RP:Matron of the Misfits

Part of the Surface Tension Arc

Synopsis: Nymh and Hildegarde travel together to the Sylvan refugee camp in Frostmaw. Along the way they meet Matron Laezila, who invites Nymh to join House D'l'sel D'issan. Nymh is unsure if this is the path for him and decides to think about it more carefully. Laezila's offer stays open, but she doesn't force the issue.

Frozen Road

Nymh walks with his new protection... Hildegarde the Silver. She still regarded him as, at best, a nuisance he was sure, but she'd proven her honor in choosing to offer protection to him herself, if only to prove a point. And if she proved that point, then he'd owe her his life. He was careful still, walking along the streets with his eye kept out for danger, bundled up in warm clothing. They were on their way to the elf camp, where he might make his bid for new allies.

Hildegarde walked with familiarity: she knew the frozen road well for she travelled it often. “The settlement isn’t far,” she said, perhaps in some awkward attempt to make conversation, “though the giants refer to it as the old camp.” It was once a camp for giants, who desired to rest for a night on a hunt or rest near Lake Frysta. But what was only a camping spot for giants was a large enough area to become a small settlement for the refugees: close enough to nature yet not far away from civilisation either. The butt of Hilde’s halberd tapped the earth with every step.

Laezila had tracked Nymh through not only Larewen's help, but also the extensive network of spies that she employed; the latter to Frostmaw, and the former for a more precise location. THeir movements had her in the assumption that he was going to seek refuge with the elves -that would confirm her half-breed suspicions. So the young drow matron made to move to cut them off from their intended destination. She was oddly bundled; the cold was not fun for the matron, and so layered in furs and garments was she that the only indicator of her identity was in that half-charred black and half-ivory white mask that obscurred her face aside from two strikingly blue eyes. Her flesh was not visible; her stature was that of a teenager, by human standards, petite and relatively small and diminutive, but there was something equally... deadly about her. As she stepped out into the middle of the street, she held in her left hand a very familiar katana of an enigmatic swordsman; no guards were with her. She'd never be able to make it this far otherwise.

Nymh felt a chill climb up his spine, that had nothing to do with the cold. He looked over to see Laezila, here already... to intercept him before he even got to the wood elves. In person, without so much as an escort. And... holding a very familiar blade. He felt his lip quiver. "Krice's sword... but, he escaped. He saved my life." How could she possess it? Fear gripped his spine, and he drew forth ocarina and dagger, holding them in front of him as though talismans to ward away evil. "Hildegarde, please... that is the matron of the second house of Trist'oth. She was to buy me, before I escaped." It seemed she'd come to collect her goods.

Hildegarde looked towards the bundled girl who stood in the middle of the road and then to the frightened bard. He didn’t need to tell her who the sword belonged to, she had seen it before and seen it plenty of times to know who the rightful owner was. “Just… stay back and if you are in trouble, make a lot of noise,” she instructed the bard, taking a little step forward as if to become more of an obstacle between matron and slave. “Greetings. I know not your name, but this lad here tells me that you are the Matron of the Second House of Trist’oth,” all was said ever so politely, as was Hilde’s way. “Welcome to Frostmaw,” the knight offered her a brief smile. “A fine blade,” she said, nodding ever so slightly in the direction of the sword. If the knight was ready for a fight, she certainly didn’t look it.

Laezila was... an odd sight. There was no way her diminutive stature and tiny frame could be considered intimidating; she looked like a mere teenager, if anything, even layered by those furs bundled so tightly around her body. Even the sword didn't help to make her appear more threatening -she held the hilt against her body as if in fear to lose it, though it was likely because that the cold made her disinclined to extend her arms away from her body. Snow white tresses glittered as they pulled away from beneath her fur hood and above her dualistic mask -which was probably the only thing that obviously cast doubt on her abilities; it veiled any expression. She didn't speak.

Nymh wasn't sure what to make of the matron, she didn't even speak. She opted to simply stand there, and regard them. A reminder that they were watching him? That he couldn't escape their notice, nor for long, their grasp? He shivered, but stayed behind Hildegarde, letting her do her job. She was equipped to handle this... fear and despair clouded his judgement, and his strength was meager by comparison. He put his faith in the Steward of Frostmaw.

Hildegarde did not seem deterred by the silence Laezila offered. Instead, the woman’s eye has flicked from katana to mask obscured face. “You must know Krice very well, he must trust you considerably if you have his sword,” she said. Was it a compliment? “I cannot say I know him very well. But evidently you do. He is your friend?” she doubted it, given what Nymh had said about an escape and the way Emilia had brought the matter to her attention.

Laezila's head and gaze jerked toward Hildegarde at the mention of Krice's name, and she gripped the katana a bit tighter as if the Steward were threatening to steal it from her, though her mask offered no display of her expression. Finally, she spoke, her voice muffled and augmented in volume all at once, distorting whatever emotion may lie with it, "He was a guest for awhile. He must've dropped it when he left. I'm just holding on to it for him. It's 'Matron Laezila'," she offered, of her name, before she took a few steps toward the duo, noticeably but slightly shivering in the chill. "Why is he hiding behind you?" Nymh, she meant.

Nymh took more than a few steps back, as Laezila advanced on them, eyes wide, and ears listening out for attacks from any direction. He was taking no chances, though he feared to stray too far from Hildegarde. The Matron Laezila had offered the possibility of life as something beyond a slave, in the underdark... but it was only rumors and speculation he had to go on, for that information. She was to buy him, and then he'd be hers to do with as she would. She directed her question to Hildegarde, though, not even bothering to address him yet. Perhaps she wouldn't at all... that'd probably be for the best. He was like to trip over his words, unable to keep calm.

Hildegarde offered Laezila a gentle smile without a trace of mockery. She didn’t think the girl was afraid, nor did she think anything too poorly of her. She was an interesting one, that was certain. “That is kind of you, m’lady, and only goes to show what a good hostess you are.” With Nymh stepping back and Laezila stepping forward, the knight did not move from her position. “Matron Laezila,” she repeated as if to memorise the name and title, “what an honour it is to host you here in Frostmaw. But you ask why my companion hides behind me? Why, he is afraid of you. You are holding a blade and he is but a bard. Weapons frighten the songbirds who travel freely from land to land, plying their trade and their tales for meagre coins. I daresay even I frighten him with my ghastly face, but he is deathly afraid of your sword.”

Laezila tilted her head just slightly in the briefest motion that subtly betrayed her questioning of Hildegarde's words coupled with the antics of Nymh, as her small body shivered in the cold. There were several moments of which she waited in silence, before brought the hilt of the weapon to lightly tap against her half-blackened mask as if indicative of a secret, lowering it as she spoke, "He is indeed afraid, but it is not this b-b-blade that frightens him so," the stutter was brief, brought on by the bite of the icy wind. "Politics and wordplay serve nothing for me; speak candidly. He is Nymh, a D'Artes slave that had escaped. But it is not to return him to his owner that I come. It is his heritage, and his skill." Her gaze slid toward the scared male, "Do not cower from me, dear boy. I had sought to purchase you to make you not a slave, but a D'l'Sel D'issan. I do not come here to drag you back beneath the surface."

Nymh blinks, in sheer amazement. What did she just say? "A D'I'Sel D'issan?" It played upon a deep want of his, a need for acceptance that he just could not find, anywhere. Not only that, but she said she didn't come to drag him back. She'd called him 'dear boy'? He was shocked. Was this just a trick? Or could there be truth to her words? She was known to be an oddity among drow. He blinked, staggered on the spot. He opened his mouth to speak, but could only close it again, unable to summon words that seemed more than simply trite.

Hildegarde said nothing of the stutter, for she understood how the cold could interfere with the speech and other bodily functions. The Silver offered Laezila another smile, “Candidly. Yes, he is a D’Artes slave who escaped but he has reached land that not does not believe in slavery. He is a free man here,” she said, “and can freely ply his trade if he wishes.” The knight fell silent while Laezila addressed Nymh, as not to be rude and in part to see what she had to say. “You must pardon me, Matron, but I do not know what a D’l’Sel D’issan is. Would you enlighten me?”

Laezila gestured with a heavily gloved hand, before it quickly returned to clutch the weapon against herself, "I have not the time to explain to you the workings of the drow government in detail. While D'Artes currently reigns, it is actually made up of a council of Houses; the five most powerful. I am matron of the Second House, which is House D'l'Sel D'issan. A house of..." She paused for a moment, before she continued "m-m-m-misfits, cripples, beasts, and half-f-f breeds." Her little form shivered, but her striking gaze turned to Nymh, "As valuable as he might be as a slave, we do not keep slaves. After all, we were all oppressed one way or another. He would be among his own kind, other half-breeds as well, accepted. He would be neither slave or soldier, but would play his trade for me personally, and work with the others in a station to maintain the House's appearance and functions. Fed, given a bed, no chains, no overseer. His own possessions, his own will." Another pause, before she addressed Nymh directly, "Can you t-t-t-truly be accepted elsewhere?"

Nymh couldn't believe what he was hearing. His lip quivered. Was this all true? Could it be so? A house ruled by a matriarch that had taken her suffering and the suffering of others, and learned compassion from it? A house as powerful as to be called second house, not taking any slaves? Was that even POSSIBLE? And in point of fact... could he ever be accepted, elsewhere? "No..." He whispered, already convinced of that. None would accept him. He hoped only for allies among the wood elves... not acceptance. Not friendship, not comraderie. Could it all be true? It sounded like a fairy tale.

Hildegarde offered Laezila a gracious dip of her head, “Thank you, Matron, for taking the time to explain as much to me,” she did appreciate it. Intel was always useful. “I suppose it is Nymh’s decision to make,” she said, glancing between him and the waiting Matron.

Nymh knew drow were not to be trusted. His whole life was a series of lies, of abuse and subjugation. And yet, he'd heard so much of the second house... freaks, monsters, that they didn't even keep slaves. It coincided with her words, but who in the world lied better than drow? She wore a mask, and bore the blade of the warrior who'd saved his life, and her body language seemed meek. Could he really trust her. He opened his mouth to speak, and closed it again. His decision to make. "I... it is a gracious offer." Was it an offer? "I am..." Honesty. Stick to the truth. "Hesitant. Perhaps I could learn more of your house, on neutral grounds. If you know well the abuses those under drow suffer, then you should understand my fears, matron Laezila." Would she accept?

Laezila shook her head, "I cannot surmise a meeting between Houses. Nor can I promise Trist'Oth would be friendly to you, just that my House will accept you and be your safe haven." She flipped a pendant of its insignia toward him. "Come when you are ready." And with that she was gone so that her player can go to work.

Hildegarde watched the exchange between runaway slave and Matron, watching as the small drowess left. With a gentle sigh, the woman turned to look at Nymh: "Well. That could have been worse," there could have been blood spilled or blows shared.

Nymh nodded his agreement. "I am... I wouldn't have ever thought such a meeting possible." He held the pendant, marveling at it. "Just like that?" Could he truly find such acceptance? He turned to Hildegarde, his eyes harder, now. "You have kept your promise, Hildegarde the Silver. Now, I keep mine. I will contribute to Frostmaw, however I may be of service. You were right, and I thank you for your wisdom, your patience, and your protection. I apologize for my harsh, and undeserved words."

Hildegarde shrugged her shoulder, “I am not an oathbreaker,” she said in reply. “But the Matron there offered you a place within her House. From what I understand, that is quite an important thing within the drow society,” she said thoughtfully. “I recommend that you think on her offer, but do not think of it as your only means of survival. I will check in at the camp, to see how you fare. If anything is awry, I will know and I will assist.”

Nymh nodded. "I... might hold off on visiting them. If I am to accept Laezila's offer, that will put me at odds with the wood elves. Carrying this pendant about my person would be foolish, in seeking council with them." Foolish, to an extreme.

Hildegarde said to Nymh, "Well. Do as you will."

Nymh sat down in the snow, letting all of this soak in. "Thank you. I... shall think. I shall think long, and hard, and offer my services about the city as I do so."