The Descent

[Aelcar]

He made his way to Varalla's passage with a steady, calm pace. Haste is so undignified...the imp messenger wouldnt shut up about the urgency of the matter. After four or five times it was babbling about it, Valshar's patience was over, and the little demon a pile of ash as a consequence. Important matter...they could have been more detailed, if they wanted speed. Some of the new Circle members, however capable, lacked completely the etiquette required to address someone like him. Well, of course there was no one like him...just him. "I suppose this makes matters even more complicated for mere mortals" thought the Phantom Wizard, as he moved through the deserted passages of Sshamath, a ghost in the faint red light of the magical lights. A guard walked beside him near Varalla's entrance atop the Spire, nodding respectfully, and he absent-mindedly replied with the smallest movement of his hooded head, barely aknowledging the jaluk's existence. His thoughts were elsewhere. Once inside, he was confronted with three members of one of the raiding party that requested his presence. Curious...there should have been six of them. Perhaps he was beginning to understand the nature of the "problem"...he grinned at their incompetence. Their leader moved forward, and Valshar saw a fourth figure was hidden behind him. A quick glance revealed a small darthiir jalil, her clothes ripped and stained in blood but still standing unaided (not that anyone would aid her...not here, anyway), her wrists chained together and secured to the small of her back, and leg irons securing her ankles so that she could walk, but never run, a thick gag parting her lips. Turning his head towards the approaching leader, he couldnt help but raise an eyebrow under the hood: lots of precaution for a small little jalil like that...this was actually getting almost close to vaguely interesting...

"Revered Eye" the commander bowed, taking his helm off "We captured this cursed Darthiir patrolling deep into Durlag's Tower. Her companion was gone, and while she was lingering we ambushed her and managed to get her alive". Valshar nodded slowly, his expression hidden in the depths of his dark cowl "And...where are your men?" he replied, with a blank voice. The jaluk started to fidget, hesitating "Yes..we..suffered losses. 3 of us fell". "And they fell..how?" still in the same, expressionless tone "And commander...try to give me a satisfactory explanation. If you make me ask again, I will be extremely displeased". The commander nodded sharply "Of course, Eye. Forgive me. My men died when we ambushed the jalil. We approached from behind cover, she couldnt possibly have seen us...as unlikely as it seems, she must have heard us. Despite the close quarters, before we could reach her two of us were killed by three arrows each, the third being a headshot. The third men died while stabbing her, as she sticked an arrowhead into his eye manually. We intended to kill her, but with the heavy losses we suffered, we couldnt continue our raid so I ordered to secure her and retreat". The shadow wizard remained silent and motionless for long moments, before replying "Very well. I will take care of her. You sprkled my interest. Dismissed". Probably confused by the lack of consequence for his mistakes, the jaluk hesitated a moment, then collected his men and hurried away, performing a quick, respectful bow.

Valshar watched them disappear in a side corridor, before turning towards the jalil and, with deliberate calm, stepping closer and closer till he was only inches from her face. "Well now" he said in elven, pensively "it looks like you are my guest. Please, follow me.There is much to discuss, and I always enjoy a captive audience..." Cackling, he moved towards the city not bothering to see if the chained jalil was following or not. She would follow, for sure. He was the only chance she had to live through the cycle...

[simini]

She was growing tired of the patrols, especially since the few copper rings she found in the depths of the tower could never cover the price she had paid for her arrows. It was a waste of time and gold, and without her companion it was not even remotely enjoyable.
Just as she stepped over a rotting squid face her ears twitched and perked. Someone was following her. She pulled the string of her bow tighter and twirled around, firing lightning at two dark figures. Her eyes widened as she saw just how many there were of them. Instinctively she pressed against the wall for cover, but in the bright halls of Durlag's Tower it was of no use and the short creatures were closing in on her - too close to shoot at. The next arrow she drew she simply thrusted into the one that was already swinging its dagger at her. As he fell, she too went to her knees in sudden pain, inflicted by the remaining three that were already forcing her to the ground.

She regained consciousness when she was roughly pulled to her feet. Minutes could have passed, maybe hours. Her vision was blurry with tears and blood, and a nerve-racking ringing sound was impairing her hearing as she was being dragged through the dark. What had happened? She tried to make sense of her foggy memories and what little she could see around her, but gave up as it seemed her head may burst any moment.

When those around her finally came to a halt, her senses slowly cleared.
She bit onto the cloth that was painfully parting her lips and squinted at the black silhouette. "… displeased.. take care.. interest." was all she could make out from the ugly language before the man turned to her and spoke in Elven.

Still quite dazed from the ordeal and clueless about the whole situation, she walked after him, clumsily stumbling over her chained feet.

[Aelcar]

In the dim red light of the room, Valshar the Black, The Necromancer, The One Who Lived, The Phantom Wizard, Eye of the 7th Circle sipped his favourite mushroom wine while eyeing his new property. He had gone through incredible annoyance to save her...she had killed three of his men (out of six, no less...), and she was still pretty set on finishing the job...plus, not everyone might like his interest for a Darthiir openly acting on behalf of Doron Amar, hunting and killing Sshamath's agents at every opportunity. Many would vouch for delivering her to the Illithids, no doubt. But he wasnt like anyone else, and because of this, a mystery for everyone, which contributed to the aura of fear around him. He watched her, pondering the effect of his words. There she was, awkwardly sitting in front of him: her chin was set, determination on her face ... her almost unseeing eyes darting from elbows to boots, never looking up... her clothes and boots almost completely ripped apart (fortunately he ordered his associates to procure new ones...in this fashion, someone could take her for his new sex toy...most unbecoming, given the circumstances...)... her hands gripped in fists, chained behind her and secured to the small of her back by a waist chain, in turn linked to her leg-ironed ankles. He sighed. He had never liked this part of his job...he had never needed it in 400 years. The Phantom Wizard doesnt make prisoners...associates feared and respected him, and enemies died like flies. Fortunately, Niyenne was there, and like in many other occasions, she proved invaluable. He started to grow really fond of their relationship...a remarkable jal-...woman.
He was pulled out of his reflections by Leonia's desperate tone: "What do you want from me? Why dont you just kill me?WHAT DO YOU WANT?". By all means, the first sensible thing she asked since he removed her gag (the second time...the first wasnt so fortunate, and admittedly a bad idea of his...). Smiling pleasantly, the dark mage made his proposal. It was incredible to her, yet true. He didnt need to lie: her friends at Doron Amar lied to her all along, doing that part for him (he chuckled at the very thought). No, now all he needed was truth. To "open her eyes", as Niyenne cruelly and cleverly put it. Then, once the new clothes were delivered, he murmured in a low voice few arcane words, freeing her of her restraints and getting rid of the stained rags she was wearing. His smile widened as she, in her new hastily worn outfit, started drinking and massaging her wrists and shoulders...
He was giving Leonia the chance everyone wishes for. Now, it was up to her to decide her destiny. Niyenne's body language didnt give away anything, as usual...except for a thin smile on her lips, right under her dark cowl.

[simini]

As soon as he removed her gag she let out a nerve-shattering scream, hoping the wizard's head would explode under the sonic wave. He stumbled back but was quick to cast a spell to protect himself, and within seconds, the piece of cloth was cutting into the corners of her mouth again.
The tears shot back into her eyes and she struggled fiercely as he pulled on her chains, dragging her through the streets of Sshamath. After they had walked (or in her case stumbled) for a while, she finally gave in, either in weariness or defeat.

Now she sat more than uncomfortably at a table, her back hunched in a hopeless attempt to cover herself, having no freedom of her arms and her clothing no longer fulfilling its purpose either. She already hated the dark figure's self-loving tone as he went on about his plans and deals that could keep her alive. Why was she not yet dead?
She replied with a few sharp remarks at first but grew more and more tired as they went on, her dry throat aching whenever she spoke.
"I left scouts up ahead to hear if anyone came looking for you… nothing."
"He will."
"He cares too much for somebody else."
"Forget someone who has been lost from your grasp and move on. Or die here, waiting for a love that will never come"
"He will come.." She said less firmly now.
"He will not. Wake up, Leonia."

The ringing sound split her thoughts again and she closed her fingers into small fists behind her back. She could for the life of her not figure out what they were trying to achieve. Why were they offering her to rest, then simply walk away? And why was she not yet dead?!

As the chains were removed and she weakly wrapped her arms about herself, their voices crept back into her mind, gnawing on fond memories like parasites. "Nonsense" she thought, she would return as soon as she could leave the place, and he would be there, waiting for her.

... wouldn't he?
She made a quick recovery impossible by finding no rest at all. The sheets were painfully rubbing against her wounds and the echoes of their words were piercing her heart.

[Ivan38Rus]

Meanwhile...

He cuts his foes mercilessly and without hesitation. With brutal efficiency, Jero is methodically working his way down, checking every corner on every level of the tower, leaving corpses in his wake. It takes him hours before he finally reaches the room where the adbuction had happened. With a concentrated scowl, he surveyes surroundings and is ready to move on, but a little detail catches his attention... A feather...? He hurriedly walks over and kneels, picking up a very familiar hat. Seconds later, he drops to the ground with his jaws clenched... His mind anxiously coming up with every possible positive scenarios, unwilling to accept the obvious. He spends a lot of time carefully studying every inch of the floor in order to find any clues that would dispell worst of his suspicions... But finds none. He knows what to do... desperation momentarily takes over, but a minute later . . . the ucnanny and familiar clarity sets in. His heartbeat steadies, his breath becomes calm and slow... The familiar feeling of purpose fills him, pushing every emotion deep inside. Possible scenarios flash before his eyes, but his heart doesn't skip a beat even as he sees the most brutal imagery. He knows what must be done.

It is around that time when a slender elf catches up with him and steps out of shadows with his weapons drawn. The duo quietly converses...

Their descent is yet to begin.

[Snarfy]

A single bead of sweat trickles down the side of Sjinns face as he and Jero rush past the searing pit of fire and lava. Their pace slows considerably as they reach the fringes of the inferno and, as they enter the cooler cavern beyond, the young elf immediately presses himself against one of the cavern walls and melts into the shadows. "I hate this place.", he mutters softly to himself in elven. He then raises a hand inside his hood to wipe away the sweat that has accumulated before he starts scanning the tunnels ahead intently.

The elf slows his breathing and ruffles his dark tunic to cool off a moment, then he listens to the echoing caves around them for a long while. After a few moments he turns to look over his shoulder at Jero and, much to his relief, notices Jero's cautious and attentive stance. The young elfs eyes narrow ever so slightly as he regards Jero, the mans focused expression induces a bemused smirk from the elf. Sjinn treads lightly over towards the man and says in cool hushed tones, "We should keep moving. I'll stay ahead a few steps and keep an eye out for scouts, you can handle the salamanders along the way.". Without waiting to see Jero's reaction Sjinn draws his blades and slips ahead.

The young elf flits from shadow to shadow, his hooded head is in constant movement as he searches for traps and listens for lurking dhaerow. As the pair cautiously advance Sjinn peers back thoughtfully to watch as Jero cuts down the slamanders and efreet they encounter with skillful precision. His lip curls up ever so slightly as he watches the mans bladework, then the young elf darts from the shadows to steal a killing blow. As rapidly as his twin blades flash out of the darkness the elf vanishes again, resuming his forward watch and leaving Jero to carry the majority of the bloodletting. Slowly and methodically the two make their way forward towards the Netherese ruins.

[Aelcar]

Walking back towards his comfortable lair in the very heart of the City of Weavings, he pondered the last intercourse with the Darthiir jalil. He moved through the buildings and alleyways with uncanny grace, almost floating like black smoke from shadow to shadow...automatic behaviour, reflexive, as his mind was elsewhere. He was a jaluk that did not like wastes, and he seized opportunities as they arose. It had always been his way, in stark contrast with the usual chaotically cunning Illythiir style. And so he did this time, even though it involved a higher degree of risk compared to the potential benefits. And yet...he could never have imagined such a success. Despite the pre-conceived ideas, the lies and misinformation spread like wildfire among kivvils...despite millennia of hate between their races...she believed. She actually believed his words. His promises. Not that he lied...no need for that, no. But it was incredible regardless of the aspects of truth they discussed, regardless of the very subjects of their conversations. Leonia believed him, and he would do exactly as he promised. The ripercussions of this in the cycles, years and centuries to come would be huge, and hardly foreseeable...but he was a master in this kind of calculations. He was used to plan his moves centuries ahead...just like dozens of moves-deep calculations on the lanceboard. He made his move, and the cascade of events would yeld him the advantage in the long run. And now, finally, it was time to complete the most delicate part of the plan...

The ghost among shadows, the phantom haunting Sshamath which had called himself Valshar for more than 400 years grinned widely, as he walked unseen towards his rooms.

[Darksider_war]

Too many days had passed, since Leonia's fiancé, the human known as Jero, had come to Doron looking for his beloved. In those days, neither he or Leonia could be seen around Friendly Arm Inn, which was strange, considering that the couple could be mostly seen there. Sjinn too had apparently disappeared. This sudden event startled the elven cleric who, while used to not see Leonia at all (blaming, perhaps, her human fiancé for her failure in not participating in Doron's life), still cared for her. After all she was kin, and Luthien had always believed in kinship among elves. She tried to get in contact with Leonia, using a Sending, but to no avail.
"Damn it! If only she had been a bit more present, I would have got sufficiently acquainted with her to be able to call her. This is no good."
Luthien thought again and again. There was no sense in trying further, she barely remembered Leonia's face, and for that spell to work, it was recquired a greater knowledge of the subject. Suddenly, an epiphany came to her: Sjinn was in pretty good terms with Leonia, and he too had disappeared since the day when the human asked for her. Luthien knew his facial features, knew his name, knew him well enough to be able to effectively send a message to him. Perhaps Sjinn's disappearance had nothing to do with Leonia's, but Luthien had to try anyhow. Focusing again, the High Priestess cast the spell, aimed at wherever Sjinn was located.
"Sjinn - she asked, with a concerned tone to her otherwise sweet and caring voice - where are you? Where are Leonia and Jero? Everyone is starting to worry, by the Twelve!"
With a slightly relieved sigh, Luthien patiently awaited Sjinn's answer to her sending, hoping for good news...but somehow, she had a bad feeling about this, deep inside her heart. Grasping her holy symbol of Hanali, and her old symbol of Corellon, she began praying both gods for Leonia's, as well as Sjinn's and Jero's, safety.

[simini]

Ironically she was a lot more comfortable while she was still in chains. At least then she (thought she) knew what they wanted and what she could do about it - in that case nothing at all. But now she was walking more or less freely after her "savior" and was pulled into friendly fireside chats. Trying to figure out what to say and do was giving her a headache. She regarded the blurry blob that was his left boot and nervously dug her fingers into her own arm as he questioned her about her past.

"You seem out of focus."
"Just a habit." She squinted and shifted her gaze to his chin instead.
"Oh? Tell me more!"
"Look, if you've been used to relying on your hearing for two hundred years, you don't just.. stop."
"So you try not to see, thus concentrating on your keenest senses? What if I told you that you can have your eyes and won't have to hurt anyone?"
"I'm aware that it was a lie, but I just don't care for my sight. It's my hearing that is keen and appreciated, and it would impair if I had another sense to rely on."
"They appreciate your hearing because ultimately they don't care about you. They don't care about your well-being, as long as you are serviceable."

There was that stinging pain in her chest again, almost physically hurting her. She looked away.

"I told you, Leonia. No prison cell, no chains, no gag, no torture.. and no lies. So don't lie to yourself and tell me: Who would ever let you burn your eyes away with a smile, just shrug and say: "Hey, I can still use you."? I'm a Drow as you call us and even I have to say it's rather vicious. Wouldn't you agree?"

She remained quiet and wrapped her arms tighter about herself as if it could protect her from his words.

"How many tried to help you regain your sight?
How many really cared how you feel about it?
How many insisted when you avoided the subject?"

One did. Sadness overcame her as she thought of Randy, the griffon, the beach that was so far away now.
The wizard went on about various topics, speaking of politics and mercantile business. Leonia eventually grew so tired of his attempts to gain her support that she inconsiderately snapped at him. "I'm a free elf, I'm not bound to them and neither am I going to help you."
When she announced that she would leave the next day, he pointed out how curious it was that she really trusted he would let her go. And that in truth, she was still his slave.

Her hands were still shaking after she had openly shown regret for her bold behavior, nodding and keeping quiet like an obedient girl. He again promised to let her go and again she believed.

If this pit had a night sky, maybe she would stay. The surface with its people no longer seemed like a much friendlier place.
She sat down on the bed and pictured how in painful sunlight, she would pathetically crawl back to those that by now she believed to care not a bit.

[Snarfy]

His mind had been racing since leaving Doron Amar. Calculating every angle, weighing all the odds against them, considering every possible outcome. He had decided on a course of action. All that was needed now was for his dark kin to find them.

He had hardly spoken a word to the man. He couldn't bring himself to make idle banter, not while she was lost in this hole. Why would he let her go to Durlags alone? The thought made him feel furious and guilty all at once. How could I let her go alone? There would be no words between him and the man, no bonding of any sort. The creeping bitterness and that shade of jealousy would just poison his words, and so he said nothing.

They had finally reached the Netherese ruins. The dhaerow would find them very soon, if they had not found them already. His senses were keen but this was unfamiliar territory. A small sliver of fear burrowed it's way into his spine, but it was nothing compared to the fear he felt for her.

The clear elven voice in his head shook him from his worried thoughts. He knew the womans voice at once, it was the priestess using a sending spell. He would only be able to respond with a few thoughts of his own before the spell faded... there were so many things running through his mind he scarcely knew how to respond. He held up a hand to Jero, indicating for him to wait. The Netherese ruins were deadly silent around them for the moment, and it seemed safe enough to let his guard down long enough to reply to Luthien. He closed his eyes and focused... "Leonia has been taken by dhaerow. Jero and I are nearing the maze. We are fine, do not follow." He closed off the communication before his doubts could creep in and take voice.

He hoped that his sending was convincing enough. In truth he had little confidence at that moment. Paired with a man who was practically a stranger to him. A stranger of a man who was married to a woman he held deeply in his heart. A man who had never recieved any positive endorsement from anyone he knew, only suspicion and ill words. The others opinions of Jero were infectious enough to begin with, but the suspicions they aroused in the elf only deepened further when the man had mentioned his familiarity with Sshamath. What connection did this man have to the dhaerow? Was Leonia now paying the price for such? His thoughts were relentless... and now here he was, deep in dhaerow territory with this man, searching for Leonia. The hopeless feeling in the pit of his stomach at the situation was matched only by the dull ache in his heart at the thought of what the dhaerow might be doing to her.

No matter how hard he tried he could not bring himself to trust the man at his side. He would let Jero's devotion to Leonia speak for itself when they confronted the dhaerow. Until then he would trust only in the shadows, and he would trust in her to stay alive.

Gods, let her stay alive.

[Ivan38Rus]

"You know it is your fault...", Jero winced when the otherworldly whisper distrupted his line of thought, as he was trying to recollect the layout of the Planar Maze.

"This would have never happened if only you were more decisive..."

"She suffered so much because of you... because of your lost child... because of your demons..."

"Is she alive?", he asked himself, interrupting the cascade of taunts.

"You will know the answer to this eventually.", ever since his fall in the Arena this whisper followed him. In times of great need, it would give advice. Keep him alive. Guide him to an unforseeable goal. It felt... familiar. It might have always been there... And nothing would silence it whenever it chose to speak.

"Forget her... she changed you... made you more... obedient... more... suitable...", the whisper sounded sympathetic and pitiful for but a moment. Firm rejection was Jero's response as he stubbornly gazed before himself.

The whisper changed its approach, venomous contempt and self-loathing filled Jero's mind, "Look at yourself... you are pathetic... You walked through Hells all by yourself and now you need him to save your wife??? What happened to your old self?"

Jero's eyes followed a barely visible, silent shadow moving swiftly before him, "Is he a threat?", he hesitantly asked... a question he longed to know the answer to.

"Not the kind of threat you think he might be...", the whisper replied. Could it have been his own mind? He'd never stopped wondering it, "Come on, Jero... Remember how you used to be 'just a friend' too...", the whisper seemed a lot more ... joyful? as it echoed in his head, "And now look at you two... Married... Almost had a child..."

Her voice came out of nowhere... it was a weak and barely audible sound... he remembered it, he asked what she would wish for, if she could ask for anything... "For your life to last longer...", she replied... These words cut deeply in his heart, leaving a bleeding scar of regret and bitterness.

"He's an elf... a young, fit and not a bad looking one... A better substitute for an aging human with personal issues and a 'wagon of regret' dragging behind him. And... it has already began. Why else would she spend so much time with him...?"

"Enough!", fortunately, a salamander chose to attack, giving him an opportunity to release accumulated frustration in one powerful strike.

"Obstacles exist to be overcome.", Jero's eyes involuntarily followed Sjinn's bladework as he assisted in the salamander's slaughter... Experienced gaze evaluated his fighting style in a second, spotting many glaring weaknesses in his defense... As soon as the fight was over and the salamander's corpse lay bleeding badly on the cave floor, his hand moved to the left side of his belt, checking if his wands - amplifying sight and hearing - were secure and easy to access... just in case.

They moved on, nodding subtly to each other, not saying a word. The choking darkness and dusty dry air made his movements more exhausting, usually weightless armour felt restrictive.

"She might be dead, you know... What will you do then?", the whisper returned moments later.

"Everything I can to make them suffer... To die in terror... To make them pay...", his eyes flickered with calculating hatred, a vision of himself making yet another pact with the devil, trading his soul in for eternal service as long as he gets his vengeance ... A deep sense of satisfaction overcame him. The whisper faded again... But for how long?

As he gazed over the lava pit at the ruins of ancient Netherese City, a quote from Mia's play came to his mind. For but a moment, his lips curled up in a cruel smirk... "Devastation in my wake.", he mused quietly to himself. His hand tightly clenching around sword's handle.

His face never showed anything. His senses never dulled. His focus never disturbed.

[Aelcar]

As he watched the duo entering the Netherese Ruins, followed by their third stealthy companion at a distance, a mirthless smile formed on his lips. The last phase of the plan was concluded, the objective complete, and the consequences unforeseeable...One day, a kivvil he overheard said to his son: "You cannot know if the seed will grow before winter comes and goes...". He didnt know anything about agriculture, but he liked the sound of it, and he thought it particularly fitting for this occasion...it was a shame that family had to be exterminated, but it happens when you dabble in dark magic rituals: there is often a price to pay in innocent blood...

He had watched the human called Jero and Leonia's reunion with more than a mild interest: he was curious. Even when he was mortal, and could feel the call of the flesh, he rarely indulged himself in deep personal relationships... he had always considered feelings like metal armors: both hopelessly in the way of power. And indeed, look at this warrior, willing to come down all the way to the Middle Dark, and for what? Only the cold grip of death waiting for him...or worse...He could very well say he owed him his life, and given kivvil's odd concept of morale, it could very well be that being saved by a "Drow" would accompany him for the (short) remainder of his life...How ironic: both saved by those they hate the most...Mortals definitely lack perspective, most of all short-lived ones like rivvils...

Hiding his ebony features deeper into his dark hood, the hardly mortal being known as Valshar crushed some precious reagents in his supernaturally strong skeletal grip, and traced a serie of complex runes forming a magical circle with their dust. As he stepped into it, he muttered a word of power in the guttural, draconic-like language of magic, and as the circle vaporised in a blast of balefire, he teleported to the safety of his rooms...