RP:A Deal With Death
Part of the The Day I Tried To Live Arc
Summary: In order to obtain 'Vakmathras' Blessing' for her cure, Khitti and Brand must seek out Gevurah for her help once again. Once more, Khitti makes a deal with the devil and gets exactly what she wants, giving very little heed to the consequences.
Twisted Trees, The Dark Forest, Vailkrin
Khitti hadn’t walked far from the mansion known as House Dragana to the designated meeting spot on the other side of the forest. It was quiet, dark, and they were likely to not be bothered--and thankfully for Gevurah, she didn’t have to set foot into the light like she had with their first meeting. That bead the drow matron had given Khitti when they first met in Rynvale, to contact her, was used for the blood ritual as intended, sending a message to the woman that’d she’d come to collect the favor Gevurah owed her for opening the portal to the Shadow Plane. The redhead was dressed in her dragonscale attire of various dark blue hues; a high-collared corset, a long hooded duster, gloves and boots with a pair of black leather pants to complete the look. It’s not that she didn’t entirely trust Gevurah--they seemed to be on fairly neutral terms, as much as you can be with a drow anyway. Funny enough, Khitti’d probably trust her over some of the vampires (specifically Emrith) that roamed about Lithrydel. This and other thoughts ran through her head as she waited at the edge of the forest with Brand, peering into the cave that led to Trist’oth with arms crossed over her chest, her stare a rather grumpy one.
Gevurah arrives alone for it is her preference not to arouse the curiosity of spies and other busybodies that lurk in shadows and speak in whispers behind the backs of important figures. She dons a corseted, full-length dress black and plum dress beneath a piwafwi, wears her white hair in braids, and rides a giant black lizard as usual. She too has come to very thinly trust Khitti, which is really more of a trust in her own judgment. She trusts that she understands Khitti’s motives and thus believes there is no reason for she and Khitti to be at odds. As for Brand, he’s still Khitti’s manservant in the drow’s view, so his agenda aligns with Khitti’s as far as she can tell. She nods to Khitti and ignores Brand the way most nobility ignores the help. She dismounts and gestures for Khitti to explain herself, jumping right to the point. “Here I am. What need have you of me.”
Brand hasn’t slept much. House Dragana is a bit creepy, yo. And there are… other reasons, reasons more pertaining to Khitti, why has sleep has come in fitful spurts. He arrives to this meeting having done his best to eliminate the most obvious symptoms of this, but his stubble is a bit more grown out than he usually allows it to be, his shirt is wrinkled and only buttoned up two-thirds of the way, and there’s nothing he can do about those telltale dark circles under his eyes. He kinda looks like he dragged himself out of bed for this, because he did.
Khitti nodded to Gevurah as she appeared, lizard and all, the latter of which is eyed carefully. Ugh. Lizards. Gross. “Zhat cure’s zhe real zhing--” or so she was told by that spectral sister of hers “--and I need your assistance for it. Facilier said it’s something called ‘Vakmathras’ Blessing’, but knowing him, it could be called something else. Sound familiar? He didn’t give me much of a description; vanted me to just do all zhe detective vork myself vith every single bit of it.” Not that she minded research, but this cure of hers in particular was taking forever--much longer than she really wanted. “If you know vhat it is and can help me vith it, zhen your debt is paid.” There’s a brief pause before she adds on something else, loosely related, “Speaking of vhich, I’m going to assume zhings vent vell vith zhe gloomglut.” The stone-faced stare didn’t budge once, her lips pressed into a thin line, and red brows knitted together. It’s almost a look of vague concern, but for whom is unknown.
Gevurah nods at the latter question first. “It was difficult to capture one alive, so we killed one. If we are favored,” this is a literally drow translation of an expression that means ‘hopefully’, “that is enough.” She drags her tongue across her teeth as she thinks of what this blessing could be. “Translation problems could arise, especially with ancient or foreign--and by that I mean not of this plane--texts. Many things could be translated into common to mean ‘blessing. This ritual comes from Facilier, or originated in the Vale of Shadows, correct? That is a clue.’” She hisses inwardly, wincing slightly as she realizes this could be a pickle. “Other context clues could help. Do you have time?” She gestures towards the cave behind her. “I have texts in my estate that could be useful. And a private shrine to Vakmatharas.”
Brand squints at this cave Gevurah’s mentioned, the entryway to drow lands. It seems to loom ever larger before him the longer he stares. It takes a shake of the head and and several blinks in rapid succession to clear the illusion from his sight. It’s just a cave, Brand. Just a cave to a place full of trigger-happy people with a particular lack of fondness of the menfolk. Nothing to fear here. It’ll be fine, just fiiiine. “Great. Yes. Shrines. Texts. Peachy.” He fails to sound adequately enthused. Blame the fact that, last time he touched something they thought might contain ‘the blessing of Vakmathras,’ it rained burnt toast down from on high. Brand simultaneously doesn’t believe in gods and holds contempt for things that prove they exist. It’s a complicated dissonance of thought.
Khitti seemed pleased enough with the fact that they weren’t hiding a giant cannibalistic creature from another plane of existence there in the Underdark that could escape at any moment and kill everyone, likely starting with Vailkrin first. At least, if that -did- happen, Khitti was here often enough to help be the first line of defense against it. “Hm” was said in response to the inquiry of going down to Trist’oth with the matron. I mean, that’s not exactly a smart thing to do. Who’s to say that Gevurah wouldn’t just lock them down there until the end of time. Correction: Khitti would be down there until the end of time. Sorry, Brand. There’s a side glance to him, and a bit of a frown because he’s obviously not enthused by this at all, to which she says along their link [Ve’ll be alright. I zhink I trust her more zhan most people at zhis point. Von’t take much to portal our vay out if zhings go south. Er. More south.] Can’t really get much more south than the Underdark. “Alright. Lead zhe vay.” Assuming Gevurah got back on that lizard of hers, Khitti would take Brand’s hand and shadow-step their way behind the drow woman, doing more portaling than chasing after the other female to keep Brand from having to do so much work. Slow human legs, you know; they can’t keep up with that vampire speed.
The D'Artes Estate, Trist'oth
Gevurah appreciates Brand’s healthy reluctance to visit Trist’oth. Khitti’s manservant is adequately intelligent. She nods at Khitti and leads the way on lizard-back, slowly at first until it is clear that Khitti can keep pace, then she moves more swiftly. The tunnel narrows claustrophobically around them, though it is still just wide enough for the lizard to pass through. The drow lights faerie fire, a pale blueish light, to help Khitti and Brand make out the damp cavern walls and avoid collisions with stalagmites in the larger caverns ahead. Each cavern breaks off into several tunnels, yet Gevurah always knows which tunnels to take. They enter Trist’oth from the east, near the obelisk that serves as a clocktower without a traditional hand-and-faceclock. Instead, the obelisk glows brightly each morning and the light falls hour by hour as the day dwindles. The paved streets of Trist’oth smell foul. Commoners dive out of Gevurah’s way, and a pair of other noble step curtly to the side. Gevurah and her guests fly past the Temple of Endless Death and into the largest estate on the north western end of Trist’oth, the D’Artes Estate. It hums with protective, and offensive, enchantments. Gargoyles and statuesque kobols perched on gothic spires look real enough to pounce. They enter through the front wrought-iron gate and foyer, where Gevurah dismounts then leads Khitti and Brand on foot down a blood-red carpeted hallway to the throne room. En route, she barks an order to Izzerin, the House Chamberlain and her most trusted servant who came to greet them. He bows and scurries away. While most of the estate is finely carved and smooth, the throne room remains an unsculpted, raw and primal stone cavern. The main throne lies before the entrance, and three smaller thrones line the right-hand wall. The wall behind the trio of thrones shimmers and undulates for a moment, then Izzerin passes through it carrying a tray with two wrought-iron wands. “Take one each to pass through the wall,” Gevurah explains. Once Khitti and Brand have done so, Gevurah passes through the wall, which reacts by undulating as it did for Izzerin. On the other side of the wall is a black marble hall that leads to several rooms of import such as the royal bed chambers, the great D’Artes library, the armor and weapons collections, and the private Shrine to Vakmatharas. Gevurah leads Khitti and Brand to the library first. Shelves hugs all four walls and extend up towards the high-ceiling which seems tall enough to clear giants. The high priestess levitates upwards to pulls a few smaller books from a high shelf.
Brand’s head is on a permanent swivel, trying to keep up with taking in all the scenery as they pass it by. He doesn’t suppose he’ll be back down here again anytime soon -- that is, assuming they make it back out. That possibility has crossed his mind, too. He tries to commit the path they take through the tunnels and streets to memory -- left, right, center, second to the left, right again, and so on -- but this turns out to be an impossible task. It’s too much to keep up with. And Brand is thoroughly winded by the time they arrive at the estate and the wands are offered; these damn human limitations are something he feels right down to the stitch in his side as he gulps down dank Trist’oth air. Damn. Maybe he should just propose a trade or something, his humanity for Khitti’s vampirism. She and the giant lizard are a hell of a thing to try to keep up with, even with the vampiress portaling them along to ease the journey. “Right,” he gasps, clutching wand in hand and leaning on his own knees until he can better collect himself. “How much further from here?”
Poor Brand. Khitti apologized quietly for going too fast--she doesn’t actually -want- to kill her boyfriend, you know--then took up the wand followed Gevurah through the wall. While she was going to echo his question about how much farther, she’s rather dumbfounded by the size of the library. Khitti’s been in several libraries as of late--House Mahara’s, the forbidden one in Frostmaw, House Dragana’s, and a few of the various others scattered around land--but this one is yet another one she’s not seen and she can only stare in awe while her free hand hits Brand lightly on his shoulder to get his attention. It’s almost like she reverted back to the Khitti from only a few months ago, before this whole cure thing and the need to get rid of Amarrah all started. As the matron scurries about getting the books, Khitti does a couple 360° spins to really take it all in. Then, and only then, is she actually able to find words, “Gevurah, your library is frakking amazing.” Khitti has a sudden newfound respect for the pointy-eared female and her collection, but she manages to compose herself long enough to finally get back to the topic at hand, “Vhat is it zhat you need to know?”
Gevurah cants her head to the side as she floats back down while carrying a neat stack of thin books, most of them hand written and weathered. “What is the meaning of this ‘frakking’ word.” She says in her thickly accented common. She sets the books on the table, most of them journals and memoirs of long-dead explorers of drow (mostly) and other races. Official tomes about the shadow realm are rare to come by, Gevurah has never seen one, and thus her understanding of the realm before her visits came from these accounts nestled in the journals and biographies of legendary figures of yore. The journals are not about the shadow realm specifically, but are included as one part of a larger set of experiences. She then walks over to another shelf, much lower on the stacks, which contain massive tomes pertaining to the worship of Vakmatharas. They are written neatly with by monks and priests in the drow language. Finally, she fetches a couple smaller books on vampirism which have small chapters on cures, attempts and failures, theories, and the like, though there are no recorded successes, of course. When fetching the books she believes they’ll need, she turns her back to them, feeling wholly secure in her estate. What could they possibly attempt? Get away with? Steal? The upperhand is hers. After Khitti has answered her, “Yes, my father, Keter D’Artes, built it. Tell me, what are the other aspects of this cure you are attempting. What else is required.”
Brand, too, is marvelling at the size of this library, but any expression of awe is cut short when Gevurah asks her first ‘question.’ Oh, seven hells. Keep it together, Brand. Don’t laugh at the drow queen-person for asking about ‘frak’ or you might lose your head. The Catalian wheels away to contort his face in silent laughter somewhere where Gevurah can’t see, attempting to appear as though he’s just looking at the shelves in that direction. Khitti’s shoulder-slap is returned by an elbow to the ribcage. Frakking. She asked what frakking means. It’s hilarious. “It’s, uh.” Dammit. The amusement is creeping into his voice. He affects several coughs, stalling in order to pull himself together. “It’s a sentence enhancer, I guess you could say. Like, ‘very’ or ‘really’ but better.“ Alright. He thinks he’s got himself under control now. He can turn back to face the drow once more. His lips still twitch in effort to contain himself, however. He’s particularly bad at this today.
Khitti’s face froze as Gevurah asked about ‘frak’ and then Brand proceeded to hold himself together RATHER BADLY and elbowed her in the ribs. ‘Sentence enhancers’. Oh god, Brand. You’re a genius. See? This is why Khitti loves you. Okay, so one of the many reasons. Anyway, Khitti’s quick to back him up, knowing Gevurah likely won’t believe him because, well, he’s a dude. “Zhey’re exactly vhat Brand said. Sentence enhancers. You know, like ‘gorram’ and ‘frell’. Frak’s zhe best one out of zhe list and only zhe most vorthy use it. It’s like a show of power, but vith vords.” Khitti nodded at her own words; if -she- believed them, then maybe Gevurah would too. Of course, she’d finally get around to the cure again, lightly tapping at her chin as she recalled them all aloud, “Mermaid scales, a leviathan fang, spirit-tainted ice cap mushrooms from zhe ruined city in Frostmaw. Um--” She stops and side-eyes Brand again for a moment, “A song.” The redhead shrugs, continuing on, “Zhose vere easy to acquire for zhe most part.” Except that the mermaids were as blood thirsty as usual and the leviathan almost ate her. “Zhere’s also zhe heart of my enemy, a blood sacrifice of my closest living relative, and 2 more items dealing vith zhe gods: Delisha’s Ambrosia, vhich is a wine to be made at zhe temple and Arkhen’s Purity, a ball of light zhat might’ve said a few vords.”
Gevurah narrows a glare on Brand as he laughs at her expense then shifts her ire to Khitti as she explains they’re like ‘gorram’ and ‘frell’, more words Gevurah has never heard. She bites her tongue on a sassy retort as she may be on the cusp of witnessing and/or abetting the discovery of a cure for vampirism, and she won’t squander that opportunity over Brand’s slight. Focused on the task at hand, the high priestess’s brow furrows as Khitti mentions a blood sacrifice of her closest relative. Odd. Usually blood sacrifices are open-ended, or age, race or skills-specific. This specificity of a blood relative tips Gevurah off, as very few ritual groups require that. “A relative…” she mumbles to herself as she flips open one of the large tome of Vakmatharas rituals and flips towards the last third of the book. “Interesting. That must have to do with the Great Balance. And it’s blood-relative, correct? Not someone to which you have a personal or emotional bond, but simply a physical one?” Once Khitti confirms, Gevurah opens a second book, and one of the smaller journals that reference the shadow plane as a restless place for souls not yet ready to pass on, or who are not permitted to rest in the Peaceful Afterlife for whatever reason (like a curse). She turns back to the first tome and calls out, “Aha, yes. You are asking Vakmatharas to cut you a deal. The blessing is more of an agreement to a transaction. You ask to restore life, but the Great Balance of Life and Death must remain steady, and for that reason you must take a life. But why a blood relative? Bloodlines matter to Vakmatharas. A new life can propagate more life, may breed in the same line which was meant to be extinguished with you. That potential future growth in life must be accounted for now. The sacrifice of a relative is meant to stymie the propagation of one bloodline that was not meant to grow so quickly. There is a theory that your dead relatives may be ripped from their peaceful slumber in the Afterlife and stored in the shadow plane to serve death’s will and further propagate death to counter an extension of your lineage. I believe you must agree to those terms during the ritual.”
He’s not dead. Gevurah hasn’t killed him. Phew. And he does succeed in pulling himself together… eventually. “Yeah. Uh, ‘living’ relative. Seems that ghosts count as ‘close enough’ in that, if she can be brought back to her body first.” Khitti’s sidelong glance is returned, albeit not for the same reasons. Gevurah’s talk of balance has raised a question, one particular question that he’s been mostly trying to ignore all this time. “But, er. That whole ‘bloodline’ thing. We’re not, uh -- I mean, I wasn’t planning on -- we weren’t going to…” Is it starting to get oppressively humid in this underground library, or is it just Brand? There’s no good way to ask this that doesn’t result in Khitti probably getting mad at him, and he is all too completely aware of that fact. “...’Lineage extension’…? What happens if there isn’t one? What happens if there’s… a lot of one?” The second question is cover for the first, but it’s not exactly a secret that Brand is terrified of the ‘domestic whatevers’ that having children entails. Terrified. As in, he’s had nightmares about it and everything. Yikes.
“Vhat he means to say is zhat zhere von’t -be- any children to ruin things for Vakmathras,” Khitti said flatly. She wasn’t exactly mad, but also, she didn’t want to talk about it. Not with Gevurah. Not with Brand. Not with anyone. “If anything, from vhat ve’ve been told, I’m supposedly going to upset zhe “Great Balance” but in zhe opposite direction. Over in zhe Shadow Plane, zhey’ve got several prophecies all foretelling zhat I’m some Harbinger of Death and Destruction.” Khitti said this so casually; it’s almost as if she didn’t care. Almost as if she just kind of accepted it now. What’s the point in fighting any of this anymore? Facilier was very clearly winning his end of things. “And there isn’t any ‘if’ about bringing Lydia back. I know vhat I’m frakking doing. Lorkain’s taught me soulbinding and I’m going to have my student help me. Can’t be bothered vith vaiting around for her up zhere.” ‘Taught’ wasn’t exactly the best word. The lich had instructed her once on how to do it and she’d just been practicing on smaller creatures since then. Also, her was definitely Larewen, buuuuut, it didn’t do well to bring up the fact that the ruler of House Dragana was in a bit of a pickle right now, what with not being able to use her body because she was still keeping the Corruption at bay. “Lydia’s bones are in zhe forest up top and I’ll be grabbing it on zhe vay home.” See? Everything’s going to work out juuuuuust fiiiiine. Her attention settled on Gevurah again, an irritated frown present, “Like I said, no children, no imbalance. Now, give it to me.”
Gevurah smirks devilishly at Brand's squirming. Humans are hilarious, sometimes. The humor evaporates as Khitti gets back to business. A pale brow lifts inquisitively as Khitti speaks of soul-binding. She shrugs as Khitti insists that there won't be children. Drow don't care, and furthermore, Gevurah isn't Khitti's mommy, and if Khitti sets off a chain of tragic events with an overly-ambitious and probably-bad decision, so be it. "Follow me." The high priestess leads her guests to the private shrine to Vakmatharas. En route, she asks a servant to fetch a slave. The room is small and dark, made of stone, and decorated with idols of Vakmatharas and lined with ingredients used in rituals. Gevurah dons a ceremonial robe and stands behind a bronze altar. Beside the altar is a tall golden birdcage with a glassy-eyed raven inside. Before the altar is a people-sized, shallow bronze tub, like a crater, with a drain at the center. Khitti and Brand should sit along its perimeter. Gevurah lights various candles and a deathly-sweet incense, then prepares the room for ritual with the Final Plea (like the Vakmatharas version of 'Our Father'). The drow slave arrives, old and bent, and Gevurah gestures for him to stand in the bronze crater as she places along the edge of the tub a bowl of dried grave's weed, a doll of straw, a pouch of onyx beads, a small chest of bones, and a shard of mirror. She removes her shoes and steps into the crater with the slave. She teaches Khitti and Brand a call-and-response in drow and hands Khitti a dagger. "When I tell you to, you will cut yourself to draw blood and cut a lock of your hair." The ritual finally begins. Buckle in for a long one, you ask not for something easy, Khitti. Gevurah calls over the raven who flies through the birdcage's rails like a ghost. It perches on Gevurah's shoulder, and its very real talons snag in her robe. Is it incorporeal or physical? Both at the same time? But how? The priestess chants as she feeds the slave the dried grave's weed, and lays him down on his back before her to place the raven on his chest. With a hand on the raven's head, she closes her eyes and a few minutes later the raven slumps to the side, dead.
Nothing immediately happens, and Gevurah leads Khitti and Brand in the call-and-response for twenty minutes. Nothing happens, nothing happens, nothing happens, then suddenly the raven's corpse sinks into the slave's chest and Gevurah slits the slave's throat with the mirror shard. The blood drains into the center of the tub and she places onyx beads and bones into the sanguine run-off. Again she leads the call-and-response. Call, response, call, response. Sitting beside the corpse, in the slave's blood, Gevurah begins to sway slightly as if in a trance. Her mind and spirit are elsewhere, searching for spirits and signposts in another realm, in Vakmatharas's realm, searching, and searching, a level of communication for the God of Death so advanced few can do it, and those who attempt it may go mad or become stuck in the plane of death. Khitti and Brand's voices are her north, her compass that keeps her from getting lost. This takes about an hour, but as the hour progresses the necromancer and her manservant can feel the spine-tingling, skin-crawling chill of a haunting, and the thick oppression of death suck the air out of the room (figuratively).
After an hour, the raven reappears on the corpse's chest and Gevurah wills it back to life. It flies back into its perch near the altar, passing through the rails like a ghost, then eating bird seeds like a real bird. Now taking the straw doll, she places the blood-soaked beads and bones in its straw body strategically, then asks for a lock of Khitti's hair, for Khitti to bleed on the doll, and finally to spit on it. Another round of call and response for 15 minutes, and the straw doll fuses together by some magical enchantment. No bone or bead or single fiber of straw can be plucked from it by conventional means. It is one, now. The ritual concludes and Gevurah gives the doll to Khitti. "Burn it during your ritual to break the seal and unleash His promise."
Brand isn’t sure what he’s gotten himself into, and it’s evident in the wavering of his voice even as the ritual comes solidly to its middle. But he doesn’t buy into any of this stuff, right? So he can safely ignore the creepifying feeling that’s locking around his spine, coursing up and down and causing pulsing waves of goosebumps? Yeah. It’s just… a very powerful metaphor, or something. This, despite the proof assaulting all his senses -- his persistent atheism is a belief far too strong for logic to touch. These Lithrydelian cultures sure do follow some strange customs, though, and the Catalian finds some relief in not being asked to add to the doll himself. As the ritual concludes, he’s just gonna go ahead and… try not to think about it too much. It’s his preferred method of handling most Khitti-related conflict, really; he’ll bury his head in sand until forcibly excavated. Probably by Khitti. The whole lot of it would be over his head even if he -wasn’t- burying it, so… why not? “So, uh. That’s a hell of a trick. You entertain at any parties, by chance?” Yes. Because what the Tranquility -really- needs is a death priestess doing ‘parlor tricks’ at its drunken end-of-month bash. But hey, maybe she juggles, too?
Khitti would do as instructed--the sitting, the call and response--and watched as Gevurah worked her strange, tribal-like magic. Occasionally, she’d side-eyed Brand to make sure he was doing it to, just to be safe. This wasn’t something either of them ever intended to do in their lives surely, and yet, here they were. In the home of the drow matron. Who was willingly helping them. And not sacrificing them in this crater in the name of her death god. On any normal day, when Khitti wasn’t being manipulated by psychopath from the Shadow Plane, Khitti would be as unnerved as Brand. Well, she was -a little- freaked out by this; she tried not to show it, but a downward twist of her lips into a light frown betrayed her. Khitti would even grab Brand’s hand for the second time tonight, as if a way to comfort them both, until Gevurah beckoned her to finish what the drow had started. Blood was spilled, a crude dagger of ice summoned up to cut away a lock of her hair, and spit was spat all as the matron wished, and then the spell was complete. Khitti’d take the doll from Gevurah--but not before elbowing Brand lightly in the ribs with a hiss for his comment (seriously Brand don’t ruin this plzkthnx)--and… she’d actually thank Gevurah. “Right. Burning. I’m good at zhat.” Heh, a bit of an undead joke. They’re extremely flammable, you see. “Zhank you, Gevurah. If you’d like, ve can alert you on vhether or not it vorked.” ‘We’ meaning her mostly. Brand’s probably had enough of this religious stuff for a lifetime.
Gevurah glares at Brand as he insults her religion and practice by calling it a 'trick'. "I will celebrate your death very soon." She celebrates all death as a High Priestess of the God of Death, but she's aware that for non-believers, this is a disquieting thing to hear. She nods sincerely to Khitti when the shadowmancer thanks her for performing no small feat. "Please do." Alert Gevurah, that is. Unbeknownst to the trio is the curse Khitti has unwittingly cast upon herself and (should she ever change her mind) her children, and their children, and so forth. Those souls which Vakmatharas will yank back into the Shadow Plane will become restless and hateful. They were enjoying peaceful afterlives that have now been violently taken from them. In the Shadow Plane they will initially be weak, but over time grow stronger and increasingly enraged. The evil of the Realm of Shadows will infect their hearts. They will come to learn how to free themselves of the that abominal plane and return to that blissful afterlife: they will need to extinguish every member of Khitti's bloodline. Trapped in the Vale of Shadows, it's unclear how they could do so, but Khitti has already experienced how then the veil between vales can be.