RP:Common Interests: Draconian Edition

Part of the Surface Tension Arc

Synopsis: In the wake of the attack on Kelay Way, Gevurah seeks out Laezila to try and entice the Matron Laezila into rare drow collaboration against a common enemy on the surface. The Matron and High Priestess agree to collaborate after a tense visit. Laezila grants Gevurah use of some of her soldiers to aid Gevurah in her effort to capture and imprison the draconian responsible for the attack on Kelay Way. Laezila offers to use her estate for the imprisonment.

Note: This rp is technically unfinished, but the part relevant to the arc Surface Tension is completed and posted here.

Trist'oth Arena

Laezila delighted in strength and physical prowess. It was something that was not a variable to her; she could easily calculated the skill of those around her and the finesse that they might employ in the deadly dance of their battling. Magic and religion was not her forte, often lost upon her aside from the few simplest spells that children attuned to magicks are taught in their first year; it was for this reason of familiarity and comfort that most drow knew the matron to oft visit the arena. Her pace for recovering Kuzial's blade for him was at a crawling pace, and it might be that the woman merely didn't care to serve the wishes of the Fift House, but those that knew her knew her to be far, far more calculating than simply letting something go unknown and unplanned for. She was in one of the exclusive booths above the roar of the crowd that gathered below, and seated on a plush couch. All around the room stood her guards; several enormous drow with lycanthopism evident through canine molars, or the eyeteeth of more lithe guards betraying their vampirism. Laezila herself had her teenaged body stretched easily out along the couch, that mask still set upon her face and courted by shimmering white locks.

Gevurah rarely frequents the arena for pleasure alone. Her visits coincide traditionally with pomp and circumstance, which is absent today. The beheadings and disembowelments of the day taste bland. A little brain fluid here, a lot of bile there, the echoing snaps of bone everywhere, it’s all so very mundane to Gevurah; it lacks the purpose of religious ritual. It isn’t that Gevurah has a distaste for violence - who in their right mind would have a distaste for violence? No, the nuance lies in Gevurah’s thirst to find a point to every experience - and not the vague, cloying ‘meaning’ the surface dwellers fetishize (what is the meaning of life? what is love? yadda yadda and on and on they blather). She searches for the advantage. That take-away from each moment that helps elevate and empower Gevurah. The High Priestess sits elevated in the D’Artes booth, and despite the overwhelming presence of her guard she looks alone - and she looks at Matron Laezila. The Matron’s booth is fixed at Gevurah’s eleven o’clock. Each booth has been outfitted with various curtains and enchantments to set privacy. Gevurah’s booth is open and lit by faerie fire, indicating that the High Priestess wants to be seen, and by Matron Laezila exclusively by the look of it. Should their gazes meet, Gevurah will nod a greeting and signal that she wishes to visit the Matron’s booth.

Laezila knew full well that the other woman desired to be seen by the Matron of House D'l'Sel D'issan, but it was apparent that she didn't meet the gaze of Gevurah immediately with the opt to watch the disembowelments, the violence, the beheadings of the arena. Wonder and excitement, glee and lust, none of these were present in the cold and calculating gaze of the woman as icy blues that were not the norm of the drow people's normal red-hued eyes focused on each fighter individual in obvious scrutiny and assessment of their skills before they fought; she was reveling, subtly, in the delight of analyzing them before their match, and determining exactly who would win. But Gevurah D'Artes did not have to wait long enough a time to be certain that Laezila was purposefully avoiding her gaze, and it was soon that her icy eyes met the nod and signal. A gloved hand lifted in acceptance, the clothing tight around the slender appendage, before two vampiric guards moved, fangs exposed, to close the curtains just enough to allow them both privacy without completely cutting off the view of the arena's combatants while the matron awaited the presence of the other. Her guards, of course, would not be allowed in; they would have to wait at the door. But Laezila's own would not suffocate the two in space, but rather linger around the walls of the booth, both too far to hear normal conversation and implying either that Laezila considered Gevurah a 'friend', or did not fear attack.

Gevurah's guards do not like to be excluded. Several of them leave to find other vantage points from other booths and the stadium roof from which to watch and protect their charge. The rule doesn’t faze Gevurah; she too doesn’t fear an attack. Besides, homicides are only rewarded when they are executed clandestinely. Public spaces are terrible for murder. “Well met, Matron. I trust you are enjoying the spectacle.” She smiles vacantly. Her hand fans towards the couch, indicating where she would like to sit if permitted. Even her gestures don’t ask for permission, so much as indicate desires. Her features resemble Keter’s so strongly it would make one wonder if a mother was involved in that conception at all. On the other hand, Gevurah’s demeanor and quirks have been evidently influenced by Tiphareth.

Laezila , as Gevurah gestured her desire of where to be seated, lifted her own lithe and teenaged form from the couch in order to exclaim, "How great it is to see you again, Lady Gevurah," like that of a teenager as she boldly threw her arms around the other's shoulder and provide a faux and masked kiss to each cheek of the D'Artes daughter. "Come, come, sit," the girl said as her gloved hands gently swept up the woman's own as she stepped backward and pulled the other female in indication to sit where she had gestured before. Those icy eyes remain affixed to the others' and offered, like her mask, no indication of expression or what she was thinking; only that she was calculating, and well-versed in these games. "I do enjoy these shows of power," she said, as she gestured toward the arena to indicate that she was referring to the combatants, and not her own subtle antics, "But it is the blood and the killing stroke that intrigue me the most. Made from one little mistake of their foe."

Gevurah stiffly endures Laezila’s greeting much like the last time they met. Her hackles raise reflexively. She is never touched outside this strange game that has developed between the noble women. Gevurah chooses not to be visibly flustered, but has no way of knowing whether or not she is successful. “There is no finer sport,” Gevurah agrees as she takes a seat on the couch, trying to put some distance between herself and the Matron only to be frustrated by the Matron’s insistence on togetherness. The High Priestess subtly leans away as she speaks. “Speaking of bloodshed and killing, I am curious to know if the news has reached you about the massacre on Kelay Way. When I heard about the suspected instigator of the fight, I thought of you.” She flashes that empty smile again and quickly explains, “You have always had a greater appreciation for the unusually conceived.”

Laezila might have been enjoying the way that Gevurah had to endure the antics of the Matron, with the stiffness of her frame and the way that the D'Artes daughter was insistent upon attempting to distance herself from the D'l'Sel D'issan house head. It was the news of this massacre that the woman was unaware of; or she was and that it was news was not brought to her attention, to which she left those eyes upon Gevurah in their calculating way. They had no indication of whether or not Laezila was surprised, "Oh, forgive me," she said in that teenager dramatis, as a gloved hand reached upward in order to idly brush a lock of white hair from her own face, "Kelay is on the surface, is it not? I can't say I take much notice of the events up there. Do tell, what has happened that would give me such an appreciation for the suspected instigator?"

Gevurah can’t help the slight grin that surfaces as Laezila reveals her ignorance of the events. Gloating provides little long-term advantage. Instead the priestess supplies additional excuses for the Matron in a calculated act of engendering good will. “There is no reason why a noble of your station should worry about Kelay. However, it is likely that the name has crossed your path in the past. It is a pathetic little town situated in the forest that once belonged to those vile wood elves, but now belongs to Trist’oth thanks to the wisdom and power Vakmatharas, the First Patron, and the Drow Council.” The last line is repeated by rote. It’s a thing drow say, and always in that order too. Gevurah downplays the credit to Vakmatharas for the sake of Laezila’s anti-religious sensibilities. “Seven drow were killed - all commoners and of no concern. But there is a detail about this fight which may interest you. It is reported that a winged creature initiated the fight and killed four of the seven drow. The creature is described as either draconic, or as resembling a winged drow.”

Laezila had certainly been to Kelay before in passing, and had met that man, Krice, thereupon her eyes gave no evidence of her surprise from behind that faceless and stark white mask that half-augmented and half-muffled her voice into an otherworldly sort of tone, which issued forth easily, "A winged drow, you say." She had never had a draconic-blood drow in her house before, or even had let her eyes lie upon one. It certainly intrigued the young matron. "That certainly sounds up my alley," the girl said easily as her face turned to witness the killing strike of one of the combatants to splatter the arena sands in blood. The delight in the icy eyes of the teenager was evident to Gevurah, and the girl twisted her features in order to look upon the D'Artes firstborn from behind that faceless and nearly shiny mask of white. "There are other matters that concern me, however. Such as this 'E'et-Nilah' blade that Patron Kuzial Stavret wishes."

Gevurah‘s lips thin smugly as the winged drow intrigues the Matron, as expected. She watches the killing strike alongside her unlikely companion through an impassive expression. Killing only excites Gevurah when it’s her had doing the killing, or her foe doing the bleeding even at the hands of another. Without looking at the Matron, Gevurah dismisses the new topic. She sounds bored by it. “Every house in Trist’oth is concerned with the fate of E’et-Nilah. It’s no secret the mad Patron has lost it - or perhaps it left him. I am sure every Patron and Matron in Trist’oth would want to reclaim such an artifact for themselves.” Red eyes that shift intermittently gray in the direct light of the faerie fire peer at Laezila through their periphery. “Though competing houses do not discuss such ambitions. There is no room for ‘collaboration’ where E’et-Nilah is concerned.” The word ‘collaboration’ tastes sour on the drow tongue. “Unlike this attack on the surface, where perhaps mutual ambitions and benefits may be discovered.”

The matron within the teenage girl betrayed itself after being dormant and hidden well beyond the guise of a young woman seeking friendship as Gevurah, in the mind of Laezila, sought to teach her how the politics in the drow culture. "Wish you to remind me that our Houses compete, Lady Gevurah?" Her icy gaze swiveled to land fixated upon the D'Artes first daughter and in them might be glinted the intense cruelty and cunning that allowed her the ascension through D'l'Sel D'issan's ranks to take control of the bestial House,"For I can certainly start envisioning you as an opponent instead of an ally, if you wish it." It was a double strike verbally at the other woman; speaking as if Gevurah wasn't an opponent, and reprimanding her with the laced threat, but her features turned then behind her mask again in order to look toward the arena, her icy ire subsided, "But I much more enjoy you as a friend, no? This attack on the surface interests you, so therefore, I am interested as well. Be transparent; how can I aid your interests, my -friend-?"

Gevurah bears through the temperamental flare-up with her chin held high and her lips squared. She meets the Matron’s glare with a patient stare of her own. No excuses are fabricated for the slight. The moment passes and the priestess sticks to her preferred topic. “This draconian creature intrigues me. I wish to capture it and study it, and would appreciate the possibility to study it in your estate. It would fit well within your collection of atypical species and provoke no suspicion and little gossip.” She pauses thoughtfully then adds, “I ask this as a friend. There is no threat should you refuse.”

Laezila kept her ice-blue eyes upon the spectactle's finale and allowed a lingering silence to hang between them after Gevurah's request only to more keenly watch the antics of the combatants of prowess and skill fight to the death. It was after a glorious kill that had the audience in a roar of cheering and applause that the teenager spoke, while turning her head again to seek the gaze of the D'Artes female. "Very well. I shall allow you use of my forces in order to aid in its capture, and the solace of my estate to study it. As a friend, a gift."

Gevurah grins darkly, which is basically the drow equivalent of a grateful smile. “Very good. May Vakmatharas be pleased.”