Quest Those Who Walk Below

[Vyx'aria]

Vyx’aria did not look away as Nimruil recovered.

She watched him wrench the blade free. Watched the cauterization. Watched the effort it took not to retaliate. She said nothing through the exchange, only listened, only measured. When the apprentice began to plead, her expression did not change.

She took Zel’rath with her as she stepped closer.

The movement was effortless. Inevitable.

Now she stood close to Nimruil, her tall, powerful frame eclipsing him, the heat of her body unmistakable. The scent of the Surface clung to her, the faintest pull in the air as the blood on the knife answered her without command. Nimruil would feel it then: a subtle weakness creeping into his limbs, a soft, invasive tug, as though his own blood had decided to listen to her instead. To prevent him from making any sudden gestures.

“You have not been listening,” Vyx’aria said quietly.

Her voice was not raised. It did not need to be.

“I grow weary of this,” she continued, her gaze flicking to the rod he had been reaching for and then back. “Of drow turning blades on one another while pretending it is devotion and advancement. We are all little puppets on strings, dancing for the amusement of a faceless goddess who has not spoken to us in centuries.”

She leaned closer, not threatening, but inescapable.

“You asked what I would do for those who follow me.” Her gaze bored into his. “I would do whatever it takes. With or without an entity's permission."

A pause. Then, deliberate.

“But that belief does not begin at the top. It begins at the bottom. With how we teach. With what we protect. With whether we choose to break the destructive cycle or perpetuate it.”

She reached out, smoothly, and took the knife from his weakened hand. The pressure eased at once.

Vyx’aria released the apprentice. Then she turned and walked toward the door.

Behind her, she left a choice hanging in the air, heavy, unspoken, absolute.

Guide him. Teach him. Trust him.

Or silence him.

Nimruil

 

[Nimruil]

Apprentice and master alike were motionless. Both quite confused and disoriented; by her words and her actions.

Zel'rath dared to nurture a flicker of hope. Could it be that he would be shown mercy?

Nimruil's brow, in the meantime, had sunk so low it near hooded his eyes. He was reminded of a quote from a book he had recently read. There is a difference between speaking change and being that change. It had been a book on philosophy that still resonated with him; its ideas so far from the conception of their own society as to be near heretical. It had been written by a human hand.

Yet for all their short-livedness, wisdom still flowed through their quills. It was these words that helped cool the embers of his animalistic rage at his injury. Wounds would heal. Maelzafan knew he had lain far worse injuries upon himself.

The old Vyx'aria might well have sought to kill him, too, rather than restrain his hand. And the Nimruil from centuries past might well have allowed pride to take the reins before reason. Perhaps . . . change truly was possible.

"Wait, before you leave . . . there might be some use here, for the shedding of my blood."

Transmute every failure and setback into new opportunity. Take advantage of your losses.

"We have worked quite the defences on Aboletha's Eye. You would need either counsel from Velathina or myself to circumvent its wards and measures of protection competently. And I doubt she will end her stubborn silence anytime soon."

He pointed at her knife with a curled finger, still slick with his blood.

"I could weave a scrying focus upon that blade, now that it is stained by my blood. It would allow me to communicate with you from great distance; and to follow your actions. To increase the odds of your success."

He caught himself from saying our success.

Zel'roth stared open-mouthed between the two of them, but Nimruil's gaze held steady onto her. Now that his anger had subdued before cold realisation, part of him was loathe for her to leave. Had she truly meant what she had said about taking him to the surface? Or had it been some jest in passing?

Vyx'aria