Quest Those Who Walk Below

[Vyx'aria]

Vyx’aria did not so much as blink when the disguises unraveled. She had already given herself away with her voice. Illusion had never been the point. Access was. The rest of them being laid bare merely stripped the room of pretense, and she welcomed it.

She regarded Nimruil in silence as he spoke, eyes steady, assessing. Zathria’s blade was at his throat; whatever contingencies he clutched, whatever wards or guardians waited on his whim, one truth remained immutable-

He could still die first.

Vyx’aria exhaled slowly. Then she lifted one hand, not hurried, not sharp, and signaled for Zathria At'Arel to step back.

“Enough,” she said calmly.

Her gaze never left Nimruil as the blade withdrew. She placed a hand calmly on Szesh 's shoulder as a quiet gesture to keep remaining silent and not act, even with what she was about to say next.

“You are at liberty to hand us over,” Vyx’aria continued evenly to Nimruil. “If that is your choice.” She regarded him evenly, without approval or disdain. “In return, you will receive a pat on the head from a matron who will reward you strictly within the limits of your station and sex. A longer leash. A softer collar. Nothing more.”

She took a step forward, voice lowering, not threatening, but with intent.

“Or,” she said, “you may make an educated gamble.”

Her eyes sharpened, something old and dangerous stirring behind them as she glanced briefly at the tower, the wards, the decay hidden beneath polish and ritual. She had not come to the Underrealm seeking a crown, but seeing the rot, the stagnation Dalrithia had allowed to fester, weighed on her now.

“You would be backing the only one who would be capable of breaking the cycle this city is trapped in,” Vyx’aria said quietly. “The only one who prizes merit above house, blood, sex or shallow convenience.”

She made no moves toward her weapons.

“So choose,” she said. “You have three paths before you.”

One finger lifted.

“You turn us over and collect your paltry reward.”

A second.

“You let us walk away and return to your business. No blood. No reprisal. I will find the egg by slower means.”

A third.

“Or you help me, knowing full well my past, and what I do for those who stand with me.”

Her hand lowered. If she was couped in the past, it was only because she sought to expand beyond the Underrealm. Something any ambitious Drow would crave.

“Either way,” Vyx’aria finished, voice cool and absolute, “the decision is yours. But do not mistake this moment for leverage.”

She held his gaze.

“It is an invitation.”

Nimruil

 

[Nimruil]

"Hmm. Interesting." He spoke quietly; nearly to himself. "You are correct. One versed in the manner of royalty should know the kind of reward they are likely to give. But what would you do for those who might stand by you, then? What would I stand to gain?"

 

[J'rell]

J'rell had followed in Zathria's wake, once again taken aback by her superior stealth. Not only to navigate the strange confines of this tower, but to evade further detection as well, only to sneak up on this ancient mage in his own lair?

He reminded himself not to underestimate her capabilities.

But there was something about this foyer -- something that nagged him. The portal they had entered from had shut behind them by its own accord, double-doors following a distinctive clink. Even up above in the wings now, looking down upon the rest of their group, J'rell hardly felt safe.

And the mage himself; his hair seemed to melt at her touch. A strange flicker of movement issued from the top of his staff, as though it was alive, contemplating which shape it should assume from its dull angularity.

He had seen such magic before, from long ago. And the complete absence of fear in either voice or manner seemed unnatural with a knife pressed to his throat. Even the greatest of magi had to quaver at the approach of mortality. There was also a weird vacancy to him, as though he was only there in a perfunctory manner. It led him to consider this mage might have means against such a blunt manner of attack.

While they debated, J'rell began to scour the room for potential exits. Plenty of glass windows to break, certainly, but how thick would they be?

He was tempted to smash one, just to ascertain himself.

 

[Vyx'aria]

Vyx’aria did not answer at once. She studied Nimruil the way one assessed a problem worth solving - carefully, without hurry.

“Reward,” she said at last, “is never universal. It is always subjective to the one who stands to gain.”

She took a measured step, her tone even. “Some seek wealth. Others seek power. Many are content with protection, or the illusion of favor.” A pause. “You are bereft of the things any woman in your position would have been granted long ago. Recognition, standing, and the freedom to pursue your craft without kneeling.”

Her gaze sharpened slightly, not unkindly. “Those things are not gifts. They are earned. And their extent is always proportional to the effort taken to secure them.”

She folded her hands behind her back. “Tell me where the egg is, and I will tell you where the Codex of K’ail’tar lies.” A pause. “That is the first exchange.”

Then, quieter and more dangerous. “If you choose to go beyond that. If you actively aid me in reclaiming what was taken from me… then you would not remain a tower-bound curiosity, tolerated at a matron’s convenience.”

She met his eyes steadily.

“You would hold an exalted position in my kingdom. With agency. With resources. With protection proportionate to your worth.”

Internally, she noted the truth without sentiment: she did not squander capable men. And Nimruil, isolated, sharp, underused, was a waste of potential here.

“The path you pave determines how far you walk it,” Vyx’aria finished. “I offer opportunity. What it becomes is entirely up to you.”

 

[Zathria At'Arel]

Zathria opened her mouth to retort but the command came first and Zathria's knife came back away, releasing his hair as she took a single step backwards, diplomacy knife still in hand should he decide to try anything.

Her eyes flicked from the mage to the caverns surrounding them, growing acutely aware that there could be spies anywhere. She didn't suggest they move inside yet, but it would come soon.

 

[Nimruil]

Nimruil stood quite still. Absorbing her words, calculating their validity. He absently observed the knife removed from his throat, and adjusted the collar of his gown accordingly.

The Codex of K'ail'tar. A legendary drow wizard who had secured a pathway beyond the Stalagmite Sea. A valuable piece of lore, to be certain . . . if it existed. Many doubted it. But Vyx'aria spoke with conviction, not the planned execution of a liar.

As to her summary of his situation . . . yes, there was little denying it. She knew well the position he had tolerated so far. But . . . could he hope for more? Could she provide it?

So long as she left his compound unseen, then he risked nothing. She might fail in her quest, but as long as he wasn't implicated, such a fall would not touch him. So long as they could cover her tracks successfully. And then . . . if he could minimise the risk, there would only remain the slim potential of reward . . .

And what reward that could be.

Naive, perhaps, to expect the consummation of her grand promises. But a certain childish naivity was required for any breakthrough. And if even a shred of it was possible . . .

But these were all immaterial concerns about his own station. Petty and self-centred ones, even. He scolded himself for nursing them. Had he not risen above such common worries? Was he not concerned with grander things?

Such as the fate of their people. He thought he detected a hint of change in her convictions. Could it be the surface had changed her, the same way its literature had touched him? Perhaps even more?

At the thought of the surface, his eyes drifted to her companions. The two guarded humans near Zathria, the snarling draconian seeming to keep his wrath in check, before his gaze ended on the drow who had doffed her hat, revealing a gaunt, garnet-eyed face. Memory tugged at him. Where had he seen that face before?

He resumed his attention to Vyx'aria, addressing her proposition:

"A worthy piece of lore, indeed. And I see you still hold grand ambitions of reclamation; no doubt involving this egg. But that is neither here or there for me to pry."

He closed his eyes, allowing for one final moment to ponder upon all this.

"Very well." His eyes opened, shedding more warmth, like weak candles. "I shall exchange with you my knowledge of its last whereabouts. I can respect the zeal of a seeker, even dressed in a warrior's garb. As for any future, hm, cooperation . . ." his eye drifted back to Zathria then, dubious. "You must allow me time to consider this -- grander opportunity."

His hand shifted to a higher grip on his staff. It stopped stirring. The door behind him slammed open, and Nimruil turned on his heel, seeking its stairway to a room above. Spiralling stairways of steel in the corners led from the ground floor to the wings above in the foyer, allowing those below to pursue him.

"Please, follow. I believe a map shall serve best for this part."

 

[Vel'duith Voiryn]

Vel'duith met Nimruil's sudden gaze with a slight bow and a polite flourish of palms. After all, the conversation seemed to be progressing from standoff to negotiation, so manners seemed to be in order. She still couldn't quite shake that nagging sense of déjà vu. Seeing a similar expression on the archmage's face swiftly convinced her of the merits of inconspicuousness, so she resumed scanning the foyer, curious what else he might have been encouraging his visitors to read while awaiting audience with him. Stepping subtly away from where she suspected the ssusura plants to be potted.

After his invitation to follow, Vel’duith waited for Vyx’aria to indicate whether to precede or follow her before ascending the cases of stairs.

 

[Vyx'aria]

Vyx’aria watched Nimruil turn away, felt the familiar, reflexive urge rise to command, to anchor him in place, to demand the map be brought down like a supplicant’s offering.

She let it pass.

She was tired of the same exhausted games. Of every exchange turning into a contest of who could posture longest while others bled for it.

Her gaze slid briefly across the foyer, across the wards, the angles, the quiet intelligence humming in the tower’s bones. Nimruil would be a fool to squander this moment. He knew it. And yet… the others were still exposed. Still variables. And the way his eyes lingered on Vel’duith had not gone unnoticed.

That, more than the tower, decided it.

Vyx’aria turned to her companions, voice low and controlled. She looked back at Nimruil.

"I will meet with you alone," She said, "Or no deal. They step outside."