RP:Drow Friendships Are Short-lived

From HollowWiki

Part of the Surface Tension Arc



Synopsis: Laezila is still recovering at House D'Artes after enduring her punishment for backing the traitor Nymh. She informs Gevurah that she will be reducing the number of soldiers in the war, but can be persuaded not to do so in exchange for the E'et-Nilah Blade. The ultimatum strikes a chord with Gevurah who sends the Matron packing. Friendship over already. :(

House D'Artes

Gevurah rarely left her room since the disaster in Gualon. Laezila has been tended to in a lavish guest room, with her own personal butler too. Two of D’l’sel D’issan staff and guards have been granted visitation rights if they so choose. The Matron has not been called upon to entertain Gevurah as a guest or vice versa. The compound is plenty large enough that the women can leave their rooms and never see each other. Today, the high priestess ventures to the family room and sends a servant to alert Laezila of her whereabouts. The Matron isn’t asked or commanded to join Gevurah, but simply informed. Gevurah sits on a chaise in a thin, black silk robe. No need to dress up between us girls.


Laezila wouldn't have taken kindly to being commanded, as technically she still was superior in station to the First Daughter of House D'Artes and was becoming far too lenient in letting such slide; her youth betrayed itself in being lax of that regard, and attempting to garner a friend out of the ambitious woman. She had taken to only a single guard as an invitation of faith to the D'Artes welcome, but had seen a visitor along the way; one Lanlan D'l'Sel D'issan. It was through him that she reacquired her mask, and it covered her face as her body seemed to almost hobble into the room, still affected by the Spider Goddess' torture, and likely healing slowly due to Vakmathras' anger. One slender arm circled over her ribs and she was somewhat haunched, but behind her ivory mask those striking blue eyes seemed cunning, on point, and with all the severity of the confidence that she lacked without that item.


Gevurah smiles tiredly as Laezila enters. She’s less alert, less guarded — the home field advantage. “Matron Laezila. I am glad that you could decided to grace me with your company.” Best not to mention the Matron’s crippled state. “Wine? Or tea? I am having tea myself.” She pauses then adds softly and quickly, “Medicinal.” Across from Gevurah is a low coffee table, and across from that a couch. A chamber slave lurks unseen in the corner, waiting to be commanded by either noble. “I trust your chambers have been suitable?”


Laezila waved the hand that wasn't guarding her weakened ribs dismissively, the expression of her face hidden behind that ivory and only those sharp eyes were revealed; they were calculating, analyzing, and shrewd in their swiping around the room. With much struggle and effort, the young little matron eased her diminutive frame, clad in backless black dress befitting her station yet still edgy in its revealing with a cut up along its length from hem to hip. Unfortunately, it was belied by the way she moved while injured, almost haunched and holding her middle. When she was seated, however, she appeared far more capable, and crossed one leg over the other. "They have been suitable. Nothing for me. You have been busy while I have been resting, I take it?"


Gevurah concedes to what Laezila wants to hear with a slow nod. “Indeed.” She waves for the servant to pour Laezila some tea. The Matron’s shrewd demeanor is appraised for what it is, one part theatrics, one part anxiety. What happens now? Gevurah isn’t quite sure either. She hadn’t planned for this when she lured Laezila to the caverns beneath Gualon. “I was hoping we could discuss soon the specifics of your counsel. You advised me to punish you publicly. I got what I wanted, and other prizes don’t excite me as much. I still consider our alliance in tact. Do you?” She sips her tea slowly, maintaining eye contact over the lip of her cup.


Laezila did not wilt or flinch beneath the stare of the First Daughter, and her ivory mask veiled any emotion or expression that she might give. "Your punishment was far too taxing, I cannot endure a public one as well. Our alliance may remain intact." She drew one slender arm along the backrest of the couch, her grimace of pain unseen. "I have no care for the surface. My interest lies beneath it, around us. This war is... Weakening our stances. Must it continue? Our efforts may be better spent among our own people." Her appeal, a mere question with neither ultimatum nor threat.


Gevurah nods at Laezila’s refusal of a public punishment. “Agreed.” The topic is discarded and quickly moves on to a thornier subject. Gevurah shrugs away her knee-jerk bristle and explains matter-of-factly. “It is a priority to the First Patron. On the practical side, it cheapens our trade. We have grown accustomed to wares from the surface, and by we I mean the ruling class, of course.” Who gives a flying bat about the common folk, am I right? Haha! Wealth! “But it’s more than that. It’s a stance. The elves drove the drow to the Underdark many millennia ago. We have thrived and become stronger than the elves, but that was something we drow knew but never proved to the surface races. The first war changed that. And now it is ours. Drow, and more specifically House D’Artes does not give up its possessions under durres. We cannot be forced.”


Laezila 's expression was well-hidden now, and thankfully so, or else it would've conveyed her displeasure at Gevurah's words. Instead, the young and petite woman merely dipped her chin with a simple, "Very well." That was the end of her appeal, as her gaze cut into Gevurah harshly. "And my punishment? It was not something very... D'Artes." She wouldn't mention what it was, but that the spider goddess was involved was conveyed by that hard stare.


Gevurah grins at Laezila’s question. “I did it, and I am a D’Artes, and so now it is a D’Artes thing to do.” Simple as that. Her arrogance has grown in step with her power. Clearly Gevurah doesn’t want to get into the specifics of what went down if she doesn’t have to. Laezila’s message behind that hard stare is picked up loud and cleared and deftly ignored.


"I think I will have that tea," the matron said; for all her youth, she was not drunk upon ambition and greed for power. She knew full well the road that Gevurah was traveling, and considering the woman (somewhat) saved her, she was compelled to warn her. "The only thing that begets one that seeks to play gods against one another, is horror. They are not Drow." She leaned back a little and kept her gaze on the daughter, and rapped her knuckles along the couch. "Do you understand me?"


The servant serves Laezila immediately. The slave may not be in the line of fire, but the tension in the room is palpable and thick enough to suffocate innocent bystanders. Laezila’s counsel is wise, but Gevurah is blinded by her own ambition. She nods and agrees just to shut the Matron up, but it’s clear by the way she’s so quick to acquiesce, so falsely humbled by the advice, that is falls on deaf ears. “I will endeavor to be more careful.” Mhm. “But I trust you will continue to pledge soldiers to the war effort as our ally, yes?”


Laezila lifted the cup, but didn't touch her mask or take even a sip of the liquid; her fingers traced its lip in contemplation. "Tell me. How many of your own House are you using?"


Gevurah said to Laezila, "A little under half of all the troops -- and twice as many as yours. Why."


Laezila said to Gevurah, "I don't care about the elves, but my men will not be slaughtered for a D'Artes war. I will still supply troops, but a third less than previous."


Gevurah‘s brows knit into a hard, narrow glare. “That is not support! Is this what you have been cooking up in House D’Artes, eatingour food, under the care of our healers. What inspired this?” Suddenly she remembers one of Laezila’s visitors and barks, “Was it Lanlan? He has no mind for politics.”


Laezila 's striking blue eyes did not narrow, but were calmly and calculatingly fixed to the rage of the First Daughter. "And what other Houses lend you troops? You weaken my position upon the council and leave me open for lesser houses to strike." The drink swirled in her hand, "A third less, or you give me your father's old sword." She knew she wouldn't take that, but the glitter in Laezila's gaze said that she had known of every manipulation used against her; Gevurah was in an odd position. "Or do you wish to tell me of how we are friends?"


Mentioning E’et-Nilah strikes a particularly tense chord in Gevurah’s raisin heart. She has had enough and stands. “Alliances have agreements, Matron. I don’t have patience for the bait and switch.” A moment ago her well of patience was full. Perhaps she’s got some daddy issues. She signals to a servant to send an escort for Matron Laezila. “You know the terms of our alliance. Adhere to it, and I’ll tell you how we are friends. Break the agreement, and this guard will show you to your room so that you may gather your things and leave.” She storms out of the room - sort of. She’s still weak, and the effect is ruined somewhat by this, but she’s too annoyed to care.


Laezila 's chuckle followed after Gevurah, rasped in her injured state, her humor in the ultimatum. She expected to see Gevurah again; the war couldn't sustain a breaking of this alliance, with D'l'Sel D'issan back entirely in the Underdark.