Calavel Shadowquell

[Calavel]

((Hello Cats! It’s Idgy, who recently posted on the site as a Goblin. The deal is, I have decided to change her to a male Belf Priest. In the end, I didn’t have an affinity with her as a character, and I figured it was better to realize that now than later. At least you can appreciate that entry as a writing sample or something. By the way, thanks for saying HELLO in game Khazgral.

Regarding THIS entry, I have posted it under Character Description. It is in story form, and my hopes are to integrate him with the Cats as the story unfolds. The entries to come will reveal his background and the reasons why he seeks an alliance with the Cats. I may need some help with this to make it seamless and not awkward.

His name is Calavel Shadowquell.

I will post an official application soon.

So, again this is my official shout-out of my OOC interest. Can’t wait to see you all in game.))

The warlock glared at the hooded Sin’dorei as he approached, raising an eyebrow in query to his audacity. How dare he disturb me! Perhaps he’s soft in the head…most elves are.

Like all unexpected visitors, she studied him with a keen and practiced eye, always probing her subjects for potential weaknesses that might prove useful. This ought to be interesting if nothing else. She caught a glimpse of his lower face beneath the draping cowl. At least he’s handsome. Uncharacteristically, she became self-conscious of her appearance, tactfully smoothing her burgundy hair and then crossing her arms to assuage the transient awkwardness that followed.

He appeared slightly shorter than the average elf, though his self-assured countenance more than compensated for his lack of stature. Like most elves, he was graceful to a fault - though there was a subtle limp inherent in his stride that might have been easily overlooked had she not been fishing for weaknesses.

A musky scent akin to juniper preceded him, growing stronger as he approached. She found it quite alluring - almost hypnotizing - and she offered him a conciliatory smile.

What is the hell am I doing?! She shook her head to clear the haze, and consciously breathed through her mouth to quell his aroma.

Even in the dim depths of the Undercity, the opalescent skin of his exposed hands seemed radiant. His fingernails were manicured; his fingers long and balled in a loose fist, both swinging determinately at his sides as he approached.

His hooded cape was shoddy and of peasant quality. It did not suit him in the least, she considered, for he possessed an air of nobility that was self-evident, despite his apparent efforts to deceive.

He halted in front of her but said nothing, his rhythmic breathing the only sound for a few brief moments. A throaty, articulate voice set his shrouded jaw in motion. A small triangular patch of blonde hair embellished his lower lip and seemed to float over the shallow cleft in his chin.

“Miss Amelia Brazenhoax?” It was more of a statement than a question.

“Who wants to know?” she challenged.

He shifted slightly, the lax cowl twisting as he peered around to assure their privacy. Unhurriedly, his hands rose in unison to grasp the fringes of his hood, and rested there for a time, deliberating. His fingers flailed briefly before again clutching the hood, as if dispelling nervous energy. Then, in one smooth motion, his form was revealed, the bulk of the cowl now draped about his shoulders.

Amelia gasped, her startled inhalation unsettling her. She reflexively brought a hand to her mouth as if covering it would impede the echo, which was already reverberating throughout the sewer tunnels. Her hand remained transfixed to her lips, as she sought to comprehend…

- Two sapphire eyes hovered like apparitions above a straight and slightly upturned nose -

So unexpected was her revelation, she failed to keep her remark to herself, but instead blurted the muffled observation into her hand, “You’re a High Elf !”

He offered a closed-lip smile and nodded curtly in affirmation. “Some things are self-evident, my Lady,” he replied in a playful tone, punctuating the word Lady with a more profound bow of his head.

He offered nothing further, but instead clasped his hands behind his back casually in a non-threatening manner.

Straight flaxen hair cascaded over his shoulders to his waist, smooth and shimmering in the indirect torchlight. Its reflection imparted a radiance to his face which only served to lend further definition.

His eyebrows were long and steeply angled, darker blonde and scored with numerous scars. They were animated and perpetually shifted with his expression.

His lips were full, and his teeth clenched, the muscles of his mandible clearly defined by the maneuver.

Blonde, nearly transparent lashes outlined his almond-shaped eyes. His left cheek was dimpled, and that same cheek bore a two inch diagonal scar that followed the angle of his cheekbone. No freckles or other pigmentations marred his complexion. Indeed, his skin seemed almost translucent.

“Why have you come?” she uttered, turning away and striding toward a nearby table. The distance afforded her perspective - and quelled his mesmerizing scent which ceaselessly assailed her senses. She ran her fingers along the rough hewn table, then turned to face him, elevating her chin in a defiant fashion.

He stood motionless. Silent. A flicker in the depths of his eyes.

“I come to ask your help, Miss Brazenhoax…for there are few who possess your talents…and fewer still whom I would trust with my secrets”.

She met his unwavering gaze. “Indeed. And why should I help you…Mr. Mysterious?” her tone turning sarcastic. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Calavel Shadowquell”, he declared, nearly completing his answer before her question was finished.

She raised a well-manicured eyebrow. “Well, Mr. Shadowquell,” she paused for effect. “You are clearly either crazy or stupid,” motioning with a random sweep of her hand to their damp surroundings. “Do you not realize you are deep in Horde territory…in the Undercity no less. Have you a death wish?”

He took but one step toward her, then stopped again to formulate his response. He bit his lip and suppressed a smile. “I am neither crazy nor stupid, Miss Brazenhoax…but I am desperate…and, as you know, that makes more MORE dangerous than either of the aforementioned.”

His retort caught her off-guard, and a fleeting anxiety darkened her complexion, though only momentarily. He immediately sensed her apprehension and continued. “I mean you no harm, of course. I do require your cooperation, however. My options are few and my circumstances grave.”

It was she who now remained silent.

He took her silence as acquiescence, and manifested a coin purse in his right hand. Then, grasping the drawstrings with his left, he tossed it to her.

The meaning of the gesture was self-evident, and she effortlessly caught it one-handed. She bobbed the hand twice, appreciating its weight and the clink of the colliding coins. “Quite a sum,” she offered, attempting to repress her enthusiasm.

He nodded.

Her heart raced as she held the small fortune in her palm, and she suppressed a catch in her throat as she considered its life-altering implications. She needed the money…she too, was desperate. He could have what he wanted.

Assuming an air of boredom, she continued. “I may certainly consider your offer, if it is within my power to grant your request.” She shrugged. “Perhaps you overestimate my abilities.”

He glanced at the coin purse momentarily and then met her eyes again. “No, I have every confidence you will serve me well…as does your sister.”

His words were akin to a physical blow to her stomach. The bile rose in her throat and an overwhelming nausea ensued. The look of terror on her face eclipsed the calm façade she had fought to maintain until that moment.

He had played his trump card, and she was at his mercy, no matter what his request entailed.

((Hello again Idgy! Thank you for posting this. Sorry about the delay in response, but rl has been poking me.))

((What a lovely character description. He sounds like quite a fun individual to cross paths with, and perhaps even the sort who might dwell in the circles my assassin occasionally dabbles with. That said, I look forward to crossing paths with you in game IC.

To this:

Dec 13, 2010 0:44:41 GMT -5 @Calavel said:

((...By the way, thanks for saying HELLO in game Khazgral...))

Twas my pleasure, of course.

See you soon, I hope, and in the meantime keep the story coming, hm? *Winks*))

[Calavel]

((Continued))

“IF IT IS WITHIN MY POWER TO GRANT YOUR REQUEST YOU SHALL HAVE IT!” she blurted, the words tumbling from her glossy lips in a panic. “Please don’t harm Florina, I b-beg you,” she stammered, dropping the coin purse with a clink on the table, as if to emphasize that the safety of her kin far outweighed any monetary bribe.

Calavel held up an outstretched hand and panned it toward the ground, his cerulean eyes bespeaking no malice. “Calm yourself. I have no intention of harming anyone.”

Amelia Brazenhoax released her breath, unaware until that moment she had been holding it. She swallowed hard and nodded, recovering some semblance of composure.

She set her jaw and scowled at the high elf, her tone frigid. “You will divulge the nature of your relationship with my sister, Mr. Shadowquell. You may be in the position to blackmail me, but I WILL have my explanation before I assist you.” Her declaration was bereft of confidence, but brimming with emotion.

She turned abruptly to face away from him, willing-away the tears that threatened. Then with a flourish of her cape, she strode determinately through the adjacent doorway, her final proclamation reverberating in the damp chamber, “Tomorrow at midnight then…”

So quickly had their negotiation culminated, he was momentarily disoriented by her abrupt departure. He speculated whether she would keep her word. He glanced about the room, appreciating the murky atmosphere - so different from the clarity of The Hinterlands from whence he came…

Finally, his gaze rested on the only piece of furniture that embellished the chamber - the table. A smug smile twisted his lips. Yes, she was gone…but so was the coin purse.

((Love it. Love it. Gimme More! ;D))

[Calavel]

((Continued))

The Undercity was cloaked in shadows; much like Calavel, as he traversed the damp sewer tunnels just before midnight the following evening.

Again, he wore the shoddy cowl, its long train raking the sludge, carving a subtle path in its wake. Unlike the previous evening, however, he bore a staff that was strapped firmly to his back. The weapon was as old as the sewer tunnel itself; a family heirloom inherited from his father upon his death.

The torchlight glinted off the polished, though textured, hardwood surface of the staff. An astute student of the arts would have appreciated certain areas of the weapon that were as smooth as glass – these areas were relegated to the middle of the staff and bespoke a history of the many hands that had wielded the weapon. One could assume that the bearer of this staff might be proficient - perhaps more than proficient - at wielding such a weapon. Perhaps, that was the intention.

At precisely midnight, both parties entered the subterranean chamber through opposing doors. The timing of their arrival was subversively calculated on both their parts; an attempt to gain a psychological advantage.

The chamber had been altered over the last twenty-four hours, the diligent efforts of the warlock apparent in the details. As she locked her own door and then silently bypassed Calavel to lock his, he took the opportunity to survey her recent toils.

On the rough-hewn table were numerous bottles of varying size, shape and color. A tattered leather-bound tomb lain open to a page littered with symbols and inscribed in a language he didn’t recognize. A folded scarf abutted the book. She had obviously found the small note hidden at the bottom of the coin purse and made the appropriate preparations. He smiled.

A roaring fire graced the wall adjacent to the table, and two chairs faced each other near its hearth. Their proximity to the fire and the angle at which they had been placed suggested to Calavel that a “discussion” was in his future – true to her word, Amelia was going to have her explanation.

He met her gaze and she nodded towards the empty chairs.
“You won’t need the staff,” she said flatly. “My enchantments on this chamber are sound …and if you were planning on using it as a mode of persuasion in our matter, you have underestimated me.”

He smirked at her and draped his soiled cloak over one of the chairs. “Actually,” he offered sarcastically, “I thought it matched my outfit.”

His humor was lost on her, for she was already seated in her chair - the harsh look on her drawn face strongly advising him to assume his seat.

“Now,” she declared, “about my sister…”

[Calavel]

((Continued))

Her deep-set blue eyes were rimmed with dusky circles, and although her glare was unwavering and focused on Calavel, he felt as though she looked through him - not at him. She hid her anguish poorly, he considered. She had slept little, if at all, last night.

She appeared to be in a state of mourning…lamenting the dreadful outcome she believed had already befallen her sister. So despondent was her disposition, Calavel attempted to lighten the inflection and rhythm of his voice to calm her. After all, he believed she deserved an explanation…and it was in his interests to please her, so that they might address HIS pressing matter.

Calavel folded his well-manicured hands on his lap, and stared into the fire.

He began:

“I will never forget the first time Florina contacted me, or the manner in which she did so.” He paused to glance at Amelia, but she refused to meet his eyes, her gaze fixed on her lap; hands clenched, knuckles white. Nevertheless, her bearing was alert, and she chewed her upper lip as she listened intently.

“Her motivation? My brother, of course,” he spat. “Apparently he had scorned her, for it was her resolute intention to make him suffer.” He paused and smiled to himself. “That sentiment alone endears her to me.”

Calavel fixed his gaze on the dancing flames at his feet as he related his story. The crackle of the fire echoed through the dank chamber, but he could still appreciate the subtle sounds Amelia made when she shifted her posture – always in accord with statements that disturbed her. He enjoyed this game of sorts, but made a concerted effort to conceal his pleasure.

“She must have tracked me for some time, as I traversed The Barrens, before finally approaching me.” He crossed his arms and cocked his head to the side. “I know a wolf in sheep’s clothing when I see one…or in this case a wolf in wolf’s clothing.” He chuckled.

“She was shape-shifted into a rather lovely, though nearly transparent, arctic wolf when I first beheld her. Obviously she was attempting to blend into her surroundings, believing I might mistake for the native wildlife, as she watched me. To her ruin, she failed to remember that an arctic wolf in The Barrens would alert even an idiot that something was amiss.” He paused for effect.

Amelia shifted.

“I am no idiot…though neither is she, to her credit. Her fervor to reek-havoc on my brother simply clouded her judgment.”

Calavel brought a hand up to his face and gently caressed the shallow cleft in his chin. “Orc females, in general, are quite rough-looking. Florina possessed a femininity and beauty that even I could appreciate.” He paused. “As do you, Miss Brazenhoax.”

Amelia shifted.

“Large blue eyes, smooth olive-colored skin, high cheek bones, and full lips…such are your twin sister, Florina. Even her voice is unusual. No wonder my brother tagged her as his next conquest.” He paused, considering. “She was likely a challenge as well, given the fact she was Horde. He would love that.”

Calavel shrugged, and with the maneuver quickened the pace of his story.

“The specific details of their history are rather irrelevant, but suffice it to say he stole her virginity, and with it her honor…then relegated her to his long list of ‘conquests completed’ and forgot about her.”

Calavel paused. When he continued, his voice had lost its conciliatory undertone. He would tolerate no more of Amelia’s feigned ignorance. “Florina, however, would not…COULD NOT… forget. Her parents and friends shunned her for being ‘deflowered’ by a Quel’dorei!”

Calavel clasped his hands together and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, nearly meeting Amelia’s downcast forehead with his own…

“Only one person remained true and supportive,” he whispered into her burgundy hair. “Such was their unbreakable sibling bond…”

She met his eyes then, mired as they were in tears. A long silence followed. Even the warm firelight could not impart a healthy glow to Amelia’s face, so ashen was her complexion. She swallowed hard. “What do you want, Mr. Shadowquell? Have to come to visit more pain upon the sister of an outcast?”

Calavel sat back in his chair and watched the warlock’s tears puddle on the stone floor, her hands supporting her forehead as she attempted to quell her surge of emotion.

“All in good time, Miss Brazenhoax…all in good time”.

Amelia shifted.

[Calavel]

((Continued))

Calavel folded his hands on his lap and waited. He did not comfort the warlock. Her heaving sobs became sniffles, and then lapsed into silence. She stared at the stone floor for a good while thereafter.

“Your sister is rather direct,” he finally offered. “She had surmised there was a rift between my brother and me, and thought she might use that rift to her advantage – perhaps acquire my help.” He paused. “The problem was that she had nothing to offer in return...beyond the obvious.” A harsh exhalation escaped Calavel’s lips; a stifled laugh.

Amelia glared at him, well-aware what he was implying. “I see,” she offered flatly, “so you f*cked her.” It wasn't a question.

Calavel remained silent for a time, unsure whether to be amused or offended. “No. I had no interest in what she had to offer. I wasn’t about to waste the precious little time I had on my hands to assist her with anything – even the undoing of my brother; months ago, perhaps, but not now. My people’s circumstances trumped my petty personal problems.”

Amelia’s expression had softened nominally, and she now leaned comfortably back in her chair. Only her disheveled burgundy hair betrayed her otherwise feigned composure. Her face held no expression. She blinked once. It was the only acknowledgement she would offer that he still held her attention.

“I was rebounding from weeks of sleepless nights when I first met Florina, fumbling with preparations for political operations that were completely theoretical, and frankly ridiculous. The Elders believed that we needed to refocus our efforts, and strengthen our alliances with the Horde - in particular, the Sin’dorei.”

Amelia Brazenhoax breathed rhythmically. A nearly imperceptible twitch of her lip suggested a rising tension.

“But how does one obtain inside information and knowledge that might be useful to that end?” he continued. “We are a mistrustful people - so the option of hiring an infiltrator was denounced by the Elder council without deliberation. I was to utilize the usual channels they decreed; exercise my charisma and persuasive abilities to bring this about.”

Like an explosion, Amelia Brazenhoax leapt from her chair and roared, “Get to the f*cking point, you Quel’dorei piece of sh*t!” She simultaneously grabbed a small vial and threw it across the room where it shattered against the far wall. Her breath came in great heaves and her face was crimson.

Calavel smirked, crossed his legs and settled comfortably back into his chair. "I was just about to."

((Oh but I love his personality. )

[Calavel]

((Continued))

Calavel glanced casually at the shattered vial, pieces of prismatic glass strewn across the damp stone floor adjacent to the far wall. A foul odor pervaded the chamber from its vapors. He wrinkled his nose and turned his attention back to the smoldering embers of the fire. “I do hope the contents of that vial weren’t essential to our matter?” He paused, and continued somewhat dramatically. “That would truly be a shame for everyone.”

The manner in which he spoke unsettled Amelia, particularly the way he subtly emphasized certain words - almost as if purposely imbuing them with covert meanings and innuendos. She placed her two palms face-down on the table and hung her head, exhaling profoundly. “No, it wasn’t essential…and I have more, anyways.”

“Well then.” Calavel stood and kicked a stray ember on the hearth back into the flames. He continued sarcastically, speaking through a smirk on his lips, “Might you be able to control yourself long enough for me to finish my story… so that we can get to the matter at hand?”

She flinched at the inflection in his voice, as if she was a student being berated by a teacher. She loathed him. She swallowed and smoothed her burgundy hair. “Of course.” Amelia began to arrange the supplies on the table. “Please continue, Mr. Shadowquell.”

Calavel studied her. Her countenance was sturdy. It was blatantly apparent she would remain in control. Her tirade had passed.

“As I was saying…a different approach was taking shape in my sleep-deprived head. One that did not attain actual clarity until your sister, Florina, walked into my life.” Calavel paused to glance at Amelia. She continued to arrange what was already flawlessly organized. “Strange as it was to talk openly with a member of the opposing faction, it was refreshing. The common detestation we shared for my brother united us in an unlikely way, and we shared things we might have otherwise concealed – like the fact her sister was actually the infamous Amelia Brazenhoax, dark-warlock-extraordinaire. Even as far removed as I was from Horde-circles and sorcery, I had heard of you. Your reputation preceded you, clearly.”

Amelia said nothing.

Calavel sighed and waved his hand in a flourish through the air as if he was becoming bored with the exchange. “Then Florina, musing innocently about nothing in particular, said something that changed everything. She offered it so innocently; it took some time for me to latch-on to the idea.”

I don’t see why you don’t just infiltrate the enemy lines yourself Calavel? I mean, you totally look Sin’dorei anyways…’cept the eyes. You’d have to change those. My sister could help you with that part…

“That’s it! I proclaimed,” recounted Calavel, his voice raising an octave, startling Amelia. “I would help her get revenge on the man she detested, and she would help me by…revealing your whereabouts.” He paused. "The fact that we both hate the same man is, of course, a bonus for me." Calavel raised his arms triumphantly. “You see? Everyone wins!”

Amelia glowered. “How do I win, Mr. Shadowquell?” The words were toxic; Calavel took an unconscious step backwards.

He crossed his arms and locked-eyes with the warlock, for a time saying nothing. “You get to keep your sister, of course.”

Amelia’s face recoiled momentarily. “Let’s get this over with, then.” She motioned to the chair adjacent the table. “Sit down please.”

Calavel sat, staring straight ahead.

“Eye enchantments are tricky,” she offered, in a tone meant to unsettle him. “It won’t be pleasant, I can assure you…but it will be successful and sound. Mind you, only I can remove it.” The latter statement was nearly lost in the clinking of bottles and rustling of pages from her tome.

“Just do it,” he spit.

“Of course, Mr. Shadowquell…at your service.” She lowered a cracked mirror in front of his shining sapphire eyes. “Say goodbye to those baby-blues…”