, but Omentus kept his drinks light. Not that it would’ve mattered, anyway.

Serhulta’s friends were gone by now, and the cautioning man seemed to have decided he’d be sleeping on his table for the night. Out like a squashed firefly. Jovially, Serhulta paid his tab, and stumbled toward home. Omentus, too, paid his tab, but made his way with less stumbling involved.

***

Three sprawling blocks southward, a man in gray clothing closed in on Serhulta. He came up close behind the boy’s ear, and whispered to him, “Darissa finds you wanting.”

The boy’s eyes bulged and he dashed forward, tripping over his feet. He turned around and backed away from the man, stammering, “W-wait… you don’t understand. I can explain.”

The gray-clothed man drew a long, snake-handled knife out of the sheath on his belt and shook his head, “There’s no need. I already know the score.” He looked up – something small and bright had caught the assassin’s discerning eye.

Omentus jerked back on his rod, bringing the fishing hook through the flesh of that same discerning eye. The man reeled and clutched for his face, but managed not to cry out. Before he could turn around, a hard weight struck the back of his head, and he was out.

Serhulta stared at Omentus as the latter plucked his fishing hook out of the unconscious man’s eye. He mumbled incoherently, unsure of whether to flee for his life or thank the man for saving his. After nearly a minute, a decision crossed his mind. “Th–thank you.”

The apothecary’s eyes flashed in the darkness as he looked up, confused.

The boy stared at Omentus, unsure of what to do. “You –you’re the doctor, right? The one who does work for cheap out here in the sprawls?” Omentus nodded. Serhulta swallowed, “You fixed my aunt, after she got sick from drinkin’ out the neighbor’s well.” The gears tumbled in his head, “Did you save me ‘cause you know my family? ‘Cuzza what my aunt said about me, or somethin’?”

“Your father overpaid for my work. It was eight imperial silver, four copper. He gave me an imperial gold. He could have paid for your family’s food for a month, if he kept the difference.” Omentus paused, glancing up at the boy as he slung the would-be assassin over his back, “I’m not a hero. I have my own interest in this thug, but you can tell your father that the books are settled.” He didn’t wait for the boy’s reply, and found himself home in less than a half hour.

***

When the assassin came to, he found himself in a strange position. No one wakes up in an almost-upright position. No one that’s been knocked out, anyway. He glanced around; it didn’t take long for his eyes to adjust to the silvery light of the room. There were tools here, and books in a shelf on the wall. It looked like a dentist’s office, or a doctor’s. He couldn’t tell which it was supposed to be. He heard the crack of joints behind him, and tried to crane his head to look. He couldn’t, and immediately began to fight his restraints.

“Don’t bother,” Omentus said calmly. “You’re not about to be tortured. The things I want from you, I can take without hurting a single hair on your head. I just want to make sure you don’t try running away, or dying, while I’m taking them. It would be a pain if you tried dying.” He stepped out into the man’s line of sight, and selected a syringe with a particularly long barrel from a cloth-covered table. Its metal parts were shiny and sterile. “If you don’t struggle, the pain will be minimal. If you do struggle, there’s a significant chance you could suffer long term damage to your nerves, which will disrupt your ability to do anything with your right arm. In your line of work, I hear that’s worse than death. Still, you’ll probably try to struggle, a little. You don’t want your keepers to think you went along with this willingly, so I’m also going to give you a slight sedative. It will keep you from moving too much, but you’ll be conscious for the work.”

He set down the empty syringe, and picked up one with a far smaller barrel. It held a clear substance with a red tinge. Without pausing to ask the man if he was ready, he injected the substance into the man’s veins. The man wasn’t responding, he was staring into space. He was probably thinking of what was going to happen to him when he got back to his masters. The reward for failure was rarely a good one.

Next, Omentus waited for the sedative to metabolize, then drew the assassin’s blood. Human blood, no impurity in the bloodline. Not especially rare, nor was his pedigree discerning. The homunculus process went quickly, taking only three hours. By the end of it, the assassin was cursing Omen’s name to some dark goddess. Omentus failed to care, and injected himself with the half-homunculized blood. His body shook, and he threw himself backward onto his chair, and tossed his head forward. He didn’t want to swallow his tongue. Lights seemed to flash in front of his eyes, and voices whispered at his ears, but he knew it was all a hallucination. Twenty minutes later, he awoke, and looked across the room at the exhausted man on the operating rack.

“Your name is Jonys Doph,” Omentus stated plainly, “You go by Syri Heio when you’re on a job.” The man’s eyes were pinned on the seromancer, wide in terror. “The priestess of your goddess Darissa, Nerine, sent you to follow Serhulta after his induction to the cult. He was a nameless layman to you, but an easy job that Nerine would praise you for taking without question. She’ll have one of her pet snakes kill you when you get back, but you’re not willing to admit that to yourself. You’re trying to convince yourself that it will be like the time your uncle, Iosobe Doph, threatened to hang you in the well if he caught you stealing eggs from the chicken house again. He gave you a sound lashing, sure, but you didn’t hang.”

Tears were welling in Jonys’ eyes, and pouring down the sides of his face. His lip trembled, but he managed to keep most of his composure. “Hhhh–“ he exhaled, trying to speak. He almost choked, and tried again. “Hhh – Who are you, man? What manner of demon?” Yet more tears poured down his face.

Omentus looked at the man impassively, waiting for him to go on. When he didn’t, the necromancer answered him. “I am the man who has just become disappointed that Darissa’s cult is growing. And, though you may not have noticed the signs, I have. Its size will nearly triple – probably – before participation starts to wane. Nerine’s a charismatic leader, for a two-faced snake.” He smirked, “Pun intended.” Jonys thrashed in his restraints and cursed Omentus’ grave at that remark, and kept going for a good two minutes before calming down. The necromancer paused again, waiting for him to finish. “You have nothing to fear, unless there are spies watching you, or magic that can pierce the wards on my shop, Nerine will likely never find out you failed her. I’ll make sure of that. Of course, now that your memories are my own –“ Jonys’ eyes bulged at the proclamation, half in disbelief and half in horror.” – you no longer have any use to me in that shape, but may I say that your red hair… it really has an eye-catching quality to it, when contrasted with your skin tone. Eye-catching, indeed.”

***

Omentus glanced up his shop’s new banner as he walked inside. He just couldn’t get over how many more people were arriving – an extra three customers week – since he put it up. There was just something about it that people liked, and Omentus agreed. That metallic red lettering over the skin-toned vellum certainly caught the eye well. It was very pleasing, and warm to look upon. It probably helped that it waved in just the right way, and its edges never frayed, too. It was a piece of really singular quality, unique insomuch as any person could be. He nodded at his handiwork, and went inside.

The apothecary turned his sign over, indicating that he was now open for business, and sat down at his workbench. He’d collected dozens of ingredients during the morning, and it was time to put them to work. He chose a few bowls, and a pair of mortars and pestles. He sorted his materials onto the table: one gallon of pure water; six ounces of rainwater, collected from the forest; six ounces of rainwater, collected from a flower-filled meadow; six ounces morning dew; blood of Arienna, blood of Ceriwa, orchid, amber, fresh grass, sandalwood, cedar, sweet pea, citron, two sweet green apples, bluebells, black roses, jasmine, anise, lavender, violets, talcum powder, chamomile and two oranges. The godbloods came from his own stores, everything else he collected from the market. Sighing, he went to work.

His day was uneventful, interrupted only by seven customers and a little girl with a lost dog. He worked tirelessly, for these ingredients were his ticket to something far beyond their value. He finished early into the next morning, and set the products aside. Next, he retrieved several small boxes filled with living insects, and began to sort the contents. Every twelfth bug or so tried biting him, but even the strongest insectoid jaws failed on his demonic skin. One did manage to pinch, though. It was uncomfortable. Ultimately, his fruit was five pairs of mated specimens. Most of the varieties did not even have proper names to speak of, their recent discoveries and rarities combining to rob them of the luxury of names. Instead, they were referred to by their genus, and their species number. At four bells into the morning, Omentus stood up to fetch himself some water. When he returned to the workbench, he put his other works for the night away. It was time to be serious.

In one box, there was a common orb-weaver spider. In another, was a rare strain of jewel beetle, properly named Chrysochroa Fulgidissima. The spider’s appearance was drab at best: it was nearly an inch in length, with bright coloration of dark to light brown in natural patterns, a bulbous abdomen and fine hairs. The beetle was quite the opposite: only 38 millimeters in length, with a hard-shelled, mostly green body that showed different colors depending on the angle of light it was viewed under.

***

The coach lurched to a stop. The sun was high in the day. Had he really been lost in the haze for so long? By his reckoning, it must have been about eighteen hours that he’d been up, mulling over the events of the last five days. Time well spent, perhaps. Even with his plan, he didn’t want to miss any single detail that might help him in the time to come. He walked out of the coach, and looked about the town. Too bad I wasn’t awake to catch the name of the place, Omentus mused to himself. He took a breath, and started walking in the direction of the cult’s back entrance.

Four blocks away, he put up his hood and took the well of Nymru’s blood out of his cloak. He cast the Ignore Me spell, and for no obvious reason, the man tailing him forgot what he was doing. It was better than invisibility, really. When cast with Nymru’s blood as a focus, Ignore Me made Omentus ignored under nearly all conditions, and masked his presence from magic and special senses, including smell and any “sixth” sense or the like. Too bad he didn’t normally work as an assassin.

He let himself in to the door, and brushed his way past the guards. They kept their minds on their work, but regarded the man as nothing but a breeze. Before life as a sign, Jonys was one of Nerine’s most trusted men. He’d have to be, to learn her name. Jonys knew exactly which way to go through the temple, both to keep his profile low, and to make a beeline for Nerine’s quarters. When Omentus arrived at the door, it was exactly as he remembered it, but without the foreboding sense that came with it last time. Omentus had no reason to fear Nerine, unlike her servants.

He opened the door; it came as no surprise to him that it was unlocked. Normally, the priestess’s pet snakes would kill any intruder who made it this far, but they couldn’t seem to notice the apothecary, either. Omentus looked about the room, searching for signs of the woman. He could hear water splashing gently just past one of the adjoining rooms. He let himself into the lady’s bed chamber, and crossed it to the door on the other side, taking note of a child hiding in the shadows of the bedroom.

The bathing room door was locked, but it was no matter to Omentus. He took a needle and a hook from his hip pack, and picked the door. A steel needle, coated with a honey-scented poison poked his finger, but didn’t break his skin. Gently, he pushed the needle back into place, until it clicked into its locked position again. He opened the door, and looked inside. No one had noticed him, yet, and he doubted they ever would. Normally, the only way to end this particular version of the spell was to try killing someone in the messiest way possible, or to stand in a room and shout obscenities at the gods.

Nerine had just finished bathing, and had her back to Omentus. She wore a fine silken robe that clung to her shoulders, but she was otherwise decent. The room was large, with a marble, sand-floored bath. Two young ladies were bathing the priestess, while she fondly petted a black mamba with dusky scales. Omentus found it to be an interesting choice of pet, especially since he considered using the specie in the amberlatch project. Pausing a moment to take in the candle-lit scene, Omentus took a tiny glass bottle with a balsa wood diffuser out of his cloak, and walked across the bathroom to set it on the edge of the lady’s bath. He placed it near enough that she would notice, but not so close that it could be easily knocked over.

The diffuser smelled of the perfume inside the bottle: a gentle and unique blend that blossomed to the senses. It reminded one of standing out in the rain, in a forest garden. To the discerning nose, it had the smells of forest rain, morning dew, orchid, and the exceptionally rare amber of jasmine, with traces of fresh grass, sandalwood, cedar and sweet pea.

Omentus crossed the room again. He closed and locked the door, each of his actions being completely ignored by the present company, and found himself a place to sit. He set his parcel, a large wooden box, packed with carefully padded glass boxes inside it, beside himself, and under his right arm. He leaned back, getting comfortable enough that he would not make any immediate sounds, and took down his hood. He crossed his left leg over his right, and dismissed the Ignore Me spell.

OoC: Oh. My. Gosh. I HAVE TO WRITE THAT FREAKING THING ALL OVER AGAIN!!!

BiC:

To say that Nerine was terribly surprised would be a gross understatement. No one, magical abilities or no, ever breached the defenses of her fortress. Ever. There were too many guards, too many wards, and too many snakes for even the best of assassins to get in. Sure, they might make it through the front door, but into Nerine’s personal quarters? Into her bathing room? She immediately made a mental note to have a heart to heart with her guards.

It wasn’t that the intruder suddenly attacked, or made a startling sound that sent shivers down the dark woman’s spine. It wasn’t that she was wearing only a robe with her wet hair flat against her back. Suddenly, a person was just there, and Nerine could feel it in every fiber of her being. The hairs on the back of her neck raised, a strange perfume filled the air, and she felt her muscles become rigid with expectancy. The person was somewhere behind her, the spineless coward!

Those were the thoughts of Nerine as her maids turned and screamed, clinging to her like frightened kittens. While she herself was tense from the intrusion, she knew better than to follow their actions, and she found herself annoyed at their behavior. Not only were their screams piercing, but they were making her look like a potential idiot in front of an intruder capable of breaking through her best defenses.

“Silence!” Nerine’s sharp words had the effect of a whip on her two servants. They both cringed and backed away to the far corner, their eyes wide and staring at the intruder. With a lazy turn of her head, Nerine looked at the stranger seated easily in a chair on the opposite side of the room. She didn’t even bother to face him, but kept her back turned. To face him would be to admit she was impressed. She could already think of all the enemies that would love to set such a creature upon her.

If Nerine had been any less of the cold, cruel, scheming woman that she was, she also would have screamed at the sight of the man before him. If that was what he was. The young man gazing at her had strange, cat-like eyes, their teal color looking very unnatural in the dim candlelight of her room. Whatever clothes he was wearing were mostly covered by his crimson cloak, which really made him look like some sort of evil priest or demon. Not that he needed a cloak for that. His dark presence was almost suffocating, as if the blackness of his very soul was emanating from his skin. This intruder had the most calm expression about his well built face, a calm of the deadly kind.

“May I have the pleasure of knowing who is responsible for scaring my servants?” Nerine’s voice lost its sharp tone, honeyed and femininely soft. She made sure her body was visibly relaxed, to show that this stranger didn’t scare her in the least. Even without a sword and proper clothes, her dark magic was deadly. Only a suicidal fool would even dream of what this man had done. “It certainly is rare to find a man with the audacity to invade a woman’s private domain.”

The apothecary blinked at the woman's words and shook his head slightly, bringing himself back from his haze. I'll have to bring a source of music the next time I do this, he noted to himself. He cleared his throat quietly and smiled at the priestess in the manner of amiable business. "It's an interesting question you ask, Miss Nerine. I suppose that if I really wanted to, I could go by the name Jonys Doph." He spoke the assassin's name with his demonic voice, mimicking his voice with utter perfection. He paused, letting the words and the sounds of the hit man's voice sink in for just a moment before continuing, "But that would be rather imprecise, I think. More specifically, my name is Omentus Anima. I work as an apothecary in Kedaldown, to the east of here."

He watched the woman's eyes shift colors, uncertain of what that meant. He supposed that at this point, with Jonys' point of view to help him, that Nerine was probably trying to figure out what Omentus' real name was, and who had hired him to kill her. His lips made a line, deciding that if she were thinking anything else, it was an entirely new notion to Jonys. He sighed and continued speaking, "If you are trying to riddle out my real name, please do not waste your time. I am not here to kill you, to plumb your secrets, or make any attempt of the nature. Rather, I would to ... get to know you. And I do apologize for walking into your bath, but it was far simpler than the hours of positioning and mindless dribble I would have had to endure to explain why I knew of the church of Darissa's existence, why I were asking for you by name, and so forth. I'm sure you understand."

A cobra darted forward and bit his arm. He blinked, looking down at the creature as its venom milked slowly onto his shirt. It fangs had failed to even scratch his skin. He raised his arm to get a better look at the thing. "Fine specimen," he murmured. A part of his attention had been caught on the snake, though one of his eyes was still trained on Nerine. He blinked as the cobra struggled to pierce his skin, and took a drop of the poison on the tip of his left index finger. He tasted it, and hmmed quietly. "Would go nice in my spice cabinet," he mused. The seromancer thought back for a moment, calling on the memories of the demon to whom the skin first belonged. In his gravely demonic voice, he spoke in another language, "Go away, child. I'm not interested in your games today."

Spooked, the cobra immediately stopped biting him, and slithered off to hide behind a rock. Omentus looked back to Nerine with the eye that had been on the snake, and spoke in his first voice again, "Sorry about that."

He leaned forward and swept his cloak behind him, revealing more of the box he'd brought with him. "Do you like the perfume? I made it just for you. I know the blend may not be your ideal, but I hope you find it pleasing. Oh, there are others, too. Also, some insects... most rare enough not to have specie names yet, if you're interested."

For the first time in a very long time, Nerine was spooked. Really spooked. It wasn’t every day that she met a man that liked cobra venom and called her by name. She couldn’t recall the last time a mortal had called her that. This Omentus also had a strange demon voice, versed in the cursed language she knew by heart. His mannerisms, his cold and yet polite way of speaking…this wasn’t false. He was being perfectly evil in the most genial way possible.

“My dear Omentus, to know me is to know my secrets. And to know my secrets is death. Perhaps Jonys forgot to tell you before he failed in his duty? I daresay, without you, your little friend won’t live much longer, whether you bring gifts or not.” The amount Omentus seemed to know about Jonys was disturbing, and it was reasonable to assume that he knew far more than he should about what her assassin was doing. She needed to know if he had caught on to her plan or not.

Nerine finally turned to face the man, her eyes turning rich shades of orange. He was obviously far too dangerous to keep alive, but killing him obviously wouldn’t be simple. His skin itself appeared to be made out of armor, and Omentus seemed to have a careless resistance to poison if he referred to snake venom as spice. Was it even possible that he himself was blessed with Darissa’s power? But Darissa wouldn’t keep such a thing from her, not when death was sitting in her own room. For now, her only option was to play along with the stranger. He had read far too much into her, and now it was her turn.

Omentus squinted, feeling incredibly stupid. That was what he was forgetting! "You're right," he admitted, "Jonys probably won't live much longer. I forgot to leave food for him..." He sighed and shook his head, "But it doesn't really matter. With the shape I left him in, I can probably just revive him once I get home. When you send your man to my shop, though, he'll probably notice him right away, and never know it. Believe me, that man was terrified of you. Enough to thrash on the operating rack for two hours while I worked. It was a real pain." He shook his head slightly and rolled his eyes; his annoyance at the memory was obvious.

He looked up at the priestess, his self-disappointment evident. In a way, it made him seem more approachable, more human. "You should be relieved to know that Mister Doph did not fail in his duty; there was nothing he could have done, short of willing himself to death, to prevent me from taking his memories. I'm not even sure if that would have worked, but I've never worked the process on the dead before, so I couldn't say."

"From what he remembers, you must be trying to sleuth out how to kill me right now, am I right?" Omentus tilted his head, honestly curious. "Should I wait for you to change, in your quarters' antechamber? Surely you'll feel more comfortable once properly clothed."

The impudence!

"Since you are good enough to wait, I believe I shall indulge myself." It was quite difficult for Nerine to keep the anger, the outrage out of her voice, but she managed. She motioned to her servants, and they obediently escorted her out of the room with nervous glances at the intruder. Once the door was firmly closed behind them, Pristine, the younger of her two maid servants, turned to whisper to her.

"Milady, shall I alert the gaurds?"

Nerine sighed airly and accepted the garment that Kate, her other servant, handed her. "No, I will take care of this myself. You do not doubt me, do you?"

Pristine shook her head vigorously. "No, no, of course not, milady! I just thought--"

"Yes, I know." Nerine interrupted calmly. Luckily for the girl, her mind was too busy thinking about Omentus to be properly angry at her. Once she was fully dressed in her silken purple gown, she waved her servants away, bidding them to take Maria with them. The small girl followed them out silently, and Nerine found herself in the sole company of her pets.

"My buisness is concluded, and you may enter." Nerine called out rather softly, not underestimating the hearing of her new guest. If he was going to be in her company, she preffered that he was privaleged with that of her snakes as well.

Omentus was a little confused. He thought she'd want him to wait out in the antechamber, beyond her bedroom. That's where this sort of business is normally conducted, although the necromancer had to admit that there was nothing normal about the situation. After Nerine and her handmaidens left the bathing area, however, Omentus only shrugged. He must have made her angry somehow. Weird.

He recrossed the room to the bottle of Efflorescent Rain, withdrew the diffuser, and capped it off. No sense in wasting good perfume. Fine, though. I didn't expect her to be impressed with it. Dalliance, on the other hand, that may be my trump card in scents. With the blood of Ceriwa in the mix, it just has a certain divine quality about it. Omentus grinned happily at his pun. It had been a while since the last time he enjoyed one.

A few minutes later, he heard the priestess call to him quietly from the other room. It was rather difficult to make out, so he supposed it was a good thing he was listening for it. She must have assumed he had superior hearing. He hmmed quietly as he walked to the door, box in hand. Maybe I should acquire superior hearing from something. I wonder what, though. There are so many choices.

As he let himself in, he looked at Nerine. "Are we past the plotting to kill me, yet, m'Lady?" He asked the question genially, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Again with the pretenses. How was it possible to be so blatantly evil and genial at the same time? It was a feat even Nerine was yet to accomplish.

“Well, I suppose that depends on whether or not you can be killed. One might even wonder if a creature like yourself is human at all.” Nerine kept her voice calm and light, though she was starting to grow impatient. All of these pretenses were becoming tiresome, but she was not ready to attack just yet. The strange Omentus had offered her rare creatures so new that they had not yet been named, but she doubted that he would view himself as a creature of equal strangeness.

“I must admit,” Nerine spoke, turning away from Omentus to gaze into her mirror, “that I am still somewhat perplexed by your entrance. Do tell, how does one sneak through a defense no mere mortal can penetrate?” She already knew it would be useless to ask of his real reason for appearing. What she wondered about was how long it would take to get there.

Omentus smiled. This was a question he'd grown used to, as he used the spell often when trying to meet nobles or to slip past guards with far too many questions. "In the grand picture, I suppose there was some difficulty to it," he began, "but since this morning, it was very simple." He looked about the room, searching for a place to set down his box. "I walked inside, while everyone was ignoring me. For instance, I am certain that if you think about it, you will remember hearing me pick the lock on your door, replacing the poisoned needle, and walking inside your bathing room. Ask any of several guards or priests, and they will remember me passing by, but they did all find my beneath notice, as well."

At this point, many people who were enlightened of their memories grew worried, or some even began to question their own sanity. This was in Omentus' experience, anyhow; Nerine could be different. Still, he paused a moment to allow the priestess to collect her memory's of his arrival. "That is how the dweomer is designed to function, although it is typically not potent enough to overcome magical wards, a snake's fine sense of smell, or special forms of awareness. For this hurdle, I focus the magic through the blood of Nymru, a deceased god of betrayal, shadows and thievery," he explained slowly. He to his right, still searching for a place to put down his box. "Do you have a safe place I may set this, m'Lady?" he asked.

“On the chest, over there, if you please.” Nerine waved dismissively at a fine cedar chest, whose surface was occupied by a spotted rattlesnake. Her words caused it to sliver off silently unto the floor, where it moved beneath the great wooden thing. In the dark and damp, Nerine knew that no normal human would be able to perceive its location, but by now she already expected Omentus to see it. A demon would have no problem seeing in the dim room.

But the man didn’t quite seem to be a demon, either. His mention of Nymru was quite peculiar. It made sense that Omentus was a follower of a dark god, especially if he even held a portion of their blood, but Nymru was a dead god. It was not as if he could offer anything to anyone in the current state he was in. Nerine’s study of dark entities had long uncovered this.

So how had this dark man acquired such a thing?

With his unfailingly smooth voice and calm demeanor, the blood of a god almost sounded trivial. One might think he was even used to the notion of using blood for magic. Any fool knew the potency of blood in magic. Blood held the essence of a being, their very life, so it could be imagined that the blood of a god held quite powerful magic indeed. Enough for an extoordinarily dark man to sneak into Nerine’s personal quarters undetected.

Was that what Omentus had come for, then? A nice bottle of blood from Darissa herself? That seemed far too insolent a thing even for Omentus to ask for…or was it? Already he had snuck into her room on the pretense that it was too inconvenient to meet her through normal channels (if assassination and thievery really were what one could consider ‘normal’), which raised even more questions upon the matter. If it was too bothersome for him to approach her like a real bandit, why was it perfectly convenient for him to, as he had put it, ‘get to know’ her? Putting himself directly in front of her was asking for death or something rather important.

But again, this Omentus did not appear to want business. He spoke to Nerine as casually as if she were a friend, which obviously meant he felt no fear. As if. Perhaps he needed a little reminder as to why Nerine was the most feared woman in the entire kingdom.

“If I do not owe the pleasure of your company to someone else, do tell me what dire circumstances created the purpose of your visit.”

"I suppose you want to know the detail of the matter, then, m'Lady. I have told that I've come so that we can become acquainted with one another, but the root of it..." he seemed to slip into his fog of thought, but came out of it just as quickly. "At first, I had thought of coming here with the goal of precipitating Darrisa's blood into my collection. My disappointment was only fleeting though, when I learned that this would not be possible." He crossed the room to set down his box on the chest, but his nape eye was already open, watching behind him as he set it down. That eye was peculiar, and obviously came from nothing mortal. Its square iris was lime green, and its pupil was white.

He set the box down on the table and adjusted it slightly, until it edge was parallel with the grain of the wood. "Rather, did I learn that this cult shows all the signs of still being in its early stages of growth. I think it would be more prudent for us both to form a friendship, then." He paused before going on, "I did not, however, wish you to think of me as a triviality, a hound begging for scraps from its master's table, or a puppet for you to pull the strings of. Would you like to see the insects I've collected for you? Or perhaps another of the perfumes? You would like Dalliance, I believe."

He turned to face Nerine, but kept his nape eye open. He was still smiling, and seemed honestly interested in both their conversation, and her answer.

Ah, of course. Nerine could not put any degree of impudence past this Omentus. He had wanted Darissa’s blood, and knowing that he could never defy the will of a very alive and very jealous goddess, he had decided to take for himself a consolation prize: an alignment with the most powerful cult in the entire kingdom.

“How very generous, Omentus. I would gladly accept, but I am afraid I have certain roommates to consider. And in their interest, I—“

“Stop.”

There she was. As clearly as if Darissa herself were standing beside Nerine, whispering in her ear, she could hear the goddess’s beautiful voice. She had meant to break off at this point and attack this dark man (heaven knew that Basilisk venom could do wonders against even demons), but Darissa’s firm command stopped her. Her tongue was stilled, the dark spells she had meant to utter fading from her mind as if she had never even considered killing Omentus.

“I beg your pardon. It would seem I am somewhat faint.” A feeble excuse, but whatever weak impressions she could instill in Omentus only served her purposes better. The less truth he knew of her, the safer she was. With graceful weakness, she sat upon her bed, pretending as if her strength had suddenly been sapped.

“This man is no servant of mine, and yet there is great promise within him. A godless man he may be, but an emissary of darkness he has long been. An alliance could only serve to aid my purposes.”

“And if he would ask even for your blood?”

“Nerine, you forget. How may a god extend their will if their servants do not carry a token of their power? Without divine strength, they are nothing but mere mortals, useless pawns without strength enough to fulfill even their own purposes.”

“And you think this man is a worthy servant? The blood of a living goddess…”

But there was no answer. Darissa had withdrawn her presence from Nerine’s mind. She sighed deeply, her dark purple eyes turning again to Omentus. “You would call yourself a hound, and yet you know that no beggar asks for the blood of a god. No, that is the request of one who recognizes power. What gifts do you offer to satisfy a goddess?”

"I think you might misunderstand. I am no hound. If I were, I would have come in through the front door, like some other pup just yapping for attention," Omentus spoke slowly. He seemed slightly confused, though he may have just been thinking. "Perhaps you think I have been duplicitous, rather than frank. I have no reason to deceive you. Not in any slightest capacity." His mouth had set into a line, though not a tight one.

He went on, "And I do not want Darissa's blood. It's useless to me, as long as the goddess lives. Do you think that if any of these gods lived -" he opened the right half of his cloak to her, revealing the tops of fifteen different bloodwells, each of whose contents shimmered and showed off different deific portfolios. Inside that part of the cloak were many of his other tools, and a pair of the potion bottles. This same thing, the revealing of his cloak's contents, also showed off Argindur and Beli, two of the syringes kept on his harness. "- that they would not have come to collect their pieces so laboriously taken, or simply denied me the use of their abilities in my spells, or my work? I think they would have." He closed his cloak and blinked, turning his eyes pure red, with no difference in iris or sclera, "It seems your weakness has passed, your life force thrums strong." He blinked again, and his eyes became their proper teal color.

"I am a seromancer, an alchemist, an apothecary. At times, I also work in necromancy. Most specifically, the magic of my calling works with blood, life, living things and souls. This can mean many things. In Kedaldown, I tend to the sick in Sprawls, where people might not have the funds to hire a more typical healer." He reached into the left side of his cloak, retrieving a small vial marked with a tag which read 'Dalliance' in a flowery script. He removed the cap, and replaced it with a cork and short diffuser rod. Its scent did not catch in any breeze, but created a gentle one of its one. Invisibly, tiny wings carried the scent across the room. It smelled of citron, sweet apple, bluebells, black roses and jasmine, with traces of amber, anise and cedar wood. There was also another quality to the scent, something that could not be ignored, and beckoned curiosity. If it were possible, or perhaps if even it were not, the perfume smelled like darkness and secrets.

"Do you like it?" he asked simply. He was smiling again.

He had a point. As a godless man, what reason was there in having something he’d have to have permission to use? No, he was clearly an independent, which meant her enemies didn’t hate her quite so much as she had supposed.

So what then had Darissa meant by a token? If Omentus wasn’t after blood, and he had formed no previous alliances, what had drawn him here? Did he not know who he was dealing with? Darissa was not a goddess to be taken lightly. She did not tolerate followers who wandered from her edicts. If Omentus wasn’t keen on following orders, why would he desire an alliance?

But Nerine already knew. The dark man had already showed her what he cared about following proper order. He was a man of convenience, though not of the lazy sort. With the amount of defiance he had, it would not surprise Nerine at all if he thought he could do as he pleased with Darissa. He simply was the type she’d have to tolerate because he was too valuable.

At least that was what Darissa had implied. Nerine wanted nothing more than to be rid of him. However, she could not defy the dark laws as Omentus could, so she would have to bear it for now.

“Your sense of smell is to be admired,” Nerine said with a smile, allowing herself to enjoy the rich scent Omentus had released. He obviously had some degree of skill with chemicals, and he had claimed to be an apothecary. They way he had listed his skills almost made him sound normally malicious, much like how his blatant congeniality was unconcealed evil.

“I must admit, however, that I have no sick to be tended to. Surely you know more of our cult than to assume that. What does a man who knows no limits want with a humble emissary of Darissa?” Nerine spoke the last word with unconcealed reverence, the very word causing her snakes to hiss.

(OoC: The names are hyperlinks, Navi. In case you don't want to go searching the net for yourself to see these bugs. )

BiC:

“First,” Omentus answered, “I would like not to be flattered. If I were without limit, I would not be here. It would have never occurred to me that I desire a companion or two.”

He turned back to the chest and set a hand on the small wooden crate atop it. “Second, I’d like you to see the other things I’ve brought for you.” He removed the lid from the box, and from within the box he took five terrariums of hardened glass and iron bracings, with wooden stands. Placed across each terrarium were no less than four finely ground magnifying lenses, each of almost minimal intensity. They revealed the simulated natural environments inside the terrariums, but were enchanted to look through the amazingly dense miniature foliage in each box to find the insects no matter where the dwelt. Other creatures, mainly the prey of each mated pairing were also hidden in the boxes. With enough examination, a person would find that the terrariums were extraplanar, having hundreds of times more space inside them than was outside their glass walls.

He held up the first box for Nerine to see. “Batocera roylei, a very rare strain of beetle," he spoke to her as if instructing a class of students, "although I am certain you are already familiar with this species." He set the terrarium on the chest. Though a snake seemed interested in the box, it seemed that the terrarium was also enchanted to keep away animal interests.

He took the second vivarium from the box and held it up for Nerine to see. "Unnamed Eupholus species number one, a very rare specimen," he told her as he placed the terrarium on the chest's top. One of the beetles was visible but much smaller than it should normally be. Nonetheless, its florescent green color shone visibly in the dim room.

There were four more terrariums in the box. “Wish you to see the rarer specimens, m’Lady?” he wasn’t quite smiling, but there was a certain smug quality about his features. Though he could have hid the urge easily, he obviously wanted the priestess to know he was showing off.

A strange sort of tremor made its way from Nerine’s toes to her head as she watched the insects in his boxes. There something about the way the small things moved and clicked that made her hair stand on end. Rather than disgust, she would have described the feeling as excitement.

But something wasn’t right about this picture. This Omentus was far, far more comfortable than he should have been. Either he truly thought that Nerine did not live up to her reputation, or he purposely was trying to coax her to strike. He acted as if “flattery” was something undesirable, even from herself. Had his impudence no bounds? Never before had any man dared to act as he had in her presence.

And there was nothing she could do about it. Darissa had spoken, and defying her wishes was death. She did not have the freedom Omentus had, and unwittingly found herself jealous of it. Yes, he had all the time in the world to go insect hunting and necromancing, but Nerine? No. Without her, the cult was a man without a head, a blind beast without legs. Without Darissa’s guidance, they were just a pathetic band of thieves, be they skilled or not.

“How very delightful.” Nerine gave Omentus the satisfaction of her interest, standing up and observing the creatures within the glass. She had to admit, the man had done quite a number this time. Such creatures even she had not seen before. “Do show me more, if you please.”

(OoC: Links in the names again, if you want to see them. )

BiC:

"Your patience is very admirable, Miss Nerine." the apothecary commented. "Were our positions reversed, I think it may have taken me no less than five minutes to offer you tea. Speaking of which, do you take tea, m'Lady?" He spoke as he worked with the terrariums, pulling all but one of them out of the box, and arranging them on top of the very large chest. The single terrarium left inside the box was covered with a cloth of blue-green crushed velvet, which sparkled slightly in the dim light of the room. Either such rare fabric was commonplace for Omen, or the last terrarium was designed to be noticed.

The seromancer set a finger atop one of the terrariums, within which was another minute forest. "Unnamed Cerambycidae species number forty-one," he said as he indicated a tiny plaque at the terrarium's base. Apparently, all of them were so marked, so that they could not be confused for one another. "Not the most beautiful of the insects I've brought, but the mated pair inside here is extremely rare." He took a deep breath and looked over the collected terrariums with some small pride, like a teacher's pride in his students.

He moved his hand, and set one finger atop the next terrarium. "The extremely rare, unnamed Chrysobothris species number one," he recited. "A beautiful black beetle with green, and a touch of orange on the rear thorax. I found this specie to be especially appealing to the eye." He moved on of the lenses adorning the outside of the terrarium; its view pierced the foliage and showed off one of the beetles inside. Omentus moved his hand to the next terrarium.

"And this one," he began, "is a little... different from the others." He moved a lens for the priestess, highlighting one of the black-and-sepia-bodied creatures in the glass. "This is the unnamed Mantidae species number twenty-six. Like the two others before it, Mantidae twenty-six is classified as extremely rare." As it was appearing, the mantis jumped forward and caught a smaller insect in its claws.

The teal-eyed necromancer's glance flickered up to Nerine, gauging her reaction to the collection of insects so far. Though there was still a covered terrarium in the box, Omentus made no mention of it, but neither did he make any mention that the collection was complete. Instead, he waited for the priestess to say something.

“Yes, yes, quite a collection indeed.” Nerine’s words were a horrible understatement, if nothing else, but the man would have to be foolish to expect anything more than civility. In fact, he ought to have expected that his head would have been lopped off by now. At least the attempt to, anyways. The dark woman had been sizing the demonic man up since he had arrived, and he showed quite a few more years of knowledge than his young body implied.

The first area of concern was the easiest to find. One’s gaze was almost immediately fixed on Omentus’s eyes, for they were nothing short of strange. They had even changed color when he had been looking at her when she sat on the bed. This, no doubt, meant he had unusual eyesight, most likely far better than the average person and possibly able to sense some sort of life energy.

The second major quality the man had revealed with her snakes. He was fluent in the cursed language, and even had the capability to pronounce it in an accurate demon’s voice. That suggested use of abnormally strong dark magic. His skin was apparently much harder than a human’s, which deflected her snake’s fangs as easily as if he was made of metal. Such qualities were found only in cursed mortals.

Next was the blood. Use of such things was almost always tied to necromancy, which Omentus had already admitted to use, but he was no typical necromancer. The mere fact that he had acquired the blood of gods and even knew how to use it suggested that he was something of the supernatural. One did not pass to and from the astral realm without divine, demonic, or supernatural powers. The easiest assumption was simply that Omentus was an actual demon.

But that wasn’t right. Darissa had called him a man. The goddess of darkness herself never made mistakes with such things. So how did he have such power? Clearly, Omentus was a man of science, but this lead to an idea that made even Nerine shudder. What if this man had grafted upon his own body the powers of a demon? It was an insane, horrible thing to even think of, but based upon the evidence, it made sense. Omentus had overcome and torn apart demons to bring their supernatural strength upon himself. He no doubt had the power and knowledge to do so. No wonder Darissa was amused.

Of course, at this stage, such an implication was merely that— an implication. There were other ways to accomplish such feats, but for some reason, Omentus made such an impression. Perhaps it was the callous regret he had showed for her dying assassin. Perhaps it was the way he looked at the insects, that slightly misty and calculating gaze with all the apathy of a rock. Oh yes, sometimes he appeared to be amused, even proud, but these were merely tiny spots of stars in a great sky of black. Nerine would have given a great deal to know just what was going on beyond that cloud of apathy which held the gruesome secrets within. The secrets which Darissa refused to reveal to her.

“Ah, but I digress. I do indeed take tea, as most proper women do. But I see why one might question such a thing. Who would believe that the leader of a cult sups tea like a gentlewoman?” Nerine smiled wickedly, her gaze falling past Omentus. “Oh, but I am sure you are wiser than that. Why, one can find the most genial of demons enjoying tea in the duke’s manor any time of the day. Why then should it surprise one to see a cultist supping tea in the shadows of her fortress?”

Nerine touched her finger to her chin with faux thoughtfulness. “But you will find that I am more honest than those pompous nobles, honorable as they are. I would have killed you on sight if it had not been the wishes of Darissa. In fact, I still very much desire to kill you, despite the mess it would leave on my floor. But this you already know.

That leaves me only with what I do not know. Quite an undesirable position, I am sure you would agree. I do not know what manner of creature you are, what business you have confronted me for, and what possibly could have maintained your interest in this cult. I play games for only so long, Omentus, and this one is reaching its end rather quickly.” Nerine managed to keep her voice completely calm, despite the impatience that had been steadily building inside of her. The only sign of this was her delicate fingers drumming against the drawer of her dresser.

Omentus watched Nerine while she spoke, with an inscrutable expression. When she was finished, his lips twitched toward a truer smile than he'd been showing her before. "That's interesting, m'Lady. Judging by your reaction so far, I am probably the first person to ever pierce your sanctum. I've made no attempt to hide my prowess nor the ways in which I can be useful to my friends and allies, and yet you have a strong wish is to see me dead." He paused for a moment, glancing to the last terrarium in the box.

"I thought it would have occurred to you by now that since I mean you no harm, I am far more useful to you alive than dead." He paused for a moment, looking toward the lady's ceiling.

He almost mumbled to himself, seeming to speak out loud on a purely accidental basis, "Yes, that makes some sense, but I don't know. Small hips? Right, my apologies."

His eyes flickered back down to the priestess, and he continued speaking as if nothing had interrupted the conversation. "Could you perhaps dislike me on no dint but my manner alone? Or could I have simply not revealed to you any trait not already at your disposal?" he asked, again honestly curious. "Mayhap I should be more business-like, here." He hmmed out loud, and took the last terrarium out of the box.

"If my manner offends you, I hope you'll excuse my generosity just a bit more," he said. With his right hand, he took the velvet fabric off of the terrarium, revealing the miniature jungle in the box of glass and iron. One of the terrarium's two lenses moved automatically, following and showcasing a beautiful one-and-a-half-inch-long arachnid.

The arachnid's body was normally shaped, with a large abdomen and several rows of spinnerets. As the the creature was revealed, it was in the process of putting together a beautiful orb-shaped web. Closer inspection revealed that it was not a true spider, having a pair of small antennae near the back of its head. Its body was a brilliant emerald green color, but its exact hue changed based on the angle from which it was seen. At about 45 degrees, bands of bright red, crimson and magenta appeared in the glistening hues of its body, then vanished as the angle of viewing changed further.

"This, Lady Dracona... is a recently named member of the Araneidae family -" the way he spoke was different from before, it was more reserved and metered, "- the Resplendens nerine. The rarity of the mated pair in this terrarium is unique. It is not nearing extinction, however. The singularity of the male and female in this terrarium comes from the specie's birth, just days before my arrival here." He paused for a moment, then finished, "I made them just for you."

Nerine smiled sweetly again, cocking her head. "How very kind of you. There is nothing lacking in your good manner, my dear Omentus, though I must admit, if sneaking into a lady's room while she is bathing does not deserve an attack, I don't quite know what does." She laughed heartily at this. "But do not be mistaken. It is not this for which I bear ill will towards you. There is something you must understand, my dear Omentus, and you will see why I must have such a disposition."

Nerine moved closer to the demonic man, her eyes now swirling with brigt red and oranges hues. "You know of Darissa's edicts, do you not? There is nothing more important than obedience, for without it there is chaos. You, my dear Omentus, are more than capable of inflicting chaos. What great token have you given me of your loyalty? Great power means nothing if it cannot be controlled. When was the last time you took orders, my dearest necromancer?"

OoC: Short, but...meh.