RP:Trading Larket's Future

Part of the Rise of Larket Arc

Summary: Macon, traitor to Larket, Master of the Mad Fermin, Andurla’s killer, has been influenced by Vakmatharas. He travels to Trist’oth’s Grand Temple to Vakmatharas to seek out the counsel of the high priests. There he meets Gevurah. He tells her who he is, what his goals are, and Gevurah invites him to House D’Artes to talk politics and religion. There, she agrees to help him claim the throne in exchange for some favors (kill all elves, give me land, turn Larket to a Vakmatharas holy site, the usual), and also agrees to train him in the ways of Vakmatharas.

Macon plots his next attack against Larket, and the devious duo take a trip to Cenril to pick up a little potion to help him sew fear in the marble city. While there, Macon receives his first lesson in death.

Temple to Vakmatharas, Trist’oth

Macon enters the Temple of Death, heavy, metallic footfalls heralding his arrival. The man twists his neck and spins 360 degrees while he walks forward towards the center of the place of worship, taking in the sights as it were. Perhaps before he had made it to the Underdark the former sheriff must have been disguised, an angelic mask pushed off to the side of his head now, no longer doing its duty of obscuring his identity. Strapped to his back is a great axe, hanging diagonally with the blade end at the bottom near his hip. At the center of the large metal blade an ominously glowing red stone is embedded, emitting an… infuriating aura. The armor on his body is lackluster, gray, aside from what looks like a blood splatter pattern painted in crimson on the chest. Once Macon is sufficiently inside the Temple he calls out, probably to The God of Death himself, “Alrigh’ I'm here. Now wha’?”

Gevurah stands at the altar with her back to the entrance wearing a corset and bustled full skirt which gives her the silhouette of a drider. Long sleeves drape from the elbows to resemble the sleeves of priestly robes. Faerie light dimly illuminates the altar. A bronze bowl filled with blood, bones, matted hair, teeth and precious metals bubbles by some unseen sorcery. Votive candles and avatars of Vakmatharas stand around the bowl in an obscure pattern. On an elf-skin mat Gevurah deals drow tarot cards made of sheets of shale. The tarot’s illustrations are drawn in heat-radiating ink to ease infrared legibility. The King card flips atop the The Apprentice, blood over druid, death over pickaxe, an ominous arrangement much to her liking, but The Apprentice and King cards confuse her. She turns to the oracle in the bronze bowl and divines clarity. One hand fingers the tarot cards, the other combs through the thick blood, gris, and hair. A vision in the blood conjures for her eyes only. That’s when Macon barges in, loudly, unwelcome in a city famous for its xenophobia, enforced through bloodshed and slavery. She pivots to face him, lips quivering in and out of a scowl and snarl. “Who are you,” she barks in thickly accented common. The noble hasa tendency to speak questions as statements. House D’artes taught its precious bloodline to demand before it taught them to question. A surfacer, human, pale pink and hideous. Lower ranking priests and disciples flee into shadows. If a fight were to break out, well, Gevurah has a reputation for being careless with drow casualty, especially after the last war on the surface. High-ranking priests stay for the spectacle, or possibly to score some points with the big house through deadly assist.

Macon narrows light grey eyes at the altar and the High Priestess. He barely flinches at all the movement of the fleeing acolytes and tensing up of the others that remain. The murderous man is aware he is unwelcome down here, The Madness Axe at his back has proven useful in getting this far into Trist’oth, though the blade isn't sporting any fresh blood at the moment, so its other properties must have done the trick. Somewhere there's probably a single drow standing victorious over the corpses of two or three others wondering how she’s gotten to this point in her life, but maybe proud nonetheless. “I am Macon Jauzon…” he answers, elaborating, “Larket’s traitor.” Both of those words are spit out as much as they are said, “Assassin of Andurla Caula and Master of The Mad Fermin…” he's done well talking himself up, especially with that last bit; no one can really control those rats he has corrupted with that artifact welded to his axe. “I seek the High Priestess of The God Of Death… Who the hell are you?” he asks this with a faint smirk, perhaps anticipating the answer… or a fight.

Gevurah‘s eyes narrow when Macon mentions Larket. He’s the second Larket visitor to Trist’oth that she knows of, the first being that paladin buffoon, Kelo-what’s-his-name-and-who-cares, hopeful king of some surface town, snore. Come to Gevurah when you have a crown, something to offer, or blood on your hands. Macon arrives boasting the latter, and adds traitor and master of fermin to his resume, earning him an audience. His rudeness, however, provokes a snarl from the irritable drow. “Gevurah D’Artes, of the ruling House of this city, and the High Priestess to Vakmatharas. Who is Andurla and why should I care.” She waves a hand to gesture the temple at large. “Why are you here.”

Macon maintains that smirk in the face of the snarl sent his way, having gotten the answer he was at least half-expecting from the drowess. “Perfect…” the former sheriff mutters mostly to himself before shouting halfway across the temple again from his spot near the center, “She was a councilwoman of Larket overseeing it in place of the vacated Throne… A dying breed. Not too many left now…” he muses aloud more than speaks to Gevurah at the end there, “The Kingdom is weak. Ripe to be taken…” Grey eyes follow the High Priestess’s gesture, scanning the place once again, “I believe He wishes us to meet. Tha’s why I’ve been guided here… But maybe The High Priestess has a different interpretation…” That cold stare falls back onto the woman at the altar as Macon awaits her response.

Gevurah is content to let Macon keep shouting. Nobility begets a large personal space. She circles him slowly. Faerie light, under her control, illuminates him more brightly to reveal the details of his attire. When she’s behind him she stops and eyes his axe, the very same she saw in the blood moments before his arrival. It would seem he is correct in believing Vakmatharas wants them to collude. She grunts deep in her throat, displeased with this visitor: a human, rude, undisciplined in the ways of the God of Death. She’ll have to teach him. Her glowing red eyes siddle to the side, white lashes fluttering in annoyance as she thinks about this task she will not enjoy, but must undertake because her God has decreed it. She completes the circle to stand before him again, this close enough to speak at a conversational volume. “So you seek the Larket throne,” she says as if she gives a damn about Larket. Perhaps now that there is a possibility of planting a follower of Vakmatharas on that seat of power, she may start to care. “You are not the first to come here and tell me that. A paladin of Arkhen,” she doesn’t even attempt to recall his name, “came and told me he sought the same. What of him. Is he gone.”

Macon stands tall at the center of the circle Gevurah walks around him, chin up and eyes forward, never wavering towards the drow looking him over. The stance seems natural to him and he is able to maintain it for a bit… That is until Kelovath is mentioned, though not by name the vague description of the paladin is enough to set the traitor off. Proximity to that Axe of Rage has nothing to do with the former sheriff gritting his teeth. He knew it… Kelovath was after the throne, that self-righteous son of a-... A deep breath is forced out as if he was forgetting to breathe in the moments prior, “He has no right to it. He was gone. While I sat on the council… He-” The aspiring Death Knight cuts himself off before he goes on with that childlike complaining any longer, “No. Larket will be mine. As for the Paladin… He will die, but not before he is broken.” Grey eyes finally seek out the glowing stare of the drow before him, “Not before he sees everything he holds dear shattered. Him -I- will see to. Larket is what I’ve come to you for help with.” He shuffles in place, left hand moving up to that sideways facing mask that seems utterly useless now, adjusting it pointlessly.

Gevurah grins darkly at his tangible hatred, clay she can mold and manipulate. She lifts a hand, palm facing him to try and stay his rage long enough so she may speak. Aware of their audience, and preferring to work in secret, she says “The First House cares not for the squabbles of surfacers, but I cannot deny a servant of Vakmatharas the guidance he seeks.” She pivots quickly to collect her tarot cards in the elf skin mat then walks towards and past Macon. “Come,” she whispers in passing. The fact she gives him her back is an insult in drow custom, suggesting she thinks he is far beneath her in both rank and power and therefore she need not fear having him at her flank. Hopefully these nuances of drow customs are lost on the human. She leads him into the impressive estate next door, House D’Artes, the largest of the noble houses and most heavily enchanted. During their walk, she makes small talk about Vakmatharas, certain quests and rituals Macon can perform to gain the God of Death’s favor, a few rituals more specific for gaining political power in the service of death. If Macon gets the sense that Gevurah is performing for a third party, he would be correct. She performs for the spies that litter across Trist’oth’s avenues and alleyways, itching to report back to their masters the latest plots and goals of the various noble houses. During their walk, she feeds the spies false information. Once inside the compound, she leads him to a stately room decorated for drow comfort. Two couches face each other on opposite sides of a low stone table. Macon is expected to sit across from her. A house slave serves wine, then Gevurah dismisses all service staff and guards and utters a spell to seal the room in private silence. To Macon, at last, she says, “If you seek the throne through my aid, then privacy is vital. It would be inconvenient if a rival House decided to--what’s that surface expression?” She pauses, red-glowing eyes searching the air for her common-tongue and surface vocabulary, until finally she says “to throw a wrench in whatever plans we agree on.” She lifts a glass of wine for herself then leans back on the couch and says, “Tell me everything. The fermin, the council, the paladin, and about you.”

House D’Artes

Macon watches as Gevurah gathers the cards that apparently predicted his arrival or at least his axe’s, and moves back past him. One more look around at that place is indulged in, this is likely his first visit to one of The Death God’s places of worship. A depiction of the skeletal Vakmatharas is lingered on for a moment or two longer than anything else, almost as if the man is asking if he should even follow the drow or not. Either he is answered in the affirmative or gives up on waiting for a response because he abruptly turns, oblivious to the insult she is paying him, and trails her out of the temple. The longer strides his height advantage gives him means he won’t be trailing for long and unless Gevurah was set on sprinting Macon will have walked beside her to the nearby mansion. Variations on nods and shrugs are given to the drow’s performance as they walk, the man playing his part, unwittingly perhaps. Once inside the former lawman allows The High Priestess to be seated first and takes one look at the couch meant for him before reaching back and removing the massive axe from his back (Impossible to sit otherwise). He rotates the weapon, a safe distance from the drowess, around a center of gravity on the handle, and drops the butt end onto the floor at the side of the table where it seems to adhere to the ground standing upright as if held in place by some powerful magnet. The armored man takes his seat and The Madness Axe, with that glowing stone at its heart, stands watch over them like some cycloptic sentry. Maybe this was another drow powerplay that he doesn’t understand or maybe it’s just that the furniture was designed for a shorter people, but Macon’s knees come up almost comically high on him when he’s seated on the drow couch. His wine is left untouched. Drow and poison are synonymous, aren’t they? And so the traitor with his eyes on Larket proceeds to tell her ‘everything’. The fermin plague, the madness he’s instilled in many of them. How he’s done it. The axe and the stone get acknowledgement there and he’ll explain what he’s managed to gather about the artifact and its powerful mind altering properties. “The council is all but vacated…” he’ll say before explaining that the husband of the woman he murdered has stepped down from his position there. Kelovath… more rage… palpable enough that he even forgets to not drink the wine. Why he’s the worst. Why Macon is better than him. Why Larket deserves Macon. Justice… That’s the point he ends on… Justice for the absent Paladin and Justice for Larket. -That’s- why he’s here.

Gevurah commits the name ‘Kelovath’ to memory this time. This time she lets Macon’s hate flourish so that she may study it in detail. Her white brows wrinkle, perplexed, as Macon goes on about justice. It takes her half a second to remember that humans, a factually ridiculous and young race, are obsessed with the concept of ‘justice’, regardless of their moral alignment. To be fair, the drow have co-opted the nebulous ‘justice’ in their propaganda as both balm and shackles on the unwashed, starving, enslaved masses, but among the higher echelons everything comes down to power. “Right,” she says to his justice-spiel. “I would have expected no less,” she says, humoring his racial eccentricity with a smile. “Let’s go back to the axe. Where did you find it and how does it work. What source gives it its power.”

Macon turns his head so that he himself is looking at the axe in question instead of the eyes of the mask still attached to the side of his head, “Tha’ Axe is my own… Unremarkable by itself. It’s the rock…” he stands while he speaks, raising the back of his left hand up to the glowing artifact stuck in the axe blade. The standing weapon quivers, the stone shakes, and is then pulled by some unseen force out of the socket. It does not stay without a home for long, just as quickly embedding itself onto the back of Macon’s gauntlet which he turns over to show Gevurah while his right hand moves to catch the axe before it falls, no longer held in place at its base without the stone. “I found it beneath Larket. Someplace even the rat’s wouldn’ go. It is pure rage. Madness.” In the same manner it was removed the glowing crimson item is returned to the great axe and the weapon is left to stand again while Macon drops back into his seat, “While it is in the axe anythin’ cut by it seems to go wild. Feral. Outside of that, just being near it makes the… more inclined go crazy.” With a shake of his head he admits, “I dun know for sure what makes it tick, but I do know Vakmatharas didn’t call to me until I found it.”

Gevurah‘s expression twitches as she watches the gem move under Macon’s will, and the axe lose its gravity defying property. She takes a mental note to look into the gem, but says nothing about it for now. “How fortunate,” she murmurs as if she doesn’t fully believe he just lucked into an artifact of such great power, but then again, sometimes truth is stranger than fiction. She lets her suspicions go for now. “So, Vakmatharas called to you. That’s a great honor and I expect you view it as such. If you’re willing to fully serve Him, then as His servant I will guide you in how to do His bidding, and how to channel His power to that end. I demand nothing in return and take pleasure in adding one more disciple in servitude to His bidding. However, I do--” She cuts herself off abruptly. She was about to make demands, the drow way, expecting them to be obeyed out of fear, but he doesn’t reek of fear (clearly he’s simply too ignorant to know he should be afraid, she tells herself). Changing tact, she plays to his sense of fairness and justice, and starts over. “When it comes to the matter of claiming Larket’s crown, I have resources that could secure the throne for you, but I require things in exchange. For one, Vakmatharas must be revered as the town’s patron God. Second, I require a camp on the surface, which preferably is not in the town proper but in the outskirts. Last, when the drow finishing eliminating the elven blight, Larket will not intervene to defend the elves. Our quarrel with the elves predates your town and race. The feud evades comprehension for those who are not drow.”Remembering he’s a traitor on the lam she adds a deal sweetener, in her opinion, “You may inhabit a suite in this compound if you require it. Makes the training easier too.”

Macon nods silently along with Gevurah’s speech pertaining to The Death God, especially that part about channeling His power. Then comes the price for her help. The terms of their alliance really. None of her demands seem to phase him in the slightest, the former sheriff only commenting after one, uncouthly, “We have a forest on the outside of the city. You all seem to like those places. You may have your camp there.” Elf stereotypes aside the aspiring Death Knight nods once more when The High Presitess’s offer is complete and simply states, “I accept.” Nothing she’s asked for seems to get in the way of his rather single minded ambitions so the agreement is an easy one, for him at least, to come to. A smug smile spreads across his face for the drowess, he’s wondering if now she wishes she asked for more. “So… When do we start?” He asks, figuratively and literally cracking his knuckles somehow beneath those metal gauntlets.

Gevurah narrows her eyes as Macon lumps drow with elves, but moves on for the sake of global domination. He’ll eventually outlive his usefulness and all these little insults will have their day of reckoning. She smiles just as smugly as Macon, overconfident in her own success in the haggle, partly because Gevurah never fully explains everything she plans on taking anyway--just ask Desparrow. “Right now.” She dispels the silence around the room. Macon will notice by the distant sounds throughout the compound that echo through the cavernous walls and sometimes invade the walls of the room. She rings a bell on a wall and a few minutes later House Chamberlain Izzerin, drow commoner and loyal staffer, arrives. Gevurah signals to him in the sign language of the drow and he leaves. “For the basics in worship, ritual, and spellcraft I’ll assign to you a tutor, a priestess from this estate. I’ll oversee your advancement beyond the basics.” Izzerin soon returns with a very sick, infected, smelly, sore-and-boils-riddled, half-dead drow slave. He kicks the slave towards Macon. Gevurah explains, “You will take this wretch with you everywhere you go until you can coax his soul to death, to Vakmatharas. You will not kill it by physical or magical means, but guide its spirit to rest through ritual and prayer. It will take a while. Practice. Be patient.” In a way it’s like a year-long university project for engineers, Macon’s project a bit grimmer than building a go-kart, of course, seeing as his goal is to bring death through religious and spiritual means. The slave is already half dead to make it easier on the novice. “Most students study for six months before successfully coaxing a death.” Gevurah shrugs as she dismisses Izzerin again. “The slave is mute and illiterate, which is helpful in secret-keeping.” Once Izzerin is gone she casts the anti-spying, silence spell once again. “As for Larket, I suggest you do something big soon. Don’t let them forgive you. Fear is a powerful tool. It delays reaction time, causes the enemy to err. Did you have a plan in mind yet.”

Macon looks around semi-frantically when ambient sound returns to the room. Again he is left nodding in compliance with the instructions he is given regarding his training as a follower of The Death God, that is until the drow slave is presented to him. The traitor turns up his nose at the disgusting project he is given, perhaps just to get a tiny bit further from the smell. While Gevurah explains the task the Death Knight to be is already thinking of loopholes to circumvent a six month tail knocking on death’s door. ‘I could just turn someone mad and have them kill ‘em.’ A subtle shake of his head dismisses the thought, he has come here to learn afterall. Best not to cheat on the first test. Still he is unsure and unconvinced at how prayer might coax someone into just keeling over, though that is likely to be covered in Vakmatharas 101 being taught by his assigned tutor. The slave and the student will have a one-sided discussion about hygiene soon, no doubt. As for Larket, “The remaining Council Members. They must be killed or the City made to turn against them…” Eyes narrow and his expression flattens, “This can't be like whatever the hell is happening in Cenril. I want there to be something left when it is over.”

Gevurah smirks at Macon’s obvious disgust and disbelief. The uninitiated have such fragile faith. At the mention of Cenril, the noble fights a grin. She has her own plans for that city, too, but feels no need to share them with him. “I see,” she says. “Then that is why you made the fermin mad. To make the council look incompetent.” She shrugs slowly at this method. The drow way would be to simply overpower the existing rulers and declare to the commoners and slaves who their new leader is. However, the surface doesn’t seem to work like that. “Tell me, did it seem to be working,” she asks. “Did the Larketians grow frustrated with the council during the fermin attack.”

Macon nods once, “During the worst of it I believe they were. Just not as much as I would have liked,and with the rats being driven back I decided to… escalate.” With that word the traitor unconsciously glances down at the red design painted onto his silver armor.

Gevurah furrows her brow in confusion. “Escalate? You mean the murder of the councilwoman.” She sips her wine as she ponders the information. “Sounds like Larket could use another calamity to inspire fear. Do you have an idea.” Her head cants side to side as she considers the usual suspects, “Destruction of infrastructure, disease, forced autarky. Hard to do the latter on the surface. The roads are numerous.”

Macon nods once again in agreement that the city needs to be pushed further. He ponders Gevurah suggestions while tapping an armored finger against his stubbled chin, “Cutting them off from the rest of Lithrydel would be ideal, but yes, ambitious.” The treacherous council member wrinkles his nose, wishing it was more feasible. He looks over the High Priestess, thinking ‘she probably doesn't have the manpower required for that. “Disease… The Mad Fermin were spreading plague, but the healers in Larket have found a cure. Again Macon glances towards the standing axe beside the table, specifically at the stone glowing at the center of the blade, “If I could infect a council member or two to spread something new… could kill two birds with one stone.” A second sip of wine is finally taken by the man before he admits, “But aside from getting into the city and actually cutting someone with that thing…” a quick nod is sent the Axes way, “...I don't have a means to infect anyone with anything.”

Gevurah grins darkly at Macon’s need for a disease cocktail. “I have what you need. It’s in Cenril. Want to take a trip?” She finishes her glass of wine quickly and stands. “I’ll spare you a lizard.” Most drow ride lizards. If Macon didn’t already know that, well, learn something new every day. He’s expected to follow. Gevurah leads him through the labyrinthine estate towards the stables. Giant lizards pad across a stony corral. Off to the side is a giant spider which scuttles over to Gevurah when she appears. Gevurah signs in the drow hand language to the stable master and the largest lizard on offer is brought to Macon, who towers above most drow and needs the most muscular steed they have.

Macon stands just after Gevurah and only blinks a couple times at the word that he inwardly questions that he heard correctly: ‘Lizard?’ Before exiting the room behind the Drow he snatches the Rage Axe up from the spot it is stuck on the ground. In a reverse of the action he had first taken to place the weapon in that position he rotates the great axe a little less than ninety degrees and moves the weapon behind his back. Similar to how it stood upright during this pow-wow the enchanted item seems to stick to the armor on his back. Once in the stables Macon realizes he did not hear incorrectly and he will be riding a Lizard. When the great creature is presented to him there is only a slight twinge of hesitation before he hauls himself aboard. He's ridden horses for long enough, how much different could this be? “Lead the way.” he insists wondering if the entrance to the Underdark he used to travel here was indeed the closest one to Cenril or not… He doesn't seem that worried about going to Cenril which he has already voiced concern about the place being in the process of getting ruined…

Remains of a Castle, Cenril

Gevurah mounts Halbyrn, the giant spider, and leads the way. Macon may notice that five rogue drow soldiers also mount lizards and follow the high priestess and death knight at a distance, presumably her guard. Macon’s lizard hisses at its rider, clearly unimpressed with the way the human sits on its spine. The lizard follows Gevurah, whose spider, to avoid a maze of stalagmites, walks up the 90 degree cavern wall. The dark priestess hold on through the strength of her thighs and other adjustments invisible to Macon. The lizard is about to do the same, when suddenly Gevurah realizes that Macon will likely fall off the lizard. The former Larketian sheriff may notice that the other rogues have no problem riding up the walls and hanging upside-down from the tunnel ceilings astride their mounds. It’s unlikely Macon has the right set of equestrian skills to pull off this type of riding. Gevurah curses under her breath in drow then turns back and chooses a new route that Macon can complete along the ground. Eventually they surface in the dark forest to the east of Vailkrin and from there cross over land and bridge to Cenril. No guards stop them. Desparrow decimated the force a few weeks ago. Gevurah leads him through the city to the south-east quadrant near the coast. There, Macon will find a crumbling castle beneath a permanent stormy black cloud. An evil magic dims the entire property. It’s noticeably darker inside. Gevurah stops beyond the perimeter of the curse. “Have you ever been here.”

Macon had already forgotten that mute slave he was supposed to make die when he left that meeting room, but luckily for him the poor soul followed obediently to the stables. Just before they are about to depart the Death Knight shouts at the task he's been given, “Keep up! Will yeh?” and kind of heaves the diseased drow up onto the back of the lizard behind him. They are off and Macon very nearly panics when his mount takes its first step onto the cavern wall. There was no chance the armored man could have remained on the creature while on the wall, never mind the ceiling, not with the added weight of the axe and knightly attire at least, but likely even without it. The new route probably provides some time for the former sheriff to have the one sided hygiene talk with his assignment. When they arrive and The High Priestess asks her question Macon simply shakes his head, that armored mask of his has at some point during the journey been turned back over his face, probably unnecessarily so. No one was looking for him here, they have enough on their plates.

Gevurah licks her lips predatorily as Macon shakes his head. “The disease is inside.” She dismounts Halbyrn and says to Macon, “Leave the lizard.” She leads him into the magical perimeter of the curse. The High Priestess appears completely unaffected. Her rogues stand sentry around the castle, beyond the effects of the curse. Gevurah waits for Macon to join her inside. When he enters, he’ll immediately feel his vitality start to sap slowly. The average human would last 20 minutes in here before they die. Macon may be strong enough to cheat out 30 minutes, but no one cheats the God of Death for long. Not that Gevurah is looking to kill Macon. She simply wants the smug bastard to feel and fear the full effects of her power. She waits five minutes, until Macon’s body sends distress signals to his brain. Warning: not enough oxygen, not enough water, not enough blood. The High Priestess says, “Are you enjoying my spell. Feel it. Feel how death approaches. Feel the weight in your chest. See the dark shadows in your periphery.” Gevurah only waits fifteen minutes before pushing Macon back out of the area of effect of the curse. Very quickly his strength will return to him. Within ten minutes he’ll feel good as new. “Twenty to thirty minutes you would have survived. Serve Vakmatharas faithfully, ascend to become his High Priest, and death curses won’t affect you. That’s the goal.” She looks back to the castle, “I’m going to get the disease. Wait here.”

Macon , once inside immediately looks around the place, feeling something is not quite right. “What is this?” By the time the Drow explains what is happening the man's breathing is strained and his left hand has moved over the red design on his armored chest piece. Fifteen minutes feels much longer to the new student of The Death God while under this spell and while Gevurah is waiting for her lesson to get across she'll be the target of a defiant, hateful grey stare. Behind his back, inside the blade of the axe the Madness Stone pulsates, fuling enhancing the rage building in the traitor and possibly coaxing The High Priestess to keep the poor murderer inside the cursed area for just a minute or few longer than she originally intended. Once he's shoved back outside and regains his breath and composure, drawing the great axe into his right hand, threateningly for only a moment before he releases the weapon and it once again stands at attention beside him. Macon is very much interested in power like this and if that torture she just put him through is one of the prices he must pay for it… so be it. There would be time for revenge when he is immune to that power of hers after all. The former sheriff says nothing, the cold stare maintained as the drowess moves back into the building to retrieve the disease.

Gevurah interprets his silence as awe and fear. Good. His stare is still a bit too defiant for her liking, but it takes time to beat that out of a man who was born free. Inside the castle she takes her time locating a cauldron, moving it onto a dolly, and rolling it out of the castle curse’s radius. The brew reeks. Inside there are melted, bubbly remains of fermin, elves, humans, undead. “Desparrow was working on a new disease,” she explains. “Didn’t get very far. Do you know who Desparrow is.” Macon likely does, but if he says no, then she explains Desparrow is a mad lycan who wants to take over Cenril. No more details than that are necessary at this stage. “I’ll finish what he started.” From a magical satchel hidden beneath her piwafwi she pulls handfuls of reagents and drops them into the cauldron as she chants a prayer. Bone dust, a piece of beholder eye, leper’s boils, rat bile, pigeon’s feathers, and as always, an eye of newt. The spell takes about 10 minutes to complete, on the long side but all good brews take their time to simmer. Once it’s ready she manages to pull a jar out of her satchel (clearly it must have a magical link to some other store) and fills it to the brim. She hands the jaw of brown-red gunk to Macon. “Feed this to your targets. A spoonful each should do. It’s a cocktail of infectious disease. No system in the body will be left untouched. The infected will likely die within three days if not treated.” She cants her head to the side as she concedes, “An experienced magical healer or apothecary could likely cure the victim, but many won’t make it that far.”

Macon is aware of Desparrow and the, in this traitors opinion, sloppy manner in which he is trying to take hold of Cenril. So he says, “I know of him.” so they get to avoid the brief conversational detour of explaining the lycan mage. Once the brewing is done and the jar is handed to him the sheriff turns abruptly and walks towards the slave that has at this point dismounted the lizard he rode in and is standing next to the creature. While Macon was on his way, at the point he was closest to the Mad Axe the weapon slid across the ground and attached to his back, again as if held in place by some powerful magnet. The jar of disease is handed off to the mute as the aspiring Death Knight appears to have no means to carry this. “Hold onto this. You an’ I are goin’ t’Larket.” He turns back to Gevurah, no longer staring her down. “Well then… Anythin’ else to see here?”

Gevurah arches a brow at the way the axe skips across the ground to rejoin Macon. “You’ll need to tell me about that axe one day,” she murmurs. But not now. Gevurah can only dedicate so much time to a human. Her responsibilities are endless. “For the time being, that is all. You may keep the lizard to ride to Larket if you like. Send word to the Temple of Vakmatharas in Vailkrin when you’re ready to return it.” She nods a stiff farewell. “May Vakmatharas guide your blade.”

Macon smirks slightly at the interest in the Rage Axe and responds, “Mhmm, one day… ” The half dead slave drow is then given a firm slap on the back with an armored hand. The traitor sends a quick glance back Gevurah’s way, making sure that wasn't cheating at the task. Who knows he might have burst a boil or two with that smack which is nasty to think about… The meaning of the hit is received though and the two climb onto the lizards back, Macon seemingly a bit more in control of the large animal now that he has the experience of their long ride here under his belt. The High Priestess receives a salute and a confirmation, “Will do. We should be back underground once this is done. See yeh soon, High Priestess.” the title is said non-sarcastically, that's progress, right? With that the former sheriff gets the great reptile moving and soon he and his take home assignment will be out of sight, the mask once again going over his face once they are out of Cenril city limits.