RP:It's All Rigged!

Part of the Agitation Arc

Summary: Gevurah and Lanlan plot how to get the drow houses to band together against the necromantic monster Alithyk Caluss. They decide to scare them by 1. stealing an actualy Caluss cultist, 2. enchanting him so he can't lose in... 3. championships in Trist'oth arena to show how powerful Caluss is and scare the drow into collaboration.

4. ???

5. Profit!

House D'Artes Sitting Room

Lanlan shows up promptly at the expected time and waits in the usual area with a single actual escort at his side along with three fake ones. Behind and in front were the shrouded half-drow that made up the illusionary three. "She's expecting me," he tells the porter. From then maybe she's as late as she usually is even though she requested the time, and his illusions are dispelled and his minions revealed. "Those were just the ones I wanted you to find," he bluffs; he knew she would find them, but its the game that must be played. When they're alone, he invites her to begin. "Vakmatharas's oracles. They predict...death?"

Gevurah doesn't make Lanlan wait, for a change. She is anxious and plays their game of dispelling illusions without any humor. In fact, she seems downright impatient. "Have you no sense of gravity?" Alithyk Caluss has been haunting her since the day before. She's never faced a foe like this before, and the truth is, though she'd never admit it aloud, is that House D'Artes greatest weapon against epic foes is Tiphareth. The Patron is indisposed, off in an astral plane experiencing another lifetime outof his body while his current lich body decays only a day or something crazy and mind-melting of that ilk. It eludes comprehension, what Tiphareth can do, and the same goes for Alithyk Caluss. What's worse, the oracle gave her a message she did not like. She performed the ritual three times to confirm the message was not a fluke or a misread. It was not. Vakmatharas spoke to her loud and clear, as far as she is concerned, and she... disagrees. This has shaken her to her core. Lanlan's joke about the oracle earns him a sharp glare and snarl. This is her religion he is mocking. She is a true believer. "Did you come here as charlatan or Patron."

Lanlan wasn't oblivious to the godlike's power, he was merely aware that it wasn't impervious. They proved that. "No I was floating about like on a cloud elated over this narrow escape and dare-I-say victory...! But now I'm all tethered." He huffed at the puss, and settled almost into sternness before she tells him that question. "Both." A concise yet bold confession. Now he's settled. "Now Matron, I don't know what the oracles told you, but I'm sure I wasn't wrong. We need to prepare ourselves and our houses. And especially the other houses...to attack." He wondered if she'd agree, and anticipated unblinking.

Gevurah's eyes rolled in aggravation, lashes fluttering as she dropped onto a couch. She waited for Lanlan to get down to business. He always did, eventually. She ran a bell for service and a servant brought in wine and a small spread of food. It was lunchtime, after all. "Yes, we must strike. However, if we go to the other houses for aid they will be pleased to sit back and watch us go it alone. They will hope we fail. The fourth house, after their near defeat during the war, is itching for a higher ranked house to crumble. Why would they send their strongest? And I suspect we will need every house's best warriors, mages, priests. We must scare them into service. We need a spectacle. You're rather good at spectacle, I will concede that. What do you suggest?"

Of course; it was all up to Lanlan and she was so smart to realize it. He took the compliment with restrained jubilation and manifested dignity. It was rare to get one in earnest from her. But he couldn't show that he relished it or else she might try to use it against him. "Okay I know what to do. If his influence is growing in this realm, then he'll have his thralls spreading his message. We should take one of them, imprison him. Put him in the arena. We'll invite our friends to a challenge, whichever of their appointed champions can kill Caluss's priest first will win one of your House's prized elven artifacts." Obviously this is no way to prove the necessity of rallying behind a single double-banner, and Lanlan hesitates for a triumphant breath. "But none of their champions will win, because this lowly cultist will be stronger than all of them combined."

The first words out of Lanlan's mouth please her. He says he knows what to do. Rarely does anyone else utter those words to her. Normally she is the one expected to think and act. 'Mistress, what now?' 'High Priestess, what next?' Granted, just because Lanlan has an idea, that doesn't mean she will necessarily follow it. Still, it's nice to have someone else suggest something, for a change. Luckily for Lanlan, she likes his plan, in large part because she assumes there is more to it than he says. How will they ensure the cultist always wins the battle against the other houses' champions? Gevurah can already guess that she and Lanlan would reprise the game they once played in the arena when slaves battled for food. They'll fix the game. Duh. "I see. But how do we stop the other house's mages from detecting our meddling? Or from matrons and patrons from detecting our deceit?"

It was an excellent partner who could intuitively understand your motives, the one you didn't have to show first was indeed the best kind. "I hear your concern." He suspended his triumph and delved for the solution. His eyes diverted from hers for a moment as he quantified his ability to deceive a suspicious mage. He was confident that he could. Could he do it indefinitely? Could he do it against a dozen? It may not be worth the risk. He resumed eye contact and leaned forward, "We pit him against these champions and put our weapon in his hands, one we've created and blessed, but one we'll know the weaknesses to so it can't be used against us. When he's killed all their best and it seems all is lost, we'll arrive from on high and dispose the imminent threat as only we can." A simple sword enchanted by them both, and Lanlan's magic could disguise the sword as the nicked last resort it used to be. And maybe add a safe word to nullify the enchantments. This time he didn't sit so triumphantly, and merely waited for her to suggest another weakness to guard against.

Gevurah nods at his solution, her head then tipping this way and that as she considers it. It isn't a bad idea. Beneath all his foolishness there is a shrewd mind after all. He may be able to hold on to the title of patron. She watches him think and for a moment isn't on guard, sees him as an ally in truth. "That's better, though the trouble is figuring out the enchantment. If the other houses send mages or priestesses as their champions, they may be able to detect the weapon's enchantment. They may not trace it back to us, but could learn enough about it to disarm it. Perhaps we change the enchantment before each battle to tailor it to each new champion, something they specifically cannot detect or disarm with ease?" Even as she says it, she doesn't love her own idea. Her gaze drifts away from Lanlan and searches in the distance for more ideas. "Actually..." Her eyes narrow slightly at her burgeoning idea. "It may be best to enchant armor. Evasiveness is more frightening to a drow than a powerful weapon. Why are drow children told to fear the Underdark? It's because of what cannot be seen. Our champion most move like a shadow and avoid attacks with supernatural agility. That will generate the fear we need to sow to bring the other houses into the fight against Caluss." She clutches her stomach as she says it as if suddenly hit with mild nausea. Briefly, she grimaces then trains the expression off her face. She looks to him for his opinion, a position few have boasted before him.

Lanlan silently creates a matrix of separate scenarios in his mind and duly weighs each one's likelihood; he's forced to concede that she's probably right about the vulnerability to being disarmed and dispatched. "Yes there are too many ways for the otherwise excellent plan to fail." Yet he doesn't seem at all discouraged, and a corner of his mouth twitches into a smile without his permission. As is there a trembling in an eyebrow. Perhaps it's because she may have inadvertently revealed one of her weaknesses, should he ever have occassion to use it against her. But also there may be some avenue for exploration here. "I like your idea, we enchant his armor." Then, with orchestrated whimsy he fades away into his chair, "Or we could carve the enchantments right onto his skin and bones..."

Gevurah narrows her eyes as Lanlan fades. How could someone so playful also prove effective in matters of power, politics, and plots? His final suggestion wins him a grin from the perma-scowling priestess. "I like that. Bones. Nonetheless, need a way to change the enchantment on whim if necessary, but I am sure we can fix that. Now, to find the champion. I volunteer one of my drow warriors, though I suspect one of your pet leeches," she means D'l'sel D'issan vampires, "would fit the stereotype of necromantic champion more aptly."

"The champion will be authentic," surprising, he knows, "I intend to capture one of the beast's thralls. We can find out what we don't know, if there's any sort of tactics they employ, if there's any strange magic we haven't heard of...Then we'll throw him to the wolves." Weird that this time the wolves will be the unfortunate ones, but the ultimate outcome will be the same. "Once I have the appropriate candidate I'll request your aid."