Open Chronicles The Return Of The Queen

[Hebemarri]

"Mistress. The priestesses are prepared. I apologize for my delay in attending to you."​

IN THE GRAND TEMPLE:

Hebemarri sat as tranquil as a saint in the shadowy pool as Kiyari brushed her bit by bit. It almost seemed like the high priestess didn’t even know her servant was there, until she unfurled her wings to offer Kiyari’s brush access to the canvas of leathery membrane. Then after that came lifting her limbs and claws out of the water in sequence, not speaking a word or opening her eyes for even a moment.

once Kiyari had finished however, the dragon opened her silvery eyes and gazed deeply into the young Drow’s very essence.


“Flower of my garden~”


Hebemarri waded through the water towards Kiyari, sending ripples and waves through the darkened pool. When she reached the young Drow, a talon was raised from the water and used to hold Kiyari up by the chin. The razor edge which had cleaved through countless drow just days before, was just inches away from the young man’s neck. All the same, Hebemarri did not stop looking at Kiyari’s ghostly visage.

“How well you serve my needs.” The high priestess said with a smile. “You give me such confidence in skills to tend, and to prune.”

The talon was taken away and Hebemarri emerged from the pool, circling Kiyari as she signaled the robed figures to dry her off. Their cloaks retracted to reveal shadowy forms of many limbs, which stretched forward with cloths reaching further and further until they resembled clotheslines between buildings more than arms.

As they reached and dried, Hebemarri reclined around Kiyari like a cat, encircling him like a serpent.

“But please,” she said, and somewhat hissed. “Tell me of your present, flower. The chaos with succession has left me so hither and dither: I can’t help but feel like I’ve neglected my lovely little beast.”

 

[Kiyari]

Grand Temple of Maelzafan

As the wing was unfurled Kiyari would angle the brush to more accurately tend to his Mistress. Scrubbing, pampering every inch of membrane in long brush strokes, leaving a glistening trail of dark water and scented soaps behind on the thin membrane. As the limbs were raised they were of course tended to, every patch of softer scales, more sensitive areas, were scrubbed and fawned over with decades worth of experience and routine. Then each claw was reverently scrubbed, bristle by bristle, until his Mistress's eyes opened and pale blue eyes met silvery orbs.

That low purr, that intimate name, that familiarity and authority washed over Kiyari like a lukewarm wave of familiar waters. Similar to the waters that cascaded down his Mistress's amethyst form as she stalked closer and closer. As that claw rose from the water to hold their chin Kiyari met his Mistress's eyes without fear, without so much as a flinch. Their chin tilting up ever so slightly to more fully meet her gaze. Their sunken, exhausted-seeming eyes never so much as blinking as their Mistress smiled. Purring kind words the likes of which she wielded as deftly and sharply as her talons.

Kiyari was used to it.

As Hebemarri circled them, languidly being tended to by the other creatures, her inquiry into their current condition was almost surprising. Almost. Were Kiyari still fresh to his Mistress's service he would have let that warm surprise of care in her tone surprise them. But no. She was checking their condition as she may check to ensure her talons were still sharp enough to rend flesh. Kiyari, as Hebemarri curled around them, would turn to meet her gaze and gently hand off the brush to one of the creatures. Trading it off for a bottle of scented scale wax and a cloth.

Kneeling beside Hebemarri's head Kiyari would dutifully wax and massage his Mistress's scales at the base of her skull, the top of her neck, roughly where behind a human's ears would be as he answered in a low, reverent tone.

"I am ready to serve as always Mistress."

Kiyari allowed a small frown to grace their features. Telling Hebemarri what he thought she wanted to hear. Whether he truly felt what he said or not was perhaps unknown even to him.

"Though quite envious of having to share tending to you today....."

He murmured just a bit quieter so only she could hear.​

 

[Dinien]

~MEANWHILE IN LOWTOWN~

Din grinned even wider.

“Sleeping poison… just a dab! You’ll be snoring like a cretok before the hour, I’ll wager…. Oh! Any requests for how we dress you up, abban?”

He took out a larger flask, uncorked it, saluted Slaine with another wink, and took a long draught. He coughed and grimaced before tossing her the rest.

“Yes, I do believe that was the field brew Zai was referring to!”

He danced a little circular caper, then shouted, “Whoo! I can feel my gut rotting already!”

Slaine Aylwin
Theceran
Nyssiel
Alak Rasivrein
Zairyn

 

[Hebemarri]

IN THE GRAND TEMPLE (still)
As Kiyari readied the cloth, Hebemarri stretched her body along the stone of the chamber. For it was to Kiyari alone that she offered the underside of her neck. The wax that was applied by dutiful hands had been made by a unique blend— the extract of Kiyari Wildflowers. It was Hebemarri’s favorite scent in the entire world.

“Ah, to have these moments of comfort. It makes me wish they could last forever— but alas.”

Hebemarri stood, snapping her talons together and prompting the robed horrors to begin adorning her in the ceremonial raiments. It was far more extravagant than anything Kiyari would have ever seen Hebemarri wear. Looking more and more like the draconic version of the outfit worn in the portrait of a mean looking old drow that hung above one of the grand temple stairwells.

Hebemarri turned to Kiyari as she was dressed. “I am to oversee today’s coronation, my flower. The first I have even attended in many years.”

A series of items were then placed in front of Kiyari to preform blessings of sanctity on the high priestess’ adornment.

“And I do this now.” Hebemarri continued. “Out of a trust that this new old queen’s ambition will return the empire to its long faded glory…” the familiar sound of talon tapping against stone then began to echo through the room. “Yet she is acting so childish, and insistent on petty slights against our glorious goddess. It bothers me, flower, it really does.” At this point, Hebemarri was practically swimming in ornamented cloth. With even her face covered by a black veil and long golden headdress.

“So tell me, o’ flower of my garden. If you were I, how would you deal with a queen such as her?”

 

[Kiyari]

Grand Temple of Maelzafan


The wax applied with dutiful hands Kiyari would bow their head in silent thanks to Hebemarri for honoring their attention by wishing it to last forever. Though their expression did not change they stayed kneeling, watching her rise with tired eyes, hands lain placidly in their dark-clothed lap. Watching, waiting, always ready, as their Mistress swam in a sea of clothing of the finest make. Only when the items were presented for prayer did he bow his head, allowing his eyes to leave his Mistress, as he murmured the long-practiced blessings. Softly shimmering shadows would swim and undulate in the folds of the items, framing Hebemarri's form in more stark curves, sharper edges, and while he did this he listened. Always listened.

For a long moment he was perplexed, head tilting gently as sky-blue eyes roamed his veiled Mistress, and of course obedience and enraptured awe was provided before the answer she questioned. To give, feigned or not, praise and adoration at her form such that he could not help himself.

"Your form would be fit to roost before our goddess herself, my Mistress."

Kiyari would bow his head briefly before straightening, thinking, and replying.

"My loyalty is yours, always, and to the Queen."

The ordering given was purposeful, a fact Hebemarri no doubt knew, but Kiyari continued without missing a beat in a tone as low, bored and grey as always.

"I have seen in my service to you, my resplendent Mistress, that all who exist in our goddess's shadow possess weakness. Nobles, magi, of our kind all prepared to die before exposing either the world to a part of themselves, or a part of themselves to anyone."

A brief furrowing of the brow. More than a few slaughtered enemies of his Mistress flashed before his eyes. Their sordid, wretched secrets even Maelzafan would scorn and hurl them into the pits for. Kiyari's eyes would briefly lower, then snap up to Hebemarri, and they would continue in the same obedient tone.

"Of course you should know these weaknesses of the new Queen to better guard her from their exploitation. To shield her in ways no others can. Only yours is the wisdom and grace to do so, my Mistress, for you are unequaled before our magnificent goddess."

Kiyari would slowly stand, should their Mistress allow it, and prepare to accompany her without a word. Ever her shadow. Eyes downcast, prepared to follow.

Always.​

 

[Rae'twyn Suvalissaere]

Near the portal stone

----------

"Welcome to Zar'ahal, my lady! City of our dark mistress Maelzafan. Or perhaps, a city belonging to someone else now."

Rae'twyn swaggered up next to Xeraphine, joining the delegation of surfacers shuffling for the Queen's Plaza -- hemmed in by darkness, by weird, unhelpful lights and stone-faced guards. He attempted to ignore the eerie stares he got from being in the middle of a veritable flood of iblith.

"Well, you seem more energetic than usual. Pleased to be home?" Xeraphine inquired.

"I'm ecstatic, really! Why, the nostalgia is killing me."

She noted the higher-than-usual pitch of his tone. She was beginning to see through the various masks of her drow aide and could smell his fear. The scurrying of his eyes and constant glancing over his shoulder gave it away.

In sooth, she felt rather pensive herself. But it was mingled with a strange thrill.

"Make certain it is the only thing killing us, will you? I aim to return to Alliria eventually."

"Never fear, never fear. The queen and I go back some time, you know. I'm certain we shall receive a royal welcome. But, ah, let's just stick with the others for now, shall we? I can give you the grander tour some other time."

 

[Xeraphine Yldore]

The Coronation Ground

------------------------------

The chosen ground for this most auspicious day struck Xeraphine as rather grim. In contrast, the streets leading here had been occassionally bright, jubilant and full of exciting performances. But as the surface delegation shuffled into their appointed rows, somewhat at the back, she found the coronation grounds more reminiscent of a dungeon fit for titans rather than a place of royal ceremony.

Take heed of a ruler's choices. Every minute detail reflects them.

She recalled her father's words well and took to analysing her environment. This choice reflected a stark mind; a mentality that valued strength over opulence. She could see it in the many drow Houses at present, bristling as much with arms as with finery.

"Interesting. I remember seeing my share of executions here. I wonder if we'll see any traitor heads rolling!"

Rae'twyn sounded far too excited about this. Xeraphine frowned, clutching her silk-wrapped gift close. With its pommel, she pointed at a nearby flag of a snarling, argent wolverine's head against a sable field.

"Teach me their heraldry. Which House is this?"

"Ah, yes, that would be the At'Arel House. Fiercesome warriors and casters, real defenders of the walls -- though they have little else."

Xeraphine nodded. It was a start, certainly. She would ensure he could help her memorise any House of importance.

 

[Nimruil]

The Coronation Plaza:

The shroom had a curiously stringy quality to it. Tasteless and bland. But down it went. A drag from his timmask pipe and a swig of vesperai-tears extract helped wash it down.

His carriage brought him to the back of the Suulet'jabar procession, now filing into the crimson-lit darkness of what would be known as the Queen's Plaza.

Odd. He felt the haze and fog from timmask, and the spritely energy of vesperai-tears, but as of yet, detected no notable effect from his newly-bought Blue Caps. Perhaps it was due to it being edible. It often took a bit of a delay when traversing one's guts.

His smaller vornyx carriage soon made it towards the front, according to his proper station. It would be unseemly to be right at the front with his sister and the matron, Beksesha. That was reserved for her consort and for female nobility.

Now, it might work to his advantage. He could pretend he had trailed behind the procession all along.

 

[Zathria At'Arel]

Zathria's eyebrow came up slightly as he mentioned lunch tomorrow.

Oh, you have big plans and promises. Are you sure you can deliver? she asked with a smirk.

She could tell Xunari was at least a bit amused and Zathria was unafraid to let her friend see a bit of this game. After all, she had heard the jokes Xunari and Vyx made about how Zathria needed to loosen up. Well, she had! Or she would.

Do you have a seat? I think they might frown on it if I had you sit in my lap throughout the ceremony, Zathria said.

Frankatron-X Nefieslab

 

[Azrakar]

Azrakar turned slowly away from the wall. He brushed himself down. His battle senses had slowly returned. He could feel the lust for the fight already coursing through his veins. It was harder to let that go that it would have been to keep struggling.

“Come,” she said coolly, lifting the armor just enough to make her meaning unmistakable. “Put it on me.”

"Did you think I had come to ruin your day?" he asked.

He stepped up to her armour. He motioned for her to lift her arms to slip the first piece down over her head and arms.

"I came to witness it," he said as he continued to prepare her.

"I saw you unbind the abomination they had made. It was quite magnificent."

If the vulnerability had been visible, he made no mention of it. She had fought and schemed her way to this moment. She did not need his support.

"I will not stay long afterwards. I have a gathering to organise. A march down from the spine."

 

[Vyx'aria]

The Tower​

Each plate snapped into place cleanly, leather drawn tight, metal seated flush against Vyx’aria’s form. She did not look at him.

It struck her then, quietly, unexpectedly, that it had never occurred to her he might have come simply to see her. The thought passed without changing her expression.

When the last fastening was secured, she lifted her hands and slowly tied her hair back, gauntleted fingers deft, deliberate. Only then did she turn.

Her crimson eyes met his at last. Vyx’aria reached out and dipped two fingers into the waistband of his pants, tugging him toward herself by it. Her voice was low, almost indulgent. “May the ache of your desire for me,” she murmured, her lips just barely brushing his jawline, “keep your fires burning for every conquest yet to come.”

She gave him a light shove back, head tilting as a lazy, almost cruel grin followed.

Then she turned away.

She cracked her neck once, slow and deliberate, then rolled her shoulders, muscles shifting beneath armor as she loosened the last vestiges of tension from her body. Tall. Grounded. Unshakable.

“Find yourself a nice seat in the plaza,” she called over her shoulder.

Without another glance, she strode from the chamber, steps sure, posture flawless, leaving behind the tower, the moment, and anything that did not move forward with her.

-------------​

The doors opened.

Sound rushed in, cheers rising from the streets below, voices echoing off cavern walls, lanterns swaying as hands lifted in salute. Vyx’aria stepped forward, her expression unreadable, her gaze fixed straight ahead. She did not acknowledge the crowd. She did not need to.

Her vornyx awaited her, massive and armored, its great frame shifting as she approached. She mounted in a single, fluid motion, settling easily atop the beast as the path before her cleared.

Ahead, ranks of drow warriors and mages from the academies fell into step, their formation immaculate as they marched to herald her approach toward the plaza. Steel and discipline moved as one.

Tor’Rahel banners snapped overhead, black and red rippling in the torchlight.

She did not look at them.

Her crimson eyes remained fixed forward as the procession advanced, posture flawless, presence absolute. A living standard of power riding at the head of a rising dominion.

The Queen apparent rode forth to reclaim her crown.

 

[Vel'duith]

~THE QUEEN’S PLAZA~

Vel’duith’s ears perked at the commencement of the hue and cry coming from the queen’s tower. She stood from her seat and tiptoed excitedly to see the fabled red and black Tor’rahel banners leading the coming procession, her voice joining the escalating din of cries as the Valsharess’s vornyx and standard finally came into view:

“Vyx’aria! Valsharess! Vyx’aria! Valsharess!”

 

[Vairos]

The Plaza

---

The umbrals continued their work, the winged imps returning to finish decorating the state at the center of the plaza. Vairos regarded their labor with a degree of satisfaction barely breaching above apathy, then turned to walk away. They were not imbeciles, they were merely weak and overworked. Now fed, the task would be done.

And just in time...Vairos could hear the cheering begin from up the way. The queen to be was coming.

Now was the time to check in on the, as his mistress had phrased it, "new arrivals." Surface dwellers intermingled with Underrealm denizens. No real threat to the queen, if she was worthy of the title, but numerous enough that they might prove disruptive if not reminded of their place. For the most part, his mere presence was enough to make them think twice about stepping out of line.

Nearby, a drow woman seemed to be more than a little familiar with perhaps the weakest, most frail specimen of a surface-dweller he'd ever seen. Vairos would brush by Zathria and grunt.

"Keep your vermin under control," he spoke to her in the drow tongue, a harsh glare burning her way. "The coronation is upon us."

Zathria At'Arel Ispir Sione

 

[Zairyn]

Lowtown​

Zairyn was still half-adrift when the sound hit him.

A horn split the air, deep, resonant, echoing off stone, and the crowd shifted all at once, bodies shuffling, voices rising in a sudden ripple of urgency. Zairyn blinked hard, the street tilting unpleasantly as the last of Din’s murderous brew and the mushrooms wrestled for dominance in his skull.

“Oh shit,” he slurred, straightening too fast and immediately regretting it. “Queen Apparent’s on the way! Back on the job, you useless bastards!”

He threw back the rest of his drink in one reckless go, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and staggered out of the road just as the procession began to pour through. The world shimmered at the edges, lights stretching, banners breathing, but he managed to stay upright, mostly. Half leaning on Din for support.

Rows of academy drow marched past in immaculate formation, polished armor and ridiculous uniforms gleaming under lanternlight. Zairyn squinted at them, nose wrinkling.

“Look at those tools,” he muttered. “Prissy little shits, the lot of ’em. Bet they practice marching more than fighting.”

His gaze lifted despite himself.

The vornyx came into view, huge and armored, and atop it sat the woman herself. Tall. Still. An iron presence that cut clean through the noise.

Zairyn let out a low whistle. “Well,” he admitted, swaying slightly, “the Queen Apparent certainly looks like she'd bite heads off.”

He elbowed Din lightly, a grin creeping back into place as the beast passed. “So,” he murmured, eyes tracking the figure riding toward destiny as he began to follow, “how long d’you reckon her rule lasts this time?”

 

[Dinien]

~MEANWHILE IN LOWTOWN~

“They’ll find out soon enough it’s not just parades and prostitutes, I wager. You’d best get going, abban. Alas, I pissed off my illustrious matron Beksesha and I’m under strict orders not to be spotted past the Ramp. So go on, Zai, go defend that incredible piece of royal ass! Ever Vigilant!”

Dinien gave the shorter Hound a solid clap on the back and playfully shoved him up the ramp toward duty and booty.