Delphine sighed, left alone in the patchy rain and soft, waning moonlight. Felly and Ghaleon? She smiled weakly, well at least she didn't need to be shy.<span style="font-style: italic">Hungry</span>a weak tug at the back of her mind. Delphine ignored it, resigning herself to busy work for the night. She had so much to do, but since her kind didn't sleep, she was at an advantage that was tangible given the circumstances. She sighed once more, before moving back into the tavern, grabbing her cloak, and turning to see Reta with her drink. With a silent nod of thanks, Delphine drank the concoction quickly, handing the glass back to the barmaid. She turned and headed out for her incredibly busy night.<br/><br/>Her first stop undoubtedly had to be her tailor, a young woman, practicing her craft on Delphine's supple form. "Something... elegant, but that still sings of battle."<br/><br/>"Any metals?" the young woman spoke, her brown hair bouncing in tight curls, her pale skin accented by rosy cheeks.<br/><br/>Delphine handed her a small bag of coins, "Mithral."<br/><br/>"For form or function?" The girl giggled, a stark contrast to Delphine stoicism.<br/><br/>"Form on the torso, function on the arms."<br/><br/>"I'll have to call in a favor from the armorer..."<br/><br/>"Taken care of." Delphine spoke in simplicity.<br/><br/>"And the legs?"<br/><br/>"What legs?" Delphine stared at the girl. They shared a laugh, at the joke as much about Delphine's choice of attire as her other-form. "Take care to make it seductive, but fluid. I need to be able to move, seduce... and kill if necessary." The girl nodded silently, turning to her station; Delphine left to the sounds of charcoal pencils sketching the design on parchment.<br/><br/><br/><br/>Stop number two; Delphine knocked on the heavy wooden door, smoke billowing from several chimneys, the open storefront displaying the workshop of a blacksmith. The door creaked open to reveal a middle aged dwarven man with stern eyes, most other features hidden by dark scruff or protective clothing. "Delphine." He smiled, almost laughing. "Business or pleasure?" He spoke with a heavy accent.<br/><br/>"Business." She walked gently past him into his shop, the air heavy, almost oppressive, "Unless I find myself with an abundance of free time." Her voice's soft, sing-song manner now seeming almost satirical in comparison. "I have a big job, and I don't trust anyone else to keep me safe." She turned to him, the light of the fires flickering on her silhouette, giving her form an ethereal nature. In contrast, his hard, stout features seeming more harsh than humanly possible.<br/><br/>"So what're you in for, my lovely?" He moved towards her, displaying his best seductive smile, which to most humans would instill a feeling of dread... Delphine recognized her power over the Dwarf.<br/><br/>"Claws, Mithral... a shield, any metal, and form-fit armor for my right arm, attachable to a war-dress."<br/><br/>"Aye, yer better off getting the claws from an Elf."<br/><br/>"I am an elf, I trust your Dwarven steel with my life."<br/><br/>The blacksmith loosed a thunderous guffaw, "Yer no more an elf than I am a prancing, ruddy pixie."<br/><br/>Delphine smiled in earnest, a beautiful, warm smile unlike any she could fake... a smile seen by so few. "And yet I still trust your metalwork above all else." Delphine began to hum softly, smiling wickedly.<br/><br/>"Yer musings have no effect on me, Witch!" He stood fast.<br/><br/>"<span style="font-style: italic"><span style="color: #FF0000">Lle lava a'uialamin</span></span>" Delphine sang sweetly, staring into his dark, ember eyes.<br/><br/>"I'll not listen to this witch-song!" The dwarf covered his ears, but he felt the tug of her words, growing stronger with each haunting note.<br/><br/>"<span style="font-style: italic"><span style="color: #BF0000">Lle muara a'linaamin, <br/>Amin naa Lindorlle.</span></span>" The bard's tongue danced over every syllable, her wicked gift swam through his veins, pulling him to obey, making him want to please her... her wishes as commands. He stared daggers at her, her dark eyes haunting, almost demonic in the flickering light of the fires.<br/><br/>"<span style="font-style: italic"><span style="color: #800000">Tamina hyanda ten'amin</span></span>" He gave in, grabbing his tools, he set to work forging her claws. He felt the rush of her inspiration, every move inspired, like a wind at his back he felt pushed to succeed.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">"<span style="color: #400000">Hyanda kir anoron,<br/>Yuula e'linamin,</span><br/><span style="color: #000000">Tamina gurtha ten'gothealye</span></span>" The last line hung in the air, a stinging command, 'forge death for our enemies.' Her dark eyes danced in the dim light, she used every ounce of magic at her disposal, the room filled with words, slithering under the blacksmith's skin, between the glowing coals, through Delphine's silvery hair. Her form was no longer seductive... hers was a monolith of deadly magics, her words the harbinger of sweeping demise for the enemies she faced when the sun rose.<br/><br/><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center;">----------------</div><br/>It was hours later that the Dwarf finished the claws, and the attached armor. The elegance was questionable, but the strength was unmatched. Delphine fell to her knees, as did the blacksmith, the skyline showing the early signs of dawn. Delphine knew she had to rest... or feed. She took the armor, bowing low to the dwarf, leaving a moderately sized bag of coin on the floor of his workshop... he eyed it, sighing, "Damn witch'll be the death of me." he muttered as she left the shop. Her normally graceful form was weighed down by the spellweaving, she was exhausted... but she didn't have time to rest. She made her way weakly to the tailor's, dropping off the armor and claws.<br/><br/>"I'll be back... I just... I'm hungry." Her stomach growled angrily, and she felt the pull of bloodlust dragging her to the sea. She turned and left, clutching her side, making her way down the side streets. She had to find food... she had to find something. As her luck was, food found her. She did her best to walk straight towards the two men, stumbling drunk, on their ways home after a night of debauchery. She didn't speak... she simply grabbed the arm of one, making eye contact with him, pulling gently away from the companionship of the other. He grimaced at first, but after inspecting Delphine's body, smiled sickly. He waved weakly to the his friend, who gave a grubby thumbs-up.<br/><br/>Delphine pulled the man into an alleyway, still darkened by the buildings on either side. She felt her bones creak, she pushed him onto the dirty floor. Then the fog set in...<br/><br/>She remembers... the man screaming, a guard... then blood, so much blood. She could taste metal, then warmth... she was warm; she was full.<br/><br/><br/>She came to, naked, her cloak grasped weakly in her hand, she investigated the scene; it was bloody, She must have been very hungry, she very rarely lost control, and very little remained of the men. A leg, a few bones, a shield, a sword, stained red. She felt the sting of her wound on her thigh, looking down, she saw the gash closing slowly, She wouldn't waste magic on it, it would heal before she found Ghaleon anyways. She stood, wrapping the cloak around her body.<br/><br/><br/><br/><br/>By the time she reached the tavern, she had cleaned herself, received her war-dress, and donned it in place of what she would have been wearing. She sat on the ground outside, staring at the rising sun. Her wound stitched itself closed, a trait that her kind possessed, though it only worked under specific instances... which she kept guarded, along with so much. She sighed and felt the first of the sun's rays warm her skin as she played with the mithral claws.