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]

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."

 

[Nimruil]

Nimruil halted on the threshold. Slime still dripped and mingled with his hair where Zathria had touched him. It near seemed to increasingly pour with his dismay; but perhaps not stemming from what she might think.

"So be it. So long as they can remain unseen, I do not mind."

With that, he would await Vyx'aria to join him in the upper wing, while surveying the others with his gaze, as if doubting their ability to hide themselves already.

------------------------
In another part of the compound

Klerzos wandered through the glass halls of the compound, humming a faint melody to himself. The scars on his back had nearly healed, not pestering him any longer with pain. And he was well on his way to become one of Nimruil's most trusted apprentices. The longer he spent here, the less he would have to suffer under House Suvalissaere. All the better.

Now to make his way to the House of Volatility, where they combined the most dangerous concoctions. It rested outside the Conservatory on a separate platform, as if the main building held the smaller house at an arm's distance. The reasoning being that should anything explode, it wouldn't risk the inner parts of the compound. That and it had specific wards to undermine a fiery and out of control combustion.

He opened the door to the outer house.

"Zel'rath, how goes the transmutation of Aboletha Sanguina? Zel--Zel'rath?"

Quick enough, his educated eye caught the distinct vial of Aboletha Sanguina, carelessly discarded on the table before the Alchemical Sphere. It dripped on the floor with distinct hisses. Klerzos rushed to it before it could spontaneously combust into alchemical fires that might even eat stone, securing it in one of the cannisters available in one metal ring composing the grand sphere. It was unlike Zel'rath to show so little prudence. And where even was he?

He heard muffled cries and someone stirring next to the door. There he found Zel'rath in his dark-green apprentice robes, on the floor, struggling against improvised restraints; and a cloth gagged in his mouth.

"Maelzafan's breath!"

A moment of hesitation, of calculation overcame Klerzos. If he assisted now, he might be implicated in whatever blunder Zel'rath had found himself in. He might join his failure. But at this point, his fellow apprentice had seen him. It would be even more negligent to ignore something like this, the clear presence of intruders -- unless Zel'rath had taken to binding himself with leather straps lately.

Soon enough, Klerzos extricated him, and as soon as he could speak, he blurted out:

"Intruders! Intruders are here. We must warn the archmage--"

"Slow down. Who were they?"

"I -- I don't know! I've never seen them before. They asked me to bring them to Master Nimruil, but I told them, I do not have the authority. Then they bound me here, as you see! A handsome female and two ugly -- iblith, I think. One as pale as chalk, the other black as onyx. They -- they lay their dirty hands on me, Klerzos! Those slaves of hers--"

He was flustered; perhaps more from the indignity of having been manhandled by a pair of surface slaves than anything else. Klerzos couldn't help but note the word handsome either. He wondered if Zel'rath would have even complained if it had been her alone. Apprentices didn't have much time for frivolty. Perhaps Zel'rath was covering up for the arrival of a secret lover?

But no, such an affair would not involve iblith. Strange.

"What are we to do?" Zel'rath said. Klerzos flicked determinate eyes on him. He had already tasted the lash of a scourge not too long ago. He was determined not to be the one to suffer punishment again. His hand landed on his colleague's shoulder.

"Go and warn the archmage. I shall pursue them."

"You?" Zel'rath spluttered again; this time with mocking indignity. Klerzos noted it with a hidden disdain of his own. "What could you do? She was trained in the Academy of Warriors, I could tell."

"I need to practise my invisibility spell, regardless," Klerzos mumbled. "Which way did they go?"

As Zel'rath pointed out the way -- the path leading out to the balcony that connected the Umber Foyer with the House of Volatility -- Klerzos nodded briskly. He muttered a brief incantation; gestured in the manner he had been trained, and his dark-green robes bled away, leaving him to be no more than a transparent silhouette, rippling ever so faintly with each movement. So long as he moved cautiously, quietly . . . especially after wearing his lightstep boots, he ought to be able to trust in his spellwoven stealth.

"Should we tell the others?"

"No," Klerzos replied. "What, you want them to take the glory of saving the compound? This could mean a promotion for the both of us, Zel'rath, if we aid in their capture. But I must first find out who they are. You warn Nimruil. I'll track them."

"Darkness guide you."

"And you, brother. And you."

Klerzos left him; his slow, malignant smirk spreading invisibly.

This couldn't be a coincidence. Oh, he had caught his master reading much surface garbage in his books; even heard him practising tongues one would never need in the Underrealm. And now, there were surface filth here, in the compound, uninvited? That could hardly be a coincidence. No . . . his master's questionable ties with the world above had gotten the better of him, and he had invited foreigners here, or they had invited themselves to his home.

It wouldn't even surprise him if Nimruil already knew of their presence. That dusty corpse of a drow knew far more than was good for him; only to be unaware of simple housebreakers? Klerzos couldn't believe that. No, more likely, this was another curious feat of eccentricity on the part of his master, another unbridled experiment -- one that he would no doubt wish to keep quiet. Perhaps the gagging and binding of his fellow apprentice had been an unforeseen circumstance? In either case, the archmage couldn't afford to let such news slip. And if anyone were to be silenced; let it be Zel'rath.

It would be the scandal of Zar'ahal. Perhaps the scandal that would see Nimruil robbed of his position, even. And who might step into his place? Who knew better the machinations and trade agreements he had secured? His closest assistant, of course. Klerzos.

If he played his cards right, this could be the opportunity of his life. It was about time the old lizard should step down, and make way for new leadership.

 

[Vel'duith]

Vel’duith quickly spoke in a soft voice.

“A’ni Zathria - The queen’s life depends now upon our stealth. I believe there is a recessed pathway behind the tower on the route you likely took, with a sheer drop off? If the co'nbluth can stay reasonably silent long enough to get there, I can mask our passage once we are a few steps outside the tower. Nimruil will know if we are spotted, and he would surely abandon the accord in such event to save his own skin.”

 

[Zathria At'Arel]

Zathria stood at the ready and when Vyx said she would go in alone, leaving Zathria on the outside it was like a punch to the gut. She was going to be on the outside, treated like some hired thug. It wounded Zathria in a way that although it wasn't said aloud, only Vyx - who knew her better than anyone - would be able to see the look of hurt flash across her face before she locked it back down, the commander's mask fixing itself in place again, the subtle clenching of her jaw that would be unnoticed by anyone else.

And then her mind turned to Vyx'aria alone inside with that serpent. She knew that Vyx was no babe in the woods, but Zathria wouldn't be there. This louse was likely as not to betray her and Zathria was out here.

The trickster was suddenly there, interrupting Zathria's thoughts. She wondered if this woman was scheming with the serpent, mind quickly racing through a dozen scenarios before deciding that it was time to lock in again. Whatever emotions, frustration, or betrayal she felt, she had a job to do, and she would get it done. That was who she was: reliable as the rising sun.

Yes, we'll make for the overhang, she agreed, leading the group down the stairs and around the aforementioned underpass. She did feel a measure of relief returning to the concealment of an outcropping. It had been drilled into her that the open was death, and they had been far, far too exposed for her liking on the steps.

She settled into a crouch back from the edge, her eyes sweeping to the other side of the ledge and the back up route of a escape should someone try to come down here from the main route. A heavy slope downward on the left ran off into another tunnel, the exact destination of which was unclear, but from the looks of things, it had been at least somewhat worn with use.

If Zathria had to guess, it was a route used by students to sneak things in and out of the tower - mostly lovers probably - that they were forbidden from having inside.

She fought to keep her thoughts from turning inward, clearly distracted and further angry with herself for being distracted. It was an unpleasant vicious cycle and she stuffed a piece of darb root into her cheek and began to chew. The minty flavor and the perpetual motion of her jaw helped her to relax. Normally a pre-battle ritual for her, it also served as a means to activate those parts of her mind that needed to be on when danger was present. It pulled her out of her own thoughts and back into the dangers of their situation.

If anyone needs food or drink or other bodily functions, now's the time to take care of it, she said, offering around a pack of jerky to anyone who wanted it. Whatever else, she knew the importance of keeping a team in fighting shape, especially when in enemy territory. She needed everyone at their sharpest.

Vel'duith Voiryn Szesh Dante Storta J'rell

 

[Vel'duith]

Once outside and out of the magic-sapping sussurra field, Vel’duith put an illusion of empty courtyard with the chasm beyond between them and the nearest guard post. Then she took up the rear as they filed down the stairs. She stooped to drop a generous amount of black sand across the first few steps of the descending path, to give herself a subtle auditory warning of any approach. Then she applied a strong dose of sleeping poison to a crossbow bolt.

And she waited, leaned somewhat comfortably against the outcropping behind her, hand crossbow in hand, just far enough around the first corner to be out of sight from the stairs coming down to the overhang.

She smiled at the scent of darb root being chewed, recalling a quite pleasant memory of an impromptu tangle of tongues, followed by a very hard, urgent slap of her behind, and…. She quickly shook it away. Not the time or place! -she inwardly scolded.

 

[Vyx'aria]

Vyx’aria did not look back as the others withdrew. She trusted them to manage. Zathria’s ferocity and Vel’duith’s ingenuity were more than enough to keep the rest alive and unseen. If trouble came, it would not come quietly.

She moved to Nimruil’s side, closing the distance at last. The difference in their frames became apparent then, her broad, muscled silhouette eclipsing his shorter and frailer form, but she did not loom, did not crowd him. She simply stood there, present, allowing him the courtesy of the lead.

Her gaze flicked once to the slime in his hair, unreadable, then forward again. She spoke as they began to walk.

“Have you ever been to the Surface?”

Nimruil

 

[Nimruil]

There was an unreadable pause before his reply, as they traversed the staircase. A moment of hesitation that could have been anything from irritation, regret or being caught flat-footed by the question.

"Never," Nimruil answered curtly. Much more of a reply lay in the following silence; as if he had more to add, but refrained from doing so.

They ended in an oval room. Hovering above, something like a grand armiliary sphere slowly churned and moved its metal rings by some arcane means. Crescent-shaped bookshelves lined the walls, like the literary membrane of an egg. And in the center, below the iron sphere hanging like a chandelier, emitting light from studded gemstones rather than candles, bristled a table of strange, wavy shapes. Zurkhwood seemed to have a life of its own, even when fashioned into furniture. The table could be pulled apart and separated, but currently formed a mostly circular and whole pattern.

Behind it sat a near identical shape to Nimruil. As they came further before it, it was, in fact, clearly Nimruil. Or someone posing as him. Still wearing the same white gown; still sunken over himself like a withered, crumpled cloth wrung too many times.

The Nimruil next to Vyx'aria turned and opened his mouth, as if he wished to speak some departing words or final pearls of wisdom. He never got to. Instead, holes cracked in his forehead, his neck disentigrated, and his form collapsed unto itself, quickly rendered into a dissolving, sizzling puddle of slime and green goo. The archmage liquified before her eyes, one crumbling arm raised as if seeking aid, seeking to prolong his limited existence.

The imposter opened his hand languidly. The staff once held by the other zoomed through the air, smacking his palm with a wet slap. A murk-green wisp released itself from the puddle that had once spoken to her, flying over to hover around its master like an orbiting celestial body.

"But I should like to see it one day," the second Nimruil continued, as if simply carrying on their conversation. He extended a hand at the table, where he had indeed produced a map of the Underrealm. Chairs shaped from the similarly strange and warped Zurkhwood crowded it. "Please."

 

[Vyx'aria]

Vyx’aria did not flinch when the Nimruil beside her failed. The faint leak had been there, but it had not caused alarm beyond mild curiosity. When the false body collapsed into slick ruin at her feet, she merely watched it dissolve, unbothered.

Then she looked to the real Nimruil.

A rare smile touched her lips. Brief, but genuine.

“You have perfected your craft,” she said calmly. “I could not even smell the decoy.”

She crossed the room without ceremony, but she politely declined taking a seat. Her eyes moved over the map, tracing its contours without touching it.

For a long moment, she said nothing.

“The Surface,” Vyx’aria said at last, voice quieter, reflective rather than bitter, “can be unforgiving in its own way. It offers the illusion of freedom first. Only later does it demand payment.”

She glanced over to meet his gaze.

“I did not hide in some forgotten crevice of the Underrealm during my exile,” she confessed. “I lived above. The entire time.”

Another pause. Then she looked at the map again, the softness gone, focus returning.

“Tell me what you know,” Vyx’aria said evenly. “About the egg. About Velathina.”

Nimruil

 

[Nimruil]

The archmage watched her carefully; never swaying or altering in his gaze. His eyes burned with some pale fire of their own, curiosity or intense scrutiny, perhaps; like distant beacons deep within caverns of dull pain. Something of a weird little smile tugged the corners of his lips, mirorring her expression; particularly at the compliment to his craft. Experience might hone temperance, but even an old mage couldn't help but appreciate a savant review of their work.

At this range, the light caught a bit of the gold near the back of his neck, disappearing below his gown. The artificial spine bulged faintly below the cloth, particularly when he leaned forward in his listening.

He did not respond to her experiences of the surface. However, envy touched him with its clammy claw. A feeling he hadn't experienced in a while. For all his studies, she might as well have talked about an entirely different world; as alien to him as the stars.

“Tell me what you know,” Vyx’aria said evenly. “About the egg. About Velathina.”

His lightly trembling finger traversed the map, going southeast from Zar'Ahal.

"Velathina suspected that others might seek the egg. There are not many places in the Underrealm safe from the wrath of Zar'Ahal and its clergy. But the Stalagmite Sea presents a problem for our cadres . . ."

His finger ended on an island, noted as Aboletha's Eye.

"We have never been a seafaring folk. And even the priestesses have the good sense to fear what lurks in the boundless depths of Tirloc Qu'mados; especially near the Eye."

Spoiler: The Map

 

[Vyx'aria]

Vyx’aria stiffened when he spoke Velathina’s name with familiarity.

So he had met her.

Velathina had been many things, but careless was not one of them. She did not confide lightly, nor entrust dangerous truths to those she had not weighed and measured. If she had shared even a fragment of this with Nimruil, then he was more than a tower-bound academic playing at relevance.

That realization settled heavily. Vyx’aria’s gaze remained on the map, following the line of his finger until it reached the island marked Aboletha’s Eye. She studied it in silence, the room filled only by the soft motion of the armillary above them.

“At least she chose well,” Vyx’aria murmured at last. “The sea terrifies Zar’Ahal for good reason.”

She straightened slightly. “We have someone with us who can fly.” Her tone was practical, already turning the problem over. “If need be, he could carry the smallest of us to the island. Fewer bodies. Less chance of drawing what sleeps beneath the water.”

Risky. Yes. But perhaps less so than sending an entire party across waters that even priestesses feared.

She was quiet again for a moment, fingers resting against the edge of the table. Then she looked up at Nimruil.

Her voice softened, just enough to betray how much effort it took to keep it steady.

“Is Velathina alive?”

For the first time since entering the tower, Vyx’aria did not mask what the question cost her. The restraint in her expression was iron-tight, as though any further crack would let something dangerous spill free.

Nimruil

 

[Nimruil]

"That I do not know. I lost contact with her about a year ago. But to the best of my knowledge, she should still be on that island. She was determined to see her work through and allow the egg to hatch. Aboletha's Eye was believed to hold the ideal characteristics for such a fruition; since we struggled to achieve this process here."

There were more things left unsaid. An opportunistic intensity to his eye, a dark bitterness to his tone. What arguments had passed between the two magi; what sort of strange compromise could lead to this distant island?

-------

Vel'duith's sand soon crunched below a shoe; followed by a faint mutter of a curse.

 

[Vel'duith]

Vel’duith rolled neatly around the corner into a crossbow shot, whizzing just past the invisible apprentice’s neck. Her free hand followed through, tossing a handful of sand toward him, giving the others something of an outline to aim at. An outline raising a wand…

Dante Storta
Szesh
@J’rell
Zathria At'Arel

 

[Vyx'aria]

She absorbed his words in stillness, eyes lingering on the map as if it might contradict him. Internally, she dismissed the image of Velathina lingering on some forsaken island, hovering over an egg like a martyr. That had never been her way. Velathina was efficient and ruthless when needed. She would have ensured the egg’s safety, delegated its tending to some expendable male, and moved on to the next necessary task. Sacrifice was for the sentimental. Survival was for the clever.

Vyx’aria inclined her head once. “The codex lies beneath the Virexian Quarter in the city,” Vyx’aria said calmly. “In the old spell-vaults sealed when Dalrithia reordered the city. Most believe them collapsed. They are not.”

She glanced toward the exit.

“If your intelligence proves accurate,” she said evenly, “I will also tell you how to bypass the obstacle woven through those vaults.” A faint emphasis there. “It is not a simple ward. Without knowing the sequence,” Vyx’aria said, “the codex remains unreachable. Even to someone of your talent.”

She turned to go, steps unhurried, already withdrawing from the chamber and its living walls. Then she stopped.

Slowly, she looked back over her shoulder at him.

“Or,” Vyx’aria added, voice quiet and deliberate, “I could take you to the Surface.”

Nimruil

 

[Zathria At'Arel]

Zathria had no idea who had crept down to their under-hang, but it was bad news. She sat bolt upright, rolling onto her side and scrambling to get her feet under her as a being got a staff or wand or the like into place.

Her left hand game flying up and unleashed an unexpected bolt of kinetic energy, sending the being catapulting back and crashing over the edge of the overhang. There was a loud scream that grew more and more distant as whoever that was went hurtling over the edge and to a rocky, violent death below.

Ah crap, Zathria hissed. It had all been instinct and she hadn't really intended to yeet the man right over the edge and into oblivion.

Whoops. Anyone with any idea who he was? she asked, not holding her breath. She fully expected it would be complaints about her killing him before they could question him, but it wasn't her fault that she was trained to be really good at killing people. Sometimes it just happened, okay?

J'rell Dante Storta Szesh Vel'duith Voiryn

 

[Vel'duith]

Vel’duith shot out her arm, trying to levitate him, but he was already too far away. She raised an illusion of an empty ledge before them, in case guards came to investigate the yell. She started to sign, but stopped-it would be better for the others to hear and not panic or overreact. Her voice was soft and precise, and she turned immediately back to watch the path toward the nearest guard tower for signs of activity, glad that the sound led somewhat backward away from their ledge, but still vigilant.

“He was invisible, A’ni, so an apprentice of the archwizard. And already aware of us, otherwise, why be invisible? Did you encounter anyone when you entered the tower?”

Dante Storta
@J’rell
Szesh
Zathria At'Arel

 

[Nimruil]

It was a long fall. Klerzos Suvalissaere soon found that the best laid plans could easily backfire; and in this case, catapult one over the edge. His grand ambitions plummeted with his screaming shape.

But he was not the only creature about. The glass guardian had been intended to protect him, but alas, the student had crept ahead of his precaution in his eager haste to uncover the latest scandal of the compound. It soon crunched across the sand as well, with sleek lethality, briefly highlighted by Vel'duith's flung sand.

As a result, the guardian now acted without its controller; the master it was intended to safeguard. As one of the glass guardians that Klerzos had pilfered from its appointed station, it now acted simply upon the hostile actions taken against its charge.

It attacked.

Standing about the same size and height as the two drow, it sported a bipedal form, composed of two arms and legs, even a face of perfect neutrality for those who could spot it. But these details were difficult to see. Its transparent hide refracted the light and reflected its environment in ways that rendered it nearly as invisible as the flung student. Razor-sharp claws of glass and powerful legs propelled it forward with all the speed of a pouncing spider.

Spoiler: Glass Guardian Reference

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Stunned by the offer, Nimruil opened his mouth to answer. But a knock on the door interrupted them.

"Master Nimruil, are you in there?"

Even muffled by the door, the palpable anxiety of the student carried on through. Nimruil's eyes squinted, glancing at Vyx'aria. His hand reached below the table, fishing out something from beneath it . . .

 

[Vyx'aria]

Vyx’aria stiffened at the knock. For a split second, her thoughts went to the others. What happened? The question barely had time to form before her gaze snapped back to Nimruil.

She saw his hand move.

Anger surged. Cold, immediate, absolute.

Vyx’aria did not speak. She did not warn.

One of her daggers was suddenly airborne, a silver blur cutting the space between them. The intent was to drive clean through Nimruil’s hand and pin it to the wooden chair beside the table with a wet, splintering crack before he could reach whatever waited beneath.

She stared at him, eyes blazing, every inch of her controlled composure gone, replaced by something far older and far more dangerous. She opened the door and grabbed the student by the throat.

“I have been honest with you,” she said to Nimruil, voice low and furious. “I have offered you truth, leverage, and opportunity.”

She took a step closer, boots heavy against the floor, dragging the student with her.

“And still,” Vyx’aria growled, “you test me.”

Nimruil

 

[Nimruil]

Spoiler: Music

Shnk, pierce, squelch.

Knife penetrated through hand and chair. The rod clattered on the floor, purple glow sputtering from its obsidian head. Gnarled with the shapes of miniature arms, chests and other humanoid figures composed its sculpted iron, like malformed figures seeking escape, carrying aloft a glowing, purple crystal.

A long hiss of pain escaped the archmage, turning into a growl of deep anger. The apprentice, Zel'rath, squirmed in Vyx'aria's grasp, eyes wide with disbelief at being grappled by another female.

"Master? Master, help! The intruders--but intruders are in here, I saw another, a female -- I don't understand!"

"Be silent." Nimruil wrenched the blade free, blood oozing from his hand on the floor. He bent over himself, hefting it in his other hand, muttering a quick incantation; and the wisp that had orbited him zipped down with heat, cauterising the wound.

The pain was astonishing. It near made him forget the other aches and pains he was suffering today.

Biting through his own shout of agony and desire for revenge, Nimruil wheezed, looking up at Vyx'aria sharply; sweat rather than slime perspiring his brow. It took every ounce of willpower to restrain himself from unleashing retribution. But that would be short-sighted. It would reduce his efforts here to nothing, and the incredible serendipity of having the former queen knock on his very door with a band of mercenaries in tow. Worse, it might garner more attention.

And it would delay any chance of retrieving the egg.

In hindsight, he could understand her suspicion. He blamed it on his addled senses for his lack of foresight, reaching too quickly for his Rod of Crystallisation. But her and her little group had become a resource to him now; something he was loathe to squander for nothing.

"Do not kill him, Vyx'aria. Allow me to deal with him."

The plea was delivered sharply, cold and straight like a surgeon's blade; the sort that came from forcing and pushing every surging emotion into a flat, direct line.

"Undoubtedly, he will have seen . . . some of your band. But I have my ways of keeping an apprentice silent. Please."

Zel'rath's face dropped with newfound horror. His eyes fell below the table, to the still glowing rod, humming with power like trapped souls crying through muted glass.

"Oh, no. Please. Master, I have served you faithfully! Please don't . . ."

Nimruil stared at his student with genuine sorrow. He had overseen Zel'rath's development for almost a century.

"I know, Zel'rath. I know. Be at ease."

Spoiler: The Rod reference