RP:Setting the Stage
(Setting – The Goth Garden in Cenril) - In wake of his successful play in Vailkrin, Mesdoram seeks out a 2nd venue for his next extravagant performance. Having caught the ire of Khitti from a previous encounter, the drow has gathered intel that she is the owner and operator of the Goth Garden. Seeking words with the redhead, he travels to survey the layout and visually plans the event in his head... with or without Khitti's permission.
The Goth Garden
In an effort to bring a little bit of Vailkrin to Cenril, a gothic-themed garden has been created next to the Ginger Snapped Bakery. Three-fourths of the garden is surrounded by a wrought iron fence, that includes a gate, with a dark stone foundation and fence posts. Pieces of charcoal grey slate is used for pathing, that of which has been laid in a square around the outskirts of the garden, next to the fence, as well as creating an odd looking cross in the middle, so that one might observe all sides of the half circle-shaped flower beds and make their way to the small fountain and seating area in the middle. Each flower bed is lined and raised by the same stone that makes up the fence and the flowers within them are in varying shades of dark red and purple hues, the majority of them so dark in color that they look black. In the northwest corner flower box, belladonna, hellebore, lobelia, calla lilies, and violas are all planted together; northeast holds hollyhock, pansies, petunias, tulips, roses and bat flowers; and the southwest is occupied by hyacinth, irises, lilies, orchids, peonies, and geraniums. The last corner, in the southeast, is dedicated to flowers whose colors don’t quite fit the theme, but the fact that they bloom only at night does. Black jasmine, moonflowers, phlox, daturas, and wisteria all reside together, the wisteria hanging from a stand-alone trellis so that its vines can climb as high as possible. Finally, in the middle of the entire garden lies not only a fountain made of obsidian, but several wrought iron table and chair sets for anyone to sit in and take in the garden. The fountain itself is rather large for one situated on a pedestal, though the base has been made wide enough to accommodate for its size. Two seemingly human figures--lovers most likely--are embraced in a dance position, one set of hands intertwined, while the man’s other rests against the woman’s back, pulling her forward as she wraps her right leg around his left and balances herself with an arm around his neck. Each curve of her body is expertly sculpted, from everything to her long wavy hair to the long dress she wears, the slit on both sides of the dress allowing for it to look as if it’s flowing in the air as they dance. The man’s own appearance is no different than his partner’s, the creases in his shirt carved to resemble real fabric and his slicked back hair chiseled just so. Both dancers are adorned with skull masks and the sculpture itself is aptly named ‘The Dance Macabre’.
Mesdoram || Cenril… not an area visited often by the drow anymore. Cenril in general, much like every other city, does not welcome dark elves with open arms; especially not since the terrible era of Kuzial, Keter, and Tiphareth… which Mesdoram participating in many of those atrocities. Being under the wing of Hemlock, these two drow men wreaked havoc through Cenril during the great drow uprising. With every intentional stabbing, deliberate murder, and successful lift, Mesdoram had mixed feelings about why his higher-ups were so deprived and heartless… uncaring… but he dared not show his true colors ever again. As it turns out, Mesdoram now remains as one of the handful drows remaining from those times – leaving him to carry on Tiphareth’s legacy… or to carve out his own crude carnage. Still, this man is tormented and trouble inside his mind and secretly longs for the life his once had… sadly for him, he may be too far gone When his demise is finally to come, not one soul will shed a tear for Mesdoram – no matter how tragic his story is. So why come to the city of Centril knowing that at any moment his head could be removed from his shoulders? Boredom, probably…
Striding into the Goth Garden of Cenril, Mesdoram enters sans his elf slave – Nariv is currently on assignment to recruit potential solders for their ‘Sin’ organization. Coming straight from the Yule Ball in the Silver Forest, the drow wears none of his usually battle mage attire: plain black pants and shoes, white button-down shirt, and a headband that push his bangs away from his eyes. Sheathed to his sturdy belt are his trusted twin enchanted, elemental dirks that are fastened securely around his waist; he does not have a piece of armor nor his favored earthly long sword – this blade is currently given to Nariv for her protection. For a drow who was recently beaten down by Meri, Mesdoram certainly has taken zero precautions to protect himself… he has only made a few dozen enemies since returning to the land of Hollow.
The drow begins admiring the scenery and ventures closer to the dark stoned fountain to soak in some serenity. Finding a seat near the fountain, Mesdoram focuses on statues of a woman and man that are seemingly in love or, at the very least, are intimate in one way or another: lovers, family, or deep, deep friendship. If a stranger were to stroll into this mostly vacant garden, they may be surprised to see an unusually docile drow has wandered into this area… if that same stranger were to get closer, they may be shocked to discover it’s Mesdoram invading their property and might take issue with this man for a variety of reasons.
Khitti: The drow had been so thoroughly fixed on the garden and its accompanying fountain that he had not seen the woman that stopped at the door of the bakery that led into the aforementioned area. The ever-perceptive redhead had seen the drow enter and look about, but as the garden welcomed all, whether they shopped at the bakery or not, Khitti made no move to evict him from the premises. “I’m going to assume the Matron didn’t send you, seeing as how I’ve not heard about Gevurah or from her in months,” Khitti said, sitting down at the table he chose, opposite of him, as she set a tray atop it. “I feel like I should be concerned, but…” She shrugged as she lifted a teapot off the tray and poured the peppermint tea into a cup. “You were at the Yule ball. I’m curious as to what you did to deserve my sister’s ire.” Khitti stopped pouring just before it reached the top of the cup, her line of sight slowly shifting from it to Mesdoram, the teapot hanging in the air like it was suspense itself. “I may have looked like I was busy--and indeed I surely was--but my family is important to me, you see.”
Strangely enough, she had a second cup. Just how long -had- she been watching him? The tea was poured into this one as well and pushed across the table to him. Was he worried that it was poisoned? That she’d try to kill him without hearing even just one side of the story? No, no. Poison was… alright, but that was more of her daughter’s thing. Sure, Khitti knew how to use it and even make it thanks to the Necromancer’s Guild, but Quintessa was the one obsessed with it. And sure, some poisons were quick but, it was far too subtle. And to prove this possible, maybe even non-existent wondering about poison wrong, she picked up her cup after replacing the teapot on the tray and took a long sip of the hot leaf juice. “I bear no real ill will to your kind. I might as well be a drow myself--perhaps in another timeline, I suppose. But, if something happened between you and my sister, we may have a problem.” Throughout the entirety of this, she seemed as calm and as cool as a cucumber, occasionally taking a sip of her tea. “Would you like some stollen? It’s my favorite this time of year.” Khitti pushed the tray a little closer to him, allowing him to take up some of the icing coated sweet bread if he wished. And if he didn’t? Well, more for her.
Mesdoram: Mesdoram listens with intrigue as Khitti begins her questioning and tea preparations; while her miniature-interrogation seems innocent enough to the drow, Mesdoram smirks arrogantly at Gevurah’s name. As he watches Khitti setting up the complimentary treats, Mesdoram takes a shot at her first inquiry. “Gevurah… Matron? Keter’s pride and joy…” His face scowls at every syllable. “I have no respect for either of them nor her false God. Gevurah probably went her father’s route to save me the trouble…” A bit of a satisfied smirk forms as he reminisces the day Keter when made and took his own life. The smug façade slowly fades as a recuring thought of loneliness envelopes his tiny frame… the man truly being one of the last of his kind with no friends, clansmen or even his brother’s comradery…
The soften demeanor seeps further as Mesdoram continues his answer. “I don’t know who your sister is, nor do I know you. However…” Mesdoram begins focusing in on Khitti’s facial features and leans in closer to study her mannerisms. Piecing the miniscule details and slight resemblance to Meri, the drow takes his best guess. “… based on our brief interaction I had with her, I assume your sister is the blonde psychopath with a bow that tried to kill my slave, Nariv.” With that said, Mesdoram takes hold of his teacup and sits back nonchalantly. “Forgive me, but me and her skipped formalities and went straight to the battle – you have shown me far more benevolence than her.” Trying to test to waters to throw Khitti off guard, the drow spins a slightly altered truth. “She is very formidable… but needs to control her temper. Attempting to murder an innocent elf girl to get the me? A bit cowardly if you ask me…” With that line of half-truths and inflammatory rhetoric, Mesdoram repositions his chair a bit in order to maneuver his right leg over his left thigh displaying how comfortable he is in this setting.
“Please forgive my brashness… Nariv should not suffer for her master’s actions… agreed?” Reading the room, Mesdoram elects to pay respect to his host. “Do you own this property?” The man begins his own line of questioning as he genuinely admires what Khitti has done to this area. “I quite like it here… to be honest, you are the first person to offer me any kindness…” Sniffing his peppermint tea, the drow smiles and places the cup back down upon the tabletop without taking a sip. “Every I have met simply wants to take my head off… like your sister…” His tamed attitude might throw some for a loop, but his friendliness is not an act towards Khitti; quite the contrary, however heartfelt Khitti was or not, Mesdoram appreciates the formality of her hospitality. “You know, I was not always such the villain I am today… but maybe before I close my eyes forever, someone will hear that story.” With subtle pleasantries out of the way, Mesdoram picks up his teacup once more to not appear rude. “Now then, my name if you don’t know is Mesdoram. How may I be of service to you, Miss…” What an odd question the man asks to Khitti. Does he linger for her to introduce herself unlike Meri? Does he expect most of his encounters to lead to battle? Either way, Mesdoram now takes his first swig of tea patiently waiting for Khitti’s response… in whatever form she chooses.
Khitti gave a smirk of her own when Mesdoram let it be known his disdain for Gevurah and her family. She merely shrugged. “Gevurah, typically, is a means to an end. I have no real love for her. She is not my friend. But, do watch what you say about Vakmatharas. I may not worship him in the same way as the Matron and her subordinates, but there’s nothing false about him. It was his power, as well as that from two other gods, that allows me to sit here before you now without the burden of undeath.” She sighed. “As for my sister, we are not blood related, but I suppose the look of rage and cynicism likely looks very similar. I do think my temper might be far worse, however. She has not made it a habit of ripping hearts out of chests like I have. And no, she’s certainly not a ‘halfwit’. I have no excuses for her, nor do I expect her to have any for what she does.” The redhead took a moment to take a sip of her tea. And I do empathize with the whole “people trying to take my head off” thing. It’s happened far too many times for me to count. But as I was saying, if my sister felt threatened, then that’s her choice to decide to defend herself whether she made the first strike or not.” She shrugged, finally putting her teacup down and taking a slice of the dense fruitcake for herself.
“But you seem to have caught me on an odd day. Lots of introspection and all that. I’m sure you understand.” She gestured towards the garden they sat in, then the three-story brick building beside them. “I’m Khitti. This is my garden. My bakery. Soon to be a restaurant beneath the ground where you sit. My home. “That said, I suppose -I- should be the one asking ‘How may I be of service to you?’“
|| Mesdoram stares in a bewilderment at his more than gracious host. The total professionalism of Khitti puts the drow in a conundrum where, on a different day, would escalate the encounter with verbal jabs until the redhead had enough. The man’s twisted nature all but prevents him from having normal conversations and interactions with his close-knit entourage much less a stranger; however, the tainted drow wished this was not the case – he once had a life with Vexar beyond bloodshed and carnage, a life with his fallen love Atropos, and was a protector for the innocent and not the murderer he is today. Something about his interaction with Khitti has soften Mesdoram’s guard despite the semi-permanent scowl on his face. With his demeanor slightly relaxed, the drow begins a peculiar inquiry.
“You are an interesting woman, Khitti. No doubt feared by your enemies and friends alike. You’ve had your fair share of battle and killings – that I can see in your eyes. And, despite your sister’s best efforts…” The drow pauses briefly to lean in and gently grab a piece of stollen with his hand. As politely as a drow can be, he leans back into his chair after biting the disgusting fruitcake – feeling a need to present civility, he feigns a smile to show appreciation despite hating sweets. Mesdoram places his piece down, swallows, and continues.
“… I see that you someone to be feared and respected. Your sister, though showing incredible ferocity, lacks your precision and coldness to kill. You are a very dangerous woman, Khitti.” Mesdoram points at the simple cutting tool used to cut the baker’s stollen. “If I were to insult you with a proper jape, I have no doubt that knife would be impaled in my brain… no…” The prospect of his possible stabbing causes a sick intrigue to stir in the tiny man, and his tone shifts to a sinister one. “… no… that would be too impersonal. You would cut my heart out while sipping your tea… yes, that’s more your style, isn’t it?”
A sincere smile now adorns Mesdoram’s face and almost completely relaxes. “You have been a very speculator host, and certainly been blessed…” He waves his hands around to highlight Khitti’s garden and bakery. “… no doubt blood, sweat, and your tears built this place. You have been very courteous, so allow me to offer you some free information.” The man pauses for a bit of theatrics. “I am planning on putting another performance for the citizens of this realm, and I think your garden would be the most ideal place to host said performance. And the center of my script revolves around the Sins of a particular group of persons… and this year, I will be killing a prominent member of these lands. Last year, 2 nameless elves were slaughtered due to ‘Wraith’ and ‘Greed’ refusing to show up, but I think you won’t make the same mistake as the others…” Another brief pause to allow an uncomfortable silence to linger. “… no, you would take the treat of your sister’s death much more seriously than Karasu and Quintessa… So, how about it, Khitti? Will you allow me to host my playwright here? And will you come see your sister’s sinful nature on display? She might be the star of the show… oh, and ticket prices! We need to do so much planning.”
Despite his true admiration for Khitti, Mesdoram cannot help himself. The drow had enough respect for Khitti to inform her of his plans, but couldn’t resist giving her a reason or five to attack him… and if she manages to kill him, at least he didn’t have to eat anymore cake.
Khitti sipped her tea until it was gone as she watched the drow and listened to him speak. She’d actually let him finish before she said anything at all. But as he went on, it started to get dark. Strange, considering it was still rather early in the day. Perhaps it was going to rain? No, there was no petrichor, nor did the ocean nearby sound tempestuous. Yet, even still, darkness took over nevertheless. It grew thicker and thicker like a fog, threatening to suffocate all it surrounded. “I could rip out your heart, yes. But then I’d have to get up. I’d much rather sit here and sip my tea while my shadows crush you and their acidic properties burn and corrode your flesh away.”
The redhead picked up the teapot and poured some more for herself, taking a moment to further consider her thoughts before voicing them. “Do you know of the Shadow Plane, Mesdoram? The plane of existence that’s a dark mirror of our world? I am its harbinger. Its protector. I can open a portal below your chair and you’ll be gone in an instant. Lost to another world. And with any luck, you’d drop right into the ocean there. With the merrow, the undead merfolk that are objectively worse than our seaborn here, or gelatinous cubes, or the many creations of mindflayers that dwell beneath the depths.” Khitti drank deeply of her newly poured tea, the peppermint-flavored liquid warming her, a contrast to the coldness that she spoke with. “I’ll indulge you, Mesdoram. I’ll allow you to use this garden for your little play. As a bard myself, I can appreciate it. But, if harm actually comes to my sister… It may very well be your last performance. You don’t know the things I’ve sacrificed to get where I am today. You can be next on that list of sacrifices, if you play your cards right. I can only hope that Delisha and Vakmatharas will give me that chance.”
Mesdoram: The abrupt change of scenery along with Khitti’s seemingly stoic indifference does just enough to crack Mesdoram’s devilish demeanor into a moment of uncertainty. Though the drow knows nothing of the Shadow Plane, the ominous tone in the woman’s voice reminds him of the internal torture the drow suffers from at the hands of another woman… this chilling similarity causes actual fear to seep into his blackened soul. Mesdoram’s silvery eyes flash a bluish hue for a moment before returning into their onyx soulless orbs; if Khitti was enjoying her peppermint tea and in deep thoughts of how she’d vortex the mouth drow into the Shadow Plane, the sudden eye color change may have gone unnoticed.
At the conclusion of Khitti’s monologue, a seemingly softer and humbler Mesdoram nods graciously towards his host and slowly scoots his chair backwards. As he stands up, the man begins his own words to Khitti. “I’m sorry to disappoint your Gods and you, Khitti, as you have been a more than accommodating for me. I wish I could offer my death; there is a growing list of willing volunteers that you are competing with, including your sister…” Mesdoram casually strolls to Khitti’s right side before resuming his words carefully. “… Personally, should my demise come from you, I would consider that more pleasant than the death I am predestined to have. You’d be doing me a favor, honestly; however, that would cause a whole cataclysm of events I fear you and others would not be ready for…”
Pausing again, Mesdoram peers around the gothic garden once more and gets lost in his preparations for his 2nd playwright: booths, stands for food, venues and entertainment, and of course would they construct a proper stage or not. The drow takes a heavy sigh and looks down at Khitti. “I will inform Nariv that you have agreed to helping us and SIN host our next production. She will be aid you in preparations and make sure you are properly paid – in fact, all revenues generated by your garden will go straight to your pockets. As an act of good faith, your sister shall remain untouched during the proceedings of my play… even if she were to intervene in one way or another…”
Lingering a bit, Mesdoram extends his open right hand looking to seal the agreement in a handshake. “Are these terms acceptable to you?” As he waits for an answer, Mesdoram stares near the foundation again at the two statues that caught his eye earlier – perhaps contemplating his past life, or ideas for his twisted theatrical play… either way, the drow waits patiently for Khitti’s response.
Khitti: “Mm, I know a thing or two about fate myself, so I empathize,” Khitti said as the shadows retreated back to their nooks and crannies in the garden. “I accept these terms and I look forward to meeting with Nariv. In exchange for your good faith, I’ll make sure that the venue is well stocked with food and drink of all sorts.” Khitti put out her hand to meet with his own and shook it before retracting it back to her body. “You know, if you enjoy directing these plays as you seem to, have you thought of joining the Bard’s Guild? We could certainly use more talent there.” She paused, realizing he meant to take his leave now. “Something for you to think over maybe, while you plan things out. Do come back again for tea, Mesdoram. I’m sure we’ll find something to talk about.” And with that, she went back to her teacup and stollen, letting him go off elsewhere.
Mesdoram, still a bit shaken up mentally from Khitti's threat of being banished into the oblivion, nods at Khitti respectfully and excuses himself from his seat. "As nice as that offer is, I don't believe I will be around long enough to fully enjoy the perks of a Bard Guild... it is not in my plans for the moment. Should I survive, I will seek you out, Khitti." With that said, the drow pushes his chair back into its proper place and walks towards the exit leaving Khitti to tend to her Garden's day-to-day operations.