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Post by aoife on Aug 5, 2010 11:01:38 GMT -7
Timeframe: Morning
Date: May 15
Place: The Streets of the Troll Market
Status: Closed to Herman Von Klempt
The Troll Market reeked of exile. It was not those who inhabited it, it was the fact that such a beautiful and wondrous place was hidden below the human world. It was hidden because of shame, hidden because the humans had broken their word, and Aoife Róisín had grown weary of it. She wondered the Troll Market like a lost soul, a long flowing cloak hiding her snow white skin, the hood shielding her corn-silk hair. The only features that could be seen of her inside the cloak was her pale face, dark eyebrows, and crimson lips.
Within days, the two royal children of the deceased King Balor would meet to decide who would assume the throne. As long as Aoife and her small ring of confidants had their way, a new era would arise in the fantastical world -- One of liberty, one of freedom! One where Elves made their own future, decided their own destiny! But the problem with that, Aoife thought as she reached out to grasp at some trinkets in a nearby vendor's stall, was that her confidants were a small group. Not at all what she needed to succeed.
Surely, if they did eliminate the Prince and Princess, that would be a start -- but the hearts of Elven people still had a fondness for those with royal blood. But what would they do without such archaic souvenirs of a time and age well past its prime?
Now, Aoife Róisín roamed the Troll Market, searching -- For what she didn't know. For one who could help her? For those she could hire? Her hand stayed upon the hidden knife in the inside of her cloak and her eyes constantly roamed -- vigilant for those who might have heard of her schemes, and wished to do her harm.
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Post by vonklempt on Aug 6, 2010 5:03:56 GMT -7
Ach, the smell of this place. The stench. It was overwhelming, intruding into ones very being, clinging to flesh and clothing and hanging like a disease, plain for all to see. Just sharing the same air as these creatures was enough to contaminate one, to cause one's very being to feel a kind of revulsion and disgust at even the air. Disgusting, all of it.
The freakish beings milling about, the disgusting abominations hawking their wares, crying in foul tones and strange tongues. It was almost too much, too much to bare. But it had to be bared. There was reason to this visit, and though this place was revolting beyond all means, beyond all reckoning, that purpose was strong enough and important enough to put all concepts of disgust aside. At least, for the moment.
Herman von Klempt may have been a man of science and singular understanding, but the weird aspects of the supernatural world, these Fair Folk and these Trolls and other artifacts of a time long passed, they did not fascinate him as perhaps one would suspect they would. They were instead a mockery of his beloved science, of a man made domain. Their very being acted in contrast to his beliefs, his unshakable faith that man and his sciences were the rightful rulers of this world.
And he, Herman von Klempt, was the rightful ruler of man.
As he picked his way purposefully through this horror show of inhuman creatures and beings, he told himself that once more, made sure he knew why he was here, why he was enduring this. Von Klempt had been through much in his long life, had had to face many trials and the most taxing of tribulations. His genius plans were foiled by the meddling intrusions of the BPRD again and again. His works undone time and again. But he kept going. For he was strong. He would endure.
He made no attempt to hide his allegiance or appearance. Dressed as always in a more modern take on an SS Officer's uniform, the black leather coat buttoned tightly against his form, his mirror polished boots clicking against the ground with every step. He walked with his arms folded behind him, his bearing proud, haughty, even arrogant.
The most distinctive thing about him, however, was his face. Or head, rather. Bald, skin extremely pale, eyes burning a sinister jade, expression fixed in a scowl, a swastika tattooed in the center of his forehead. Even in a place of with such unusual habitants, he stood out in his own unique way.
His eyes scanned the crowds, attempting to pick out just one amongst them who could aid him in his goals. He loathed to make use of any of these fool things in his great works, but he had no choice. Necessity dictated that he utilize one in particular, that he use her and in doing so, further his goals. Working with one of these creatures felt somewhat more bearable knowing that he would be pulling the strings.
Ah ha! There!
He may have been mistaken, but he caught a glimpse from the corner of his eye of what could have well been his quarry. Changing direction, adding a measure of haste to step, he hurried after her.
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Post by aoife on Aug 6, 2010 21:58:16 GMT -7
The heavy steps falling against the cobbled stone streets of the Troll Market was unmistakable. Aoife had a vague hope that perhaps this being was pursuing a child, or a thief, and she did not turn to look at whomever the footfalls belonged to. But the footfalls pursued, heavy, determined. Someone had found her, someone knew what she intended to do with the Elven Kingdom, and they were going to make her pay. Aoife's heart pounded in her throat and she maintained her speed. Her pursuer would catch up with her in a matter of seconds, she could not make a mistake.
Aoife turned a hard left, her cape billowing behind her slightly as she turned down an alleyway and then hugged against the wall. Her hand dived into her cloak and the silver knife was pulled out, poised to strike as soon as her pursuer entered the alley. When the form did, the knife was pressed to their torso, and Aoife hissed, "Why are you --?" But then when she saw her pursuer was, she lost all words. Whatever this being was, it was not of her world, but the world of man. The swastika, a symbol Aoife had seen in learning about her enemy, adorned the forehead of the human head that was floating in a jaw -- and sitting upon a behemoth of a body.
Her scarlet lips parted but her arm was straight. What was this abomination and what did it want with her? "Why are you following me?" She asked, her voice low and possessing an edge of danger.
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Post by vonklempt on Aug 10, 2010 8:31:18 GMT -7
As much as Von Klempt hated these creatures and everything they stood for, he knew that he would have to make use of them if he wished for his plan to come fruition. It was a bitter truth, but an unavoidable one. Having to seek out one amongst them, to engage her, to implore that she accept his aid in her own schemes, it was almost too much to stomach. Even the idea of discussing a common partnership with one of these relics was a loathsome thing indeed. But he had no choice, unfortunately. No choice but to involve himself with this... this... thing.
As Von Klempt hurried after her, never breaking from a dignified stride even as he sped along, he knew that his quarry was very likely aware of him. These creatures were throw backs to an era long past, an unpleasant reminder of a time when man had been less than dominant over the globe, but they were not incapable, as much as he hated to admit it. If they were, he would not have been seeking to make use of this one. A difficult admission, but a logical one. Von Klempt did not abide weakness or uselessness.
She took a sharp turn into an alley, and, when he took the turn himself, she was waiting for him, knife poised, ready to run him through. It was almost amusing. She had no idea who she was dealing with, clearly. And yet, so very few seemed to understand the depth of Von Klempt's prowess and formidability. This creature was far from the first to miscalculate in his wake.
Scowl growing even more bitter, malevolent jade eyes fixing onto hers, he spoke, voice rasping, accent unmistakably German, "You are Fräulein Róisín, ja?"
Placing a gloved hand against his chest, "I am here to speak with you. I believe we have a common enemy."
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Post by aoife on Aug 12, 2010 23:26:13 GMT -7
Her scarlet lips curled into a pout of puzzlement. Her eyebrows arced towards her hairline, and the hand holding the knife shook. She was not used to using weapons, she was a diplomat and guards were for protection. She had acted stupidly, as though a child, and visited the Troll Market, not thinking any harm could befall her. While the... thing before her had not responded to her brandished knife in the way one might have who wished her demise, he could be waiting.
His voice was accented with one of the languages of Man. Aoife did not know their world as well as her own, of course, but she believed it was from the mass of land known as Europe (not Your-up as she had spelled it for centuries before being corrected). Part of him, perhaps the part in the jar, was Human... Then what was he doing in the Troll Market? What was this abomination doing, moreso, speaking to her?
"A common enemy?" Aoife echoed, her white features purely quizzical. The knife stared where it was. "I find that laughable, Jar-Man, considering that we are from two different worlds, each pitted against the other in a quest for survival." Her dark eyes narrowed in suspicion, but then she remembered that Prince Nuada had tried to wage war against the human world months before. While Aoife hoped to someday do that same, it wasn't what she was actively involved in. "Unless... you are speaking of Prince Nuada?" Had her plans really been that widely known? If so, her entire plan could fail... Aoife's face was now rapt with attention to the head in the jar, while the knife stayed in place.
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