[RP] A Meeting in the Legerdemain

“I don’t know,” Keelath was saying.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” The other speaker was a sin’dorei, a female, with orange hair and the upright stance of someone used to battle, but maybe was not very comfortable in her own skin. The two of them–sin’dorei and death knight–sat in the Legerdemain Lounge. The sin’dorei had a glass of wine and a small plate of some appetizer or another; the death knight sat across from her with nothing.

“The usual problems,” Keelath, the death knight, said. "We were built to kill, Mirium. Not settle down and raise families. " He took a deep breath, closing his eyes. “The blood lust has not abated just because the war has ended.”

Mirium, the sin’dorei, slumped back in her chair, eyes going a little hollow, haunted. “Then what?” she whispered. “You could become a bounty hunter?”

Keelath shrugged. “The more peaceful the world is, the less need for such things. If the younger races eventually settle their squabbling, I won’t last through it. You know this.”

“Maybe I’m just too stubborn to accept that’s the only answer,” Mirium says softly. “I lost you once. Not again, Keelath. Not ever again.”

Keelath just grunted with irritation at the sentiment. The two stared at the table, speechless, for the moment…

The window he gazed through overlooked the Ledgerdemain Lounge. Malcotin Baen felt an urge to visit the lounge. He looked around his lab and noted the many empty vials sitting secure and sterile on the side tables. He was in dire need of more samples.

His current project was almost complete. He only needed to conduct a few experiments to solidify the data. Malcotin was so close to achieving a breakthrough. His brow furrowed and he emptied his pipe into the ashtray. He needed two subjects, one alive and one undead. The data had to be researched further. In theory, it seemed to him that his own life was a testament to the possibilities inherent in the world. Some races were more…resilient.

He had to gather more data to complete his work. Other races, other ways of living, other methods of creation. The Titans, he mused…yes they seemed to be the answer. But there was so much as yet unknown.

It might take him many years to discover all those secrets. For now…he was no longer restricted by Time. Or was he? A frown marred his handsome face as he contemplated. No, time was running out. Events were moving far faster than he was comfortable with.

One more glance out the window and he decided. Getting his greatcloak, he put on his tophat and left his lab. His dark hair streaked with grey, a distinguished look he cultivated to give himself a dignified appearance. His pale blue eyes were now shaded by special lenses that filtered out the telltale glow of Undeath. Though any other being with his condition would sense it immediately. He did not fear their repercussions in Dalaran. The Silver Covenant made sure to enforce the neutral state of the city. The strong odor of fragrant pipe tobacco was his defense for the smell of death. It worked remarkably well, most of the time.

He strolled into the Ledgerdemain with a serene confidence. He went to the bar to order a brandy and to refill his pipe tobacco pouch. “Good evening, bartender. I am Malcotin Baen. Would you be so kind as to fetch me the standing order I have for the whiskey soaked tobacco I favor? I find your brewer’s methods very satisfactory. The smoke and the flavor are greatly enhanced and I have received many compliments on it.”

He smiled as the bartender brought him the small can of tobacco and his favorite brandy. Leaving a gold coin for the bartender as well as paying for his tobacco and drink, Malcotin overheard the conversation behind him at a table nearby. His senses were alerted to the tension and the emotion between the two elves. A flicker of sympathy in his heart was soon overshadowed by the germ of an idea that started flaring in his mind. The male was a Death Knight, and the female was alive. The way she presented, it was possible she was a Light wielder. Still, the possibilities were there. Sometimes even Light wielders could be swayed…

But how could he approach them without seeming to be nosy? He frowned slightly, then as he stood at the bar, his brandy on the counter, he refilled and lit his pipe. The fragrant smoke soon filled the Lounge and he noted some favorable glances turned his way. Maybe, if he was lucky, one of them would approach him.

The tension between the couple got to be too much for Mirium, and she got up, wandering towards the bar as a cover for mounting anxiety. She didn’t see Malcotin until she blundered right into the human, and then sprang back, apologizing profusely.

“Sorry…didn’t see you there…are you okay? Can I get you anything? Oh, I hope I didn’t spill your–sorry!”

It was not something he planned, but Malcotin watched the female Sindorei approach with interest. She was very pretty, an exotic elf. He had to admit he admired their swelt waifish look that totally concealed their inner strength.

She was obviously not paying attention to where she was going and he was somewhat prepared as she nearly walked into him. He held out a hand to steady her as she suddenly stopped in front of him. He smiled with charm and chuckled softly. “It must be the smoke. I was not aware it made me invisible.”

His glasses covered his glowing eyes, but his manner was friendly. “My brandy glass is still intact. But I refuse to allow you to buy me a drink. I am Malcotin Baen. It is not often I am bowled over by a very pretty elf. Your husband is a very lucky…er…elf.” he glanced at Keelath with a polite nod. His deep voice was akin to a growl, but more friendly. His human form was at least unassuming and generally harmless. Most of the races on both factions were well aware of what a raging Worgen could do and usually steered clear of them.

Mirium gave a little anxious giggle. “I-I’m glad. I mean, thank you. I mean.” She takes a deep breath. Calm yourself, girl. “That’s very nice of you to say,” she said with a more formal tone. “Hello, Ser Baen. I’m Mirium Sum–Sunwalker. And that is my husband, Keelath. Are you, ah, enjoying your stay in Dalaran? Or are you a local?”

Keelath is watching them from the table, his expression quizzical, but not overly alarmed.

Malcotin tipped his head to one side as he looked her over. “You seem troubled, Mrs Sunwalker. You do not know me at all, but if there is anything I can do to ease your mind?” He stopped to glance quizzically at Keelath, only to meet the other’s stare.

“I am no expert, but it seems to be you are both disturbed about something. If it is personal, please forgive me. I am not one of those who engages in this petty warfare. I am very glad there is a ceasefire of hostility. I feel there is a lot to be shared between the races. Culture and strides in medicine are only a few of the things that should be shared.”

“Culture…strides in medicine…yes,” says Mirium nervously. “It still can be rather awkward for…us. For other reasons.”

Keelath slightly tilts his head at the returned stare, then gets up to stand behind and to the side of Mirium. She visibly relaxes with him there. “Keelath Sunwalker,” he grunts as a way of greeting to Malcotin, extending his hand in the human way. He continues to eye Malcotin, as if some other remark is on the tip of his tongue.

If he was nervous, Malcotin did not show it, but smiled as the male approached. “It is a pleasure, good sir. Malcotin Baen.” he replies warmly as he shakes Keelath’s hand.

To some folks, shaking the hand of a Death Knight might be akin to grasping a rotting corpse. But Malcotin did not flinch at it. He was well aware the other knew he was shaking the hand of a fellow undead. Oddly enough, Malcotin’s hand was warm and dry. Not cold and clammy as one might expect. His gaze met that of Keelath with unflinching respect and acceptance.

“I must compliment you on your gracious wife, as distracted as she was, no harm was done. Might I offer you a drink?” his lips twitched, as he fully expected the answer to be no. After all, what did death knights want with liquid sloshing around in empty bellies? A preservative? It would be an inside joke and he was not sure yet if the other even had a sense of humor.

And yet here he stood, drink in hand and smoking a pipe, thoroughly enjoying both. Certainly it invited questions, if nothing else. And questions that Malcotin was prepared to answer.

Keelath flexed his hand as they finished the shake. He had noted the warmth of the other man’s hand–the living warmth–yet his senses as a death knight obviously pegged this man as one of the undead, like himself. His own hand, of course, is cold, like one would expect of a corpse left out on a chilly day.

He glances at Mirium, who offers a wan smile, then returns the man’s question himself:

“Thank you, but it’s not really my interest anymore. Perhaps Mirium would like something?”

“Oh, I couldn’t–”

Keelath nods. “Do you mind telling me what it is you do here? Forgive me, but you seem an…unusual person.” Despite the words, his tone is cool, almost emotionless. He narrows his eyes slightly–a suspicious glare if there ever was one–if Malcotin would pick up on such a thing from the normally inexpressive death knight.

To his satisfaction, the refusal was tempered with an acceptance of the offer for Mirium. Malcotin turned his gaze to the woman who demurred, but he signaled to the bartender anyway to provide her with whatever she had been drinking.

His brow quirked as the question was asked. “I live in Dalaran now. As part of my research, I use their extensive library and most helpful sages. I am engaged in a most worthwhile project. But I would not bore you with dry scientific theory.” he paused, in hopes of being mysterious enough they would encourage him to explain.

He sipped his brandy and smiled as he saw the curiosity on both their faces. “As you have noticed, Mister Sunwalker. I am most unusual. I was not born this way. I assure you, however, I mean no harm to either of you. My condition is somewhat…intentional.”

“Intentional!” Keelath’s sudden bark startles Mirium again, who apparently hadn’t picked up on anything odd about Malcotin at all. “Why in fel would you do that to yourself intentionally?”

“Keelath?” came Mirium’s questioning tone.

Keelath lowered his voice so as not to make a scene, but the anger in his tone is still audible. “The only ones I know who seek undeath intentionally are the liches. It’s not exactly a pleasant condition.” He bares his teeth.

Mirium frowns at him, but says nothing. She nods her thanks to the 'tender who refills her glass, but for the moment doesn’t drink, listening to the conversation.

The smile never leaves his face, as Malcotin bears the brunt of Keelath’s anger. “You must admit, there are advantages. For instance, I am immune to disease, as you are. I am not afraid of death…” he shrugs. “Among other things, I can still feel emotion, taste the finer things in life, such as brandy and fine tobacco, and…I can live how I wish. I am normal in many respects. Of course, the fact I am Worgen might be lost to you, as my accent has been tempered by common usage. I find it has given me some unique attributes.” he smiles enigmatically.

Malcotin is quite enjoying the looks of surprise on the faces of others. Some of the other patrons of the tavern blink and then turn away in embarassment for staring. “I did not kill myself or anything of the sort. You see, I had a mentor who started me on this journey of discovery. She found me when I was imprisoned in the Undercity. I was already a Gilnaen and immune to the effects of the Forsaken curse of Undeath. When the Valkyre could not be bothered and the Apothecaries failed, I was sold. To a most enterprising warlock alchemist.”

“A undead worgen,” said Keelath. He seems to have regained his composure, though his Scourge-blue eyes are still burning angrily. “Very unusual…is that then why you can still taste your wine, and feel…warm?” He flexes his hand again.

Mirium looks up, glancing between the two of them with a slight frown.

Malcotin smiles and nods. “Not at first, it took years of experimentation and trial and error. It was she who finally ended my pathetic life. Through her experiments and her malice…” He pauses to reflect. “I was revived and offered a choice. She became quite enamored of me. Her desire was to use me as a slave to her depraved lust.” he continued with obvious disgust.

It was clear that Malcotin was not exactly returning his mentor’s proclivity. He was aware that not every relationship devolved into such practices. He had the grace to blush. “Forgive me please if I offended you, Ma’am.” He finished his brandy and held his glass up for a refill.

Mirium’s expression turns very odd, somewhere between the confused feelings of disgust, intrigue, pity, and anger. Keelath glances at her briefly.

“I see,” he said coolly to Malcotin. “I’ve heard of charms to make one more…tolerable to sleep beside. Against the chill and the restlessness,” he adds when Mirium snorts.

“You didn’t offend me,” Mirium says quietly. “That sounds awful to have gone through.”

The memories had been buried a long time, and Malcotin struggled to banish them. “It was…and I survived. Many things changed, the most important being, I escaped. I had learned enough from her to continue the research, even after she herself was arrested and executed in Silvermoon for her illegal activities. She offended one of the Magisters who subsequently had her arrested. The trial was brief and a total conviction. Oddly enough, not for her research into undeath. But for her alchemy that allowed her to corner a market for…love potions.” he snorted as he recalled. “She managed to undermine and anger a wealthy Sindorei who took grave offense and acted accordingly.”

When they arrived to dismantle her labratory, I escaped in the chaos of her undead minions trying to protect her assets. Even they had no defense when the magisters mana bombed the place. I made it out just in time. And only because the minions were encoded with a directive to protect me as well. I went out of an underground tunnel and escaped to the Plagued Lands. I was lucky enough to make it to the Light’s Hope Chapel and safety."

“Magisters,” mutters Keelath. “Always messing with things they should not.” He looks away, dismissive.

Mirium looks thoughtful on the other hand. “To mana-bomb an entire residence…it must have been bad. I don’t guess any of the other servants made it?”

There was a brief grimace of distaste, and Malcotin shook his head. “They were mostly mindless, more like Scourge than anything. I managed to take some of her research papers with me. The files about the experiments on the undead. I found out how she manipulated my…genetic structure and my innate resistance to the plague.” he nearly crushes his brandy snifter, before setting it down for another refill.

Taking several deep breaths, he finally turns to Keelath. “Not every race reacts the same way. I have since then found myself delving deeper into the mysteries of it all. I am so close…but I have many years of experimentation behind me. I mainly use battlefield casualties for my research. Well, I did at least until recently. Now that the battles are not so frequent or devastating.” he sighs.

“I find myself in need of volunteers and subjects to study. I would rather use willing subjects and to advance the knowledge of how to avoid undeath from crippling those afflicted with it. To give them more dignity, and normalcy. I have to admit, I have even managed to secure some willing Forsaken. But that is only a part of my research. I have some advances in alchemy and in using the races natural defences in ways to make things more palatable. It’s more of a combination of things, rather than a simple cure all.”

He was dancing a thin line here. What he was doing could be considered illegal or immoral by some, in spite of the fact it would provide much relief of stress and depression amongst the Undead.

Looking at Keelath with a reserved expression, he almost dared the elf to deny the need for such research. Malcotin had spoken quietly enough that most of the patrons either did not hear him or ignored it.

Keelath and Mirium glanced at each other, Keelath seeming to retreat behind a mask of expressionlessness as he thought.

“Is that all you expect from them?” he asked at length. “Test subjects? I’m not sure if that is charity or not…”

Mirium chews her lip. “What are you close to?” she asks, but it’s so soft a question she might as well only being asking herself.

There is a slight nod of relief from Malcotin, at least he will not be thrown into jail immediately. He rubs his chin thoughtfully. “Well, I could offer some gold, but there again, I would also need a more reliable income as well. Right now, I am selling potions and offering some help training those looking to learn about herbs. I have become somewhat of an expert, since I have many years of knowledge both from my own research and that of my mentor.” he thinks about it carefully as he reviews in his mind what he needs against what these two might accept.

“I can offer you exclusive access to my expertise as well. As you have already noticed, I can feel and taste and enjoy things you might not. Would you like some relief from your stench? Or possibly the ability to eat and drink nomally and enjoy your wife more fully?” He searches the face of the Sindorei.

“I cannot offer immediate change, it would take weeks or even months of experiments. But I do believe if we are patient, we can overcome some of the easier things to improve. Taste being one of them. You are remarkably free of most rot. I can help you to grow new tissue, discover ways to improve your sense of smell and even start experiencing sensations you have long lost. Eventually, I hope to restore most of the functions of life through chemistry, and yes some magic.”