RP:A Day of Reckonings

Part of the Venturil's Bane Arc

This is a Necromancer's Guild RP.

The Thorne Estate, Vailkrin

Kuzial has kept away from Tenebrae's estate for the last few weeks, sensing the potent necromancy permeating the air around her fine home more easily now he's been given the questionable gift of unlife. He wanted nothing to do with it. He also knew she more than likely did not want him there, else he'd have felt her pull upon his consciousness. But with the taste of death fading from the air, at least as much as it can in Vailkrin, the dark elf lord decided it was time to pay her a visit. Though her armour stopped him sensing her as she does him, he was still sired by the woman, and given further gifts of unlife from her. He could tell she hungered, and when there was death to be handed out, Kuzial was never far away. He pauses as he reaches her gates, not using his usual levitation to soar over them. Instead he simply glares for a long time until they slowly open, the noise they make sounding almost like they are lamenting missing the chance to destroy this drow. He smirks at them - the gesture would usually seem strange, a dark elf smirking at some gates - but he knows this entire place contains some malevolent sentience. Stalking through the gardens without looking left to right, he walks up to the door, and using the hilt of a dagger, he knocks three times. The sound is strangely ominous as it echoes loudly, but he doesn't just enter like usual. He would wait to see if she answered first; not wanting to stumble in on some disgusting ritual and wind up even more dead.

Tenebrae’s hair clung to her face in liquorice strands, and her eyes were just a little wild when she cracked the door open, curious as to why her sentinel-beasts had, as a unanimous unit, simply sent her a collective telepathic shiver-and-sulk sensation. Few being could intimidate them and, seeing as she’d only spoken to one of those beings a few hours before, the options were slim. “Kuzial..” she breathed, a guess made before the door was opened wide. Being right always made her happy, and though she was paler than purified parchment and obviously a little dishevelled, she still summoned a smile that was a testament to narcissistic triumph “.. how uncanny you should arrive at this precise moment.” The Necromancer wore a pinny (never mind the floral design) stained with a familiar hue of ichor. Foregoing her usual spate of salacious eyeballing of the drow’s muscular self, she stepped back from the door to permit him entry. With a swift and vicious glance in the kitchen’s general direction, she added, “To the dungeon. Quickly.”

Kuzial spends a moment looking at Tenebrae’s form even as a small smile forms on his lips. He cannot help but find enjoyment in seeing her like this; perhaps petty in his revenge, it was only fitting considering what she has done to him of late. He nods, though, before entering the home. He glares at a few shadows, which fade from his smouldering scarlet eye, before he closes the door behind him. He catches her look towards the kitchen, but simply doesn't care what is within it. Considering whose house it is, he's far better not knowing, he thinks. Waiting until she leads the way, he soon follows her down into the doom and gloom of the lower rooms. As always he takes a moment to appreciate the instruments of agony which line the walls, before again his gaze falls upon the powerful necromancer. With another dark smile he speaks at last. "You have been busy." It is not a question.

Tene was glad the drow hadn't noticed - or just hadn't mentioned - the missing vat in the basement laboratory as they'd passed it on their journey to that darker room below. "I really have.." she half sighed the reply to his statement, and mentally kicked herself on realising she still wore the protective garment tied over her armour. No wonder he'd smirked! Kuzial got a dirty look as she whipped the apron off, revealing her frame fully encased in the black chitin that literally was her second skin. Smoothing her hair into place, she then gestured toward the rack, which was covered with a large sheet. Clearly, something other than the rack lay under the cloth. "Busy as a gorgon, really. Now... " and that salaciousness emerged at last, in the grin she offered him. "Guess what?"

Kuzial 's attention was too closely locked upon the necromancer for him to have noticed the missing vat, though when she whips off the apron he offers her a second smirk. As she smooths down her hair, his look turns into a quiet laugh which rips through the stale air of the basement with thick cruelty underlying dark humour. He follows her gesture to the rack, before turning his gaze back to the woman. He is not fond of guessing games, his dislike increased by her salacious look in his direction. He felt very much like prey beneath that gaze; it was an unconscious sensation he cannot shake. Nevertheless, he responds to her words in euphonious tones. "Tell me, lady darkness... when it comes to you, guessing is harder than trying to stab a water-sprite, and I am in no mood for games." Her question's intent lost upon the pragmatic drow, it seems.

Tenebrae narrowed her eyes a little, but her mouth retained a smile as she tugged on the sheet, revealing a large tray heaped with the carcasses of several dozen rabbits. Giving him a moment to take that sight in, she dropped her gaze to the floor, speaking quietly. "As you can see, there can be no doubt..." and lifting her eyes to his, Tenebrae's expression shifted to something softer. "You're going to be a daddy, Kuzial."

(OOC:April Fool! Now, here’s the real post: )

Tenebrae spoke not, until she’d tugged the sheet away from the rack. Upon it lay a shallow tray filled with liquid, and submerged in that was a dark form which was vaguely humanoid in shape alone – for its reality could not be further from that. Resembling a concave monster fit to crawl the caverns of any madman’s labyrinth, the thing on the tray was clearly derived from the carcass of a gigantic spider, though now it bore marked and startling differences.. An obvious glow of pride lit Tene’s chalky features, and she allowed Kuzial a moment to take in the sight. Then: “You will be unique, among all our kind, Stavret…” She did not yet say why. Probably, she was just enjoying the opportunity to bait him.

Kuzial cannot help but take a step closer to the tray, her words at first ignored. Usually, he would respond with a smirk and some faintly veiled threat at her meandering ways - fitting retribution for his early laughter at her. But gone for a moment is the potent anger which permeates his entire being; which wraps his soul forever in the shackles of blood and fire. He almost reaches out to touch it, before pausing and speaking in a voice so quiet, even Tenebrae, so close to him, would struggle to catch the words, "The final insult to the spider whore... so fitting." He shakes his head, before turning his scarlet eye to the woman. "Busy as a Gorgon, you did not lie..." If only he knew the truth, "Unique amongst our kind?.. why? If I am going to be some experiment, Tenebrae, you can rest assured that I'll tear you down to Hell with me if anything goes wrong." The last words are spoken with his usual anger, though the dark, twisted smile on his face robs them of any real vehemence.

Tenebrae fluttered her black lashes, her coyness only partially a lie, "If so, I could not wish for better company..." she purred, but then with a more serious note added, "You will be the first to don the armour without the aid of a vat. I have discovered a means of attaching it to the symbiote without the need for further submersion." The import of this achievement, her effulgent pride at the discovery and its result, had her all but glowing in the dark. "There are a few.. minor.. risks, yes." Her fingers dangled above what appeared to be a pair of vicious pincers emerging from the hollowed-out throat of the thing, which feebly twitched as her hand passed over them. "But no other has ever possessed such a creation. Nor donned their armour with such expedience." If he was still close, she'd turn so that her face was merely half an inch from the Patron's. "If I don't feed soon..." she seemed to be inhaling the very essence of him, a predatory gleam suffusing her gaze, "…I won't be held responsible. Dare you take this final step now, Stavret? Or can it wait, until we're replete?"

Kuzial allows his smirk to linger at her first words, finding them strangely fitting in this dark room. Though, his smile soon fades as she carries on speaking. He listens intently to the words, before nodding his head slowly. As she turns her head so close to his own, his single eye would be all the answer she could ever need. It is hungry, eager, angry and filled with malicious delight. All the things Kuzial is, contained in that single, smouldering scarlet-hued eye. "You discovered this way, lady darkness, I will trust that you will not fail. You know the consequences if you are wrong." Not even death would stop him returning the favor to her if such is his fate. "Just as I do." He lifts his arm to move a strand of her hair from her face, before his ebon hand rests upon her cheek. It is not an endearing gesture, though; or at least, the nature of it is shifted by the underlying threat in his words and stance. But between these two powerful vampires, there could never be anything else. It was the mutual threat of constant death which binds them to each other, he is sure - the respect born of knowledge that neithers' pride would allow one to slay the other, without dragging the victor to an equally horrific fate. "First the armour, queen of death, then we will feast." He nods once more, no fear in his actions nor in his words. "I am ready."

It was probably fortunate that the Necromancer could not possibly get any more pale, for she would have been ashamed at her complexion’s betrayal of the stab of something akin to fear that mingled now with the thrill of facing what could be a mortal peril.. “Then help me lift it to that chair,” was all she said, indicating the ornate seat Kuzial had taken last time he’d been here. “You ought to know, I will require you to be strapped into it. Just in case…” but, even while causing him pain certainly had its pleasures, this was a definitive moment for the drow and she wouldn’t spoil it by gloating over the details. “.. in case you become dangerous in the transition.” Even more dangerous, mmm… whispered a part of her. Mentally shaking that distracting thought off, she approached the head-end of the tray.

Kuzial shifts his gaze quickly to the chair, before nodding his head in agreement. Being highly skilled at reading even slight changes in expression, he perhaps notices the onset of her fear. But he makes no mention or notice of it. He was Kuzial Stavret, Patron of House Stavret. He had killed rulers and dandies, elves and even his own father. He would fear nothing. To her words of strapping him in, he simply snorts and snaps the words, "Do not act like you're not going to enjoy this." He doesn't immediately move to the tail-end of the tray, though. Instead he steps the gap between them and wraps his hand in her hair. Pulling her head back a shade, his ebon lips touch hers just briefly, and she would sense his rage mixed with desire- power and risk were ever fuels to the fire that was Kuzial - before he stalks to the other side and prepares himself. "Let us do this." He would follow her lead with moving it, and allow her to prepare him as he must be.

Tenebrae collected herself after that brief but potent kiss, though her hands trembled ever so slightly as she grasped the shoulders of the armour, lifting its dripping weight free of the tray. As they manoeuvred it to the chair, and positioned the ghastly shell in the seat, the thing would feebly twitch, and the odd rib-like structures folded against its side shifted minutely. It sat there finally, like a singular, horrendous open maw, waiting to devour the drow. Wiping her hands free of the liquid, Tenebrae grew still and when she spoke, it was in a quiet tone laden with gravity. "All that remains now, Patron, is one last choice." Her own armour folded upon itself, drew back its plates until it was a shield-like entity upon her back. Then it dropped to the floor, scuttling away like a colossal wood-louse to its resting-place. Thus revealed, Tene stood yet still, and Kuzial would note a marked lack of the usual salaciousness this state inevitable produced. Tene was all business, thus, when she spoke again: "As the drow have their Houses, and the vampires their Coteries, so do our kind have... our bonds. It begins with the symbiote's creation, and among those who choose so, it ends with a Reckoning." Her features were a blank slate of utter neutrality and no emanation of feeling would come to Kuzial, for Tenebrae had entered the appropriate state for this rite. "I shall not judge you either way, Kuzial Stavret, for every Empusai is free, in this instance, to choose his or her own Fate. But if you wish it, we have now and only now the chance to form a connection deeper than any we've known, deeper than any not of our kind could know. The Reckoning.. is the revelation of our entirety, each to the other. No lies, nothing remains hidden. All is revealed, with the understanding that it is Tabula Rasa, and no retribution may be taken for anything perceived. Something of an insane risk, of course.. But it is also our sole concession to the kind of trust we cannot otherwise possess. And as we are, so far, the only two..." she shrugged one shoulder, trailing off. Leaving Kuzial to his decision as the armour shivered in the torture-chair.

Kuzial spends a long moment in silence as the horrifying husk which will form his armour is placed upon the chair. His gaze remains on her, the usual anger missing, and even his usually lewd look which is often worn when her armour is discarded is lacking from his dark features. As her own armour scuttles away, Kuzial shivers, not in fear, but in the gravity of the situation he now faces. There is much concerning his motivations he has not told the necromancer, and even more he is sure that she has not told him. This binding between them... this bond which stands above the notions of revenge and death, he isn't sure he can handle it. He is drow; he weaves throughout his entire world strands and layers which entrap and entangle those who never even perceive his actions as influencing their own. Plus, there is his close bonds to the terramancer, Kirien. He has not discarded those, nor will he. Being an item to be possessed is not something he could tolerate, not from anyone - they would find a swift, final death at the ends of his many mighty weapons. But this road he walks upon... this darkness and strength which fate decreed was his own; tying the paths of his life to the necromancer before him. He desired her as always; she was more drow than the pathetic priestesses of the Spider Goddess, more powerful than almost any he has come across. An equal to him, he feels, when most he thinks of as merely future sheaths for his weapons, or sources of blood to feed him. The world is full of pawns, and this drow lord stands now before one whom there is no doubt is a queen. And so he draws in a breath no longer needed by his deceased body, and speaks quietly into the darkness, confident that what he no longer remembers hiding will remain as such, and knowing that without this bond, there is little doubt one day these two will destroy each other. They are too malevolent and cruel to co-exist forever without some promise of trust, even with the shadows within them. "Understand this, Tenebrae: I accept this bond between us, but know that you will not possess me, nor I you. I am a drow lord, I walk where I will, I do as I please. Our paths are one for now, though always they may not remain so. I will not bear this bond as a shackle, even if now I have no desire to be free of you. What comes later is beyond our knowledge... but I understand that which is, and that which was. I accept this Reckoning, Tenebrae... I accept this bond between us both."

Tenebrae did not respond to his words with any of her own, immediately - the drow's concerns were groundless, almost amusingly so, for Empusai scorn the kind of apron-string ties and petty jealousies which mortals entertain, and the equality and freedom Kuzial demanded of her was .. well, the entire point of this. So she merely nodded at his acceptance, and allowed her guise to fall away, her frame crackling as it took on its alternate, monstrous shape. Her gaze, redolent with a cold inner fire, demanded Kuzial do the same, and upon his compliance, she pressed a palm upon the flesh above his chill heart even as she lifted his own hand so he may place it similarly upon her. Nose to nose, then, they would stand, and the Reckoning began - Kuzial was assaulted with centuries of murder, duplicitous treachery, passions that were awful or magnificent, sometimes both at once. Deep loves and searing hatreds.. envy, fear and wrath. A thousand sins commingling with the purity that was once a newborn sineater's soul; a thousand kindnesses and twice as many cruelties. Among all this, he'd glimpse the recent fate of Rheven and Tene’s twinge of guilt resulting, and the distant, dead echo of her former hatred for Kirien and various others she’d once held as rivals. He'd glimpse the thin threads of chagrin and sorrow felt at the fall of her clan to its presently scattered state. And among it all too, the sharp jags of her hunger.. oh, what hunger.. for blood and lust, a craving that consumed her every moment, all of her ... Now, a shocking wave of truth regarding the relic she wore on her brow....now, the value she saw in Kuzial himself, a memory of her former desire to possess him shattering under the present, less fallible way she felt toward him - a feeling steeped in something that paled mere love to a wishy-washy rag of emotion. Kuzial would sense all of it, the great, complex knot of her unravelling to its core. Finally, he'd know the soaring pride, the swells of passion, power and kinship she'd experienced in the homeland of Desantis Shadow-King, and the strange mix of bloody rage and near-worship that male engendered in her. It would all fade, then, like a great black sea turning its tide.

Kuzial mirrors Tenebrae's actions with his own, releasing himself to that which is within, shifting his form to become the truth of who he is; his mouth opening wide, slits torn across his cheeks even as his face contorts into the beast which Kuzial has truly become. He barely notices her lift his hand, before the onslaught of who Tenebrae truly is assaults his senses. He doesn't notice it coming in reverse; she would see the darkness of his childhood, his hatred for females in Trist'Oth, and witness his great, unshakable pride as he killed many young drow who stood in his path. Battles between blades and knives, daggers and bows, shifting a thousand times over, mixed with the drow stalking in silence through the Underdark, moving like a wraith and taking great pleasure in slaying anything beneath him. More than a century of this, the shifting of his drow life, before he came at last to the surface. Though it is beyond his power to do so, in vain would he have tried to hide a truth from Tenebrae. Of all the mortals he has killed, only one does he miss: that loathsome dandy. As she is one, so too was Cornelius - someone the drow considered an equal of himself. But this is again washed away by the oceans of his hatred, the savage joy he felt in slaying Ginger - an act he did entirely for Tenebrae's benefit - his unending anger and distaste for the world, his desire to see it burn, to see it drown in blood and death. Of his emotions towards the necromancer, there is underlying hatred, but there is no part of Kuzial which is not drenched in the emotion. But towards her there is also a sense of pride, of lust; a feeling that she could stand beside him and the world beneath their heels would tremble in fear. There truly is no other he would wish to share such a moment with. It is not love, the drow is beyond such an emotion. But of all the people who stalk this world, she is one of very few who the drow is glad is alive, and despite his threats to her, there is the truth that unless she forced it upon him, he would never kill her. Even as all this floods from him, he begins to understand from Tenebrae that which he truly is, just as he understand what she truly is. And just before he feels his entire essence will be devoured by the shared memories of these to dark, twisted lives, it fades back and the drow draws breath once more... He lifts his eye to Tenebrae, and simply stares... there are no words. There were none needed. He understood now the folly of his earlier words. This bond they shared was beyond the petty emotions of mortals - it was simply pride... pride in the greatness of the other, of their race, of their future...

And in that abyss of silence, Tenebrae drew herself nearer to Kuzial still, her green eyes boring into his red one, closer until her lips were on his and she kissed him with a kind of tenderness they had not shared before - and possibly, given their natures, never would again. In that gesture was spoken all that needed to be said, while Kuzial was manoeuvred toward the chair and what waited for him in it. The kiss between monsters of a kind ended as she pressed him to sit, holding the back of his neck so that the Patron did not yet lean into the pincers that would soon close on his symbiote. Tenebrae stood, then, still silent as she solemnly buckled him, wrist and ankle. Thus his frame rested on the chill interior of the shell-like entity, and Tenebrae stepped back. "I will always hear you now, armour or none," she murmured. A slight motion of her head told Kuzial that it was time for him to master his new slave.

As the kiss lingered, rare in tenderness from them both, he feels himself be moved closer to the husk which would make his armour. The powerful drow relaxes for just a moment; for the first time in the company of almost anyone, he is not on his guard and ready for treachery. He understood now, so much; yet also, he knew what was to come. As their lips parted and he was shackled down, he accepts it without even a scowl. To her words he nods his head, "As I will you, lady darkness. As I will you..." These are the last words he speaks before he moves himself back and feels those disgusting pincers close down on his symbiote. In a moment his world shifts from the depths of knowledge between Empusai to a world of agony and suffering. Kuzial feels the lingering malevolence of the Spider Goddess rich in the husk of her favoured child; he feels the insatiable urge to feed coming from the grotesque spider, and its devotion to destroying anything which comes close - which threatens that which it is. Even as it closes around his body, shrouding him from Tenebrae's view, the drow clenched his entire body, a small part of his mind understanding why he was shackled down. For in this moment, were he freed, he would not only destroy Tenebrae, but he would devour this entire house, all its malignant servants, everything within the vicinity of this beast with a power for the moment beyond his control. A cry comes from within this joining of armour and vampire, the sound beyond mortal perceptions of suffering and pain, before Kuzial drives forth his focus and wills himself to stand. His fierce concentration, his undefeatable pride, it shoves down the lingering sensations of the spider the drow commands his armour to remove itself from his face. At first it refuses, even as Kuzial tears the chair he sat upon apart and stands once more. But there is no longer such danger to Tenebrae, for the drow cares nothing in this moment for destruction and death. His entire mind, his entire soul; all that he is demands the armour respond to his command and slowly, so slowly, the shifting mass which covers his face begins to part. Tenebrae would see him, then, his eye unfocused, his concentration palpable in the room, before words come from the drow, "We... must feed... NO!" He snarls, then, his hands lifting up to grasp either side of the armour which is split before his face. "We... must not feed. I must feed!" With a final growl the drow lowers his arms, the chair's remnants fall even as the shackles burst open and drop to the ground below. And there Kuzial stands, wearing this morbid armour, rapidly drawing in breath even as he knows only the first battle is won, but sensing with great knowledge that the fleeting feelings which came from the armour would only grow stronger, until he was truly strong enough to command it. But this matters nothing, for now he must feed - something, without even looking at Tenebrae, he understands she too must do...

Tenebrae, all the while, was the epitome of caution personified, for while self-assurance in her own skill was high they were still in uncertain, uncharted territory here. And the subject of her experiment was – Kuzial. There was no other being in this world, though, that she was so sure possessed enough strength and fortitude – and sheer, bloody-minded stubbornness – to overcome the spider’s remnant intelligence. So while Tene took the precaution of summoning her own armour to engulf her relatively vulnerable bare flesh, just in case the throes of the struggle extended beyond the present drow-and-armour dichotomy, Kuzial would sense no true fear in the action. But pride.. oh, so much of that, so that she fairly shone with it when he splintered the chair and threw down its pathetic shackles. He was…. Magnificent. Complete. Pale green and filled with admiration, her gaze remained upon him, roaming here and there, taking in the marvel that he was. But Tene didn’t allow herself to grin until she’d heard confirmation of his mastery over the armour in his words. His call to hunt… Her entire being craved blood, the hunger a pulse that pounded within her, unrelenting. Her needle-toothed maw slung open in a bout of fierce, terrible laughter, and the Empusai flung herself toward the portal to the Underdark, waiting for Kuzial before barking those necessary phrases that would open that door to an underground rampage of feasting.

Kuzial stands for a moment, basking in the pride and sadistic joy of the necromancer. Across his chest the armour is made of six of the spider's legs, curled as they would be in death, making up a grotesque chest-plate, and the remaining two legs twist out of his back in a horrid parody of wings. Its bulbous body encapsulates his legs entirely, though as the drow begins to exercise his will, it splits in half, each side wrapping around one of his limbs, their back marked with twin scarlet lines which, for a surface spider, is indication of its lethality. Its great maw, which fed upon a thousand foolish creatures of the Underdark, is open now to form covering for his head - each side of Kuzial's face is framed by its mandibles, which curl around like an ancient warhelm of old. When in further control of the armour, the dark elf would be able to shift them entirely, but for now they would stay - his face framed within the mouth of the spider as a final mockery from the Spider Goddess. Or perhaps it is merely the capricious nature of fate itself. The spider's center is upon his back, the thickest protection of all - an entirely drow-esque feature, considering their penchant for where they stab rivals. His arms can be covered by the two legs which protrude from his back, but for now they remain bare - as Kuzial favours always. The entire armour is ebon black; it seems to consume the light and reflect none. Every so often, the legs before his chest shift position, grasping him like a vice. But at last, Kuzial would go to Tenebrae, before stepping forward to the portal which leads to his homeland, and when she speaks the words, he steps through... a homecoming like no other, for himself and his armour.

Start of the Dead Caves, Underdark

They'd spilled out of the portal in silence, neither needing to make a sound or sign now they'd shared the rite of Reckoning - communicating not in spite of armours, but in part because of them, in subtle, unobtrusive pulses of will and intent that were better than words down here in the dangerous depths. Danger... Tene wanted it, even more than she wanted Kuzial's newly armoured body right now. Danger, and the blood that would follow. As ever, Kuzial was leader here, this being his natural realm, so Tene travelled shotgun to his swift, silent motion through dank corridors and caves, reminded again of terrible, wonderful flights made with another worthy male, though that former partner's realm had been the vast reaches of the sky... She had not felt such joy, as it were, in a long time. And was determined to savour it to the very last drop.

Kuzial moves through the darkness like an ancient, malevolent spirit, leading Tenebrae with surety and confidence; making no noise, yet scaring anything which catches even the smallest sensation of them. So much down here hunts by smell, and the stench of power and death which comes from Kuzial and Tenebrae is enough to send even the most horrific monsters fleeing back to their homes amidst the dark shadows. But the drow doesn't care - he knew where they should go. Amidst the turmoil in his mind; the shared experience of the Reckoning, the bonding of Kuzial to his armour and the horrifying pain it entailed, he still had an idea of what they should devour. His scouts had found this place a few months ago, and he'd savoured it for such a time as this - an escape route for one of the newest Houses in Trist'Oth. House Drue'Lian, formed by the oldest daughter of a higher ranking House when she left, knowing she would never become a Matron with her powerful mother still strong in her rule. The foolish House thought it clever to make this escape, but they were not wise enough to hide it completely from the highly skilled scouts of House Stavret. It would mean Kuzial and Tenebrae could bypass the formidable gates which stop most entering drow Houses, and within there would be many warriors, priestesses and the Matron herself to feed upon. Plus, what soldiers remain would without a doubt join the ranks of Stavret... if any survived. Even now in the depths of his hunger, the drow continues to weave his webs. With this in mind, and knowing Tenebrae would understand, the drow makes his way to the dark cavern which leads upwards and there he pauses while flashing the woman a wicked smile lost in the darkness of the tunnels, but one she would 'see' all the same. It was an invitation for her to lead upwards, into the danger and death of the House... it was time to feed...

It was a bizarre mockery of chivalrous manners, this ‘you first’ gesture, and one that amused the Necromancer no end. Kuzial got a quick impression of a grin returned, before that brief pause was over. He may as well have handed her a box of chocolates. The silence was broken by the soft crackle of armour readjusting, plates rising from her spine to form a sharp row of vertebral spikes, the ‘hood’ rising, cobra-like, to enclose her head in an open-faced helm, vicious barbs extruding along the sides of her limbs. And lastly, ten long, chitinous knives, their edges sharper than drow-honed obsidian, bursting from the war-gauntlets that only moments before owned the shape of humanoid hands. She might’ve, anywhere else, made a joke about wanting a cuddle... But now, here, her blood-hunger honed and the peril ahead a palpable hum, Tenebrae merely climbed the stone passage – the walls of it, like a deadly, spined insect – and would erupt on the first sentinels of the House Drue’Lian like a creature from hell. Too hungry to want to share her prize, she made their deaths so swift they had no time draw blade before both died - a slashed throat, a punctured heart - and took the edge from the Empusai’s terrible thirst.

Kuzial doesn't miss the necromancer's enjoyment of macabre parody of chivalrous gesture, and it causes his dark smile to widen just a touch, before Tenebrae’s armour shifts to cover her. The drow waits a moment before following, as he does his own face is devoured by the spider's former mouth, covering him entirely within its horrific depths. He doesn't hear the deaths of the first sentinels of House Drue'Lian, though he doesn't miss the savage exultation which comes from the necromancer herself. But like her, he was ravenous; he needed to feed. So soon he comes through the same passage, not even looking at the two bodies mutilated by the demonic Tenebrae. Instead he moves forward silently, stalking the halls, until he senses more than sees behind an engraved door the first of his prey. His hand pushes upon the door, but it refuses to open - enchanted it is by minor spells to protect it. But such magic means nothing to this beast that is Kuzial - he simply moves back, before kicking the door with all the strength his vampiric body and grotesque armour can put together. It erupts in an explosion of splinters, and within moments Kuzial is within the room. The first members of the House die when the legs upon the drow's back snake out, stabbing them both through the hearts. They are lifted, but Kuzial does not yet feed - instead he leaps forward and begins to destroy the other dark elves, who barely have time to raise weapons... ineffectual that they are. In an orgy of blood and death, Kuzial slays them all, before ebon tendrils erupt from the mouth of the spider armour he wears and begin to feed the drow within on the blood and agony left in his wake.... But the alarm has been sounded with the destruction of the door, and soon enough Tenebrae would find more and more drow warriors entering the main House... seeking to destroy those foolish enough to enter their stronghold...

Not anywhere near sated yet, Tenebrae indeed heard that crash of a splintering door, and retracted the midriff-borne extrusions which leeched one body of salt, her awful maw shaken to free it of bone-shards where her fangs had chewed through the neck of the other sentinel. Her strangely convoluted, pointed ears swivelled toward the noise a scant second before limbs gathered momentum and she sprang to the fray – and a fray it was now, the dim-lit House filled with the shirr of dark steel and the thudding of boots, screams and the ‘shhh’ of poison-tipped arrows loosed.. One such barb thudded against her chitin plate and was deflected uselessly to the stone below, while Tene paused for a fraction of a moment to admire Kuzial’s armour as well as his prowess at murder. Then another arrow struck, and another, while several muscular women stood ready with lances and swords drawn. It was soon apparent to them, however, as this beast – the drow had no word for these things, none of them ever seen or heard of their like prior to Kuzial’s entrance - cut its way across the space between itself and their bow-wielding sisters, that arrows had little effect. Indeed, Tenebrae was laughing, though it would not resemble laughter to anyone but Kuzial, even as she decapitated and gutted those not quick or cowardly enough to run from her slashing gauntlets and razored barbs. Wholly engaged in this slaughter, the Darkness heeded not the approach of a swordswoman, whose steel plunged into her right side so hard that it even displaced the chitin of her armour, and Tene shrieked with rage and pain – though her flesh and its covering clamped around the weapon like a vice, and swiftly tore it from the female’s hand when the Empusai wheeled about. One vicious slash of gauntlet and the offending drow fell, though there were plenty to take her place – among them masters of magic, whose deadly spells now exploded in bursts of crimson and purple fire around her. The acrid scent of burned vampire flooded the air. Tenebrae’s revenge, spilling over her forked tongue in a string of spine-shuddering phrases, promised to be both swift and merciless.

In the room where Kuzial stands, soon enough very little is left of the drow who once stood there. Blood has been drained, the salts devoured; a feast for the patron and the armour he now wears. He basks in the destruction for a moment, feeling a savage sensation of sadistic joy, before he senses Tenebrae destroying the waves of warriors coming against them. He hears her laughter; it is music to his ears, where to any other it would be horrifying. And with a hidden smile deep within the armour he wears, the dark elf exits the room, spends just a moment watching Tenebrae face off against these female drow, the mages and warriors, before Kuzial turns down the passage and heads deeper into the House. He has a prize in mind... A few warriors run in from this side, also, yet Kuzial wastes little time in destroying them. Swords strike his armour, some even cutting deep into his arms. But he is beyond caring. He continues onwards, slaying and feasting, until suddenly he pauses. The cry of pain from Tenebrae is felt by him; the sword blow feeling like it struck into his own body. So little time had passed since the moment of their shared Reckoning, and so close are their bonds that he immediately stops. It is then he is struck by a ferocious blast of lighting which comes from a House Mage who grins darkly as Kuzial flies across the hall, before landing in a smouldering heap. The mage continues to wear that smile even as he dies. Kuzial, in anger and pain, commands the armour to open at his face, before the vampire's mouth extends to impossible proportions. More waves of darkness come from the patron lord, they rip through the air before entering the mage's eyes. Within moments he is dead, moments more he is but a husk of a drow, and without wasting any more time, Kuzial stands and continues back towards where Tenebrae is, ensuring she is alright before he would go find the Matron and feast upon her... He did not want to spend too much time before doing that. All Matrons are deadly opponents, and with enough preparation time, could well spell disaster for these two mighty vampires...

At some point, Tenebrae had remembered to tug the sword out of her body, so that through dark armour leaked the stolen blood of dark-elves, but it flowed only briefly. As Kuzial would find out soon enough, the peculiarities of flesh that has passed through Empusai vats include the capacity of the body to swiftly patch itself, barring the likes of infliction of major organ damage or decapitation. Now, the close atmosphere crackled with arcana and the drow mages, unrelenting, spattered the Necromancer with globules of Darkness - what a joke - and more worryingly, bolts of flame and other combustions, which now caused only fat squelches - not from Tene! No, the flames and jags of electromancy's jagged spears tore into a wall of drow - dead, all of them, the risen victims of Kuzial, bloodless and torn, and the ones Tene herself had slain, meat-shields all. The corpses moved as one toward the mages, and as Kuzial appeared they smothered the mages in a welter of bodies and grasping, dead limbs. Amid the mayhem, a scarlet stain of blistered, charred skin marring the left side of her face, Tenebrae launched herself over that undead wall, a gauntleted hand snatching the ebon wand from the grip of one terrified, well-groomed spellcaster. This was then rammed through the mage’s eye, and the arm that once held it was torn off - not at all cleanly. While the others did their best to fend off the undead horde of their former fellows, Tene beat the badly wounded drow to death with her own limb, a blood-flecked grin splitting the Necromancer’s burned face - yes, she was alright, the grin said to Kuzial. But his urgency had her drop her toy soon enough and lope in his direction. He had her back. And she, come what may, would have his.

Kuzial watches the dead rise, born again by the malevolence that is Tenebrae's necromancy. He wanted nothing more than to join in the slaughter, but something stops him... he merely stands there, watching as the woman tears the arm off the female mage and beats her to death with the wet end... something Kuzial rather enjoys threatening people with. He cannot help but smile a dark grin, even as the hoards of undead face off against others who come to defend their home. The patron knows this will hold them off, and with the destruction and pain inflicted, if they can destroy the Matron and her priestesses, those soldiers who remain alive will join House Stavret quickly. As Tenebrae lopes over towards him, he speaks for the first time since entering the Underdark. "One moment." Kuzial weaves through the masses of undead until he finds the former priestess Tenebrae beat to death. He bends down and picks up her arm, before returning to the necromancer's side. Holding it like a club, he speaks again. "Come... let us find the Matron before it is too late." Without further word, Kuzial turns and begins to quickly move through the halls. A sensation of joy comes from Kuzial as he passes the dead mage who struck him with the lightning, but further on he goes. No more soldiers come towards them... with typical drow loyalty, those within the House are waiting to see who will win this battle before truly picking a side. So they all rest behind locked doors, hoping the demons of the dark depths will not find them this day. Further and further onwards they stalk, until at last a mighty door rests at the end. It is engraved with impotent symbols of the Spider Goddess, and here Kuzial pauses before looking at Tenebrae. He smirks, before using the torn off limb to push open the door. No male, or no non-drow, could ever have opened this doorway into the inner sanctum of the priestesses, even without the power of their goddess. But now the way is clear... the two can enter...

Tenebrae followed Kuzial's lead, hardly a thought given to the carnage remaining behind them, where the few left alive and still fighting found the weapons of their dead turned against them. While the two Empusai penetrated the inner reaches of the House, Tene opened herself to the Patron's cold amusement, and his deadly intent - chill oil to her raging fire - so that when they passed the corpse of the mage he’d killed, she couldn't resist seeding it with an incendiary ring of sonically-charged sigils - a booby-trap, as it were, embedded in flesh and bone, for any who dared try and sneak up behind them. It took but a moment, and then she was by his side again, chortling at the now-apparent purpose of arm he carried, eager for what lay ahead. While Tene had plenty of.. experience.. with drow men, she'd never actually met a Matron, and so was thrilled at the prospect of observing Kuzial battle one. If all the tales regarding their viciousness were true, it ought to be a good show... The door, daubed with blood as Kuzial nudged the arm's stump against it, swung open - but before they entered, Tenebrae's gauntleted hand made an elaborate, courtly gesture, urging the Patron forward to whatever venom awaited them both.

Kuzial smirks at Tenebrae's reversing of his earlier chivalrous gesture, but the look is soon swallowed when once again the Spider Armour he wears seems to devour his head within its mouth, sealing him within. He needed no further invitation from Tenebrae, and she would sense upon him a desire to face this challenge alone. Despite their close bonds, and the carnage already gifted to this damned house by the pair, the slaying of a Matron was work for drow, at least in Kuzial's eyes. So he walks brazenly in, directly into the path of the first spell cast. He was not caught unawares, though: the wave of vicious energy that assaults him is typical of the matrons, an attempt to control the mind of those who seek to harm them, and render them nothing but dribbling fools upon the floor, easy prey for the woman. But the Patron Lord, Kuzial, sealed within his armour, changed beyond the understanding of any other drow, perhaps even the Patron of Trist'Oth himself, is too well prepared to suffer such an ignoble fate. He merely laughs as Tenebrae did earlier, the sound horrible to anyone except the necromancer herself, before he erupts into action. He leaps forward, even as he drops over the entire room a globe of darkness. The females are used to this, though, and immediately they begin to counter the spell. This is enough to tell Kuzial where they all are, and within the darkness he reacts. The first priestess is speared upon the arms on his back, the second suffering the same fate. The third has her head torn off, before Kuzial's armour splits; the legs around his chest opening up, before curling around the final priestess and drawing her into an endless embrace where she is sucked entirely dry. Dropping the husk without further thought, Kuzial's armour closes again just as the matron counters his darkness spell, and her eyes grow wide as they fall upon Kuzial himself, standing there in all his demonic glory. But she is a Matron Drow, a formidable opponent even caught unawares, and within moments she has unleashed from a small scepter a wave of horrifying magic that weaves outwards in every direction. Even protected within his armour, Kuzial feels the insidious nature of the magic gnawing away at him, seeking to destroy his insides, to devour his life, his essence, to feed him to the pool of darkness which is the Spider Goddess not through devout prayer, but through the might of the powerful ancient relic she uses. It would perhaps be the same for Tenebrae, if she didn't offer a quick counter to the magic. Though, even caught within it, Kuzial isn't yet worried. He merely waits with the silent thought that Tenebrae should offer resistance to this spell, before he would end the life of this Matron and claim the spoils of war...

Linked as she was, as closely as she was – for now – to Kuzial, Tenebrae too encountered by proxy that first malevolent arcane strike, and winced… mainly in sheer appreciation of its power. Sympathy’s for suckers, right? And anyway, she was sure Kuzial was equal to it, if that’s all this Matron had to offer. Appreciated moreso, though, were Kuzial’s brutal dealings with the priestesses, albeit the sentiment was marred with chagrin at not being able to join in.. Still, she understood his need to achieve this alone, and thus was content to deal with the foolhardy few warriors who were gambling on the Matron’s success and now came to her defense at a run. Only to find themselves unwilling, unfortunate porcupines, their flesh littered with piercing shards and splinters of marrowless bone and smacked with chunks of dry meat, the remnants of the sigil-laden mage exploding at Tene’s command. No further resistance from behind them came after that, so she was free to focus once more on Kuzial.. and the Matron, whose fell magic was now attempting to ravish the life from out the Patron. Innately, through their bond, the Necromancer understood what her role was to be in this, and her gauntlets retracted to more useful humanoid hands, these necessary focus for the direction of the spell Tene intended to weave – interrupted momentarily by her shock at the way the Matron’s magics wormed into her own skull and leeched strength from her flesh. The armour, fulfilling its prime objective in protecting its creator at all costs, snapped itself into full metal jacket mode - unwittingly providing another drain on Tene’s reserves, since she had to force it into unwilling abeyance. All of this wasted precious time – concern flickered across Tenebrae’s pale green gaze, and the spell was recommenced: the weaving of her fingers was adjunct to clotted syllables gleaned from the Forsaken Book of the Dead. And now, the Matron would have to figure out how to drain an Empusai Lord and his Lady both, while simultaneously being attacked by serpents of both blood and darkness. Red and black, shadow and sanguine, solid as stone and supple as beasts, the summoned creations sought to bind the royal drowess, enter her every orifice to choke and bite and tear, ribboning through the air like a swarm of unthinkable eels while radiating the phobomantic aura that was a secondary layer to Tenebrae’s dire cantrip. Though they wouldn’t last long, Tene worried. They may collapse to liquid and mundane shadow any moment, such were the terrible after-effects of a furious Matron’s spite on the already weary Necromancer. Kuzial had only seconds, at best, to strike..

Kuzial knows Tenebrae would understand his silent thanks as she summons forth the creatures of sanguine and shadow. Broken momentarily from the shackles of the formidable spell as the Matron shifts her attention to the creatures making a whore of her flesh as they savagely attack her - casting magic to defend against the horrific onslaught of the snake-like creatures, even as blood begins to pour from her mouth - Kuzial acts: he drops down to one knee and grabs the head of the priestess who had it so rudely ripped off. He wastes no time in devouring this morsel, even as the two priestesses impaled upon the spider-leg wings upon his back begin to shrivel. The drow feeds upon their life and the depths of their despair felt when they died, until the two serpents shatter into liquid and shadow. There is a look of supreme fear in the Matron's eyes, the lingering effects of Tenebrae's magic, and she has no time to bring the sceptre back. For the moment she looks up, Kuzial is before her in all his demonic glory. "Matron Drue'Lian, I am Kuzial Stavret, Patron of House Stavret, Fifth House in Trist'Oth. I have a message for you to give that whore you once served." Even as the Matron begins to formulate a response, Kuzial erupts quickly forward, wrapping his hand around her throat and lifting the woman from the ground. With sickening speed she drops the scepter, and pulls out a dagger. She rams it repeatedly into Kuzial's arm, but never once does his grip falter. He appears not even to notice the savage blows dealt to his flesh, "Tell her Kuzial says he will not rest until..." For just a moment he falters, a shifting contradiction comes from his mind, born from the devotion of the spider who now forms his armour, but savagely Kuzial quells the thoughts and carries on, "...until he has destroyed all memory of her from this world. Tell her Kuzial will be the final death of her. Learn what it is to suffer, bitch." The dark elf squeezes then, crushing the woman's windpipe, before his mouth once again opens. For the final time this eve', darkness is born from the very centre of his being; this time it doesn't immediately feed. Instead it flushes through her system, crushing her with indescribable pain and the final truth of her horrific fate. She cannot scream, her throat is crushed, yet the waves of her agony, suffering and hopelessness are like food to Tenebrae and Kuzial. When the forsaken damnation is complete, only then does Kuzial begin to feed upon her. Yet, showing great control he doesn't finish the meal. Instead he turns and offers the woman's body to Tenebrae, "There is nothing beneath the earth as sweet as the blood of a Matron, who knows she is going to suffer eternally for failing her Goddess. Let us share the dessert, Tenebrae... the spoils of our war..."

Tenebrae had recovered by now, strengthened by willing a few of those blood-snakes to part her own lips – they’d collapse into blood in her mouth, which the Necromancer swallowed like wine, the flavour tinged with the bodies of origin as well as the drow Matron. Licking her lips, Tene commanded her armour to retract its blades and barbs, then sauntered over to Kuzial, positively feline in the way she rubbed her shoulder against his, all her salaciousness given free rein now the hunger for blood was somewhat appeased. With peril banished for the moment, the Necromancer adopted the guile that shifted her features to a more traditionally appealing state – though the burn remained to spoil it – and, offering a look of pure (and even somewhat genuine) adoration Kuzial’s way, she then took the limp wrist of the murdered Matron and bit into it the way a human crunches into an apple. The other wrist was grasped and flapped toward the Patron – Tene wanted to him to bite that one. Because she had this oddly appealing image in her mind now, of a couple sharing a single strand of violently defeated and humiliated spaghetti.. silly, she knew, but then, even as heartless as she was these days, Tenebrae was no less a romantic.

Kuzial is not against the image of Tene and the Kuzi, sharing spaghetti made of forsaken female drow matron whose tortured death was the sauce to their little meal. He begins to devour the woman, much as Tenebrae would, until the matron's flesh begins to wither away, shrinking as they drain her of all vital fluids, until the two would meet in the middle - a macabre little pile of death and destruction between them. Kuzial would pause then for just a moment, his supreme joy at his sated hunger and the devastation they shared pouring from him in waves of savage satisfaction, before his face returns to its normal form and he presses his lips somewhat violently against her own. What better place to seal their bonding than in the very hall of a Matron, slain in brutal fashion... her chair was rather tempting, but before Kuzial begins to lead Tenebrae over to it, he pauses for just a moment and closes his eye. Tenebrae would sense the message he sends to those of his house gifted with insignias - a command for them to come to the gates, which without a doubt will be opened, and take what treasures and pleasures they desire. The warriors who survived would be taken into the ranks of House Stavret soldiers - there was no loyalty after death for the drow - and when his message is complete, Kuzial's look becomes entirely lewd. The first dessert was finished... it was time for the next...