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Badform and NinseiNeon's New (Wizarding)World Order

Started by ninseineon, February 06, 2013, 04:32:58 PM

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ninseineon

London winters were a strange thing. A few inches of slushy snow might cling to the streets and people bundled up as if it was some blizzard. Lovise rather liked the mild weather. She had more freedom with her wardrobe here than she had back home. IT didn't hurt that there were more wardrobes to chose from, either. Today she wore a tasteful charcoal wool coat buttoned tightly over leggings and a pencil skirt nicked from Harrods. The flat-heeled patent leather boots were a lovely gift from that tiny boutique in Piccadilly and she couldn't have told you where she got her platinum and black pearl jewelry. Some over-priced salon had been kind enough to bleach her hair to it's icy-white shade and they even coiffed it to the side in those lazy, wavy curls the french were so fond of.
The effect was less than she could achieve at the hands of skilled witches, but muggles would work for free as long as they believed that they had already been paid. Witches and wizards could be a bit more touchy about tall foreign women robbing them blind.
So when galleons and knuts started to grow scarce, Lovise took a short stroll down Diagon Alley and took a turn. Though most of the people she passed wore clothes made by magic, none were even half so well-dressed as she. But that was the trouble, after all: to dress as well as a mildly wealthy wizard, one had to spend a year's salary on a single muggle outfit. Thank Merlin she didn't have to pay for any of it!
More than one set of eyes followed the pretty young woman as she stepped confidently down into Knockturn Alley, clutch purse in hand.

BadForm

I call it "The Emporium." It is my store-front on Nocturne Alley, though I usually have staff run the place. In truth, I much prefer to spend my time hunting down rumors of ancient and powerful artifacts, testing recovered spells to determine how they may be used to enhance existing magical items, and liaising with the other Death Eaters and, when I am fortunate enough to, the Dark Lord himself, than in a pokey shop in the Alley. Still, it does pay to be there occasionally, for none of my staff have quite my insight into the power of artifact, and one never knew just when someone would bring in something that  Indeed it is almost entirely that which allowed me to rise in the eyes of the Dark Lord during his conquest of the weaklings that opposed him.

I am studying a particularly fine tome, one capable of devouring the mind of the unwary reader, when I hear the door open. I turn and look up with a fake smile, intending to greet my would-be customer. What I see turns me cold. Standing there is a witch dressed in muggle clothes and with a haircut that looks like it was done by a muggle as well. Not many would know what they were looking at, although they might sense that the style was different to that normally worn by wizarding folk, but unlike any other Death Eater I have a specific reason for recognizing muggle-garbage. My own mother was one... was, that is, until I tortured her to death. For a second the memory of the look on her face as her own son applied the cruciatus curse bring a grin back to my face, when when I remember why I am thinking of the memory, I scowl.

"I believe you are in the wrong place," I say curtly. "Perhaps Borgins will deal with your kind. They are further down Nocturne Alley!"

I turn away from her, listening to make sure that she does not try to steal anything from my store. Of course, that is unlikely, but still when someone is willing to do something as disgusting as wearing muggle clothing one never knows what else they might do.
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ninseineon

Lovise paused for the most marginal of moments before walking purposefully up to the counter. Her white cheeks flushed from the cold and veiled insult, she made sure her boots tapped over the floor. The bastard seemed consumed by a ratty old book so she dropped her purse directly on it immediately under his nose.
"You are mister Scathefire, ja? I have et appointment." The barest twitch of her long nose was all of her disdain that slipped through, though it was clear from the way she pressed her lips together that she was less than impressed. "I am Lovise Riis, and I think you should not believe so many things."
Though thick, her accent was almost musical in the way she lilted from one syllable to the next. From her snow-pale skin and high cheekbones, to the odd way she swallowed her vowels, Lovise was the very image of a nordic ski-queen. Even the way her wide hips moved when she shifted her weight impatiently seemed designed for a slalom.
To avoid any other unpleasantness, she passed him her immigration ID. The moving portrait on the card winked and blew kisses up at them while the documentation around the rim of the card proclaimed her to be exactly who she claimed. Most notably, however, was the seal in the top right corner of the card. The crest of Merlin over two crossed wands marked her as pure-blooded, but the five sparking stars surrounding the crest signified just how pure. Very few British wizards would be able to claim their fifth star so easily.
"Is correct, ja? We can talk now? Or you would send me to Buger und Books?"

BadForm

I take the document between forefinger and thumb as it is handed to me, almost as though I am touching a filthy rag, however when I see the heritage on the card displayed so proudly my attitude changes. Yes, this is a pureblood witch, VERY pureblood. Of course, there are purebloods of all kinds and in and of itself that means nothing. Hell, scum like the Weasleys were pretty pure. Stupid, yes, pathetic, certainly, but a wizarding line nonetheless. Still, I have spoken to her already and am intrigued to see what she has to say. When I hear her accent mutilate my "competitors'" names I cannot resist a tiny smile.

"Miss Riis," I say. "Please, come in. I have a fine wizard wine in the back that I think you will enjoy. It is of the Chateau Blut vineyard which, as I am sure you know, is always mixed with at least a hint of muggle blood."

I lead the way from the shop front into the private rooms, knowing that the spells on the place will prevent thefts. The black-bottled wine is in a cooling tub, chilled to perfection by magical energies. I take two glasses and open the bottle, grinning as it emits its characteristic scream before being poured. It is a minor enchantment certainly, but amusing nonetheless. A moment later I return to the two seats I indicated and hand a glass to Miss Riis.

"Forgive me," I say taking my seat. "I am afraid your attire... is unusual for our kind."
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ninseineon

Lovise followed and shed her coat as she went. Underneath she worse a cream-colored tunic just a few shades lighter than skin stretched over her collarbone. The fabric, muggle or not, draped loosely over her body while clinging to every curve when she moved.
"You Englishmen are so strange about your muggles." Accepting his wine without a blink, the lithe young woman slipped into one of his chairs as though it had been built specifically for her. "You do not use a racing broom to sweep the stables. Yet this whole place is crawling with muggles that do nothing and witches making  charmed knickers. Why should a witch make clothing when a few muggles can do the same in hours? You would have me sweep this floor? No! Yet a wizard will make the most useless trash when a muggle works just as well. Put the muggles to work and leave the wizards to make important things."
She sipped her wine and gave a slightly sheepish smile.
"Well, it is easy for me to say this. I have no need for charmed clothing. When I can not make muggle rags look beautiful, I will buy charmed knickers with the mudbloods and old women."

BadForm

I feel a strange conflict within me, a mixture of being irked and being thrilled by a challenge. I consider how to respond, particularly when you make your points about having muggles clean the floor and do menial labor. Of course, you have a point but I cannot personally consider it a good one.

"Well, I might force a muggle to lick the floor clean but I would not then kiss that muggle on the mouth nor trust that the floor was, in fact, clean. Muggles are filth and the only way I can see them being used is for... entertainment purposes or perhaps as test subjects for new spells and recovered artifacts. Muggles are filthy, disgusting creatures and you deserve so much better than to wear their fabrics as if they could possibly get clothing right."

I sip my wine and swirl it gently in the glass. The red color plays and swirls in the liquid as if the blood was deliberately kept separate from the wine. For a moment I am deep in thought and considering what I have learned about you so far. Wearing muggle clothes. I admit that it makes my skin crawl. It's also an uncomfortable reminder of what danger lies in my own background. If my parentage were well known... well... it would not be good.

"Perhaps you would permit me to obtain clothing for you - there is a nice new store open further down the alley, Dark Enchantments, specializing in enchanted clothing for the discerning witch or wizard. You may, of course, want to avoid some of their more unusual products, unless your tastes run to the decidedly twisted. Now, what brings you here? I understand that you said you had something I may be interested in?"
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ninseineon

#6
Lovise waved away his offer clothes shopping. It was true that she wasn't particularly fond of most British designers and it was also true that she preferred minimal enchantments, but her only real reason to turn him down was that she simply couldn't afford it. All her money went to buying supplies for her amulets and potions, she could scam muggles to live. If she ended up looking a little eccentric, all the better. Unlike most witches, she had the blood to permit a few quirks and Lovise thought it made her more interesting.
At his prompt, she took an elegant rosewood jewelry case from her tiny (and apparently enchanted) clutch purse. Opening it, she revealed a teardrop-shaped vial nestled carefully in deep blue velvet. The vial was chased over in a bizarre spiderweb of pewter bands that seemed to writhe if they were stared at too long. Faint etchings covered the vial itself, but they jumped from one arrangement to the other making it impossible to pinpoint what exactly the runes might spell. From the bottom of the whole thing dripped a pewter spike, sharpened on the edges into a wicked razor. The crystal stopper was connected to a dainty gold chain and latched shit with more pewter bindings.  The whole thing was masterfully made and only as long as a man's smallest finger, not including the blade.
"I would be surprised if you have seen this before whole." She passed him the box with almost reverent delicacy. "Take care. It is called a Drekksjaldan. My grandmother once said that you people had never made one without killing yourself."
She laughed quietly and stroked the gold chain.
"It is.. tricky magic, but powerful."

((Sorry about the wait! Weekends can be crazy at work, this was my first day getting home on time!))

BadForm

I watch as you take out your prize, studying the vial of potion as you flaunt it in front of me. The first thing I notice is the spike at the bottom of the vial. There is only one potion that I have heard of that typically comes with a spike attached, well, insofar as anything about that potion can be termed typical. I remember its name, Drekksjalden, but I can barely remember what it does. Immortality? Invulnerability? All I truly remember is the spike is a reminder that for it to work it requires blood. Nobody has even attempted to make it since 1943 when the attempt dissolved its creator in a puddle of orange goo. At least, nobody in this country has admitted to trying to do so.

I watch the other magical items as you display the potion and comment on me not seeing it before. It looks like Feingould's Webbing and the Formuleirung runic alphabet, interesting perhaps but not impressive. Unlike the contents of the box, then take the vial from it to study it even more closely. I do not unstop the crystal, but instead raise an eyebrow as if skeptical. In fact, I can feel the magic on the vial. I cannot be sure that this is the real thing, but only the darkest of magics feel like this.

"Somebody told you that this is a correctly made sample of Drekksjalden?" I ask. "Who on Earth would tell you that? Where did you get it?"

I turn my gaze to you, frowning. I wonder if you will tell me your source if you think you were cheated. Whoever that person is is someone I really want to know.
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ninseineon

"No one 'told me' this was correct. I know it is correct!" Lovise sniffed proudly. She tugged her left sleeve past her elbow to show a white leather armband that vaguely resembled a gauze bandage. Held to the leather with gold chains was an identical vial, this one filled with red liquid and missing the blade. "If you are not stupid, they are not so hard to make. The tricky bit is getting the pewter set properly without cracking the vial or scratching the runes. I have practice."
Pulling her sleeve back down, she took the pendant out of the box and cradled it in her hand. She avoided the blade however, knowing that it would be very thirsty.
"I change the design. You see, the power of the thing is the vial itself, not what it holds. I think that is why your wizards kept failing so badly." She held the chain up, letting the charm dangle. Instead of swinging like a pendulum, it froze while angled slightly towards him. "The vial absorbs the potion within a month or two. Sure, you could drink the potion and get the same effect for an hour or a day, but let the Drekksjalden have it and... well, the potion is always there, just waiting to be fed. May I see your hand?"

BadForm

I give a half-smile as you speak. Yes, you are right that many people are arrogant enough to assume they know how something works and focus on the wrong thing completely, rather than truly examine the thing for what it is in its entirety. In truth, I have just been guilty of the same thing in dismissing the writing as unimpressive. Yes, the runic script itself is a basic charm, but the way you have used that shifting writing to meld with the web and the base is not so common. I can only presume it is my own hatred of the muggle clothing you wear that rendered me so unseeing.

I listen as you explain the workings of the artifact and not in understanding. Evidently you are a craftier person that I had been giving you credit for, and I mean that is the best way possible. Your craftsmanship is good and I suspect you do yourself a disservice now when you say that "they are not so hard to make." No, if it was that easy then even the arrogant would have stumbled across it before now. This is a difficult craft that there is a good chance you have perfected.

When you ask for my hand I assume you intend me injury, that you want to prove to me how the artifact works. To call it a mere potion is, now I realize, insulting. I hold out my palm willingly.

"Certainly and if you intend to use that spike on me then let me assure you, I enjoy a little pain. It tends to focus the mind."
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ninseineon

"Good. This will hurt more than a little."
Lovise turned his hand over in hers, letting her long fingers sweep over the tender skin of his wrist. Eventually, she found the spot she was looking for and laid the blade flat against the skin. Gently, she slid the blade into his flesh. The blade must have been exceptionally sharp because it seemed to glide through the skin with no effort or pain. In fact, the whole thing was rather disappointingly painless. Well, at least until the first drop appeared in the vial.
There was a burning, pulling sensation as the vial flooded with blood. It was almost like the blade was sucking his veins in with the blood, tugging them all through his body like threads from a cloth.
"It is very important to give it a vein, not an artery." She said softly. While the vial filled she rubbed the skin above the blade in soft little spirals and watched carefully. The little charm seemed to hold much more blood than the volume would suggest. "The nature of the blade will not allow you to clot for some time after being pierced, and an artery will have you losing too much. If you have filled it, it will protect you from any poison or harmful spell. If the spell has a friendly intent, the drekksjalden will ignore it. You must have it close to you, or it will not catch the spell. Every spell it catches drains a little blood. More blood for more power and little for little. If it goes dry, it will not be able to catch a spell. I gave it the tooth, so it will feed itself if it is empty. So, make sure it is near a safe place. NO large arteries, never the throat or the thigh."
After what seemed like an agonizing eternity, the pain suddenly stopped and she lifted the charm off his arm. The blade had disappeared, leaving a pendant identical to the one she wore on her arm.

BadForm

((As you say, sorry for delay. Needed to clear my head after a terrible RL situation. This RP needs a little more thought than most I'm doing since it's a better story.))

As the blade penetrates me flesh I suck in a breath. Yes, I can feel how painful it is and I hate it. That is good, because I long since learned to use my emotions, and my pain, to channel my actions and decisions. I seldom rage, but solidify it into a white hot core of cold-blooded decision making. The same with pain and hate. I let myself feel it, but don't go into it. I listen to your description of the talisman as I drink in my own suffering and nod. A part of me loves that you can do this - even in our kind there are so many wannabes, so many who think they are dark just because they throw up a Dark Mark in the sky. No, you are different, and I want to have you in my life. On the other hand, part of me says you are dangerous and I must be willing to use and destroy you as necessary.

When the pain ends I look at the talisman and let the feelings subside. I watch you for a few moments before I pick up my wife again and take another drink.

"This could be traded with the truly dark, the truly worthy," I say. "Would you be interested in a stipend to produce this talisman for me according to orders I receive?"
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ninseineon

((No worries! I'm a little late replying too, so we're even.))

Lovise paused and seemed to think over the offer carefully. No use in appearing too eager, after all. A regular source of income was exactly what she needed. Thanks to the time-consuming nature of her work, she was practically guaranteed that supply would never catch up to demand and given how difficult the amulets were to make... Well, she could ask for nearly any price. It was an ideal situation, but the young woman knew that this was the point of no return. It was a dangerous business she was falling into.
"I need six weeks to make each one. I say this so you do not get impatient. I rush, and you have dead buyers, forstår du?" Her quick mind ran over the cost of materials, including the more exotic bits she would need to send away for. Aside from the time involved, it was an inexpensive project. But he didn't know that. Lovise was tempted to pad her own salary, but some nagging feeling warned her away from trying to cheat this man.
"Two hundred galleons for each I bring you. It would be simple to charge double that, so do not try to tell me I rob you."

BadForm

((OK, so apparently I DIDN'T post an update here... oops!))

I nod. Two hundred galleons for magic like this is an easy ask. The delay in receiving the finished product would only add to each customer's expectation and eagerness. I know that combining the two will allow me to charge around three hundred to three fifty, probably not four hundred as you suggest, but still for being merely the middle-man in the process it is a good profit. I smile and nod.

"Two hundred it is," I say. "I already have a couple of people in mind who would probably want this given the work they do so I will speak with them about it at the next formal dinner."

I pause a moment, considering inviting you, but decide against it. For one thing, introducing my supplier to my buyers would be a bad move likely to cut me out. For another the air of mystery about who is making the product will increase the likely profit as people will be intrigued. Finally, there's the fact that the people I am thinking of would loathe seeing someone willing to wear muggle clothing and since you seem obsessed with it that would be a bad move.

"Well, my new friend," I say quietly. "Why don't you tell me a little more about yourself?"
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ninseineon

If she noticed the pause, Lovise didn't show it. Instead, almost imperceptibly calmer now that business was finished, she sipped her wine and shrugged gracefully.
"I lived with my grandmother on a little hill town in Hammerfest, in northern Norway. There are not so many wizarding families, but my grandmother is over them all. She keeps the small families at work, and makes sure the muggles stay in line." Only an ounce or two was left in her glass and she tilted the stem just to see the wine roll in the bulb. Her careless attitude was not a show for him; it was easy to see just how little she cared about the cost of her wine, or it's gruesome makings. "After she says I have learned enough, and I am old enough, she says to me 'go out and meet more of the wizards. Go and learn more.'"
Her cold gray eyes softened as she offered him an almost apologetic smile.
"It is different here in the south. The weather I like, but not so much the rest. The muggles are lazy and so many of the witches are stupid, weak things. No one uses runes, and it makes a charm too complicated." Muttering into her glass she says: "Anything can be done if you know the runes to write it."