RP:Cabin Fever 3:"Trist'oth, how bad could it be?"

Part of the Lies Within Us Arc

This is a Mage's Guild RP.

Summary: Your two favorite definitely-platonic roommates and their impeccably timed friend Kasyr go on a delightful day-trip to Trist'oth to meet Matron Gevurah and offer their services in fixing Vakmathras' shattered statue.

The Refurbished Cabin, Frostmaw

Iintahquohae , thanks as always to Pinquettki, returns to the cabin from Cenril. Sliding off of the couatl's back once she flew low the ground, the seamstress lands with a muffled thud in the snow, shouldering a bag with some of her sewing supplies in it. Wiping the back of her ungloved hand against her mouth while she stands upright, then fusses with wiping snowflakes from her knees and adjusts the circlet sitting on her head. It's become part of her regular wardrobe now, it seems. She strides to the cabin's door, knocking her boots against the door frame to shake snow away before entering. A shout of “I'm home, Odhie!” is considered, but Iintahquohae stops herself from doing so. Instead as she enters, her footfalls abruptly halt at the sight of new items in their shared space. The violin cases capture her attention first. Curious, she approaches them, but doesn't reach to touch them. The terramancer mentioned he played, but when did these get here? Or the crate, she notices near the armchairs. Maybe he went shopping or traveled back to Xalious to get more of his stuff. Travel to Cenril, even by flight, did take a bit of time. She grinned. It felt cozier. “I could have helped you bring these things up,” Iintahquohae says out loud, by way of greeting. She turns, casting a glance about the cabin to locate Odhranos.“It's the least I could do with you staying here!”

Odhranos wakes with a start from his armchair at the sound of Inks' kicking the doorframe. Is that another person knocking? Sven above, is tonight visitation night in Frostmaw or something? The terramancer is about to get out of the chair and investigate when the door opens and he hears Inks entering. Thank the gods, no one unexpected. No one else at least. Odhranos sinks back into his chair, still half drowzy from his snooze and when Inks. "G'mornin. Or issit still evening?" He mumbles sleepily, wiping his eyes as he stretches, lifting his arms up over the high back of the armchair, revealing his position. He wobbles to his feet, clutching his blanket in one hand as he covers his yawning mouth with the other. When Inks comments on the crate of belongings, Odhranos shakes his head sleepily. "Wasn't me, Karasu stopped by with them. She brought them from my office in Xalious. Really kind of her, I wasn't expecting to see some of these again. She even brought my violins! Take a look at this!" Odhranos tosses the blanket back onto the chair and waves Inks over to take a look at one of the cases, which he begins unlatching.

Iintahquohae sets her bag down on the floor near the table when she hears the terramancer, and turns to greet him. “Oh, I didn't mean to wake yo-” Odhranos' words make her freeze. Karasu was here? Who it was didn't particularly matter, but the fact that someone else was here without her knowledge does matter. Her thoughts go in a hundred different, likely irrational directions while her eyes dart around the room to her books, her journals, her weaving loom, the spinning wheel, everything. Was anything touched? Did anything look out of place? Her head slowly turns to follow Odhranos when he gets up, wanting to join in with his cheery mood but finding that she can't right away. She is unknowingly clenching her fists, an expression writ across her face that crosses between worry and anger. “When was she here? Did anybody else come with her? How long did she stay? Did you know she was coming? ...Did she touch anything? Take anything?” The flurry of voiced questions felt very much not normal for her, as she usually took practically anything in stride. “I...I'm not fond of people just...showing up here with out my permission. This place is supposed to be a secret.”

Odhranos has opened the lid of the violin halfway, and is turning with a smile to explain to Inks the particular history of this instrument, when he is suddenly bombarded with a veritable barrage of questions, peppering his still sleepy mind with confusion and bewilderment. "I-she-wha?" Odhranos has never seen such sudden and violent emotion from the seamstress, even during the fraught meeting with the rest of the Guild that ended up with her stepping out, she didn't display such an outburst. "She...was here earlier. I don't know the time, I wasn't keeping track. She left long enough ago that I had time to fall asleep again waiting up for you." Odhranos' eyebrows raise concernedly as he closes the violin case again, standing to face his cabin-mate. "She tracked me down, somehow, she's always had a way, ever since she was a kitten. I had told Val in my letter to leave Karasu in charge of my belongings, but I didn't expect her to turn up here with them." The terramancer raises his hands, turning his palms towards Inks in a show of peace. "She only had a cup of tea and left, wasn't even around long enough for more than a short conversation. Nothing was taken or disturbed, she was barely here at all."

Iintahquohae 's feelings are still a mixture of worry and anger, but now toss in a bit of embarrassment, as she is aware of how paranoid she sounds. The anger flares just a bit. She had tea? Out of her cup? ...Cups can be washed, she reminds herself. Getting angry over a cup is very, very stupid. But now someone else, potentially someone who didn't trust her even though she attempted to apologize, knows where she lives. What if there's retaliation from the whole incident with the library? What if Karasu tells others where she lives? She'd have to instruct Pin to keep an eye on the place, Iintahquohae assumes. Maybe cart up a few of the shop's animated mannequins to spook people off here. Exhaling a breath, she offers an apologetic look to Odhranos. Outbursts were a rarity, and the seamstress didn't enjoy behaving like this. Mother definitely wouldn't approve. Her expression softens further upon the realization that he waited for her.“I'm sorry for being like this. I don't like people being here without my knowledge or invitation.” Realizing her wording sounded incredibly territorial and internally jealous that another woman was here, she adds, omitting the jealousy bit, “I don't want you to feel like you can't do what you want here, Odhranos. I'd just like to be aware if someone is coming, so I can...” Prepare, she guesses. The seamstress shrugs. “I don't know. I chose to rebuild this place out of nostalgia and due to how isolated it is. I'd like to keep it that way.”

Kasyr takes this moment to knock twice at the door, brush the snow out of his hair- and then stride right into the cabin. Frankly, if there was clothes in disarray, it meant they'd at least gotten enough time to throw a blanket over themselves. Not that it was the most likely outcome, but it was always best to cover your bases and provide some plausible deniability. "On y Va! Which es to say- I've gotten my preperations underway, so after a bit of warming up, I'd say we can vent- er." The empath just finds himself glancing at the people present with a distinctly awkward look. Whilst he missed the context, he had the distinct idea that he'd intruded onto something personal. Only compounded by the very faint whisper of guilt for the fact that the Kensai was rather knowingly directing Odhranos into something for 'the greater good', despite the mages wellbeing. "-'hem. Adventure. Et such. The underdark. I'm a little late, aren't I?" Whether or not it's a vain attempt at recovering some degree of momentum, he's got to try.

Odhranos is understandably a bit worried. Tends to happen when your usually-soft-spoken and kindly vampire roommate suddenly becomes antsy and ticked-off. Odh suddenly has visions of some of the delights he'd seen in Vailkrin many years back and he takes an involuntary step backwards. Once Inks' relents and apologises for her reaction, Odh follows suit, dropping his hands and letting out the breath he was unaware he'd been holding on to. "I... no, I'm sorry also; had I known that Karasu would be coming, I could have at least warned Val in advance. That was my oversight, and I apologize. I'll-" Just at that moment, Kasyr bursts in and though Odhranos isn't a violent man, oooh, Xalious stay his hand, he'd like to give the Kensai a smack right now. His timing is just excruciatingly unfortunate. The feeling passes and Odhranos shakes his head to clear the cobwebs. "Right, yes, The Underdark. Give us a minute, Kas, we'll probably need to pack some things." Odhranos sets about gathering together the essentials, unconsciously gathering some belongings of and for Inks while he's at it. Monsieur Odhranos, you have become far too comfortable with toting the word "we" lately. "Inks? Want your snow boots or your walking boots?" Is called down from the loft after the mage goes hunting up there. Sven above, if he hadn't been doing a good job of convincing Kasyr there was nothing untoward going on before, he sure as hell isn't doing any convincing right now. Several minutes pass and the terramancer climbs down from the loft with two duffel bags slung over one shoulder, while Serok's cage is held under the other arm. "I think that's everything, I’ve got the travel essentials. Anything else you want to bring, Inks?" Gods dammit, Odh.

Iintahquohae feels like she could just deflate when Odhranos steps back. No. This is absolutely not what she intended. At first she thinks it's because she raised her voice at him, but then it hits her. They're alone. In the cabin she was -sired- in, and she's upset. Internally yelling at herself accompanied by a bit of hissing, bemused laughter from a certain serpent, she reaches a hand out. “Wait, no - I ate earlier. I'm not going t-” The knock at the door gives her pause and she visibly stiffens, despite knowing who was about to enter. Kasyr's arrival is simultaneously appreciated and frustrating, as the tension seems to have dissolved between she and the terramancer, but his arrival after her complaing about uninvited guests likely made her appear very hypocritical. The Kensai gets a free pass, since he's her sire. Besides, he knew of the cabin's existence before she did. “Hey Kas,” she greets with a wry smile. “Underdark! Right. Let's get going.” As she turns to gather some of her things, she realizes Odhranos has beaten her to the punch. ...And said we. She flushes, pointedly avoids Kasyr's face, and replies,” Walking boots are good, Odh.” She pats down the pockets of her jacket, ensuring she had the pair of glowing stones she liked to keep with her due to her shoddy magical capabilities. Remembering a previous time she had traveled with Kasyr, along with Riss and Sato, she moves to the door and pulls a coiled length of rope off of the hooks next to it. She was human then and couldn't jump up or down very far without breaking a leg, but it still made climbing easier. “...Maybe this also?” She slung it over her shoulder, then reached to take her bag from Odhranos so he would have less to carry. “I think I'm ready.”

Kasyr is, thankfully, not the only one offbalance, and that makes getting back into the swing of things a lot easier. "Might want to pack a few sets of clothes, too- There es always the chance that it won't be a simple fix. Plus, cave exploration warrants a bit more preperation." With that bit of sage advice, he finds himself reaching into his coat, and plucking out a cigarette- haphazardly setting it to balance at the corner of his mouth. "Either of you need a smoke?" There might have been just a threadbare smirk aimed at Inks when she flushed- though he is the picture of cherubic innocence should she actually take a proper look at him. "That aside- I was actually curious about something. I seem to recall that Terramancers have the means of quickly traveling through the earth- et right now, I'm wondering if that might prove to be a bit more efficient as far as getting around. Avoids a whole lot of snow drifts et biting cold winds." The Kensai pauses for a moment, before carefully adding, "If it'd be a bit draining, do let moi know. I do have a solution that might help." Because, frankly- the Kensai is subverting the Syndicate, if only because of his own brief paranoia that some of the guards may become subverted. Redirecting Odh somewhere where he's under the Kensais more or less diligent surveillance seems like the safer route, right?

Odhranos passes one bag across to Inks and settles the other on his shoulder. "I've packed enough for two nights, if we need more than that, we can either try find a place to wash them, or stay crusty." The terramancer gets a gleeful grin in his eye. "You're both lucky you missed out on my hermit years, baths were a bi-annual luxury, and my stench was usually enough to ward animals off. Could probably have passed for a big fermin in a dark enough corridor." With that lovely image, Odh presents himself, ready for travelling. "That's not a bad suggestion. But you do know how deep Trist'oth is, right?" Odhranos raises an eyebrow, sometimes people are a bit hazy on their underground geography and the scale of distances involved. "It's at least a day's travel, directly down. At top speed, I managed it in half a day, but trust me, going top speed with guests would be… tricky, uncomfortable, and potentially fatal." Odhranos grimaces, imagining something that perhaps would be best off not sharing. "But it is the fastest way to go. Just, expect us to be taking a nap-break halfway down. You won't want me doing this while sleepy. Trust me." With that, Odhranos moves towards the door. "Oh, one more thing." He turns back to face the pair, and smiles sheepishly. "Neither of you are claustrophobic, right?"

Iintahquohae would have tried to yank the cigarette Kasyr took out from him if it weren't for her efforts to try keeping herself composed. That composure fails a bit when Odhranos describes his previous living conditions. “Well, if you're going to be a hermit with me here, you're bathing,” she says, snorting. “I'll bathe you myself if I have to.” Almost instantly, she wants to call back the words, but hopes that with Kasyr's suggestion of digging to Trist'oth will be enough to let her words be forgotten. The dangers Odhranos pointed out were worrisome, but not for her sake. He and Kasyr were humans, and that was what worried her. What if one of them fell and hurt themselves? She could carry both of them to safety, she knew. ...Probably not at once, but she'd carried both of them individually in the past. “I have no problem with cramped spaces. ...Just try not to scrape yourselves up too much, either of you. Or Kas, do what you must to keep me in line. Besides, I imagine dropping into Trist'oth is more dangerous than being trapped in a hole in the ground with a vampire.” The end is said partially as a joke, hopefully to lighten her concerns regarding potential bloodlust. “Let's go.”

Kasyr raises an eyebrow at Inks when she decides to assert herself, and proceeds to wordlessly produce a cigarette from nowhere in particular, and extend it out towards her. He's definitely grinning there, too- though, he does an excellent job of once more adopting a professional look when he turns to look at the Terramancer, "Well, Just as long as you burrow out enough space for us that we're not packed like sardines when we take a break. But as far as help goes, I figured it wouldn't do to have you arriving exhausted, so I figured I'd see if you could pull on the reserves of magic I have. It's not without precedent, though I'll admit, it's been a while since I tried. I'll just need contact with you, et a few moments to try and concentrate." Nothing like estabilishing an empathic circuit with someone, and then using it as a conduit to essentially extend your reserves into someone else. Kasyr just has to avoid thinking too hard on what's the worse that can happen, because it's been a few years since he's last tried- and quite frankly, he's had the time to read the literature on some of the -less- pleasent outcomes of overloading someone. Plus, there's his fledgelings concerns to address, "I'll do my best to mind you, enfin- But I don't think I'll need to." The seamstress is given a glance, as though the swordsman was searching for some hint of hunger or ferality, before shrugging, "So, with all that said. Lead the way."

Odhranos looks back over his shoulder at Inks with a face that expresses something along the lines of "You'll do whatnow?!" Dispelling that thought before it reaches its logical conclusion, Odhranos crouches to pull on his boots, then opens the door of the cabin and steps out into the cold. Stumbling as a rogue gust sweeps him sideways, he rights himself and strides out into the snowdrift that surrounds the cabin, stopping about five paces into the snow. "Stand back until I give the go ahead." Odhranos widens his stance in the snow, and rolls his shoulders. Hopefully he's not out of practice. He limbers himself up as if preparing for some gymnastic display, then he holds his hands out, facing his palms down towards the ground. Crouching low, his knees buried in the snowdrift, Odhranos presses his palms into the snow, seeking out the cold hardened earth beneath the ever present later of permafrost. A slight twinge at the back of his mind causes him to pause for a moment, but it passes and he refocuses in the task. Beneath the permafrost, a large boulder resides, that has likely remained there undisturbed for decades, if not centuries. Unfortunately, it is just the right size for usage as a breaching tool. Odhranos forms a fist and raps his knuckles against the frozen dirt and with a deep bassy crack that seemingly echoes from the ground itself, the large rock splits neatly into three segments. Pulling these segments apart, Odhranos lines them up for breaching. "Clear the area!" He calls, before ripping his hands free of the snow, surging to his feet. As if in response, three colossal shards of rock burst from the ground around him with the titanic crunching noise of a pick digging into ice, but magnified tenfold. Odhranos stands at the midst of this new ring of standing stones, which then begin slowly rotating around him, like the fins of circling sharks, breaking a hole through the permafrost, which is smashed into handy chunks and floated aside by the terramancer. What is left is a bare circle of churned dirt, which Odhranos now steps out of. Two hands are raised over his head, flattened like blades, before being thrown downwards. With a rumbling growl, the dirt caves downwards, compacting sideways to form a deep pit, which Odhranos now swings S'erok's cage out over, and begins pouring a fountain of sand into. The cage spits forth a veritable torrent of sand, and soon the pit is filled to the brim with loose, dry sand. As a final touch, Odhranos draws another mass of sand from the cage, solidifying it into a dense circular disk, which is places atop the sand. Odhranos hops daintily onto this disk, and sits cross-legged, offering the remaining space on the 6-foot radius disk to Kasyr and Inks. "Care to come aboard?"

Iintahquohae catches what Kasyr's implying with the offered cigarette, and her mouth goes slack as her eyes bounce between him and the terramancer. Her head shakes and she mouths, “Don't. You. Dare.” It probably isn't subtle, but she doesn't take the time to look and instead follows Odhranos out the door, shouldering her bag and rope. She hangs back a bit, mostly to look at the door while considering doing some research on how to magically lock the cabin up during long absences. The sound of a crack puts her attention back to Odhranos, and she's glad she stayed back now. The disturbance of what is essentially her front yard doesn't bother her. The dryad or simply the weather could just cover it back up with snow. Besides, seeing that dirt actually existed underneath all of that snow is surprising. She remains frozen until the terramancer has finished, eyes taking in his creation with wonder. “He's incredible,” the seamstress murmurs to Kasyr. Maybe one day she could pull off something as powerful as this whenever she gets a handle on using magic. At Odhranos' word, she cautiously watches on the disk, setting her bag down upon it and taking a cross-legged seat in front of it so it acts as a backrest of sorts. “This is incredible. Is this going to function like a sled?” she asks, patting her palm against the disk.

Kasyr up a whistle of appreciation once the terramantic display begins- not only because of the sense of spectacle, but also due to the way the Kensai almost immediately begins to work towards ways that it coule be rather efficiently weaponized on a number of levels. Whether it was for the rapid creation of trenches or pit traps, or even just the more visceral use as anti-infantry, there's distinct uses. Albeit ones tempered by the Kensai's growing familiarity with the Terramancers dislike for mayhem. In any case, the final product and the space afforded to them is certainly a bit more than he'd expected- and so the Kensai proceeds to settle himself down in a spot somewhere off to Odh's left, albeit partially splayed on the ground. No reason not to get comfortable. "I think- if I'm right, this es going to function more like when I pancaked portions of Vailkrins castle down on top of each other- but probably more elegantly." There's a glance over towards the Terramancer, before the Kensai adds, "....Right? I think I'll actually need to brace if we're taking a sled off a mountain to save some digging time."

Odhranos shuffles around to give more room for his two companions as they join him on the disk. "It's less so much like a sled, and more like a boat. See, as I split the earth apart beneath us, the loose sand fills up the gaps and… you know what, you'll just find out." A cheeky wink is levelled at Inks while the terramancer raises his hands into the air, then drops them down flat against the disk. Around them, the three breaching spurs of the once-boulder disappear into the ground again, crashing together beneath the sand to form a solid wedge. Odhranos takes a deep breath, then pushes downwards. The breaching wedge meets the resistance of the earth, then defeats it, splitting it apart and beginning its slow descent into the ground. As the space opens up beneath the mass of dry sand, it falls to fill the gaps, almost acting fluid-like in its behaviour. True to what he said, the solid disk remains on the surface of this sandy reservoir, floating level as the loose sand dampens the roughness of the descent and making what would otherwise be a brutal descent into the depths of the earth a relatively relaxing experience. Relatively. "For reference, when I mentioned earlier about going to Trist'oth full speed, it was with the same method as this, but without sand, disk or breaching wedge. I pulled the earth apart manually, and had to do it fast enough to maintain a free fall the whole way. Trust me, it's pants-wettingly scary." Odhranos grins in the dimming light, then looks upwards to the slowly receeding circle of starlight above. In a gravelly timbre, deeper than Odhranos' usual time, S'erok peels the mages lips back into a feral grin as he stares up at the sky. "Enjoy your last glimpse of natural light, folks, you won't be seeing it for a while!" With a mischievous cackle, the disk of sky suddenly shrinks to a point as the tunnel's entrance slams closed, sealing the way behind. The only way now, is down.

Iintahquohae cranes her head skyward as Frostmaw's night sky gradually fades from view, reaching into her pocket to retrieve one of the glowing stones tucked away there for light. Uncertain of the terramancer lowering them into the ground or the Kensai actually need the light, she keeps it loosely clasped in a palm during their descent. She felt she needed it, more out of habit than necessity – Prior to being sired and prior to attempting any sort of magical use, the seamstress relied on glowing stones stuffed in lanterns more often than not for light at home since candle light could become hazardous in her family's shop. As the disk the trio sit on seems to slow to a crawl, she pockets the stone. Having been in Trist'oth a few times, but inside a home and its courtyard but never beyond, she only knew stories of what creatures made this dark place home. Light made for an easier target, the seamstress guessed. While standing, she reaches for her bag and Odhranos' bag as well, to start walking toward their intended destination. Before walking directly into a wall, Iintahquohae stops herself, then sheepishly looks from her sire to the terramancer in the darkness. “...How do we get out?” She's probably looking the wrong way as well, which likely makes her look foolish. Great.

Kasyr, given the crux of what the Terramancer had said, finds himself less concerned with their descent into nigh-stygian darkness, and more with catching some quick Z's. It certainly helps to pass a good chunk of the journey. That said, waking up in pitch black while moving is definitely a bit disconcerting- and thus he finds himself leaning on an oft seen but little used bit of fashion- namely, the neon-blue lensed goggles that rest on his head. Whilst they are certainly fashionable, they do have a utilitarian function- as they grant the Kensai the means to perceive their surroundings- which mostly translates to him having a rather good view of Inks near collision with the wall. "...Probably should have prepared more. Well." In any case, her question's a solid one- especially given that the construct they stood upon did represent a good few feet of stone. "Take it away, monsieur. This is your dramatic entrance to make."

Halfway Between Frostmaw and Trist'oth

Odhranos is weary, his head pounding after many hours of prolonged mental strain. The breaching wedge alleviated some of the mental load, simplifying the task of moving a sealed pocket of space through the stone, but Odhranos is out of practice, and the added pressure of having to ensure two other people’s safety doesn’t make it any easier. When the stone slab slows to a halt, Odhranos flops from his cross legged position onto his back, splaying out in a star shape as he closes his eyes. “Get out? Oh, no, we’re not there yet. Halfway. We’re about level with the deepest caves of Craughmoyle now.” Odh rubs his temples, driving away the burgeoning hints of a headache before it can manifest. “I’ll need about a half hour’s break rest, just to ensure I’ll be in a fit state to be useful when we do arrive.” Odh sits up and fishes around in his pockets. “Let’s see...where is...aha!” He produces a small globe, no larger than an apple, which is dimpled with small holes along its polished copper surface. Odh shakes the globe violently, then tosses it up into the air, where it impacts and fixes itself to the pointed roof where the tunnel has been sealing in their wake. Faint green light begins shining out of the globe, and a quiet whistling noise can be heard, before cool air descends to wash over the trio. “Oh, thank Sven” Odhranos sighs, lying back down again. “That helps a lot. Getting fresh air into a chamber this deep is tough, and at the speed we were going with three-” Odh spares a glance towards Inks with an eyebrow raised, “-well, maybe two bodies requiring clean air, our supply was getting thin. We’re blessed Karasu had the sense to bring this little bauble along with my things, or we’d need to take a detour.” Odh points up towards the orb and explains briefly as he yawns. “It’s an air purifier, works like a hundred times its weight worth of trees. Throckmorton tried explaining how it worked to me when I asked for it, but he lost me beyond chlorophyll. Either way, it does the job. We’ll have enough fresh air to get us to Trist’oth.” Odh turns his head to look as Kasyr quizzically. “Speaking of which, what is the plan when we arrive?”

Iintahquohae is well aware of how dumb she looks, but there isn't a way for her to smoothly transition into her movements looking less awkward and probably impatient. She owns it, producing a wry smile when Odhranos provides the space light, and she starts at the appearance of air. She sets the bags back down again, and takes a seat upon hers, crossing one leg over the other. "I don't think I need to breathe. Air's all yours," she replies. She had never really dwelled too much on what being a vampire actually meant, despite being one for years by now. The seamstress just continued on like normal after being sired, just...faster, skipping real food to drink blood instead. Apparently she still breathed out of habit, or went through the motions at least. The terramancer's mention of her not requiring air makes her wonder, and she decides to purposely hold her breath for as long as possible to see what happens. These were things likely new vampires did, Iintahquohae thinks, briefly casting a glance at Kasyr. She'd have to ask later. When he was sired, did he do the same thing? As Odhranos explains the green orb above them, her head tilts. "That's really clever. I wonder how Throckmorton made it," she murmurs, before her eyes settle back on her sire again. "Yeah, what exactly are we doing down there? ...Apart from killing stuff, I mean? The only times that I've visited Trist'oth it was in a house, so I never got a good look at the rest of the place. ...Not that there's much to look at, I assume, with how dark it is down there."

Kasyr is a touch relieved that the journey is only at the midway point- if only because it means he gets to forestall talking to Gevurah for a few more hours. "A plan, you say? Well, there was a working agreement that I return when I have something to fix her statue- so she es not a sitting duck when it comes to one of our -numerous- divine disasters roaming about the land." If this is supposed to be a secret, it's not one the still groggy Kensai is keen about keeping right now. Had he mentioned this in past? "...So, really, we're doing the thing where we show up to her temple like we own the place, because, en fait- she has nowhere else to turn to. " Petty? Kasyr? Never. That said, he rolls over onto his side, and gives the seamstress a look, "Breathing es, en fait, optional- though, I wouldn't recommend trying to inhale water. Gets stuck in your lungs for a while- et the taste es. Well. It can ruin meals." And then he promptly sprawls out onto his back again. Whilst some part of him was curious about the craftmanship behind the item, and whether it followed a similar line of thought, like how the demi-feline had repurposed Lanlan's crystal- it's not a thought he dwells on long. His forte was not artificing, after all. "Try -not- to eat any staff members unless I give you the go ahead." He shouldn't need to say it, but- just to be safe.

Odhranos visibly grimaces at the notion of Gevurah having nowhere else to turn. As a rule, a creature of the Underdark is at its most dangerous when cornered. Drow are likely no different. Not to mention, Odh is still reeling from the trauma of the last time he had to answer the Matron’s call for assistance. “Well… so long as it’s just a patch job on a statue, then hopefully we won’t have much reason to interact with her. In, out, job done, skip the pleasantries.” He stays silent through the topic of vampires and their on-again off-again relationship with breathing, what with being a boring old un-modified human himself. Waterlogged lungs does elicit a shudder. Just Vampire Things, he supposes, vowing all the more to swear off the life of a nightwalker. “That’s fine then, I’ll leave the talking to you, Kas. Right, wake me in about twenty minutes. Or, in whatever feels like twenty minutes. I forgot to bring a timepiece.” With that, Odhranos closes his eyes, and within moments, his breathing has softened and he relaxes against the smooth sandstone, which involuntarily moulds itself to his shoulders and hips, making for a more comfortable resting place.

Iintahquohae, having never met Gevurah but knowing her name from a conversation with Quintessa, is eager to meet the woman. She had never met a drow woman before, but had heard stories. ...Probably really offensive and skewed stories, given they came from her elf mother who was not fond of drow at all, but maybe Mother was wrong. Besides, maybe she could try speaking the terribly broken bits of Drow and the hand signals she had learned from the teacher Daath sent to her to learn in his absence, and maybe bump into the mage himself. “How do we fix up the statue?” she asks Kasyr. And when do we get to hunt terrors in the Underdark, she wants to add, but decides not to. When Odhranos falls asleep, she fidgets on her seat, looking over at Kasyr with a wry smile. “...So we're crammed in here and I ate before you arrived, but...” she pauses to listen to the Kensai's and terramancer's heartbeats, thankful that she doesn't feel hungry yet. “Just....keep me in line,” she asks, reluctantly. “Please. Just shove me down a chasm or something, I guess. I'll climb out.” She falls silent, casting a glance at Odhranos that she tries to hide from her sire by shifting her position on the bag she sits on, and pretending to adjust her hair. She wonders if he's cold and considers pulling off her jacket to drape over him, but remembers they aren't in Frostmaw anymore. Also, Kasyr probably saw her touch her jacket when the thought crossed her mind, and connected some more glaringly obvious dots. That was embarrassing enough.

Kasyr notes the sense of enthusiasm that seems to just exude from Inks, and only finds himself feeling a sense of all pervasive exhaustion. Part of him wants to figure out some form of debriefing- to pre-emptively burst her bubble, about how exciting this was all going to be- but he doesn't even know where to start. Just what is it that has her so palpably thrilled? That was a worrisome thought in itself. "The statue es going to be Odhranos' purview, vraiment. We're more or less there as muscle, et to make sure that Gevurah understands I'm upholding my portion of the ceasefire. Figure it'll also help to pass on a message that I have some of her . . . compatriots resources on hand. "Frankly, depending on how long it takes him to get his work done, we could possibly even split off for a bit- He'd be." He'd be what, Kasyr? Safe. Safe from the threat you still hadn't informed the terramancer of? His teeth click together gently, cutting off the rest of his thoughts- though Inks' concerns provide him an adequate distraction, "Don't worry, I'm here, d'accord? I'll figure things out." And then the quiet overtakes that pocket of space again, the Kensai left to survey the seamstress. The taste of blood truly had left her rattled- and even the sentimentality she harboured didn't quite seem enough to convince her she'd be fine if left to her own devices. ...In a sense, it was reassuring she wasn't that overconfident- though Kasyr did still find himself hoping that Odhranos would awaken soon.

After a little more than an hour, Odh reawakens, groaning and stretching, before he groggily sits up, looking around this strange green-tinged scene that definitely isn't the cabin. "Inks?" Odhranos calls out, looking to his left where, in the loft, the seamstresses bed would be. Instead he finds the reclining form of Kasyr, and after staring balefully at this green cat-eared stranger for a moment or two, he gathers his mental faculties and remembers where he is. "Ah, right. Trist'oth. Ugh." Odhranos' tired bluntness sets the tone as he gets to his feet, yawning. A gargantuan stretch and a few limbs shaken to limber them up, and Odhranos is relatively awake. "Down we go." He mumbles, plonking into a cross-legged position again, before the stone slab begins its slow descent once more.

A number of hours and many kilometres of unlit stone later, and the disc is brought to a halt the second time. "Last stop. Remember not to leave any luggage behind." Odh clambers to his feet, then waves dismissively at one of the stone walls. It grumbles reluctantly, then splits in two, slowly tearing a short corridor, which reveals a faint light at its end, the weak watery light of balefire, that really complements the already unwelcoming atmosphere of the Undercity. Odh shooes Inks and Kas through the corridor, then he stops to reclaim the stone slab and its cushion of sand for his cage, leaving only a large ragged cave behind, which he seals in his wake as he exits the corridor, leaving no mark of his passage. "We'll probably be best off taking the slow way back. Going down is a lot easier than going up. But let's deal with what needs to be done here first." Boundless enthusiasm simply exuding from his voice, Odh shrugs and turns to Kasyr. "Lead the way, Public Enemy Number 1"

Trist'oth

As the time went on while Odh slept, Iintahquohae quietly wished that she had brought along some knitting or small sewing project to pass the time instead of considering starting a hushed conversation with Kasyr, then stopping herself from doing so due to concerns with waking the terramancer. Iintahquohae's heart practically leapt at the sound of her name when Odhranos called it, nearly jumping up with a start at him. Was he okay? Sleeping on a surface like this was probably uncomfortable. Was he cold? The rational side of her brain kicked in. He's just waking up, dolt. It's fine. “I'm here,” she responds, hand lifting in the dim light to wave. She smiles, then looks to her sire again. Don't they both need to eat something or drink something? ...Was Trist'oth food good? She huffed as the slab begins to descend, resting her elbows on her thighs and propping her head in upturned hands while mulling over Kasyr's explanation. It's funny to her, being considered muscle now. “Compatriot's resources?” she eventually asks, head slightly turning to her sire. Her attention refocuses on Odhranos when platform stops, hesitating this time to grab both bags and try to head out. She doesn't stand until an opening is created, but at the presence of little light, she is on her feet, hers and Odhranos' bag straps draped over either shoulder. Seeing Trist'oth for real is a bit of a shock to her, but really she didn't know what to expect apart from a whole lot of darkness and the overwhelming feeling that the trio is being watched. Odhranos' words to Kasyr elicit a smile and a quiet laugh as she begins to follow his lead while asking the terramancer, “Does that make you number two or am I?”

Kasyr is rather famished, in fact, and Inks continued scrutiny and concern elicits a sort of sympathetic response- in that the Kensais stomach begins to growl. Thankfully, Odh was waking up, which meant that Kasyr was more or less free to put the arcane air filter to the test - by virtue of smoking. A bit of extra pep in his step -and- an appetite suppressant, all in one. That should suffice until they can reach a tavern. It also meant that as they proceeded down towards Trist'oth he was fairly quiet, other than to clarify his fledgelings questions and comments occasionally, such as the nature of those resources being, "Research papers." When the platform comes to a final halt, the swordsman steps through the exit that Odhranos provides for them- only to wait for the pair to emerge with their luggage. Really, he's on the verge of making a crack about their choice of vacation spots when he hears a skittering noise- not close enough to be proximal to the city that loomed large before them, but instead somewhere in the darkened passages looming close. "Executive decision, we can figure out the logistics of who ends up enraging Gevurah the most when we get there." Which is to say, Kasyr doesn't have the time nor inclination to investigate those noises- especially given the manner in which it's mirrored by others, and accompanied by the disconcerting sound of something being dragged along. Nope- he's got an agenda to keep, which involves playing tour guide to the trio (mostly Inks, really), and getting them over to the D'artes Estate. "But seriously, please don't eat the staff unless you're invited to."

Izzerin, Gevurah’s chamberlain and most-trusted servant (effectively her chief of staff), greets the foreign guests in the expansive and gothic D’Artes foyer. Stone gargoyles glare down at guests from their perches in the shadows cast by the pale glow of faerie fire, the only light source in the estate. Kasyr may recall that the drow servant is no longer among the living, but a macabre and beautiful undead golem who was murdered then rebuilt (re-fleshed?) by Daath. It was all a natural part of the vicious drow circle of rage and political favors. Izzerin recognizes Kasyr first; he was, after all, a former house guest. The drow bows his head curtly in acknowledgment. “Master Kasyr. Or is it Monsieur?” he asks mockingly. His glowing scarlet gaze shifts towards Odhranos who he recognizes but cannot place. Who again? When? Where? Iintahquohae is appraised lastly, and registers as a complete stranger. Addressing Kasyr, Izzerin says, “Matron Gevurah is not expecting you, and after your last visit, I assure you she has no interest in entertaining surprise visits from you or any mongrels you bring with you. I’ll not disturb her for your sake. Leave.”

Odhranos glances around unhappily. One would think, for a connoisseur of all things subterranean, Odhranos would be delighted, if not fascinated by the drow city, heart of an entire culture, so distant from the sunbaked soils of the overworld. And yet, the brooding gloom of Trist'oth only fills Odhranos with dread, and a small tang of bile. Tugging one of the scarves around his neck upwards, he covers his nose with one hand while the other adjusts S'erok's cage, following in Kasyr's footsteps while keeping his eyes on the scuffed and shadow-dappled dirt between his shoes. As they progress into the city, Odhranos steals occasional glimpses about, frowning distastefully at the sight of the colossal stalagmite that houses Black Armory. No, some memories are best kept buried, Odhranos rules, tearing his eyes away before he gets the urge to reach. After the warm reception that greets them at House D'Artes effectively tells them where they can shove off to, Odhranos steps out from behind Kasyr and bows deeply towards Izzerin. "If you'll grant me a moment, we come offering our unique skills in resolving an issue that besets the Most Esteemed Matron of Trist'oth. If it is not too much trouble, I believe at least a message should be passed on. It will be worth your while." When Odhranos straightens, what greets Izzerin is the visage that he would have spied across the foyer of House D'Artes during the genocide of the Razurath; a polished black stone facemask, cladding the lower face of the terramancer, while pale skin gleams almost like snow in comparison, the very same attire Odhranos wore during the dark day Trist'oth was liberated.

The seamstress's attention is incredibly scattered. She's trying to take in what little she can see in the Underdark, guess at various unfamiliar scents they wander past, and also attempt to be ready for anything that may pounce from the shadow surrounding them. Having never seen House D'Artes properly, apart from a library Daath kept a portal open to for her to visit (read, try not to disturb him and borrow a book or two) and a courtyard, she's eager to see the rest of the place, but also just a bit worried. She did recall Daath telling her when he demanded she become his pupil again essentially to not visit Trist'oth because it's dangerous, yet here she is. ...At his doorstep. Visiting his wife? The naive part of Iintahquohae hoped Gevurah would be friendly, while the part that is largely influenced by her elf mother screams, “Drow bad. Leave now, they're gonna eat you, etc.” The bit influenced by Father and Kasyr, probably, saw this as an opportunity. Drow had spider silk, right? She wanted to get her hands on some for work, and she wanted to try to practice what little Drow she knew. She masks her concern with an expressionless face when they are greeted by Izzerin. Isn't the culture around here that the men are beneath women? Wouldn't the appropriate course of action be for her to do the talking here? ...It's likely a disastrous idea, but maybe it'll be useful. Different kind of muscle than Kas intended, probably. After Izzerin speaks, she clears her throat and tries to cobble together a sentence in very broken Drow. “Forgive me, I do not speak Drow well and they're um...well,” gesturing to Kasyr, then Odhranos, while removing her and the terramancer's bags to shove one in each of their hands. Hopefully they catch what she's trying to do. The next bit is entirely in Common, “Speaking out of turn. I am here to meet the Esteemed Matron of Trist'oth.” Not a lie, thank goodness. She's terrible at that, and she did want to meet Gevurah. She falls back to a broken mix of Drow and Common.“They're here to help. ...They're the help. Repairs that I suspect they owe to the Great Matron?”

“Ah,” Izzerin mouths, but does not vocalize, as he recalls the mask Odhranos wears. That was a terrible but victorious day for Trist’oth. Kasyr and Odhranos were both allies that day. Kasyr may have wasted the social equity that came with being Gevurah’s ally, but Odhranos had not. He’s about to reply to the terramancer when Iintahquohae shoulders her way to the front and claims authority over Kasyr and Odhranos. Izzerin looks at her in befuddlement, then at Odhranos and Kasyr. He knows Kasyr to bow to know one, but perhaps that has changed? Odhranos could be her subordinate in the Mages Guild perhaps? Either way, if they come seeking to do favors for th Matron, perhaps he can pass on a message. “You’ll need to be more specific, miss. What exactly are you here to repair, and who are you?” He generally ignores Kasyr from this point forward, largely out of loyalty to Gevurah. Kasyr did try to kill Gevurah and Lanlan, not that he could have ever succeeded in killing someone as powerful and awesome as the Matron, but the intent is worthy of scorn nonetheless.

“Iintahquohae Oohjmaeyik,” she replies to Izzerin, then scrambles for a hopefully believable lie. It isn't her strong suit, but it'll have to do. An apologetic glance is shot her sire's way. She catches the gesture across his neck, and almost grimaces. He's going to kill her. “...De-facto head of House Azakhaer due to...unfortunate events.” A sign is made with her hands, with the hopes that Kasyr nor Odhranos can understand. “His failure to lead,” it means, she thinks. It's probably more offensive. It's something derogatory toward men, at least, and it's made in reference to Kasyr. “They,” she continues, referring to the men behind her, “are here to repair a statue for the Matron. I am here to present the Esteemed Matron with an opportunity. I am the finest seamstress and jeweler on the surface,” she considers adding, and probably the finest in the Underdark, but doesn't, “and I would like to make something for her.” This is true. Any chance to make clothing for nobility felt like a foot in the door to not necessarily power, but more publicity for her shop, which meant more money. Her tone shifts to the retail voice she uses in her shop. “The few leaders on the surface are...subpar in comparison to the Matron, or so I have heard. I create the best, and I would like to create for the best, if she will permit me.”

Kasyr might be capable of understanding the spoken linguistic nuances of drow, but their sign language is another thing entirely- meaning he's at a loss for the significance of those signs other than the acute mixture of emotions being directed his way by Inks as she's making them. Still, there -is- at least an upswing to the lie she choose to go with, if only because there is a truism there, "I'm fairly certain everyone es aware of my lack of vampirism at this point. Talking around that es . . ." This probably ends up being even less flattering considering the drow gang symbols she's making, but, hey. It's fine. Given that Izzerin seems more intent on the other two than himself, this leaves the Kensai free to begin milling about the room, while the seamstress sets up- "..." On one hand, he can certainly understand Iintahquohae's enterprising spirit. On the other hand, world saving business comes first. "Calice." He's almost hoping someone -does- try and get into the matron's good graces by trying to murder him. He needs the excuse, and the outlet.

Temple of Endless Death

Izzerin knows enough to piece together that Iintahquohae is referring to THE statue, and appreciates her discretion in not elaborating on its significance. In a rare turn for the undead drow, he is genuinely charmed by Iintahquohae’s sincere flattery of his matron. Yes, he absolutely agrees that no leader on the surface compares to Gevurah, who is (objectively speaking) the best. Izzerin nods several times to Iintahquohae’s small sermon on the greatness of Gevurah like a parishioner at church. He’s grinning by the end of it, hallelulajah. “One moment. I will relay your message, Ms. Oohjmaeyik.” He mispronounces the name, but only a little and not at all intentionally. He leaves the visitors in the foyer with four guardsmen, and returns seven minutes later. “The Matron will see you, but she is presently not here. She is at the Temple of Endless Death. I will escort you.” He leads them out the front gate and eastbound on the main boulevard. The temple isn’t far, and it commands a significant portion of the city skyline. Its prominent dome is still partially cratered, ever since the Razurath attacked it on that fateful day that destroyed the statue. Several construction beams criss-cross its broken facade and repairs are still in progress. Inside the grand worship room, the now-shattered, ancient wooden totem of Vakmatharas has been gathered into a heap of splinters large and small. Eight guards stand sentry in a circle around the wooden debris to make sure no thief steals away with so much as a fiber. Dozens of drow worshippers kneel on the hard stone floor and pray to their god, facing the direction of the altar where the High Priestess of Vakmatharas, Matron Gevurah stands. She dumps a salamander corpse onto the ground, having just slit its neck and filled a bronze bowl with its blood. Slowly she tosses bits of bone, quartz, and graveyard dirt into the blood and utters a prayer echoed by the dozens of drow. As she peers into the bowl a gray, pale light alights her face. Suddenly her glowing red gaze flits up and across the expansive hall to meet Iintahquohae’s stare. Her attention then shifts to Kasyr then Odhranos who looks nervous. His nerves make her grin a little. She twists sidelong fabric of her robe around her wrist, and fans the excess fabric up across her body. Her body disappears like a scroll furling in on itself and it unscrolls in an instant behind Odhranos, to whom she leans in close and says, “Boo.”

Odhranos dips his head in response to Izzerin's show of recognition, and the black faceplate splits, crawling backwards in small moving shards, parting on either side of his face before disappearing down his collar. He stays silent, turning to Inks in deference, she seems to have a handle on the situation and has captured the chamberlain's attention; at least they're not being dismissed out of hand anymore. In fact, quite the opposite, Inks' display of entrepreneurial enthusiasm has elicited a smile from the ominous looking chief of staff and seems to have sold their pitch. Tailing the group as they approach the Temple of Endless Death, Odhranos pauses to lament the state of the building. Such gorgeous architecture, even if its dedication is debatable. Perhaps if they're looking for some assistance with rebuilding that also ... Odhranos cuts the thought short, he is not volunteering for more work in this sun-forsaken city. The less reason he has to stay, the better. The interior of the temple is regarded with the same dismayed appreciation, and the terramancer's eyes are cast upwards when the Most Eminent Grand Matron herself appears behind him to spook him. True to form, Odhranos flinches, gritting his teeth and drawing in a hissed breath, before he lets it out in a quiet, exasperated sigh. "It has been some time, Matron." He drawls in monotone, turning while leaning into a bow, composing himself before properly greeting Gevurah. "How has Trist'oth flourished in the intervening months since the pests were exterminated??" Unusually callous wording from the terramancer, but we can't all speak Drow, Inks, some of us have to improvise to get our message across.

The seamstress can't believe her stupid luck sometimes, yet there she is, walking along behind Izzerin a bit faster than necessary (to make sure she's ahead of Kasyr and Odhranos but far enough away that it's clear to onlookers that she's above them, hopefully), to the Temple of Endless Death. This is great! She marvels at the skyline, considers questioning Izzerin about the damage done to the temple's dome, but doesn't. Even more eager to see Gevurah than before, she whips her head around to see if the Kensai and terramancer are keeping pace. Her footsteps come to a halt once they have entered the temple and the priestess who she is certain is Gevurah stands. With the scent of blood in the air she inhales, she pointedly looks away from the general direction of the blood-filled bowl and lets her eyes wander, marveling at the temple despite its damages. She didn't worship or pray to Vakmatharas When she looks in the direction that she swore that the Matron had stood, she blinks, then hears her voice behind her, close to Odhranos. Iintahquohae bristles, blinks at herself, and internally screams. Now isn't the time for misplaced jealousy. Now's the time for...getting to know a Drow Matron – no, THE Drow Matron. In effort to continue playing the role of Odhranos and Kasyr's superior, she frowns at the terramancer when he speaks to Gevurah first, -without- introducing her before greeting. The first phrases, apart from terribly brilliant curses, that Daath's language teacher taught Iintahquohae were acceptable ways to greet a Matron. This she can speak entirely in Drow, though with her limited knowledge of the language, it's stilted. With care, she steps between Odhranos and Gevurah, casting a look the terramancer's way momentarily. Play along please, Odh and Kas. “...He should know better, not introducing me first,” she mutters, before bowing low to Gevurah. “High Priestess of Vakmatharas and Most Esteemed Matron of Trist'oth, I am absolutely honored to be in your presence.” That's a good enough start, right? ...Right? She crosses her fingers.

Kasyr isn't quite sure how to take this train of events- but supposes he can bear with every fresh indignity if it means the way is paved forward. He's is also marvelling, just a bit, at how well Inks is managing to navigate the situation- though given their track record, her capacity to coast through unpredictable situations has held true. In any case, Kasyr does his best to simply stay quiet as they're led forward, retrieving a cigarette from behind one of his Calico-esque ears, so that he has something to do. Along the way, he does his best to try and take in his surroundings- though less because of the foreboding architecture, and more to see if he recognizes any hidden shortcuts. Always helped to try and recall possible escape routes, especially since the seamstress seemed a bit too distracted by the novelty of the situation.

Thankfully, it continues not to be an immediate necessity, given they're escort soon leads them over to the demolished domicile of the Death God. The urge to whistle at the fresh site of the damage done is suppressed with a fresh draw on his cigarette, his attention soon settling down on the Matron, and the surrounding throng of vassals.

As far as situations go, it's enough to generate a plethora of new and dreadful possibilities- for how the situation might spiral out of control- now that they're once more face to face. After all, not only had Kasyr managed to cultivate a singularily dreadful bit of (well-earned) ire from their current hostess- there was also the balancing act of what was expected of her as a ruler that had been slighted. So, yeah, he's just going to puff on his cigarette some more, and watch out for signs of things going awry- because as much as the truce had been re-established privately, well. That sort of thing doesn't always hold up in the court of public opinion. In fact, there's a nice spot on the wall over there, isn't there. He's just going to go look at that. Inks has got this, right?

Gevurah smiles darkly at Odhranos’s carefully crafted question. “Better,” she replies in her heavily-accented common. “I’ll be sure to call you in for pest control again, if needed.” The Matron circles the trio to get a better look at Iintahqohae, the only stranger in the group. As Iintahquohae interjects herself, Gevurah wonders if this woman perhaps outranks Odhranos in the little mage club Daath was always so fond of. A sublime master, perhaps? She nods at Iintahquohae’s obsequious greeting then refocuses her dagger-like glare on Kasyr. “I am told you’re going to honor our agreement.” Her chin gestures ever so slightly towards the shattered statue. If Kasyr follows her gesture, he’ll notice many of the worshippers in the temple glance sidelong at Kasyr and Gevurah, shivering in anticipation of some drama.Clearly, rumor of his disrespect has spread throughout the city. “You would do well to bow to me, Kasyr. Prove you have some sense.” She glance at Iintahquohae. “Make him bow. He’s your subordinate, is he not?” She grins a little at the game. Lanlan has rubbed off on her a little. The surfacers are like toys to the drow. They’re soft in the heart, and softer in the guts.

Odhranos nods while frowning. "Let's pray it doesn't come to that, Matron. Trist'oth has no need for the likes of me." A dip of the head and Odhranos backs away, facing the Matron for a number of paces until she turns her attention to Inks, then he turns away himself to examine the damage that litters the temple. Approaching the circle of guards, Odhranos crouches down to peer at the pile beyond them. Ah. We have a problem. "Mistress Oohmayjik, I have a question for Kasyr, if I may pose it." Odh has picked up on the newly fabricated power dynamic, and if it means he doesn't have to deal with Gevurah directly, he is all the happier to play along. When Kasyr is directed his way, Odhranos hisses under his breath. "You said this was a stone statue, Kas. That statue is wood. I can't work with wood. You see where we might have issues?" Odhranos tone is level, but a furious sideways glance belays his fervent wish for a solution. Hopefully a fast one.

Iintahquohae is glad for the ease in which she is able to keep her face relatively blank, and is beyond grateful for the boost the serpent tattoo on her neck gives her in the confidence department. Gevurah is right, naturally. Kasyr, currently (or permanently now, given he is no longer a vampire?) is her subordinate. She notices the cigarette he has as well, and grimaces. This isn't a game that she is familiar with, and to Gevurah this likely shows, but Iintahquohae tries to play along. “Put that away now and bow to our host, Kasyr,” she says, in what she hopes sounds like a convincing command. “You too, Odhranos, before you go- ” He bowed already, didn't he? Dammit, oh well. Extra bowing is good, right? Please, she internally begs. She's in too deep now, so she might as well own the role. Heaving a sigh, her eyes fall to the two men, flashing fangs. “...Or else. Then Kasyr may assist you.” It takes everything in her to not just burst into laughter and turn the deepest shade of red she can at being called Mistress, -especially- from Odhranos, but now isn't the time. Once her loyal servants have done her bidding and, gods, please, have put on a good enough performance to appease Gevurah, she tries some small talk with the Matron. “Men, right? ...These are the only somewhat useful ones I know...” Inks wants to gag.

Aww, look, he -can- be civil. ...is that civility? Well, it's not like he has time to really think too hard on it, considering Odhranos is informing him of, 'oh dear god'. "Oh mon...ami." The forced smile that creeps onto his face is positively chilling right now, if only because he's obliged to endure this farce -and- . . . When he responds to Odhranos, it's with a tone matching his own, and care taken towards minimizing the amount of people who can see his lips moving. Honestly, he's most concerned with Izzerin, given how discreet they could be. "What?! I said it was a -statue-. I am fairly sure I never said it was stone." Anyways, it was fairly stone-like, right? "You move the earth, it es a few steps away from being dirt right now- why can't you just...you know?" Yup, that smile's stll there, though the Kensais expression has shifted closer towards the one you'd reserve to someone you're talking down to, or walking through a -very- simple process. "I don't know- can't you just, splash it with a petrification potion et call it a day?" Pretty sure that's blasphemy, Kasyr. Literally, Blasphemy. Is this really how you want to go out. But also, at the current rate? Probably.

Gevurah masks her relief at Kasyr’s bow. While beating his pompous face into submission would be undoubtedly fun, she’s more interested in restoring her statue. Kasyr also had the good sense to call Gevurah the c-word in a language she doesn’t understand. If Gevurah knew, she’d laugh at his cowardice before beating his pompous face into submission. When Inks commiserates with her over the uselessness of men, Gevurah’s eyes alight as if she’s about to fake a congenial smile, one that she abandons before it reaches her lips. Bemused, she turns away from Inks and focuses on the men near the statue. “So. What are you proposing. How will you fix it,” she demands in her heavily-accented common.

Ohhh boy. Trist'oth could only have been a bad idea. Who was Odhranos kidding? How could it have been anything other than the absolute worst of ideas. Granted, it wasn't like they had screwed something up, or attempted to kill anyone important (this time around) but given the soupy nature of how Gevurah dealt with those that displeased her, any screw up held the potential to be a significant one. "Kas…I don't want to get into specifics, but I work with minerals. Crystals, sand, dirt, all minerals. That-" Odhranos tilts his head towards the pile of splinters "-aint a mineral. In fact, it's closer to a vegetable. And I'm not a druid." The terramancer's voice remains hushed and level, but there is a sharp edge to his manner of speech. "If you have a petrification potion, then wonderful, we might be able work with that. But as it stands, this statue would need to be fossilized before I could do anything with it. And I don't think the Matron will be so kind as to wait for my distant descendants to dig it up and piece together in a few thousand years. Seems like a “two week job, get it done in one” kind of a ruler, you feel?" Odhranos clips his whispers short when said ruler addresses the pair of them. Shooting the Kensai a quick glare before he turns, Odhranos bows toward the matron, addressing her with his head lowered. What might seem like reverence was merely a ploy for Odh to hide his facial cues, so his usual expressiveness did not bite him in the arse. “We have hit a bit of a snag, but one that may work out favourably, Matron. It seems there was a miscommunication, and a mason was hired for a carpenters job.” Odhranos gestured behind him to the splintered pile. “As your statue is presently, without the introduction of additives and fixtures that might introduce impurity, you would require a druid to reanimate and rebind the splinters together. I am unsure how that would affect the sanctity of a statue dedicated to Vakmatharas, but I would hazard that the interaction could produce side effects. Variables that could prove troublesome.” Odhranos folds his arms behind his back and turns back in the direction of Inks and Gevurah, composing himself and his next response. “However, if the wood were in a petrified state, I could manipulate it without fear of such metaspiritual dichotomy.” Woo baby, flaunt that esoteric jargon. “Unfortunately, to wait for the wood to petrify naturally, we’d have to leave this task for a few thousand years, and regrettably, I am not blessed with such longevity as yourself, Matron. Thankfully, my colleague here promises he has brought with him a catalyst that will expedite the petrification process. Once the process is complete, I can begin piecing the statue together, stronger than before.” Odhranos raises his head and eyeline to meet Gevurah’s. “Naturally, we needed your consent to do so before proceeding, we were discussing how best to ask.”

Gevurah realizes that the skittish terramancer is too far from the statue to realize that the wood is, indeed, fossilized. "Come closer, Ohronos." She horribly mispronounces his name. She leads the small party closer to the statue so that Odhranos can examine the composition of the mineralized wood. "Are the minerals suitable," she demands to know. Mineral transmogrification isn't off the table.

Kasyr is -ecstatic- when it turns out he wasn't entirely off-base. The statue is in fact suitably ground-like. Enough so, in fact, that although he does stride after the terramancer and Matron- it's only so he can pawn off a few of the potions he'd begun to produce from his coat onto the mage. Well, that, and to shoot Odhranos a subtle smirk that might be a bit too self-assured, "Enfin- this should help if things aren't quite up to snuff. I'd tested this brand of potion on a self proclaimed king of dragons, after all. But from the sounds of it, you won't need that much help in the end, non?" That done, the swordsman offers Gevurah an altogether easy-going salute, before he makes a prompt about-face in favor of the exit. Only, he's not intending on going alone, given the manner in which he pauses and glances over towards the seamstress. "Mistress." He's all pleasent smiles now, especially since he's on the way out- but there's just a hint of an edge to his voice right now, a strong tug meant to latch onto what pull he still has as the one who sired her. "I do believe we have a pending appointment towards the acquisition of new supplies for House Azakhaers War Chest. There's also a plentiful amount of paperwork that needs to be handled." The one was definitely code for the dead caves- but given the sickly sweet smile that Kasyr was directed towards Inks, and the way the hidden compulsion never ebbed as he spoke. Well- it seems like Inks has a fair bit of dictation ahead of her. "I'm certain the Matron won't break your toy- so long as he doesn't displease her." And then he's moving to depart again, a cigarette already back in his hands- and little more to be said other than a lackadaisical, "A bien tot, Peut-etre." Yeah. This is fine. It's definitely fine.

Odhranos meets Kasyr's smirk with a glower. "Non, mon ami, I suppose I won't." Odhranos accepts the vials and holds them up to the dim light, watching how it filters through the murky depths of the catalyst. And so it seems just as soon as they arrived, Odhranos is being abandoned, left in the clutches of Gevurah, no less. He bows towards Inks as she and Kasyr depart, then he turns back to face the pile of splinters, heaped high under the gloomy dome of the temple. Forget the needle, try building a statue with the haystack and you will know true futility. Odhranos sighs, then straightens shoulders and before his nerve fails him, he steps past the circle of guards, feeling every set of eyes in the room burning his back as he does so. Reaching the pile, he crouches, then seats himself, a small figure before the mountain of work, and reaching forward, he delicately picks up one small shard. Feeling the tension in the air around him, he holds it up for inspection. How exquisite. Right down to the wood grain, every piece of the splinter is rendered in clean dark stone. Yes, this will certainly make his task easier, if no less daunting. Reaching for another, he closes his eyes and feels with his magic, rather than his hands. The shard already pinched between his fingers hums slightly, and as if to answer, small harmonies chime forth from the shrapnel. Finding the closest, Odhranos plucks another shard from the pile, then holding the two carefully with his fingertips, he places them together along the fracture-line. With a silvery click, they mesh and meld, sealing as if they had never been parted. Odhranos then opens his hands, and lets the shard float free into the air above him. One down. Innumerable more to go. He turns from his seated position to face Gevurah, his expression a little more relaxed now that he has begun his task. "This will take time. I can work under your guards supervision or yours, if it so please you." Odhranos turns back to the pile and plucks another pair of shards free. "I wouldn't mind the company if you so wish. Perhaps we could talk." Nothing like a mundane task to take the edge off a man's utter fear of a matriarch.

Gevurah signs in the infra-red sign language of the drow. Within minutes, a throne is brought to her. She takes a seat, crosses one leg over the other, leans heavily on an arm rest, and gestures for Odhranos to continue. She'll take the first shift supervising him, ensuring nothing is stolen, not even one splinter. She and Izzerin will take turns over the days to come. Chit chat is brisk. Gevurah is largely interested in the gossip of the little mages club (the guild). She never understood why it appealed to Tiphareht, Daath, Lanlan. After her conversation with Odhranos, she still won't.