RP:An unhappy reunion - Sin
Prelude
Mesdoram and Vexar, brothers divided by ideologies, meet after many years apart. The Drow brother, Mesdoram, seeks to recruit his brother back and reestablish their old banner 'Sin' which instilled fear and respect many moons ago. However, Mesdoram's humanity, or should we say his Elven nature when he was Hawkeye, has been deeply compromised.
Sin used to breed fear out of respect and admiration when Hawkeye and Vexar were last together; however, Mesdoram grows more sinister and evil, seeking to torment and terrorize citizens with a twisted sense of morality.
While Vexar may be happy Mesdoram is alive, their reunion will only bring futher divide and doubt.
As per instructed, Nariv (Mesdoram's slave) writes to Vexar and slips this letter into the Elder Vampire's belongings to set up the meeting with the brothers.
Note to Vexar:
(Upon searching your belongings, you see an enclosed envelope that was not there the day before. Rummaging through your bag, you retrieve the mystery mail and thoroughly inspect the name written across the face of the paper – ‘Nariv’ written in what appears to be blood. The envelope is sealed with a simple stamp, embroidered in the design is the logo ‘SIN’. Upon recognizing your old clans’ banner, a satisfying smirk forms on your face as you eagerly break the seal and start reading your brother’s message)
Vexar,
My dearest brother. We have much to discuss. At your earliest convenience, meet me in the Underdark Tavern. If inconvenient, come all the same. We look forward to your arrival. - Mesdoram, written by Nariv.
(Inside The Tavern)
Trist`oth Tavern
Upon entering the bar you immediately notice the raucous nature of this place. Within moments of stepping through the door a Drow deathlance comes hurling toward you, passing mere inches from your head before impaling deeply into an unsuspecting Drow fellow at your rear. A number of patrons laugh at the sudden death of their own, it’s rather evident now that you’re rather unwelcome and out of place in this gloomy tavern. The patrons seem to feel that any outsider must remunerate for the outrageous events that claimed vast numbers of their most skilled fighters. Realizing that it is about time to leave, you take a quick look around the tavern once more, in case any whom you've befriended have fallen victim to these savages, stopping your visual sweep as your eyes fall upon two portraits hanging upon a wall, the first, and obviously predominant being that of a tall, regal looking Drow male, a vertical scar being the only mar upon his striking visage. Within the man’s grasp is an ominous looking short sword known to the locals as the E’et Nilah blade. The second portrait is that of a wrinkled, though venerable, Drow male clothed in extravagant robes and holding a twisted stave of an unusual wood. Citizens of this Underdark will recognize this man as the Eldermage, Patron of the city’s First House. As your attention falls back to the Drow occupants, it becomes apparent that some of them are slowly circling you with obvious ill intentions.
Vexar leans into the tavern door with his forearm, heaving the heavy barricade out of his way as he makes his move into the tavern to which the note from Nariv had beckoned him. His hood is pulled forward, veiling his face from the throng of unpleasant drinkers. Though not a drow, his white hair and dark skin tone beneath the shadows of his robe perhaps offer him a bit less scrutiny than the average intruder. What’s more, the company he seeks would almost certainly preclude him from unwanted aggression; most of the drow present would not be bold enough to cross Mesdoram. As such, the vampire wastes no time crossing the gap of the tavern twixt himself and the elf slave that had addressed him in the note. He slides into the one of the only chairs sturdy enough to support his weight abreast the table where Nariv is standing and slaps the letter on the wooden surface whilst snapping his fingers for a drink. “Nariv, please find your master and let him know of my arrival.” This request would likely not be necessary, for Mesdoram is undoubtedly already aware of Vexar’s presence, but he makes it all-the-same.
|| The tavern’s regular crowd does indeed fill the rowdy establishment: your typical thieves and murderers stalk amongst the crowd looking to entertain themselves with a lift or a stabbing – either would satiate their depraved nature. The drow are an evil creature, committing atrocious acts for the coin… or for their own amusement as some unfortunate victims will find out little too late.
Nariv finds herself standing among the devilish drows near the table Mesdoram had instructed her. Though their return has been brief, Mesdoram and Nariv have already established a solid reputation amid the Underdark’s most wicked people; already, many do not dare to go near Nariv with the fear of what Mesdoram would retaliate with. The elf slave carelessly begins looking around the tavern when the heavy slam from Vexar jolts her gaze down to the vampire. Upon hearing the man’s request, she graciously nods to Vexar. “Thank you for arriving, Vexar.” She looks over Vexar’s right shoulder to where her master sat – a mere 10 feet apart from Nariv and Vexar. “Mesdoram?” She inquires her master in a delicate voice.
The more rambunctious patrons cease their activities upon hearing ‘Mesdoram’ spoken by Nariv. Like the night with Qamara, the bar begins to clear out: many costumers leaving their glasses on the table tops, some forgetting belongings at the base of their chairs, and some looking confused as to why everyone is vacating the premises – reluctantly, those perplexed patrons elect to leave all the same. All who remain in the place are Vexar, Mesdoram, Nariv, 3 drow bar runners, and the bartender/owner of the dump.
Mesdoram stands up abruptly and coldly looks at one of the bar runners: all 3 who seem to be frozen with fear. “I believe my brother gestured for a drink, drow.” With that said, the 3 employees fumble to get the orders right with intention to bring Mesdoram, Nariv, and Vexar their drinks. With a wry smile, Mesdoram strolls parallel to Vexar’s side and places an embracing hand on his brother’s shoulder. “It is good to see you, Brother.” With that said, he motions to Nariv to sit across from Vexar – Mesdoram takes his seat to his brother’s left, awaiting a response and a drink for the three.
Vexar lifts his hand and claps it to his brother's as it rests briefly upon his shoulder. Despite his worry for the difficult conversation that is to come, the Harbinger allows a grin to reflect off the dark pupils of his sibling. They've been apart for years, but the reunion is as though two friends seeing each other after a brief holiday. As the skittish drow drink runner places Vexar's ale in front of him, the vampire offers the tender a cruel sneer. Devilish fangs seep from his lips, daring the dark skinned waiter to show a lack of respect. The elder is not usually one to front such an arrogant facade, but he knows in the Underdark any generosity is seen as weakness, and he cannot afford to appear weak in the endeavors that are to come. His gimmick works, and the bar runner winces as he fades back into the shadows where he will wait patiently until summoned.
"Likewise," Vexar responds, turning his attention back to the more prominent drow sitting with him. "Somehow I knew you would make your way to the surface again..." A deep swig of brown beer is gulped down, offering only a slight break before he continues. "...what is it that's roused you? Not to make little of the formalities, but, I do know you would not have reappeared without purpose."
Mesdoram offers a brief chuckle, taking note of his brother’s treatment of the bar-runner who scampers off to the back. Nariv secures hers and her master’s drinks, placing Mesdoram’s preferred whiskey in front of the drow.
Mesdoram also takes note of his brother’s guarded demeanor and reassures Vexar. “Relax, my brother. If anyone in the Underdark or Surface looks at you wrong…” Always one for the theatrics, he grabs his drink during the dramatic pause. Before acquiring his first taste, Mesdoram grins. “… I’ll rip out their lungs and force their loved ones to eat them.”
Nariv, as previously instructed to before Vexar’s arrival, stands up and walks behind Mesdoram’s chair. From there, the slave unfastens the cloth belt holding Mesdoram’s robes – the connecting fabrics part like the curtains of a theater starting a show. With a final push to the side, Mesdoram’s punishment from the Karasu duel is proudly displayed – the feline’s name embedded in the drow’s flesh permanently.
“Fair enough, Vexar. We will not linger anymore than we have to.” With this said, Mesdoram points to Nariv’s forehead where the word SIN adorns. “I wish to bring back ‘Sin’ into this world. So many people in my absences have grown soft… comfortable…”As if almost choreographed between the two of them, Nariv throws a message from the Kelay Way’s Tavern Public Board in front of Vexar which reads:
“Are you an assassin looking to make a few extra coin? Are you a fighter who isn't scared to get your hands dirty? Do you hate the Drow and want to see their pathetic race of inbred cave elves disappear from the world forever? House Dragana has the solution for you! We are buying dark elf ears at 500 gold a piece. That's 1000 gold per head- What a great value! All ears are to be brought to my manor in the Dark Forest where I will personally inspect each one to make sure they are Drow ears. Ears from other elf variants or races will not earn a reward. If you want to talk about taking down my higher tier targets, simply send a letter to Baroness Quintessa Dragana and I will grant you proper audience to discuss greater payment. ~Signed, Quintessa Dragana, Baroness and Warden of the Dark Forest”
As the paper hits the wooden table and comes to rest, Mesdoram’s tone shifts into a more sinister foreboding tone. “… hypocrites… I wish to expose them all to fate worst than their own demise…” Flustered by the fact no one has identified Qunitessa to him yet, he violently throws his now empty mug in the direction of the bartender. Though not uncommon to see this reaction from her master, Nariv takes a few steps back – clearly, this was not an act to get a rise out of Vexar or the barrunners. She slips away from the engaging brothers to procure another drink for Mesdoram as the men discussed further endeavors.
Vexar scoffs amusedly at his brother’s brash retort. Of course, Vexar was not afraid of the Drow; he simply avoided conflict. Indeed, in a prior time, Mesdoram’s curt reality was not far from his own. Power ruled all. Respect was taken by brute force; sympathy was weakness, along with anything in between. Time and experience, though, had changed the Harbinger of Death. Where Mesdoram forked left in search of dominance, Vexar had diverted right in search of something more….love, perhaps. However, here the two siblings now sit, their grossly different paths somehow once again intersecting. The sight of the freshly scarred flesh across Mesdoram’s abdomen does not phase the vampire; in fact, it elicits a chuckle. “Let your guard down, aye? No...not you. I’ll bet you enjoyed that.” Yes, the brothers are dark...pain is not a feeling that tests their emotion. There is no surprise in Vex’s eyes as Mesdoram lays out his plan to revive the grim band of ‘twisted justice’ that he and his brother, along with such wretched souls as Barvalone, Hemlock, and Movdon, had spearheaded. As another long swig of ale is guzzled, Vexar’s eyes float mid-gulp to the parchment that Nariv has dropped in front of him. He need not read the note, as the handwriting and the message portrayed was all too familiar. Inside, he knew his brother was at least partially right. But he would not concede. “This ‘Baroness’ is but a child. She knows not what she wants, nor does she possess the wherewithal to achieve it. Pay her no mind. And such is the legend of the rest of the population. We do not need to destroy this land to control it, surely you recognize this?”
Mesdoram tilts his head slightly to the right as he observes Vexar’s nonchalant reaction to Quintessa’s declaration to mutilate the drow. “You know of this… this…” Suddenly, Mesdoram reminisces about his battle scar on his chest: he thinks to himself of the collage of victims he wishes to terrorize and add to his blacken skin. He briefly imagines what this Quintessa looks like, the enormous amount of nerve she possesses, how untouchable she must think herself to be, and how satisfying it will be to see her grovel for Sin. Gleefully, Mesdoram brushes his chest highlighting Karasu’s inscription and continues. “… I did indeed enjoy this particular sentencing. The one called Karasu’s sin will be highlighted forever… and this Quintessa for that matter.” Recollecting his brother’s talk of controlling this land as oppose to destroying it, Mesdoram offers this. “This world is too far gone to be erased… those that remain will be examples of the Sin perpetuated by these disgusting vile heretics. I don’t wish to destroy anyone….” He motions to Nariv to sit back down, which she promptly obeys. Pointing again to Nariv’s forehead, “I wish to save this wretched world. One lost soul at a time.” Mesdoram abruptly stands up and navigates behind his slave – he parts Nariv’s hair completely for Vexar to clearly see the ‘SIN’ written in her skin. “Beautiful, is it not brother? A world in need of saving grace and their saviors…” With this pause, Mesdoram nods to his brother. “… are sitting here at the same table tonight?”
Vexar fixates on his brother’s musings. The logic in Mesdoram’s persuasion cannot be discounted, and it was not long ago that perhaps Vexar’s own opinion molded these ideas that the drow across from him now preached. However, the vampire is stalwart; he knows the destruction that his evil side once wrought and, moreso, is terrified of the nightmare that now lurks within which was not present years ago. “It is true, Hawk…” the formality of the name ‘Hawk’ is overstated. “...many, if not most, have lost their way. The lack of suppression has caused countless individuals to step out of line. And the slight against the Drow should not go unpunished.” Here, he focuses on the razor carved tattoo of ‘SIN’ embedded in Nariv. “But nor should innocent elves be punished…” At the mention of ‘innocent elves’, one of the eavesdropping drink runners lets slip a muted snicker from behind the Elder vampire. It is, almost, utterly undetectable and Vexar does not deign to offer a response to the man save a brief lilt of his eyes towards the side of his peripheral. “There are better ways to cull a herd, brother…”
Mesdoram shifts his attention back onto Vexar with an icy glare. While shrouded in mystery to everyone but Mesdoram, Nariv plays a vital and separate agenda to her master’s vision – a plan that would not be shared with Vexar until the Harbinger converts to a more malevolent disposition. For Nariv was not your typical slave enslaved to Mesdoram and their story has yet to be revealed: until the precise moment arises, the hidden angle will remain in ambiguity. Perhaps bolstering his bold façade, Mesdoram darts his eyes to Nariv. “Innocent?” It is in this moment when he looks at Nariv that the overzealous bar runner lets loose his inconspicuous laughter – Mesdoram is too distracted to pick up on this gesture against his brother. “No one is innocent in this realm, nor do they look upon creatures like me with ANY semblance of remorse or empathy.” At first, it would seem Mesdoram did not react to his brother calling him ‘Hawk’ out of spite: the truth is, Mesdoram had not heard that name utter since his transformation. In a less aggravated state, Vexar could reach Hawkeye, but now is not that time. “Given the opportunity, this worthless elf would have an arrow between my eyes without a second thought! Or worse…” Ironic, what would be worse than death to this drow? “… my body would be sold for a mere 500 gold.” Seeming to react on her own, Nariv starts to retrieve the note she had shoveled to Vexar – perhaps anticipating an order to her not yet given. “I believe your brother is worth more… then again, I’ve never seen you act this weak before.” This tone in Mesdoram’s voice conveys a heavy sarcasm mixed with heavy disappointment. Trying to drive the last nail in the coffin, the drow offers one last parting jab before sitting back down in his chair. “Maybe you are too far gone and brainwashed from my absence… that you would probably consider this Quintessa bounty on your own brother… am I right?”
Vexar continues to deplete the stock of ale from his mug as Mesdoram lectures him on his tragic misconceptions. He is seemingly drinking to keep his mouth full of beer if only so it does not fill with more vile or spiteful words. The bar runners are challenged to keep a full goblet, cup, any vessel they can find in front of the ever-enraged Elder. The vampire studies the drow’s words inwardly, ‘He speaks of weakness?...he knows nothing...the torment I endured to return this living realm. To protect them…’. His grip tightens around the mug and upon a quip about fulfilling the drow bounty himself the ivory carved mug is slammed to the oak table-top, shattering into pieces as Vexar’s rage bubbles over. “I could have!”, he retorts aggressively. “But I alone challenged that trickster and I alone caused her withdrawal. What you allege as weakness, I was able to accomplish without even unsheathing my blade. Why do you let this evil vendetta control you?!” The malice courses through the Harbinger’s veins and the heat of anger begins to brew a sense of purpose. A sense of revitalization...a sense of familiarity. It is in opposition to this that he pushes even harder against his brother.
Mesdoram, though appearing stoic, feels a sudden surge of adrenaline spiking his blood pressure as his brother makes easy work of the table and its supporting structures. Inside, he experiences fear only his brother could instill in him even after all these years – never in his hiatus from this land, nor his adventures with Nariv (who now sits in her chair petrified), nor the unbearable physical torment he allows on his own body prepared him for this righteous anger from Vexar. For the first time in a long time, the detached, deprived drow experiences disappointment projected by his brother. Regardless how jumbled his inners were colliding with one another, Mesdoram forms a cynical grin before speaking. “Vendetta? There are no vendettas between the wicked and virtuous.” Mesdoram casually brushes off some of the debris that laid ontop his lap before continuing. “Resentment… hatred… grievances to be fix. Call it what you like, brother. I seek not vengeance, but vindication.” Taking in one last deep breath before heavily exhaling, Mesdoram blankly stares back at Vexar awaiting his retort.
Vexar breathes a sigh, the sudden burst of anger and ensuing destruction perhaps satiating his brief loss of control. “You will find only pain and loss in this endeavor, Mesdoram. Change your ways...aim to protect, as I did with the violence against the drow...and as I continue to do. Seek me out if you find the right path.” He does not wait for the spellblade’s response, but simply stands to make his leave. Just as the vampire reaches the precipice of the doorway, the same loose-tongued server as before offers a whisper to his nearby colleague. “Protect the drow? He probably couldn’t protect a pixie…” Even Mesdoram grimaces. In an instant, the Harbinger pivots and is hurling his fist through the air. Within his clenched fingers precipitates the chaos glaive, Nyx, from seemingly nothing. At the apex of his thrust the moonblade is released from his grasp and it rips through the tavern air towards the snark-mouthed drow. The razor tip of the javelin carves clean through its target’s cheek, severing his lower jaw and tongue from his face. Just as the spear is closing in on the bartender’s belly who was unfortunately standing behind the foolish man, Vexar snaps his fingers and Nyx dissipates as abruptly as she appeared. The maimed waiter gurgles and gasps in horror and pain as the remaining tavern inhabitants slowly turn their gaze from Vampire to victim. Nyx rematerializes at Vexar’s side, the crescent blade now dripping sinew and blood into a gruesome pool at his feet. For a brief moment, his brilliant emerald eyes flash deep crimson, and the Harbinger turns back to continue his egress into the night.