Open Chronicles The Return Of The Queen

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"Yes, dwarves can be a capricious lot. Despite their, hm, so-called faith in tradition. Though tradition seems to shift into whatever interpretation they need at a given moment." He nodded, satisfied with her description of surface agriculture. It matched what he had read so far. "I believe I recall some of my sister's forays into raiding the surface. We gained much for both our treasury and libraries then. So, you have served under the House Suulet'jabar banner, in your own way. And now, you serve Tor'rahel. House Voiryn is a respected house; one should think you could find plenty of acclaim there, yet you have pledged yourself to a plethora of different masters. Even these Noct Yaegir, whoever they are. I wonder what might have prompted this, ah, diverse loyalty? Your personal venture to the surface, perhaps?"

He thought he had recognised this particular brand of illusion magic. But from where exactly, it was difficult to recall . . . perhaps it had been some chance encounter, when Beksesha had served as her yathrin. Increasingly, he was seeing several hidden points of interest that might all converge on this female illusionist. Whether she could grant him insight into the surface, its treasures or Vyx'aria herself, it might all prove useful.

Aditionally, he didn't find her too unpleasant at all to converse with. Tempered by manners and less marked by the superiority that tended to separate women from men, he found it remarkably strainless to engage in conversation with her.

Vel'duith
 
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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
 
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The celebrations were in full swing when Vyx’aria parted from Tyrnael. She moved toward the empty Tor’Rahel section, claiming the great seat reserved for the House Matron as though it had never known another. With a slow exhale, she settled into it, elbow resting on the armrest, chin propped against curled fingers, watching the revelry with a regal stillness.

The entertainment had begun in earnest. Dancers and courtiers flowed across the floor, women and men alike swaying with enchanted grace. Some wove threads of magic through their movements, blurring at the edges with every turn, bodies dissolving and reforming in hypnotic rhythm. At some point, an unopened bottle was pressed into her hand. She cracked it open and took a measured swig, eyes never leaving the spectacle.

Eventually, she crooked a finger.

One of the women broke from the line and came to her at once.

The dancer moved to the beat, her slender body undulating in controlled invitation, careful to drift close without touching. Heat rolled off her skin, perfumed and deliberate. Vyx’aria watched in silence, expression unreadable, taking another long pull from the bottle as the woman performed for her attention alone.

Her head tilted slightly.

Beyond the sway of hips and the flutter of fabric, Vyx’aria caught a glimpse of the crowd and of Azrakar within it. She regarded him for a moment, gaze steady, contemplative. When their eyes met, she did not look away. She straightened only after that, lifting the bottle again.

Her hand shot out without warning, fingers closing around the dancer’s sash. She tugged her in and seated her atop one muscular thigh, claiming the space with effortless authority. An arm draped loosely around the woman’s waist as Vyx’aria eased back into the Matron’s seat, holding her there, composed and fully aware of who might be watching.
 
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He almost lost his steps at that little reminder but Sazalam recovered quickly to join the rhythm again.

"I did, didn't I?"

A coy tone entered his voice as he let himself be joyously led through the steps.

"Though I had ensured some precautions that we might not be noticed I suppose the need for secrecy is gone."

Pausing for a dip he continued once Zathria pulled him up again.

"But I'm finding brazenness to be surprisingly exciting!"

His eyes flickered towards Zathria's lips as he contemplated the previously unthinkable.

Zathria At'Arel
 
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“As with most such ventures, E’spdon, a convergence of catalysts led me to leave Zar’Ahal. As you might guess, I was engaged in the business of acquiring tomes and scrolls for…”

She blanched, pausing for a few seconds before continuing.

“Well, for the House’s business. One of the tomes tried to possess me deep below the city, on the roundabout route I traveled home to cover my tracks. Just as it was starting to get the upper hand, I fell through a weak roof into an ancient chamber. Everything within looked thousands of years old, and of a style different from our own. Shimmering light, silver with shifting greenish and orangish casts shone upon a gilt tome. I read the inscription on the cover aloud, and the incantation silenced the pandemonic voice trying to master me. So I opened the book and read.”

“It was a testament to Sse’elah, the moons goddess. The illuminations showed her as one of us; I have since deduced that she is an aspect of the darthiiri goddess Seelah. Parts of her credo spoke profoundly to me, such as drow of all stations and abilities working together for the weal of all. Other parts sounded of the most naive of surface drivel. My foolish attempts to follow them in whole among the aforementioned dwarves have revealed their folly to me. I now wonder whether all the divine so dupe their adherents in some way or other. But that came after. I took the tome with me and delivered it up dutifully. I also took the Seelite tome for my own perusal.”

“A few years later, I was bade to acquire the same tome yet again, and this time from the Regent and her Tuin’Znar allies. As though its prior home was not deadly enough! And so I packed the Seelite tome which I had kept secret and such of my things as would not be missed, I acquired the book, and brought it with me to the surface. There I immediately met a fairy cat, who said Seelah had arranged her servitude - unwilling, from her tone - and she guided me to a nearby keep of stone, nearly atop a mountain. Crobhear Keep, the base of the Noct Yaegirs, monster hunters from the surface. The cat suggested I might gain approval by joining them. Perhaps the least foolish of my string of follies!”

Her glass empty, she started looking for the bottle. Seeing Vyx’aria pass by after parting company with what looked like some Myrlochar daughter. Vel’duith threw her hands up and cheered her.

“Vith’il Valshsress!!”

Nimruil
@Vyx’aria
 
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The queen was seated and sated, a drow courtesan on her lap. Xeraphine knew that posture well. Still radiating strength. Still commanding the plaza. But now without the strict rigidity of formal procedures.

The Iron Whisper saw her time to strike when the iron was hot. Even if Rae'twyn had decided to disappear at the most inopportune moment.

No matter. She would handle this herself, even if she was only versed in surface etiquette.

Xeraphine approached with her attendants in tow. Her servants displayed her house coat of arms on their surcoats; what would have been an audacious move on the surface, given the shameful state of her family in Alliria. But here. Here no one knew its sordid fate.

The House Yldore displayed its colours per chevron, a white diamond division at the bottom piercing up through its purple background, its field divided into purpure and argent colours. Across this background, its hilt beginning in purple and its blade cutting into white, a sleek, black dagger charged its division of main colours, running like a midnight scar from its chief to its fess point, flanked by an ermine fur and a black rose. It was supported by two heraldry beasts; white dragons standing rampant on either side with red tongues and bellies as heraldry beasts. The whole family shield was crested by a strangely uneven rock of dark grey. A meteorite, for those who knew their geology.

This curious heraldry was most prominent on a dwarven manservant with a closely cropped black beard and hair, wearing a scarlet coat over it. He brought forth an angular gift splayed across his palms, wrapped in dark purple silk. The Yldore division all bowed low, Xeraphine included, presenting an immaculate curtsey with the tips of her black-and-purple dress lifted.

"Vendui'ulu dos valsharess d'Zar'Ahal. ((Greetings to you, Queen of Zar'ahal))."

The punctual and velvety trill draping her voice belied the cold sharpness below it. Much like her gift, steel hid below silk. She spoke with an imperfect accent, words too separate and studied -- but studied regardless. Alas, she hadn't had time to study the tongue of drow further than that, switching then to Common and hoping it would suffice.

She had heard the queen had ventured the surface before and relied on this fact for further communication.

"I come on behalf of the surface realm of Alliria, from House Yldore. And others should have followed in my wake to sing your praises, but . . ." she glanced over her shoulder at the surface delegation, who were still hesitating to approach, though some of them carefully watched her example. A bitter smirk escaped her. "They seem to be weighing their options, for now. We bring a gift to your pleasure, from our finest Yldorian smithies. A combined alloy of emril and Celestine iron, Your Highness."

She made a languid, beckoning gesture, and the dwarven manservant staggered up, sweating profusely, raising the silk-wrapped stiletto towards Vyx'aria and clenching his eyes as if stepping below a thundercloud.

Vyx'aria
 
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Vel'duith said:
It was a testament to Sse’elah, the moons goddess. The illuminations showed her as one of us
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Nimruil's brow knitted with dangerous recognition. Something about this 'procured tome' sounded distinctly familiar . . .

"Ah, a demonic tome and a grimoire of Seelah . . . you appear to to have gathered quite a collection, then."

Her exploits, though not directly attested as much, sounded distinctly like the adventures of a tomb raider. Or a burglar. And Maelzafan knew he had lost a fair tome or two inexplicably. Two fingers carressed his own chin in disturbed thought. The taste of suspicion was beginning to foul his wyrmwine.

"Do you still own this Seelite tome, then? Could I see it?"

Vel'duith
 
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Her eyes lit up at the chance to share and discuss something so ancient and alien with such a distinguished scholar. She instantly forgot her search for more wine.

“I fail to see why not! I even found a couple spells worth copying in it, E’spdon, amongst the devotions and mantras. And the illustrations are exquisitely done, yet in such a different style than even the most ancient examples of our own. I wonder whether our own illustration style changed more due to Maelzafan’s influence, or the vastly different lighting…. Oh! I shall need to ask Valsharess’s permission first. I have been staying in the Tor’Rahel compound.”

Vel’duith respectfully bowed and flourished her palms, wobbling a step to one side as she turned to weave her way over to the Tor’Rahal section where Vyx’aria sat. Even drunk as she was, she displayed an uncanny knack for ducking under flailing limbs and sidestepping the clumsy gyrations of the other revelers.

Nimruil
Vyx'aria
 
Azrakar followed the crowd. They almost moved as one organic mass, drawing him in their wake.

He had seen enough of drow culture to know that they took pride in the excess. In a way they reminded him of the orc tribes. They drew strength from competition but would put it aside for revelry.

He needed to find a moment to leave the city. It was risky coming here. The path back offered nothing that could challenge him, but Vyx'aria was right about the priestesses if they sensed his presence.

Vyx'aria said:
When their eyes met, she did not look away. She straightened only after that, lifting the bottle again.
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Azrakar held her gaze. He started to tilt his head to one side until Vyx'aria drew someone closer.

His nostrils flared.

He looked away and then looked back. Her hold upon him could be deeply frustrating, even if he was more open to acknowledging it's nature. He remembered the exact words he had imparted to her and how she now tested that in front of him.

He was a creature of jealousy and anger and hunger. He moved closer. There were delagations from other species arriving. Listening in was clearly to his advantage, he told himself.
 
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Dinian returned back down the ramp to Lowtown, which was in full revel. News was flying from the upper city by sign and shout, losing some fidelity along the way. One moment, a group of traitors had attacked the queen. The next, she had battled and slain a whole group of traitors singlehandedly. No, it was a just a group of traitorous prisoners that she had executed. Next came news that the Queensguard were all ja'lukken, before being whittled down to one single ja'luk. "But he has red hair. They say he saved some great champion and killed the dragon at Shay Tirloc!" "No, he saved the dragon and killed the champion!"

Dinian figured the best thing to do while Lowtown got its story fully straight was check on his current batch of brew out back of the barracks. He was shooting for a hard-hitting introduction but a smooth finish - he was thinking of dubbing it the "Ventash'ma." Flavor was secondary to the punch, and merely what one might generally call 'crisp.'
 
Vel'duith said:
Her glass empty, she started looking for the bottle. Seeing Vyx’aria pass by after parting company with what looked like some Myrlochar daughter. Vel’duith threw her hands up and cheered her.

“Vith’il Valshsress!!”

Nimruil
@Vyx’aria
Click to expand...

Vyx’aria paused on her path toward the Matron’s seat when she heard the familiar voice. She turned her head, glanced down and offered a smile, “Vel’duith,” she said simply, giving a curt nod before she turned and continued walking. Almost anyone around Vel’duith immediately sprang into whispers and wide eyed gazes at someone being addressed with such familiarity by the Queen.

Xeraphine Yldore said:

The queen was seated and sated, a drow courtesan on her lap. Xeraphine knew that posture well. Still radiating strength. Still commanding the plaza. But now without the strict rigidity of formal procedures.

The Iron Whisper saw her time to strike when the iron was hot. Even if Rae'twyn had decided to disappear at the most inopportune moment.

No matter. She would handle this herself, even if she was only versed in surface etiquette.

Xeraphine approached with her attendants in tow. Her servants displayed her house coat of arms on their surcoats; what would have been an audacious move on the surface, given the shameful state of her family in Alliria. But here. Here no one knew its sordid fate.

The House Yldore displayed its colours per chevron, a white diamond division at the bottom piercing up through its purple background, its field divided into purpure and argent colours. Across this background, its hilt beginning in purple and its blade cutting into white, a sleek, black dagger charged its division of main colours, running like a midnight scar from its chief to its fess point, flanked by an ermine fur and a black rose. It was supported by two heraldry beasts; white dragons standing rampant on either side with red tongues and bellies as heraldry beasts. The whole family shield was crested by a strangely uneven rock of dark grey. A meteorite, for those who knew their geology.

This curious heraldry was most prominent on a dwarven manservant with a closely cropped black beard and hair, wearing a scarlet coat over it. He brought forth an angular gift splayed across his palms, wrapped in dark purple silk. The Yldore division all bowed low, Xeraphine included, presenting an immaculate curtsey with the tips of her black-and-purple dress lifted.

"Vendui'ulu dos valsharess d'Zar'Ahal. ((Greetings to you, Queen of Zar'ahal))."

The punctual and velvety trill draping her voice belied the cold sharpness below it. Much like her gift, steel hid below silk. She spoke with an imperfect accent, words too separate and studied -- but studied regardless. Alas, she hadn't had time to study the tongue of drow further than that, switching then to Common and hoping it would suffice.

She had heard the queen had ventured the surface before and relied on this fact for further communication.

"I come on behalf of the surface realm of Alliria, from House Yldore. And others should have followed in my wake to sing your praises, but . . ." she glanced over her shoulder at the surface delegation, who were still hesitating to approach, though some of them carefully watched her example. A bitter smirk escaped her. "They seem to be weighing their options, for now. We bring a gift to your pleasure, from our finest Yldorian smithies. A combined alloy of emril and Celestine iron, Your Highness."

She made a languid, beckoning gesture, and the dwarven manservant staggered up, sweating profusely, raising the silk-wrapped stiletto towards Vyx'aria and clenching his eyes as if stepping below a thundercloud.

Vyx'aria
Click to expand...


Vyx’aria watched the approach in silence, crimson eyes tracking every measured step.

The effort in the woman’s drow drew a flicker of both amusement and approval. And the choice of a dwarf to bear the gift? That earned another mark in Xeraphine’s favor. The Queen inclined her head once, a gesture that carried more weight than applause.

“Vendui’ulu,” Vyx’aria returned smoothly, her accent flawless. “You honor Zar’Ahal with your presence and with your courtesy.” Her gaze dipped briefly to the silk-wrapped blade. “And with a gift fit for purpose. You have my thanks.”

She leaned back into the great seat, one arm draped with casual authority, the other resting where the courtesan sat warm and pliant on her lap. A faint smirk touched her mouth.

“Though,” she added lightly, “I wonder if you are so awed by my splendor that you’ve forgotten to share your name.” Her eyes lifted back to Xeraphine’s face.

Her hand slid idly along the dancer’s leg, a languid, unhurried motion that telegraphed ease and possession rather than invitation. She took a slow swig from her bottle, savoring the moment.

“And your companion,” Vyx’aria continued, tone thoughtful now. She paused. “The drow male Rae’twyn.”
Azrakar said:
He moved closer. There were delagations from other species arriving. Listening in was clearly to his advantage, he told himself.
Click to expand...

Her gaze shifted, catching movement at the edge of the crowd. Azrakar, drifting closer. She met his eyes without breaking stride in her sentence, fingers tightening briefly as she gave the dancer’s rear a deliberate squeeze, resulting in giggles from the woman. The smirk returned to Vyx'aria, private, satisfied, before she looked back to Xeraphine.

“He is,” the Queen finished, “a worthy ally.”

She settled again, composed and attentive, clearly prepared to hear what House Yldore had come to bargain for on her terms.
 
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A faint squint of the eye revealed Xeraphine's calculation. So, she knew who her guide was. Perhaps he knew of the queen's knowledge as well, and had chosen this exact moment to make himself scarce. She suspected he might not be on as good terms with the queen as he claimed to be.

"Your splendour is indeed distracting, as is your lavish celebrations. I have never seen the like before," she admitted freely enough, fanning out her arm to indicate the beautiful chaos surrounding them, before that hand landed lightly on her own silver brooch. "I am Lady Xeraphine Yldore, Your Majesty. First-born daughter to my house. And yes, you are correct. Rae'twyn is a worthy ally and my guide here. I'm certain he will be pleased you remember him; as pleased as you might be to welcome him."

However much that might be. The implied question came from the following pause, dangling like a noose. It turned out that drow politics could be much the same as back home. Full of little tests and prods, under the most courtly of guises.

This game she could play. And so she mirrored the queen's faint smile like a polished iron mirror; though not by too much. Merely a faint, knowing curl of her crimson lips.

Sometimes, simple truth could be instrumental. It built trust. And it more readily served as an answer, rather than fabricated lies.

But she would have to keep an eye on what sort of reception her drow aide might receive.

Meanwhile, the stiletto proferred to Vyx'aria would reveal itself to be about the length of her underarm. Thin and small enough to hide on a person; long enough to engage in a close-quarters fight. Though ceremonial in its mushroom-shaped pommel and small, circular guard, its black steel veined with silver was certainly sharp and deadly, bestowed with magical property from both emril and meteorite alike.

She would read Vyx'aria's face as to the sort of welcome the drow courtesan might receive. But she would spare her the need to spell it out in words. The patience of monarchy could be most fickle with delivering trifling explanations; particularly after a strenuous coronation.

"Your swift rise to power is most exemplary, valsharess. It proves that not even the most entrenched and decadent rule is safe . . . from a just government. I believe; your path of steel could be instructive for our own, ah, surface affairs. Verily, we Allirians could learn a thing or two from it."

There was a moment in this elevated and evasive speech that spoke volumes more than her words. A moment that could only be caught in locked gazes.

Xeraphine's pale-blue eye radiated some deep-seated ire, like a blade whetted and sharpened too many times, turned into a near needle-point. Like a cauldron of fire, motes of flame flickering at its rim, it lit up her eye for just a spell. Not to be found anywhere else in her immaculate presentation or her perfectly performed smile. An anger too old and rooted to be born for this drow court; aimed at some other, distant offender.

If anyone from the surface delegation had been nearby, it might have caused an involuntary shudder.

Vyx'aria
Azrakar
 
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Zathria was unabashed about her flirting, but the truth was that any form of relationship was not something she had done since she was young. It was strange and made her prickle in... an unfamiliar emotion.

She dipped him down and then pulled back up as she twirled lightly around and continued along as the music came to a crescendo.

And what will they do if we aren't secret? Talk? Gossip? Throw a tantrum? Let them, she said, spinning again as the music came to a close She stopped, holding him in her arms before she moved forward and placed a brief peck upon his lips.

Her heart beat just a little bit faster and it had nothing to do with the activity of the dancing.

She made no comment about what had just happened but letting the moment linger for a few moments longer before speaking again.

Come on, let's get drinks, she said.

Sazalam
 
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Nimruil watched Vyx'aria pass them by, granting graceful recognition to Vel'duith. This would seem to prove her words of servitude.

The queen didn't seem to see him, or perhaps simply didn't acknowledge him in passing. It might have been for the better. He still didn't quite know where they stood. But as to that, inevitably, time would tell.

He nodded at Vel'duith as she departed to seek Tor'rahel permission. He half-followed, stepping closer to see both her venture there and who had come to address the queen in her matron seat. Something not quite like guilt, but of self-consciousnes entered his eyes, as he tracked Vel'duith's artful dodge through the crowd.

She seemed full of the innocent thrill of academia; a prized asset in any student. Whereas he, on this day, harboured more than mere academic curiosity.

Perhaps to distract himself, he watched the first human delegation to have dared approach the new monarch. A darkly dressed lot, near matching drow for sense of colour, at least. They offered gifts and greetings, and held some conversation too distant for him to overhear.

Vel'duith
 
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Vel'duith cracked a broad smirk as she approached Vyx'aria, noticing the rather pleased-looking entertainer on her lap. She waited a few paces back for her to finish her current audience, swaying subconsciously to the music being played. She gave a passing servant the slightest inclination of her head and a grateful smile as she relieved him of a bottle of wine, taking the one least likely to unbalance the tray he carried. She was certain it would do nicely, if it were being offered here.

Once Vyx'aria seemed to have a few seconds free between the mostly rather nervous looking surfacers waiting to speak with her, she darted in with a deep, almost exaggerated bow, bottle held in one hand.

"Malla Valsharess, may I invite E'spdon Nimruil to my borrowed chambers, that I may show him tomes I brought back from the surface? He expressed such interest to me just now in seeing them, and I should very much enjoy hearing such a learned opinion as his."

Vyx'aria
Nimruil
 
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"Let us hope that Alliria might not learn from the queen's path firsthand, hmm?" a voice called from within the gathering crowd of delegates. From them, bodies parted to allow a woman in an immodest, white, robe-like dress through. While she did not cast so intimidating a presence as the new drow queen, she carried an air of regality and was adorned in raiments and jewelry clearly meant to evoke her own status...including a crown of her own.

The woman's feet did not touch the floor, but instead she seemed to drift through the air. She was flanked on either side by guards clad in bronze armor, one appearing as a hulking, bipedal crocodilian, and the other a man with ears like a jackal's protruding from his hair. The demi-jackal was carrying an ornate box beneath his arm.

"Hail, Valsharess d'Zar'Ahal, your grace and eminence," the immaculately robed Kaliti woman spoke with all confidence, dipping her head and performing a small curtsey that caused her to dip slightly in the air. "I mean not to interrupt your meeting with the fair representative Xeraphine of Alliria...and my apologies to you as well, Lady Yldore...but I could hardly wait to make your acquaintance, as well."

She halted her approach, knowing that she'd not yet been bidden to join in having audience with the new queen, but made a gesture to her guards. Both took two more steps further and dropped to one knee. The woman flashed Vyx'aria a smile, her emerald eyes faintly glowing in the low light of Zar'Ahal.

"I am Medja of Ragash, Empress of Amol-Kalit, Second Great Sage of Geomancy. Like my contemporaries, I wish to give my congratulations to your ascent, and offer a gift in commemoration of the occasion."

On cue, the jackal-eared guard flicked the latches of the ornate box he carried and lifted its lid. Within, a pair of black gauntlets, metallic and lined with violet, arcane etchings, sat nestled on a fine cushion.

"Might I join the two of you in conversation?"
 
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Xeraphine Yldore said:
"Your swift rise to power is most exemplary, valsharess. It proves that not even the most entrenched and decadent rule is safe . . . from a just government. I believe; your path of steel could be instructive for our own, ah, surface affairs. Verily, we Allirians could learn a thing or two from it."



Vyx'aria
Azrakar
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She handed the bottle of wine to the dancer in her lap. Vyx’aria began to fiddle with the stiletto, toying with it in an idle flourish as it vanished and reappeared between her knuckles with impossible ease. Her supreme dexterity with blades was laid bare to witness even under a haze of alcohol.

For a while, it seemed as though Xeraphine’s words had drifted past unheard, the Queen’s attention wholly claimed by the balance and promise of the weapon.

A faint smirk curved her lips. Her gaze lifted at last, settling back on Xeraphine with quiet intent.

“Do you intend to linger in the Underrealm, Lady Yldore,” Vyx’aria asked evenly, “and observe how the drow topple cities?”

The blade came to rest across her palm as she continued, voice calm but probing. “You speak of a just government with admirable conviction. Enlighten me on what order you propose to raise from Alliria’s current politics.” A slight tilt of her head. “You’ve come rather far, so I understand you have the logistics for a campaign of mutual benefit that rises beyond rhetoric.”

Before Xeraphine could answer, another presence announced itself, another crowned woman, confident, drifting closer with practiced grace.

Medja said:
"I mean not to interrupt your meeting with the fair representative Xeraphine of Alliria...and my apologies to you as well, Lady Yldore...but I could hardly wait-
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“-And yet wait you must,” she said, her tone measured and unyielding. “All surface delegates have traveled far for their audience. You will have yours.”

The moment held. There was no anger or rage. Just the unassailable certainty that time itself bent around her will.

Then Vyx’aria’s gaze shifted, catching a smaller figure moving at the edge of the gathering.

She lifted two fingers and beckoned.

Vel'duith said:
Vel'duith cracked a broad smirk as she approached Vyx'aria, noticing the rather pleased-looking entertainer on her lap. She waited a few paces back for her to finish her current audience, swaying subconsciously to the music being played. She gave a passing servant the slightest inclination of her head and a grateful smile as she relieved him of a bottle of wine, taking the one least likely to unbalance the tray he carried. She was certain it would do nicely, if it were being offered here.

Once Vyx'aria seemed to have a few seconds free between the mostly rather nervous looking surfacers waiting to speak with her, she darted in with a deep, almost exaggerated bow, bottle held in one hand.

"Malla Valsharess, may I invite E'spdon Nimruil to my borrowed chambers, that I may show him tomes I brought back from the surface? He expressed such interest to me just now in seeing them, and I should very much enjoy hearing such a learned opinion as his."

Vyx'aria
Nimruil
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The diminutive and unassuming drow was afforded privileges given to no others. She could slip forward without resistance, gliding past envoys, Queensguard, priestesses and crowned heads alike, allowed to come directly before her. Vyx’aria listened briefly, expression unreadable, then gave a slow, measured nod.

When she turned back, her attention returned wholly to Xeraphine.

The stiletto was still in her hand, once again twirling as she waited for the woman's response.
 
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Vyx'aria said:
“-And yet wait you must,” she said, her tone measured and unyielding. “All surface delegates have traveled far for their audience. You will have yours.”
Click to expand...

Medja simply hummed a little sound of contentment. A proper response from a seemingly proper leader, and a play that she had to admire. Medja would have done the same, after all.

Wait she would. She hooked a finger behind her and beckoned a pair of large, floating, stone hands to hover up lazily behind her. They shaped themselves into the loose approximation of a chair. Medja sat within the palm of one hand and rested her back against the other, still suspended upon nothing, and waited.

The Empress was nothing if not patient.
 
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Reactions: Zathria At'Arel and Vyx'aria
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