RP:Assembly Upon Delivery Required

Part of the Surface Tension Arc

Synopsis: Gevurah decides to personally deliver the stitched horror Latulepi, whom she encountered wandering the Underdark, to her creator Larewen in order to gain better footing when negotiating Larewen's participation in the war against the elves. Latulepi lost some body parts along the way, but nothing Larewen can't fix.

Mage's Tower

Gevurah, a D'Artes rogue, and Latulepi cross the Xalious mountains from the drow embassy to the mage's tower in pursuit of Larewen, a member of the necromancer's guild and the creatore of Latulepi. The drow priestess carries at least Latulepi's left arm, but it is possible that more appendages or eyes have fallen off the stitched horror during the long travel from the tunnels beneath the abyssal forest of Vailkrin to Xalious. Although Gevurah rides a giant spider and the rogue and Latulepi each mount a lizard, the trek has been slow thanks to Latulepi's infant-like clumsiness and need for constant tactile entertainment. But they made it at long last, and the D'Artes daughter requests an audience with Larewen. The trio wait impatiently in the Mage Tower's foyer. It's truly unbelievable that this is what Gevurah has dedicated her day to in these trying times. There must be some ulterior motive -- and there is -- but all the same, the priestess is visibly annoyed.

Larewen was, in fact, within the confines of the tower as opposed to her usual haunt: The Hanging Corpse. Though she was rather fond of her creation, the elf felt there was plenty of room for improvement in all areas of her ability. So it was that she lounged comfortably, pouring over tomes of arcane script, when the summons came. Arching a brow, the elf closed the book and magicked it back to where it belonged upon a shelf before rising to her feet and descending the tower toward its foyer. What her eyes beheld moments later was, most definitely, not what she expected. Behind that ebon veil, her lips pressed together and her eyes belied bewilderment. "You," she said in lack of greeting to the dark elf priestess, recognizing her from their brief passing before. Then, she noticed the arm, a few digits, and one familiar, dead, drow eye. The rogue was hardly even acknowledged as the necromancer's gaze fell directly to Latulepi. A tensing of her jaw in anger-tinged vexation followed as she asked, with as careful a tone as she could muster, "What's this?" Why was Latulepi in pieces, is what she meant, but it seemed the elf did not allow her concern to reach her voice.

Latulepi sits atop the giant lizard, bobbing and swaying with its gait until it stops as she grips tightly the rock the High Priestess' guard gave her with the bony pinky finger and thumb of her remaining arm (the one on the right). Unlike the most of the trip, the preteenage looking undead no longer focuses on the large stone, vacant sight set on the mage's tower. Sight, not sights, as it would appear that her awkward, side-staring eye fell out sometime between the official start of their treck and now--a few additional telltale scrapes stuck with pebbles, pieces of twigs, and dirt, marring the flesh of her arms, legs and face might imply what exactly occurred. Even with the damage, however, Latulepi is unphased and perhaps more focused than prior upon their arrival. The sole remaining decay hued drow eye slides to and fro with what could possibly be eager searching and anticipation despite the girl's lack of emotional expression. Once the vampiress makes her appearance, the reanimated girl's reasons for the expectant searching become clear. Latulepi drops the rock and leans sideways to make herself dismount (or fall more accurately) off the large reptile, then, after a certain struggle due to the absence of a whole arm and a few necessary fingers the uncorpse quickly and clumsily totters for Larewen.

"Yours, I believe," Gevurah replies. A hint of irritation colors her voice, but her face makes a genuine effort to appear civil, even amicable. Gevurah's resting face resembles a scowl, and thus her attempt to appear friendly is unnerving at best. She tucks Latulepi's various bodyparts against her abdomen as she dismounts Halbyrn, her giant spider. "I found it wandering the Underdark. Surely it would have provided a tasty snack for a deep beast. Some down there are known to eat undead flesh. Here." The priestess hands over a handkerchief full of Latulepi bits and bobs. The cloth feels expensive and the name D'Artes is embroidered upon it. "Last we met I did not introduce myself. I am Gevurah D'Artes." She waits to see if the name rings a bell, but she doubts it. Sure, she shares it with the Mage's Guild archmage, but Gevurah has faith in two things: Vakmatharas, and the ignorance of surface dwellers.

Those dark eyes remained fixed upon Latulepi, still taking in the parts that had fallen off. As the corpse stumbled from the lizard, it took every bit of self control to keep from approaching her. Yes, Larewen viewed the abomination very much in the way a mother might a child, just as she saw the wraith that she'd taken under her protrection. As a woman who no longer lived, whose womb could no longer bear children, it was not such a far cry from surrogacy - though it was certainly a twisted and demented form of it. The gloved fingers of one of her hands extended toward the tottering corpse as it approached her, Gevurah's words drawing the elf's attention back toward her. Beneath the ebon mesh of her veil, Larewen's features showed no signs of distaste for the drow, despite her past life as enemies of Gevurah's ilk. "It seems she's drawn toward home, when she gets away from me," Larewen remarked casually, her tone reflecting curiosity at the stitched corpse's behavior. Her dark eyes fell briefly to Latulepi. "You ought to be careful, little one." It was a chiding remark before Gevurah's introduction was made. "D'Artes," she echoed, this time studying the dark elf's features a bit more closely. The name ringed a familiar bell, and not simply because it was shared with the archmage. Larewen's lips curled upward faintly at the edges, "I recall a Keter D'Artes once, a long time ago. But little more than the name remains." Larewen liked to think that she was not as ignorant as her loathesome kin, for she shared no more love of them than the drow did.

Latulepi reaches for Larewen's hand as if it were a matter of life or death, and holds onto it with that remaining thumb and pinky as best as she could, since her other option had been cut free from her shoulder and now rests within the drowess' kerchief. The preteenage corpse tilts up her chin to view the pale visage of the necromancer with that single eye; the other is now nothing but a fleshy hole with a few wisps of dry, loose strips that once held the other ocular organ in place. It is not until Gevurah walks toward Larewen, that the girl's singular gaze swipes toward the drow.. then lowers to the gathering of parts the woman offers. "Caref..ul." The corpse's words state hoarsely in a likely mimic of the vampire's own. As the two speak, the girl simply stares back at Gevurah. However, unlike previous distant stares, there comes a more focused intensity in that singe dead eye. Every other movement or detail is ignored by it, and only the High Priestess' face receives such a steady, dead gaze.

Gevurah tries to ignore the impression of mother-daughter attachment from these two. Displays of such bonds make this drow uncomfortable. Her papa didn't hug her enough before he went crazy and off'd himself. As Larewen discloses what she knows of the name D'Artes, Gevurah scowls in disgust. "Is that all you know? No wonder the surface is so easy to conquer." Easy is a bit of an overstatement, but where she lacks tender, love and care she has arrogance aplenty. "Much more than the name remains. He left behind the most powerful house in all of Trist'oth, currently ruled by Archmage Tiphareth D'Artes." She stresses the surname patronizingly. "And not to mention a daughter." Her lips purse curtly, eyes sweeping over Larewen as if to say 'you're looking at her.' "Among other spawns." Her siblings. The only one she liked is dead, and the rest she doesn't care for. She tosses Latulepi an unconcerned glance before taking a deep breath and starting over with Larewen. "But I came here to discuss something else. That requires some skill." She nods towards Latulepi as she utters 'that.'

Larewen's features belied amusement at Gevurah's need to inform her of what remained of D'Artes, of the power it gained. These were not things that she was ignorant to, though she'd made no mention of them when she mentioned Keter's name. How could she be, as one who thoroughly enjoyed knowledge? Better yet, she was a member of the Mage's Guild, and certainly well aware of who Tiphareth was. "Yes, I can see that," she replied coolly enough as she received that telltale look from the priestess. Her head tilted to the side and she finally took the Latulepi parts from the drow. They'd have to be reattached, but for the moment it could wait. As of yet, she'd not provided her own identity to Gevurah, though Latulepi must have voiced enough for the D'Artes elf to find her. "Is that so?" she queried, a hand raising to open a pocket into an unseen world. The air between the two differing elves shimmered as Larewen deposited the bits and pieces into another dimension. A blink later and it was sealed. "And what would that be, Gevurah?"

Still unrelenting, Latulepi's lifeless brown remains locked on Gevurah. An unblinking, depthless, stare focused on a solely on the drowess' eyes as she spoke. The delivery of the dead youth's detached parts, and the opening and closing of the pocket into another dimension do not draw it away. As of yet, nothing does. The corpse falls into a statuesque stillness, enough so that once Larewen releases her hold to deposit her pieces into the other-dimensional pocket, the girl's hand is still in the exact same position the woman had left it. Further that unshifting eye would sharpen and deepen its pinpoint aim with no change, not even a twitch of her static features, until it almost seems to peer through and into the High Priestess. Even the fleshy hole of eyeful-once-was, a great contrast to its neighbor, aids in such an empty, but intense gaze with the dark of its pit becoming as stark as an abyss at the center of a desert of decay. A window of a single side and no way to look in, yet you know whoever lies on the other end is observing your every movement. Very closely.

Gevurah takes a deep breath to keep her temper in control. The trek here was aggravating, speaking with ancient creatures is always aggravating (and she seems destined to speak to far too many of them), and Latulepi's constant starting is, you guessed it, aggravating. She forces a thin, empty smile. "I am sure you know of the war between the elves and drow. It's hard to miss. I would like to count you amongst our allies. Indeed, the match is natural, considering Patron Tiphareth and Daath D'Jiv'unus interests in both the war and the mage's and necromancer's guilds. Involvement in both could reap rewards for you." Her glances skips towards Latulepi. The drowess's smile falters. Without looking at Larewen she asks, "Did its brain just die?"

Larewen's gaze was not upon the aggravated drow priestess that stood before her, requesting an alliance, but rather on the stitched corpse that she'd given life, or rather, a semblance of it, to. An upward twitch of the corner of the elf's lips belied amusement, though it was hard to tell whether such an emotion was directed at Gevurah or Latulepi. More than likely, it was both. Slowly, dark brown eyes swept back to the dark elf, lids closing halfway as she peered at the woman. A roll of her bare shoulder followed. "Ironic, to ask an elf to fight against her own kind, don't you think?" came her bemused reply. Her chin raised and a smile danced its way across those pale tiers of flesh. The brief flash of pearlescent fang that accompanied it could not be wished. "You are correct though. I don't imagine there's much to reap should I fight againt both of my headmasters, is there?" Perhaps admitting the drowess was right was the elf's half-hearted attempt to placate Gevurah's aggravation. "I've no more love for the elves than you do. They're simply too..." she trailed off, a gloved finger raising to tap her lower lip. Whatever she was going to say was lost in that moment, especially when Latulepi's frozen state was mentioned. No concern wrought itself upon the necromancer's features as she reached out, gloved fingers seeking to curl around the nape of the undead drow's neck. A strange, verdant darkness spread from her fingertips along the other's skin, exploring every aspect of the creature's reanimation. "No, I think she's just being rather strange. Adorable though, isn't she? A macabre silhouette of living children."

Those gloved fingers would find no obstacle in their aim to curl around the nape of the corpse child's neck. Latulepi remains steadily still, although the contact drew up finger and thumb to hook gently around her master's forearm as the stitched horror holds Gevurah in her line of sight. "..d..iiie.." The girl seems to parrot after both women had spoken. The flow of ominous verdant darkness flowing within and without is met with an almost endless stirring of the similar arcane that draws toward the source of the new flow in a strong, agitated surge of force, yet the moment the necromancer's explorative magic is collided with, this restless energy slows and calms---much like Latulepi's gaze. The thrust of empty, but blade sharp and hyper focused staring eases and softens in its intensity following suit of the necromantic magic inside of her. Slowly. Gradually. Until finally, the girl guides her focus away from the drowess, and lifts those dead eyes to Larewen again. The stillness that steadied her melts into loose, more fluid and potentially ungraceful movement once more as she tries to move closer to Larewen, with no attempt to wry free the hand that clasps her neck.

"You smell and look as if you stopped being one of their kind long ago." The drow's smile suggests this is a compliment. A pleased nod accepts Larewen's alliance at face value, and when the necromancer trails off on just what is wrong with those damn elves anyway, the high priestess can fill in the blanks herself. Her list of elf flaws is quite extensive. Then Latulepi's demeanor shifts subtly from stupefied to hostile, and Gevurah tenses alertly. She glances at Larewen over thin, humorless lips, waiting for the necromancer to call off her pet. In the end, it's a false alarm, and the High Priestess visibly relaxes. "Still new to its powers, I presume." She flashes her teeth then begins to step away, still facing the vampire politely. "I must go. I am glad to count you among our allies and will be in touch." Not acknowledging Latulepi as a person, but rather as an objective in Larewen's possession, Gevurah feels no need to excuse herself from the stitched horror's company.

There was no suppressing the grin that crept across the elf's pale lips at the dark elf's compliment, for it was every bit the truth. There were few things of her past that Larewen actually cared for. No, no there wasn't. To Larewen, her past no longer meant anything and her time spent in the world of the living felt as if it had been wasted, if anything else. Latulepi's hatred and distaste for the priestess was felt as if the stitched corpse were screaming audibly in her ear, though it was a communication conveyed silently through the eldritch magic that explored the inner workings of the undead abomination. The creature's attempt to draw nearer to Larewen was welcomed as her hand slipped from Latulepi's nape to curl around her shoulders. The girl was pulled into a motherly embrace as Larewen dipped her head toward Gevurah. "She is a work in progress, yes," the necromancer admitted quietly. To the dark elf's farewell, her chin raised. "Very well."

Latulepi keeps focus on her master as she is cradled close. Her absent stare, however, is comparatively far less intense over the necromancer than it was over the priestess. Leaning her head against Larewen's stomach, the corpse lifts her single arm and touches the fabric of her elven creator's clothing with pinky and thumb whilst her eye still maintains an ascended peer. Her mouth opens gradually again, the thin skin of what is left of her lips twitching and shifting just before they close then open minutely once more, yet not a single consonant nor vowel scrapes forth. Pale grey digits then seek the vampiress' side to return Larewen's maternally affectionate gesture. Only briefly does the preteenage undead slip a subtle, side-glance back to Gevurah, but this would occur just a few beats after the woman has turned to leave.