RP:Desparrow Takes Shelter in D'Artes

Part of the A Dream of Tyranny Arc

Summary: Gevurah tries to string arm Desparrow into a deal only to discover that imprisonment had jailed him. The evil duo come to a shakey agreement based on his new hatred, pain, loss, and god.

House D’Artes

Gevurah leaves behind Cenril in pandemonium. She got what she came for, and with her prize riding bound and bent before her, over the backside of a giant, black lizard she rides, the drow dares to smile. Heat-seeing vision guides her in the darkness. Faerie light, summoned by the drow, guides the rest of the non-drow entourage of spies and jailbreakers. Gevurah wants to lose them, and so she unsummons the dim light. Zzzt, zzt, zzt. One by one they snuff out with an arcane crackle. In the darkness she steals away as softly as a whisper with Desparrow in tow. The lizard’s steps pad soundlessly on stone. Desparrow is lifted up a 90-degree wall, then hangs upside down from the lizards saddle when the lizard clings and crawls along the cavern roof. They enter House D’Artes from above. The estate’s protective enchantments make way for the first and favored daughter. The upper levels of the estate are illuminated by faerie light, but as they descended deeper underground the are fewer and fewer lights until at last Desparrow, Gevurah, and the lizard are submerged in darkness. A rusty gate creaks open. The smell of decay blows in from a damp tunnel. The lizard comes to a stop. Four guards take Desparrow from each limb and like a stuck pig ready for roast they carry him into the dungeon. Gevurah follows. They carry him past the diseased slaves and soon-to-be-corpses, the unwashed prisoners and those driven mad by solitude and darkness. In a small cell they dump him. Gevurah follows and closes the gate behind her. Alone in the room with the chained and muzzled Desparrow, unafraid, she summons faerie light between them so he may see her. “Welcome home.”

Desparrow was unconscious for the majority of the ride, the shock of the explosive manner in which he lost his eye to the silver drop having not only scorched away the thin layer of skin on his face surrounding the socket up to the bridge of his nose and half way down his cheek but also exposing him to levels of pain that shut his body down. The ride however long it was and his natural regenerative powers granted him enough recovery however to wake up when the light of Gevurah's magic appears before him in the dungeon. Sure with that single azure hue he recognized the woman but at the same time his mind was clouded with a screaming pain, and the panic that he couldn't see through one side. Of course the binds were still on him, and in a prone state it was hard to move with the ghroundium collar weight, while also being bound so he turned his face and stared, eye darting every which way frantically while he hissed through clenched teeth to combat the pain. "Where am I!?"

Gevurah relishes Desparrow’s pain and confusion. Though they have never been direct enemies, their approach to villanry at times put them at odds, and besides, Gevurah loves the suffering of others with no exceptions to date. She has no friends, to the detriment of Desparrow who would benefit right now from a kind thought from her. Still, she wants him alive, and so she signals in the dark to the guards. “House D’Artes’s dungeon,” she says as the guards bring Desparrow a large pewter cup of water and release his muzzle so he may drink. There is a risk he may try to spellcast, but Gevurah bets he won’t. He’s weak, outnumbered, and in the heart of an estate enchanted to give her a large advantage in any battle. The dungeon is also enchanted with magic suppressants as sometimes they keep mages here. “I saved your life. You’re welcome to feel indebted to me. As for your freedom, that is up for negotiation. Agree to negotiate without a fight and I will signal the guard to bring bread and meat.”

Desparrow had been starved for the last two months, with nothing but nutrient water from Ranok, and during his time in Cenril, next to nothing which was something he had experienced before. Due to the fact that magic was bonded to his atomic structure, it was flowing through him at all times, but at such low levels due to the device wrapped around his heart and exposed just a bit on his chest stealing it from him, he did not need food, or water. His heart would beat, his organs would function and his brain would not cease so long as he had magic in his body, but the moment it left his body it would probably prove to be too weak to support itself and he would rapidly deteriorate until death. When the muzzle was removed he flexed his jaw, moved his mouth about only to feel more stinging as he stretched the scorched flesh on the left side of his face. "What is wrong with me.. why can't I see!?" of course he was not dumb, and guessed the answer already, just wished it wasn't true. It was when Gevurah's words sank in that he acquired a snarl, "You were to be my ally. We made our deal, and now you turn the tables, and expect what? A slave?"

Gevurah laughs when Desparrow accuses her of betrayal. Nah doy, Desparrow. “Not a slave, though…” She cants her head to the left and right as if acknowledging something akin to slavery may come into play here. What can she say, a tiger can’t change its stripes. Slavery is the institution upon which her civilization was built. When you’re a hammer, everything is nails. And so on. “Not exactly slavery, no. I want your few talents put to good use.” Read: Serving the D’Artes agenda, which these days is near identical to the high priestess’s personal agenda. “I won’t stop you from taking Cenril and I saved your life. This is a new negotiation. I want two things. There is a kraken that I know you know named Mcracken. He must die. Also, everything east and south of the coral castle is now mine. You may have the rest of Cenril, I ask for only this one corner, and the right for drow to cross and inhabit the city at will. Of course, it is your city. I would not interfere with your politics so long as drow may cross the city without obstruction.” She gestured at his bloody and scorched eye socket. “I could help with a replacement for that as well as an act of…” She forgets the surface expression for a moment. The drow don’t have an equivalent for this expression, and thus she often forgets the idiom. Finally it comes to her and she says, “...of good faith.”

Desparrow hears the priestess out, knowing that it was obviously she whom saved his life as the last moment he remembers was an explosion of blinding silver around him seconds before it would have reached him and ended his life. The hospitality he was being shown for being reliable on his end of the deal previously was quite questionable. Prone on the dungeon floor, bound and unable to act but to speak and turn his head just a bit he surely didn't feel like this was anything less than slavery. "We already agreed that the coral castle was yours, why do you feel the need to renegotiate that term when that bargain was already fulfilled. You did not aid me in my assault on Cenril, however you did come to my aid when I was to be executed, so consider that paid. The real deal, is that you want my service, especially to deal with that kraken." Groaning he wiggled his body this way and that until he managed to get leverage against the dungeon wall and acquire a sitting position, even if the action only exacerbated the wound on his face and the pain that went with it. "If you can't tell however, I don't have even a shred of my power left. This damned thing Ranok put in me has been siphoning it as fast as I can produce, and its a daily fight just to keep what is in my flesh to remain animated." he looked to the floor for a moment, contemplating before his single eye shot back up at her, "You once told me to not put faith in the false idols of others, and that I had captured the eye of Vakmatharas, and he would be willing to grant me the power, and the armor that I want." if she hadn't caught on after that she would when he finished explaining. "I want my armor. I also want more power, until I can figure this out, and manage to turn this little piece of work into a boon rather than a hindrance, I need powers to rely on. I don't need a new eye, I need power."

Gevurah shrugs callously at her lack of hospitality. It’s the drow way. Consider this a clash of cultures. When he mentions her God, she nods tersely. “Serve Vakmatharas, and I can help you attain power. And perhaps even help you get rid of or manage Ranok’s contraption.” She does not speak these words with the same conviction of faith she normally possesses when speaking of the God of Death. Something has changed. “I need to kraken dead. And I don’t trust you, so I need a little reassurance you’ll make good on this deal.” The irony of Gevurah, deal breaker, second guessing Desparrow’s word is completely lost on her. Paranoid is in her blood. She would betray herself if positions were reversed. She’s projecting, hard.

Desparrow had not had enough face to face contact with the priestess to know one way or the other her levels of faith, or her motivations and what may have changed in any amount of time. "You do not trust me? You answered my inquiry, and I offered you anything, the deal was sealed and I made good on my end yet you do not trust me. The words of a child then. I'll play your game." he huffed, letting his head fall back against the wall. "You however do not know that I have been praying to him already, every day of my incarceration, and whether or not he has been listening I have prayed. I would carve my pact in my flesh if I could move my hand, or even cast the slightest of spells. Every life I take will be a sacrifice to him. May the blood flow and each passing soul find no peace in the afterlife when they enter the door to his realm. Death is something I know. That is my pledge, though I will state you can want the kraken dead all you want, I am incapable of harming such a beast. I have shot a dragon from the sky, yet not slain one and you are demanding I conquer a beast just as old, just as if not even more powerful. I cannot do that without power."

Gevurah‘s gaze narrows slightly on Desparrow when he claims he has been praying to Vakmatharas daily. “Then it is no coincidence I saw you in the oracle. He has heard your prayers, then. He must have a use for you.” Appraising Desparrow more closely she sees for the first time the severity of his handicap. It’s worse than she had imagined. His manner is different than she had expected as well, which she attributes to his newfound faith in Vakmatharas. She signals in the dark and the guards come to release Desparrow’s limbs from chains. It’s a test. What will he do next? “You may recover your strength in a more comfortable room upstairs. I suspect if you leave here now and return to the surface, the Cenrilians will try to capture and kill you again. You may have food, a bath. Do you bathe?” Genuine question. She has no ideas if lycans bathe. “I have some armor in our collection that may suit you for now. We can enhance it, but for now it should give you some strength. It’s a loan, however.” She opens the door behind her and steps into the hallway. More faerie light illuminates the dungeon. “Can you walk? You may join me upstairs.”

Desparrow did not notice the priestess' scrutiny and instead acquires a bit more hope when her words, at least the choice of them had softened. This was disarming and he was able to let his thoughts wander to other things other than his own survival. The moment he could move his arms, for the first time in months it was like a breath of fresh air and he brought his hands close to his chest, as though it were the last time he'd use them. His demeanor returned to weakness as fingers walked up his neck, over his jaw then to tap at the scorched flesh. He jumped, startled at the feeling and the sting but urged himself to continue until the tips of his fingers ran along the burned bone rim of his eye socket and it could be seen perhaps his one eye beginning to well up with tears. Visions of the letter the jailor so often tortured him with, the one from his ex-lover Lanara flashed in his mind over and over and he knew once again sorrow. Anger washed over him, Gevurah's words lost entirely, heard but unheeded and his only response through the new flow of tears that ran down the right side of his face was an anguished roar, a howl of despair. More than once he shouted her name, finally able to grieve. It was several long drawn out moments before he collected himself and drew up a cold, hardened persona, "They will suffer, they will know my pain. I will kill every last one myself if I must." With that he gathered up strength, his muscles atrophied after long periods of no use and struggled to first stand then follow the woman. "I apologize. I will make myself presentable, and yes.. I do bathe, though water is fine. I will not be maintaining my previous preferences to scent. I will not keep my previous lifestyle.. It is time for change."

Desparrow’s personal change momentarily stuns her. Gevurah had brought him here expecting him to fight the moment he could, but instead he starts crying, sobbing, wailing, howling a name. She did not understand, her stomach churned. Emotion made her uncomfortable. Emotional pain like this bewildered her. The drow has never loved anything save herself and her god. Unable to withstand such a display, she stepped quickly out onto the hallway. From Desparrow’s perspective, it may appear as an act of kindness, as if she is giving him privacy. That may be technically true, but mostly she is made extremely uncomfortable by his bitter sadness. Once he has stopped weeping, the guards point him down the hall to a large hall where Gevurah waits. From there she personally leads him to a guest room on the first floor. He has access to a bathroom shared by another guest room, which is empty, and thus all his. “I’ll have the servants bring you food.” Another drow joins her side. “This is Izzerin, the chamberlain. He’ll see to it your needs are met. I’ll see you in..” She hesitates before leaving. She watches the lycan, unsure of whether or not she should act on an impulse. Finally, she relents with a growl as if she hates what she is about to do, “I can heal your wounds if you like. Lessen the pain.” She growls the final statement. She only undertakes nurturing as a forced and calculated act. She has read that surfacers respond well to… care.

Desparrow appreciated being able to mourn his grief in privacy, whether she meant to give him that pleasantry or not. Once he was at her side he follows to the room and inspects it for just a moment before his gaze shifted to Izzerin. "Food. I suppose. Though." his eye narrowed when she mentioned she could heal him. "No. I will not accept your humble offer, however much you may despise having to have spoken those words. This pain will fuel my hatred. For Cenril.. for its people. I will no longer save it." he stepped into the room and turned to the woman he thought was once an ally, "I will deliver the whole damned thing on a platter to Vakmatharas and watch every screaming soul writhe in agony when they come to bear before the God with a name, and his name is Death. I will relish their fear, and the bloody rain to ensue will be sweet upon my lips. Fury is my weapon, and all to fall will only empower my resolve to keep going." to the chamberlain he had mustered up some of his old arrogance and self-confidence. "I require a room where I can train phyiscally, to work this body back into shape. On top of that, I desire a list of the best blacksmiths in all the Underdark, and if I must do it myself, where I can find the strongest underdark alloys. Darksteel found its origin here did it not? I have more than enough money, no price is too much for what I require." he then turns to Gevurah. "You... You want my service, then here is MY offer. I will be the weapon of which the wrath of Vakmatharas, and your own is exacted, you will however be my voice."

Gevurah doesn’t press the issue of healing Desparrow or not. Her drive isn’t out of sympathy anyway. She grins throughout Desparrow’s anti-Cenrilian hate speech. She cares not for the residents of Cenril and won’t stop him. Sure, logistically speaking it’s not wise politics to eliminate the working class that would enrich and empower Desparrow, but then again, he can always import slaves. No problem! Also, it’s his problem, not hers. Izzerin takes Desparrow’s orders humbly and gladly until his true master Gevurah tells him not to. So far, Gevurah doesn’t disrupt Desparrow’s requests. He may have a training room in the estate and a list of blacksmiths. The chamberlain bows to Desparrow, then more deeply to Gevurah, and leaves to carry out his orders. When the lycan feels emboldened to snap orders at Gevurah she scoffs. “Your voice. And what is it you want to say.”

Desparrow has every intent of having his armor forged and getting it touched by a divine if it is possible. He didn't care who was left in Cenril for as far as he was concerned the city he loved and moved to protect had rejected him, tried him and wanted him destroyed. The corruption was marrow deep and needed a full cleanse to be truly free. "Nothing he isn't already hearing. I meant you are his voice.. to me. If you would however.. remove this collar." it was locked, and as far as he knew nothing more complicated than average, its only that Desparrow himself was not capable of reaching the back of the collar and fiddling with the mechanism, nor did he have the strength to force it. It was hard enough having the ghroundium encircling his neck to choke him whenever he decided to transform. "When I have my body back in working order, I'll be able to hone my more physical skills, and then I'll find ways to circumvent my magical disability."

Gevurah nods at Desparrow’s request that she be a conduit between him and Vakmatharas. “I will gladly bring you closer to the true god. Please him and he will bequeath you with his gifts.” Her lips tense and thin into a straight line when he asks that she remove the ghroundium collar. “I invite you to my estate and give you food and a place to recover in exchange for a pact to kill a kraken, but I have no assurances that you won’t use my resources and betray me or abandon my plot. What can you offer to prove your commitment to destroying the kraken. I need that before I can remove that collar. I have a suggestion, of course. D’Artes slaves wear collars that let us track their location, and if needed, shock them.” Like a tazer and GPS balled in one. “Wear one as a bracelet, folded in on itself.” Like a figure-eight. “Once it’s on, it’s impossible to remove.” Almost impossible, for it was enchanted by Tiphareth, but nothing in Hollow is truly impossible.

Desparrow finds all the intricacies of this woman's paranoia ridiculous, or perhaps it is what comes with political and religious power, always feeling like the next person in line is out to kill you. Or it could just be a drow thing, of which he would know nothing of, for his drow father he was estranged from. Though Gevurah could be a victim of a neurosis that involves a mixture of all of it, amplifying its inherent traits. Oh well, "You want me to wear something that is impossible to remove, that you can use to shock me. Sounds more and more like you are attempting to subdue me. I did not betray you the first time, and here I am, more than willing to do your work, in exchange. Yet you keep trying to gain the upperhand in our dealings. I would say it is your nature, but your efforts are cruel. I do not like your tactics. I have offered nothing that could be considered too much, especially when considering the gravity of your own request, like slaying an ancient sea beast is an easy task." He was far more apprehensive, and it was Gevurah's mistrust and attempts to get one up on him that pushed him further into his own paranoia. He would not be a slave, "I can be an ally. What will you do when you are in the corner, without the power to deal with the threat at hand, and all you have are defiant slaves, and no willing Allies."

Gevurah rolls her eyes at his accusation. “Subdue you? I feed you, give you room and physical freedom. You may leave her as soon as you feel ready. How am I to know that you will stick to the plan after you leave.” She shrugs, hands splaying as if to say she is listening and open to suggestions. “No collar then. Explain to me this ‘allies’ relationship you put so much faith in. If someone tells you that they are your ally, why do you believe them.” Indeed, a recent ‘ally’, Laezila, betrayed her. Paranoia and experience have made the drow neurotic.

Desparrow had faith for his own reasons. "You do wish to subdue me, to have a choke hold on me no matter where I am. As though I intend to turn around first chance and overthrow you. If you do not see, I am not full blooded drow, and among your kind I am filthy, no better than a slave and for me to rise to power in this city would be blasphemy, and anarchy. Impossible, I would be assassinated long before I could try. On top of that, I have no desire to be in the lime light any longer." he took a step toward the priestess. "An ally is someone that you form a bond with for one reason or another, in our case, it is that you have resources, and when I am back in shape, I have power. An unparallelled amount of mystic might with which to exact vengeance on my enemies, and wipe your own from the game board. I will not be taking a direct approach this time. Not until I am ready. I am already formulating a plan. One that will require us to collaborate, and it will benefit us both. One of those plans includes the manipulation of my enemy Ranok, who opposes me so directly. It will involve the spreading of small truths amidst a sea of lives, until I have him doing what I want. With your vast resources, and my plans. I can protect you from threats, and you can further my plans while you remain in power in your city and further expand your territory. Anything else can be negotiated."

Gevurah doesn’t quite believe everything Desparrow says. That he has no desire to rule Trist’oth she believes, but that he won’t steal her resources or undermine her at the first opportunity she does not believe. But she can feel his resistance is great, and if she pushes too hard, she’ll break this chance to get her way. As a slaver, she has developed a strong intuitive sense for people’s limits. “Very well,” she concedes. It;s a gamble that may not pay off, and if it doesn’t, she’ll cross that bridge when she gets there. “Recover in peace, then.” She moves as if to leave. Servants bring Desparrow fine food, not slave food. A mini feast fit for a prince, because under this roof there is no king, only a queen.

Desparrow respected her decision to recede and come back again later. He was adamant about his newfound freedom. He would not be a pet and had no intention to steal from anyone. He had earned his power up to now through blood and sweat and pain. He would not start taking shortcuts, except for relying in the divine, but even that was temporary if he did not face his trials appropriately. "Thank you Gevurah." However when the food was brought he would find he could not eat, for after so much time in starvation, he would be unable to complete a meal without making himself sick. Still he would pace himself until his body was strong again. Even though she would be long gone, he would soon show his appreciation. In the end his night would finish with a series of prayers, including not only praise for Gevurah, and luck in her ventures, and of course power for himself that he can overcome the obstacles in his path, and to take out his adversaries.