RP:Turning To The Dark Side For Help

From HollowWiki

Part of the The Day I Tried To Live Arc


This is a Necromancer's Guild RP.


Summary: After finishing with the translating of the scroll that Facilier, Amarrah's father, gave her, Khitti takes a quick trip to Vailkrin to inquire about the possibility of help from Larewen and the Necromancer's Guild in the near future.

Larewen's Library, House Dragana, Vailkrin

It’d been at least two months since Khitti last properly talked to Larewen -- that is to say, when not in the middle of a bug onslaught. Now, things had come to a head rather quickly. Now, Khitti needed to talk to the elder vampire. The minor business she had in Frostmaw had concluded, and with Brand still in Cenril for the time being, this was probably the best time. To Vailkrin she’d head, and more specifically to House Dragana, wherein she’d inquire with Margret where her mistress was located, and would then head off into that direction. There’s lots of hesitation, and a fair bit of mental arguing with herself -- it was incredibly weird to be the only one in her head now and yet she was still arguing nevertheless -- but still she pressed on.

Larewen sits within her library, a familiar route that guides the younger vampire through the lower level of the House. The door is propped open and within Larewen can be seen at her desk, skimming through the pages of a tome. No doubt it is of forbidden and dark arts. Nothing else makes suitable reading for the necromancer. Her left eye socket is no longer a gaping hole as it had been after the events on that island, but instead now plays host to a gray orb. It is several shades darker than the silver that had previously lay within the orbital. She hears, distantly, another’s entrance. Female, but the voice cannot be so easily determined. At least, not until the other’s made her appearance at the library’s threshold. Aerlithe is, for once, not in the room. She’s probably taken a few tomes up to her room, which is next to Khitti’s and emblazoned with reagents for dark magic ensconced in gems. It is a stark contrast to the blue and white rose upon the dark ranger’s. Larewen’s head lifts, a cigarette smoking betwixt her lips as mismatched eyes settle on her. “Khatja,” the elf says around the tip of the smoke, leaning back in her chair. “I was not expecting you.”

Khitti’s line of sight shifted around the room briefly, eyeing the store of tomes. This wasn’t the first time she’d been in here, as she did quite a bit of reading back when she lived here -- nothing restricted of course. Her attention finally settles on Larewen, to whom she mustered the faintest of smiles, “Uh. Yeah. No one really ever expects me anymore, heh.” There’s an awkward chuckle as she moved further into the room, “Can I talk to you…?” Hesitation was still obvious, but this needed to be done. Khitti knew it did. “I had meant to mention it before...in Frostmaw, but…”

Larewen arches a brow and continues to puff on the cigarette for a long moment. She gestures toward one of the armchairs opposite her desk with an open-faced palm, inviting the other to sit. “Mention what?” she asks, curiously following the woman with her mismatched eyes. The necromancer shares in the other’s discomfort, the other’s hesitation. After all, the two only recently returned to talking terms and House Dragana was not, perhaps, among the most pleasant of the other’s more recent memories.

Khitti’s fingers danced at her sides anxiously as she finally took that offered seat. “Yes.” That’s all she could muster for the moment. Why was she suddenly so anxious again? Where’s that confidence Brand helped her get? Why did it always suddenly vanish when Larewen was around? What would Brand do right now? He’d probably be knee deep in whiskey, but he’d likely handle the situation with the grace befitting the assassin that he used to be. Khitti even stood up to Gevurah, Matron of the Underdark, back in Rynvale, made her terms and conditions known when it came to the drow tagging along to the Shadow Plane. But now? Now Khitti’s brain was pretty much dead; she might as well have been one of those zombies Larewen was so fond of creating. “Uh, I guess...first zhing’s first. Amarrah’s gone.” The left sleeve of her shirt was pulled back, revealing a much larger scar than what had previously been on the underside of Khitti’s forearm. It’d even ran through the nautical star tattoo that Meri inked for her, the line reaching from wrist to elbow. “And her magic is mine.” More hesitation. “I killed her...after her father and I brought her back from zhe dead.” Things had not gone as planned. Khitti hadn’t thought anything through. All she’d seen was red.

Larewen lowers her dual-colored gaze to the scar as Khitti speaks, taking note of the other’s manners. Of the lack of comfort that even now, despite Larewen’s far more pleasant attitude to the dark ranger, still seems to plague her. Her lips press into a thin line, but she does not point it out to her. “Gone entirely? Not a single wisp of her essence remaining?” the necromancer questions. There seems to be a faint tinge of disappointment in the elder’s words. Then again, Larewen was fond of her collections… and Amarrah would have been a lovely addition. “Tell me more about her.”

Khitti recalled the tale aloud to Larewen. On the journey to Rynvale, she’d signed a magic contract with Facilier, Amarrah’s dad, which had made a sort of strange tattoo on her arm, leading up to her neck from where Amarrah had been implanted; it turned out to be a noose, one that would choke her until her spine snapped. It was gone now, but before that happened, she had to give Facilier that magic-amplifying stone she’d had to help her during all the trials that the Warrior’s Guild had faced and help him to resurrect Amarrah -- and in exchange, Khitti would get the spirit of her sister back...and something else. After much traveling, undead fighting, and even finding a magic echo of her home in the Shadow Plane’s version of Dhavislaav, Khitti, Brand, and many others happened upon Amarrah’s own home. Facilier took them inside his church of Vakmathras, the building itself greater than anything Khitti had ever seen in Lithrydel when it came to the death god, even Vailkrin’s own shrine. He tricked her, it seemed. Cut open her arm, drew Amarrah out, and forced her to resurrect the woman while her friend had to keep a wave of spiders at bay. “Vhen I saw Amarrah...I just...I couldn’t. I saw red. She just gave me zhis grin and before I knew it, Brand vas pulling me away, my arms vere covered in blood, Meri vas hitting me over zhe head vith something, and vhen I voke up again, I had zhis.” From within one of the inner pockets of her duster, she withdrew a heart, encased in shadow-ice. “I took it from her. Shadow-stepped in front of her, reached my hand in...and ripped it right out. I made her scream for me.” There’s a strange sort of calm over the redhead now -- it’s almost as if she enjoyed it to an extent.

Larewen is carefully watching Khitti as she speaks, as she withdraws the frozen heart. There is no denying the presence of hunger, of lust in the depths of those mismatched eyes as she fixes upon the preserved organ. A need, a desire to possess it tugs at the back of her mind, at the woman that Khitti had first met. The dark ranger’s words come to a close and draw the necromancer’s gaze back to her own. Her lips are raising into a delighted, cold grin. “That’s an awfully large amount of force, Khatja, though I might have used magic for it. I can teach you that, to rip the heart from someone’s chest, even your own, without killing the body.” Perhaps it is best that Amarrah is entirely gone, for there’s a part of Larewen that undoubtedly would have aided the darker woman within Khitti, that would have sought to bring it to the front of the other’s mind. “Now what is it do you intend to do?” The subject carefully shifts from the elf’s own desires, perhaps to simply divert the redhead from glimpsing into that side of the Lady.

Khitti’s eyes widened a little at the offer and whatever love of killing Amarrah that had been there moments before died. “M-maybe, but…” A pause as she gathered her thoughts. “Zhe other zhing he gave me, along vith Lydia, vas a scroll.” Another pause. This was it. “A scroll vith a cure to my vampirism. Ingredients, really. One of zhem, being his own daughter’s heart. He -knew- I vas going to do it.” Khitti shifted uncomfortably in the chair, pocketing the heart again as she sensed that bit of that not so benevolent change in Larewen’s demeanor. It didn’t take much for her to recognize it, sadly, as that was all she knew in the beginning with the necromancer. “Zhere’s other zhings on zhe scroll. Zhings I might need your help vith, should I decide to go zhrough vith it.” She chuckles weakly, the sound bittersweet, “He made zhings rather difficult, I found, after I translated it.”

Larewen restrains the threat of amusement appearing on her feature’s at Khitti’s words. She can remember the other making a comment once before, about the lengths that the necromancer seemed willing to go to accomplish her dreams. In this moment, as Khitti speaks, she makes the difference between herself and Larewen not so infinitesimal. After all, she ripped out another’s heart for what she wants, and the only heart Larewen has ever ripped out is her own. “You wish to live again,” she states, and there is no masking the faint hint of pity in the necromancer’s words. “Normally, I’d be more interested in what I stand to gain from aiding you in such an endeavor,” the elf begins, “but I suppose this I owe you. After all, you are not of my line, but rather of one who I took in, and yet abandoned us both. In different ways, mind you, but in essence all the same. As far as I am concerned, Daermon is no longer part of this House, and I’d rather have the living bear my name than one who has crossed me.”

Khitti let out a hiss at the name of the man she’d come to hate, even more than she’d ever hated Larewen. There’s a visible change in the von Schreier woman’s demeanor, like a cat on edge. “Please, do me a favor, if you vill, and never mention zhat name in my presence again.” There was still respect for the older woman in her voice, but that seething hatred escaped regardless. “-He’s- not zhe reason vhy I’m doing zhis -- I never vanted vampirism in zhe first place. I just had no choice. After you raised Damian and used my--Amarrah’s--magic to help you do it, it vorsened zhings. Moreso after I used it on my own accord. I vas dying because shadow beings and humans should not mix, as Amarrah and I vere. You veren’t around, so he had to do it.” Bitterness hinted at her tone, but it still wasn’t entirely directed towards Larewen. She had her priorities back then, and Khitti understood it a little now. “I don’t mean to say zhat vhen...if...zhis vorks, zhat I’d disregard my magic entirely. I’d still like your help. I’d still like to advance however far I can, with your teaching, in zhe guild. Zhat’s something completely separate. I just...have something zhat I’d actually like to -live- for, for lack of a better vord.”

Larewen can no longer hide the amusement that tugs at the corners of her lips. Not at Khitti’s expense by any means, but more that it is yet another thing the pair agree on, of extremely few things. “No, but he is why I will help you,” the elf says quietly. If she feels guilt at being part of the cause, at being a conduit for Amarrah, the only sign of it is the fading of that smirk. Worse, Damien, too, has vanished. Not that the necromancer is overly concerned; Trajek is far more superior in the elf’s eyes. “If I am to be involved with this, then rest assured that it will work. There are ways, after all. My aunt, Celestrial, was resurrected. Last our paths met, she was as alive as I was before I married Shishi.” She appears to lack interest in what gives Khitti such will to live, though.

Khitti could sense the lack of interest Larewen had and it brought back memories of when they first met. She was a selfish, vile woman who claimed she changed, but it was obvious that she slipped back into that detached, unfeeling air that Khitti had come to know and loathe. It was the difference between new immortals and the elder ones, it seemed; Khitti still clung to the mortal world, even if it felt like it was falling through her fingertips and Larewen, well, like most immortals after a time, she was only out for herself. At least, that’s how things seemed to Khitti. A disapproving frown emerged at Larewen’s reasoning, but nothing was said about it. “Indeed. I vill alert you vhen zhe ingredients for zhis ritual is gathered.” Khitti went to move, to get out of the chair and leave Larewen to her business, until she remembered something from the last two the pair were together, with the Warrior’s Guild. “Who...is Illondria?” Dark olive green eyes fixate on the elder vampiress again, gauging the woman’s reaction to the name.

Larewen flinches as that name rolls off Khitti’s tongue and for the briefest of moments, the dark ranger sees a side of Larewen that has been dead for a very long time. Humanity twists her pale, scarred features and a deeply rooted agony throbbed through the elf’s body. She swallows hard and then finishes her cigarette in one long drag. Are those tears that glisten along the rims of her eyelids? She blinks. Once, twice, and a third time sees the moisture gone, save for a single tear moistening the cheeks of the unmarred side of her face. “She was my niece, before I killed her,” she says and her voice trembles. Guilt. So many years of guilt manifest in those unsteady words, coupled with a self-loathing so deep that it is nearly terrifying, even to the necromancer. In fact, it is a strong enough emotion that it sets fire to the blackened runes that lay claim to her body, lighting them with a verdant glow that sees Larewen in crippling pain.

Khitti watched the many changes that Larewen’s facial features go through as they happened. Ah, so she does feel things still. The redhead’s own detached demeanor surfaces as she shifted her attention away from the necromancer, eyes squinting at nothing in particular across the room, pale unpainted lips pursing together in thought. “I see,” was said eventually. “You called me by her name, back in zhose Haathian ruins beneath zhe forest here. Vhen you, Brand, and Emrith succumbed to zhat venom, zhat is. You even stood in front of Brand’s fire, taking every smoldering orb, like a mother protecting her child, until I put you out vith my shadow-ice.” Crimson brows furrowed a bit as she looked at the elf again, her frown returning once more, “I have a suggestion, and I’m not meaning it to sound cold or hateful or anything of zhe sort. You claimed you’ve changed and so I have I. How about--” She paused, eyes squinting again as she chose the right words, “--How about you do it for her, instead of to spite He-Who-Vill-Not-Be-Named? It seems like a better route. Or, at least, do it because you vant to. Don’t bring him into zhis. I have long since quit seeing myself as being of his make. I’m my own person, my own vampire, and I vish to be my own human again. And, I came to you because I zhought zhat zhings vere different, but...so far...it doesn’t feel zhat vay at all.”

Larewen remains in that strange state of feeling, even as her body feels like it is splitting apart. Heat begins to roll off her of form in painful waves. “I will… try,” she whispers. The words hardly more than a whisper. It is a sore, sore subject. After all, there are many nights, especially now that the voices of so many Haathians echo within her mind, where she is forced to watch Illondria’s body tear itself apart under her magic. “The biggest change I have undergone is the acceptance and knowledge that feeling for others does not make me weaker. What I say and what I do are often two different things, but I have again learned what family is and can be.”

Khitti managed a smile for Larewen. It was faint, like the one she’d had when she entered the room, but now it was more genuine, more caring, and less filled with that anxiety she hated that she still had. “Feelings for others doesn’t make you veaker, Larewen. It never has. I zhink you forgot zhat, over zhe years. It happens, zhough, I vould zhink as time passes. I’ve just...not given up on it. I honestly vas ready to, zhere for a bit, ‘til I met Brand. Even now, all of zhat is uncertain.” Khitti and Brand’s relationship was a rather delicate one--one that both of them were certain wasn’t going to last, much to her dismay. He was too flighty and she too eager to start a life with him. “I zhink you just need to fully remember zhose feelings and not let zhat go. You become less of a person, if you do, and even vhen you’re as dead as you and I are, it’s not healthy. For anyone.”

Larewen is reaching for another cigarette as Khitti speaks and it quivers in her grasp as she tucks it into her mouth and lights it. “Emrith is my saving grace,” she admits quietly. “He holds the leash, and it is for him that I curb my darker desires. I would rather hold myself back, than submit myself to a life without him, and yet I know that someday… Someday Vakmatharas will win, as is his wont, and I will slide backward. He is that proverbial light at the end of a dark, dark tunnel. The love I feel for him… is far more intense than anything I ever felt for Shishi.”

Khitti shrugged her shoulders coolly, verdant optics still fixed on the elf, “So, don’t let him. Don’t let zhese gods zhink zhey can control you. You vrite your own destiny, Larewen, not Vakmathras.” She stood up finally, thinking it high time that she left the woman in peace to dwell on her thoughts. “Not a single one of zhem is vorth a damn in my mind. Zhey didn’t once help me vith all of my problems, and zhen I got prophecies vritten about me over in zhe Shadow Plane too on top of it. I’m some Harbinger of Death and Destruction to zhem. Vell, I’m not gonna be it and you shouldn’t let zhem control you either.” Khitti turned to face Larewen again, one hand on the back of the chair, her slender form leaning against it for the moment, “ ‘You need to keep both hands on zhe rails, unless you’ve grown gills.’ Don’t drown in your problems. Keep your light ahead of you and keep moving on--and if Emrith is zhat light, zhen don’t let him go.”

Larewen isn’t sure how to respond to Khitti and so her words are met only with silence. Within the elf’s mind, it is a never ending struggle between her new ways and her old ways. And gods knew, with Langley’s promises, the old ways might very well win out in the end. Instead the elf’s gaze lowers, dwelling on the likelihood of losing the spell blade. How long could the two last, with Larewen’s penchant for darkness and Emrith’s heroic qualities? Nothing is said to halt the dark ranger’s departure; in fact, Larewen has already reached into her desk for a familiar, clear liquid. Something that He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named brought into House Dragana. She pours herself two fingers worth into a short glass and downs it in a single gulp.

Khitti would be lying if she told Larewen that she wasn’t having a struggle of her own right now. The more she delved into necromancy, the more she knew it’d take a hell of a lot of pull her back out right now. “You’re not zhe only one zhat’s in zhe red, zhat’s got zhe threat of drowning. I’ve got a light too, and only now is it shining a little brighter, a little stronger despite all zhe shadows zhat threaten to overwhelm me. But, if it’s zhat light you vant, more zhan anything, you’re gonna have to fight for it. Zhat means overcoming anything zhat gets in your vay. For me, it’s being human again. For you? I don’t know. Out of everyone I’ve known, I know you know more zhan anything vhat it is you vant, but you gotta go about it zhe right vay. You can do like me, and you can say damn zhe consequences right now, but you at least need to keep zhem in zhe back of your head. Is it zhe right choice? Is zhings gonna turn out okay? Am I still gonna have zhe people I love vith me?” Khitti eyed that liquid, frowned a little, but continued, “I can be a light too, you know. But, I can’t follow you down zhat path you took before. I -can’t-.”

Larewen lifts her head to regard Khitti, her lips pressed tightly together into a thin line. The empty glass is still held in her hand and she has a strong desire to fill it once more. "I want that light, but I don't think it will last. It is a fickle flame, one doomed to haunt me. In the end, I think the darkness will prove too much for us to overcome. I know it seems that I am damning myself to that fate, but..." The necromancer's voice softens and the magic that permeates the manse flickers like a candle. "But there is no way to draw this darkness from my blood, to draw this yearning out. It has become such a part of me... and for so long... that... It would be like saving fish from drowning. Pointless."

“Zhen you just don’t want zhat fire, you don’t vant Emrith, badly enough.” Khitti crossed her arms over her chest, a rather stern look upon her face, “You need to make zhat decision. I made mine, to become human, awhile ago and I’m sticking vith it. I’m doing it because I vant a life vith Brand, an -actual- life. I can’t be vith him knowing one day he’ll leave me. Because ultimately he -vill- die and I’m not happy vith zhe zhought zhat I’ll have to live vithout him one day. Every second I vaste eats away at me.” She sighed, shaking her head, “Time’s ticking now even. You just need to zhink about vhat you really vant, Larewen. I remember, over a year ago, zhe vay you felt about him. If zhat’s still zhere now, despite everything else, zhen maybe it’s meant to be and you should actually do something about it.” Khitti pivoted away from the elder vampiress, booted feet leading her towards the door, “I need to return to Cenril. If I’m needed, send for me zhere. At zhe very least, aside from zhis cure business, you and I should likely vork on my teachings.”

Khitti's words bite deeper into Larewen than she expects and she presses her lips into a thin line. The dark ranger speaks a truth that the necromancer likes to imagine does not exist: she doesn't want Emrith badly enough to change the darkness that embraces her. In the wake of those words, the elf refills her glass and locates a cigarette. A hard, bitter swallow of liquor is topped with the acrid stench of cigarette smoke as she inhales and then exhales slowly. "I don't even know where he is right now, presently. I haven't seen him in some time." The words are spoken more to herself than the departing woman. In fact, Larewen hasn't seen Emrith since Rynvale and that realization strikes her then and there, sinking its teeth into an extremely tender place. Rather than respond to Khitti's observation, Larewen lifts her head. "We should, yes. I will find you."