RP:Heads Will Roll

From HollowWiki

Part of the Saurian Onslaught Arc


Summary: Larewen and Daath cross paths and are soon joined by Athyaron, Dyraxdiin, Gevurah, and briefly, Magik. Dyraxdiin arrives to collect a Razurath bounty, while Daath and Gevurah remember their betrothal and invite Larewen to discuss future matrimonial affairs.

Hanging Corpse Tavern

Daath is once more within the enchanted walls of his favorite haunt, resting within a large armchair he conjured up near the goblin-faced fire place as he nurses a glass of wine while he reads over a large tome. By his side is a strange creature, though one could say it was an imp perhaps. Now it was a proto-flesh creation of the magister's own design. The creature watches over its master, it's eyes scouring any who'd attempt to get close to the dark elf noble as he studies. Tenebrae's work was fascinating, though troublesome to perfect for even one as advanced as he. It will take time, but such a project was what the arcanist needed to pass the time for now, and it was a task worthy of his skill.

Larewen stepped into the Hanging Corpse, cloaked beneath a black cape. It was that or guards in this political clime, and the latter was something Larewen loathed. Beneath the cloak, she wore clothes that were unusual for her: black-leather pants and a loose green shirt, paired with dark boots. Really though, it didn’t do much to obscure the woman; she could be felt the moment she arrived. But so too was the male inside the establishment. Mismatched eyes swept over the room, brown one—enchanted by that very same drow—recognized those threads of magic before she could even see him. She walked nearer, a wave of her hand at Steadmen placing her order. The strange creature wasn’t noticed at first. Not until she caught its attention. The necromancer recognized what the creature was and arched a brow as she called from where she stopped to Daath, “Please tell me you’re using Tenebrae’s work for more than a watch dog.” Her voice was candied, as it always was.

Athyaron makes his way into the Hanging Corpse, black hood pulled over his head. Noticing the tavern was more or less empty with the exception of two others the ranger would make his way towards Steadmen and slide him a few coin. "Blackfire wine..." he says quietly. Once his drink is in hand, he would make his way to a quiet corner of the tavern.

Daath is of course not willing to remove his gaze from the text left behind by the former owner of this establishment even as Larewen makes herself known. The imp, or rather empusai in the making, stares at the vampire as she speaks , it's flesh writhing about most unnaturally as it does so as if it were alive. The poor creature never stood a chance against the symbiotic host it now carries, it's body and mind devoured to give way to a higher form of creature.. well, eventually. It was a slow and arduous process but if he could handle this project so many more awaited. But of course Tenebrae was ahead of her time, a genius and artist with the dark arts, so much so even Daath himself was hard pressed to fully grasp what he reads. That alone caused the Magister to delve further, he hated to feel that he was lacking, or in her shadow. After a few more moments, the drow replies to Larewen with. "This creature can barely maintain its form, I'd highly doubt he could defend himself let alone me." Not that he needed a guard dog, given the host of wards and spells at the ready should the need arise. But, none the less he says. "And I've far more promising creatures at my disposal, but I'm in Vailkrin now. Should I require a guard? I've heard some vampires recently lost their heads." As usual he seems caught up on recent happenings, always saying it so that he hints at knowing more than most should. Be it true or a ruse, no one knows.

Larewen remained paused for a moment, briefly distracted by Athyaron’s entrance. Even though the figure was cloaked, she could smell him, and he smelled to her as a well-crafted vintage might to a connoisseur. Delicious. Her nostrils flared beneath the cowl of her own hood, tongue pressing to the back of her fangs hungrily. It wasn’t until Daath finally spoke that her attention was drawn away from the ranger and back to her former master. A few more steps followed as she closed the distance and peered down at the creature. “Do you consider yourself my enemy?” she retorted. “Those heads were of House Nasar’s assassins.”

Athyaron would simply keep to himself as he occasionally brought his glass to his lips. That said however, his gaze would shift about beneath his hood. One could not be too careful after all. Vailkrin wasn't exactly elf...let alone one with a more...ferocious side should he choose to let the wolf out. Nonetheless, it was best he didn't after all. It would draw too much attention as is.

Daath follows Larewen's gaze to the elf, brave or foolish soul as he was for entering here. But given the drow hashing since sated his desire for wood elf blood by playing a key role in their defeat and exile from sage, this stranger is of little interest to the arcanist. Back to Larewen, he'd change the subject abruptly without answering her question or inquiring further into her claims of assassin's. Vampire politics remind him too much of home. "I hear you've moved to have the Necromancer Guild stand as it's on entity. Care to share with me as to why?"

“Word travels fast, doesn’t it?” the necromancer replied, her gaze moving back toward Athyaron. From her proximity to Daath, the drow may see the hunger flashing in her eyes. “It will be my first move, once I’ve gained leadership again. The guild has been operating largely without the Mage Guild’s interference or… support for quite some time. What use is there for us to remain a charter, if we’ve become largely independent?” She looked at Daath again, her mismatched eyes studying his face with thinly veiled fondness.

Athyaron in truth, wasn't looking to start a fight. His journey home had been a long one and it had frankly, left the elf exhausted. Still, one look at Daath reminded him of what had happened to his people roughly around the same time Leoxander had died. House D'Arte had killed his brother Lirithen and taken a valuable artifact of his people...if he could call them that still after Mahri had bit him oh so long ago. Vaguely aware he was being watched, the ranger would simply take another drink from his glass.

Daath is of course interested in such matters, especially since guild matters are really all he cares for in the grand scheme of things. He catches her gaze, seeing that familiar gleam within those mismatched eyes. She’d find only his scarlet gaze looking back, emotions void in hide gaze, as he says. “Valid points. The mage guild has been lacking, lost even without its core leadership. Even I must share blame, though it seems another has picked up the slack we all left behind.” He speaks of Dyraxdiin, who has gained support and proven his worth over the years. Some say he has enough support to take up the leadership mantle, but that is a matter wholly separate for now. “If you were to find support once more, would you be open to rekindling the relationship between the guilds? Or are you set upon making it your own?” Such a separation would be a detriment to both, though the dark elf does know of the he desires of independence. The guild was hers now, he had no intention of trying to reclaim it.

Larewen tried not to glance Athyaron’s way again, even though her stomach ached to be filled. Feedings had become necessary far more frequently as of late, especially with her expenditure of power. She didn’t know him, though they shared a common friend whom, until sometime in the last few years, she believed dead as well. Just how many times has Leoxander been believed to be dead? Larewen knew Daath spoke of Dyraxdiin, but made no comment on the dragon’s work within the Mage’s Guild. After all, the necromancer had precious little to do with the guild, what with Vailkrin’s civil war occupying most of her free time and reclaiming the Necromancer’s Guild occupying the rest. Her tongue pressed to the back of her teeth again as a waiter brought her blood wine, which she took and swirled around in its glass to check its tannins before lifting it to her mouth. Only once she’d taken some of it did she speak again. “I would be open to that,” she said. “Provided it remains beneficial to both guilds. Our students do, as it stands, share many similarities, and I’ll be damned before I restrict the availability of knowledge to those whom I’ve promised to teach.” Granted, the elf was already damned.

Athyaron would remain unaware of Larewen's connection to Leoxander. As far as the elf turned lycan knew, his old alpha was still dead. If he lived? It mattered not. The ranger would not return to any pack started by the man. Over the few years since leaving the pack after departing overseas, the ranger had grown used to his solace...with the exception of his son and daughter, both of which had long since ceased contact, not that he could blame them. Downing the last of his drink, the ranger slid Steadmen a few more coin for another blackfire wine. Hopefully, something of interest other than talk of magic would come up.


Gevurah 's spies slipped into the drow whisper network that Daath is in The Hanging Corpse Tavern. Gevurah takes it upon herself to pay him a visit and bring along a gift. The recent peace in Trist'oth, the cease fire between the noble houses, has been paved with gift giving. It's been too long since House D'Artes gifted House D'jiv'Undus something valuable, and the practice is part of the necessary political theater. To fail to give a gift could lead to rumors that D'Artes plans on attacking D'jiv'Undus, and rumors lead to assassinations, assasinations lead to wars. Wars are destabilizing and Gevurah enjoys her stability at the top of the drow political power structure. And so here she is, making a rare appearance in a surface watering hole, though this one isn't so bad compared to the others. The drow matron wears a full length black gown, blood-red corst, bustle, a full neckline of obsidian and ruby jewelry, a matte black steel diadem - in short, she drips wealth. Her willingness to wear such wealth in a city further accentuates her power. She holds a silver chain that crackles with black arcane energy. On the end of the chain is an iron neck brace placed tightly around the neck of a seven year old human. The girl wears a gauze, plain dress and mocassins that are too big on her small feet. She trips often as the long shoes catch on the floor. Gevurah's glowing red gaze sweeps the tavern until she spots Daath talking to Lady Larewen Dragana. As she approaches them she glances at the other patrons. Her gaze lingers suspiciously on an elf (Athyaron). If he meets her gaze, she'll snarl at him.

Dyraxdiin moves into the Hanging Corpse tavern with a weary stride, slipping through the door as it swings ajar for an exiting patron. The great wyrm doesn't frequent this place too often, preferring the forests of Kelay-Sage over the dark, dreary land this tavern resides in. But alas, when you're looking for a drow... This place seems to always harbor some. And this presumption proves true, as aegean-blue eyes meet Daath, an individual Diin hasn't seen in some time. He greets him from across the tavern with a nod of his head, should he look in the great wyrm's direction. Beyond that, Dyraxdiin spots Gevurah, or at least, the woman who fits the description of the First Daughter of House D'Artes. Instead of approaching her directly, right away, Dyraxdiin moves to the bar and orders a drink, "Whiskey, neat." Coin exchanges hands with Steadmen and the drink is garnered. Diin finds himself a stool to sit and observe, until the time is right to approach Gevurah's company and produce evidence of the recent battle fougth with the Razurath.

Magik seems to be mumbling to himself as he enters the tavern. With his head held low, he eventually makes his way through the various tables and chairs to a vacant table in the back. Once seated, he slams his head down onto the edge of the table and leaves it there. The floorboards beneath him start to singe as what appears to be fiery ebony droplets drip from his nose.

Daath was listening to Larewen before a plethora of things happen all at once. First, the drow is “blessed” by the presence of the Matron of Trist’Oth, her slender figure just so disgustingly flawless and inviting as ever. Her gift, the slave girl, raises a curious brow as well enough to prompt a “One moment” gesture to Larewen as he says to Gevurah. “And to what do we all owe this honor?” They both know it’s not, they both play the game they hate having to play but do so because of their very dna. At this moment too, Dyraxdiin is seen and a return nod is offered in response to his, a look of “fml” easily seen. Back to Gevurah, he says. “What’s this little creature you have? A new pet?”

Larewen stepped out of Gevurah’s way. Not as deference, but because last she knew (and as far as she still knew) the two were engaged. With a lift of her chin to the woman—one of the few she respected—the necromancer offered a small greeting. And then Dyraxdiin! Speak of the devil, eh? Not even by name, and it was like he was summoned. Their conversation put on hold, much to Larewen’s chagrin, the elf decided to pay attention to the ranger. Only he was gone now too, which left little of interest to the necromancer save Magik. She’d seen the vampire enter the establishment earlier. She’d seen him sneeze, too, and the black fire that accompanied it. Interest piqued by this curiosity, she stepped away from her conversation with Daath to better study the ailing vampire. By study, we mean stare at blatantly. She didn’t draw nearer to him, for fear that it might be contagious. Illness was the last thing Larewen needed.

Gevurah had completely forgotten she and Daath were (are?) engaged. Was that even real? Daath proposed, but surely he wasn't serious. Well, on second thought, he was serious, but not for romantic reasons, but then again no drow ever marries for love, so perhaps he was as earnest as a drow could be. In any event, the fact Daath and Gevurah are engaged does not cross Gevurah's mind. Daath is Daath, powerful mage of a powerful house that he could care less about. Of course House D'jiv'Undus cares an awful lot about Daath. His power is theirs by association, and so Gevurah shoves the human girl towards Daath in an offering to a House D'jiv'Undus's crown jewel. For Larewen's benefit she speaks in her heavily accented (and sometimes grammatically awkward) common tongue, "Your new pet. She responds to Xanna, but feel free to name her as brings you pleasure. She was the adopted daughter of a saurian named Aetherclaw, a general in that pathetic army of theirs. I am told she has unlimited arcane potential, but no training. I know you like your little mage projects." She attempts something like a smile. There's no teeth or warmth in it. She nods politely to Larewen, whom she respects well enough for a surfacer, i.e. Larewen is still an inferior race, but she's accrued power despite her racial shortcomings and thus makes a fine, dark ally for Gevurah's surface interests. "I heard you were disappeared. It is interesting to see you are not." Once Daath has finished inspecting his gift, she catches his gaze with hers and tosses it towards Dyraxdiin. She says in drow tongue, "Who is that." As usual, she states her questions as commands.

Dyraxdiin largely ignores the drow-exchange of dagger-eyes and obvious veiled machinations. They were always scheming, for as long as the great wyrm knew of their existence. Very little has changed in the course of their history, even after the D'Artes, Keter, managed to free them of their Matron hierarchy. Many things change in time, the drow... they're always drow. With a few exceptions, Daath being a prime example, or perhaps, a perfect archetype for which they strive to achieve. Either or. A nod is given to Larewen as well, having now counted her among those present in the tavern of whom he knows. The drowish question falls on deaf ears - Diin never took the time to learn their language, leaving that responsibility to the earth-dwelling dragons. Instead, he takes a drink from his glass, waiting for something to happen, perhaps.

Daath is now caught in full conversation with Gevurah, seeing as Larewen seems to take her leave of them for now. It's something about her look, how the vampire looked at the pair of drow, that seems to rekindle a memory. He has to stifle both a chuckle as well as a bit of vomit as he turns to Gevurah as she offers her gift. He looks the child thing up and down, failing to see this untapped potential, but things rarely are what they seem. Ideas play in his mind, for oh yes, the D'jiv'undus heir would make a wonderful father to the poor lost child. Here, as he orders the imp-wrapped-in proto-flesh project to take the child (he hates being hands things) he catches Gevurah's "inquiry" about Dyraxdiin. Eying the curvaceous woman with a look for using the drow language, he says in common. "That is Lord, or Duke or something long those lines, Dyraxdiin. A powerful mage, and comrade in the mages guild. You can speak freely, he isn't some white knight." A nod towards Redovian and Kelovath, particularly Kelovath, whom many whispered Gevurah may have slept with. You know how rumors are, especially when a Paladin walks out the underdark more than one time alive. To Dyraxdiin he calls out, a slight smirk on his lips in anticipation for what's to come as he says. "Dyraxdiin, my friend, please join us, I'd like to introduce my fiance. Gevurah D'Artes. Matron of all Trist'Oth." He'd look back to Gevurah, wondering if she too had forgotten all about -that- little arrangement.

Larewen furled her brow and tilted her head slightly before regarding Dyraxdiin again. He was her only option remaining for conversation among this bunch, but before she could scant give a nod of her head, Daath invited him over to join them. Well there’s that, she thought to herself. She drained the remainder of her glass of wine and returned to the bar for a refill.

Gevurah narrows her eyes sharply on Daath as he mentions a white knight, the exact phrasing used in Trist'oth in connection with the rumor that she slept with that paladin scum Kelovath. A disgusting rumor that brings vomit to the back of her throat. "Careful, Daath," she says in drow tongue because she prefers it and because he told her not to. "You sound jealous." When Daath introduces Dyraxdiin as some duke or lord or whatever silly surface title, Gevurah gives Dyraxdiin the once over and nods stiffly. Then Daath introduces her as fiance and she pauses as she tries to translate the word. Fiance? Fiance? It takes a second before the word clicks into place (Gevurah can go months at a time without speaking or reading common). She smirks without looking at Daath and says as in a calm, jarringly calm tone, "Yes, his fiance. I enjoy being charitable from time to time. Dyxardeen, is it?"

Dyraxdiin finishes his drink and slides the empty glass, upturned, across the bar to Steadmen. He rises from his seat, taking a moment to adjust his robes, then move across the venue towards the pair of drow and company. Aegean eyes glance toward the floor as he bows his head in a rather stiff manner - vestiges of the soreness from the duel earlier in the day, perhaps, but he does well to hide it. "Lady D'Artes..." He trails off, as eyes lift to peer into her own for a time. Alas, before such an act can drag painfully into the throes of awkwardness, Dyraxdiin responds to her query, "You can call me Diin." He then breaks eye contact and looks toward Daath. "I didn't realize you had become engaged, I apologize. I would have sent a gift in congratulations." A ghost of a smirk touches at the corner of his mouth, twitching for all but a mere second.

Daath is enjoying this for now, he had totally forgotten all about this arrangement. But here she is offering gifts, a display of her love? How sweet. Diin joins them, and for some reason Larewen pushes herself away even more? He calls to her. "Why did you leave? Come join us again. We have much to talk about. From mage guild matters *nods to Dyraxdiin* to matters of my future wedding." Here he turns to Gevurah and smiles. "It'll have to be a wondrous occasion, to be sure. Such two mighty houses joining." He is trying hard not to lose it at the sheer insanity of it all.

Larewen heard Daath’s invitation. And downed her glass of wine with one long gulp. Discussing the matters of a wedding were most definitely not what the necromancer would like to do with her free time. Especially Daath’s. The elf ordered a third and glanced over her shoulder at the trio. “I’ll pass,” she said, her voice a bite cooler than it normally is. “Congratulations.” What else could she say? She wasn’t happy or either of them, and the vocalizing of matrimonial matters in general tend to put the elf in a sour place. Perhaps it’s because of her failed marriage, in addition to their pending nuptials? Larewen stared westward, as if looking through the wall of the establishment toward the Thorne Estate.

Gevurah rolls her eyes at Daath's taunting, though it is clear she isn't upset with him in the slightest. Being a powerful Matron means few would dare flirt with her. But even soulless killers and political monsters need to feel validated from time to time, and Daath is one of a handful of drow with the status and balls necessary to dare flirt with her. She replies to him, "I'm very busy this year. Not sure I can find room in the schedule for a wedding." Lanlan briefly enters her mind. The loyal second patron who has always loved Gevurah in his distant way. What would Lanlan say of this little joke of hers and Daath's? Is it even a joke? She glances sidelong at Daath as he speaks to Larewen and Dyraxdiin. Daath's surfacer network of powerful mages and necromancers is a worthy asset, as is his own phenomenal power. Slowly she warms to idea of marrying Daath for political expediency. It feels increasingly plausible. Maybe. Maybe. He's certainly handsome enough for the part. And Larewen is apparently jealous - that's a plus. It's nothing against Larewen, Gevurah just enjoys causing others misery. Ha Ha, suffer, Larewen, suffer. She unthinkingly shifts her weight onto her foot nearest Daath, their bodies just a tiny bit closer, relaxed, comfortable. A charade, an act, one she could easily play in public so long as it serves her agenda. She whispers to Daath in drow. Based on her body language, you would think it's something intimate. In truth, all she is saying is, "I'd like wine."

Dyraxdiin hasn't come to play games or speak of Mage's Guild matters, especially in the given company - there really is no telling what any bit of information could be gobbled up and used as a weapon against himself or the Guild. Erring on the side of caution, the great wyrm cuts straight to the chase. Dyraxdiin projects a flickering image manufactured from finely manipulated strands of the arcane. "I've come to provide evidence of a recent expedition into the Razurath lands." He gestures towards the rendition of carnage, death and fires running rampant throughout an army detatchment of Razurath - a final glance at the wreckage below, before the dragon commiting the image to memory turned and continued back to the Mage's Tower. "If you are still offering bounties for Razurath heads, I hope this will suffice." A wave of his hand and the image fades, before he turns to leave. "You can send payment to the Mage's Guild." He'll say over his shoulder, a final glance given to Daath in departure - a look of warning. Be careful.

Daath watches as the Dragon displays a scene of carnage before Gevurah, the Magister hoping that earns some slight points for his fellow magus. Especially since his beloved fiance so does love a good slaughter, so much so she is offering people to pay for such! And how ironic the Dragon says to psyche guild, of which Daath sits in a leadership position and thus profits from her donation, thus bringing it right back now to Gevurah herself whom now would share his surface dwelling connections and power. Funny how life works out that way, hmm? But it's her presence so close to him the rules a reaction. He is no stranger to the female body, he was often chosen by priestess as a reward for their graduation of the old order that used to be the foundation of the matron's power. Every year during his time in the ranks of Trist'Oth's magical "academy", students were taken and used by the sisterhood as practice for not only learning to master their bodies, but to take away the feeling of any form of actual emotion during such exchange. It was business. And in it they learned to choose optimal choices, often even fighting for them, all while the males simply waited with bowed heads. The better guild's in the academy, the better option you became. But fail in the academy and you faced death. Ah yes, his bombed childhood. Turning education as well as emotional growth into a twisted and sinister time meant to crush any desire from males and empower the females. Yes. So when Gevurah's curves slither their way close, her scent intoxicating, her lips so full and promising, that Daath nearly allows himself to actually shudder in vile revolting rejection. But he doesn't. His cool is kept perfectly, he even manages a smirk, confidence shining through the horrors related to drow females. "Wine you say?" Dyraxdiin leaves, Larewen left earlier. He is alone with this, his fiance.. "Yes, wine should delicious." Grabbing the chain of the slave girl from earlier, Xanna, he says to her. " Fetch us wine, Steadmen will know what kind. Serve Lady Gevurah first, and refrain from looking at her. Keep your head low, do as your told and you may survive this encounter. Now, go." He ushers off the still blood soaked thing, dirty and soiled as she is. She shuttles off, the chains rattling as she does so. Just as she is out of ear shot, Daath motions that little empusai imp to him, and whispers to him in drowned enough so Gevurah can hear. "If she does not do as she is told, you punish her. Severely. Is she tries to run, kill her slowly." The creative's lips, cracked open far wider than naturally allowed, form a twisted smile as he scurried off to do his master's bidding. Back to Gevurah, a flick of the wrist brings forth a chair of the same fine quality and make he currently sits in, though of course slightly taller and more decorative. Nothing but the best for his betrothed. "Please, take a seat. There is no need for such a show now. We can talk openly, I'm sure you came bearing gifts for more than my houses favor." Back to business, hopefully. Her close proximity was the strangest mixture of disgust and arousal. She was after all, breathtaking to look upon and still young and vibrant. Truth be told their children would be wondrous, but to drow such notions are just incapable of happening. Sex was a weapon females had mastered and the males often feared. And Daath has faced the denizens of other realms that would make the bravest of knights poss themselves. Having sexual relations with a stunningly beautiful dark elf? Yeah, the scars of childhood still have him not too fond of the idea.

Magik holds the toast above his head, "Praise be!" He then backs out of the room slowly, having walked into the world's most sexual tension filled room he has ever felt.

Gevurah is completely absorbed in Diin's recording of carnage. Her face glows with the radiance of triumph. Yes, yes, yes, kill the Razurath blight! She smiles, warmly, for the first time since she arrived on the surface. She promises Diin payment then turns her attention back to Daath whose revulsion is not known to her. She cannot guess his experience, because she was spared the low-caste, priestess practice of emotionless carnal play. She did none of that. Her mother was a pixie (a fact Gevurah often hides) and shielded her first daughter from that barbaric practice. Gevurah does not make her own priestesses do that any more. What's the point? From Gevurah's point of view, the most important lesson for a priestess to learn is that she is in charge. If a priestess feels something for a lover, and he hurts her, then kill him. The problem isn't the emotion, the problem is the disobedient, low-class, disposable man (or woman, it matters not). But Gevurah does not yet think of Daath sexually. Her intimacy was purely for Larewen's grief. She takes the seat Daath offers her and enjoys how Daath commands his new pet. The girl is but seven years old and has no idea what is being asked of her. She'll learn. The imp will see to that. When Daath joins her at the table, she switches back to drow tongue, which she always prefers when given the choice. "You seem serious about this marriage. Why now. Why the sudden interest."

Daath feels a relief as Gevurah moves away. Women have thrown themselves at him, but only a drow is so dangerously seductive as to warrant long suppressed desires. Maybe it was racial prejudices? Maybe it was those many nights spent learning to please a woman who literally held your life in her hand? Who knew, but drow females were the only females that could ever truly get the arcanist's eye. Not that other women were not beautiful, desirable even, it was just the conditioning of his childhood. He hates it. He loathes the idea his blood craves her, of all damn women, in such a manner. He'd make sure to bury such weakness. The girl returns with the finest wine the place has to offer, and Xanna serves Gevurah first, her little hands trembling as she does so but she manages to not spill a drop. Then to Daath with the same care. She is ignored wholly, left to stand by his side like nothing more than the tavern furniture, much to the little imp's dismay. He'd wait tho, patiently for her missteps, and he'd make sure it counted. Attention back on Gevurah, her distance allowing her charms to fade so that things return to a more even playing field once more. "Truth be told? I had completely forgotten our arrangement. But, upon remembering my answer is simple." He takes a sip of his wine and leans back to regain a bit of comfort, his usual business face once more back in play. "Why not? My point still stands it's a logical union, and you gain to benefit. Absorbing my house only swells D'Artes with a might not seen in a thousand years. As well, my connections upon the surface leave you free to focus more on the changes you seem so eager to see fruition back home, and I acquire more resources for my own work. Not to mention the gossip, the sheer terror other houses will feel knowing full well D'Artes is now beyond any single house's attempts? It'd take full scale unions of the remaining nobles, and well, we know that just won't happen. So, you'd secure your seat as Matron of All, sitting above all other matrons and houses for the rest of your life, while I'm free of any obligation to my own house, and free of having to carry my mother's failed ambitions any more. Just can then focus my own attention somewhere, which in turn offer you even more in the form of information and resources as well." I mean really, it all makes terribly easy sense. " Unless you've better suitors you desire as patron?" Here he does laugh, because as drow males go, well, he was the cream of the crop.

Gevurah ignores the girl as she accepts the wine and takes a sip. It's delicious and she savors it slowly as she listens to Daath's proposition. He ends on his smug joke and she can't help but grin at his narcissism. The best drow are narcissists. She should know. It's a prominent D'Artes trait. "Nothing has stopped you from pursuing whatever you want for all these years. You don't need to marry me for that. On the contrary, I'd expect you to make some appearances in Trist'oth. What use is a political marriage if I can't flaunt it down below, put you on display when it's politically advantageous. You hate Trist'oth, don't deny it. By marrying me, you're tying yourself to it. Do you finally miss home? Are you sure this is what you want?" She intones her questions with curiosity, which she only does when she is genuinely interested in something and letting down her guard. Briefly she glances at something in the shadowy corner over Daath's shoulder. She glares at it, whatever it is, then turns her attention back to Daath.

Daath is too caught off guard by her on the nose accusations and focused line of questioning to see her dance over his shoulder. So too is that imp to keen on catching the girl slipping to be of any use. So, for now the drow noble simply does a rare thing. He tells the whole truth. "You're right. I despise home. I despise how stagnant we've been before, and how self absorbed in our own eternal civil wars we obsess over. " he pauses between rant. " I hate that my matron (he refuses to call her mother) grew weak and short sighted. I carry House D'Jiv'undus. I am, and have been it's real power. My matron wasn't even favored by the Spider Queen even before my rise to station as house wizard. She bore no daughters, and my brother was driven to madness and I killed him for it." He'd fail to mention he saved his corpse to help kill his mother in a plot he hatched long ago, but it's night lying if you leave out unnecessary details. "I found through magic a means to grow beyond the norms, and your house and it's last Patron, Tiphareth, showed us all that males could rise above, yet even now there are some still shackled by the past to even think about rising above." He'd smirk at that last bit. " For even when we defeated our modest enemy, and drive them from their homeland, we chose to return to our own petty squabbles. So yes, I hate home. But..." Here he'd look her dead in the windows of her soul and say. " I believe you are not short sighted. I believe you're a bridge from the archaic ways that have enslaved us for too long, to a new era of greatness that will rekindle our kin's desires to want to reach further and become more. I believed in your father, I believed in Tiphareth. I believe in you, if you could ever grasp such a concept. We've had attempts from surface dwellers to build farms in our city. Humans. Walked in to Trist'Oth and though, "hey this is a nice place." Daath nearly laughs at the ludicrous notion. But it was sad, in fact he was a bit angered at it. " I mean look at where we are. Vailkrin, damned city ruled by Elazul's children. And a gods be damned wood elf walked in her, sat down and got a drink without a care in the world." He stickers, daring to poke the bear, but his arrogance knows his truth may cut like a blade. " Are we not the feared drow? The "dark elves"? Or do we just play the part cast upon us by our cousins? So yes, Gevurah D'Artes. I hate how empty, how empty of a shell our race has become. My power has grown tenfold -outside- the confines of Trist'Oth. As did Tiphareth's. Because things like the Mage Guild. Because I found people willing to share knowledge and paths to power without the knife in the back. The masters of the academy *he scoffs calling them, and that place anything but a joke* is a charade. Where barely educated children fight to the death to be able to master only the spells masters from rival houses deem appropriate? To serve in wars they'll never gain from? I could slaughter them all, those "masters" for they lack true power. So yes, it sickens me to see how -we- limit ourselves. Shackled by our own confines of our own design." He reaches forth and takes his wine into his hand, drinking deeply of that flavorful beverage before finishing with. "How you're not disgusted by it ill never know. Of course it's easy to sit atop it all and only see the power and wealth." He end there, for even he on my dare take so many jabs in one go.

Gevurah settles back in her chair as Daath confesses to the truth of his drow self-loathing. But her assumption that he hates the drow is quickly disproven. As he explains his reasoning, a curious grin spreads across her features and she begins to chuckle. "You're the most patriotic drow I've ever met. Imagine that, a drow with a -- what do the surfacers in their 'democracies' call it?" She air quotes the word democracies. "Civic-minded! You are civic minded. You are mad because the entire drow race is not more than it is, and yet you point to yourself and to Tiphareth as examples not just of powerful drow but of some of the most powerful beings in all of existence. It is no accident and no coincidence that Trist'oth produces great drow of power on the backs of so many slaves, disposable mages, disposable priestesses, yes, them too. Think about it, Daath." She clicks her tongue, laughs lightly again. Daath is absolutely right that she is not like Keter or the matrons before him. She does not care about gender, she cares only about the supremacy of the worthy, the deserving, the truly great. Screw the rest. "Look at Cenril, a large surfacer city, a democracy. How many great and powerful beings has it produced? It cannot produce them. Cenril spends so much time making things fair for its citizens, giving its citizens opportunities, treating everyone more or less as equals, giving them the power to rule through 'votes'" she aur quotes the word 'vote' that power cannot truly concentrate in the hands of a few. Only we can do that! We! Power is a finite resource, Daath. I refuse to share it with anyone else. I will gladly not train low-born drow. In fact, I will insist on not wasting resources needlessly on them. If they are truly special, they will rise, but make no mistake that power is concentrated in the ruling houses *because* we are better than every other drow. The entire drow civilization was constructed to create very powerful beings like Tiphareth, like you, like me. We are not civic-minded. We are willing to look the truth in the eye and not blink: some beings are just better than others, and everything should go to maximizing the greatness of those beings, beings like us. Look at you, you were trained in the exact same academy as all those pathetic drow mages down below, and yet here you are with powers beyond their imagination. Why? Your noble blood, your bloodline. You are not like them. Your greatness was always inevitable. It was a matter of time and experience. Embrace that and stop worrying about the lower classes. Do you understand me?"

Suddenly Gevurah throws out a hand right over Daath's shoulder, her fingers pulled tightly back in a mystic configuration. She utters a word in Ancient High Drow, and the ancient drow character for 'pain' appears in black nothingness on her palm. It flies like an arrow towards the shadowy corner behind Daath, magifying and growing translucent as it zooms across the room so that when it smashes into the corner it is the size of an ogre. The symbol pounds into the wall and shakes the entire tavern. Bottles rattle in their shelves as a drow thrall appears, its invisible cloak dispeled and its body stunned from the blow. Gevurah's spryly jumps to her feet and sweeps her full skirt to one side with one hand as the other stretches out to grab the stunned vampire by the scalp. The invisible spy had hidden himself from Daath by cloaking his magical signature through an enchanted item, but he could not hide his corrupt, undead soul from the High Priestess of Death. Gevurah's eyes close so that she may focus on her bond with Vakmatharas. The thrall begins to squirm and Gevurah says something else in Ancient High Drow (if Daath speaks it, she says "Hold"). The writhing body goes stiff. After a few seconds of silence she murmurs a comparatively lengthy (5 seconds) prayer. A shadow quickens around her hand then spills over the thrall's face, ears, neck, shoulders. Gevurah’s black-painted nails extend into sharp claws that hook into the thrall’s scalp so that she can drag it back to Daath's table. She sits back down across from her betrothed as her spell slowly brings true death to the undead. As her shadow descends over the thrall, it writhes like maggots, disperses like dirt, inches like worms. The drow thrall's dark skin ashens, dries, peels off the muscle, then the muscle peels off the bone. The spell takes its time to make it impossible for even the most powerful necromancer to resurrect this particular corpse. He's Vakmatharas's now. As the vampire dies within her grip, she mutters to Daath, "One of Lanlan's spies." She smoothly transitions back to their conversation. Hopefully Daath had some time to think about it. "Look to Trist'oth. The next great being will emerge from there. It always has."


Daath is, well, pretty pissed neither his wards he has in place no the damned imp served any purpose in a possible attempt upon him. Even if it was just information. And a Damn undead? Are you serious? Yes Gevurah's words ring in his ears. He mother preached such as she whipped him daily. Telling him how special he is, if he'd know his place. A gifted child, genius some said in the magical arts, his mother's only hope was the fashion him into a weapon she hoped to control. But she didn't. Yet he still did what she wanted, though only because he deemed it so. He was noble. He was better. Was it truly due to his blood? Or because he did the work? What then separates him and any lesser drow? Gevurah was reciting the same scriptures he grew up hearing, and yet he still felt his industries growth came from leaving Trist'Oth. Though it was his drow nature that gained him means to getting where he wanted. More than a few apprentices lay dead who stood in his way, having never saw what back home were simple ploys. It took hardly any effort to land in Rheven's Mage Guild. And who took him under their wing when the Archmage was too busy? Tiphareth D'Artes himself. It was another drow who tutored him in the arcane, but it wasn't drow design in how Tiphareth taught. He was like a father to him, caring even to see him grow. The mage guild is where he learned trust through respect. Could he and Gevurah ever have that? She did just eliminate a threat, potentially saving her possible future husband. Her magic was potent, dare he say impressive (he'd never tell her that). But why did he feel as if he was being drawn back into the spider's web? Could Trist'Oth produce greatness by itself? He evens asks her. " Do we produce greatness within the walls of Trist'Oth? Or do we just beat creatures down into possible molds that achieve greatness elsewhere? It is true my hardships made me able to survive.. nay thrive in the surface. But it was there that -I- chose to obtain power unlike any "master" back home. But to say I was alone? There have been many great beings. Rheven, Tiphareth's only peer. Satoshi, who went to rule Frostmaw. Svilfon, who later beat Tiphareth himself in a duel. Are we truly the ones who forge greatness? I see potential, but I also see more. I believe together we could -make- those changes. I'm not asking for equal rights, that's laughable. I'm not asking for democracy, it's a failed system. I am asking for us to return to the status of the true elven race. Even if it means making all others scared to even mention our kind. Does that answer your question? Do you now think, after such high praise you have me, that this coupling could happen?" He admired her work with the spy, and would find out who sent it and why soon enough, he anticipates she will do the same. But her swift reaction, her display of power and the way she ends that spy's life so eternally does have him kind of a bit more interested in her. He shakes that off, trying not to gaze another upon her than needed. Maybe his drow was coming out more than intended. He has lived on the surface for quite some time. " More wine?" He asks.

Gevurah leans forward excitedly as Daath debates her. She lifts her glass towards him for him to pour more wine as she replies excitedly, with more energy than he has ever seen in her before. "Of course we are not the only great beings, but we have more than most civilizations. And that's exactly what our ancestors the elves wanted millenia ago. They left the ancient elven civilization, the most glorious of its day, in pursuit of pure, raw power, both magical and political. And Trist'oth is the perfect place to wield that power. On the surface, the low class and the subjugated can escape. They can flee, and they can venture to other lands. The proximities of the civilizations on the surface infect each other with new idelogies that undermine the government's rule. Look at Larket. How many witches fled the purge? Think about it: our low classes have no where to go." She cackles delightedly at that thought. "No where!" She playfully slaps the table to prove her point. "They're too weak to survive the terrible monsters of the underdark, monsters that you and I can destroy with ease. They're dependent on mushrooms and underdark game, which is thin and not as nutritious. We," she gestures between them, "have bodies that originate from creatures of the surface. My favorite food is figs! I have them imported by the hundreds because they cannot grow in the underdark. You and I grew up on meat, grain, vegetables and dairy from the surface, while the lower classes subsist on a diet that is over 50% mushrooms. And they are blind and caged! They are stuck in a cave with nowhere to go and the only news of the surface they receive is propaganda. Our ancestors were geniuses! They picked the perfect place to breed an entire civilization of low born, able-bodied persons to clean our chamber pots, launder our clothes, fetch reagents we need for our spells, manage our estates, and all of that necessary by tedious work that takes up time, time better spent studying magic. It's ingenius. Genius!" She slaps the table again happily. "Meanwhile we go where we want, learn what we want, have access to knowledge beyond Trist'oth's walls. And all those civil wars? A necessary culling of lethargic, weak nobility like your mother. I have no doubt that in a few generations D'Artes will also grow lazy and weak and be usurped. That is the cyclical nature of our great experiment. But I am not of that D'Artes clan, I am of mine, and mine is powerful, as I am and will grow more powerfully so." She knocks back her wine, taking a bigger drink than before. This conversation has reinvigorated her. Ah, the genius of Trist'oth! A captive population surrounded by monsters on all sides, none more terrifying than she who rules them. By the gods, it's great to be Gevurah. She even winks at Daath as she adds, "And we're the most beautiful creatures in this world too. Cheers to the ancient elves who knew to go under the ground." She raises her glass in a toast.

Daath leans back a moment as he takes in Gevurah's rebuttal as well her mannerisms and reactions. She was enjoying herself. This was rare, and he'd have to make sure he wouldn't be killed for seeing her smile and laugh, ya know typical drow stuff. But it wasn't all nonsense. Her explanation made sense, as even in magic more often lesser materials are used and destroyed to pave the way for greater things to come into existence. Does not the lion prey upon the gazelle? Because it is a damn lion and was born such. It kills when it wants and takes what territory it wants. Being born noble was a gift, but he was born when being born male made one less. He never got to truly enjoy any benefits, while Gevurah was shielded from even the typical female trials. She's lived only privilege. But does that make her words untrue? Daath survived the trials of the Mage academy because he was better. Even when masters tried setting him up to fail he overcame and forged his own way. In the shadow of Tiphareth, upon the surface, he grew. Never the drow, but always present. During the war with the wood elves, during the assault on the rogues of Rynvale. He recovered the Forsaken Book of the Dead, which helped Tiphareth obtain his lichdome. It has been Daath's brilliant mind and thirst for greater things that have made him a force to be reckoned with within these lands. Yet, he felt there was more. He felt his people could be more. Gevurah has her ideas, maybe with a few of his they could mold those moonrise above the rest into great beings. All the while making sure they never stop climbing ever higher themselves. It's intriguing to be sure, enough so that he says. "You've not answered my question, Gevurah. If we are so above all others, then do you not see why our union, an official union, a real union, would only benefit us both? You asked why I'm taking it seriously now, and truth be told this started out as just fun. But the more we talk the more I see potential. A power coupling, that could help us both, and Trist'Oth, achieve heights we'd never get alone." He answers her toast with one of his own. "To those elves under the ground! May they never stop their climb!" Of course that limb meant over the bodies of any who needed to be stepped on, but even Daath knows strategies without saying

Gevurah presses her lips into a sly smile as Daath insists again on their union. The urgency in his question has changed. Before the proposal was more of a conquest for him, his ability to say he married the Trist'oth Matron and laugh a little at the absurdity of it all while reaping real benefits. Gevurah is no fool. But now she sees he's actually seduced by her singularly ambitious ideology. And though Gevurah would never admit it, his power does exceed hers. She could stand to learn from an open sharing of secrets. With that in mind, she says "Yes, let's do it. Why not?" She finishes her second glass of wine and begins to feel its effects. The corpse at her feet has long ago disintegrated into ash. As a maid sweeps the ash of the thrall away, Gevurah is reminded of Larewen and grins to herself. "Do see to it your lover doesn't start a war with Trist'oth over this." She juts her head in the direction Larewen left. "I'm not interested in the tedium of a war with vampires. Nor do I impose any restrictions on who you bed, as I expect you impose none of me."

Daath feels a bit spun around by the end of the conversation, truth be told. He did only mean it as a mock gesture, and now the pair seemed on board with making an actual union work? Damn this was good wine! But the hour grows late and matters need addressing before the night is through. At the jest about Larewen he replies. "She is not my lover. I believe her heart belongs to another man, I'm just easy on her eyes." Of course he'd care not who Gevurah beds, he'd probably never see her bed truth be told. But killing lovers could provide a fun little game, just to remind would be suitors to mind their place. Either way, he quickly shrubs such notions from his mind and say. "The guild misbehaving a celebration soon, a ball if you will. If I am to be your toy to show off, then I require require your presence at this event. Do try to remind them all why drow women are the most alluring creatures alive, yes?" He'd dare to move closer to her, helping her up as he says. "And thank you for the gift, Ill see it's taken care of."

Gevurah 's smile falters a little at the mention of the Mage's Guild. Darn, she forgot he's really attached to that little mage club. Tiphareth was obsessed with it too. It does have its uses, but all the socializing... who has the time? But he has convinced her to give this power coupling a real effort and she nods. "I'll attend. Maybe I'll even look into surfacer fashion." She grimaces at the thought. Don't pin your hopes on it, Daath. She allows herself to be helped up. "Come to House D'Artes sometime soon." She doesn't explain why. Normally an actual couple would have some contact now as they say goodbye. Gevurah makes no contact as she waves in the curious way that drow do and leaves. They may need to work on looking the part of a couple. Oh well