Chance Meeting [Kor] - Completed

Korvus sighed; defiance was understandable, even admirable, to a point. However, when it crossed the line into stupidity (stupidity being when Korvus saw it as genuinely inconvenient in achieving his own ends) he began to get rather cross. He composed himself, however, opting instead to shake his head condescendingly. "Dear girl, I'm not certain you're aware of quite how painful it is to simultaneously starve and have your eyes devoured by birds. This is not a fate either of us want for you, especially not since you've got such a... rustic charm about you. Such a shame all that strength will never find an heir to next inhabit, or do you have a barbarian husband whom I'll have to threaten as well?" He chuckled at the notion of two over-muscled brutes romancing and making love, though he imagined it went closer to him striking her on the head with a cudgel and dragging her into his cave. Or perhaps, he mused, the roles were quite the opposite.

Korvus wanted direction. Direction, he assumed, was somewhere out of the forest, where civilized people dwelt and betrayed one another. The vicious day-to-day of mortal culture had very little difference to the arms race of beasts. But beasts did so out of necessity; a sort of obligation that twoleg mortals lacked, and that was what made it so amusing. With freedom came creativity, and beasts were rarely creative in their spiting and killing. Even the deception of insects, those that depicted eyes or leaves upon their wings, was simply natural. There was no glee on the part of the insect for having fooled a predator. It was tiresome, but Korvus had found a mortal even here in the monotony of the wilds. And mortals could be tempted, as he would seek to do to her.

He stood, slowly, and sauntered toward her. Evil thoughts unraveled in his mind, and he gave her a broad smile. "When I said granting you speech would be my sole apology, perhaps I was a mite presumptuous. I am a man of power, and perhaps I might be willing to impart some of this upon you." He extended a hand, and upon it landed an illusory crow. "How would you like to see through its eyes, share its thoughts, and speak into its very soul?" he asked, stroking the creature as convincingly as he could before shooing it off. "I can grant you power over their simple minds, but only so long as you can grant me something in kind." He grinned; sinister coercion dripped from his voice like poisoned honey, and gave the distinct impression that he should be caressing her cheek as he spoke. "Things should not be so dull as to simply part ways, after all..."

"For starters," Korvus began, drawing a little closer than was either courteous or comfortable, "I would ask that you suffer my presence longer. I will offer in turn that your supplies will not be drained by my presence." She lived on the fringe of existence, so he reasoned, and he furthermore reasoned that any guest as powerful as he that would not serve as another mouth to feed would be invaluable. Resent him though she did, he doubted that she had lost any sense of his value during the fight. Korvus did not lose, not in games like these. "Beyond that..." he paused, giving her another winning, vicious grin, "Well, what have you to offer?"

"Companionship," Korvus stated calmly. He paused, drawing away from her some. "What this entails, I suppose remains to be seen, but do know that I have no further wish to incite your... wrath, I suppose you might call it." He gazed at her oddly; rape was not so much wrong in Korvus' mind as it was simply unfair. It was a game, a challenge of sorts, to seduce and subdue. Forcing oneself to the prize was cheating which, while in and of itself not something Korvus objected to, simply wasn't sporting or fun. No, he would not take her. He had resolved that she would give herself to him, or he would be content to make use of her in other fashions. "What I am saying, girl, is that I seek to remain with you for a period. I have no destination outside of this forest, and you have given me reason enough to remain within. Do this for me, and I will grant you my gifts."

"I won't bind you again so long as you do not give me reason to," Korvus said. Returning an object to its original state in the Immaterium took far less energy than conjuring it forth, and so it was with a snap of his fingers that the ropes dissipated, leaving no trace of their existence. Korvus stepped back, but did not turn away from her. He trusted any mortal to be tempted by promises of power, but knew that selfishness could work as easily against him as it presently did in his favor.

"I care not for your father's bones. I trust, however, that you have seen enough of my power not to cross me again." He beckoned her over, "Sit by the fire and loosen your bones. You are of no use to me as a cramped mess, mm?" He smiled as he spoke, lending at least a faintly humorous air to his words.

"I wasn't certain you were comfortable with the mutating touch of the Ravenlord upon your flesh," Korvus said, "But, no, I've already seen you beaten far too much to have to bother." Whether to live at the behest of a madman or die a fool's death at the bottom of a hill was more preferable was not a decision he was willing to let her make. He considered that his true control began there, standing over her as her consciousness faded away and he presumed her life threatened to follow. He considered then how long it would be that this power would remain. He considered, furthermore, how little he cared. He had her at the moment, and with the moment he could be content. He motioned with his finger for her to come closer, "Come, I'll get your poor flesh fixed."

Korvus looked her over sedately, "You're even more a mess than I thought." He sighed, "It's no surprise, I suppose. You fell quite far." Shaking his head, he met her eyes. He considered another course of action; this was not a normal woman, and other means of finding a foothold on their minds he knew would have to be employed. "Strip down," he instructed, "This won't be comfortable, not in any sense, but it's better healing than anyone else could give you." That was, perhaps, a damnable lie. Warping one's flesh back to normalcy through controlled corruption was not a safe procedure (but, then, how many medical procedures were?) nor was it something he assumed most people would agree to. But, it was better than bandaging it with leaves or whatever it was she did before he came along, and so it held a much stronger grain of truth than many things he said to those with whom he bargained.

Korvus debated asking the girl into his lap and summarily chided himself for getting greedy. He stood, and his hands glowed with an unnatural green light. "Try not to move too much," he requested, his hands drifting over her body. Physical contact was only occasional, the tips of his bare fingers brushing over her skin when he needed to be a little more determined with a particular injury, but most healed uncomfortably quickly and in a fashion that would probably compound soreness rather than alleviate it.

It took some time; Korvus was clearly not used to healing others with this power, especially not so extensively, and so behaved like a new manservant and went back to already-clean places to find a corner he'd missed or forgotten about. This was done lustlessly, Korvus having no time to consider the merits of the woman's body due to the need for focus.

When at last it was finished, his hands ceased glowing and he stepped away from her. "How do you feel?" he asked, fearing he knew the answer already. For this reason, he remained close enough to catch her if she decided to drop to the floor or something equally inconvenient.

Korvus sat beside her, a hand on her back. Not to reassure her, at least he assumed that's not why. After all, he wasn't in any place to reassure her when he couldn't even properly heal the wounds for which he was, in part, responsible. While he was willing to accredit most of her agony to her own foolishness, it had been he who spared her, and so it was he who had to finish the job in doing so.

He rubbed her back slightly until the effects ceased. He did not yet remove his hand, however, keeping it still there and doing his best to 'forget' about it. "Fire can cauterize a wound, so too can evil magic warp wounded flesh to wholeness. I'm afraid neither process is pleasant. Still, you're better, so I'm content."

In spite of himself, Korvus chuckled. One who is at least convinced that he is in control of extensive power has the capacity to take one on the chin now and again, especially when the observation is accurate. Korvus admired this about some humans, this woman among them; demons, or at least those with whom he trafficked, were as dishonest and cunning as he, and so, too, were privileged mortals. With this came a habit of keeping one's mouth shut about blatant observations and insistently appeasing those whom they sought something of. It was a pleasant surprise to hear something of such blunt truth, for once. "I've put you through far enough already," he said, part-boast and part-apology, "I think you know better than to try and drive an arrow through me again." His words were the making of a veiled threat, his eyes mirrored hers in mischief and a smile was still upon his face.

They were bound through a deal, as one might bind a demon, but he was not yet sure who between them was the demon. The situation, strange though it seemed, reminded him of a phrase from his time among such creatures. He could not recall if it was a proverb or an epitaph, even as he muttered it to himself in that harsh tongue. Often they were one in the same.

“Rekah sul’nak-otha-kovur, akathan et-vurel-otha-tothrez’nak”

Korvus raised a brow at her words, and considered questioning what it is his fire had done but keep him relatively comfortable in the otherwise damnably un-insulated forest. However, an argument with a wildswoman who probably thought she was born knowing more about fire than he ever would was not something Korvus had any wish to pursue, especially not when he was trying to make a friend of someone whom he met on less-than-charming terms.

He pulled on his robe and allowed his mask to remain clutched in his hand. The ever-staring, beaked thing jostled about as he departed from the small camp, pausing only momentarily to get rid of the fire. He then strode after her, quietly following behind her. He found his eyes drawn to how she moved, and he found himself both attracted to her form (to some degree) but altogether more curious about how a wildswoman moved through such an unforgiving place, in comparison to one who was far more at home traversing the dark places of a city, where the ground was smooth and even and the paths were clear.

"Tell me of yourself," he called after her, "I don't even know your name."

Korvus admired the precision and purpose he saw in her movements, and felt clumsy by comparison; unnatural height had him ambling about rather oddly at times, especially on uneven ground. It was rare for Korvus to feel inept, and more so for him not to consider summarily incinerating whosoever made him feel that way. He watched her, and did not yet trust himself to mimic her gait. His mask clattered against the side of a tree or some sticks, reminding Korvus of its presence which, he found, he easily forgot; it was usually upon his face and, to that end, nearly considered his face most of the time. Gripping it in his hand and letting it dangle by the leather strap was undignified, and not something he did often. But, he was with a wildswoman, now, who seemed to have as much care for clothes as it served to benefit her. Unashamed indeed, and so Korvus thought that small indignities might help him get into a similar rhythm. Thus far, all it did was irk him.

"I am Korvus Rhadamanthus Eliphas Rotgrip," he said, sparing her the litany of titles he possessed in what may as well have been an act of divine mercy, "Korvus will do."

Korvus shrugged. "Whatever works, I suppose." Kor. He rolled the sound around in his head and toyed with it in his thoughts. Kor, Kor, Kor. Could he live with Kor? Of course he could; he was out in the wilds, learning the ways of the primal things. Kor would serve to free him from some of his proverbial moorings, he supposed. Wouldn't it? He certainly hoped so, and so did not raise an argument over it. Her name, however, struck him almost as readily as her movement: Bishop St. Claire was not the name of a wildswoman. Bishop St. Claire was a name better deserving to a noblewoman that he might take as a mistress, high-voiced and emptyheaded and very, very pliable when properly handled. Bishop St. Claire was a fuck to his advantage, not a conquest borne on curiosity and more bedroom adventurousness than perhaps would end up being healthy. How did a woman of the forest make love? Part of him was uncertain he wanted to find out.