Quest Those Who Walk Below

[Dante Storta]

“You’re a woman?” Dante spat back.

Dante listened as he honed his weapons. All of this was over his head. He didn’t dabble in gods and dragons and songs and it was clear that would be a disadvantage on this journey. J’rell seemed to think this Dragonsong was something to fear, something that could drive a man mad… but they were already crawling through the innards of the world, how much madder could someone be?

“Ack!” Dante spluttered as the wineskin came flying at him, it smacked him in the face and then landed in his stunned open hands. The whet stone and sword were quickly forgotten as he took a swing and let out a refreshed sigh.

He caught Zathira’s eye, held the skin up, then tossed it in her direction. When it was appropriate he’d thank Vyx’aira for sharing. It wasn’t often he had the chance to drink a little wine while basking in the dank darkness of the underrealm.

The Queen’s words were powerful. The memory clearly something she held dear, something she didn’t spill frivolously. Dante made sure to remember these words.

Then their guide decided to cross a line they shouldn’t have. Mid drag, his whet stone stopped. In the blink of an eye Vyx had covered the space between her and Vernutar, or whatever she was called, and had her by the throat. He sat up a little straighter, a small sense of foreboding developing in the back of his mind. Not because violence was close… but because he couldn’t look away from her. Falling for your employer was bad for business.

Then the tension was over. Vyx’aria made her point, and Vernutar had accepted. Dante returned to his blade.

“If disguises keep up out of the sewers, then by all means work your magic, but I am not being tied up and hauled around.”

A smile worked its way onto Dante’s face and for once it wasn’t the mocking sneer, “Sounds like we're going to the city then?"

 

[J'rell]

J'rell carefully watched the vicious display of violence, cross-legged in his own seat. Among drow, it was hardly surprising — but it was enlightening. It told him that Vernutar was playing a cautious game, while Vyx'aria succumbed to pride. He felt a tinge of remorse for Vernutar's poor treatment; she didn't seem quite as callous as many other dark elves, but perhaps she merely hid it well. But Vyx'Aria didn't suffer the smallest slights. This he knew already. Today, Vernutar had learned that lesson as well.

“Sounds like we're going to the city then?"

"It would appear so. We've made it this far. It might be a wasted opportunity not to take our chance, when we can still seize it."

He bit his lip, considering Vyx'aria's tale. To think, something like this could have happened in his confined slumber. The Great Ones, awakened. Could it be a lie? No, she had spoken with conviction and earnest memory. It seemed that indeed, the drow had sought to ally with the mother of all dragons. A terrifying prospect, if it had succeeded.

And now, she sought to finish what they had started. Find the divine progeny, and use it to . . . to what? Fuel her own ambition? Conquer in the name of her people? Revenge against those who had usurped her? Perhaps all three.

"May I ask, Lady Vyx'aria. Once you have the dragon's egg and your mageling . . . what then?" His face had drawn into tight lines, looking at Vyx'aria, expecting the worst. Expecting some plan of furious conquest hatching with that egg. "What will you do with it?"

Vyx'aria Zathria At'Arel Dante Storta Szesh Vel'duith Voiryn

 

[Vyx'aria]

Vyx’aria retrieved the wineskin from where it had landed, fingers curling around the worn leather. She took a slow swig, letting the Allirian red burn warmly down her throat before lowering it again, her expression unreadable.

When J’rell asked his question, she gave a small, almost careless shrug. “I was entrusted with the egg,” she said simply. “That duty has not changed.”

Her gaze drifted, unfocused for a moment, as if measuring something far larger than the cavern around them. “There was… something different about it. Even then.” A pause. “Which means I cannot simply bury it or lock it away and pretend the world will forget.”

Her eyes shifted to Vel’duith.

“You can work your magic,” Vyx’aria said calmly. “But it will cost you. Heavily.” No judgment, just fact. “Which leaves us with a single viable option. The Suulet’jabar compound. Less fortified than Zar’Ahal.”

Internally, she noted how easy it would be for Vel’duith to drop the veil and expose them all. But such a betrayal would lay the other drow bare as well, weakened and alone, and Vyx’aria judged the risk acceptable.

Trust, here, was not faith. It was leverage.

“Once we are near the tower, I will use my voice,” she said. “Nimruil will come out. One way or another.”

She looked back at J’rell once more. Clearly having avoided answering the deeper question till now.

“I….” For the first time, he would hear hesitation and uncertainty in her voice, “I do not know,” She admitted quietly, “I only know I do not wish for it to meet its mother's fate.”

 

[Vel'duith Voiryn]

Vel'duith nodded at Vyx'aria's assertment.

"Six disguises shall be taxing indeed, Valsharess. But I have lived all this past moon under the sun..."

Her hat still held in her hand, it was apparent that she wore her hair not in any house's style, but in a simple, precisely even plait, its curt, neatly brushed tail tied with a well tucked dark red spidersilk cord. She rolled back her left sleeve and removed her left glove, and the eldritch patterns of silver and moonstone etched into the ebon flesh of her hand and forearm gleamed boldly, almost painfully bright in the dark chamber. This act also revealed a pair of shake-holstered darts, adamantine tips glistening darkly with the telltale sickly green cast of freshly applied sleeping-poison. She rolled her sleeve back down, and tugged her glove back on. Lastly, she replaced her hat, ever so briefly meeting Vyx'aria's gaze so that she could see the dimming dweomer at work below the hat-brim, before once again inclining her head and flourishing her palms briefly.

"My luminancy has benefited as an unexpected boon of the experience. I should manage holding our disguises for at least an hour before my embeddings wane considerably. Longer, if the disguises need not be fast against a living touch."

 

[J'rell]

Spoiler: Music

J'rell's dark eyes kept lingering on Vyx'aria, unerring and hooded with thought. His silence brimmed with tension, filling the space of their little cavern with imperceptible weight.

He hadn't heard such a faint tremble in her voice before, nor the brief halt in thought. Sharp and decisive as a blade, she had been. But now, before this question . . . doubt?

Could he trust it? He hadn't thought her capable of sparing a thought for the fates of others. It almost disturbed him more than any proclamation of future glory could have.

For it raised two options.

Either she was a master pretender and veiled her true designs with the facade of concern. A cunning tactic to keep her subjects in the dark about her plans, while fostering trust in her intentions.

Or, she was more than simply the callous, murdering drow regent he had borne witness to in Hollowmere Crossing. This nearly seemed the more insidious proposition. For it might make her appear sympathetic in her cause; perhaps even cause him to lose his guard around her. As if her past killing, raiding and looting held a higher purpose, some nobler aim that could justify it.

His memory slingshotted back to her carving him out from the worm. Firmly keeping him in her grip, on the threshold of life, not willing to let death claim him. It stood clear among muddier memories, pristine; as yet uncorrupted by the decay of time.

People defied to have their moral integrity set in stone. They could be as ever-changing as the elements. An incredibly frustrating trait, when one attempted to make up their mind about them.

Finally, he shook his head, breaking eye-contact. A huff of air escaped him, baffled. It was eerie how much she reminded him of his former charge. Shifting like a chameleon from moments of great generosity to acts of even greater cruelty, and then back again, always defying a firm pindown. His former empress had assured him that all her vile acts went towards a greater good. He had been burned once before by such notions. Grander goals that could supposedly outweigh lesser evils.

He would not be tricked again.

With a great heave of air, finally, reluctantly, he took word again.

"True concern for another's fate is admirable. Especially when done with disregard to one's own safety. And you have risked much getting here."

Eyes raised again to observe cautiously. No accusations and no assumptions. Just a principle he held dear. He still didn't know if she truly cared for something beyond herself, but if she did, he let those words hang like an acknowledgement of such intent.

Vyx'aria Zathria At'Arel Dante Storta Szesh Vel'duith Voiryn