Harrowheart (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
westfallcorndog) wrote2016-09-14 05:26 pm
westfallcorndog) wrote2016-09-14 05:26 pm
Legion (of Houseguests) for Naugus
Ixis Naugus, someone is knocking at your castle door. Could it possibly be anyone but the small handful of people who dare to visit? Not this time. Predictably, it's just Harrowheart. Well, not just Harrowheart. He's all done up in his explicitly evil set of blue armor – the one with the skulls and the spikes and the flowing red cape – and covered in wounds and dappled with some kind of green, slime-like residue... And it seems he's being trailed by a small mob of Overlanders. Is this an anti-monster peasant riot? The people certainly look like peasants, half-clothed and tired and wounded. One of them has a gun, a few have shovels and pitch forks. They're following him slowly, advancing after him yet keeping a safe distance.
"Naugus!" he hollers in his deep, worgen voice. He looks up to the windows in hopes he might catch sight of the archmage looking down.
"Naugus, I need your help! Please!"
"Naugus!" he hollers in his deep, worgen voice. He looks up to the windows in hopes he might catch sight of the archmage looking down.
"Naugus, I need your help! Please!"
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The first man up must be the father of the family. His face is covered in a short, well-kept beard, greying from its previous blond, as is the parted hair on his head. He's built strong despite being at least in his late fifties, but his stomach has a slight paunch. All of the family members have sun-tanned skin, but his is darker than some and worn from years at work in the fields. His eyes are thin and soft and full of the gratefulness his tired smile poorly conveys. He takes Naugus' hand in both of his and lowers his head in respect. In a small, whispery voice that hardly fits his height he says, "It's an honor to be hosted by someone like yourself, Archmage Naugus. My name is Hardtman Weatherhill, and for as long as we stay here, if you ever need anything? I'm here to help."
Everyone who heard him – which is to say, everyone, including the NRA goon in the back – nods in agreement.
He's following in short order by his wife, who... Isn't wearing shoes? Light, none of them are, actually. They're shoeless, clothed in sleeping attire, and most of them are bleeding from the feet. Her hands are covered in dust, which she tries to wipe on her once-white nightgown now splattered with mysterious green residue and drops of dried blood. She's a short woman compared to the others, though still barely taller than Naugus. Age has rounded her, and like her husband her skin is weathered. Her short hair is fully grey and frames her round face. "A pleasure, Archmage. I only wish we were meeting on better circumstances" she says with a humble and self-conscious little laugh.
Next comes a daughter who resembles her mother much more than her brothers or father: Average height, padded with a little extra weight, yet still strong from outdoors work. Her skin is blotched with freckles, her blonde hair is in messy strands all around her face and shoulders. She comes holding hands with one of the only humans in the bunch who isn't white-skinned. Her partner is tall and darkly tan-skinned with curling hair, a strong nose, and determined eyes. Of all the people in the group she seems the least fazed by an unexpected demon invasion. The two girls let each other go long enough to each offer Naugus a shake. "Robin," says the blonde one. "And this is my wife, Estella." Estella dryly corrects, "We're not married, but."
There is no but. They follow the parents and allow room for the next family members. This line never ends.
A pair of thinly-built brothers with plain, forgettable faces step up next. They look very much like twins, and each appear about the same age as Harrowheart. Each of them introduces themselves as "Matthew" and "Michael," and with respectful nods they're on their way. They both have promising futures of being confused for each other.
The monstrous string-bean girl with an easy half a foot in height on Naugus is next. She's incredibly mousy, average in every way except for her size and her astounding lack of any feminine curves. There's something familiar about her and her buck teeth, isn't there? "Anna," she says, smiling awkwardly. "We met before, when my brother and I were turned into children," she explains. "I'm really sorry for all the... Everything. Everything we did. I'm sorry. I'm looking forward to making it up." Then she leans in and whispers, "And finding out what you did with that weed."
After her comes a very dark-skinned man with a broad nose, strong cheekbones, and a soft jaw. He's helping along his incredibly pregnant wife, easily the most good-looking of these horse-faced Overlanders, though maybe not while she's so sweaty and covered in imp claw marks. She doesn't offer a shake, but continues to lean on her husband and only smiles through grit teeth at Naugus. Her husband invites himself to say, "I'm Jacob, this is Heather. Our daughter Kendra is..." He glances up, squints, and sees her off a few yards trying to coax a chao back to her. "Around. But I promise she's quiet. She won't be a bother at all, Sir."
And then the last and final shithead. The recalcitrant oyster with the gun. He gives up his weapon to Harrowheart with some reluctance only when he absolutely must. And Light, what a strange resemblance he has to Harrowheart('s Mobian form.) Granted, he's got half the hairline and about ten years of apparent alcoholism on Harrow, but in another life they might have passed for twins. A pair of thick-rimmed, square glasses sit over his tired and suspicious eyes. He offers up a shake of his right hand – the mechanical one – and says no words.
Robin comes to Naugus' aid. "Lawrence," she hisses through grit teeth. "Show some respect to our host!"
He only grunts.
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The woman leaning on the man with a massive, pregnant belly gets him to pause though, his lip curled in confusion. "She's not about to drop a pup here and now, is she? She looks it."
And then here's Lawrence. Lawrence. This one gets an especially pointy smile, and regardless of the mismatch, he shakes that metal hand with his crab claw. Which ends up more of a grasp of the wrist than anything else. "Charmed. I'm sure we'll get along famously, Lawrence." The claw closes a little tighter before it releases. He didn't blink once while meeting the surly man's eyes.
"Now! What is the most pressing situation at hand? Drink? Food? Medical attention? A place to rest? Whatever is needed shall be attended to! Simply let me know what is required and I will make it so!"
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"Water," one of them says, which starts a storm of murmuring and head bobbing. Water would be fantastic. It's really all they want. Harrow has to be the mindful one who asks for bandages and salve, but on second thought offers to follow 'archmage' Naugus to get these reagents. A moment alone between the two of them to discuss matters might be prudent, after all.
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"And as far as medical supplies, I keep some in the tower! Come along, Harrowheart." Follow like a good minion. "We'll fetch these effects together." Once back inside the tower, Naugus leads to a closet of sorts off the kitchen. On the shelves are indeed rolls of linen, poultices and little tubs of salves. He expects the worgen to do the gathering, Ixis Naugus instead leaning on the jamb of the doorway, arms crossed.
"This won't be for free, of course. Maybe for them, but not for you."
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Harrow, of course, follows close behind Naugus. He doesn't have to be told to gather up the things he asked for but does it on his own as soon as the opportunity is presented to him. His ears flatten with what Naugus says, but he continues his picking and stacking regardless.
"I know," he says, at once trying to remain humble and still impress upon Naugus how completely he understands. "I know, and I don't care. I don't know where else I can go for help like this for this many people when all I can pay with is my word. Like I said, whatever you need from me."
Ah, but then his ears swivel forward and he turns his attention to Naugus rather than the closet. "Only thing I won't do is kill my family and one or two particular other folks. Anything else... I'm not above any of it." He clears his throat and raises his eyebrows. "You got somethin' in mind already? You look like it..."
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"But that's all I ask right now, really. Faithfulness. Do as I ask and don't give me reason to question your ability to follow orders. It's been some time since I had a right hand man, after all. Someone to carry out orders and a blade. Someone to listen for things where I am not or cannot be. Someone who can keep secrets. Maybe the occasional call for companionship if you're doing well. Sound like something applicable to a man of your talents?" He already knows it is, but he'd like to hear it from the wolf's mouth.
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Faithfulness. Right hand man. Orders and a blade... He's nodding, his ears are bobbing. All more than agreeable things.
"Sounds perfect, Ixis. Sounds like... Bein' what I'm meant to be."
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He smiles at Harrowheart's expected agreeableness. "Then we forge a contract. Here and now, and so long as you remain well in my service, your family shall not suffer under my watch or by my hand." He extends his hand, much like he'd done with greeting the family. But now his smile is less cordial and more predatory.
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How convenient is it that he doesn't have to empty his arms of the supplies they're full of in order to bind himself to the service of a dark wizard. One of his floating handpaws grasps Naugus' hand with speed and confidence, and he gives it a sure shake. The deal is on.
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And then, just like that, it's all gone. The mage gives Harrowheart a pat on the back. "Let's go see how your family is faring then, eh?"
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Hey, maybe that was a bad deal he just made!
Or maybe it doesn't matter. He's made worse choices, he's sure. And really, what's the worst that could happen? Could it be worse than anything he's already done in his unlife? It's only Naugus, after all, and this is the Nexus. Dubious though his morality may be, this is a safe enough place.
He's lost in thought when Naugus pats him and brings him back to his senses. He laughs uncomfortably and nods his head. His family is waiting, and they're the reason he agreed to this, after all.
Back with the family, everyone has long-ago finished their water. They sit in near-total silence, still worried from their experiences. Lawrence watches the direction his brother and the caster went and is the first to notice their arrival. He's quick on his feet and ready to take and distribute supplies.
With his arms unburdened he reverts to his human form in one quick, magical motion. The sight of the transformation somehow makes these skittish people more uneasy. It's just their son and brother, though. Isn't it? Just their dead family member tying his severed hands back to his wrists. Who would be unnerved by that.
"We can fix ourselves up, Naugus," he says, some lingering uncertainty in his voice. "If you wanna get some blankets or some cots ready? If... You got anything like that?"
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"I assume all the rest of you are part-time Mobians? I'm shocked still that your society appears intolerant of such a thing. Then again, maybe I can." You know how Overlanders are.
At the mention of cots and blankets, Naugus rasps a laugh. "I suppose your family isn't a fan of stone beds either. Perhaps a hurried trip to the Nexus shops is in order? Easily and swiftly done for someone who can become airborne with less than a thought, of course!" Before anyone can argue or wonder about that plan of action, a swirl of wind is gathered underneath the wizard, his cape snapping outright into the shape of dark bat wings. And WHOOSH, he's off, headed for the commercial area of the Nexus, intent on finding some bedding appropriate for people who don't appreciate absurdly firm sleeping surfaces.
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Harrow joins his family sitting there on the ground. "Mobian means animal-person to him," he clarifies.
Some nod solemnly, others choose not to react. Anna focuses hard on her water, while Lawrence squints suspiciously at Harrowheart.
"We still love you," his mother insists quietly in the same instant that Lawrence says, "We hate you now." Mrs. Weatherhill stares in shock at her rude son, but the longer Lawrence stares at Harrow the more the two men start to smile. Harrow reaches out for a one-armed hug and gets a metal hand around his shoulder in return. The two share a quick and easy laugh even as the rest of the family shifts uncomfortably, unsure of how they really ought to feel.
As Lawrence side-eyes his brother with a familiar, very Harrow-like grin, he says, "You coulda told us, you know?"
Harrow smiles sadly and shakes his head. "Guess I figured some stuff is better kept secret, huh? We'll talk about it later," he assures everyone. "Just rest up a while, wait for Ixis Naugus to get back."
Silence briefly passes as people rub their wounded feet and drink their conjured water until Jacob looks up from his cup. "He's a weird one, ain't he?"
Harrow closes his eyes, resigned, and slowly nods.
Everyone else follows suit.
Verdict reached.