RP:Our Union Is Whole Once More

Part of the Saurian Onslaught Arc

Summary: Daath and Gevurah have not spoken in over a week since they had a spat in front of Kasyr. Gevurah swallows her pride and brings Daath a gift: a jar of her death curse that he can use in his extermination of the Razurath in Venturil. Then Daath swallows his pride and apologizes. Shocked by Daath’s grace, Gevurah is moved to fully reconcile and finally consummate this marriage (and in the process exorcise Lanlan from her heart, hopefully).

House D’Artes

Gevurah and Daath haven’t spoken since he dared reprimand her (very, very mildly) in front of Kasyr for keeping secrets. Pride, habit, and low emotional control prevented Gevurah from offering an olive branch. Each day that Daath did not apologize only made her brood and grow more and more resentful. But tomorrow she and Daath would have to work perfectly together to pull off a city-wide genocide. The matron knows that Daath, despite her cold shoulder and casual cruelty, will do his best to enact her plan. He’s been good to her and faithful to their agreement despite her volatility, and it’s no secret that much of that volatility comes from her affair with Lanlan. And yet Daath is good, steady, reliable. The marital scorecard accrues ever increasingly in his favor. In a rare moment of grace, Gevurah realizes that it’s on her to swallow her pride and reach out to him. So on the eve of the counter attack on the Razurath, Gevurah ladled a portion of her death curse into a jar, crossed the expansive estate to Daath’s room, and knocked on his door. “It’s me,” she says.

Daath sits within his custom made armchair that rests by the low burning fireplace that dominates a corner of his chambers. His attention was upon the task at hand, which means the magus has been pouring over his notes and spells to ensure he is more than prepared for the up coming events. While many tend to ignore duty during marital disputes, the magister is wholly the opposite. He poured himself into preparation for this upcoming task, using it as a means to escape the tension as well as prove even more still he would honor their pact. It is a rather odd dynamic for the pair, as she -is- the matron and head of the house thus the supreme authority, but Daath is here for a reason and not just a common drow. His own pride was hard to swallow, but as Gevurah's knock and voice cut through the silence the master necromancer waves his hand to cause the door to swing open slowly. He puts aside the notes he is reading, and rises to greet her properly. "Matron." He says, not so much out of being a smart ass but to start things off in a more formal (and safer) manner. His eyes look to her and immediately he knows he wasn't fully prepared for this. Her beauty is rather disarming, but at the same time looking at her he feels pangs of guilt for not being the one to reach out first. This is new, and Daath doesn't know how he feels about it currently. Either way, Gevurah is greeted and with another flick of his wrist an equally (perhaps even more so) impressive chair is summoned forth for his wife to claim if she so desires. "Please, sit." He says, as he goes to fetch something to drink.

Gevurah :: Daath’s determination to start off on the right foot charms Gevurah unexpectedly. She dismisses the title ‘matron’ with a private smile that shines through her gaze. “-You- may call me something else.” She stresses the word ‘you’ as if she had said ‘just you’ though of course that is not true. They both know who else can be casual with her. “I brought you something,” she says as she slips into the summoned chair. Watching him fetch a drink, she’s struck yet again by how different he is from what she expected. She’d always known him from a distance as the D’Jiv’undus elder boy, who had earned a reputation in the irreputable circles of Trist’oth nobility as a prick. Up close, he’s nothing like what she had been told to expect. She’d prejudged and misjudged. What else is she wrong about when it comes to Daath? When he turns back towards she lifts the jar of foul, sewer-water colored goop for him to take and examine (and she’ll take a drink from him). “I don’t recommend opening it,” she jokes as she wrinkles her nose to indicate that it smells foul. “I know you’re working on a way to exterminate the dinosaurs in Venturil. Maybe you can find a use for my death curse. It’s a really potent brew. Your apprentice Quintessa was useful. She has a rare touch of Vakmatharas.” Though she makes an effort to be kind, it’s clearly from her stilted expressions that their feud still weighs on her.

Daath exchanges glass for jar with a keen interest. He listens to her explain how it may be useful, and takes note of Quintessa's involvement as well. "My apprentice? No, she is just -a- apprentice, I've taken no one on as my official understudy just yet." He felt the need to clarify that, as the general term for new members of the guilds is apprentice, and far too many people tend to believe a master has taken on an apprentice themselves. Politics, even at work its tiresome. "But, if you say she has a gift, I may need to pay her more mind." The air still clings heavy with the weight of the feud, and so Daath places the jar down in a safe spot and faces his wife. "I was wrong for reprimanding you in front of Kasyr, and I apologize. We're all a bit under stress at the moment, and during that particular moment I was just finding out quite a bit of many important things and felt very slighted. But, I handled it wrong and I'm sorry." There, like a bandage, he just ripped it off knowing it would sting a bit. "I'd very much like to know we are back on the same page, and our union is whole once more."

Gevurah :: When Daath apologizes, Gevurah releases a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “Yes, Daath, yes,” she says as she stands suddenly and takes a small step towards him. He’s full of pleasant surprises. After the feud she had with Lanlan a few nights ago, Daath’s self-possession and maturity is like a balm on her weary heart. For the first time since their betrothment she feels an intense need to go to him and touch him, but she does not. “Let’s do something, right now. Before tomorrow.” She downs half her glass and sets it down on the table and moves a little closer to him, still not close enough to touch. “I don’t want to stay up all night thinking about…” Oh whoops, she can’t tell him what’s been on her mind (the break up!). Mid sentence, she lies smoothly, “...about what could go wrong tomorrow.” Uh huh. Sure, Gev. Even if the plan fails tomorrow, she and Daath will likely be no worse off. Of course she wants the plan to succeed, but they’ll be fine no matter what, and she knows that. “Let’s do something, outside the estate. Is there something you’ve been meaning to get your hands on? Let’s go get it,” she says with an impish smirk.

Daath is glad to see, and feel, the weight lift off their union. And as his wife draws near, the dark elf raises a brow. Her smirk is mirrored with one of his own as he playfully grabs her by her lithe waist and pulls her ever so closer in a mock dance. "Shall we dance the night away in Rynvale?" He jests, he doesn't dance nor would he want to go to Rynvale, home of the high elves. He continues to joke with. " Shall we drink with rogues in Cenril? Or maybe explore the tundra of Frostmaw?" He smirks again, as he says. "I say, you tell me where you'd like to go. What Gevurah would like to do on the eve of a great battle, and I'll make it so." He playfully bows. "For my matron."

Gevurah grins at Daath’s antics. Just like the night of the Vailkrin ball, she’s surprised by how natural it feels to be in his arms. Except tonight is different, because her heart isn’t tied up elsewhere. It’s recently shattered, and Daath’s uncomplicated attention soothes her. She suddenly feels an intense heat flood throughout her body as the idea of letting Daath scrub the memory of Lanlan from her skin and replace it with the new memory of his own flesh takes hold. When he pulls away, she wishes he hadn’t. “Breaking and entering,” she dead pans to amuse him. “I heard rumor that the first yew wand, which belonged to the first High Druid of Sage, has recently surfaced. I may know where it is, and I want it.” Why? She’s not a druid. Like Tiphareth, Gevurah likes to collect powerful magic. She laughs a little at the foolishness of a late night heist on the eve of an important battle, “But there’s no time to do it in one night.” She meets his gaze again, then eyes the length of him as her mind picks up the fantasy that flashed in her mind seconds ago. “Maybe we can find a way to amuse each other here.”

Daath is of course curious as to mentions of this yew wand, and the thoughts of what power it could hold. But all of that is washed away as he looks at Gevurah once more. As he catches a certain look in her eye, hears a certain tone in her voice he smirks and says. "I think we can do far better than amuse, my lovely wife." And with that the magister waves his hand and once more the previously opened door slowly closes and shuts, leaving the pair behind closed doors. Izzerin, who has always lurked in the shadows (but is now far better at its after being remade into a higher form of undead) is dismayed that his eavesdropping is cut short. The loyal servant will have his mind left to wonder what exactly the pair got up to that night, as magical seals keep Daath's chambers protected from prying eyes and ears.

Gevurah recalls Daath’s hatred of the ways drow women use sex as a way to control and subjugate men, and briefly wonders if he is complying with her not-so-subtle request simply because she is his Matron. Is this a duty to him? Or does he want her? Before Lanlan, she never would have cared about whether a man bedded her out of obligation or desire. But having experienced the bliss of mutual desire and affection, she can’t settle for anything less. So when Daath closes the door, she doesn’t quite fling herself at him, but instead takes the measure of him. Is that lust in his stare? Adoration? Or the empty grin of performative sex that she knows so well from the slaves and servants she’s taken before her true sexual awakening? Once she is sure (or is fooled into believing) that Daath wants her, she succumbs fully to her desire for him, and shows him in the ways she kisses him, touches him, moves against him, asks for pleasure, gives pleasure. It is ironic that Gevurah learned to love this way from Lanlan, the very man whose memory she wants Daath to wring out of her, suck out of her, flood out of her. When they’ve exhausted themselves, she lies against him in stunned and contented silence. In the quiet stillness she is vulnerable to broken-hearted thoughts. No, not him, not Lan, not again. She pulls Daath to her lips, whispers a sultry nothing, a sensual bell announcing the start of round two. Come on, Daath, knead him out, squeeze him out, push yourself in, lose yourself in her hair, her mouth, her body. Rinse repeat, rinse repeat.