Open Chronicles The Return Of The Queen

[Vairos]

Cheering. Rejoicing. For what?

Vairos could stand by the queen's decision to engage in mass conquest, he could be made to feel alive by it.

These choices in her Queensguard were...fine, he supposed. The first two were obvious choices, women of great repute, heroes in their own ways. The last one was...the worm who made demands of him earlier.

Hmph. Vairos had not been present at whatever battle the worm had. He could not speak to its strength. Only that its presence did not impress him. But then, very little did.

Vairos stood among the crowd expressionless and still. Perhaps one day he might get to test the worm for himself, to see if it deserved its place far above the bedrock. For now he merely watched with a cold-blooded stare and an unmoved expression. No chanting, no cheering, just observing.

 

[Sazalam]

It took five long and world changing seconds for Sazalam to catch up to what had happened. In fairness, he would have sooner expected rain than this.

"What...?"

He was hanging from a lamp post with a cup of wine in his hand and the cheering was for him. For him?
At some point he stepped down from the wall and straightened up. Someone, darkness bless them, took the goblet from his hand as he made his way slowly forward with a look that was utterly bemused by the situation. Had he been drugged? Was the wine spiked?

This was not reality, this was... only one other had ever... and well that was extraordinary circumstances.

Thought's half finished clouded his mind and the cheering mob of encouragement deafened his senses so much that he did not even feel the ground beneath his feet by the time he breached the crowd and began to walk as if mesmerised into the centre of the plaza.

He did not deserve this. His body screamed, his muscles fought him. This was trick he was going to be killed. They heard, someone heard, someone knew THEY ALL KNEW AND NOW HE WAS GOING TO DIE IN SHAME AND...

Zathria's voice cut through the din of his thoughts and reached him. His name, she was saying his name, his real name not the pet one. Loudly, she was shouting it as loud as anyone else, maybe louder or so it seemed to his twitching ears.

The short walk lasted a lifetime and his eyes cast themselves downward and though he did not seem to be able to look anywhere with focus he knelt at her feet, head low to reveal the back of his neck to his Queen. As he had done when he first met Zathria.
If this was some trick to kill him, he would die as he lived. In perfect duty though as the seconds dragged he realised the crowd had been hushed and when the blade did not come and silence failed to turn to mockery he realised perhaps the worst of all truths was upon him.

This was all really happening.

The first words clogged his throat like flea's cotton.

"My Queen..."
He could barely hear himself even over the silence.

"MY QUEEN, I AM NOT WORTHY TO RECIEVE SUCH HONOURS, LET ALONE KNEEL BEFORE YOU IN THIS PLACE AT THIS HOUR BEFORE MY BETTERS..."
How else was he to start his vow?

"BUT SAY THE WORD AND IT SHALL BE SO. BY YOUR GRACE I SHALL BE LIFTED IN HUMILITY TO SERVE ANEW THIS KINGDOM, THE DARK-MOTHER AND YOUR HIGHNESS!"

Unsure of whether to stand or not he waited with bent body for some thing, some sign that he was not making a fool of himself before Darkness and all.

Vyx'aria Zathria At'Arel Xunari Auceus Tyrnael Myrlochar Zairyn Hebemarri Kiyari Vel'duith Azrakar

 

[Vyx'aria]

The roar of masculine voices surged and thundered, raw and unrestrained, echoing from vault to stone and back again, but she stood unmoved at the heart of it, crowned and composed. Only the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth betrayed that she heard it. That she understood exactly what she had done.

She watched.

Sazalam emerged from the crowd like a man walking through a dream, trembling, disbelieving, dragged forward by history itself. Vyx’aria did not hurry him. She did not soften her posture or offer reassurance. She remained poised as a sentry, patient and immovable, allowing the moment to fully claim him.

When he finally knelt, head bowed, neck bared, the plaza fell into a silence so complete it felt sacred.

His words spilled out. They washed over her. Vyx’aria waited until he finished.

Then she stepped forward.

She did not speak as she leaned down. She simply placed the pin upon him with calm precision, fingers steady, touch brief but final. The sigil caught the light as it settled into place.

“Rise,” she said evenly, her voice carrying without effort. “Rahi’Valsharess Sazalam.”

When he stood, she turned at last to the gathered masses, and this time, she smiled openly. A sharp, triumphant grin that cut through the tension like a blade.

“And now,” the Queen declared, voice ringing with command and promise alike, “it is time to feast.”

Cheers exploded anew.

“To celebrate,” she added, already stepping away from the dais, “and to remember this day.”

She descended into the revelry with a confident stride, plucking a bottle of wine from a passing tray without breaking pace. The crown did not weigh on her. It belonged.

As the plaza dissolved into music, drink, and firelight, Vyx’aria reached Tyrnael’s side and leaned in just enough for her voice to be heard beneath the din.

“Walk with me,” she said calmly, eyes forward. “You asked to speak.”

Sazalam Tyrnael Myrlochar

 

[Zairyn]

Zairyn shouldered his way through the crowd like a man possessed, laughing as he went, boots slipping on spilled drink and goddess-knew-what else.

“Oi-Grimn!” he barked when he finally spotted the puca’s broad back. He slapped a hand against it and leaned in with a grin. “I knew I smelled sewage. Thought one of my shrooms had gone bad.”

The horn call, the declaration, the name-

When Sazalam rang out, Zairyn lost his mind.

“YEEEEAH BOYYYYY!” he shouted, clapping so hard his palms stung, whooping and hollering along with the rest of the men. He bounced on his heels, laughing, half-spun, the world shimmering pleasantly at the edges. “ABOUT DAMN TIME!”

He wiped at his eyes, still grinning, then his gaze drifted downward.

He squinted. Hard.

“…Grimn,” he said slowly, pointing. “Why does your cock have a judgy little face?”

Zairyn recoiled a half step. “That thing just looked at me funny.” He narrowed his eyes. “Is that a puca feature?”

Grimn

 

[Tyrnael Myrlochar]

Tyrnael shook off her momentary distraction, nodded curtly, and followed Vyx’aria. She did not speak immediately; there were too many ears and eyes in close proximity for such a raw, visceral matter.

The young matron reminded herself of the situational necessity of what had transpired and the need for understanding and caution. The bereaved older sister begged her for free reign to mourn her closest siblings. Her general’s pride insisted on seeking justice. Her Maelzefanean wrath boiled like a welling madness, clamoring for revenge.

But revenge against whom? The Queen’s hand had slain them and had slain specifically them first, so that all had seen them fall. But then scarcely a moment later, she had named Tyrnael a Rahi’Valsharess, a position of profound trust and unsurpassed dignity? Those were the known facts. And they did not neatly sum up. Had she even known their names?

After enough steps for her silence to have become somewhat awkward, she forced out a quick explanation:

“Many eyes watch and many ears listen, Valsharess. I pray you understand that I may have… difficulty… maintaining proper decorum on this matter.”

Vyx'aria

 

[Zathria At'Arel]

Zathria watched with a smile as she saw Sazalam bow and then rise again, a Rahi'Valsharess. When Vyx'aria declared the feast, Zathria moved to intercept Sazalam.

Congratulations, Salamander, she said, a wide grin on her face. Already people were starting to mingle and engage in small talk, but Zathria had her eyes on one person.

She reached out and wrapped him in a hug before he could object.

Well deserved, she said and pulled back. She could tell that his head was still spinning, but this was no night for recovery or level heads, it was a night for drinking, dancing, and celebration.

Come on, dance with my, Rahi'Valsharess! she said, pulling him closer to the sound of the music that was carrying through the air.

Sazalam

 

[Vyx'aria]

They walked several paces in silence, the din of celebration fading into stone and echo. When she finally spoke, her voice was level.

“Your survival came at the cost of your kin,” Vyx’aria said plainly.

She stopped and turned to face her.

“So did mine.”

Her crimson gaze held Tyrnael’s without softness, but without cruelty. “There is no difference between us in that. We stand because others did not.”

She let the words settle before continuing. “Your emotions are valid. Your anger. Your grief. I will not deny you the right to feel them. You will be given time to surrender to them when it does not endanger what we are building.”

A brief pause.

“But not now.”

Her voice sharpened. “What you carry can either consume you or be forged. Hatred and pain are not weaknesses. They are raw materials. Shape them into blades and turn them outward, toward the conquests ahead.”

Vyx’aria did not look away. “Neither of us can afford to let those blades turn inward. We will not destroy ourselves to honor the dead.”

She straightened, crown steady. “I recognize your value to this kingdom, Tyrnael. I named you because of it.”

Then, quieter, not gentle, but honest: “All I ask is that you allow yourself the chance to recognize that worth as well.”

Tyrnael Myrlochar

 

[Vairos]

The queen finished, as did the ceremony, and she and her new guards departed. The crowd erupted into a sea of festivity and hedonism in mere moments. Vairos exhaled.

"And on to the meaningless revelry..." he said to no one, unheard beneath the roar of the crowd. He shook his head, a wry half-grin managing to surface upon his mien. "...So be it."

And the skall warrior shrugged and turned to find some suitable place to drink in. Part umbral or not, he was still flesh and blood, and some large quantity of alcohol coursing his bloodstream had a certain appeal to him at the moment. Who knew? Perhaps a drink or nine might make him resemble someone worth socializing with.

 

[Nimruil]

“Over the course of our adventure, the Valsharess convinced me of the merits of her cause. So after gaining closure for a separate venture of my own on the surface, I returned to Zar’Ahal a week ago to pledge myself to the Valsharess’s service and witness her triumphant return. At her gracious invitation, I might add.”

Nimruil stared. Another explorer of the surface. It seemed that more and more of his kin sought it. And yet, he had never witnessed the rays of the orbb himself . . .

The ceremony of the newly formed Rahl'Valsharess drew his eye, and bought him time to think, to ponder upon Vel'duith's words. Absently, he took in the choices. Zathria, the ever dutiful guardian and her right hand woman, was a natural choice. Tyrnael was certainly a riskier choice. She had betrayed her own before; she could do so again, if opportunism struck. However, keeping her influential family in line would be crucial to maintain stability. Better to keep one's enemies close, as they said . . . Xunari most likely was an old ally and friend of hers as well.

And then, there was the choice of the Salamander. None in Zar'ahal could have predicted this. Not even Sazalam himself, judging by his dazed gait.

Something shifted in the old, subterranean city at this choice. Like an old gear clicking into place with grander cogs.

You asked what I would do for those who follow me. I would do whatever it takes. With or without an entity's permission. But that belief does not begin at the top. It begins at the bottom.

He remembered these words of Vyx'aria now. At the time, he hadn't believed them possible. He had thought them words of naivity, of self-delusion, on the brink of desperation. But now, it seemed they manifested. Slowly, drop by drop, prick by prick. One manling at a time.

Celebrations were next. Nimruil was more inclined towards contemplation than reverie, perhaps within the confines of his old study. But renewed curiosity drove him to stay.

"You plan to stay, then, and see this reign through? Or will you return for the surface?" He noted the movement of the crowds away from the plaza, but his attention remained intent on Vel'duith. "In either case, I must insist you drink a cup with me. For I much desire to learn more of these surface voyages of yours."

Vel'duith

 

[Tyrnael Myrlochar]

Straining with all her discipline and effort, she kept her voice a whisper.

"I see... Know that I do understand why they died, Valsharess. I do not understand why I was not told that they yet lived, that I might have... spoken with them. Valsharess, I feel... responsible for their fate. They were not yet of rank to pick their side. Once Mother died amid her final failure, in my absence and with Hebemarri out of the City, their obedience to Phaeliss Tuin'Znar was demanded by Her ordinance. Had I wings to have returned more swiftly... Valsharess, know that they would have stood behind me instead!"

She cast her eyes downward.

"I... I watched them often... when they were young."

Vyx'aria

 

[Azrakar]

Azrakar, seated with the males of no house, was surprised by the uproar. Then he realised what had happened.

Vyx'aria had called one of them forwards.

Azrakar joined in the applause. He didn't want to draw any attention to himself today.

He would stay until the festivities started to die down. Drow were naturally suspicious creatures. A male without a house leaving the city early would attract just as much attention as sitting motionless as everyone around him cheered.

 

[Vel'duith]

Vel'duith had turned and cheered for Zathria's appointment - "A'ni Zathria!" - and perhaps interestingly to Nimruil's scrutiny, she was garbed in At'Arel's colors, though the fit was merely adequate, the style more appropriate for someone of the age between cadre and academy, and a stray fiber or two might further suggest they were handed down or borrowed. She returned her attention to Nimruil. The naming of Xunari did not elicit any special reaction, though that of Sazalam the Salamander arched an eyebrow and a bemused quirk of her lips. She had eavesdropped on all sorts of salacious rumors running through the At'Arel ranks during the hours since their arrival in the plaza.

"Yes, E'spdon, I returned to commit myself to the Valsharess's service, as she had asked of me before we parted ways. We have yet to speak of the particulars, though I might suppose that service could well involve occasional return to the surface. The Valsharess has goals of some sort under Tancred's Sun, that much is plain."

She nodded assent and inclined her head graciously with a flourish of palms at his invitation.

"You honor me! I would gladly share a drink and a tale in such splendid company, E'spdon. Though I must warn you, I have been told my skill at storytelling is sometimes wanting."

Nimruil

 

[Vyx'aria]

Vyx’aria was quiet, measured, and resolute as ever. She would not fault a drow for harboring emotions or feeling the burden of survival. After all, she had broken down in the tower as well.

“And what would you have done had you been given the chance?” she asked, “Would you have told them their passing was justified? That it was important to your survival? Would you have found a means for them to escape, get yourself caught in the process, and be up there executed right next to them?”

She looked briefly toward the masses, gazing at the revelry, though her thoughts were elsewhere, “Honor their memory through your strength and resolve or falter and let their names fade. The choice is yours.”

 

[Tyrnael Myrlochar]

“You ask what I would have done.”

She nodded, walking a half circle.

“I do not deny that I would have asked you to redeem them, Valsharess. And failing that, I would have asked you to allow me to embrace them one last time. For me to attempt more than that… it would have condemned all who remained. I know that I have more than my own life to consider.”

She lowered her eyes to the ground.

“They deserved to know they would be remembered.”

Vyx'aria

 

[Sazalam]

It was done.
In a few moments Sazalam had risen to heights undreamed of before. He had always known his place, had always sought to fit into it and now he was leagues from it in a worlds higher than anything he could imagine.

Though still too stunned to return Zathria's embrace he managed some half thought words as their bodies met without malice or judgement but joy and wonder.
"Zathria... you..?"

It was not difficult to figure it out. Zathria alone saw him at the gatehouse, counted the dead and cared enough to tell others. He doubted the ones who reluctantly gave the healing tonic were spreading his accolades. Sazalam had no doubt she recommended him for the position.
Both too quickly and not quickly enough she dragged him away to the music. Pipes and strings that no dwarf or human could master were the instruments of choice and voices rang out in wordless harmonies honed over centuries of practice.

When they got among the dancers he almost pulled away, still conscious of his position, how new it was and how he would not have dared even an hour ago to allow her to take him this far so it was with noticeable force of effort that he stopped her in the middle of the group and pulled her close, his hands in hers and one foot between her own. The first position of the Spiders Waltz but he didn't move yet it was for Zathria to start and while tradition was being bucked he wanted the moment to steady himself. Eyes were on them, he could feel it and while Zathria might have been bucking trends and forging destinies for a while now it was very new to him.

"Let me catch my breath, before you take it again?"

The smile he wore was wide but restrained to one side of his face as if he could literally only half believe it.

Zathria At'Arel

 

[Theceran]

He’d caught up to Slaine easily enough. Wrapping her arm over himself and moving her along with the crowd. The mushroom merchant, whose name he didn’t really care to pay attention to made another vulgar remark and then forced his way into the crowd.

Theceran dragged Slaine Aylwin with him deeper in, stopping as he noticed.. Was a man called to the stage? He stood there in awe for a second. Maybe. Maybe Vyx’aria really was going to be a different queen. He let out a cheer as he noticed a certain Drow Zairyn, looking at another man’s Grimn junk.

A smirk formed on his face as a tendril of shadow snaked through the crowd. It wrapped around Zairyns feet and yanked backwards abruptly, its send the other drow into the cock he was admiring so much. He glanced over to Slaine, “His mouth might be full enough to shut him up. Let’s go find the party.”

Zairyn Slaine Aylwin Grimn

 

[Zathria At'Arel]

No, you, Salamander, she said. It wasn't her that had made him proclaim his loyalty or remember the truth. It wasn't her that had made him not once but twice fight to within an inch of his life to make the conquest of Shay Tiirloc a success.

She watched the way he looked stunned still, and maybe it would be nice for her to let him catch his breath.

They took up a dancing position and she paused. She could tell that he wanted to slow down and she let him pull away only for him to step back in a moment later. There was a half smile on her face as he did.

What, are you afraid I'm going to whisk you away in a whirlwind of endless breathlessness? she asked. She was pretty sure that sentence made sense, right? She wasn't typically the romantic, but she did have a tendency to say what she thought.

They held the position there for a moment and she didn't move right away, waiting just long enough for him to sign that he was ready before she began to dance.

Sazalam

 

[Vyx'aria]

“You ask what I would have done.”

She nodded, walking a half circle.

“I do not deny that I would have asked you to redeem them, Valsharess. And failing that, I would have asked you to allow me to embrace them one last time. For me to attempt more than that… it would have condemned all who remained. I know that I have more than my own life to consider.”

She lowered her eyes to the ground.

“They deserved to know they would be remembered.”

Vyx'aria

Vyx’aria had indulged sentiment long enough. Her patience had run its course. She had known immeasurable loss, both in her followers and her own blood. She cast a brief glance over at the empty Tor’Rahel seats. She knew that pain was unexpected, but suffering was a choice.

Without responding to Tyrnael, she instead held out the bottle of wine she had carried over.

“Drink,” she commanded, leveling her gaze with the Queensguard, her tone flat, but certain.

 

[Sazalam]

Returning her smile Sazalam looked up into her eyes and gently shook his head as if clearing it, giving a short laugh.
Zathria painted an enticing picture in her own way.

"No, no that doesn't frighten me."

His eye went to the pin on her chest, just like his and he reminded himself of his new reality for the hundredth time since it's coming to pass. It was as if his mind didn't want to remember it.

"I will save my fears for another time. Today I want to dance with you until my legs ache."

With a sigh he found her face again and grinned as he brought his head close to hers and nodded, letting her know he was ready to begin. If this was a dream, he did not wish to waste it.

Zathria At'Arel

 

[Tyrnael Myrlochar]

Tyrnael accepted the bottle with a nod, and drank a long draught. Then she handed the bottle back.

"I did not like the answers, Valsharess, but I respect that you gave them honestly. Honesty is rare atop this particular prominence. Vin'ult Valsharess."

She crossed her arms and bowed in salute.

Vyx'aria

 

[Nyssiel]

Low town​

---

But enough about the snooties. You've got your mask on, you down here on business? Ready to stab someone? he asked, his tone with the final sentence quieter and almost mischievous, somewhat more a joke than a real question but you never knew.

Nyssiel shook his head a bit dismissively.
"I am always prepared....but I wore it more out of habit than anything."
He had certainly kept his eyes peeled for an opportunity but the streets were alive with merriment of very tolerable mischief. Not worth the effort to even draw the knife.
The restlessness he felt, rather than any worry someone might truly try to sabotage this grand return, came more from a general inability to join such revelry convincingly.

He had never been all that good at such boisterous smiles or mischievous grins. Nyssiel's face had long since atrophied such muscles for a sort of flat passive expression.

Alak was wise to stay low. Certainly the knife was easier to see with this more predictable lot. Their schemes being for a bit of idle coin rather than titles or favor.

Well, if she's smart, she'll be much more paranoid this time. Might actually survive long enough to be remembered,

His eyes followed the procession with a shrug.
"If she manages to keep hold of her reign we will be worked all the harder. A Queen with enemies in the court keeps her Hounds close in the yard, a comfortable Queen sends them out to scout with force."
The Queen'sgaurd was shaping up to be quite...robust from what he heard. So it seemed the latter would be the case. It was going to be busy.

Alak Rasivrein

 

[Nimruil]

The plaza shifted like a grand chameleon from a picture of execution and iron-clad ceremony to one of warmth, colour and joy. The glow of the streets beyond spilled in, and many of the performers -- the fire dancers, the jugglers, the musicians, the acrobats -- playfully invaded the arena. The city's mask of stone and silk could quickly shift into whatever guise was needed.

Nimruil trusted neither face of Zar'Ahal. She was a duplicitious mistress, through and through.

But her nectar was undeniably excellent.

"Tell me," Nimruil began to Vel'duith as he hefted his own goblet of wyrmwine. "Is it true that they grow whole fields of crops under their sun, and bake bread out of, what's it called now, *wheat*?"

They perused a quickly opened stall near the entrance to the plaza, where a steady tide of people churned past them.

Vel'duith

 

[Vel'duith]

Vel’duith was equally impassive towards the street performers as they passed, though her wine emboldened garnet eyes lingered ever so briefly on an acrobat or two.

“Yes, E’spdon, I saw a number of such wheat fields in a mountain valley. ‘Twas a stunning sight! The grain was golden in hue, and from a distance as I was, the fields appeared to ripple in the wind like water that had just been disturbed. The keep I briefly lived at had stacks upon stacks of rough fabric sacks, each as large as I am, full of wheat flour. Their bread has a firmer bite than ours, and a hard crust that crunches under one’s teeth. And they harness the wind to grind it! Or at least the valley dwarfs do, in a small tower, with four large paddles that spin in the wind. I should have liked to look inside to see the mechanism, but the dwarves remember our wars and raids all too well. In fact, it was the very same village that my cadre cohort raided when I was a girl - why, your sister, Ilharess Beksesha, was its yathrin at the time! That provoked some complications…”

Vel’duith’s eyes briefly took on a different quality when she mentioned the raid, and she involuntarily shivered, though just for that instant. She seemed to register the shift in her demeanor, and looked over some of the items for sale for a few seconds while she recovered her previous mien.

“I was fortunate to be among the company of two Noct Yaegirs. I had considered joining their ranks at the height of my delusion, you see. But even so, the dwarves found excuse to arrest us for half an afternoon!”

Nimruil

 

[Slaine Aylwin]

As the nominations were named, the cheers erupted. The party cheered - Slaine joined in on clapping, hardly aware of the situation around them. All she saw was the greatest gathering of Drow she had ever seen. And here, in the center of the square, there were Hounds and queens, men and women, rich and poor. This single moment defied the austere castes that regulated their daily life. This single moment, they were simply Drow, celebrating their culture, unity, and heritage.

Theceran shoved Zairyn into some dude's junk. Hilarious! Instead of a chuckle, she let out a low, rasping sound from her belly - something approximating a cross between a laugh and a wheeze.

She just wanted to enjoy the party for the day while it was here. By the time the night passed, she knew it would be business as usual - invasion, conquest, and war planning. Lights and colors danced in front of her, as acrobats, flame jugglers, and dancers alike swept through the twilight-coated streets of the underground metropolis.

She withdrew a pipe from beneath her tunic's folds, nudging Theceran as they wandered throughout the square.

She held out the pipe desperately, to whoever would see, looking for a nice fix of pipeweed from the stalls' various vendors across the square.

Theceran Grimn Zairyn

 

[Zathria At'Arel]

Zathria smiled down at him as his anxiety seemed to melt away and she threw herself into the dance, pulling him along with her as the music began to play. The party was great and all, but she was caught up now in just the two of them.

Well you have to save some energy. After all, you said you had plans all the way until tomorrow at lunch, she said.

Sazalam