RP:Drow Bonds
Summary: Lanlan visits Gevurah bearing gifts: wine, and a hunchback abomination named Gulvyr who will tutor Gevurah in pyromancy. The Second Patron asks Gevurah to reform an alliance, and the drow nobles understand each other's personalities a little bit better.
House D'Artes
Lanlan shows up at Gevurah's house with a friend, an abominable creature who follows close behind. So that makes two abominations. The first one introduces himself to the guards as Lanlan and waits patiently to be let through, informing the guard that he's hear to appeal for the Daughter's forgiveness. Hopefully that was enough to be let through the front door. If it was, he'd unveil a sealed bottle of wine that was in his open hand the whole time. The creature behind him has its face shrouded for everyone else's benefit, and stoops over with a slight hunch, bent gradually by time and gravity. This one doesn't make much noise, but allows itself to be frisked by the guards before entering next to Lanlan.
The guards make Lanlan wait as they ferry a message to the First Daughter. As they wait for a reply, they ask after the second abomination. “What is that you bring with you, Patron Lanlan?” Even as they question him, they show the utmost deference as is expected of their caste. A courier returns with the message that Gevurah will see him. They nod for Lanlan to enter. His abomination too, though they send out yet another message pertaining to it based on Lanlan’s reply. A house mage approaches the Second Patron and says, “You’ll excuse me, Patron Lanlan, but I have orders to scan for enchantments and traps. I trust a man of your station understands.” After gaining Lanlan’s consent, the mage casts a simple detection spell on both him and his freaky friend. Any illusions that are purely cosmetic will also be detected, but politely not remarked upon like an unsightly mole. If Lanlan poses no risk, he and his abomination are lead to the throne room, a cavernous room so tall and dark it’s impossible to make out the ceiling. Directly across from the entrance is Patron Tiphareth’s floor-to-ceiling throne, empty. To the right stand three more thrones, the tops of which can be seen in the dim faerie light. Lanlan may recall that Gevurah likes to make him wait. After several minutes more, she appears through a hidden portal to the right of the three thrones then assumes her seat in the central chair, which is also the tallest of the three. She’s dressed in her usual regal attire, with a wide, long skirt and corset. “An unexpected visit, Patron. I hope not an unpleasant one.” Her glowing red eyes squint at the abomination suspiciously.
Lanlan goes through the necessary motions, they weren't bad enough to balk at. While he was waiting he daydreamed an infirm First Daughter, with servants helping her with every step. He wasn't sure what he was expecting Gevurah to look like after her time in loserville; an unsightly scar, maybe a peg-leg. But she didn't even have an eyepatch. A let down in some ways. "Not an unpleasant one," he repeats. But maybe he spoke too soon, because she didn't even offer him a chair. So he paces slowly and starts to digress, "There were rumors that you were seriously injured...maybe even dead. But I see you're recovering quickly," he said with subtle lament. "Actually for me that puts some other of the rumors to rest. Anyways I've decided to do you a favor if you decide to take advantage." He holds his hand aloft behind him just over the hunchbacks head, causing noticeable effort from the cripple just to reach up and hold it. "This is my friend Gulvyr." Then quietly demanding, "Step forward Gulvyr. Give it to me." They trade: Gulvyr hands Lanlan a thickly bound book and a dainty quill pen, and Lanlan gives him the bottle of wine. Lanlan quickly fills the first page with fancy calligraphy, and they trade back. "Now hand it to the First Daughter." Slowly he makes his way achingly to her, and offers the fat book to Gevurah, nearly buckling with the effort. Impatient, Lanlan enchants it to levitate so the old mage can have a faster time. That's all he does for now.
Gevurah continues to not offer Lanlan a chair. She ignores his comments on her health, true as they may be. Dim lighting, healing magic, illusion magic, and sitting as often as possible so she is never winded, go a long way in giving her the appearance of health. When he utters the word dead she glares at him. In recent weeks, the First Daughter has been seen out and about alongside D’Artes soldiers infrequently, smiting those proven or accused of aiding Laezila’s rebellion. A proper witch hunt for traitors to D’Artes rule. Gevurah lights faerie fire under Gulvyr’s hood to see his face when he approaches. Drow? Mutant? Bugbear? She accepts the book and reads the first page. “What is this.”
Lanlan is sort of puzzled that she would ask the question, and stutters. "Uh...well I'm not sure what it is. It appears vaguely hominid doesn't it? But as you can see it's all burned up. It's like that all over--Oh! Ahem. That's a spellbook. I took the liberty of inscribing the first one for you." Firebolt. The only fire spell he knows. The only non-illusion spell he knows. "Gulvyr's what you might call an expert on pyromancy. And a teacher."
Gevurah was asking about the spellbook’s first inscription, but Lanlan’s response that he doesn’t know what the creature is doesn’t quite reassure her. “Hmm…” she murmurs through pursed lips. Her fingers trace over Lanlan’s calligraphy. The High Priestess has never owned a proper spellbook before. Her power come from holy texts and prayer books. It is true that she is struggling to artfully manipulate the pyromancy she stole from Laezila. She knows how to turn on the gas, so to speak, but not how to temper the heat. “A thoughtful gift,” she concedes. “Where did you find Gulvyr?” She stands slowly and waves for Lanlan to approach. His gift buys him entry to a more comfortable room, the “family” den of sorts, where the nobles gather to speak more casually of house matters. Up close, Lanlan may notice that she moves very slowly. As they converse, they exit through the hidden portal to the right of the thrones and reappear in a heavily decorated hallway that leads to a cozily furnished room. Two couches face each other on either side of a coffee table. Patron Lanlan has been here once before. The High Priestess sits on one couch and waves for the mage to sit on the other. Their conversation never ceases throughout, until a house slave approaches and bows to silently service them with a drink. Gevurah orders a type of tea known by mages to help restore lost mana.
Lanlan finally gives the wine present to one of her people when he realizes that he'll be respected enough to be allowed comfort. "I have connections in the Mage's guild. Uh he's no longer affiliated." Apparently he's not willing to divulge everything, but she might make some accurate assumptions just from what he said. While they move toward the more comfortable area, Lanlan makes a conscious effort not to remark on how cautious she is in just moving from place to place; pointing out a weakness might imply he can take advantage of it. Better to let her think otherwise. "That will cast a firebolt, it's nothing but a foundation but...I've seen how expressive you can be when it comes to magic. Like when you disposed of Nymh." He recalls it fondly as he slowly sinks into a seat and absently loops his finger through the handle of a tea cup. "That's why I came here today. To give these gifts to you." Then offering more explanation than he normally would, he says with a lackadaisical air, "I heard what Laezila said about you, and it occurred to me that if such a thing were discovered to be true you might not have many allies..." He chuckled, "But I think you would at least have one."
Lanlan is wise not to point out weakness and recall on past victories, such as that over Nymh. She smiles genuinely at the memory. Nymh’s death was pretty glorious, wasn’t it? Recalling how the spiders crept under his skin is enough to lift her energy and make her look a touch healthier. The drow don’t admit that emotional health comes into play with their race as it does with every other, but that doesn’t mean they’re excused from the effects of emotions. The servant also brings out Lanlan’s gifted wine and waits to see if the nobles mean to drink it now. Gevurah cannot withstand any alcohol these days. She doesn’t comment one way or the other, which the servant understands as a ‘no’. “And what did Laezila say, exactly?” She sips her tea. By the dim warm light of this room she appears more at home.
Lanlan notices the subtle effect flattery has on her, and makes note only to use it sparingly and see if there's a weakness to be exploited. He sips his tea loudly, testing the temperature and then putting it back down to cool off a bit more. "I think she was alluding to the way you 'took' her fire from her. But I don't want to talk about that right now." He tastes the tea again, "Mmm," and then he holds it in his hand. "I'd rather talk about the future. I know you must feel disappointed after being forced to engage those cretins alone." He just looked so regretful. He waited for her to interject, thinking she must have some feelings regarding his total absence in relation to it.
Gevurah‘s dark smile remains firmly fixed in place as she recalls the day she stole Laezila’s fire. He talks about the future and she’s still receptive until he refers however obliquely to the day of the riot, and those cretins that almost cost her her life. “I wasn’t aware you even knew about those three days, given your total absence. In my experience, those nobles who were nowhere to be seen either were supporting Laezila in secret,” she pauses here to gauge his reaction, encouraging some type of slip with a critical look, “or they kept their noses out of it to opportunistically siddle up to whoever turned out to be the victor. I assume you belong to the latter group, since House D’Artes was the victor, and here you are siddling up. That, and you aren’t in Vailkrin or Frostmaw with Laezila. Terrible places to live, so perhaps your decision not to follow her is purely a question of real estate.”
Lanlan began to grow impatient quickly, and very animated, leaning forward so far in his chair it was more like squatting than sitting "I didn't come here to perform, actually," he started with a lie, "You may not know this, but there are multiple houses that don't see D'artes as the victor, and are colluding together as we speak to take advantage of your purported weakness." Visibly, he calms down and leans back comfortably in his seat again. "No. I knew you could handle it and I had a mess of my own to clean up because of Laezila. But if enough of the weaker houses advanced on you it might elicit a change I would be uncomfortable with." Even if drow didn't have what would conventionally be considered friends, they did often cooperate to take out a larger enemy. At some point he placed his tea cup back down, and became very conscious of the amount of times he'd been moving it to and fro, and wondering if it might make him seem wishy-washy he left it while he wanted it.
Gevurah glares at Lanlan as he animatedly reminds her of her enemies and detractors. She’s always been fine with shooting the messenger. What’s worse, he speaks of others’ opinions that D’Artes lost that day as if he finds their whispered conclusions reasonable. “I will assume you find their opinions laughable, given that House D’Artes continues to rule. Tell me, why do they whisper in the dark when speaking against the First House? Who are they afraid of?” She grins again. “Exactly. And, while you’re talking, tell me why do these enemies of my house make you uncomfortable. Is your house also under threat?” She lifts her lukewarm tea and sips it.
Lanlan seemed to be making progress by his standards, "Yes of course House D'Artes continues to rule, and it still will. But will you?" He looked very dubious as to that particular proposition, and leaned forward to tell her something else. "Only you think they whisper in the dark, Gevie. But as long as our houses stand united, they'll be as formless as a shadow, and as harmless." Of course Lanlan knew who they were really afraid of. Lanlan's favorite thing about Gevurah was who she wasn't. "Of course my House of 'monsters' is under threat. Don't think I intend to be your servant."
Gevurah visibly recoils at the nickname ‘Gevie’. “Gevurah,” she corrects. They’re not close enough for that. Actually, no one calls her that. She doesn’t have a nickname, in large part because she doesn’t have close friends or family. Since the death of Keter, the D’Artes nobility is made of frigid bonds built on mutual greed. His breach of conduct inspires her to adopt a distant, formal tone. “The First and Second Houses have long had an alliance which your former matron broke. If you wish to renew it, that is agreeable to me. Do you propose a specific plan?” There is a wariness in her voice that has little to do with Lanlan. She’s still weak and needs to return to rest soon.
Lanlan doesn't seem offput or surprised at all by her correcting him. "Ah. That's my secret name for you. Must've slipped out." He maintains a satisfied smile the entire time, even while she takes the standoffish tone. "Yes both our houses are allied; we're both very neighborly. But you and I could be allied too. I will propose something some day." He takes one last sip of his tea and hands it off to the servant. "Am I boring you? Because I have something to offer you and it would behoove you to take advantage."
Gevurah levels her brow at his smug smirk. “My secret nickname for you is Pinhead.” When he suggests the two of them could be allied as a individuals, she pictures them amorously entwined and shudders fiercely to rid herself of the mental image. Where did that come from, and gross. She waves a hand for him to continue. “Speak your mind.” She rolls her shoulders back and her spine cracks sickly, as if it never quite set right since the days of the riot.
Lanlan doesn't like his nickname and frowns. "That name's ugly. I have a better nickname for myself." He casts a little spell in Gevurah's general direction, and her voice seemingly comes out of her mouth. "Oh Master Lanlan," Gevurah says, "I'm sorry for calling you Pinhead. Forgive me Master Lanlan? Please forgive me?" Lanlan ends his spell and says, "Of course I forgive you Gevurah. We're friends now. But I'd get your back looked at before you end up like Gulvyr."
Gevurah laughs in spite of herself (and will later kick herself for laughing) at the Patron’s little stunt. It’s a surprisingly clever (for him) de-escalation tactic. The best way for prideful nobles to come down from an exchange of mild insults. He mentions her back and she stops laughing. It is a sign of her weakness, but one that will heals, or so the doctors assure her. “Yes. Our very best healers are on the case.” She wets her lips and glances away briefly, flustered by her slow recovery. Not enough heads are rolling in the streets of Trist’oth, in part because she is still burdened. “So. You were going to propose an alliance?”
Lanlan chuckles a little when she laughs too and then drowns it in a cough and purses his lips to diminish the smile. A small bit of empathy that perverts his mind every so often. "Right. Of course you'll be fine. But I'll send my best healer over later anyways." He isolates the bit of empathy in his mind and squishes it. But he knows it'll be back. "So yes! An alliance...between our houses, but more importantly between you and I. More like a truce really...I'm not as familiar with the other Patrons or Matrons as you, nor do they 'trust' me as much. And I can help you too. Help you find the ones who whisper in the dark."
Gevurah purses her lips to the side in amusement as Lanlan offers to send healers. Fine. So be it. Perhaps it is just another act of alliance-gifting and nothing remotely sentimental. (How embarrassing for him if it were the latter.) “You will act as a double agent, then. Pretend to be of a like mind with them, gather intelligence about this nebulous enemy, and in exchange I do what I can to encourage the Drow Council to respect you as an equal. Is that the gist of it? It is true that your rise to power was unorthodox. Normally, drow earn their seat by beheading their former matrons and patrons. You gained it not by a coup, but by… Laezila’s stupidity. Perhaps you should get more blood on your hands. The council respects bloody hands.”
Lanlan folded his hands grumpily. Somehow getting told to do what he was already going to do makes him feel like doing something else. "That's it. That's what I'll do." He didn't know if she was being insulting on purpose. "Yes, I was chosen by merit rather than greed. She may have been plagued with an especially damning cerebral affliction, but she wasn't wrong in choosing me. I think she got sick after she did that actually." He nods his head and unclasps his hands. Even though his job is much harder than hers, he agrees to it because he likes her haircut, probably.
Gevurah notes his grumpiness and grins impishly. Good. She likes that she still in some ways has the upper hand, despite her bad back and a 0-1 lose streak in war management. As for Laezila’s choice in appointing Lanlan, the High Priestess tries to soothe his ruffled feathers by saying, “Despite the differences between Laezila and… the drow race… I know her to be careful in choosing who to surround herself with.” Nymh notwithstanding. “If that’ll be all… I have other things to attend to.”
Lanlan can't really say much about her soothing his ruffled feathers and flattering herself with the same line. It's just too admirable. "Fine. I'll let the servant show me out." What a gentleman, letting her rest because her whole body's a shambles and he doesn't feel like waiting for her sluggish gait.