RP:Recruitment
Part of the Surface Tension Arc
Synopsis: Gevurah seeks out Vakko and his specific qualifications. They exchange threats and information. By the end of the exchange Gevurah has recruited Vakko for a mission and both drow are less tense.
Trist'oth Tavern
Vakko sat at the table farthest from the door, his back to the wall, as any smart drow would sit. He sat alone as many of the drow that mill about the tavern would want nothing to do with him, not displaying a house insignia could only me that he was low born common and something that many would rather kill than associate with. But that was just fine for him, His chair rocked back slightly as his head lulled back, eyes closed as he seemed to be completely relaxed, something rather unheard of in this city. A half empty bottle of dark elven wine sits on the table before him along with an obsidian pipe that still held a bit of smoldering ember in it. He was slightly taller than the average drow, nearing six feet which was rare for the dark skinned elves. His dress was common as well, simply drow armor and black leather. His death lance rested against the table, just within reach just in case anyone wished to intrude on his relaxing moment.
To a non-drow, Trist’oth Tavern in its rare moments of tense peace must be quite comical: a bunch of stiff, heavily-armed and armored drow taking up every inch of wall space and staring into an empty middle. A waitress flits between them refilling tankards like a nervous, black hummingbird, backing away from tables like a hummingbird backs away from flowers, never daring to turn her back until she is beyond arm-plus-blade reach. Four assassins slip into the tavern and face each wall, confident in the relative safety the D’Artes regalia grants its commoners. Their death grants little social mobility for the killer, while their uniform suggests exemplary training which would dissuade the bulk of would-be assassins. Hard kill with little gain yields little motive. It’s a safety that contrasts with the remarkable danger that stalks D’Artes nobility - hard kill, massive gain for some, and plenty of motive. The D’Artes High Priestess and First Daughter enters behind her entourage. Four more assassins follow her entrance and assume sentry positions. Gevurah scans the wallflowers and hesitates on Vakko, eyes squinting. Standing before him, she says, “I am looking for the one called Vakko. You fit his description. Tell me if you are him.”
Vakko ’s fingers twitch when the subtle din that always lives in this tavern goes silent with the entry of the leading four of the entourage. One a few in the whole of the city could cause that kind of calm to fall upon this place that was reserved for the drunks and occasional murder. Either form the first house or the house of crazed drow that have a love of stabbing things. His smile started to grow upon dark lips. This was getting interesting. Still in his lax position as the first daughter came to his table and spoke, slowly he would set his chair fully upon the floor and give a soft sigh. A hand slipped through his short silvery hair as he opens his eyes. His right a deep crimson color, while his left had no color, a pure white orb, the only color to it at all was the small dark pupil in its center. Taking a moment to look about is dark smile only grew. Eight D’Artes assassins, his two tone gaze falling upon Gevurah herself, and the first daughter of the house. “There would be no point in telling you I was not Vakko. So that just leaves the question why is a D’Artes noble looking for me? I don’t remember killing anyone with your houses insignia.” Well he was rightly and truly cornered here. He may be able to kill one or two of the assassins but with the priestess here, he had almost no chance of fleeing, so he had to play nice.
Gevurah smiles, maybe. It’s hard to say. There is no cheer or good will. The First Daughter isn’t given much reason to smile, and when she attempts the expression, it is typically false and obviously so. Behind her shoulder looms the portrait of Keter D’Artes, her father and should anyone have doubts about his paternity, they need only look at Gevurah and that portrait, and those doubts will be assuaged. She casts an expectant gaze at the lead assassin of her entourage. He then approaches a drow sitting near Vakko and explains, “The Lady Gevurah has need of your seat.” It’s quite the polite eviction, and within seconds Gevurah has a chair. She drags it a safe, but conversational distance away from Vakko and sits. “No need to get lippy, Vakko. There is no threat to your life of which I am aware.” The snake-heads that adorn the whip at her hip look sleepy; they don’t expect to be used any time soon. “I asked the Masters of Magthere d'Malarin for a name belonging to a warrior of specific qualifications. They gave your name. I wish to employ you for a specific mission.”
Vakko could hardly contain his amusement with how quickly the drow had given up his seat and rushed from the place, oh what power a name held. Taking up his bottle he would pour himself another glass of wine. “So the masters gave you my name is it? Well it must be a veritable suicide mission. I was not their favorite, just their toy. They enjoyed seeing if I would break. But I so enjoyed to disappoint them. A second glass had been set on his table and he motioned to it. “Care for a drink lady Gevurah? Do not fear I would never dream of poisoning you. That is not my way any way, I prefer the exquisite death only a blade can offer, its hard to see the lights leave the eyes when you use poison.” He pours the glass anyway and slides it to the edge of the table closest to the priestess, keeping a measured distance from her sure that if he gets to close weapons would be drawn, and troublesome times would befall him. Settling back in his seat he would take a sip from his glass. “So pray tell lady D’Artes, what mission would require you to lower yourself to talking to a common born?”
Gevurah agrees with Vakko’s assessment of the Masters. “Indeed, they did not sing your praises when they mentioned your name. I mentioned I needed a specific set of qualifications, but those qualifications are not particularly exemplary. No need to remind me of your commonality. Rest assured, I am aware.” Her lips thin as Vakko postures for power where he has none, describing how he would kill her if given the chance. “If you continue to issue threats, at some point I’ll stop assuming they are nothing more than the infantile whine of a terrified, small man, and I will start taking those threats seriously, which would end fatally for you.” She ignores the wine.
Vakko lets a soft sigh slip through his lips as he finished his glass of wine and replaces it back atop the table, not wholly surprised as the offering was ignored, “You miss understand me, lady Gevurah, I have issued no such threats. What would be the gain by my attacking you? Your entourage is more than enough to kill me, your self alone would be more than enough. I would only have death in my future if I raised a blade to you. Even if by some miracle I managed to defeat you and your fine group gathered I greatly doubt that those D’Artes would stand for it and I would no doubt find myself locked in rather cozy cell deep in the bowels of your house finding grand tortures daily for the rest of my life. No gain you see.” He crosses his arms and reclines in his seat once again. “I was simply saying how I prefer to work, that is all.” He offered a slight shrug, He really didn’t mean it as a threat but she will take it how she pleases, that is the way of the nobles.
Gevurah grins darkly as Vakko speaks the truth she wants to hear. The youngest and most untested member of her entourage, for quite a few members had to be replaced after Xersom killed a few not long ago, is beckoned forward. Gevurah fans a hand towards the glass of wine Vakko offered, and the young drow hesitates, sweats, and trembles before he obeys the unspoken command; he sips the wine to test for poison. Healthy and unhealthy doses of paranoia comes with the D’Artes territory. Gevurah reengages Vakko as she and her company wait to see the effects of the wine, if any. “Very well, Vakko. I accept that. Your name was mentioned because I need a warrior, preferably of common lineage, who is well acquainted with the surface. The Masters were unsure of how much time you spend on the surface, but seemed to believe that you do spend some time up there. Tell me of your experience on the surface.” The young drow starts to panic, imagining a stomach ache and holding his belly, but it’s all in his fear-soaked brain.
Vakko watches the young drow sip at the wine and the fear in his eyes is utterly delicious. When he clutches his stomach Vakko almost burst into laughter. Did she pull this one right from Magthere d'Malarin or was he some lesser noble wanting to make it in the ranks of house D’Artes? Either way he was quite comical. Letting his attention slip back to Gevurah he thought for a moment. “Is there any information you specifically require or would you wish an overview of what I have observed?”
Gevurah shoots a contemptful glare at the terrified drow. He’ll not lose his life by the look of things, but he’ll wish he had. He certainly won’t be keeping his position in her entourage, and where does a disgraced drow warrior go? She backhands the stupor off his face, shakes her head in irritation, and regards Vakko once more. The young drow at least knows enough not to wail at the strike and just bears the sting silently. “A general overview is sufficient. My mission would take us to the surface, and I want to ensure you are as well-versed in the surface as the Masters assume. The mission is in Sage, in relation to the war.” Part truth, mostly lie: they’re in a public setting. She’ll say whatever keeps public ears least interested. Sage-Drow war scheming is routine by now, and while anything the nobility does is of interest to some, this lie misinforms the public by offering one of the least interesting scenarios. She delivers the lie effortlessly.
Vakko gives a slight half smile as she makes her outline for the information she needs. He knew it to be a half truth. D’Artes soldiers make up the front lines on the invasion in sage, she would have access to all information that would come from the front. With a slight chuckle he would oblige her. “I inserted myself into the front waves of the attack upon the Sage Forest. The commanders were not picky when it came to blades to fill their ranks, the standing now is that Sage and the better part of the village of Kelay are occupied. There are many groups of drow patrolling the streets of Kelay as we speak. The survivors of the attack what few elves did survive that is have scattered. So as far west as Chartsend, seeking aid from that frontier community.” The mention of that city made him smile, a decent enough place to stay but much to sunny for his like. “In the way of opposition I would not worry about anything coming from Cenril or Larket. Cenril until recently was just a mass of gangs all fighting themselves for control of the city, no organized resistance there. Larket is starting to be a budding power but they are still a ways off from posing any real threat to anything outside their borders. The strongest would have to by Frostmaw, But they are secluded in the mountains. It would be some time before they could move forces down the passes and the main lines would know about them well in advance.” It would seem that his wandering about on the surface was not understated with the information given.
Gevurah nods and waves a hand dismissively at the information. Vakko is right in assuming Gevurah is aware of the more tactical side of operations on the surface, though in truth most of that information comes second-hand through her inclusion in noble circles. Gevurah herself is not directly involved with the war; her responsibilities lie elsewhere. “Yes. But what about the surface races, their cultures and customs? I have a personal, perhaps morbid, curiosity regarding those races. First hand experience has been unsavory - I can hardly tolerate their presence, and study through books leaves a lot to be desired. Have you had the displeasure of engaging many surface races off the battlefield?”
Vakko inclined his head slightly in a kind of bow, “Most specifics on the races alright then.” He took a moment to think, what was relevant and what he thought the priestess wanted to know about. “Many of the races would not allow me very near them, no matter what I told them. They are all afraid of drow.” He gives a slight chuckle at that. “And rightly so, many of the elves that I met with were more interested on attacking me than having a civil conversation. And you will not believe the number of half bloods that are up there. The surface elven lines have become quite diluted over the decades. The felines, confused easily and scatter minded, keeping them on a single thought for long is a battle in and of itself. Most humans can be lumped in with the minotaurs, orcs and goblins. Simple minded and for the most part greedy.” Then his grin widens a little as a look of mild adoration comes to his eye. “But the avians, they know how to wage a good fight. Military in nature, class system driven, much like our own in some cases. I feel they are the best out of the lower races that infest the surface right now. And their feathers make such pretty trophies.” He fills his glass again and raises it in salute to Gevurah. “The information is to your liking I trust?”
Gevurah smiles genuinely for the first time today, or perhaps this month, when Vakko says the drow are feared on the surface. “As it should be,” she murmurs without interrupting Vakko. Her schadenfreude blossoms as Vakko denigrates elves, half-bloods, humans, minotaurs, orcs, and goblins. His elation of the avian disrupts her sinister glee, but Vakko quickly tempers his praise by stating that the avian are still inferior and should be killed. To his question, she responds “Indeed.” The young drow is still alive, and Gevurah lifts her glass and indulges a cordial sip. “Keep yourself visible to me. In a week’s time, check in with the priest at The Temple of Endless Death. They will have instruction for you. You shall be compensated for your time, though I trust any compensation will be seen by you as a bonus, and that you participate in this mission for the glory of Trist’oth and its people. May your enemies tremble at the thought of you.” She rises and waits for Vakko to bow his head before she takes her leave.
Vakko was a little off put by her smile, when a female drow smiles pain usually follows, but this time the lash stays asleep. When she stood he slowly rose as well. Dipping his head in a slight bow as she started to take her leave he looked to the youngest of the group, the one full of fear with the fresh bruise on his cheek and could only smile and give a wink of his colorless eye. “I will do as instructed Lady Gevurah.”