RP:Celebrity Death Maker

Summary: Gevurah begins Revan's training.

Sacrificial Chamber of Vakmatharas

Revan is still adjusting to the absolute darkness of the drows' great city and is forced to continue through the chamber rather slowly to avoid tripping over himself, the white-necked raven resting on his shoulder crying out any time he comes a bit too close to an obstacle. Arriving at the edge of the altar he seems satisfied with his positioning and lays his heavy scythe against the side of the lifted surface and goes about popping his aged knuckles and neck, careful not to pull to hard less he wishes to lose a finger or head.

Gevurah sits in a private chamber for high ranking members of the order, deep in prayer when she is rudely disturbed by Revan’s shrieking raven, which in a temple so quiet and reverential sounds louder than the bird likely intends. She grouses as she stands and looks expectantly at her guard who walks to the hall to confer with another bodyguard who signals to a priestess down the hall who sends forward the query yet again through Gevurah’s chain of servants, extending from her like an appendage that probes every corner of this dark city. The chain of subjects sends back the message that The Undead (as Revan has come to be known in the rumor mill) and his bird (what?) have arrived. Gevurah joins Revan at the altar wearing her usual scowl. It’s about as good as it gets with her, a signal that all is well. Suddenly she flicks open a palm towards Revan’s face and hurls a fist-sized fireball at him. If he dodges, she cackles as the fireball evaporates within a foot of him. If he doesn’t dodge, all the same the fireball will disappear without harming him, and she grins darkly. She crosses towards a low ranking priestess and whispers instructions. With regard to Revan, she lets him speak first, as is her way most of the time, never one to expose her hand or agenda, even in settings as cozy and comforting (to her) as this Sacrificial Temple. Her gaze on Revan is his cue to speak.

Revan remains motionless as he becomes certain that whispers are heard throughout the chamber, growing frustrated with whatever formalities these may or not be he groans only to have his patience rewarded by the appearance of Gevurah who he can barely make out directly in front of him. As the fireball comes hurtling towards him his instincts tell him to dodge but he opts to play this drow's game and let's the flame collide with his face sizzling to nothing without so much as a smell of singed hair. The silence between the two is deafening as Revan grinds his teeth together while glaring to her from behind bright glowing blue eyes before a huff ignites a transformation to his form that picks away all of the undead pieces to leave a rather scruffy and young looking blue haired human standing before her (who can talk!), "What? No hug? Aren't we supposed to be a family now? Apprentice and master? Mother and son? Surely there is no difference." A scowl is given to the other drow, "Do they -have- to be here?"

Gevurah is quite proud of her progress wielding Laezila’s pyromancy, thank you very much. That fireball is about all she can command at the moment, given that arcane uses of magic are new to her and feel strange. “Mother? My father never hugged me, and I am grateful for that.” As for mothers, they and their impure blood can stay swept under rugs. A small ceremony ends and Revan and Gevurah are left alone in the chamber. “I have a project for you to work on. A test.” The priestess she whispered to moments ago returns wheeling three drow on cots, which she arranges in a triangle then leaves. Pus-filled boils and open sores cover their bodies. A limb shriveled up here, a missing eye there, they are diseased in an unnatural manner. They all wear slave collars which bear the emblem of Vakmatharas. Revan would be quick to guess these are Vakmatharas school supplies for acolytes in training, how exciting! The occasional moan and twitch, the shallow heave of their wretched chests are the only proof that they live. “Watch.” She rests two fingers on the forehead of one of the drow, where the third eye would be, and it dies instantly, its eyes close like a quickly drawn shade. The death looked surprisingly peaceful. “Now watch more closely.” She repeats the motion but keeps her fingers pressed as she controls something unseen. “Look closely in his eyes.” As she slows down the process, Revan will notice that the sick drow squints at something only he can see, then slowly recognition dawns in his gaze, at last an astonished epiphany, then a surrender, and a final peace as his lids close and he dies. “You may try now with the third. I want to see how long it takes for you to gift him death to better understand your closeness to Vakmatharas. The diseased are a perfect beginner’s test of closeness, because they are fated to die soon regardless of intervention. You don’t need to make a case to Vakmatharas to convince Him to take their life. You simply have to speed up the process He already set out for them. They are in His waiting room, to speak metaphorically. The only reason they are not yet dead is because they have not yet understood some mystery He intends for them to understand before dying. You gift death by gifting them that information and thereby ushering them into death. Contact with the third eye helps you communicate spiritual information. Feel free to try now, but you may also take this slave with you when you leave here today and bring him back once you have succeeded. It normally takes a handful of days on the first try. Prayer to Vakmatharas is the best way to start for those new to Gifting Death.”

Revan is finally adjusting to the darkness and is able to see a bit clearer when the trio of tributes arrive in all of their disgusting, festering, oozy and ill glory. Obeying Gevurah's instruction he watches with a keen eye as she performs some type of ritual to send the slaves across that great rainbow bridge, or er, whatever it was they were crossing. After the second drow falls into his eternal slumber, the glowing eyes of Revan raise to stare at the priestess with a confident glow despite the fact that the man had little to no understanding of how the process worked. Shaking his shoulder, the raven resting there leaps down onto the altar allowing the illusionist to step across the cold chamber until he is positioned just before the third and final slave. Raising his index and middle fingers he presses against the third eye of the drow while his own eyes close to increase his concentration. The next few minutes are painful for both the slave and Revan for as his temper begins to rise he presses his fingers harder against the slaves skull, muttering something to himself he presses harder and harder as time moves on until his expression turns to a scowl and he lets out a frustrated cry jerking his hand back and thrusting a balled first into the frail skull of the drow crushing it, sending brain matter exploding across the area covering him and Gevurah in blood and bits of 'old knowledge'. The anger has caused the apprentice to lose his illusionary form reverting him back to the undead he truly is and heavy breathes are accompanied by gurgling while maggots fall from his throat to cover the ground in a splatter. He looks to the priestess with a mixture of confusion, anger and apologetic emotions, his lips parting to speak before the realization of his torn throat forces him to look away in embarrassment and disgust.

Gevurah suddenly remembers Revan isn’t an awesome, infrared-seeing drow and is blind down here, so she lights a little faerie fire around the corpses whenever appropriate and convenient for plot, i.e. probably before she asks him to look into the second drow’s eyes. (tada, rp magic!) As Revan’s frustration mounts, Gevurah says nothing. This test relies on the acolyte’s instinct to gift death. As a teacher, the high priestess can explain no more than she already has. From what she can see, his instinct is pretty terrible, but alas he must find his own way on this project. The skull cracks and collapses quickly, and a little brain goop lands right under Gevurah’s eye. She wipes it off her face without flinching and says, “In your case it may take a few weeks. I’ll send for another before you leave. Start meditating. Your anger is not helpful to your service to Vakmatharas.” She moves the faerie fire to the altar and pulls out from a cabinet beneath a bronze bowl full of bones, teeth, blood-matted fur, and mystery tissue. Runes are inscribed over all the artifacts. She sets the bowl down between tall red and black candles. With a ceremonial dagger she cuts her palm and bleeds into the bowl then whispers a spell. Nothing happens as far as the naked eye can tell. “Why are you frustrated?” she asks her apprentice.

Revan remains in his place while Gevurah moves to the altar and begins cutting herself apart, his own ego still not allowing him to look at her until he is addressed directly to which he would slowly turn and stare at her for five or six seconds before approaching the alter, his voice ringing out in her mind; "Why? Is that even a real question? I spent nearly two years buried out in the middle of a damn forest and don't have a reason as to why I was there, in the darkness, or why I am here. Vakmatharas claims, or so I think, that he is responsible for my second wind... I mean, look at me. But if that's true, why can't I so much as turn a terminal slave over without having to bash his skull in? ...You made it look so peaceful, so easy." A grumble as he twitches his head to the side to pop his neck then places both of his palms on the alter where his raven starts pecking at his skin, "What if we're wasting our time here? What if all that I've done is for naught? It's so damn irritating..." Those yellow teeth are gritted tightly before the emotional zombie finally gets a hold of him self and shakes his head, the illusionary form of Tyler reclaiming his appearance so that he may speak out loud again, "You told me you would help me fix my throat, Gevurah." He reminds her to try and change the topic.

Gevurah lowers her gaze to the bowl as Revan speaks in her mind. She repeats his telepathic message out loud in her own voice. The teeth begin to scrape of their own volition along the bottom of the bowl, then chatter against the bronze in quick succession. The matted fur wraps around a small femur. The teeth chattering continues as she replies, “Perhaps you have read too many books with fated heroes who are chosen by gods and to whom everything comes easy. Perhaps He chose you, as you say,” the teeth stop chattering in the bowl and she glances at it quickly before looking back at Revan, “but that doesn’t mean you get to skip the training that His servants have endured. It came easy to me now because I have been in His service since I could talk. As soon as I formed words, my House trained my lips so I would only say His name. And still it took me some days to gift my first death when I was a child. You need discipline and patience. Learn discipline by *not*” she glares slightly “maiming the next slave. Learn patience by waiting for me to give you your throat.” She pauses thoughtfully then asks, “Why do you miss it so? You don’t need it to breath or communicate. What loss is it to you?”

Revan finds it hard to swallow Gevurah's words with or without a throat and has closed his eyes again to help himself calm down, he's almost there when she asks what loss it is to him to have no throat. His eyes snap open and lock onto her with an unblinking stare that is held for what seems like an eternity before he snaps, "What loss is it to me?! Look at me, priestess! I'm forced to take the form of some damned man child in order to speak with a voice!" His body shifts rapidly into a mirror image of Gevurah herself and he speaks in her voice, "Or perhaps I should just take to running about the streets in your skin? Maybe people would respect me instead of thinking I'm just some DAMN CORPSE!" He backhands his scythe from the edge of the altar then shifts back to the form of Tyler to take a deep breath before finding his zen again. "... There are two of us in here." His index finger taps against his skull, "Blame the blue haired one for the emotional outbursts... he had quite the issues... I will learn what you are willing to teach, Gevurah, but you must show patience in me as well. " He finally turns his attention to the bowl, hoping for an explanation.

Gevurah knits her brows judgmentally a Revan’s pity-party outburst. She has no patience for it. Nurturing and compassionate aren’t on her short or long list of qualities. When the undead returns to himself, she says “I will help you find a way to isolate, exorcise, and kill the blue-haired one, then. He must go.” She follows his gaze to the bowl and explains, “The Oracle. It’s a rudimentary way to hear Vakmatharas’s whispers. Not in speech as you and I are accustomed to hearing, but in impulses.” Like a spiritual game of hot and cold. “I was parsing your words for truth. The Oracle tells me that when you say Vakmatharas resurrected you, you speak the truth. Does that make it true? Did Vakmatharas raise you?” Her tone is not rhetorical; this is a logic test.

Revan doesn't offer any rejection to the idea of eradicating Tyler from his mind, in fact, he nods in agreement with her reasoning finding that sharing a hivemind with the human to be exhausting. He doesn't have time to offer anymore details on the topic as Gevurah is speaking on something called the Oracle and claims that she can tell he speaks the truth when he speaks of his origin, though the question is pondered on for only a second before he is shaking his head. "If I had a clear answer, I wouldn't be here before you. I was uncovered by a red headed necromancer who cared only for her own purse and before that I heard a voice in the dark, I cannot answer if it was He or not, Gevurah. I am not all knowing."

Gevurah nods at his reply. “Yes, someone who speaks their truth is not guaranteed to be telling the universal truth. Vakmatharas has not revealed your purpose yet to me, if there is any purpose to be revealed. We cannot discard the possibility that some other deity, or demon, carried out their will too by raising you. If it does not displease Vakmatharas, He does not intervene with other entities’ affairs. Either way, you have done well in choosing Him for only He has the ultimate say in your fate.” Downside to apprenticing under a High Priestess is she is prone to sermonizing off the cuff — and her ceremonial robes have very long cuffs. She starts to sweep the oracle items in the bronze bowl into a box. “Any other deities’ wills are nothing more than mere detours in the lives of mortals and perishables. Perishables is a term in the Order to refer to the undead who are immortal in the sense of time, but yet face a true death. Undead bodies may be destroyed, and thus they die again, and that too is fated and that fate is dictated by Him. It is the only fate that matters, and thus only He should be worshipped and served. Each servant may create for themselves a path of worship. Have you given any thought to how you will devote your life to Vakmatharas?”

Revan has managed to get himself under control and reflects no emotion while Gevurah speaks, his concentration set on taking in every last word she has to offer and processes each of them into a true understanding so that he may become closer to his true purpose in this second life. Her final piece about devotion to Vakmatharas is met with a slow but sure nod as the undead raises his right hand to hover just above the altar, sparks of light falling from his palm before a display bursts to life on the surface highlighting multiple haunting depictions of trials and tribulations being administered to various residents of Hollow with Revan appearing before each of them at the conclusion to gift one of three brightly colored roses. When his voice reaches out to touch the drow elves mind once more, it is stale but genuine with no hint of deception in his tone revealing that Revan isn't holding back any truth in his explanation "I've been visiting the citizens of this land we share, judging each of them based on their actions during the nightmare I lay out before them. Depending on how they choose to react to these less than desirable situations I give them a blessing, curse or calling. The white rose is given to those pure of heart, the black to those corrupt with sin and only their own selfish needs to think of..." a long pause is administered before he continues, "... and red to those who I will recruit or slay in the name of our god. Too long has the will of He been restricted to the dark lands of Hollow despite death reaching every corner of our world. I am to start a new following in His name and ensure that his will is loud when spoken and that it is heard." The illusion shifts to show three different figures looking confused or even scared of the red rose held in their clutches - Khitti, Linn and Artia.

Gevurah watches the display and nods or hmm’s approvingly here and there. “This gift for illusions is a valuable tool,” she concedes. She squints at the faces of Khitti, Linn, and Artia, committing them to memory. “Their names and trades?” She pauses then adds thoughtfully, “What can they do? Any talents?” Already she is more interested in their utility to her than their identities. Whether a defect of high nobility or a defect of her birth, it’s unclear, but Gevurah sees others as means to an end, and the end is always the same: absolute power.

Revan shakes his head at the inquiry of their identities, "I'd rather not get too close to my test subjects before knowing they are willing to commit or can be... convinced, lest I lose my own identity and advantage. The names aren't known though I have followed them closely." The illusion zooms in on the face of Linn first, "This one is powerful and displayed some type of connection to our Lord by using a unique relic that was brimming with his power, though his actions were with good intention and I do not think he would serve willingly." Now for Artia, "This one is truly wicked beneath that flawless skin of hers, she acts ruthlessly and with great power but I do not think she would serve well for she is far too reckless in her brutality and would be a liability... thus she shall be bent or broken..." Finally the illusion takes special care to increase Khitti to showcase her full features, "This one on the other hand is efficient, powerful and though she is fearful she has something outside of my influence calling her to the darkness. I've made a point to have the bird keep tabs on her, she's become obsessive over the rose and actively seeks me out. I believe she would prove to be a great ally though I'm not sure how to proceed... It is this reason that I ask for your guidance. You know His hand while I'm just scratching the surface, what do you suggest Master Gevurah?"

Gevurah points at Linn. “How intelligent is he? Perhaps instead of convincing him to commit what his kind would consider immoral or depraved, he can be used to carry out tasks under the false pretense of noble intentions?” Like tricking the paladin-type. “With your illusions, perhaps holy visions that appeal to him may be of use. Find his belief system, manipulate it.” As for Artia and Khitti, she nods slowly a couple times. “Start with the final one. Figure out what she wants. Then we’ll find a way to give it to her, or pretend to give it to her, to complete the seduction of recruitment. As for her,” she points at Artia. “Wait and see. If she is as brutal as you say, she should be observed. Let her reveal herself and adapt accordingly, back her into a brutal reaction to His benefit, play on her flaws.” Three personalities, three prescriptions.

Revan observes Gevurah as she breaks down a plan for each of the three red rose recipients in a quick and military style fashion making a plan and providing the exact details needed to further advance their agenda. The undead man nods in agreement with her plan while closing his hand to eliminate the hologram like illusion, "As you wish, though I must ask for clarification. After I've recruited my force and begin preparations, what of you? I'm forced to assume that a revelation of either of our identities might cause leaks that would surely impede any work willed to be done. There are already rumors running amok among individual recipients, they seek my identity."

Gevurah led an army for over a year, and Revan is right to note how it has seeped into her behavior. “Well, for each of them you must discover something about them. His,” Linn’s, “belief system, which may or may not be religious, Her,” Artia’s, “behavioral pattern, specifically her triggers of brutality, and her,” Khitti’s, “wants. Once you have any of these, I will help you deliver on the next step. I can also hire a spy for you to help you gather information about them now. I know a good mercenary.” Possibly Vakko, the same she hired to spy on Revan. “Keep my identity and involvement a secret for as long as it is advantageous to do so. As for you, I am glad to hear of your new celebrity. It’s useful for recruitment. The more mysterious and dark you appear, the more easily you’ll seduce hearts already leaning towards the dark. Some dark souls will want to attach themselves to you. I counsel you foster this ghoul-of-mystery mystique, conceal your intentions, and recruit through celebrity.”

Revan remains in concentrated attention for the entirety of Gevurah's speech on how to continue, his worry about the roses stirring up a commotion suddenly put to rest as he realizes the truth in her words. Those glowing blue eyes of his are stare to her as the man can't help but admire her ability to rapidly form conclusions and formulate plans though he feels all too wary about how those exact skills were being used against him as he stood before her. He doesn't push the issue nor does he allow any outward appearance to betray his question of judgment, for now Revan chooses to trust Gevurah completely. "As you command" his voice presses into her mind though the bond is wavering at he becomes more inclined to the thought of hunting down the three red roses, to the offering of a spy he would simply nod his head three times in confirmation. He simply awaits further instruction regarding his departure or hold to train further with any unfortunate slaves she may have for him to likely bash open.

Gevurah smiles darkly, evidently pleased with Revan’s acceptance and behavior as an apprentice. “Good. Ah, here.” She throws faerie fire across the room to palely illuminate the young priestess and yet another diseases drow slave. “Take the slave with you. Bring her back when you have given her the Gift of Death. Patiently working on that will bring you many insights to Vakmatharas and build a bond between you and Him. Succeed in doing so without bashing her skull in, and I will repair your throat.”

Revan's eyes follow the fire until he spots another diseased slave causing him a grim reminder of the brain matter that still stains his robes and knuckles, he glances to Gevurah once more and offers a slight nod before collecting his scythe and bird then taking the binds of the slave and readying to make his retreat. The promise of a repaired throat more than enough to keep his fist at bay while he would try to aid this one in passing in a more peaceful manner, he then makes his hasty retreat from the chamber in anxious anticipation of events to come.