Open Chronicles The Return Of The Queen

[Vairos]

The Plaza

---

So...this was the way things would be. Vairos bristled. He felt something in his chest, something...was it pride? Excitement? This was a queen worth serving. This was a queen for whom Vairos could fight, and perhaps even die.

While his face remained placid as Vyx'aria spoke, the slightest up tilt of his chin was subtle only to the undiscerning. Vairos approved. Blood would flow, and Arethil would drink.

 

[Nimruil]

The spell of identity-displacement faded. The nush nush abated.

Nimruil was, at last, himself again.

He looked down.

What. Was he wearing?

Cold, grating fear cut into his spine like bone-saws. The roar of the crowd engulfed him, a forest of arms raised in the air, all to thunderous hooting, whistling, applause and shouts of congratulations. This was it. Everyone would see the archmage rendered into a fool; finally, one intoxicant too far for sanity.

He would rather have faced a horde of orcs than this level of shame. Certainly, mocking laughter would envelop him, before inevitable condemnation, demotion, and eventually, execution.

But as he looked, hardly anyone paid any heed. Despite his ridiculous attire, only a young drow or two were snickering briefly at his clothes, before all eyes were fixed on the plaza. His gaze followed them.

Squelch. Spatter.

Vyx'aria was cutting down traitors. Gradually, as he watched their lives expire one by one, Nimruil's nerves steadily calmed and his gaze cooled. He was not to become one of them, after all. Not today.

Vyx’aria straightened, blade still in hand, and turned her gaze back to the masses. “The old sins end today,” she proclaimed. “The era that follows will not be gentle. But it will be clean.”

Nimruil gazed down upon his own hands, and pondered. What sins had they committed? Plenty. Which ones would count under this new reign?

None, if he could help it.

“THY NAME IS VYX’ARIA? LAST KNOWN DAUGHTER OF HOUSE TOR’RAHEL, CLAIMER OF THE ONYX THRONE, WIELDER OF THE CHAPTER SWORD, TWICE RISEN CHILD OF ZAR’AHAL, CONQUEROR OF DHUNBOR, MISTRESS OF SHAY TIRLOC, SLAYER OF TRAITORS, BREAKER OF EXILES, SHE WHO WOULD WISH TO WEAR THE CROWN ONCE MORE.”

As the Voice of Maelzafan spoke, that icy dread from before shuddered down through the rest of him. Her presence felt oppressive, yet strangely comforting. A toxic blanket of faux security, of meaning.

He sought to touch his outrageous clothes, but his fingers went clean through. Aha. A simple illusion. He almost went to dispel it, but then thought twice about it.

A link of concentration could lead him to the caster of this visual absurdity. He could discover who had decided to play games with him today. An instructive and -- perhaps -- an ultimately satisfying exercise.

One whispered word, Ssiks, and a wisp slithered out from his collar, primed for the illusion spell, causing his eyes to flare the same murk-green, and then the archmage followed the trail. Pushing past shoulders and ecstatic, flailing arms.

At last, he found her, thin shoulders drawn near together, a single braid of white hair resting languidly on them.

A moment of puzzlement struck him. A jalil weaving arcane magic? Even so low a school as that of an illusionist? An oxymoron, at best. The hesitation only lasted so long. He couldn't quite determine whether she was a commoner or low nobility from behind, but regardless, she didn't appear to have an entourage.

A snap of his fingers, and he dispelled the illusion, once again draped in the interlinked layers of his robe. That snap might serve to draw her attention, but if not, his words certainly would:

"You have a most interesting taste in fashion," Nimruil said, voice hoarse and somewhat hissing. "At least when you dress others."

Vel'duith

 

[Xeraphine Yldore]

“The drow will become a force so terrible,” she finished, voice resonant with vow and wrath alike, “that the Surface itself will tremble at our name. Let their kingdoms shudder. Let their gods turn away. For we will remember what it means to be feared.”

The whole surface delegation shuffled and murmured uneasily, as translations travelled down through their ranks. Their proud, colourful banners near seemed to wither before this proclamation, turning into dyed, deflated rags.

Xeraphine's eye slowly trailed back to Rae'twyn. There was condemnation in that pale-blue gaze; as if this was somehow his fault.

"Your familiar queen sounds like she wishes to wage war, Rae'twyn," she whispered into his long ear, leaning in. "I hope she doesn't intend to make examples of us, as well."

 

[Vel'duith]

~THE QUEEN’S PLAZA~

Vel'duith turned around, the softly gleaming embeddings visible on the exposed parts of her arms and hands fading as the spell was snuffed out. Her garnet eyes widened slightly, and she bowed her head respectfully, her palms flourishing in greeting. She did seem surprised by his sudden arrival, but not nearly as alarmed as a caught prankster ought to have been if facing an angered archmage.

"E'spdon Nimruil! An honor to meet you more properly. You are yourself once again, I presume?"

Nimruil

 

[Hebemarri]

The Queen’s Plaza.

Barney sat nervously in a small wooden chair beside the empty and opulent seat for the hypothetical grand mistress of drow commerce. He never had been a fan of attending coronations, and the massive dragon was certainly not helping that feeling by any amount.

“Maybe I could just slip out and come back when the crown is given, surely no one would notice?” Barney muttered

“I would.” Responded Quarro, whose voice nearly made the old ledger marker leap out of his seat. “Quarro!” Barney yelled beneath his breath. “What the blast are you doing sitting over here?”

“I’m a civil servant too aren’t I? and the royal section has only got no-name sad-sacks with no reason to even purge. I’ll let you know, ol Vyx sicced me and mine on plenty more.”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t”

Quarro shrugged and bent down to massage his bad leg, before rising again to watch Vyx’aria closely as she swore her oaths.

“The fire in her is different now.” Quarro said. “Even now something has changed, maybe cause of the betrayal or maybe just age. But, standing in her presence, I sometimes feel scared like I haven’t been in a very long while.”

Barney looked at him, his expression unreadable. “I wouldn’t know, unlike you I’ve always been scared of her.”
———————————————————————

Hebemarri continued voicing the oaths for Nyx to swear. Most were frivolous, but as things went the sense of importance rose again.

“DOST THOU SWEAR TO HONOR THE PLEDGE OF HOUSES, THE SANCTITY OF THEIR STORIED NAMES BOTH GRAND AND NUMEROUS?”

“DOST THOU SWEAR TO HONOR THE PEOPLE, WHO SLAVE OR FREE LOOK TO THE CROWN FOR GUIDENCE, AND SEEK SUCCOR IN THE BOSOM OF HER RULE?”

“DOST THOU SWEAR TO HONOR THE PRIESTHOOD, WHO PREACH THE WISDOM AND MIGHT OF MAELZAFAN, FOR EVER SINCE AND EVER MORE?”

“DOST THOU SWEAR TO HONOR THE GUILDS, WHO FURTHER THE REALM’S BRILLIANCE AND BUILD THE REALM’S RICHES?”

Once Vyx’aria had sworn her oaths. Hebemarri spoke once more, the magic of the moment already beginning to wane.

“THY OATHES HAVE BEEN CONFIDED AND HEARD! NOW THY TOO SHALL BE HONORED WITH QUEEN AS THY STATION! RECEIVE YOUR CROWN, O’ VYX’ARIA OF HOUSE TOR’RAHEL! NAME THY RAHI’VALSHARESS, TELL THY TALE, AND LET ALL OF ARETHIL KNOW THY AMBITION!”

The onyx crown was placed before Vyx’aria by Beksesha as the soon to be queen prepared to receive it. Hebemarri lifted the crown with long hands of umbral magic that rose from the ground. It was placed gently atop the new queens head, and the dark magical presence faded from the air.

The plaza was as it had been before. Hebemarri kneeled, as did the priestesses, as did the Umbrals, as did the servants, as did the soldiers, as did the citizens, as did the houses.

Hebemarri spoke loudly with her own voice one more: “ALL HAIL QUEEN VYX’ARIA TOR’RAHEL! LONG LIVE THE QUEEN!”

 

[Beksesha Suulet’jabar]

As the crown was raised from her hands, Beksesha promptly bowed deepiy first to Hebemarri, then to Vyx'aria. Then she stepped a respectful pace back to await the proclamation before responding:

"All hail the Valsharess! May your reign be long and your glory enduring!"

 

[Nimruil]

Nimruil frowned. Then his eyes squinted.

'Himself.'

Ah, yes. Now memory began to serve.

Still, his addled mind swiveled with strange olfactory senses and vague, prismatic flickerings in the corner of his eyes. But he remembered . . . being in his carriage, and now here. Nush nush. It discarded identities as well as the New Queen was throwing away traitor heads.

And now, memory served him at another double-turn.

He knew this face. He had seen it before. Most recently in his own tower, in the company of none other than Vyx'aria, that At'arel warmaster and a gaggle of surfacers.

All of these calculations went by, mostly revealed by a twitching wrinkle in his frown, as he stared at Vel'duith. Then, with a significant pause, he drew a long breath and said:

"I am not certain I wish to know what -- transpired. But I don't suppose you have been to Lowtown recently?"

His paranoid mind struck upon another possibility. Why would he see her again, right after being swindled with Nush Nush sprinkled on Blue Caps? It couldn't be coincidence . . . could it?

Vel'duith

 

[Tyrnael Myrlochar]

Tynael stood, her house immediately following suit. Her voice nearly croaked, so tight was her throat.

"Hail, Valsharess Vyx'aria Tor'rahel!"

She dipped her red-hooded effigy-standard respectfully toward the crowned queen, though her crimson eyes still smoldered with hurt and rage.

 

[Vel'duith]

~THE QUEEN'S PLAZA~

Vel'duith turned back, stood, and loudly cheered the crowned queen, before sitting back down to resume her conversation with the archmage.

"Lowtown? No, E'spdon, not in two fortnights or more. But whether you wish the knowledge or no, I should tell you that you exited your carriage just down there, acting as though you were Vyx'aria herself, ordering people about. You demanded a change of clothes - and so, I made you appear to be a jester-queen, lest the Hounds cut you down for open blasphemy. And then you stormed on down the ramp, continuing to rant out orders to much applause and merriment... What do you suppose happened, E'spdon? Was it some attack by the Val'sharess's enemies? She could ill afford your loss, after all..."

She had pointed to where his carriage had unloaded him. Her thin lips curled in a bemused half-smirk. She was ever proud of her handiwork when a trick of disguise had come off just so...

Nimruil

 

[Rae'twyn Suvalissaere]

"No, no, my lady, pure bluster and rhetorics, that's all it is! Nothing gets nobility riled up like talking about the surface, you see. And you cannot talk about the surface without hypothetical conquest--"

Xeraphine had distracted him. The crown was about to kiss the queen's scalp. Quickly, he raised his hands and joined the chorus:

"Hail, Val'sharess Vyx'aria Tor'rahel!"

Rae'twyn glanced around him. The surfacers' cries were limp as flaccid socks. Perhaps their spirits had doused at said rhetoric about surface conquest. Or perhaps they were merely confused at what was going on.

He was going to make sure his mistress wouldn't be. Let her stand out, at least, among these horse-eating sun-bilkers. Promptly, he egged her on with a nudging elbow, then an indicating wobble of his head and flashing of his eyebrows.

"Hail, Val'sharess Vyx'aria Tor'rahel!"

Finally, she caught on. Typical humans.

 

[Nimruil]

For a long moment, Nimruil looked as if turned to stone. Petrified. Eyes widened. Mortified.

Again, furious calculation went into his eye, searching her little smirk, her eyes, her voice, seeking desperately for a lie there. But he found nothing but easy truth. The sort of truth that came from little work.

Slowly, mildly trembling fingers pinched his own nose, his eyes closing. He needed a moment to accept that this had all happened.

"I suppose I have you to thank for my disguise," he said, near spitting that last word out. "How many saw--"

His line of interrogation was interrupted by the roar and clamour of the coronation. By near automation, his hand shot up to join the celebration, murmuring loudly something akin to Hail Valsharess, still working to shake off his embarressment.

Vel'duith

 

[Vel'duith]

~THE QUEEN’S PLAZA~

“I do not know, E'spdon, but if you made it all the way to Lowtown, I would wager you shall receive unanticipated compliments for your spirited performance for months to come. But at least you are still alive to receive them! Please forgive my amusement, E'spdon. Please trust that were the situation any different, I should not have chosen such a humiliating means of rescue. It was all I could think of in the moment.”

She bowed respectfully once more, visibly trying to force the grin from her thin lips.

Nimruil

 

[Nimruil]

". . . Yes, I am certain it was all you could think of."

The dry comment came out the side of his mouth, but couldn't be fully drained of bitterness. He adjusted his robes slightly, as if to ensure they remained the same. By the sounds of it, though, none of significance had paid his little stunt any particular heed. And those few who had, well -- perhaps they could be silenced. Concerns for another time.

She was still far too amused about all this to his liking. But, caution should still hold sway. He did not know her station yet. Her bearing seemed near regal, but her manner of speech had been . . . corrupted. It was difficult to place it, but some tonal difference separated her from other nobility in Zar'Ahal.

A noble who practised low illusion, standing alone with no entourage, no attendants? Truly an enigma in the flesh.

Sharp eyes fixed back onto her.

"I remember you." He took a step closer and his voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. "Back when you entered my threshold with the queen -- when she was still an exile. One who surrounded herself with ilk of a similar calibre . . ."

"May I ask, what do they call you, malla jallil? And how did you find yourself in the queen's service; even back then?"

Vel'duith

 

[Vel'duith]

She bowed politely.

“I am Vel’duith, once second-daughter of House Voiryn. And I should count myself greatly edified to hear the myriad better ideas an archmage so fully separated from his senses might have devised within the space of one breath, E'spdon! I met the Valsharess in passing. Her noisesome rivvillen were going to spoil both our ventures, so I volunteered to sneak them into Zar’Ahal. And the Valsharess gradually convinced me of the merits of her cause, that I agreed to join in more enduring service.”

Nimruil