Hidden deep within a rugged mountain range, this secluded inn seldom receives new visitors. It's quite hard to find...even an unaware traveler on the ridge above might pass right by, never knowing the difference. Those that found this place, though, tend to return, and some stay to enjoy this simple lifestyle for months or even years. The elven hermit who owns this unnamed inn is kindly, and full of stories of things past. It doesn't always have patrons, but...some people do choose to stay awhile.
Felara glances over the inn. Not fortified in any way, that she can see...not even anything magic or hidden. Huh. Trusting.
Meir'cillus has basically the same idea. His head is on a swivel, searching for trip wires, archers, ambush parties, what not. "The hell with it," he says after a bit, trotting up without care or fear to the door of the inn. "There is no time for this." He bangs lightly on the door with the back of his hand.
The sound of wood chopping stops. A few moments later, an elf with greying blonde hair pulls open the door, and smiles at the visitors, seeming quite oblivious to the fact that they're a pierced, scarred drow and a tattooed, mutilated human. "Welcome, come right in." He steps aside to let them pass.
Meir'cillus nods, gives a base smile, and does so. "Good evening, sir... forgive me if I get straight to the point. My name is Meir'cillus Viszelunore, and I'm searching for someone. A very... unfortunate woman, who cannot see."
The old innkeeper tilts his head just a little. "Well, that's an unusual question. May I ask why you're inquiring?"
Meir'cillus pull his hood back, wondering if this old man will recognize him at all. If so, it could be either a boon, or a problem.
"I need her help," says the drow lord, "a... a woman I've been acquainted with is in danger. I need this person's help to save her life."
Derenith does recognize him, somewhat, but it serves to confirm his identity, nothing more or less. The extremely laid-back elf only reacts by smilng, taking up a towel he'd set down, and heading further into the inn, bidding Meir'cillus and Felara to follow. "Well. That's quite the interesting tale of the world beyond my litte inn. But you both look travel-weary. Let's see about some cold water, or something else if you prefer. I may be able to help, with more information to work with." He doesn't look up, though he does smile, when a young apparent half-elf walks into the main room. "Tristan, get our guests some water."
The young man's a little surprised to see visitors, but nods and gets to it.
Felara narrows her eyes a little, quite interested in the half-human, and watches him intently as he goes about his business.
Meir'cillus acquieses, taking a seat near the bar. "I appreciate your hospitality. This is Felara," he nods towards his freakish compatriot, "she is guiding me through these lands. Now, what sort of information are you hoping for, sir...?"
"Derenith." The amicable innkeeper smiles. "Just for the sake of alleviating awkwardness. And, the name of whomever you're looking for would be a good start. Or perhaps what kind of help you require, I just may know of another person qualified."
"I believe in candor." Meir'cillus also believes that trouble can be fixed with a quick killing. "I need the aid of an assassin named Therian, to help me save the life of an Ionnyan cleric named Rey'deyono. And no one else could do what I have planned."
"I'm familiar with both names, yes." Derenith cleans a glass thoughtfully, just the tiniest hint of seriousness crossing his face for a moment. It's gone after just a moment, though, dissolved into rather oblivious, amicable cheerfulness. "Though you'll forgive me for not giving many specifics without knowing what you've planned, precisely. The poor child's seen enough trouble in her life without further intervention." The innkeeper smiles at the half-human when the latter sets a glass before Meir'cillus, and takes a second out to Felara, who's elected to just stand out of the way. Sociality is not her strong suit.
"Honestly? I want her to help me kill lord Vayen." Meir'cillus doesn't look at Derenith, but does glance at Tristan, somewhat curiously. One of those 'strangely kind uncle' setups, perhaps?
"I see. Well..." Derenith's voice trails off when Therian's breaks in.
"Derenith, I think I got you enough venison for awhile and..." Therian's voice cuts off abruptly when she picks up on the sound of Meir'cillus's breathing. She hadn't noticed the voices, concentrating a bit much on the smallish doe slung over her shoulders.
The elf smiles, just a little wryly. "Well. There you are."
The Drow lord grins sidelong at Derenith. Of course the old fart was holding back on him before. "Hello again, Therian."
The elf goes back to cleaning glasses, whistling quietly as is so often the case.
"Why are you here? And where do you want this thing, Derenith?"
"Out back is fine, Therian...than
k you very much."
Meir'cillus stands, glances at Felara, then shifts his eyes to Derenith.
Keep an eye on him, please. I'm going to try nice talk first.
"Do you need a hand with that thing?" Meir asks, ridiculous considering his 'towering stature'.
Felara nods just the tiniest bit.
"I've got it," Therian half-growls. She doesn't know why he's here, but...she's certainly on the defensive. She heads back out the door to walk around the inn, to avoid dripping blood everywhere.
Meir'cillus trots along after her not even glancing at the other two though he's sure he'll have words for them later. Probably in the form of a bribe.
"I won't waste either of our time, Therian. I need your help," the drow lord explains as he walks a comfortable distance behind her.
"Uh-huh. I killed Xayu and maybe saved your ass in the process. And then the other guy. As far as I'm concerned, we're even. I don't want any bloody more to do with it." She tosses down the deer, knocking legs properly in place with a foot, and gets out a heavy knife to start skinning the thing. Or maybe she'll make Tristan do it. Nasty business when you're blind.
Meir'cillus bites his tongue. Breathes a calming breath.
"Rey'deyono is alive. Vayen held her back... I'm not sure why, but she is alive. To save his own skin he has attached her life force to his own, preventing me from killing him outright..." the drow lord's voice lowers, "... as I could have, with T'narian's weapon. The only way that I can free her is to deliver you to him. But..." here the drow lord tosses his rock in the air again, "... I'd rather just butcher him. I want you to help me."
"And what makes me think that you'll suddenly succeed in killing him this time better than your last visit? You don't seriously believe that he'd let your cleric chick go even if you delivered me with a goddamned ribbon and bow, do you?"
Stone goes up, stone comes down. Catch.
"I'm getting really tired of people treating me like an idiot. I'm working on that particular problem... going to get you gives me time." Meir'cillus looks at the stone, tosses it up again. "I thought you might enjoy having a hand in taking him out, anyway."
"Uh-huh. If I thought it was possible. I don't want to stick my neck out for your fight. Vayen can do whatever the hell he wants. I'm not risking whatever you've planned failing and then ending up back there."
"If I don't bring you back, Vayen will kill Rey'deyono. Of course then I'll kill him, but then, everyone loses." Meir'cillus tosses the stone again, but this time lets it fall. "I'm not asking you, Therian. If you won't come willingly, I'm afraid I'll have to forcefully insist."
Chin lowers a little, but there's not much more response. "Your funeral."
Felara. She's being... uncooperative. Care to lend a hand?
"I have no choice, Therian. I won't let Vayen kill her again." His hand cups, as if to pull his antimatter together... but doesn't. She's no good to him vaporized.
Therian sets her jaw, but can't pick up on anything threatening about his hand just yet. Damned magic. She takes a step back, getting away from a deer carcass that may impede her footing, head turning just a little when Felara steps out of the building, hand on the hilt of Xayu's shortsword. "You don't want to force this confrontation...trust me on this one....." she growls softly.
The drow lord's voice is almost a sigh when he replies.
"I have no choice. Even if I have to die."
Felara picks her claws seemingly boredly, though really she's quite on the defensive. "Get over yourself. This isn't a fight where the odds would look good for you. And it's not a fight that has to happen anyway. It's in everyone's best interest that you're left intact, so let's just skip this messy charade and recognize a common enemy."
Therian grits her teeth. "I am not going back there," she growls quietly, taking a defensive step backward.
"So what am I supposed to do then, Therian? Leave Rey'deyono to suffer the same fate you did?" Meir'cillus growls. Just... growls. "I'd rather be dead."
"Vayen roughs up his hostages when it will help him, but she's in no danger of 'suffering a fate like I did,'" Therian retorts. "That's your problem."
Meir'cillus's mood is quite beginning to wear thin. "Fine," he shrugs. "I suppose I've wasted my time. I'll go. However..." here Meir'cillus's voice lowers a bit, "... if she dies... and I have any idea that your cooperation could have prevented it... I will come back for you. You. And the elves inside."
"I never said he wouldn't kill her." Therian's thoroughly pissed off by now. "I said she'd be spared the hell that his assassins get."
"You heard what I said. You aren't deaf as well, I hope." Meir'cillus turns his back and begins to walk, as if to leave... which he actually is planning on doing, if she won't come. Of course he'll probably bring back a piece of Derenith's head, but... that's for later.
Therian scowls, but doesn't move to stop him. She doesn't expect him to come back alive, anyway.
Felara glances at Meir'cillus, then Therian, then follows the former. "So. Do I not get to intervene?" She'd planned on smacking heads.
"Oh, you get to intervene." Meir'cillus glances at her. "Whenever you're ready." There's mischief in his eyes.
A truly wicked grin threads across the demi-human's face. Therian crouches a little, ready for anything physical, but finds herself thrown back against a tree, hard enough to stun her, and pinned several feet above the ground. There's nothing touching her, but quite enough force to border on crushing, and she gasps for air.
"I hate that we had to resort to this," Meir'cillus calls out, both shocked and impressed at Felara's ability, "but... Vayen's death may well mean a return to peace for this land. And if I can save Rey'deyono, then I will oppress or kill whoever it takes. Please, reconsider."
Felara, amused in a way and annoyed that she has to restrain herself from taking this further in another, eases up on the pressure just enough to allow Therian to talk, smirking.
The human gulps a greedy gasp of air before glaring at him as best she can through her blindfold. "Not even willing to fight me yourself for your little cleric, huh?" Well. Worth a shot.
"Therian, I'm not a fighter who is very good at incapacitating. When I fight, it's usually death for the loser." Meir'cillus shrugs. "And I'm still here. You're no good to me dead."
Therian just grits her teeth, saying nothing.
"I would ask," the innkeeper inquires calmly as he walks out of the building, "that you release her now, whatever your motives may be." He's carrying, interestingly enough, a basket of apples and a broom.
"Don't get involved, elf. I have no need of you, so killing you isn't something I'm violently opposed to." Meir'cillus doesn't even look back at Derenith. Though in all fairness, a little voice in the back of his head is screaming something about judging by appearances.
Felara pays him no mind at all.
Derenith closes his eyes, though still not looking particularly perturbed, setting the basket down on a box. "As you will, then." He takes several apples in hand and pitches a couple casually at Felara. The irked telekinetic growls and they're flung right back at him, but he sidesteps with ease taking more--three of the little things to either hand--and begins pitching them faster and in greater quantity.
As innocuous as it looks, Felara grits her teeth...two hit her in the head, and hurt a little. But there are lots of them...her concentration gets divided further and further between the apples. It hits its breaking point very suddenly...her divided telekinesis finally fails against Therian's straining. The shattered energy hits her mind like a mace. While she's off-balance, the elf leaps forward with quick deliberateness that's entirely too casual for its own good...the broom handle swings around fast, catching her in the side of the face and sending the telekinetic staggering back several step.
"Forgive me for that, Miss."
Felara roars furiously and jerks a hand towards him, intending to send half of him flying one way and half the other...but nothing happens. Her eyes narrow, and a shocked hand flies to her sore cheek, to find an imprint. A wire rune the elf had shaped in reverse on the broomstick...now in a welt on her skin and inhibiting her power. "You ass!"
Meir'cillus can't help it. The direness of the situation almost stymies it but...
He's laughing. "Apples." Tears roll down his cheeks. "And a broom!"
"Oh, stuff it," Felara snarls.
Derenith only smiles, and looks to the assassin. "If you'll hold a minute, Therian..." she grits her teeth but just barely holds onto the dagger she'd been ready to throw, her other hand on the hilt of her shortsword. The elf looks back to Meir'cillus. "...I'd ask that you avoid assaulting those taking refuge here, or, if that's not possible, leave."
Meir'cillus wipes his cheek. "Don't get me wrong, Derenith. Just because I'm smiling doesn't mean I'm ready to walk away from this."
It's subtle, really. The only indication that his magic is drawing together is the grass dissolving beneath his feet. "I don't want to do anything rash. Please understand. I came here peacefully." He shrugs. "I would prefer to leave that way, but not without what I came for."
"Perhaps Therian would be more inclined to agree with your venture if you were to give her some semblance of a plan of action. What she decide s will be her choice, but I'm quite sure that it couldn't hurt. In any case, this sort of thing is better discussed inside, and removed from spells, threats, and apples, wouldn't you say?" He's quite resumed his oblivious, quietly cheerful demeanor.
Felara mutters something profane.
Therian isn't happy, either, at Derenith's indicating that she might actually go for this crazy ass proposal, but bites her tongue. He had just saved her ass and all.
Meir'cillus grits his teeth, but nods. He walks towards the inn, leaving behind him a fading trail of bare earth footprints.
Therian's less than pleased about the thought of just heading inside with these people, but...just grits her teeth and heads for the door, too, keeping a wary eye on Felara and not putting away her daggers.
"Well then," Derenith comments cheerfully when everyone's back in the kempt little inn, "at least all intentions are fully in the open. That makes things easier." He tilts his head a little. "Perhaps you can give us a more complete story of the matter at hand, master warlord?"
Meir'cillus gives a shrug. "What do you want to know? Behind my back Vayen moved troops into my home country, sacked the place. His general simply overpowered the Ionnyan forces.
"The aspect of all this that has my attention involves a group of refugees that took shelter within the temple at Gerionay. Refugees seeking shelter beneath the wing of the high priestess Rey'deyono... refugees whom Vayen subsequently butchered along with her. Or so I thought." The impatient drow lord's good ear twitches slightly. "She exists now in a kind of stasis, kept alive only by his magic, which is the only reason that Vayen still breathes. He agreed to spare her, and let me take her from his fortress, on the condition that I return Therian to him. Of course I'm not planning on letting him live any longer than I have to, much less let him keep Therian."
"Well, you'll understand her hesitance, I'm sure," Derenith observes. "This most recent time she lost her freedom was in a well-planned strike against Vayen that he somehow survived anyway." He doesn't add that he hadn't expected to ever see her again, much less this much later. He looks over to the half-human, who's looking quite uncomfortable. "Tristan, will you please check the meat? Thank you." The innkeeper looks back to Meir'cillus. "You speak as though separating this priestess from his magic is the greater difficulty. So how is it that you've planned to destroy him? It's not exactly the simplest of tasks."
Meir'cillus bites his lip. Reaches into his cloak.
"With this." He holds out the orb, not too far from himself of course. "It nullifies his magic. Without it, he can't defend himself against me."
"I see." The elf nods a little, then quickly dismisses the serious face again. He does recognize the type of orb. "Well, then I guess that the question really does deal with the priestess." He thinks a few moments. "Therian, are Tymanin's books still intact in his house?"
She nods a little. Not in the house in Verisea, but on the border of Vayen's original territory. Now almost at the center.
"Well. I may not be the healer that he was..." here Derenith looks back to Meir'cillus, "but with several titles available there, I believe I may know a way to help your priestess."
"Tell me what I have to do." Meir'cillus lets his magic fade. "I'll do anything." It's just a moment, but... he lets his weakness slip. It's in his tone of voice, his expression... gone within a few seconds. Back to stone cold, empty Xen'tal.
Derenith nods, his eyes softening. "Well. One of two things can happen. I go to the books, or the books can come to me. With your rather capable friend here, I really don't know which would be quicker and easier." He smiles. "How's your cheek feeling, Miss? I do apologize for that...."
Felara just mutters something profane.
"I can't force her to do it. Felara is not my underling, she is a peer." Meir'cillus glances at her. "Though I will ask her. Felara? Care to help me one more time?"
"Assuming I can?" She glares at Derenith.
The elf smiles. "Oh, your power will return just as soon as the imprint fades from your skin, Miss Felara. I doubt that the bruise will be sharp enough to maintain the rune.
That doesn't help her mood much...but a little. She shrugs. "Fine. Let me know where I need to go."
"I never said I'd help," Therian protests.
"So you didn't. And it's not assumed." Derenith smiles. "This should make it possible for our drow friend to acomplish his aims without your aid, Miss Therian...though it may still make things safer and easier for all involved. But it is ultimately your decision."
"..." After a few seconds, the human simply stands up and walks out of the inn.
Derenith sighs quietly, closing his eyes just a moment, before apparently perking back up. "Not to worry. She's only left to think alone, I'm quite sure."
"I won't apologize for this, you know," Meir'cillus assures Derenith, "I mean no offense, but I came here with an agenda. A man like me... if I made a habit of compromising my agendas for individuals, it would cause more harm than good."
"I hadn't expected you to, really." The elf smiles, and brushes some grey hair back behind his ear where it belongs. "In either case, are either of you hungry? It sounds as though the roast must be ready, and I'll need to help Tristan with it in a moment, in either case."
"Food would be fantastic, thank you." It occurs to meir'cillus that he's a creature of chaos lately. Perfect manners coupled with depressive and psychotic tendencies. "I'll pay good coin, don't worry about that."
Derenith smiles and bows his head, and heads back to the kitchen.
"Okay," Felara notes quietly, "now I want his head just as much as the little half-breed's." Taken down by apples and a broomstick...her pride won't recover for awhile.
Meir'cillus grins, watching Derenith go. "He's old," the drow lord notes, "much older than he looks. Don't be so irritated that he out thought us. He's probably got centuries of experience behind that idiot grin, so don't worry."
"I was right about who he is. The reason he wouldn't like mentions of Serandein allies is because he fought for Eriwae way back when." The alliance that had, of course, been completely disbanded fully ten thousand years before, after intervention from Serandin. "But I still want to gut him."
"I appreciate your rationale. I'd be pissed too if I were hit in the face with an apple." Meir'cillus is totally serious, too. "But he might be able to help me save Rey'deyono. So save it, eh?"
She waves a hand dismissively. Of course she won't do anything just yet. "When all this is done, I'm coming back here. And then he and that demon-blood are both mine."
Meir'cillus blinks. "Demon-blood, you say?"
"The kid has a demonic aura. Probably not more than a quarter or so, but it's enough to be useful."
"How so?" Meir'cillus doesn't glance at her. He's watching for Derenith, to know when to end this conversation.
"Spell or alchemic ingredients, mostly. A bit of demon's blood will make any spell that's not holy or healing just that much more powerful."
"Just keep in mind the objective. I doubt the elf would help us if we flayed his boy-toy."
Felara smirks a little at his wording, and sits back. "I'm patient."
"I'm not." Meir'cillus sighs lightly, glances at the door. "This is far more complicated than it ought to have been."
"What? Fetching the slave, or killing Vayen?"
"Both."
She doesn't really have anything worthwhile to say at that, and Derenith's back within a minute or so, anyway. The innkeepers smiles at them, setting a nice though not fancy dinner before each. "There you are. Is there anything else that I can get for you?"
Meir'cillus stops himself from saying 'you can spare me the niceties.' He just shakes his head, produces a few coins from his cloak, and gets to eating. He's not thinking well at the moment, mostly because he's thrown for a loop by Derenith's calm reaction to their assault on Therian.
Derenith just smiles and goes back to the inn's chores. Really, he does more chores than there actually are. Eating off of the floor would probably be as sanitary as using a sterilized plate. After awhile, he notes aloud that Therian's returned, and excuses himself to help her butcher the deer she'd brought back.
The distantly youngest person in the inn notices empty glasses after a couple of minutes and approaches their table. He smiles, trying to hide how nervous these two make him. "Would either of you like something more to drink...?"
"I'll have a glass of that sweat that's raining from your brow." The drow grins, though if its a playful grin or a 'I'll bet his head would look good on a wall' grin is hard to tell.
"Eh-heh..." Tristan grins sheepishly, but does appear to take it well and relax a little. "Sorry. Fights are unusual here." So are near-abductions, let alone of tough people like Therian, but he leaves that part out. "Is there anything bar-related that I can get you? Tastes better."
"Whiskey, if you have it. I'd like something that was made in a bathtub." Meir'cillus isn't kidding. It's a taste he picked up during his slumming years, and has never quite abandoned.
Tristan nods. Whiskey he can do. Bathtub...well...who knows. Who wants to know? "And you, Miss?"
"Anything alcoholic."
He blink, but nods. "I'll see what I can find, then." That said, he heads back to the bar.
Meir'cillus leans forward, elbows on the bar. It's going to be a long day.
"The only thing that I've never mastered killing is time." He yawns. "I don't suppose you know any word games."
"Last I checked, 'games' involve dismemberment in some form." She smirks a little watching the half-human stiffen at that, though his back's turned. The statement had been entirely for his benefit.
Meir'cillus shakes his head just a bit. "Just don't tell him where you usually stick the dice."
Felara grins at him sidelong. Tristan can't decide whether he's more or less tense...they're obviously joking, but whether that joke's based on what they really do... he serves up their drinks quietly, smiles, and, after being refused orders for anything else, turns to walk away. He's jerked to a stop when the telekinetic's hand clamps shut around his wrist.
"Tell me, boy...how much demon do you have in you?"
Tristan's eyes widen. "I...how did you know?"
Felara doesn't smile, just squeezes his wrist tighter, to a wince.
The drow lord's eyes narrow somewhat. He could have sworn he'd just asked her not to make any trouble just yet.
"Felara. What did we just discuss?" he sips from his drink. He's quite aware that he's patronizing her, but the fact is that all this waiting and diplomacy and niceties... they're driving him right up the wall.
"What? It's a perfectly civil question." She shrugs, sitting back and releasing the waiter/general flunky's wrist.
Tristan rubs his wrist, quite beside himself. "A quarter," he finally notes, quickly and quietly, and takes off stiffly.
Felara doesn't stop him this time, just looks to Meir'cillus. "A quarter. See? Told you."
"Yes, fantastic work Felara. I'll let you know when I want to start breeding dogs." Meir'cillus buries his fingers within his hair, breathing out slowly, trying to concentrate. "I apologize. I'm just... going a little mad here."
"Eh. Whatever. Hopefully this will all be done soon. And maybe we'll find some little detachment of Vayen's men to mercilessly slaughter on the way back or something."
"Do you think so?" Meir glances up, smilling a bit. "It'd be like my fiftieth birthday all over again."
Felara starts to say something, eyes sparkling with amusement, but looks up, the expression fading again, when Derenith walks back in with Therian. The latter simply heads upstairs without acknowledging the others.
The elf smiles at Meir'cillus and Felara, though. "She's willing to accompany you."
Meir'cillus's eyes darken, then clear, then darken again. He's not sure whether to say 'hell yeah!' or start asking questions, but... per to his nature, he chooses the latter.
"What are her conditions?" he calmly asks.
"That if things go badly, one of you will kill her while you're still able." Derenith's eyes darken just a little at that, quite inwardly. He doesn't like it...not such a longtime acquaintence, and the special charge of perhaps his dearest departed friend. But he does understand.
"I can accept that. I would've done it anyway." Meir'cillus stands, stretching his arms a bit as he does. "I'm sure Felara would've had no qualms. But don't worry. It won't."
Derenith nods, then looks to Felara. "The wound on your face seems to have calmed itself, Miss...I'd venture a guess that you have your telekinesis back."
She blinks. She'd been checking at first, but had finally forgotten. The pebble she's been holding beneath a cupped hand finally flies up and hits her palm. "Uh-huh," she observes boredly, as though she'd already known this. "So where are these books I need to get?"
"It's a house on what was for years the western border of the drow lord's territory, near where the old Sersalian and Pyrinien borders met. Just south of that, in a valley you won't be able to see through a mess of thorns. They're illusion after the first two feet, I assure you."
"I'd tell you to watch your back, but you already know that. There's a fair chance that Vayen's grunts could have already claimed the area." Meir'cillus nods to this as if the point requires some clarification.
Derenith nods. Before long, Felara has the list of books and is gone and the old elf has cleared away all the dishes. "I hope that you don't take Therian's apparent dislike of you personally," he chats casually to Meir'cillus as he cleans up. "Unless I miss my guess, I'd say that your voice reminds her over-sharply of another young man Vayen had killed when she was recaptured the last time."
"I attributed it to penis envy." He might very well be jesting. "I can't imagine that Therian has much more than dislike for anybody, but believe me when I say that I can handle dislike."
"Oh, I wouldn't say that she dislikes you. She just doesn't trust you. There's a marked difference."
Meir'cillus sits back , gazing at his whiskey glass. "In that case I'd call her a person of discernment. If she already trusted me, seeing as how I physically betrayed Xayu," his eyes narrow a little, "I'd think her mad."
"A lot of people 'think her mad.'" Derenith's as cheerful as ever through this. "She probably was until your elven friends 'helped' her, not realizing that some degree of madness is one of the mind's natural cushions against that which it can't handle for one reason or another." The elf smiles. "It's an interesting thing, really, just how it cleverly it can keep itself from complete disintigration."
Meir'cillus blinks. "I must say, that... in response to what you've told me..." he takes a drink, "... what in the hell are you talking about?"
"Oh, you didn't know?" The elf tips his head a little. "When your psychic allies were seeking information in her mind, they also took the liberty of straightening things that were crossed, mending those that were broken. With good intention, no doubt. But.." he shrugs. "Those kinds of mental 'problems,' with a life like hers, act--or, acted--as a self-preserving cushion. Their being removed does her absolutely no favors, and she's breaking beneath the strain of the weight her madness had supported."
The drow lord blinks. "What a crock. I can't believe someone as old as you believes in something so ridiculous."
Derenith only smiles. "Which part, my friend?"
"Madness being a cushion. Madness is what happens after one breaks down. She should savor the fact that she's free instead of dwelling on her past like some tragedienne."
"Therian is physically incapable of looking to the future, master drow, and has never experienced truly being removed from Vayen's influence in her memory. Therefore, she cannot imagine it."
Meir'cillus scoffs, but does put a leash on it before it becomes too incredulous. "Semantics, nothing more. But we're running in circles don't you think? I'll kill Vayen, and then we'll see."
"Oh, she won't survive his death. Rather, I know no way to help her do so." Maybe Tymanin would have. But that's a moot point. The innkeeper stocks bottles as he speaks.
"I didn't know that. But what the hell, she wants to die anyway, right?" Meir'cillus downs the last of the whiskey. "I'm not a caring, generous fellow. I don't give a damn what happens to her, or you, or Vayen. So long as I can get Rey'deyono back okay, and save my homeland, the hell with everything else."
"You do make an interesting contrast to your priestess, to be sure." It sounds like casual, chipper observation.
"She's a human, and I'm drow. It kinda stands to reason." Meir looks at his glass, debating asking for more booze. "But I'm a shockingly good sport. After all, I don't hate you, elf."
"Oh, really? I don't think that your friend can say the same, but that stands to reason, too." Derenith grins a little. "Would you like another whiskey, or switch to something else...?"
"Whiskey would be preferable. Mixing drinks is not a great idea for a man of my stature." And by that Meir'cillus means a vertically challenged wiry guy. "And I think that Felara hates everyone, so don't feel too off put. Although... I would kill to be able to watch that apple thing again."
Derenith chuckles as he refills Meir'cillus's glass. "Well, being an old man carries the fringe benefit of having dealt with most sorts of power in the past. And the apples were convenient."
"She'll growl at every broom she sees for the rest of her life." The drow lord sips the whiskey, doing pretty well as far as the whiskey grimace goes. "Someone with the knowledge you seem to have, ought to be standing up against someone like Vayen, you know."
A slight pause. "Vayen has only reached a keen edge of power in the last seven hundred years, and I would be startled were he to keep it another seven hundred. It's a small blot on the face of history. Before Vayen there was Resharin, before him the draconian invaders, before them Feran T'lecks, and before her, Ii. The real tragedy off all this empire-building is in individual lives, and I spend my energy aiding individuals. History ebbs and flows, and does what it will. As much as I may sometimes like to, one man cannot direct the world." He replaces some bottles. "I can help where it is requested. But I stopped trying to effect more."
"I haven't lived a century yet. In that time, I've seen more lives destroyed than even a drow cares to remember, and I highly doubt those people give a damn about history."
Huh... who the hell said that?
"No. I'm sure that you're right. But I am only one person, a Jack of all trades and a master of none, as of late. I can only do so much. Hopefully you'll be able to bring your people the solice that I cannot."
"That," Meir'cillus applauds lightly as he speaks, "may be the most well-thought-out cop out I've ever heard. Bravo. But it's not my place to demand anything of you. Anything else, that is."
Derenith bows lightly, grinning a little, and looks back to his chores. "Well, I do what I can. Serandin probably sent its task force here simply because they were becoming tired of my letters requesting that they do so. Annoying old men and all."
Meir just smiles a little, staying quiet. He just wants to get Rey back, really... there's nothing keeping him here except for that, not really.
The innkeeper respects the silence, and just works quietly for awhile, humming softly to himself. "Your priestess seems to have a lot of people concentrating on her safety. And she's quite resilient in her own right. She will be fine in the end."
"I don't need cheering up. I just want to go and make sure of it. I'm anxious." The drow lord keeps his tone conversational instead of standoffish, but it's not an easy task. He's quite used to getting what he wants in a timely fashion.
Derenith nods, takes the hint, and gets back to his chores. Before too terribly long, Felara's back again. "So many damned books to sift through!" she huffs. That, and she'd had trouble finding it. But she hates admitting to getting lost, and this goes unsaid.
The elf smiles, walking around the bar and looking through the books she's retrieved. They're in two languages...well...three. One exception is in old Drow, but the others are archaic elvish dialects. "Wonderful. Thank you, Miss, I should be able to work quickly with these." He looks up. "But I certainly can't promise anything within minutes, of course. Would you two likes rooms, that you can take some rest before charging Vayen still again?"
"Having to travel back here won't do any good." Meircillus takes his purse out, setting it with heavy clank upon the bar. "How much for both of us?"
"Two silvers if you want one room, three if you'd like two. It's not as though I lack vacancy." The innkeeper smiles.
"Two rooms, I think. We aren't that close." The drow lord plinks down the money and sets the purse back in its place at his side. "What kind of timeframe should I expect?"
"To be honest, I can't be sure. It depends on how thorough these notes are, and, for that matter, how clear for those of us who don't specialize in magic. But I may very well be able to finish tonight."
"Then get to it. I don't want to wait around any longer than necessary." The drow lord yawns a slight, noncommital yawn. "I'm sick of playing his game."
"Of course. Sleep well." Derenith smiles, seeming completely, blissfully oblivious to being ordered around as though Meir'cillus actually has authority over him.
The Drow Lord tramps off, oblivious to Felara, Derenith, and pretty much everything else. Yup. One of those weeks.
Therian nearly runs into him coming around a corner, then just brushes around without acknowledgement. Felara collects her key from the innkeeper without a word to the damnable apple-slinger and heads back to the rooms as well.
The next day finds Meir'cillus antsy, jump, and far too irritable for the good of anyone around him. He's decided that getting away from the cramped (to him) little inn is exactly what might help, and so he's spent most of his morning outside, thinking, and practicing his swordbreaker technique. After basically getting his ass kicked by Xayu, he figures a little brushup won't hurt.
Therian's listening quietly from the roof, chin laying on her arms. "That's how he disarmed you, you know," she observes finally.
Meir'cillus doesn't look at her. It wouldn't do any good anyway, if she can't see it.
"That's why I'm practicing. Swordsmanship isn't my first choice of combat, you know." He goes through his paces, thinking for a moment, and then speaks again in a more energetic voice. "But its nice to have plan B. What brings you out here?"
"Turn your guiding hand further inward, control less with the supporting one." She's pretty sure that's a problem, anyway, it's the best guess she can come up with since she can only hear the blade's passage. "And I get bored too."
"Hm..." sure enough, the move even feels more fluid than it had before. As does the next one. "Thanks. It helped." He goes through his routine a bit more, thinking, but not, just letting his instinct guide his body. He doesn't want to ask about the books, and so more or less stays quiet.
After awhile's more practice, Derenith walks out of the inn, tilting his head a little and watching Meir'cillus for a minute or so. "I think that I have your solution," he states in a chipper tone he mostly bars exhaustion from. "And I need to talk to you, too, Therian."
The assassin blinks, and just heads over to the opposite side of the roof. She's distracted, and there's little breeze to hear so..she' grateful that she doesn't think anyone sees her miss the stack of crates she'd used to get up, to a rough landing at the top and some quiet, severe swearing when one of the boxes falls after her with an obnoxious clatter.
Meir does hear, but decides that keeping his mouth shut will help matters immensely. "Oh good. So... let's not waste any time with it. What did you find?" His sword finds its holster as he walks back towards the inn.
"That I don't have nearly enough faith in the skill of departed friends, for one." Derenith smiles wryly. "Separating the priestess from Vayen's power will be difficult. However, you should be able to both ensure that any separation he claims to have made is complete, and also to finish severing an already greatly thinned tie. Both are spells that you will need to learn and cast independently, with no physical magical ingredients or items. I don't think that you'll have over-much trouble with it, though." He takes two sheets of parchment, each with perhaps half a page of notes and/or incantation neatly written upon its face in Drow, from a large pile of scribbled, messier notes and calculations. These are the distilled, final solutions.
The drow lord glances at the page. "I've never been good with most magic, you know. My spell is for killing, and that's pretty much what I know."
"Not being able to move from that to this is a mental block only. The basic knowledge of casting and energy manipulation is there, with only a few surface differences that change everything. Besides, you seem to have a lot on the line this time, quite enough to make learning pertinent. I can help you somewhat. Perhaps Miss Felara, too, though I don't know her precise skills."
"I tend to doubt that she's interested." Meir'cillus reaches out for the papers. "But... I will put my attention to it. You will be compensated for all of this trouble, so have no worries about that."
"If you succeed, that will be more than compensation enough," Derenith observes with a light smile.
Therian has nothing to do until it's time to go. She's split all the wood she can split, and the area beside the fireplace has just as much as it can hold. She just settles quietly into a corner until it's time to leave, laying her head on her hands.
"Direction resultant from consciousness, resulting in streams..." Meir'cillus speaks quietly, repeating patterns in the hopes of memorizing them, as he has been the entire time that he has been setting his things in order. His skin crawls with anxiety.
"Therian," he calls out from in front of the inn, "Felara! Are you ready to go?"
"Uh-huh. About time, smells like elf. Have it figured out?" Felara's sitting against the inn's front wall, and stands up.
"As well as I'm going to be able to. Any sign of Therian?" The drow lord fastens his cloak, the last of his pre-trip preparations. "We shouldn't spend too much time here. There's no telling what Vayen has done to Rey'deyono since I left the capital."
"Here." Therian croaks, walking out from the side of the inn.
"Oh, good, the gang's all here." Felara rolls her eyes. "You can use my horse, Scar, I don't need it."
Therian scowls at the telekinetic--and, actually, hates horses far more than Felara does, since she can't really direct them at all--but slightly clumsily mounts without incident.
"Who's talking about scars, Felara?" Meir'cillus gives her a stern look. "Let's get along until this over. Afterwards, fight all you like."
Felara casts a momentary glare in his direction, not in the mood, and turns her attention away, lifting just a little off the ground on her blade.
"Hold just a moment," the innkeeper requests, walking out with several bags and his usual "idiot grin." "I have some rations and extra water flasks for you to take with you. It won't do to face Vayen at less than your full strength for any reason, after all." He hands Therian two of the bags, one for Felara, since she has the horse. "Take care of yourself, Therian. I expect to see you back here promptly and in one piece." He smiles, pausing a moment, considering how he's seen her dote upon the general's two swords in her time here. "Would you like me to take General Xayu's swords, since your weapons will no doubt be confinscated? They'll be waiting for you when you return." Not if. When.
Therian's still a few moments, then unclips the swords quite deliberately, handing them down to the innkeeper. Then, on a whim, she reaches out and hugs him. It's out of character enough to catch even the ancient elf off-guard...but she nudges her horse into moving before he can reciprocate, afraid to know the reaction, trusting the others will catch up on the way to Lord Vayen's Fortress.
Derenith's eyes soften a moment, and he walks over to Meir'cillus, holding a pack up to him, too. "And take care of yourself, as well."
"After this is over, it may be rough within Vayen's kingdom for a while. Sub factions and loyalists will present all sorts of problems." Meir'cillus takes the pack with a thankful nod. "It may be a while. But I will see to it that she returns."
Derenith nods, then smiles. "Well. Your priestess is waiting. Safe travels to both of you."
Meir'cillus nods again, and spurs his horse on. Yes, Rey'deyono awaits... but first, there is an invincible drow lord to deal with.
Stumble!