Open Chronicles The Return Of The Queen

[Vyx'aria]

Vyx’aria watched the display without reaction.

The living sand rose and shifted at Medja’s command, yet the Drow Queen neither leaned forward nor drew back. Her posture did not change. Elbow anchored to the armrest, chin resting lightly on curled fingers, she regarded the conjured empire with the same still attention she afforded everything placed before her.

In that silence, a single thought passed. Another ruler crossing distance and danger to place a burden at the feet of the drow. Another surface power seeking strength it did not wish to spend itself alone. Alliria had done the same, but Xeraphine was at least more blunt about it.

Her expression betrayed none of it.

When she finally spoke, it was with unhurried calm, her voice even and uninflected, carrying easily across the space between them.

“A shared enemy,” Vyx’aria said. “Name it.”

 

[Vyx'aria]

Azrakar looked across the shoulder of the dancer. He caught just the slightest shift in the queen's expression.

Perhaps now was not the moment for their back and forth. Not when she had an endless stream of visiting dignitaries.

"It's a large city," Azrakar said. It was hardly an explanation, but Drow were hardly known for being forthcoming with details.

He leaned closer and lowered his voice.

"Why don't you go back to her Highness. When there is a gap, why don't you whisper to her that I promise no brooding and that I will see her later."

It was careful that as an unaffiliated male that he phrased things as suggestions, even to a dancer. He might have been caught by Vyx'aria for his out of date knowledge of drow culture, but some things had not changed.

The dancer bristled when the male implied she should serve as a messenger. She would do it, but there was no denying the male's boldness. She reached out, her hand grasping and curling around his bicep. She gave him a cruel grin, "Perhaps you ought to demonstrate to me all the ways you plan on pleasing her. We only want the best for our queen, no?"

 

[Medja]

From the conjured crag within the emerald sands a great beast rose, a familiar visage to many. He who rent a continent, the ruinbringer: Drakormir. Yet the dragon's form stepped forward only to fall and scatter, and from the place it fell, thousands of skittering monstrosities spread.

Over the surface of the land they crawled and flew like locusts, but so to did they dig down, and out, and through. Burrowing abominations, teeth flashing in the dark, surging through the caves of the Underrealm like a flood.

Then the sands went flat and withdrew back into the locket.

Click. The trinket closed.

"Six years ago the Great Bringer of Ruin rose from the depths of Arethil and ravaged the land. It took but one day for the beast to fall, by the grace of great sacrifice from the peoples of Amol-Kalit and Elbion," Medja intoned, her verdant eyes sending their piercing gaze towards Vyx'aria. "But a god does not die so readily...and a god's vengeance is a terrible thing."

Medja tucked the trinket back into her dress and folded her hands across her waist.

"Make no mistake: the Empire does not want for strength. Each day we rise, we fight, and we slaughter. We have crushed a hundred nations and even now we press upon the borders of the remaining nations of Liadain...but these creatures, these...spawn of Drakormir the Elder...they are a cancer. And like cancer they spread, relentlessly, even through the depths of the earth. By the estimates of my magic...they burrow for Epressa."

The Empress' hand signaled the demi-jackal warrior once more, and once more the servant stepped forward and knelt, presenting that same ornate box.

"I do not come here to grovel for aid, Valsharess. I come here to warn you of what may be a danger to your people in the future, and to offer the Empire's strength, in hopes that one day we might find ourselves not just allies of convenience, but sister nations. To that end, I offer a token of good faith: an artifact from my own personal collection, a relic of a bygone era."

 

[Vyx'aria]

She listened, unmoving, as the vision dissolved and the Empress spoke of gods and vengeance and rot that gnawed its way through stone. When Medja finished, the Queen remained where she was, composed and unhurried.

“A threat born in Liadain,” Vyx’aria said at last, her voice level, “within the bounds of your own vast and formidable domain.” Her crimson gaze rested on Medja without accusation, without sympathy. “Now it seeks to spread toward Epressa.”

She leaned back slightly in her seat, the motion languid, deliberate. Elbow settling, chin resting once more against curled fingers. “You speak often of the Empire’s strength. Of its armies, its ports, its reach beneath the earth even by your own talents.” A pause, measured. “If Amol-Kalit does not want for power, then tell me…why should Zar’Ahal fear what your empire appears fully capable of containing?”

The question was not a challenge. It was an invitation to justify.

“Are we not to trust,” she continued evenly, “in the might of the Empire to hold such dangers fast, to ensure that what festers in Liadain does not spill from one continent to another?” Her tone remained matter-of-fact, almost mild. “What do you lack that prevents you from curbing the spread?”

As Medja signaled her servant forward, Vyx’aria’s gaze dipped briefly to the ornate box, curiosity flickering there. At the same time, a private thought passed through her mind, cool and precise: The egg will need to be moved. Not destroyed. Simply… elsewhere. Better not to invite attention from things giving this Empress trouble.

 

[Medja]

Medja shook her head, equally as calm and composed.

"Not born of Liadain, no. Born of Malakath and sealed within our lands in millenia long passed."

The Empress at once more, politely, in the palm of one of her floating stone hands. Vyx'aria's question was fair, but the answer was simple: no force on Arethil could hope to contain what was happening. Even a single spawn was a threat, as it would soon become two, and then four, and then--

"What we lack is time, and knowledge of the future. We did not, could not have known that Drakormir's spawn would begin to tunnel this way. My disciples and I collapse their tunnels each day, and by the next there are twice as many in their place. Quite simply, Valsharess, the Empire of Amol-Kalit is an empire of the surface, not of the Underrealm; we contain the spawn on the surface with little effort, but not below. What we lack most is your expertise."

Medja paused, her faintly glowing, emerald eyes burning gently in the low light of the space.

"I have long planned to seal the Scar and purge the earth of its curse...but the knowledge and magic I require to do so is esoteric beyond measure. Long have I lived, and long are our records, but Drakormir is an entity older still. Uncovering the secrets to its complete eradication has proven...arduous. Not even the First Great Sage knew of a method, which is why the dragon needed to be sealed in the first place."

The implication was clear: the arrival of Drakormir's specter would come one day, inevitably. It was only a matter of time, and Zar'Ahal might not have the strength to beat back the tides as the Empire did of they weren't properly prepared.

 

[Vyx'aria]

She leaned back slightly, fingers steepled.

“The drow queendom possesses the expertise to chart and stabilize the deep routes beneath Arethil. But expertise without reach is inefficiency.”

Her gaze settled on Medja, cool and assessing.

“I would see a taskforce formed under my authority to survey the Underrealm and locate dormant or lost portal stones through which small, elite forces may be moved instantly, and defenses established before corruption takes root.”

A pause.

“Such an undertaking requires resources. Labor. Protection. If the Empire truly believes we must take action, it will provide a support force to embark on this endeavor.”

She continued.

“In return, I will ensure that any spread toward Epressa is detected, contained, and eradicated long before it reaches the surface.”

 

[Medja]

Medja smiled, a regal, graceful smile, and rested her chin upon the backs of her fingers.

"Then we have an accord," she replied, satisfied.

A glimmer shone in her eyes, the faintest spark of mischief...and perhaps something more dangerous.

"In the meantime, forgive me. This is meant to be a celebration of your ascension, and I have cast enough of a dour shadow over it. Let us make merriment as the Kaliti do!"

Medja clapped her hands and several Kaliti dancers, dressed in the finest and most provocative of silks, began to filter in among the already present entertainers. Men and women both were among them, humans, abtati, letai, even a solitary naga.

As well, servants arrived with several casks of the finest, richest wines and meads in Ragash and began to offer cups to those in attendance, including the queen.

 

[Zathria At'Arel]

Zathria closed her eyes and took a deep breath in the scent of flowers filling her nostril as she drank in the sound of music flowing through the air around her and the white noise of conversation and laughter.

The world felt right for a moment, and it was one of those times in a life of hardship where she realized she needed to just soak it in. Live the best that she could and savor the sweetness of the moment. The sweetness of her Salamander and his words of tenderness.

She felt herself burning inside with the words that he spoke about her and her eyes opened again as she set the cup aside on a table, nearly missing the table altogether and spilling wine all over the floor.

She took a quick step toward him as one arm slipped around his waist and her other behind his head, leaning in and kissing him deeply, passionately, hungrily. She let it linger as her heart quickened before she pulled back.

She took his hand in hers and started tugging him in a way that could be said it was with vigor. Not rough, but not exactly gentle.

Come with me, she said as she led him away and pulled him toward one of the supply tents that was being used to bring food and drink to the banquet. An attendant was inside, shocked to see the pair arriving but noted not only the noble crest, but more than that the Rahi'Valsharess emblem and his eyes went wide.

Get out, Zathria hissed, still holding Sazalam's hand as the attendants wavered made an awkward combination of trying to give a bow and also hurry to the exit.

The moment he was out the door, she went back to where she had left off, pulling him in to kiss him again.

Sazalam

 

[Azrakar]

She gave him a cruel grin, "Perhaps you ought to demonstrate to me all the ways you plan on pleasing her. We only want the best for our queen, no?"

Azrakar smiled. Dealing with drow as one of their own was always tricky business.

He was a perfectly capable manipulator when he had time to plan. Much of his power had come from strength of arms, but in the old days he had preyed upon weak kings and devilish deals to expand his influence.

This was a game between two players. He was not winning.

"Why do we not retire to the Queen's chambers for a demonstration away from everyone?" he asked. He tilted his head to one side and met the dancer's gaze.

 

[Sazalam]

Sazalam was ready for her this time. Parting his arms at her approach and breathing in her kiss as it surrounded him before he was half dragged through to the supply tent.

"Here,"
He gave his cup to the unfortunate attendant as he left.
"Find someone to dance with."

A moment later he was in her arms again and it was wonderful. The pressure of the embrace and the warmth of her face on his filled him with yearning for her, for more of her, all she could give him.

Blood drummed in his ears, a different sort from the kind in a fight, that was cold and sharp. This was warm, hot even and it threatened to melt through the back of his skull and land at his heels.

But her armour chilled his hands and prevented real closeness.

"Wait..."
He pulled away and put his hand to his lips as if he could not trust them, he was very close to losing his composure completely as he gripped the edges of her breastplate and tugged at it with a grin that was caught between acceptance and insistence.

"This has to come off, Mistress!"

This was not how he planned it or imagined it but it was how it was happening and it was much better.

Zathria At'Arel

 

[Nimruil]

"Forgive me, but your eyes seem so familiar, Nimruil! I seldom see anyone with the hue of eyes we both share. Usually redder, or maybe purpler, hardly any that are so in-between... but ah, your question! I put it to you, O Nimruil: how can a wizard in good conscience acquire books for decades upon decades without hazarding a look inside them? I have always recalled whatever I read with but small effort. So I took... hmm, unnecessarily long escape routes to any of a few old catacombs I know, within which to set a glyph, light some candles, and glean the arcane edification I was so often denied. Vallabha-Ilhar..."

Vel'duith sniffed, then sniffled, drowning it with a quick swig from the now nearly empty bottle. As an afterthought, she offered him the rest as she pulled herself up from the floor. Then she tsksed, kneeling and casting a cantrip to clean wine drops she had spilled upon the carpet, whispering a hasty apology, seemingly to the room itself. Then she continued:

"Ahem. Vallabha-Ilhar, she only wished me to study whatever magic helped me better steal her books and scrolls. Any other interests, any other talents, she tried to bar from me. So I had to seek them for myself, out of her domain. And the very books and scrolls she sent me for became my primary resource to expand my understanding. So my drive to study these things, it came from me alone. Valsharess Vyx'aria has not asked me to do much of anything yet since my return. She said we would speak of it after the coronation, so in due course, I suppose."

For a moment, Nimruil's features froze; before the skin on his forehead jerked in consternation. That sense of familiarity was mutual. He still had trouble placing it, but even when he had seen her in his tower, there was something about her face, her mannerisms, her long, flowing speech, her feathery faerie movement, as if floating and drifting about the space rather than lugging her feet, that reminded him of someone.

He would have to search his memory more thoroughly. In an internal snort of irony, he thought how helpful a voidless reverie might have been towards that end.

Offered the bottle, he took it and felt a certain parental duty in finishing it, at least keeping the last drops from her. So he added its drops to his own cup and raised it between three fingers, while noting her little sniffle and efforts at cleaning up after herself. It left a little melancholic smile on his own face.

"I am certain she will. A female book-burglar snooping into arcane lore and making deals with fae is an exotic breed, indeed. It would be foolish not to employ such an idiosyncratic set of skills and temperaments; lest they be turned against you." He finished the last drops at that, and felt the heady glow of wine travel from the top of his scalp to the bottom of his spine. "So. Can I expect any further, ah, works of mine to vanish into your satchel? Or can I count my bookshelves safe for the moment from your professional pilfering?"

The sad smile had morphed into a teasing smirk. An attempt to move from pity to playfulness. Even if he could only imagine the odd difficulty of studying lore outside clergy or ruling matriarchy as a woman.

Vel'duith

 

[Vel'duith]

Vel’duith smirked broadly, and bowed politely with a drunken wobble.

“We both serve the Valsharess now, Nimruil Suulet’jabar! To steal from you now would be the same as stealing from her. Trust that I value my life and limbs more than that! Although… I should very much appreciate the chance to peruse your collection one day, should it ever please you to admit me to your tower. And to further converse on… well, how mages such as we may avoid temptation to heresy.”

Nimruil

 

[Nimruil]

Nimruil dipped his chin in a nod.

"It shall be so, then. Trust me; that is a subject worth many volumes." He filled a sliver of wine into both their cups, then raised his own in a diminutive toast. "To new discoveries. And ones no longer necessitating the cloak of thievery."

Vel'duith

 

[Zathria At'Arel]

Zathria had plenty of experience getting her own armor on and off. It was designed to be light, flexible, and for a scout in the field. In other words, she could strip it on her own and she started pulling the straps, although it wasn't exactly quick.

More than that, her fingers felt stiff. She had a rush of adrenaline that made it harder to mess with the rigid and uncooperative straps and buckles.

Gstfbl, ugh! she grunted, the first "word" was really just frustrated sounds as she finally got one of the main straps free.

You too, she said, nodding toward his clothes as she struggled with her own other strap to finally get her armor off. It wasn't going as smoothly as she would like...

Sazalam

 

[Vyx'aria]

Vyx’aria watched the dancers file out, the music and the drinks all new. But she couldn’t deny the rhythm and the graceful ways they moved their hips and arms. It was almost hypnotic to behold. After everyone who wanted an audience had their turn, Vyx’aria decided she was getting sore from sitting on the accursed seat for so long. The Queen finally rose from her chair, deciding to join in on the festivities.

She walked among the dancers, smirking as she walked by the graceful and shorter men and women in harem silks that shimmered against bronze skin, veils drawn low to conceal their smiles, jeweled belts and chains glinting like coiled treasure with every measured twist of hip and arm.

Vyx’aria traced a finger along the back of one the dancers as the woman twirled around her. She briefly thought about joining in on the dance before remembering that she didn’t know how to dance. In fact, the last time she and Azrakar posed as nobles in the city, all she managed to do was stomp on his feet and stumble every step. No, she had no desire to embarrass herself in front of delegates from around Arethil.

Vyx’aria grinned as walked closer to Xeraphine and Medja, “Ladies, may I introduce you to wyrmwine,” She said, pouring them a goblet each before clinking them together and taking a sip.

"Why do we not retire to the Queen's chambers for a demonstration away from everyone?" he asked. He tilted his head to one side and met the dancer's gaze.

The Queen’s gaze searched the crowd to see where the infernal bastard had gone. Only to spot him sneaking off with the dancer from earlier….toward her chambers. Vyx’aria watched them go, fighting the urge to smirk at the play as she took another long drink before glancing back at Medja, “I should like to see Amol Kalit one day,” Vyx’aria said, “Are they as fearful of my people as they are on the Surface here?” she asked with her grin widening.

 

[Xeraphine Yldore]

Xeraphine gratefully received the wyrmwine and clinked her goblet against Vyx'aria's daintily, quirking a small smile to the side. Her dwarven attendant who had handed Counterpoint to Vyx'aria -- one named Durn Marsh -- near stood on his toes to have a glimpse of the famed wyrmwine, wiping perspiration off his scalp and brow with a handkerchief, now that the imminent danger was over. Xeraphine only glanced at him briefly to check his behaviour, before commenting:

"You spoil us, Your Grace."

“I should like to see Amol Kalit one day,” Vyx’aria said, “Are they as fearful of my people as they are on the Surface here?” she asked with her grin widening.

She tilted her head a tad, turning to Medja, curious to hear the answer.

Medja
Vyx'aria

 

[Vel'duith]

She raised her glass, giggling at the movement of the several drops within the bottom.

“Hear, hear!”

She threw the drink back, sputtering as a drop went up her nostril, then dripped to the floor. She panickedly set the glass down on the table, nearly knocking it over, falling to her knees to cantrip the new drop. She almost looked as though she feared a beating. The stain eradicated, she wobbled back up to her feet to walk the archmage to the gate.

The diminutive wisp giggled drunkenly as she spotted a pair of courtesans heading eagerly towards the palace, recognizing the female as she who had been on the Valsharess’s lap earlier. She almost comically looked up at the male towering over all three of them as they passed by the gate, blurting out, “Vith’il Valsharess!!” and throwing her arm clumsily into the air. She turned to face Nimruil, swaying back and forth briefly almost like an inverted pendulum.

“The void.. even here..” She blinked before continuing. “Even here, Nimruil, you may overcome it… with will! Think on a detail that truly caught your eye… remember more details. And then, the whole memory will follow… for good or ill.”

Azrakar
Nimruil
Vyx'aria

 

[Thraken Whitview]

Stinkin' elves.

Stinkin' underrealm.

But, cousins were cousins and trading partners were hard to come by, and even worse to lose. So the Dwarven City of Belgrath sent an envoy. Well, more accurately, they tried to send an envoy, then nobody wanted to go. Resignations were threatened, a damn near riot ensued. Typical Dwarven posturing, not wanting to interact with elves and their fire-worshipping cousins for little other than made-up reasoning. However, the conclusion was that it was better to do it, complain the entire time, then not do it, and look like fools.

So, thusforth, Thraken was sent with a chest full of ornate jewelry, fine stonework chests, and... a bed. Now, a bed might be an odd choice for a gift, but Dwarves valued rest and sleep so much that they spent an incredible amount of time on beds. Besides, this wasn't any bed. It was stone, gold, encrusted with jewels, and appropriately proportioned for the lengthy elven recipient. And, of course, a knife befitting royalty, of the highest craftsmanship and order. Belgrath Dwarven smiths were considered the best in the kingdom for a reason, and Thraken's goal was to demonstrate that trade and cooperation with their grey cousins and the Drow Queen was better off.

A Queen, by all means. It dawned on him-

Thraken had never met a Queen. He was unlike the rest of the envoy arriving at the Underrealm- fashionably late, of course, as the party was in full swing. He was unalike from them because he was rather excited, now that he was here. It was a momentous occasion, to see the Dwarves, to see the denizens of the mighty city of Belgrath, so far from their walls and their tunnels.

He eyed the ceremoniously dressed people, and realized....

Yes.

He knew he was here to meet the Queen.

But he had no idea where she was. Or what she looked like. So far, his party had accidentally introduced themselves to three elves thus far they thought was the Queen, or part of her staff. As it were, they were just fancy dressed elves.

Things to correct later.

 

[Sazalam]

It took Sazalam a few seconds to get his cape off and laying on a box crate behind him and his dress shirt open.
By then he took pity on Zathria and moved close again putting his hand on hers to guide it and the other to her face to draw her down for a soft kiss to calm her frustrations.
"Easy Mistress, let me."

She got the waist strap then he got the shoulder for her. The breastplate opened like a clam and he put on another box crate, the tent was full of them. Then he backed off and left her to the rest and a few moments later he was sitting on the crate waiting in only a smile and his choker, the orcish dagger resting at his chest. Knees together and heels crossed, kicking lightly in patient anticipation.

He had scars, a long life gave his body decoration in cuts and grazes. His back bore marks of rod and lash from punishment but the most striking ones were from Shay Tirloc with the gut wound in his belly and the slash at his shoulder. A pale grey scar almost severing his right arm that went from collar to chest and reached behind to touch his shoulder blade.

He was remembering how she helped him up at the gatehouse. Her rough hand in his strong and certain. Her voice when she demanded the second tonic and smiled with pride before setting off and winning the day.

His ears could not stop moving and he felt no desire to make them.

Zathria At'Arel

 

[Medja]

Medja accepted the goblet graciously and joined in the toast, then briefly dipped a pinky into the liquid within and stirred nonchalantly. After a few moments she withdrew, flicked her hand, then drank alongside her new contemporaries.

The queen voiced her wish to visit the Empire, and Medja smiled. The idea that the Epressan peoples bore some fundamental fear of dark elves was humorous to Medja, and her mind briefly turned to Fieravene's antics.

"'Fearful?' Hardly...one of my consorts is a drow, in fact," she remarked, momentarily glancing back towards Xeraphine. By now the dancer that Vyx'aria had twirled, a slender, graceful letai with ears and a tail like that of a serval, was leaning on her happily and naturally.

"Amol-Kalit's sun and heat are harsh, but this would be the only thing which might be of bother to you, Valsharess. The nation and its people would celebrate you as an honored guest."

The Empress' eyes slid towards Xeraphine once more, knowingly.

"Would you care for some company as well, Lady Xeraphine? I'm certain there is someone among the entourage that might suit your tastes."

 

[Xunari Auceus]

Xunari was, it was universally accepted, pretty fucking shit at parties.

As a younger woman she had been socially awkward and as she was now? Now she was chronically depressed and had been socially cast-out from her limited circles due to exiles and such. She had not been prepared, it seemed, to be included in a party and have everyone she spoke to suddenly acting like they were her friend because she had been given a position amongst the Queensguard.

She was beginning to reach the point of preparing to enact physical violence when one of the attendants at the function rushed hurriedly to her side and whispered into her ear.

Someone different had arrived. Who the hells was that?

A dwarf, apparently.

A dwarf here to act as an ambassador to the nearly ascended Queen.

Belgrath had sent someone? Now this... this was interesting.

And even better than it being interesting?

"Ah excuse me everyone, I have some official duties to attend to."

It was a way out of being the focus of social attention!

Striding with purpose (and definitely not running away), she crossed the room at the guidance of the attendant who pointed out Thraken to Xunari as soon as he was within sight. Truthfully, in a crowd such as this it was pretty easy to spot the dwarf. Waving the attendant away, Xunari approached the envoy of the dwarves.

"Hello there." she called out as she approached, back straight, "I am Xunari Auceus, Queensguard to her highness the Queen. Though the Queen herself is otherwise occupied currently, I would be remiss if I didn't lend myself to an envoy such as yourself. May I know your name, master Dwarf?"

Thraken Whitview

 

[Vyx'aria]

Vyx’aria smirked. Now that sounded like a refreshing change of pace. As much as she thrived on Surface people panicking over drow, discretion proved almost impossible. She had plans of eventually having drow interact more often with the surface and perhaps it could mean sending them to another continent where they wouldn’t be hunted on sight.

“Perhaps the nights will offer more comfort to me then,” Vyx’aria replied as she took a sip from her wine, idly tracing a finger along the tail of the letai before withdrawing from the dancer. She glanced up at Medja, “A drow consort? I’m impressed. We can be a difficult bunch,” Vyx’aria said with a grin.

The topic of consorts was an irritating one for her. She knew it was inevitable, especially with being the last of her house. Though she was present and feeling that heady buzz of the alcohol and incense, her thoughts returned to Azrakar, wondering if he was getting what he pleased from the nameless dancer. In all her years, she had never allowed an individual to prick at her psyche like this, and yet he found a way like a parchment cut - thin, barely there, yet sending a jolting pain when you’ve forgotten all about it.

“There are accommodations set up for you both in the palace,” Vyx’aria said to the women, “Along with staff to tend to your every need,” she said. Just because her predecessors were terrible hosts, it didn’t mean Vyx’aria would follow in their suit. “You have traveled a very long way. It would be an honor to have you stay and allow you some time to explore the crystal valleys and illuminated forests of the Underrealm.” She knew almost everyone on the Surface thought the Underrealm was nothing but caves and tunnels, but it was a world as vast and expansive as the surface, illuminated brilliantly with bioluminescent algae and lights, with its own plethora of flora and fauna that were dazzling to behold. A part of her felt pride in sharing that with visitors who made the effort to venture down here.

 

[Xeraphine Yldore]

"Would you care for some company as well, Lady Xeraphine? I'm certain there is someone among the entourage that might suit your tastes."

"Appreciated, but sadly, I must decline, empress."

No explanation was forthcoming as to why. Xeraphine took another sip from her wyrmwine, then ran a finger along the rim of her goblet, musing about the sweet and yet biting taste, seeping into marrow and blood more quickly than any surface vine. She would have to drink measurely.

“You have traveled a very long way. It would be an honor to have you stay and allow you some time to explore the crystal valleys and illuminated forests of the Underrealm.”

"It would seem a waste to come here and not experience these wonders. I accept. Though I may need another guide than my current one. I've pegged him to be a more of an urban creature rather than one attuned to the wilds. Who knows? Perhaps we may even witness how royal hunts are conducted, down here. Have you often ventured outside these walls, then, valsharess?"

Her reasons were mainly political, but it would be intriguing to witness the full splendour of the Underrealm regardless. Perhaps a little diversion from matters of home were in order.

Vyx'aria
Medja

 

[Zathria At'Arel]

Zathria let him get the strap that was giving her so much trouble, reaching for one that was more easily positioned and began to pull away the bulk of her clothing articles until only her undergarments remained. She looked up at him, the way his ears swiveled and the scars across his body.

She moved toward him with a smile, the same intensity that was always there was in her eyes now. Her own ears twitched and with her naturally stony composure even that slight movement spoke volumes. She kissed him again, more deeply this time, climbing up until she was on top of him on top of the box, bodies pressed together, the kiss deepening.

Seconds passed into minutes as the two made good on a mere fraction of the promises that had been made.

---​

Zathria was practically glowing as she finished putting in place the various straps of her armor, pulling them tight and trying - somewhat unsuccessfully - to put her professional face back on.

It didn't really work.

Don't think this exempts you from all the other promises you made, she said as she looked back at him. Her face became a shade more crimson as she saw just the top edge of the bruise she had left on his collar bone peeking out over his clothes. She thought she had left it low enough it wouldn't show.

Ahem. No one would notice.

I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not really sorry, she said, motioning toward her own collarbone in mimic of where she had left the mark on him.

Sazalam

 

[Grimn]

Zairyn shouldered his way through the crowd like a man possessed, laughing as he went, boots slipping on spilled drink and goddess-knew-what else.

“Oi-Grimn!” he barked when he finally spotted the puca’s broad back. He slapped a hand against it and leaned in with a grin. “I knew I smelled sewage. Thought one of my shrooms had gone bad.”

The horn call, the declaration, the name-

When Sazalam rang out, Zairyn lost his mind.

“YEEEEAH BOYYYYY!” he shouted, clapping so hard his palms stung, whooping and hollering along with the rest of the men. He bounced on his heels, laughing, half-spun, the world shimmering pleasantly at the edges. “ABOUT DAMN TIME!”

He wiped at his eyes, still grinning, then his gaze drifted downward.

He squinted. Hard.

“…Grimn,” he said slowly, pointing. “Why does your cock have a judgy little face?”

Zairyn recoiled a half step. “That thing just looked at me funny.” He narrowed his eyes. “Is that a puca feature?”

Grimn

He’d caught up to Slaine easily enough. Wrapping her arm over himself and moving her along with the crowd. The mushroom merchant, whose name he didn’t really care to pay attention to made another vulgar remark and then forced his way into the crowd.

Theceran dragged Slaine Aylwin with him deeper in, stopping as he noticed.. Was a man called to the stage? He stood there in awe for a second. Maybe. Maybe Vyx’aria really was going to be a different queen. He let out a cheer as he noticed a certain Drow Zairyn, looking at another man’s Grimn junk.

A smirk formed on his face as a tendril of shadow snaked through the crowd. It wrapped around Zairyns feet and yanked backwards abruptly, its send the other drow into the cock he was admiring so much. He glanced over to Slaine, “His mouth might be full enough to shut him up. Let’s go find the party.”

Zairyn Slaine Aylwin Grimn

Zairyn might have fallen in a very embarressing manner. Might have catapulted into Grimm in ways not proper -- even to the drow.

But a pair of onyx-coloured arms caught him before this could occur. Long white locks rippled in the non-existent wind, and ruby eyes flashed down at the fellow scoundrel.

"Now that was close! Zairyn, you old dog. How are you?"

Zairyn
Grimn

Regardless of how fast everything in those few blurry moments happened, Grimn was far too drunk to stop any of it. Luckily for Z, sober-er minds prevailed even if indecency and debauchery were practically the calling cards of a good drow party and certainly Old Hat for a fae.

Grimn swayed on his feet, a bleary blink following the flash of bodies errantly moving about his figure. There was a very brief second where his instincts told him to knee jerk, quite literally, into a face fast approaching his Doll, but his body wasn't even in the same sphere of awareness.

Instead he lowered the hand holding the severed head of Harleth, who had seen the whole thing, and stuck it back under his arm.

"Boy just tried to suck your Doll!" Harleth yelled.

"Wot-"

"Now that was a close one! Zairyn! You old dog, how are you?"

"Zairyn?!" the puca's eyes bulged as he snapped himself about in a circle, clamped a hand on the shoulder of some other unsuspecting drow and leaned down toward him with squinting, suspicious yellow eyes, "You tryna suck me doll, mate?"

"Not him-" Harleth's head growled under his arm, presently facing backwards, "over there!"

Grimn blinked, smiled with too many teeth at the confused stranger and promptly released him to turn again. "You!" he said, pointing at another random drow (not Zairyn).

"Not him - ach, wouldjee grab im?" the head growled at its own body, which turned with some surprise and a goblet of wyrmpiss or whatever it was called in one hand and grabbed the taller puca by his own shoulder, turning him once more to face Rae'twyn Suvalissaere and Zairyn fully.

"Oy!" Grimn exclained, brows arched like a McDrow'alds Happy Meal, wavering finger pointing at Rae, "shroom-shit, been lookin' for you!"