Private Tales Steppebound

[Vyx'aria]

The wind on the surface was always something strange to her, even after all these years. It skimmed across the tallgrass in long, rippling waves, rustling against her legs and whispering through her cloak. Alliria was starting to fade behind her. Ahead, the land unfurled in untamed silence, rolling slowly upward toward the vast, stony sprawl of the Taagi Baara steppes.

Vyx’aria walked alone.

Her hood was drawn low, shadowing her face from the sun and from prying eyes. The cowl hid the gleam of her silver hair and the slant of her ears. She had chosen the path carefully, threading along the old ways where maps thinned and wild things still ruled.

Somewhere beyond the hills and windswept gullies lay a shrine, not a temple of gods, but a vault of silence. Buried stone. Hidden thresholds. The final resting place of a scroll she sought.

The scroll was said to sleep in a chamber carved into the earth before Alliria was ever mortar and brick. Buried, warded, forgotten. But not lost.

Her boots pressed into the dirt as she crossed a narrow ridge and descended into a shallow vale. Wild wheat rose to her waist. Insects thrummed unseen. She could see the outline of what looked like an abandoned farmhouse off to the side, but she would ignore it for now and keep walking.

Ispir Sione

 

[Ispir Sione]

There in the wild where the wind swept across petal and stalk, untrodden and undisturbed by mortal hands for so long only the gods could say, Vyx'aria was not fated to be the only thing currently enjoying the solace of the wilds. The serenity and placid rustling of the world's breathe past one's ears, through one's hair, the open road before one's feet and the yearning of one's heart the only guides on hand.... or needed. Indeed as the once-Queen's trodden path lead her further beyond the abandoned farmhouse to the lands its owner had once tame by hand there now grew cultured and gentler plants in place of the fierce, wild wheats at her waist.

But perhaps more surprisingly sitting there as an avatar of the flowers and wind itself there was a.... human? Clad in aquamarine finery, surrounded by many of the small creatures of the world, was a human that though grown could best be described as a 'small creature' himself. A delicate painter or pianist's hand would offer an apple to a curious squirrel, a calming breeze sending a pair of twintails rippling about the human's head. The very tips of those tails... glowing?

Spoiler: The Scenery

As Vyx'aria neared the edge of the wild wheat and tougher plants the human would perk up, turn to face her, and blink in surprise at her presence. It was not the hurried, awkward or even hateful shock at seeing one of her race. Nor was it the bewilderment, fear and awe many might have had at knowledge of Vyx'aria herself, one of the Underqueens, the Blood Matriarch, House Tor'Rahel's true treasure, and so on. No in a moment those aquamarine eyes simply gazed at the once-Queen as if she simply.... were.

As the.... human(?) gazed at her there would be a certain quality to Vyx'aria's experiences that would appraise her more of the being before her than most might ascertain. The being before her certainly looked human, or was fashioned as one, but what lay before the once-Queen of House Tor'Rahel was simply an improbably beautiful human. One even other queens of her people would have paid quite the handsome sum to possess, male or no, but no human serving boy she would have ever seen would match the pure radiance, the uncanny beauty of the being that smiled up at her now. Indeed it was almost insufficient to say they were as beautiful and ethereal as the fairest of elvenkind, let alone humanity. Like watching the lovechild of a sculpture and painting a master artist had spent their life mingling together until it could move and, presumably, talk.

With an appreciable amount of grace would the not-quite-human stand, scooping up a cap and depositing it onto their head, a harp having gone unseen in their other hand as the squirrel claimed it's ruby prize. Only for the hand that had once held the apple to pluck a flower and offer it up to the once-Queen. A gentle, pleasant voice would be what greeted her.... and shatter entirely the ethereal air this being.... No... this human had seemed to possess. For the way they greeted her was certainly, undeniably..... Human.

"Hi there, I'm Ispir! It's nice to meet you!"

Spoiler: Just A Human After All

 

[Vyx'aria]

Vyx’aria paused, a flicker of motion in the flowers drawing her eye. Her hand hovered near the hilt at her side as her gaze swept the field ahead. Amid the tall, golden stalks and the soft sway of blooms, there sat a figure.

She narrowed her eyes.

He was small and surrounded by woodland creatures like some painted fable. He looked like something conjured out of a storybook, a spirit of the meadow dressed in silks and fineries. And yet… there was nothing particularly threatening about him.

Very beautiful and pleasant to behold even for a surface dweller. Unusual in proportion, perhaps. But this was the surface. It teemed with oddities.

Still, Vyx’aria kept her stance measured, posture straight beneath her cowl. She said nothing as the male rose and approached with a soft-footed grace. No weapon. No spell forming. Just…

A flower?

He offered it with a smile so disarmingly warm it nearly knocked her composure askew.

Vyx’aria stared at the bloom in his hand, then up at his too-perfect features, then back down at the flower as if expecting it to sprout fangs. She regarded it with suspicion, the kind reserved for gifts from fae or poisoners. And yet, she took it.

She gave the flower a cautious sniff. A moment later, she sneezed. It was not dainty. It was not elegant. It startled a nearby bird.

With a sharp exhale of irritation, she flung the flower away as though it had personally offended her. Her expression soured. She muttered something low and venomous in Elvish that sounded distinctly like a curse on all surface flora.

Without dignifying the stranger with a word, she turned and strode past him as if he were a decorative bush and not a speaking being. Her boots cut through the soft undergrowth, her cloak catching the wind.

And then she stopped. Her shoulders stiffened. With reluctant fingers, she reached into her satchel and withdrew her map.

She stared at it. Turned it slightly. Tilted her head. Studied the scribbled landmarks. Looked around the horizon. Then looked again.

A low, furious sound escaped her as she gritted her teeth and folded the map with all the grace of a woman resisting the urge to set it on fire.

She was hopelessly lost. She started to look over her shoulder but stopped halfway. She wouldn’t ask. She wouldn’t.

Ispir Sione

 

[Ispir Sione]

Ispir almost giggled at the cautious, silent nature of the tall Drow woman before him. Doubly so when she let out a sneeze that made the gathered wildlife scatter in worry. A small chuckle perhaps escaping he would wince a bit as the stranger tossed the flower away and began to stomp off without a word. Her silent, forward demeanor, the way she walked.... oh no. Oh no. It struck a very particular memory. Reminding him of Evaine of all people. A small, uncomfortable shiver ran down Ispir's spine at the memory of the mean captain but otherwise he would watch the silent Drow woman stop and.... Oh. Oh!

Relief flooded him as it seemed like the Drow woman WASN'T the type to stuff dead people into pickle barrels. She was just lost! Lacing his hands behind his back and tentatively approaching her from behind before she even gave a half-glance over her shoulder Ispir would smile up at her when she did so. Politely clearing his throat as he peeked around her.

"Ummm... maybe I can help you, my lady? The surface must be disorienting for most Drow, I've only met one of you in person before, so I can imagine the surface is pretty disorienting huh?"

Scampering around beside her he would peer up over the edge of the map and hum, tilting his head, before affixing the once-Queen with two massive, aquamarine eyes that met her own crimson gaze with an openness that WOULD seem fearless.... if he knew who she was anyways.

"That is umm... if you don't mind a man helping you. I've heard about Drow society in stories so I don't mean to offend."

Vyx'aria​

 

[Vyx'aria]

Vyx’aria slowed at the sound of his voice. For half a moment, her hand drifted toward her blade, the thought of silencing him quick, clean, and permanent flashing unbidden through her mind. It would be simple. Efficient. And deeply satisfying.

Unfortunately, it would also do nothing to solve the small, infuriating problem of her being lost.

She exhaled sharply through her nose, eyes already cutting sideways at him as he spoke again. She had intended to ignore him entirely.

Then he said the word.

Drow.

Her head turned fully this time. Surprise flickered across her expression before she could stop it. Surface dwellers rarely used the term correctly. Most defaulted to slurs, myths, or butchered half-names whispered by frightened merchants. To hear it spoken plainly, without venom or awe, caught her off guard.

Her gaze settled on him properly now, crimson eyes assessing him from crown to boots. “You have met a drow?” she asked coolly. “I would know which.”

There was a pause before she spoke again. “Men who can prove useful,” she added, voice smooth and edged with implication, “tend to thrive longer than those who cannot.”

Her arms crossed over her chest, posture sharpening as her patience thinned. The breeze tugged at her cloak, but she remained unmoving, a dark, immovable thing against the bright grasslands.

Her eyes narrowed. “And you,” she said, tone shifting from appraisal to suspicion, “why are you out here frolicking with animals instead of being concerned about bandits that would sharpen their blades on your bones?”

Her gaze lingered on the harp, the glowing tips of his hair, the utter lack of fear in his stance.

Ispir Sione

 

[Ispir Sione]

Ispir took a step back as the Drow woman's gaze flashed sidelong toward him and he had to admit a small part of him enjoyed seeing her surprised! It reminded him of the times his music would make the most surly or grumpy people in the inn tap their foot and relax. To make the most stonehearted people he could meet come out of their shell made the short bard smile. Likely yet another novelty for Vyx'aria for whom surprising meant a swift death or dagger to the throat for most. Or something other gruesome fate, anyways.

At her question of which Drow he had met Ispir would blink, aquamarine eyes wide, thinking. Blinking. Only for those beautiful features to scrunch in thought, for those eyes the hue of bright stars to dart upward, as he responded.

"It was umm.... Zyn.... something. Zyndyrr I think?"

Ispir would shrug and give the Drow queen a rather naively surprised look as she mentioned useful men thriving. Only for him to giggle and smile up at her earnestly.

"You're really bad at asking for help huh?"

But her question about bandits was a very good one. Truthfully Ispir DID worry about such things since their near-death experience at the hands, or rather arrows, of kobolds and he would nod.

"Oh! Well umm I'm a wandering minstrel! Or Bard. Whichever one you prefer really. Settling down just isn't really for me so I like to explore. I dunno. Whenever I stay somewhere long enough the open road just.... calls to me."

Another shrug. Another beaming, heartachingly pretty smile. But despite their words the small bard's stance stayed fearless. Fearless through naivety, but fearless nonetheless.

"But you don't remind me of Zyn. He was a umm..... assassin I think? He tried to hide it but even Drow don't just hang out on rooftops in the middle of the night for no reason. But you're more...."

Leaning up to more closely study Vyx'aria's face Ispir would hum before nodding. His cap bobbing atop his head.

".... confident. Like you know a lot of things or are scheming something. Given that you're a lady and your hands have all those rings and you're a Drow I bet you're some sort of noble right? Either a really BIG one who can afford to come to the surface for vacation OR you're in some sort of trouble....."

Trailing off Ispir would lace his hands behind his back, rocking playfully on his heels, before asking.

"So am I right?"​

 

[Vyx'aria]

"You're really bad at asking for help huh?"

​

Her jaw tensed ever so slightly at his words.

Vyx’aria didn’t respond immediately. She let the silence stretch, her eyes fixed ahead as though the landscape itself might take pity on her and produce a shrine from the grass. She made no sign that she was listening. But of course, she was.

She always listened.

It wasn’t until he had spoken his fill, meandering, musical, and infuriatingly cheerful, that she scoffed softly, the sound sharp. “Or perhaps,” she said dryly, “I’m simply a skilled thief.”

She started walking then, not waiting for him to follow. But she knew he would.

Her stride was long and sure, cloak brushing against the grass as she kept her gaze forward, voice quieter now, almost distracted.

“I’m nobody important,” she said. “So you are incorrect.”

She didn’t look back to see if he was still watching her. She didn’t need to. His presence was like birdsong, natural and persistent.

After a moment, she added, almost casually: “Perhaps I intend to steal that little instrument of yours. Make a few coins before the next village burns down.”

Ispir Sione

 

[Ispir Sione]

True to her expectations Ispir hadn't heard that she didn't want him traveling with her and two heads were better than one so... follow he did! Holding up a finger to let a bird with bright blue feathers land upon it he would smile and pet it very softly, ruffling it's little head before Vyx'aria suggested she was a thief. To which Ispir shook his head a bit and retorted.

"No I don't think so. A thief would have given a fake name. You haven't given any."

Still she insisted he was wrong and so he nodded, giving a small pout as he crossed his arms.

"Darn. I thought it made sense for a noble lady to not give a name in case I recognized it. I-...."

He paused as she casually mentioned she might take his harp and he frowned up at her. Objecting softly.

"I mean I guess so.... you look pretty dangerous so I couldn't really stop you."

An admission of weakness, made brazenly, a perplexing contradiction to be sure.

"But.... But I don't think you're really that mean. You're just trying to be all mysterious and.... umm... you're still lost. Ya know? So if you stole my stuff I wouldn't be able to help you find whatever it is you're looking for."

The most bumbling, unintentional use of leverage likely ever put into words on or under Arethil's surface. Like a complete novice accidentally letting go of their training sword mid-swing and still beaming the more experienced warrior in the forehead with it on pure luck.

"What umm... ARE you looking for, exactly? You obviously need help and I'm a uhh...... useful guy..... probably. And I WON'T be threatening to steal your stuff, just helping to be nice."

Lastly he would avert his gaze, cross his arms, then mumble under his breathe.

"Like a NORMAL person...."

Vyx'aria​

 

[Vyx'aria]

Vyx’aria did not slow her pace. She listened, but she gave no sign of it as the bard chattered beside her. Her attention appeared fixed on the land ahead, boots cutting a steady path through the grass as though he were nothing more than background noise.

She reached into her satchel and drew out her map again. Held it up. Turned it sideways. Studied it with a faint crease between her brows.

Then she rolled it up with a sharp flick of her wrist and shoved it back where it came from, clearly displeased with it, the land, and perhaps existence itself.

A moment later, the breeze shifted. She sniffed. Sneezed. Stopped walking just long enough to glare at the offending pollen as if it had done this on purpose. All while he chatted away next to her.

Moving on, she slowed near a cluster of low-growing plants heavy with dark berries. She crouched slightly, inspecting them with a practiced eye. Edible? Poison? Mild hallucinations? She plucked a few free and straightened again, finally breaking her silence when he had to pause to take a breath.

“You never asked for any names,” she said flatly.

She resumed walking as if the statement required no further elaboration.

After a few steps, she added, “And what, exactly, do you consider someone being mean then?”

Her gaze stayed forward as she popped one of the berries into her mouth. She chewed. Paused. Grimaced.

Swallowed anyway, clearly offended by the flavor but unwilling to give it the satisfaction of spitting it out. The remaining berries disappeared into a pocket with a quiet, judgmental huff.

They walked a few more paces in silence before she spoke again, tone level.

“I’m looking for an ancient shrine,” she said. “One that was hidden on purpose. A very long time ago.”

She gestured vaguely toward the distant steppes ahead without slowing.

“Somewhere out there.”

Ispir Sione

 

[Ispir Sione]

The eloquent, intelligent and supremely sophisticated response that came with her pointing out that he hadn't asked for her name came sharply, almost instantly as a single, impressive noise!

"Oh."

Albeit not a very confident one.

Nonetheless Ispir would still neglect to do so as she followed up by asking him what being 'mean' meant to him and he would give a nod.

"Well threatening to steal someone's stuff for one. Also for the names I gave you mine and umm.... it's kinda expected to give one back. So that was kinda rude. Not MEAN exactly but not nice either."

As Vyx'aria knelt to study some blueberries Ispir would watch with.... almost contained amusement. A hand slapping over his mouth as his cheeks flushed, giggles barely stifled as the scary Drow queen began to, in his mind, resemble more a grumpy cat than someone who could kill him with contemptible ease. Still he did not laugh openly and, instead, would shakily clear his throat as she gave her huff. Chirping idly.

"That was cute. They're just blueberries. Good for pies or other sweets. Ahhh....."

Trailing off and humming to himself at the mention of an ancient shrine he would furrow his brow in thought.

"A shrine? To some deity or something?"

Biting his lip in thought, cheeks still speckled with faint rosy blush, Ispir would look around for a moment and hum.

"Wait. I mean, not to be mean, but don't Drow have their own pantheon or.... goddess? I think? I dunno if I wanna be involved in desecrating anything belonging to a god. Just in case they feel like smiting someone today...."​

 

[Vyx'aria]

The terrain began to change beneath their feet, the wheat thinning, the grass growing sparser, harder. The gentle rhythm of her steps never faltered.

She shrugged lightly at his explanation, voice flat. “Then perhaps you are the mean one. You still haven’t asked for a name.”

She didn’t glance at him. “The shrine holds a scroll,” she said simply. No elaboration. No history lesson. No gods.

When he launched into nervous chatter about deities and desecration, she didn’t answer. She didn’t even look at him. Her silence said enough.

Vyx’aria slowed as something ahead broke the pattern of the grass, a figure, slumped and still. She approached calmly, eyes flicking over the form. Male. Human. His clothing torn. A smear of dried blood across the dirt told her enough: raiders.

She stepped closer. The body moved.

A rasping sound broke the air as a withered hand shot out, clutching at Ispir’s ankle with desperate, dying strength. A voice, ruined by blood and dust, scraped out two final words:

“Help… me…”

A pause.

“…my village…”

And then the man exhaled his last.

Vyx’aria stared for a long moment.

Then she crouched, not to offer comfort or prayers, but to search him. She rummaged through his pockets with cool precision, pulling free a few crumpled coins, a broken charm, and a small knife of poor quality. All of it mundane. All of it hers now.

She stood again without comment.

In the distance, a thin column of smoke was rising, dark, steady, and curling high into the pale sky. A village, perhaps. One under attack.

Her eyes tracked it for only a moment.

Then she turned back to the path, her voice even as she walked.

“Looks like some people are being mean over there.”

She didn’t break stride.

Ispir Sione

 

[Ispir Sione]

Ispir would give a very confused look as the Drow insinuated that it was, in fact, he who was mean. His nose scrunching up as if he had bitten into a lemon.

"Well.... yeah like I said it's customary that when you give a name you get a name."

At the mention of a scroll though Ispir would fretfully fiddle with his cap.

"That sounds... ominous?"

Still he followed along, a bit wary now, as they seemed to approach something that was... ooooh someone was hurt. Ispir would let Vyx'aria approach first, grimacing and looking up at her curiously as he began to ask.

"Do you think he's de-...."

A hand reached out, a voice rasped like a zombie, and Ispir jumped like a cat that just touched tin foil. Screaming his lungs out as he fell backwards, rolled over himself, and then scrambled to his feet behind Vyx'ara.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

All but hiding behind Vyx'ara in the next moment he would peer around her cloaked form as the man died and let out a slow, scared exhale. Only to wince as Vyx'ara simply looted him and turned her gaze to the rising plume of smoke. Ispir's gaze lingered on the man who had just died. Heart pounding in his chest as he once more scoot behind Vyx'ara and cleared his throat. For a moment he had almost insisted they should help because it was the right thing! But given how their conversation had already gone Ispir instead thought on his feet and pretended to comment idly.

"Well.... the people who live here probably know where the shrine is...."

Before giving the Drow a not-at-all subtle look.

"Okay fine. What's your name? I want to know because I think we should help a-and you'll probably find your scroll faster too!"​