Fable - Ask Mirrored Eyes

[Myrra]

Red eyes went from cherry-sized to tomatoes at the display before her.

What had she gotten herself into? Myrra wasn't even sure if this Ysala woman was on her side or not. She had just turned into some crazed demon-like beast and dispatched the first man in a visceral fashion. And the speed at which she moved meant that Myrra couldn't hope to escape her by running.

No, her best course of action was to hope that this other dark elf didn't intend any harm to befall her. She didn't particularly like her chances against whatever magic that was.

"No survivors," the raven skinned elf said without emotion, "can't risk it. He'll keep following us or tell his cohort about us."

A sob ruptured from the male elf's lips. "Please, I didn't know," he repeated in a more exasperated voice than before. Part of her felt sorrow for him. He was alone, waiting to die, after witnessing the horror that felled his comrades. But Myrra had already learned the lesson of this place. The strong survived and they stayed strong by not leaving loose ends. This place didn't have the same rules as the Shallows.

An orb of water enveloped the man's head. She'd choke out the oxygen slowly, allowing Ysala to finish him off if she so chose to. The swirling torrent would disrupt sound though, allowing her to say what she had been waiting to say.

"We're alone now. What do you want with me? If it's death you intend I'd prefer to get it over with now," she stared at Ysala with determination. The drinking and heavy magic usage were already taking their toll on dehydrating her. But she figured she had enough strength to fight back, if it came to that. Even if she didn't like her chances against hte other drow.

 

[Ysala]

Ysala blinked in confusion, her eyebrow cocking. "Death?"

She echoed quietly, chuckling to herself as though Myrra had just told a funny joke. Her gaze flickered to the two corpses, and briefly she thought of ridding them herself. A moment passed and she thought better of it.

The Raksha would get them. They always needed fresh things to dine on.

"I do not plan to kill you, child." At least not until her god said she should. "Your companion disappeared from the city entirely, you did not. I assume his...plans are in the works, it is those plans that were important to me."

Her eyes narrowed for a moment. "Though perhaps not as important now
"

The Undercity was tightly controlled. Information, food, people. All of it was kept and woven carefully Into place by the Priests. Rare was it that one could disrupt it, but with Myrra? Yes with Myrra she thought she might.

 

[Myrra]

As the life was choked out of the third pursuer Myrra simply looked at Ysala, perplexed. Once the magic was completed she grabbed at her canteen and pressed its lip to her own. Chugging down a large gulp of water while keeping her crimson eyes trained on Ysala's.

"That's good, I didn't want to have to kill you either," she bluffed. Myrra doubted if she could best this other dark elf in a fight, but well... might as well appear strong.

Her words did bother the orphan though. Nasir may have had his own faults that Myrra wasn't aware of but she mostly agreed that the priesthood of her hometown was awful. They had cast her aside and insinuated that they understood the world better than she. They propped up noble families, like the one she came from, and convinced other drow than these nobles and priests were better than everyone else because of blood alone.

It probably wasn't smart but she had to know whom she was working with, "I don't know what Nasir is planning," she confessed, "but I am curious what you think of him? What you believe he is planning?"

 

[Ysala]

Ysala looked down at the girl for a moment, taking a breath. "He is a catalyst."

The drow woman explained.

She knew that the words would likely only be met with suspicion, but she had decided not to lie to Myrra. Her God of course discouraged such things, Ysa'leth considered lies to be an integral part of any conversation, but it would not serve their goals here. This girl distrusted, she sought a purpose.

Ysala could see that in her.

"The Undercity is..." She frowned. "Broken, in a way. I am sure he must have told you. Shown you even."

Her head shook. "This place needs to change, but such a thing is not always easily found."

She shifted slightly.

"Nasir can bring that change, or the beginnings of it." Which is what she and her god desired.

 

[Myrra]

Myrra's lips twisted at Ysala's explanation.

She knew that Nasir wanted to lead a rebellion of some kind. Overthrow the status quo and abolish the false gods of their people. Removing the power that the priestly order held over society here was something that resonated with her based purely on what they had done to her.

Based on Ysala's words it seemed she was on the same side as Nasir. The same side as Myrra.

"I am an outsider to this place," she admitted, "but from what I have seen I agree with you. This is the place I was born even if it's not the place I was raised."

The drow bit at her lower lip. "I don't know where he is. Or where he went. But if I can help you, I will. For now at least," she said in a lower voice. There was really nothing else for her in the Undercity. She had debated trying to return to the surface world, if she were able to find her way back.

But maybe this path would lead her to some place of interest. Give her a purpose of some kind.

 

[Ysala]

Ysala blinked, clearly not expecting such an answer so quickly.

Usually with her people it was a negotiation, a talk about what either side would have to do, then a few more lies just for good measure. That was normal, that was what was to be expected, but it seemed that Myrra was more...honest than most.

She was not entirely sure how to feel about that. "Excellent."

Ysala declared, casting one more glance at the corpses.

"Come." She motioned to Myrra, stepping over one of the bodies and back to the way they had come from. "We need to get you new clothes."

Her head shook. "You'll stick out like a sore thumb in the Inner-City."

She thinned her lips.

"Do you know our tongue?" Nasir was a rebel, but a patriot. She could not imagine he wouldn't have taught her at least some of it.

 

[Myrra]

Though Ysala initially looked surprised her demeanor ultimately indicated that she was pleased with Myrra’s candor. While deceit and lies weren’t unfamiliar to the younger drow the past few months had drained her of much of it.

”Right, new clothes,” she said with a hint of pain in her voice.

Her face scrunched slightly, she had been forced to ditch the beautiful spider silk clothing Nasir had obtained for her. After everything went sideways it just wasn’t appropriate for the slums of the Undercity. Myrra believed she had done an ok job mimicking the fashion of dark elves. A black cloak, patchwork hood, faux spider silk trousers, and a periwinkle shirt that had bioluminescent fibers causing it to glow. And sure, no one else wore glowing clothes but that was just because her trend hadn’t taken off yet.

Eventually she glanced back at Ysala, ”I was just settling for what I could afford, trying to keep a low profile,” she lied. It wasn’t that big of a deal she couldn’t figure out the fashion sense of a civilization she knew little of but it still stung her ego.

”Nasir taught me cix’eyzi,” that last phrase was what she believed meant, ‘a little bit,’ in broken Drow.

Truthfully she had become quite good at reading and understanding the language, speaking it was another matter entirely. ”I understand more of our words than I can speak,” she confessed.

 

[Ysala]

Ysala nodded her head. "Your clothes are fine for down here, but they clash with your eyes."

If he had taught her language then he had surely touched upon that fact of their culture. Ysala was sure of that at least. She took in a breath as they walked, reminding herself of a time when she had known as little as Myrra did now.

"Status here is important. It reflects on your dress, the way you carry yourself." She explained. "I suspect your...patron, we'll call him, never thought you'd find yourself in a situation where it would matter much."

Briefly the priestess wondered if Myrra minded being dragged all over the place, but the thought quickly disappeared. The girl didn't really have much of a choice at this point.

"If you were caught with him you would have faced execution." She added plainly.

"With me, no one can try to harm you…at least openly." There would doubtlessly be assassination attempts. There always were. "You've done well to survive on your own dalninil."

She stopped for a second and smiled at the girl, then continued on. As they moved the streets began to change again. The building around them grew taller, more regal, vines began to thin, and the stone itself seemed more carved than put together. Things became more elegant, beautiful, yet shrouded with an odd darkness to them.

 

[Myrra]

Myrra had been informed of the status she would’ve had in this place. Her eyes had marked her as a member of the nobility, the same eyes that Ysala bore. Though this other woman seemed to have her own agenda.

Did it align with Nasir’s? Surely she wouldn’t be helping Myrra if it didn’t unless there was something else she wasn’t aware of.

Undercity politics seemed so unusual to her.

”I know, he warned me as such,” and it was true. Nasir ensured she was aware of the dangers of being seen with him. She was willing to face them in order to find her people. Find her purpose. And now it had seemed that while she may have found her kind she was just as aimless as ever.

Perhaps more so.

”I am glad to know that I don’t have to look over my shoulder quite so often,” she confirmed as their surroundings changed from low income to median income. ”Surviving is the only thing I seem to have any talent at.

When they began to approach the outskirts of the upper city she couldn’t help but feel a pit in her stomach. This place was so foreign to her. So unwelcoming. She looked forward to getting out of the old clothes she had made due with and into something more fanciful.

Though the fear of being identified as the attacker of the temple felt ever-present in her mind.

 

[Ysala]

"Oh no. You should still look over your shoulder." Ysala corrected with a shake of her head. "Especially now."

She was sure that would likely not be welcome news, but lying to the girl wouldn't do at this point. Her head shook, as thought disappointed in herself for having to tell Myrra the news. "No one will come at you with a knife from the front, but your back?"

Her tongue clicked.

"Subtlety, guile, and lies are the way here." Ysala said with a motion towards the upper-city.

She took a sharp turn down a large street, and people began to appear besides the hour. There were dozens of them, all dressed in fine cloaks and outfits. Myrra would recognize the garb from that day in the Temple, the way somethings seemed to shift in the dark and give off no light.

Ysala guided the girl down the street until they reached the forefront of a shop. "Here."

She told her.

"First you must look the part." The Priestess bade Myrra towards the door. "And as you dress I'll tell you more of my...plan."

Whether she agreed to it or not was up to her.

 

[Myrra]

An audible gulp could be heard flowing down Myrra's throat as Ysala informed her the danger was less 'gone' as it was 'an arm's length away.'

"I'm quite good at lying," she lied. Or at least, Myrra believed herself to be decent enough at lying but reality constantly reminded her that this was just in her head. Bluffing was a talent she was lacking in.

The streets began to change, becoming more elaborate with every block. Clothing allowed her to tell when they entered wealthier and wealthier areas until it reached an apex and everyone was adorned in such finery that the ill-dressed girl stood out like a sore thumb.

It was oddly calming though. Perhaps that's why Ysala warned of subtlety and lies. The folk here were well-dressed enough to put one at ease. To believe, 'there's no way such a finely clothed gentleman would do anything worse than politely disagree with me.'

They stopped at a charming little boutique.

Mannequins with exaggeratedly long elven ears were dressed in various outfits which all looked to cost more than the petty sums she had earned working odd jobs. This was made obvious by the shop owner's disgruntled face when he spotted Myrra, although his demeanor shifted entirely when he spotted Ysala. The man must've known her as he closed his lips and pretended to be busy checking inventories or whatever he was doing in the corner, leaving the two elves to examine what they would by the empty dressing room.

Myrra sorted through a variety of outfits that hung in a myriad of colors. Many of them appeared to be made of the same spider silk she had previously seen but far more elaborate and decorative. "Is there any significance to the color of the outfit I choose?" she questioned hesitantly. She was unsure what Ysala was going for here. Was Myrra meant to appear noble? As a fellow preistess?

"I'll hear your plan as well," she confirmed as her eyes looked over a pale yellow top and a flowing scarlet dress.

 

[Ysala]

"Whatever you wish. Your dress does not matter as much as it would with most." Ysala said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

Myrra was an outsider, someone who did not exactly...belong, but did at the same time. That was why she held so much value. Her presence here was disruptive, painful to the priesthood and likely to her family as well.

Some might have called her a pawn in the days to come, but Ysala did not see her that way.

"As I am sure your Patron informed you, things are complicated here, stagnant." She shot a gaze towards the shopkeeper who was making himself busy, not paying attention. The man knew when to keep his mouth shut, but Ysala's trust was always thing. "His means are violent, explosive, mine are more...subtle."

Ysala watched Myrra closely as she continued to speak. "You are of us."

The Priestess motioned briefly to her eyes.

"But were thrown away." She would not pretend to know why. "Your return will be disruptive. Cause ripples. Questions. Nobles and priests will whisper, your word and story will spread. Doubt will be sown."

Ysala slowly sat herself down on a large ottoman in the center of the room. "I intend to take you with me to Court."

She smiled.

 

[Myrra]

Myrra listened intently and patiently, allowing Ysala to speak without interruption. An occasional hum or haw broke her silence to alert the older dark elf that she was still listening. By the time the priestess was done the younger drow had assembled an outfit consisting of a pastel colored top with extravagant trimmings and a flowing pair of dark pants that were cropped short at her ankles. It was stylish, at least she thought so, without confining her movements to a significant degree. She finalized her wardrobe choice with a feathered hat.

Once it was over she found her eyes locked on Ysala's. "You are of us," she had said.

"So," she began with her words measured, "you intend to use me. To cause disorder? Malcontent?" Her nose twitched at the thought. She had no loyalty to the Undercity or its abhorrent ways but unmitigated chaos meant that innocent people would be harmed. And while Myrra disliked much of her kind, and believed many of them likely deserved such a fate, did they all deserve it?

Likely not.

One hand fluttered towards her chin and rubbed it in contemplation, "I will accompany you to court but," her hand droped from her face and her arms crossed. An eyebrow twitched upwards, "I need you to tell me why you want this doubt sown. What is your endgame?"

For that's what truly mattered in all of this. Myrra was fine with toppling the priesthood or nobility or whatever else called itself "the law" in this forsaken place. What Myrra as not fine with was replacing one tyranny for another, one that might be even worse than the one she had just helped to replace.

 

[Ysala]

A good enough question she supposed. In Myrra's position she might have asked the very same. It was only natural, wanting to know the motivations behind one act or another. "Chaos."

Ysala said simply.

The explanation would have been enough to most, but she supposed that for Myrra it was not the case. Her head cocked, and she slowly gestured to the small jewel that sat within the middle of her forehead. It seemed to dull in color for a second, as though blinking.

"The thousand thousand do not all serve the same goal." She said simply. "Most serve no goal at all. At least not beyond the next impulse."

Ysala sounded almost disgusted. "Mine is not so."

She smiled.

"She seeks the fulfillment of the desires of those who worship her." The Priestess explained. "And my desire it so see this city reborn."

 

[Myrra]

Great. So it was some religious zealot she was following.

There was a part of her, the vengeful and hateful part, that was okay with unadulterated chaos. Let the entire city burn. But then there was the old part of her, the one before she met Nasir and learned the awful truth of her childhood, that felt some degree of empathy.

"Reborn in what way?" the younger drow questioned.

Myrra cleared her throat, straightened her back, and clarified her answer, "does your goddess seek to create a fair society? Or is it one ruled by a new shade of priests with a new set of edicts that just creates another 'me' when something unseemly occurs in the upper echelons of society?"

Her face had gone a bit flush, darkening around the corners from the emotion of it all. She couldn't have a hand in some other little girl being made an orphan. Not knowing her family, not being a part of society. Myrra wished to tear this whole thing down just as Nasir did, just as Ysala did, but for Myrra it was entirely personal. And, perhaps, a bit naive.

What sort of society could even exist if not ruled by someone and how would you prevent those rules from becoming deceived? Bribed? Corrupted? She did not know but at a minimum it had to be better than what existed now. It had to create better leaders than the high priest she had killed weeks prior.

It had to.

 

[Ysala]

"My Goddess does not care what society is born." She said with a shrugging smile.

She leaned back slightly on the plush sofa.

"Ysa'leth's purpose is of ambition." Half a dozen other things as well, but for this purpose ambition was the most relevant. The Lady of Nights Cloak enjoyed her pawns moving up and up, always dancing and maneuvering. Hers was a path of not often taken. "She does not care the end result, only that the ladder is climbed."

That was the best analogy she could come up with in the common tongue.

Gods were often enigmatic, and the Thousand Thousand even more so. Their divine will could change at the drop of a dime. As it had before in the history of their people. "My desire is to return our people to the way we once were. To the way my father spoke of us. An Empire, standing tall without the slums that you and I walked through today."

"There was a time when we were just. When all others paled in our splendor. Even the 'lowest' of us. That is what I want." And she would have it.

 

[Myrra]

So it was just a simple changing of deities.

Myrra adjusted a thin leather strap on the shoes she had just tried on. High quality clothing was expensive but it held together far better than the cheaper stuff. This particular pair of shoes had delicate looking straps that were surprisingly sturdy holding together a soft emerald leather.

"I hold no loyalty towards," she paused and her crimson eyes darted towards the shopkeep. She lowered her voice and continued, "towards the powers that be. It can all burn."

The dark elf wasn't really sure when she had become so bitter. When she had come to despise the people she once longed to know. Maybe it was on the road towards the Undercity when she learned of the sins of the Zaeneir family. Perhaps it was when she saw the smirk on the high priest's face or the light going out of his violet eyes. It could've been when the priest uttered his dying words at her, professing her to be a 'monster.'

All she really knew was that she still carried that hatred. "If you aim to bring prosperity and fair governance then you'll," she gulped loudly, "I mean, the goddess you serve, will have my loyalty."

Having her ensemble completed she stared at Ysala and in a louder, more serious, tone she added, "but if at any point I fear that your aim is not what you've just stated to me I will end you." Myrra exhaled, steeling herself, and nervously finished her thought before vocalizing it.

"I'll end your goddess too, if it comes to it."

 

[Ysala]

Ysala nodded her head. "Of course dear."

She sounded almost patronizing, but not quite.

"Ysa'leth does not ask your loyalty." Her goddess was that of ambition, thieves, and murder. She was not the Great Betrayer, no, that title was held by another, but she was no stranger to the act herself.

"You may do what you want, when you want." She made clear. "Whether it is help me, or sow chaos in your own little way."

A shrug ran over her shoulders. "You may even try to kill me if you think it best for yourself."

The way she worded it was careful, pointed. Though why it was hard to say.

Then, with a sudden firm voice she clapped her hands.

"Come." She motioned to the other Dark Elf. "I believe we have some dresses to make."

 

[Myrra]

Ysala's words were a mixture of caring and condescending. She couldn't tell which emotion was intended but guessed that they came from a place of warmth. If only because it was uncomfortable imagining coming to blows with... whatever that magic she had used was.

This priestess was a mystery to Myrra. She seemed indifferent to the younger drow's actions. Was it a gambit to have a willing hand? Or something else, perhaps something more sinister?

"Very well, let's proceed," the white-haired elf rose to her feet, following behind the priestess.

Her gut wrenched with the idea that, perhaps, her words had been said too harshly. She certainly didn't seek out violence and Ysala's lackadaisical response was making her feel uneasy.

Lower lip bent under her upper lip in contemplation. "I don't wish to kill you."

She followed closely but all while wringing her hands.

 

[Ysala]

"At least not yet." Ysala said with a small laugh, her eyes flickering from Myrra to some of the cloth that was laid out around the shop.

The Priestess seemed relaxed, far more so than she had been during their original meeting. She was happy with this situation, how it had all gone. Their time at court would be...interesting, and that was far more than she could say of her last few years.

Her hand extended gently and she pointed to a few different cloths. "This would look lovely on you."

She said, gesturing to the tailor.

"Something you must understand, Dear." Ysala explained softly to Myrra. "There is nothing wrong with pursuing your own goals. Doing what you desire. Fighting for your own ambitions."

Her hand gently pulled at some of the spidersilks. "I am doing so, and I expect you to do the same. If our paths align now that is wonderful, if not? You shouldn't hesitate to slit my throat."

A strange lesson, but one Ysa'Leth herself taught.

She frowned a moment, stopping and looking at her young Companion. Her gaze lingered for a moment, and then she spoke softly.

"That is not to say I wish it will be so." She looked at Myrra a moment. "I quite like you, you remind me of myself when I was young."

 

[Myrra]

”Yes, I like this one,” Myrra said while pointing at a pink cloth with bright yellow stitching. She gave the tailor a nod as he began getting to work.

Ysala’s lesson mirrored closely the ones Nasir had told her about their people. That dark elves were competitive, that strength mattered above all else. She had seen this in the microcosm of their slums but the way Ysala spoke of it was different.

More ambitious, more selfish.

Not that there was anything wrong with being selfish. No one would look after you better than yourself. But the lack of loyalty, that alliances were only useful as goals were aligned. It wasn’t what her human upbringing had taught her, even if there was a part of Ysala’s words held some truth to them.

Myrra remained silent until the quip about her resemblance to a younger Ysala was mentioned. ”Do I?”

That was an interesting development. Assuming it was true.

”What happens then if you grow fonder of me? Once it benefits you then you’d wish to slit my throat in spite of your fondness?” She didn’t want to admit it but the idea of keeping yourself ‘useful’ resonated with her. Maybe it was the drowish blood. But the fact that it contradicted conventional, human, wisdom made it tough to swallow.

She swallowed and asked one more question, ”certainly you’ve loved before? What happens if someone you love doesn’t align with your ambitions?”

Myrra had loved once. A long time ago. She had sworn it off but she was curious how Ysala might answer.

 

[Ysala]

"It becomes a matter of priorities." Ysala said as she gestured to the tailor.

It was clear that the elder Drow had answered questions like these before. She was a Priestess of a God who touted ambitions to her core. Speaking of its merits was something that she was used to. Though Ysa'leth did not have mass followings, Ysala was hardly the only of her converts.

"Does love outweigh your ambition? Can that love be used? Or…" She looked at Myrra. "Is that love your new ambition?"

She mused.

"Do you think six hundred years ago all that I desired was to see this city reborn?" Ysala let out a small chuckle.

"There are gods who want nothing but blood and slaughter. There are those who greedily devour the worship offered to them." It was they who the priests truly exalted, all for their own benefit. "Then there are those with more...fluidity to their desires."

She looked at some of the silks for a moment more, then glanced back towards Myrra. "The thousand thousand are countless, unknowable, except perhaps to their chosen. Though I doubt even she truly understands them."

Ysala thought for a moment more.

"It is good that you question." The priestess told her. "I'd have thought he had already set your mind."

It was obvious what 'he' she referred to. Nasir's opinion on the god's was clear. All of them would cast to the abyss.

 

[Myrra]

Myrra’s red eyes traced Ysala’s movements as she paced and examined the various fabrics. Her honeyed words were certainly enticing. Convincing even. This woman was six-hundred years old? She knew her kind were long lived but it seemed… mind boggling… to possess that much life experience.

The junior elf mulled over the lesson, dancing along the edge of acceptance but not quite committing fully. Her curiosity switched, briefly, towards a grimace at the mention of the gods which desired ‘blood and slaughter,’ but it went right back to intrigue as she elaborated on the thousand thousand a bit further.

During the pause in Ysala’s speech Myrra kept her gaze low, not quite focused on her elder but not away from her either. She was nearing interjection until Ysala mentioned, ‘him.’

Him.

Nasir. The one who had tried to convince her all the gods and all the priests were corrupt. Strangling the populace. He had warned Myrra that they’d try to kill her, use her, just as they did all Drow. Yet…

Ysala had kept her safe. Ysala was buying her clothing.

”I,” she paused as the words left her. As she thought how best to word the war circling around in her mind. ”I don’t know what to think.”

It was truth. Even if it was a weak confession.

”I do not know my, our, people. The only deities and priesthood I know of are the ones that ‘he’ spoke of. His opinion wasn’t pristine.” Myrra stood and shuffled through a few of the fabric offerings with nimble fingers. ”It seems foolish to dismiss the entirety of something I do not understand. But, my introduction to what passes for religion among our kind wasn’t entirely pleasant.”

Holding a chessboard patterned blue dress under her chin she continued, ”the thousand thousand, what does it think of the nobility?”

What she had really asked was, ‘what does it think of the family who threw me to the gutter and cursed to me a life among humans as an outcast.’ But that was likely too direct of a question, the watered down version would do nicely.

 

[Ysala]

"Child, you may as well ask what grains of sand think of water." How did one explain the gods? How could one put into words what she already knew.

Ysa'leth had given her the gift of knowledge, an insight into a realm that was far beyond her. Yet imparting that knowledge to someone else had always been difficult. Lips thinned for a brief moment, the jewel on her head flashing.

She pursed her lips.

"They are called the Thousand Thousand because there are innumerable of them within the Abyss. The Elder Gods are uncountable. Their numbers so vast and their purpose unclear that many have gone mad in the face of their understanding." Her fingers drummed for a moment, and then she continued. "Most would say the Gods support the Nobility, favor them even. They have power after all, and is that not a sign?"

Her head shook. "Such a thought is folly. There are those among the Thousand Thousan who despise the Nobilities stagnation, their hubris. What they have become."

Ysa'leth was one of those.

"It is natural to ask for a simple answer, to seek out one solution." She looked over towards the Tailor for a moment, her eyes lingering, and then she spoke again. "But it is not so easy."

Another small pause, and then Ysala turned back to Myrra. "My Goddess despises those who rule this city, sees them as little more than remnants of ancient times. Yet she is one of innumerable siblings. Some join her in these thoughts, others do not, and others still...could not care less."

It was all rather...complicated.

 

[Myrra]

Her nose tightened around the bridge as she lost herself in thought. First, a question was in order as the term, ‘thousand thousand,’ was one that Nasir had ever used.

”Is the thousand thousand what you call the entire pantheon of your gods? Or is that the name of your goddess?”

It was probably an absurd question. Myrra had debated even asking it but figured it’d be far more foolish not to. Without waiting for a response though her brain rushed forward with more questions, ”so, the gods are not much different than mortals?”

A finger tip brushed her chin as she felt the need for clarification.

”I mean only that… mortals likely have differing opinions on the nobility, society, and even morality. You’re insisting the gods are the same.”

Myrra dared not ask what she truly wished to ask. What made these beings gods in the first place? Power? Long life? Did they have any answers she couldn’t find from humans or drow or the other species of Arethil? Perhaps that was why Nasir had rebelled. He’d come to a similar line of reasoning.

But, still, there was something about the way Ysala spoke that gave Myrra pause. She seemed intelligent and powerful. Surely her goddess must be more than the infantile conclusion Myrra’s thoughts wished to draw or else someone like the six-hundred year old elf wouldn’t bother serving it.