Back to Ilitair

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A creature only human by birth streaks over the broken battlefield of a landscape, whatever stark black hair isn't shaved or bound into tiny braids whipping behind her. She's bourne atop a wicked, double-crescent blade weapon, finally slowing as she approaches her destination, standing straighter until she steps off the weapon. She grabs it from the air and slings it over her back as she approaches the future warlord of what won't be Elentria much longer. "The capital's wall has been breached," she states without waiting for much acknowledgement. He hadn't looked busy anyway. "Whatever defense they've been threatening, we haven't found it yet."

"Not even elves are boorish enough to hold a trump card this long. We've missed something, I'm sure of it." A drow of fairly average appearance, save for the dozen plus rings that dot his longish ears and his eyebrows, answers her without looking at her. "What of their forces? Have they been accounted for? I don't want to go in there and then be flanked without at least warning of it."

"Every part of every battalion is accounted for, save two companies, which are presumably stationed in the palace grounds. Even if those two were used as a striking force, the only way they have enough troops to do any damage is if they've pulled small numbers of soldiers from all over the army. I doubt we've left them enough open lines of communication to pull that off." Felara wipes the sweat from her brow with the back of a hand as she finishes speaking. It's too damned hot this far north.

Meir'cillus gazes placidly at Felara. An admirable human, who has tried her best to deal with that innate humanity problem. "Do not make the habit of underestimating those that are backed into a corner. We should have let them think they could escape." He looks back out over the wall, a sigh escaping his lips. "Don't take the throne room. I want it levelled. If the royal family is still inside, fine. But they probably aren't."

"Noted. If they're found alive elsewhere, I assume the policy is capture if convenient, kill if other..." she cuts off sharply, jerking her head to the west when an incredible screech that's hard to pin as an explosion or...what...splits the air, at least a mile or so distant. Felara looks back to Meir'cillus after a moment. "I don't suppose you sent large artillery over there when I wasn't looking?" Her blade's already off of her back.

"Just to fool you. I'm such a kidder." The sarcasm couldn't possibly be lost. "Scout the area," Meir'cillus grumbles, "I just want a general idea, nothing detailed, and get your ass back here in one piece. I'll be right behind." The drow wheels his horse about, eyes only hinting at the fury residing behind them, and charges off in the direction of the blast.

Felara nods only as she's already on the blade and off, leaning to a sharp angle against more speed than is usual even for her.

Meir'cillus can't help but a growl a little bit. Military advisors, bah. Stupid bastards. Nothing but greenhorns who had never spent time on a real battlefield. Let them stand against the torrential rain while their boots fill with mood and the warmest part of their entire being is the piss-stain in their pants. Let them bake in the blood of their friends and enemies. Then, and only then, would Meir'cillus turn his ear to listen to them again.

Over the hill the Elentrian spellcasters stick out soundly against the background.  The flash of sorcery has a habit of breaking off against what should be green.

"Archers! I need archers now! Infantry withdraw! Archers fire at those flashes, fire at will! Infantry withdraw!" His voice dry from shouting at any courier that might be near, Meir'cillus gives up the orders and instead begins to build his own sorcery into a ball within his clasped hands. He grits his teeth, ears popping against the thunderous blasts of sorcery all around. Ten more seconds. One more order.

"Glory goes to those victors who write history! Do not let these illiterate see you bleed!"

The rumbling that's grown louder his entire approach is becoming deafening, volume increasing faster than it should. Something's approaching. Something big is approaching.

Felara comes streaking up from behind the elven casters, too fast for them to react...but make no move against them. Her angle veers down quite sharply, heading straight for Meir'cillus with all her speed.

Meir'cillus sees her coming. Eyes narrow. He throws his hands forth flinging a swirling violet orb against Felara... or, the spellcasters if she manages to dodge. If she doesn't, she wasn't worth his time. If she does, then she'd better still be on his side.

Felara scowls. The weapon swirls aside, fast enough for centrifugal force to keep her in place. Before she's completely upright again, she streaks so close that her blade runs through the unfortunate horse's side and grabs either shoulder of his breastplate, jerking him soundly into the air. "Yeah, fuck you too. Just hold on." They both jerk quite sharply upward, quite nearly impaling Meir'cillus. Felara's amused at that...she knows it wouldn't have. She'd been paying attention.

Not three seconds after the horse crashes to the ground, an enormous swell of water comes crashing over the hill, thirty feet high. It sweeps hundreds of drow troops along with it right beside several sizeable boulders, with the power only a flash flood of this magnitude can have.

"Ah yes. That." Meir'cillus waits, utterly powerless in this position. There's really nothing he can do but watch the wall of water swallow the landscape alive from here.

Felara scowls at the scene below as she drops Meir'cillus onto his feet on a high ridge. "Half a battalion gone in twenty seconds...that's got to be some kind of record," she mutters. The flood sweeps by. The butte they're standing on shudders, but, at least as far back as they're standing, remains intact. Then the water doubles back, swirling completely around them, debris pummelling several sections of cliff to collapse...all uphill.

"Are you complaining, or doing something about it?" The warlord glances at her. "You can fly. Find out why we're being flooded out without a drop of rain in sight"

Felara nods once, and is off. A moment after she clears the butte, a blast of water slams into her like a geyser, slamming her back against the cliff and stunning her. The weapon goes flying past Meir'cillus.

A second plume of water, no more than two feet wide, barrels towards the drow.

Ugh... the telekinetic's eyes snap open again after a few moments, just barely enough time to jerk a small boulder from the water and land on it with a solid thwack. It drops for a moment before she regains her senses again, raising herself to her knees and shooting straight upward.

Meir'cillus springs as fast as his surprised legs can spring him, but still takes a portion of the plume. The impact spins him in a full circle, but the landing hurts a lot more than the water itself, and he's quickly back to his feet. 

"What the fuck?" He has no idea how to deal with this, not even an inkling of a notion. How does one fight with water?

Either to answer the question or just confuse it, the water begins to draw together in a tight band around the cliffs they're occupying, and then...raises its head. A sea serpent, entirely of water...or rather, a massively powerful water elemental. It opens its mouth into the same deafening screech that had first grabbed their attention, drawing back as though a striking viper and spreading massive transparent, wing-like fins to either side.

"Well," the drow lord calls to Felara. "My magic is useless against inorganic material. If you have any ideas," he raises his sword, "now would be a great time to hear them." He's sweating bullets right about now. "I can deal with bipeds."

"Bipeds, huh?" Felara takes a step back, more than a little tense, her weapon in a ready-to-throw position. "It's an elemental. Someone summoned it. One or all of those damned elves. Question is, who to take out, that they can't control it anymore?"

"My first thought would be all of them." The warlord watches the serpent carefully, waiting anxiously for any indication of attack. "My second would be to aim the one that the others are protecting. Probably the smallest, least significant looking one."

"The energy fields are too convoluted...I can't tell which one's channeling. I could just fling you in their general direction and let you pick through them while I see if I can't keep this thing's attention."

Meir'cillus looks somewhat horrified. "Are you honestly entertaining the notion of throwing me?"

(OOC: Throw the bastard, he deserves it. ^_^)

"No, I just like making small talk while staring down a dragon." She threads a strand of something from a pouch at her belt between her claws as she speaks, two small vials held deftly between her fingers at the same moment. She drips the contents of one over the strand, then uncaps the other and looks at Meir'cillus. "Happy landings."

Meir'cillus closes his eyes. "I'll tell you whether they are or not later." He clasps his hands, building up a sphere of antimatter sorcery for whatever might be waiting for him on the ground.

Felara nods. "Later" indeed. She lets out her breath a moment, and then, with a quickly flung arm and no other warning or ceremony, flings the drow general less than gently across the wide chasm. The serpent snarls and lunges at him, but Felara is ready. She leaps forward with her nether-arm, slashing at the elemental's throat with her suddenly fire-empowered claws. It lurches back, screeching, as a large chunk of it's torn away in an explosion of spray and steam. Felara's feet meet the stone she's just positioned, then back onto the butte, not daring to separate her concentration from Meir'cillus longer than necessary. Now the elemental's attention is fully on her, its eyes intense and furious as the throat flows back together.

Meir'cillus, for his part, lurches roughly in the air when she grabs the stone, but then his path straightens again, finally dropping him at least two hundred yards away. The landing's not gentle, but neither is it unmanageable...she'd slowed him at the last second, then just dropped him. The telekinetic has other things on her mind.

The elf nearest Meir'cillus had seen him coming and, crying an alarm to his fellows, lunges immediately for the drow lord with a polearm.

Meir'cillus lands just about as he figured he would: In a way that pisses him off. He hadn't seen the elf coming from his angle, but the cry had more than gotten his attention. He turns a bit and lets the antimatter sphere flare outwards towards the chargers knees.

A startled scream announces the moment the attacker quite simply finds a large portion of his legs missing, with no other ceremony. He manages to fling his polearm, with disrupted aim and little force, at Meir'cillus even as he crashes to the ground, writhing.

The sorcerer who had been running up behind him is nicked by the attack as well, saved only by quick reflexes. His left arm still exists, but it isn't pleased. He scowls. Drow magic at its most despicable. A lightning elemental attack flashes at Meir'cillus.

At the same time, a group of four elves are moving away very, very quickly, shepherding a smallish one in the center.

The warlord thinks as quickly as he has the chance to think. His swordbreaker is thrown to one side as he rolls to evade the polearm, the thought being that it might serve as enough of a lightning rod to draw the elemental magic to one side. A gout of blood sprays outwards from a slashing wound across his left ear, the only part of him that had failed to clear the missile.

The maneuver works, though the ground gets quite enough charge to be painful. By now it's becoming obvious that most of the elves are aware just who this drow really is...and they have no intention of letting him live long enough to strike against them. One elf is running in this direction, another not far behind. The sorcerer, armed with a long, light spear that must double as a staff, lunges for the drow's heart when the former tosses aside his weapon.

As if I would allow myself to be killed by worthless elves...

Meir'cillus whips his heavy cloak off of his back, holding it tightly between his hands. When the staff comes close, he turns the clock a few degrees clockwise and jerks it to the side, hoping to tear the spearedge away from his own body.

It just proves he hadn't gotten where he is by being weak. And, for that matter, that he hadn't gotten where he is by being merely average. The elf plants his feet, trying with little success to redirect his momentum, his eyes widening.

Meir'cillus's eyes narrow just a bit when the elf plants his feet. In that moment he releases the cloak and reaches out with both hands, grasping the collar of the attacking elf and flooding his hands with antimatter sorcery. He may be a one-trick horse, but damned if it isn't a good one.

The sharp scream only lasts for the barest moment before the elf collapses, quite dead, part of his throat and upper chest both gone.

By now the two who remain in this one little section step have drawn bows, standing perhaps fifteen feet away, eyes narrow. "This is as far as you'll threaten us, 'Lord' Meir'cillus." The retreating foursome is getting farther away by the second.

Meir'cillus growls lightly. 

"You're absolutely right," he holds up his hands in surrender. "I'll leave the threatening to my archers on the hill." He smiles. "Shoot or dodge, take your pick."

One scowls, the other's face remains largely expressionless. It's an easy choice. Neither of them are low-level soldiers, either. One jerks suddenly, an arrow bristling from a nearly perfect position in his chest, eyes wide. His arrow's loosed, but not before the aim is thrown. The other, seeing this chance about to vanish, grits his teeth and fires, straight for the drow warlord's heart, just before an arrow strikes his shoulder.

The warlord drops, wrapping his arms around his most vital points to stymie the deadly impact of the better aimed arrow. He's only quick enough to get part of one arm in the way, and his growl is as much of crippling pain as it is confusion.

"Holy hell..." he grins, despite the blood flowing down his arm, "... I thought I was lying." But there isn't time for that. The warlord grits his teeth, holding his breath, and snaps the shaft off of the arrowhead, leaving only a short length still protruding from his hand. He puts his heels to the ground, picking up his still slightly staticky swordbreaker en route to the retreating elves. He wishes in a way that he had something good to shout at them, but really, he's bleeding. It's a solitary experience, that.

They've stopped again, but another two are ready with two more arrows. The other two are casting...one must be employing an earth elemental spell, because the cliff begins to rumble, a split forming between them and the drow.

"Elves are like rats," the warlord growls to himself. "They just will not die when you want them too." This can't be so complex as it seems. Wood... wood is organic, is it not? But only living wood. Right? He doesn't know. But he's willing to take a gamble on it. At his waist he gathers his sorcery together, swirling it against its own energy until it expands to to surround his entire body, pushing ever outwards. He grits his teeth at the incredible pain coursing through his body, but bears it if for no other reason than to see those blasted elves cook.

The bowstrings snap. The arrows are subsequently vaporized shaft and flight, leaving the tips to fall to bad spins, the point never facing forward for more than the barest moment.

The elves scramble backward from the field at the last second. One plays chicken just a little too well and loses the top two joints of his left hand's fingers to the field. His bow's snapped.

Meir'cillus gives chase, his eyes only half-open. His mind isn't even functioning consciously right now... without a battle all around, he would have passed out already from pain and blood loss. As it stands he is driven only by his instinct to dominate. Flecks of antimatter whirl outwards from his field in every direction as he pushes himself to walk faster, try to keep up with them. He's fading, but as long as he's breathing, he will pursue them.

The two sorcerers are nowhere to be seen...there's probably a path leading down the side of the cliff. The other two are waiting to block that, pinned themselves but swords drawn.

Surely, the drow warlord thinks to himself, that blasted summoner has lost concentration by now. Meir'cillus has one last trick up his sleeve, though. He drops to a knee, dizzy and lightheaded from his wound. Every last bit of his focus is put into the whirling field of sorcery then, forcing it to lose its integrity and burst outwards in all directions to a distance of no more than a hundred feet. The grass beneath him blackens and whithers beneath the force of the magic. 

It's all that he can manage. To the burnt grass he topples, eyes half-open, consciousness fleeting.

The elves--especially the one who's already lost part of his hand--know their chances are better jumping. They leap from the cliff into the churning water below just in front of the field. One loses a fair section of hair, but that's it.

As soon as the antimatter field bursts free, something...changes. The water calms, stops its churning, begins to flow as it should. Felara, bloodied, bruised, and with only marginally more strength left than Meir'cillus has, lets out her breath when the elemental disintigrates, splashing down over the rocks below.

A few minutes later, she kneels beside Meir'cillus long enough to briefly examine his injuries, tie off what needs to be tied, and somewhat gently gather the significantly smaller drow into her arms.

---

Quite some time later, after the sun's risen, actually, Felara wrings some cool water from a rag, removes the one already on Meir'cillus's forehead, and lays the new one in its place. It's only bright enough in this thick-walled tent to accomodate her human eyesight. Most of Meir'cillus's injuries have been well-tended by now, a good many by her, though the most serious by the surgeons.

His eyes open slowly, groggily... perhaps mercifully, his mouth is too dry to really speak. Else he might be inclined to swear.

"Ugh," he manages, glancing at... an oddly helpful Felara. Perhaps he had misjudged her after all.

Felara glances down when she sees his eyes open, then back to what she'd been doing. Her eyes are far from warm, exactly, but she is glad to see him awake regardless. "Nice night to get the shit kicked out of you. Couldn't have picked a day when there were surgeons without immediately threatening agendas readily available?"

"I do what I can," the warlord manages to say, "why do I feel heavier on one side of my head...?"

"You forgot half your ear and about five earrings. Teach you to keep your possessions together." She finishes spiking a water flask with the appropriate "get him off his lazy ass ASAP" potions and turns back to him, face still expressionless as ever. She supports his head with her nether arm, the claws curling wickedly on the other side of his peripheral vision. The human hand holds the flask near his lips. "Drink."

Meir'cillus does as told, not really caring if she's willing to poison him or not. It's part of the game, after all.
"Tastes like piss," he mutters once he's finished, "at least I know it'll work." It takes some doing, but he does manage to sit up alright. "What of the battle?"

Felara sets the bottle aside. "Every aspect of the water elemental vanished pretty suddenly, figured you had something to do with that. Became just one big, draining puddle. Soldiers that were stationed in and around that valley are still straggling in; a lot more bodies are washing up. As for the elves...the king was killed, so was the queen. All but two of the royal brats and assorted successors are accounted for in some way. The idiot crown prince stumbled into some of our soldiers; he was captured alive despite his best efforts to the contrary." Hadn't been quick enough to swallow the poison. "Except the flooded area, nothing's really changed and everything's on schedule. Scouts are going here and there, looking for any hint of an attack from the western front it opened, but haven't reported anything of note."

Meir'cillus just nods. "We must keep our guard up. I may have run them off, but... whoever summoned that thing may still be alive. You and I both know that we can't fight a flood. What about you, though?" He turns his head. "Are you injured?"

"Nothing serious or impeding." She's mostly covered with a lot of dark bruises...definitely had the shit knocked out of her. Cuts and gouges are somewhat limited, though...only so many, none really serious and only a few large or deep.

"It galls me to my core that some idiot elf was able to escape from me. I want mages, sorcerers, summoners, whatever we have to take watch in the castle walls, and be ready to combat another elemental attack." He glances at his feet, then back up. "Pisses me off."

Felara nods. "At least now we know their trump card."

"Maybe." The warlord takes his feet, wobbly only for a moment. "That was a hell of a thing to hide from us. If a summoner with that much power could escape our notice, then they may have other little trinkets hidden in their blouses. The victory is still ours, if the royalty fell, but... I don't care for coups that I don't start."

"You could try interrogating the royal brat we captured." Felara climbs to her feet as well, somewhat stiff.

"Any general worth a damn doesn't tell the crown any more than he must," Meir'cillus answers, "but it's better than nothing."

"Speaking of generals, a messenger brough word while you were still out that Xayu is ahead of schedule and will be here by tomorrow's sunrise. Seeing as you're ahead of schedule, too...looks like someone didn't trust you to finish your own job."

The warlord glances at her, but does manage a smile. The only thing that smile displays, though, is teeth. 

"Glorious. I have so much to learn from Xayu's expert tutelage. By tomorrow night I am sure to be a well-polished kisser of Vayen's ass."

One corner of her mouth twitches. Considering how rare it is for her to come that close to even a smirk, it's genuine humor. "Isn't that a relief. Any sort of cleanup you want done to make that water-dragon-thing situation look more controlled than it was?"

Meir'cillus's smile grows genuine. "Hide the bodies and claim it was our idea. Fierce resistance cost us a whole battalion, but the enemy was destroyed in one fell swoop by our sorcery." Lying comes so easily to him that the bastard almost believes it himself.

Felara fiddles with her claws thoughtfully. "There's a reservoir a bit north of there...I'll check into whether it was incorporated into said ingenious strategy, and try to get the obvious flood feasibly explained." She looks up. "Anything else?"

"Not off the top of my head," answers Meir'cillus. "Oh... was my sword recovered?"

She gestures over to the mat he'd been occupying. It's lying just to the side, quite near enough for him to have grabbed at any time. Just in case.

The warlord takes it up, gazes down each serrated point of the blade. "All of that, and it didn't taste one drop of blood. Perhaps when Xayu arrives that will change." The sword finds its place at his side. "Let's get to this. Where is the royal whipping boy anyway?"

"He's being held in what was Captain Trythen's tent." She looks up. "It was convenient. And I don't like him anyway." Couldn't keep him in normal containment. His own people might kill him to keep him from cracking in interrogations like the one coming.

Meir'cillus nods. "You did well today, Felara. A shining example of what a human can become with a bit of application." That out of the way, the warlord makes his way out of the tent, shaking the cobwebs out from between his ear and a half. Perhaps a bit of questioning will make him feel better. 

The guards outside the tent where the prince...ex-prince...is being held had been about half asleep from boredom, but stand up and salute quickly when one of them recognizes Meir'cillus coming.

Meir'cillus glances at the both of them. "No matter what you hear, don't come in." That's all that he says to them before entering the tent and looking around, trying to appear dignified.

Another drow soldier is stationed inside. He stands up as quickly as the others had. The elf--dark-haired and fine-featured, certainly no more than eighty or ninety years old--looks up when this drow walks in, his eyes wary and regaining at least a little of the clarity exhaustion had robbed them of. He's never seen Meir'cillus Viszelunore, only knows his name. But there can't be a whole lot of doubt. And he doesn't even know about the earrings.

Meir'cillus glances at the guard. "Leave." And then at the elf, his expression hinting at nothing more than mild irritation. "Do you know who I am?"

"Meir'cillus Viszelunore. I presume," the elf ventures, slightly softly, after a moment. He does shift off of the cot he's laying on, though, enough to put his feet on the floor and sit up straight. Trying to look more in control than he clearly feels...and trying to be what he believes his family would wish of him. He might have stood, but the bandaged arrow wound that had severed his left hamstring prevents that.

"I'm not going to waste your time or mine by telling you what I expect of you." The warlord draws his swordbreaker, glancing again at it before laying it aside, within reach. "Tell me what I want to know and you won't be made to suffer. I know that you would have sooner taken your own life than been capture, but here we are. No point squandering your life now."

The elf glances at the swordbreaker, then back up to the drow. "I don't even know what you want to know. But regardless, I won't tell you anything that can harm what's left of my people." He's trying his damnedest to be strong. Actually, not doing a bad job of that, a legitimate young noble.

"That's just what I was going to get at." The drow lord casually pulls a nearby chair out from its place and sits on it so his arms rest on the back, his mouth covered by his sleeves. He gazes contemplatively at the young elf for quite some time before speaking again.

"Don't you think that ending this meaningless war immediately would be better for them, in the end?"

The elf's eyes harden. "Not when the alternative is slavery in conditions worse than death."

"Ever the fatalists, you elves. You've never even met me..." Meir'cillus glances again at the guard, "... and you immediately assume that I would put your people to slavery. You think you know a great deal about me, based on my skin, and yet you had to guess my name. Guard, I told you to leave. If I have to say it again, it will be the mortal coil that you leave."

The guard had missed that. He stiffens, clasps his hands in apology, and is gone.

The elf watches him go. He's not sure he likes that. He looks back to Meir'cillus again after a hesitant moment. "I know what's happened to every nation that's fallen to Vayen. I know what's happened to the people there. You're working for him. That's enough for me."

Meir'cillus smiles again when the guard disappears. "Well, we'll see just how long that arrangement lasts."

The elf blinks, narrowing his eyes a little, mostly from legitimate confusion. With skepticism mixed in. "I don't know what you mean by that," he admits after a minute. "You couldn't overthrow Vayen, he's gotten too powerful. And there's no reason for you to tell me that even if you thought you could."

"And now you're underestimating me. Your chances aren't looking that great anyway, elf, but I suppose you'll be just as useless as the rest. This is why your people have been conquered so soundly... no balls."

In even a few more years, he would have been able to brush it off. But as it stands, the prince very nearly leaps to his feet, scowling and fists clenched. "'My people' have maintained our nations for nearly eleven thousand years, and Eriwae for forty millenia before!"

"Yes, but let's focus. Any idiot knows that past greatness means nothing if you have no present. But I suppose elves aren't just any idiots." Meir'cillus doesn't stand. He's not concerned, not really... or else he would've let the guard stay. But some things aren't for yokel ears. "If you die now, how are you supposed to continue that legacy?"

The elf looks aside, trying to calm himself and swallow his own fear. "Our 'legacy' isn't in my family. It's in our people." He looks back to Meir'cillus, steadier again. "You can kill every successor to the throne. All the way down the list. And there will still be someone to step forward and lead our people to the sun again."

Meir'cillus stands. A calculated gesture, just like the rest. A good interrogator never has to touch the subject. 

"You are right about one thing. I can kill every successor to the throne. I'll even burn the list when I'm finished." The warlord's smile goes away. "You realize that you are the only thing standing between Meir'cillus Viszelunore and the rest of your people."

"I can't see how, considering my current situation." A bitter admission, but still true.

"Help me end this war by telling me what I need to know. Vayen does not control Meir'cillus Viszelunore, elf. I will ensure that your kind is treated well in my prefecture, but you have to help me end the bloodshed."

The elf looks at the warlord after a moment. He wants to believe that, he does. But...nothing's ever so simple. "I don't have any guarantees of anything," he states finally. "Nothing to make me think that you won't just turn around and be worse than Vayen."

"No," Meir'cillus shrugs, "you don't. But then, you don't have any reason to think that I would be worse."

The elf looks down. He's silent for a long time. "What do you want to know?" He finally asks, without looking up.

"I want to know the identity of a particular person. A summoner. I want information about whoever it was that drew this confrontation out by flooding out one of my battalions." The warlord keeps his voice soft, not pushing, but suggesting. There's no reason to kick a dead horse.

The prince looks up quickly, face somewhat stricken. "They've already struck?" The whole intention had been to take out Meir'cillus. The telekinetic would have been a perk, but, mostly...the warlord.

"I'm missing part of my ear because of that 'strike'. In fact, it only stopped gushing blood a few minutes ago. I'll give them that they came close to taking my life, even. I don't know what they were planning, but the results were disastrous for both sides." The warlord sits down again, again sinking his chin behind his sleeve. "To answer your question. Yes."

The elf's eyes travel for a moment. So it had almost worked. Only almost...but...almost. Maybe if given another chance...? "I don't know much about them," he says finally. "My father and the general kept it between them." He refuses to look at Meir'cillus through this.

"Are you married?" The question pops out of Meir'cillus' lips faster than even he can prepare for it. Huh... didn't see that coming. Makes it that much more fun.

The elf looks up, surprised. His brain is entertaining a meltdown trying to figure out where the drow is going with that. "No. Not yet."

"Girlfriend? Mistress? Boyfriend?"

"No." There had been someone he'd hoped...but she'd been put on a ship months before, and now he's here.

"It's sad, that. To never have a chance to love someone." Meir'cillus stands, adjusts his collar. "Think carefully about what you're going to tell me. I want you to have no regrets whatever you decide. You know the extent of my cruelty, elf. Consider that you know nothing of my charity." The warlord turns, as if to leave... which he will, depending on what the elf says or doesn't say in the next few seconds.

He says nothing. The Elentrian prince just swallows his discomfiture, watches the warlord for a moment, then closes his eyes.

Meir'cillus walks calmly outside the tent.

Outside, he looks for the guard he'd dismissed. "Tell him he's free to go, if he wants. Do remind him that he's taking his chances if he leaves my protection." That said, he walks off, looking for Felara.

The guard's surprised, but nods.

His timing couldn't have been better looking for Felara...another quarter hour and she'll probably be gone. As it stands, she's finished as much research as can be derived from terrain maps and other observations, and, in the secrecy of a conference tent, is busily briefing two mages at to what they're going to be doing for the next two or three hours. Though this version says something about convincing the Elentrians that their attack had failed, rather than fooling their own commanding officer.

Meir'cillus walks up beside her, looking over two mages, not saying anything. He nods every so often, shakes his head once or twice. All at inappropriate places.

Felara can't decide if she's amused or annoyed. Depends on each particular instance of mis-nodding. After getting his consent on dismissing the mages, more for formality's sake than anything, since he'd have stopped her already had he had a legitimate problem with anything, the two drow leave with their assignments in mind. Felara looks over the terrain map one more time. "You certainly seem to be in a good mood. I wonder how many pieces that poor elfling is in right now?"

"Physical torture is true barbarism. The art of interrogation is in the mind." Meir'cillus grins, sidelong, at Felara. "Tomorrow that boy will give me everything I want to know, and do it willingly. What have you figured out?"

He is good at interrogation, that she has to admire. She usually takes about ten seconds to start cutting things off of people. "Alright...here's your brilliant battle plan of yesterday in short. You fill in the blanks." Felara shuffles the maps a little, getting a certain one on top, a large-scale terrain map. She points. "The reservoir up here is just what we need. The dam's destruction would have generated enough water to just about explain the existing scar. Now, with these passes collapsed," again she points, "the flood would be channeled exactly where the first one was. Better, the water flows through this small canyon to get there. Plugging that gives us a way to dam it again. Complete control.

"So. The flood-mark is explained. The trickier part is explaining why." Felara turns her back to the table, leaning on it and facing the warlord. "Have a couple ideas on that, but if you have thoughts, they'd be appreciated. Mine have holes as of yet."

"Castles can only hold so many supplies..." the warlord muses aloud as he glances over the maps, "flooding the castle would slow the escape of any troops, foster sickness, in addition to the initial battalion-smashing a wall of water could cause."

"Hm...it would take some doing, but maybe..." Felara looks back to the maps. "It may be possible. I'll look into it momentarily, need some data not here. Now what about the bodies? In terms of time and resources, we can get rid of the drow ones or add elven ones, but not both."

"Add elven. It tends to put a better mood on my kind to see dead elves lying around."

Her lips twitch again. "There's a mass grave just outside the city, that they didn't get the chance to finish...at least six hundred or so uncovered bodies for the taking. I'd suggest just having them piled up at the high end of the valley...the water will disperse them naturally that way." She looks up to Meir'cillus. "Can you spare six hundred troops for the morning?"

"I'm sure it wouldn't be much of a problem. We will, of course, want runners with them in case we need to call them back." The drow warlord looks up, rubs his eyes wearily. "It seems to be going well enough. We shouldn't push any harder than necessary, though, until we've found that summoner."

Felara nods. "A few of the good scouts are on that...Korin and Le'fyir, most notably, even though neither of them really should be on duty right now. None of them have reported back just yet. I'll direct commanders to keep to high ground, out of flood zones, until the last second when they actually dump their unit's bodies. Right now my primary focus is cleaning things up to shove in Xayu's face, so that he doesn't get the bright idea to try to take over like he did to Shentan in Verisea." She starts rolling up the maps. "So are you going to sleep at some point before collapsing on the table? Being knocked out for a few hours doesn't count, last I checked."

"In a minute. Answer me a question first, Felara." Meir'cillus glances at her, the muscles in his arm tensing somewhat. Her answer here could change things for the extreme worse, but... he has to know. "What are your thoughts on career ambition?"

"Don't have any." The answer is flat and simple. "I don't like people, with few exceptions, and I don't like being an active player in politics. I tried neutrality, that didn't work. So I'm fighting for the side that will win eventually, that when all the dust clears, I'll be left alone to pursue the alchemic studies I've been forced to set aside for now."

Meir'cillus scowls at that. It has to be a lie. Nobody fights without a real reason. But...

"Then you won't mind if Xayu has an accident while he's here."

"I certainly wouldn't. What did you have in mind?"

The warlord scratches his head, unconsciously feeling for the rest of his missing ear. "I'm thinking about pocket resistance with Elentrian bows and arrows. Crack shot, too, from too far away to identify the shooter."

Felara nods, thoughtful. "Reports say he's coming through that pass near Mount Lu'ad, where we've had officers picked off anyway. His reports, though...where else might he come through, if they're lying?"

"Then we do it right here in camp," the warlord offers, "perhaps I'll do it myself. All I need is a hand or his head, and a dead elf with a sword."

The telekinetic finally finishes rolling up all the maps. "You seem to have this figured out. So I'll leave that to you, unless there's something specific you'd have me doing."

"That depends. If you think you can handle it, I would leave it to you. If not, subtler means. But I'll see him dead before tomorrow is out."

Felara nods thoughtfully. "I'll figure it out. I'll get back to you in a few hours on that."

Meir'cillus nods. "Don't push yourself too hard either. You took quite an asskicking back there."

"Was doing fine till the fire element wore of of my claws." It's more wry observation than an attempt to conserve pride. "Anyway, I'll be fine. Just need to use my energy more conservatively for a few days, ride a horse instead of a blade."

The warlord nods. "I'm going to sleep for a few hours. Wake me if I'm needed, and try to rest yourself."

"Yes, that...will try to squeeze that in somewhere." Actually, she'd legitimately forgotten.

"See that you do. I'll be asleep somewhere."

---

About six hours later, Meir'cillus finds himself walking anxiously about the camp, waiting for... something that he can't quite name.

There are quite a few soldiers wandering around camp and complaining vehemently about carrying filthy elven bodies--many in early stages of decay--for several miles. And, no doubt, an abnormal proportion of soldiers actually bathing.

Felara is in her tent, quite horizontal. She's beginning to slip out of the initial trance that she relies on to get rest against pain, heading towards normal stages of sleep.

At this point, a messenger comes running up to him, slightly breathless. "Lord Meir'cillus...we've just received word that General Xayu's caravan has been attacked! Our support is requested immediately south of Mount Lu'ad!"

A curious smirk crosses Meir'cillus's lips at that. "Find Felara. If she hasn't slept, leave her where she is, otherwise, call her to the gate of camp." He turns and, not so swiftly as to indicate eagerness, jogs for the gate.

The area near the gate is one big flurry of activity...several captains and lieutenants are running around, gathering people of virtually every specialty, that Meir'cillus will have whatever he wants to pick from when he gets here. There's also a self-contained special forces unit standing quietly aside. A major turns to salute Meir'cillus. "We're awaiting your orders, Lord Meir'cillus."

"I know that. It's what you're getting paid for." Meir'cillus has never been one for saluting, but does give a somewhat lax salute. He glances around at what they have. "I need long range archers and two good scouts. If I don't have that, find it. If I do, saddle up. We don't have enough time to stand here."

The major nods. He barks a few orders here and there, and Meir'cillus's request --along with the implied, minimal number of others-- is filled with admirable speed. The unit's assembled within three minutes. He leans to a messenger as he mounts his horse, then looks to Meir'cillus. "Apparently Felara's asleep. Shouldn't we wake her for something so pressing? There's time to sleep when she's dead."

"You tell her that when..." the warlord gives a sigh. "Get her. And get her a good horse, too. The rest of you, to Mount Lu'ad! One scout stay on the mountain road, one ride ahead and report back as soon as you see the enemy. We'll snipe the resistance out."

The major nods, and heads back into the camp at a quick clip. He's very fond of his status, and is glad to bark orders that could easily have been spoken at the stablehands as he passes. The rest of the cavalry is off with admirable, well-practiced precision that indicates probably having far too many drills somewhere down the line. But it's still remarkably efficient.

Not long after, Felara comes galloping up, making up time with all the horse's speed, until finally passing alongside the unit until slowing somewhat to keep pace with Meir'cillus. Her horse comes up close to his, giving them more opportunity to talk with less chance of being heard. "What's going on, now?" She's still only about two-thirds awake.

"Xayu was attacked. It appears that there are some itelligent elves after all. We have some time before we get there... are you going to be alright?" He glances sidelong at her. "You won't be useful to either of us if you're asleep."

"I'll be fine. Just give me a minute."

At this point, the major's horse joins theirs. He doesn't look pleased and doesn't say a word.

The corner of Felara's mouth twitches again at the brand-new bruise coming in on his jaw. He should know that she comes up swinging if awakened by touch.

Meir'cillus grins. "At least the bruise is on your face. How far are we?"

"About forty-five minutes out," the major responds. "Hopefully the general is well-escorted enough to hold his own."

"Yes," Meir'cillus agrees, "hopefully. In about forty minutes I want the archers to go ahead and draw their bows. We don't know exactly where the enemy is, and I want to be ready. Felara and I can't stop them on our own this time."

The major bristles at that. "We did all we could, and I thought that we responded well to the flood considering the circumstances. The archers were there to support you when you needed it."

Oh, god, here we go.... Felara stays out of it, trying to figure out what precisely is going on with Xayu and crew. Whether it's a straightforward as it looks.

"I have half an ear lying in in the water somewhere that says you weren't fast enough. But it wasn't bad." Meir'cillus glances at Felara. "Something on your mind?"

She looks over to him. "Nothing that will be answered before we get to the site and see what's going on for ourselves."

Meir'cillus's grin widens. "Yes, we will. If Xayu is thinking anything like what I'm thinking, it ought to be a most interesting encounter."

"I'm sure...."

When they finally approach the standoff, nothing has been settled. Both entrances have been destroyed, filled with rock from the destruction of canyon walls. From this high angle, the approaching force can see both the elves and, less clearly, the caravan below, exchanging fire and generally not getting much accomplished. The fair-skinned soldiers very clearly have the upper hand, though...it's only a matter of time.

Felara narrows her eyes when the attackers come into sight. Most of them have blonde or white hair...almost all Elentrian elves are western-descended. They have brown hair; sometimes black. In either case, theirs doesn't appear to be more than a strike team. "Is it just me, or is Xayu getting his ass kicked by fifty prettily-dressed elves?"

"Do you wonder where they came from, Felara?" Meir'cillus holds up a hand, ordering the crew to stop. "They obviously haven't been in a war yet. Dammit, this just complicates things. Thoughts?"

"I have no idea. White hair?" She looks over to Meir'cillus. "Is there anywhere on this continent with white-haired elves? Or a semi-near island? Or something?" Because I sure as hell hope this doesn't indicate Serandei getting involved. Vayen may well be strong enough by now to take on the usually passive, aloof elves of the northern continent Serandei...but maybe not. Its strength hasn't tested since the great elven alliance Eriwae fell...and the northern elves had caused that.

"I doubt it. If we kill most of them, then we can find out." Meir'cillus glances back at the crew along with him. "I don't like them! I don't think they ought to be here anymore. Pick your targets carefully, aim for any obvious leaders. Felara, let's you and I circle around to the other side. Let the snipers get their attention."

Felara nods. She glances over her shoulder at what the archers are doing, then takes off after Meir'cillus down a roundabout path, as quickly as possible. As soon as they're out of earshot and she doesn't sense anyone nearby..."damnit. I sure as hell hope they aren't from the north, else this may turn into a really bad time to kill Xayu and cause a power turnover."

There're definitely grinding teeth in Meir'cillus' mouth right about now. "I may have to save it for later, then. If he were to get killed, I don't think I would mind, but for now... high ground?"

"Fair enough. There's also a chance that, even if they are Serandein, it's just a small group of sympathizers. It's not like the nation generally gets involved with anything or anyone."

Meir'cillus smiles a bit at her. "Sympathizers, bah. If they have weapons, they're belligerents." 

The highest worthwhile point of the mountain path appears much too quickly before them. Meir'cillus peers down into the chasm, the slight breeze causing his hair to wave somewhat. Breeze... bad for arrows. "There are too many to just wipe out. But we'll have to incapacitate them all before we can help Xayu and his parade out of there."

Felara nods, looking over the scene. "I can take out that line behind the ridge in one whack...it's when the rest start shooting that it'll get tricky...!" She ducks down behind the horse's head, and an arrow slams against the rock behind her. "Sometimes it's so fucking nice to be psychic," she half-mutters.

"Do it, then. Get their attention and I promise they won't shoot at you for long." Meir'cillus is actually looking forward to this. The sorcery literally brims forth from his eyes and fingertips, looking down at those... beautiful elves. Their fine clothes and shining hair, sleek faces... how he hates them.

The demi-human nods as she jumps from her horse. She has no skill at horseback combat...won't get as good a throw if she doesn't get back to the ground. Her blade tips back, then flashes forward, hurtling in an increasingly fast spin towards the elves. The first leaps out of the way. But it had looked like it was flying in a straight line...it veers sharply, unnaturally, and cuts five archers very literally in half before the others have a chance to react and take cover. Felara's hand strains to the side, trembling as though pushing against something heavy, as the blade curves around for another pass.

Drow archers fire. Several more of the elves go down...all are looking for cover. One, shielded from Meir'cillus's archers, takes a knee, aims carefully, and lets an arrow snap towards the psychic's heart. 

The magic that lets loose from Meir'cillus's hands covers a wide area to his front, encompassing the approaching arrow as well as a few of the corpses. Even he didn't know that he'd had that kind of distance but... hatred is apparently quite a push. He spurs his own horse to charge against those that remain even as the field leaves his hands.

The elves are quick to scatter to avoid the field...only one is caught by it fatally, though two more are seriously injured. The elves mobilize to accomodate Meir'cillus very quickly...two hard-flung spears fly in his direction, along with several arrows. Felara drops her blade to stop them one at a time and springs after Meir'cillus, but it will only be so long before too many follow.

The drow snipers are no longer picking many off after the initial flurry...not on this side of the chasm, anyway. The elves' cover is too good.

One of them, somehow untouched despite the high, easily-visible position he's refused to back down from, narrows his eyes just slightly as he watches Meir'cillus, his vividly white hair and pale, not entirely un-drow-like eyes glinting in the sunlight. He watches everything quietly, quite distant from the warlord as of yet, looking away long enough to raise his arm for a speckled hawk to alight upon it, saying something too soft to be heard at distance to the bird.

Spears and arrows and who knows what else. The former Lord Yerosyn clicks his tongue and tugs at the reins, causing his horse to turn rather abruptly. Of course riding into the center of the enemy was a mistake... but what else could he do? In moments, orbs of antimatter are swirling in all directions, but Meir'cillus finds himself harshly pressured... and without a horse. The damn thing had made too good cover.

At this point, the white-haired elf looks up, calling something in a calm, ringing voice and obscure elven language, bearing only traces of similarities to everday Sindarin and Quenya. Arrows stay trained on Meir'cillus and Felara, but none none fire... it's a slow, organized retreat that retrieves all wounded and dead, but a retreat nonetheless. The elven commander's yellow eyes stay fixed quietly on Meir'cillus after only a few moments.

He can almost feel those eyes on him. Still a few moments pass before Meir'cillus catches that glance. He smiles when he does.

"Are you done?" he demands of the commander, though he has no idea if his voice can be heard.

The elf only smiles very slightly. "Goodness no." Even as he speaks, a well-protected mage finishes something or other, and a faintly glowing white circle traces through the air, revealing a place...very different beyond. The elves quickly and efficently file through this under their comrades' cover fire...only three, and two of those the protecting archers, are lost. The commander watches the last of them file through, then winces lightly when an arrow strikes the left side of his chest...and glances off the white cloak none of the others had been wearing. He looks back to Meir'cillus as he steps off of his stone. "Another day." With that, he steps into the gateway himself.

"Hopefully," Meir'cillus sighs. He really wished that he could have followed... perhaps gained some insight into what the hell is going on. As it stands, he only heads towards Xayu's caravan, calling for Felara as he goes.

All told, the telekinetic's head is spinning. She calls her weapon back to her hand and slings it across her back as she follows Meir'cillus. "That...was damned weird."

"You're telling me. But for now... let's deal with the problem in front of us." The warlord makes his way along the innards of the canyon, his mood deteriorating by the second. "Xayu! One of you idiots give me some proof that someone is alive!"

After a few moments, a drow face peers cautiously around a wagon and then, once he sees Meir'cillus, shifts his cloak that his bleeding is covered. The marks on his belt tell that he's a major, but he's met this particular warlord in the past anyway. "We need a healer." It's the first thing out of his mouth. "The general was shot down on the first arrow."

"You're out of luck. We had no time to bring a healer along with us. We'll just have to move him. How many remain that can travel on their own?" A moment ago it was smiling and rage. Now, though, Meir'cillus is all business.

"Not many." The major sighs, looking around, counting mentally. "Maybe eleven." Out of a unit of sixty-odd soldiers...the elves had been very thorough. He gestures for Meir'cillus to follow, walking along to the second supply wagon. The general is lain out under it, face expressionless despite a gory, roughly treated arrow wound very near his hear.

"It took you quite long enough. Stop for tea?"

"Twice. We wouldn't have come at all, except your ancestors were screaming so loudly in shame of you that I couldn't hear the pot whistle." The grin comes back. "Felara, please send word to our remaining troops that we need an evacuation party with a few spare healers. Then come back here, if you don't mind."

Felara nods, heading up the slope at a brisk jog.

Xayu scowls lightly, but brushes it off otherwise. He's too vulnerable at the moment not to. He looks up again. "So. What became of the elves?"

"We killed the ones that we could. Most of your attackers, anyway. Their commander escaped..." Meir'cillus scowls, "... some sort of teleportation spell. The Elentrians are subjugated."

"Either you've missed the gaping hole in my left side, you're a bigger fool than I had originally thought, or we weren't attacked by Elentrians. Now which was it?" They'd only gotten bare glimpses of their attackers from this position.

Meir'cillus just smiles. "What the fuck do you think, mastermind? You are the one lying here with a hole in your side." The warlord kneels near Xayu, eyes burning. "And if I was the fool you seem to think I am, that gaping hole would be in your forehead."

Xayu's eyes are icily cold, a cooler, more collected sort of anger. "And if you weren't the fool I think you are, you'd realize how severely you're overstepping your bounds at this particular moment."

Felara approaches them again, as she'd been met in the middle by the major. "Major Trim'zel is sending riders back after to the camp now."

Meir'cillus just smiles. "Good. Thank you Felara." He stands again, adjusting his light riding shirt. "Now that we're finished bailing the general out of his troubles, we should return to camp. Are you all right?"

"Not a scratch." She actually knows more about what had just taken place then she'll admit readily. But that sort of bickering and posturing won't help anything. Yet. She looks down at a blindfolded, hideously scarred human sitting calmly back against the wagon for cover. Bound hand and foot, sure, an obvious slave, but being so sedate under circumstances like this is still somewhat intriguing from someone of her birth race. Hm...I bet I know who that is. She looks back to Meir'cillus, though, after a moment. Also inconsequential.

"Will you join me on the ride back to camp then, Felara? There are things that you and I must discuss." Meir'cillus gives a slight bow to Xayu. "Careful with him now. He's fragile."

"But of course." She glances at the thoroughly glowering general and then follows Meir'cillus up the slope until they've retrieved her horse and a new one for the drow. "You two sure get along like kinetic force and antimatter, don't you?" she observes when they're clear of prying ears. She'd blown stuff up with that comtination in the past. Pity it hadn't been intentional.

Meir'cillus grins at her. "You know, I like him. If he'd backed down to me in there, I would've been tempted to kill him on sight out of principle." He tilts his head. "Kinetic force and antimatter, eh? What about it?"

"Technical opposites. Takes a lot of magic to actually create enough force to counter antimatter, but...energy is matter. Matter is energy. Get enough flat-out kinetic force against antimatter and you'll get an explosion big enough to take out a small mountain. At least." Her voice is still flat and expressionless, but...somehow slightly more interested than usual. This is flat-out alchemy, the melding of science and magic, and her area of expertise.

"It sounds useful to me. Where does one go about acquiring 'kinetic energy'?" Meir'cillus is interested, though... he doesn't know a damn thing about alchemy. Antimatter, though, he knows very well.

"Kinetic energy is the energy of motion. You have it right now, moving your lungs, moving through space on your horse. To counter antimatter, you'd just need what's essentially a tremendously powerful shove of some sort." Actually, with her telekinesis...it's not something that hasn't crossed her mind before.

"Oh, stop, I'm getting too excited," the warlord laughs. "Someday we'll have to give that a try. I would love to topple a castle without launching a single ballista bolt. Wouldn't that be splendid?"

A smile threads across Felara's lips for a moment. A very slight one, and only momentary, but an actual smile nontheless. "Yes. It could be amusing."

Meir'cillus waits a while before bringing up the other matter he'd had on his mind. "Xayu had to go and get himself shot. With this new... development... I find myself put into an irritating corner. I can't kill the bastard without hanging up the armies. I'm not afraid of Vayen, but then, I don't need him snooping in my business either. If Xayu turned up dead, no doubt he would." The former lord Yerosyn bites his lip a bit. "I was never good at intrigue. All that I had to do to gain my rank initially was blast my family's castle into dust. Politics is more difficult."

"It's amusing to watch, but not so much to be involved." She looks over to the drow. "Figuring out who those elves were and what they wanted would go a long way in determining what the next move should be."

"All we have is eyewitness accounts. They took back all of the dead and wounded. So, if you have any ideas, I'm all ears." Meir'cillus blinks, then feels his damaged ear. "Almost all ears."

"Does take awhile to get used to a changed body part, doesn't it?" She frowns a little after a moment. "And no, not one. Not yet."

"I tend to doubt that Xayu's people will be of any use either. There are too many questions here, without any answers at all." The king shrugs. "I'm upset, but not all that upset. They'll show their faces again."

"It's 'how' that concerns me. They made a pretty damned good dent this time. Not discounting, of course, that it might be an elite unit, considering the size. But still"

"How indeed. It's obvious that teleportation is within their power... but given the level of competance Xayu and his greenhorns displayed, I don't know if 'elite' is necessarily understood."

"Case in point. Ugh...I just hope this doesn't set this whole campaign back." She flexes her claws thoughtfully, frowning.

"First, we'll concentrate on finishing Elentria. Nothing can be accomplished until that's done. Felara..." he tilts his head, "... are you worried?"

"Somewhat," she admits. "I don't want this to turn into a larger conflict than it already is. We're almost there. To a spot I can just stay in one place and work. It needs to get there, and then quiet reasonably. It's so damned close now..." she grits her teeth. "I will not be able to weather an intercontinental war if it goes so far."

Meir'cillus slows his horse to a stop. "Is that what you're fighting for? Solitude?"

"No." She gets her horse to a stop, with slightly more difficulty as she's not an equestrian. "My lab's been destroyed twice in the war...first time I lost about three and a half years of work, the second I lost fifteen. I need that research." She pauses, considering how much to explain. "The nether material you can see in my claw runs throughout me. It continually tears my body apart from the inside out, which feels about like it sounds. But, at the same time, it continually repairs and sustains it indefinitely. It's been noted that I hardly seem to feel pain. Fact is, I do. But I live with enough agony every breath that an arrow wound feels like a bee-sting, drowned out so completely by what's within me. I've fallen asleep every night for the past thirty-five years by putting myself into a trance, unable to do so any other way." She looks at Meir'cillus. "My goal my entire life has been to rid myself of my own humanity. But I made a damning miscalculation. Now I need to undo that...one way or another. But I can't seem to do that until this this war is over. So I fight. Answer the question?" She turns her horse back to the path, nudging it along again.

Meir'cillus trots along beside, digesting all that. 

"I can't promise you anything without a great deal of if's... well... one thing." He glances over, eyes gleaming. "I can promise that if you remain loyal to my ideas, then I will remain loyal to your cause. Help me control it all, and you will have everything you need. Laboratories, materials... everything. And if we fail to overthrow Vayen, then we will both die, and your pain will end."

Felara looks back to him for a moment, nods, and looks back to the road. "First sane thing I've heard today."

The warlord gives a sly laugh.

---

By the time they return to camp, Meir'cillus's brooding over Xayu's failure to get killed has all but dissipated. "Now, Felara, you need to sleep. Don't you?" 

"Yes. Is there anything else that needs to be taken care of first?" she inquires as she dismounts and hands the reins back to the stablehand.

"Not that I'm aware of. I'll stop in and see our royal captive, then we just have to wait for the general to arrive." The change in his tone, when there are prying ears about, is almost amusing to him. "Rest."

Felara nods. "Wake me if anything comes up...but I don't think the major will help with that again." She turns and heads back towards her tent.

The warlord just nods. He won't allow it, again... she's useless to him exhausted. Not that he wouldn't step aside and use her as a meat shield if necessary. 

"Care for the horses and have fresh ones ready," Meir'cillus tells the stable hand. "I might be leaving again."

That said, he hops off and heads for the captive's tent, just nodding to the outside guard as he walks inside.

He doesn't speak, merely pulls out his chair and sits. Waits.

The elf's asleep, at first. He'd considered leaving, of course...youthful pride and bravado had made it seem like a good idea. But princely good sense had forced him to see the other possibilities...his being followed to where he knows there might be detachmens of Elentrian soldiers. Or those other two who had offered to help. And his still useless left leg had helped seal that decision.

Ears twitch when Meir'cillus walks in, a little more sharply when the chair pulls out. Sapphire blue eyes open a little, blink slowly, and then look ahead, at the far wall. "Do you have something to say?" he inquires quietly after a few moments.

"Only if you don't," answers the former Yerosyn. His eyes twinkle... the fun is just beginning.

There's another silence. The elf finally closes his eyes, brow creased lightly. "I don't know much about the summoners."

"You know more than I do, then. Do you know what they look like, at all?"

"They're twins. Their hair is blonde, but...very, very pale. Their eyes are yellow. They wear a lot of white."

"So two of them. Do you know their gender?" Meir'cillus is already thrilled with the information. Breaking twins is only a matter of catching one.

There's a slight pause. "I think...one is male, and the other female."

Meir'cillus stands. "You've been... extremely helpful to me, today. A person fitting that description cost many lives today, and not only drow lives as my associate and I were able to chase them away. I tell you this because I trust that I have nothing to fear from you." Meir'cillus smiles a genuine, admiring smile. "As long as this is true, you have nothing to fear from me. Guard," he glances at the faithful sentinel, "remember, he is free to leave if he likes. Do make sure he's well cared for."

The elf looks down as Meir'cillus leaves, closing his eyes. He thinks that he's done the right thing. But...he can't shake the fear that he's just sold out his people for his own safety.

The first dredges of the beaten-down warparty are just now making it to camp, Xayu among them. He's sitting solo on a horse, not taking help. His mouth is tight against pain, but he gives no real other indication.

Meir'cillus wanders out of the tent, feeling like the proverbial cock of the walk. Seeing Xayu playing macho just makes him that much happier. He gives a few commands to nearby guards, urging them to give what help they can, and of course to find some worthwhile healers.

"General, welcome. Facilities are being prepared for you and your associates," the warlord's voice is as close to musical as it has ever been.

Xayu nods. He's about as annoyed with Meir'cillus as he's every been for his irritatingly good spirits, but hides that admirably. "Fine, then. I also have a slave I'd like quartered reasonably near me...in a box, whatever, I don't care, but readily on hand."

"Is he hurt?" Meir'cillus asks, considering how best to quarter this person. Festering wounds are bad in a hastily constructed base camp.

"I haven't checked. She's keeping up, anyway, so well enough."

"Fine. I'll have one of the healers look at her. Meanwhile, you and your people can quarter in the red tents at the end of this path. The healers will be about." Meir'cillus glances down the line of worn-out travellers. "I know that you are all tired and some of you are hurt, but I need your patience. Get into a line formation, four men wide, and head down that path. The healers and stablehands will go down the lines, so try to form up in order of severity. Those who require new equipment will have to wait until the wounds are seen to. Do you understand?"

There are a few verbal acknowledgements, but mostly it's grunts and nodding. They're tired, sore, and generally pissed off.

---

Some hours later, the last of the travellers have been taken care of, food has been re-rationed, equipment handed out, and quartering established.  Meir'cillus, ever the curious one, made certain that Xayu's slave was quartered "As close as I could get her, general. We're pressed for space here, and you are in no condition to go and rearrange the entire camp on your own, which is my suggestion if you aren't comfortable with it." Meaning of course that she has been placed in a tent about a hundred feet from Xayu's. Which of course, is where Meir'cillus is now, with guards outside given strict orders to let no one, not even Xayu, inside.

The slave's sitting on the bed, as directed. Her only injuries had been a couple minor bruises from someone shoving her out of his way. She's very still, though, absolutely mute and expressionless. There are many reasons for that..."discipline" and past enforcements of such are obvious. But, really, she simply doesn't care about what's going on to any real extent, either.

"I don't know if you can hear me. But I'm going to speak anyway. My name is Meir'cillus Viszelunore, I am a warlord in this area. The only reason that I'm here is that Xayu had an interest in keeping you near, and I'm interested in exploiting whatever chinks I can find in his armor."

She says nothing, but her chin lowers just a little. Maybe a coincidence, maybe a reaction. Really, she's interested.

Meir'cillus sits on the floor in front of her. "I don't know your story. Who you are or why you're the only slave in this troupe. And you'll understand if I don't care. I don't believe in wasting time with semantics." The drow lord tilts his head. "I think that you can be of use to me. At the same time, I may be of use to you."

There's a long pause. Very long, actually, before she finally inquires in a quiet croak, "how so?"

"I can set you free," Meir'cillus says, something that is actually not a lie. "All that has to happen is that Xayu has to die."

"If I had a scar for every time I've heard that promise...I'd look like I do."

The drow lord grins. She might be worth his time after all.

"I can kill Xayu without your help. I'm not afraid of him, or Vayen. I'd like to do it without losing my own skin, though. So believe me or don't, it matters nothing to me." 

"I've guided hell of a lot of people straight into the fortress. They all thought they could take the sorcerer down." She doesn't turn her face to him. After so many years of blindness, she's lost that habit. "Now what the hell might convince me that you're any different than the rest of those sometimes damned powerful buffoons?" She feels guilty almost immediately for her wording, though not showing it. One of those wannabes...nevermind.

"I can't convince you. You're prepared to not be convinced. But if you don't want to help me, that's fine. Stay in bondage." Meir'cillus snickers just a little bit. "What makes me different is that I have nothing to lose and everything to gain."

"What is it that you're looking for me to do, anyway?" Her "voice" remains disinterested and unchanging. The fact of the matter is, she tries to kill Xayu regularly anyway. She's pretty damned sure he keeps her around half for the excitement of that ever-present danger.

"Are you bound?" The question is asked with a hint of slyness, but calmly still.

"Yes."

Meir'cillus draws a short knife from his belt. "We'll fix that. The only thing is, that if you even entertain the notion of harming me once you're freed, I will burn you into cinders. Deal?"

The slave shrugs. Her word wouldn't be worth anything, anyway. Her hands are bound with simple rope behind her...the knots are good, nothing even she can squirm out of in less than ten minutes. She twists her hands over her head and in front of her with a painful-looking but easily executed piece of contortionism.

The Drow warlord saws the ropes with the well-kept knife, sorcery welling up behind his eyes. An interesting person, this slave, but probably not a fool. "There," he informs her, though its probably not necessary. 

She rubs her wrists, trying to get the circulation back through her hands. "And now?"

"If that's all your bindings, I hope you can forgive me if I forget to pick up my knife." Meir'cillus drops the light, well-balanced blade to the ground. "We'll start simply. Do nothing if you'd rather not. Rat me out if you prefer. Xayu probably already knows that I'd like his head in a jar."

"Uh-huh." It's pointless not to confirm something so blatantly obvious.

"Get me his head and I'll bring the jar." Meir'cillus laughs. "I'll handle the guards. Again, it's up to you. I don't care either way."

She shrugs, and lays back on the cot. "Can't do it now. Too on-guard. Especially since you didn't put me where he can see and swear at me." She lays an arm over her blindfold, not showing much regard for Meir'cillus still standing there.

Meir'cillus grins. "You're not as bad off as you think you are. You can still walk, you know." He doesn't add to that. He leaves the tent with a hurried step, not really wanting to speak with this creature any more. She depresses him. But where to go?

For the moment, the warlord just wanders around the main path of the camp, checking things out, making suggestions, visiting the wounded. Perhaps he's not drow enough for his position, given his somewhat sympathetic nature... but he's sure that he can make up for it by burning down an orphanage or two.

Felara, looking more rested and as though she's scrubbed off in a washbasin, approaches Meir'cillus with a quick step and something quite on her mind.

Meir'cillus grins at her. "What's the occasion?"

"I thought you'd be more willing to take me to that dance no one's ever intented without the smell. I sense something nearby I can't place." The two very different statements fire without a pause between.

"Preparedness then. Let's rouse some sentries, what do you think?" The drow warlord glances to the end of the path. "Only a fool would attack here. I guess we'd better double the guard." He grins. "I never met a fool who wasn't good at what he did."

"It's quite pathetic how right you are. I'm going to go investigate while that happens."

"Take care. The last few days just haven't been right." Meir'cillus trots off to the wall, letting Felara to her own devices. "Attention, drow bastards!" he cries to the first group of barracks he passes. "Guard duty starts in two minutes at the north and south exits! Rotate shifts in groups of five at the watch!"

There are some mutterings, mostly at being awakened by being called a lot of bastards, but really...they're used to it.

Felara--riding her blade again for this purpose, though still mindful of her energy--isn't gone for three minutes. When she returns, it's with a silver and gold-tipped spear with a pale, plain wooden shaft in one hand and a sealed scroll in the other. "Hell of a mail service. The energy field was designed as a beacon, instead of that being a side effect. Apparently someone knows about my less obvious abilities." She holds the scroll out to him.

The warlord takes the scroll, glancing at the spear. He makes an effort to snap the head from the spear. "Here," he hands it to Felara, "souvenir." Then, he opens the scroll to read.

"Lovely."

It's scripted in fine, slowly-wrought calligraphy, very Elfish. The language those letters form, however, is drow. It's arranged as follows:

Within the thirteenth day of sixth month of the seventeen thousand, eight hundred, and forty-seventh Ersinian year:
To Meir'cillus Viszelunore,

I regret that our first meeting took place within such inhospitable circumstances, however inevitable this may have been. Regardless, however, I feel that we may share certain goals. If a meeting regarding this mutual benefaction falls within your interest and means, I will be on the same ridge you last saw me occupy at tonight's moonrise.

In the hope of meeting more civilly,
Ferand T'narian
Commander of the Fourth Unit, of the Thaar'i Elite of the sovereign nation of Serandein


Meir'cillus's troubled smile still stretches from ear to ear.

"Felara," Meir'cillus grins after reading the letter, "I do believe I've been called out. What do you make of this?" He hands the letter to the anti-human, curious. Of course he's already made his decision. There is ass to whoop.

Felara looks it over briefly. "I think someone's too damned elfish for his own good." She's not fond of flowery script and diction.

"I meant... do you think it's a trap?" Meir'cillus couldn't really care less. "I certainly do. It'll make it fun."

"Hard to say. So what's your 'potentially kick someone's ass' strategy?"

"Show up. But it never said anything about coming alone. Feel like a stroll?"

"That would be lovely." All told, she rather hopes it goes bad...she's itching to kill something. It's been a little while, now, and the last couple of days deserve some venting.

Meir'cillus gives a little nod. "I can't leave Xayu alone here. He'll try to take complete control... bah. Let's just go. I dont' feel like telling anyone."

She nods. "If he's not sure where you are and how soon he'll return, plus his injury, he may not do too much tonight. Shall I get some horses?"

"It sounds like the way to me. I will wait by the walls. Try to be quick about it." Meir'cillus turns and heads that way, not in any particular hurry. He's really looking forward to this.

Felara nods. She doesn't take too long to meet him there, annoyed at being on a horse again so soon. She doesn't like the beasts. She doesn't say anything until they're a fair distance from camp. "I saw you in bothering Xayu's little pet slave...what was that about, if I may ask?"

"Just covering loose ends. I thought I should make certain that I knew what what going on before charging right intto things." Meir'cillus rides along at a pleasant clip, not in any special rush now either. He's feeling strangely subdued, tonight.

Felara nods. She notes his mood, but doesn't inquire. It's not her business. When they finally approach by the same path they had before, the elf can be seen sitting on the same rock he'd stood on before, though this time hooded. He appears to be alone, save that speckled hawk of his.

"Stay low for now, if you don't mind, Felara," Meir'cillus suggests. He dismounts, walks slowly towards the hooded elf. Of course he's ready to kill whatever happens to appear, but... that's kind of understood.

"So, I'm here. Talk."

The elf smiles a little, amused at the gruffness. "So you came after all. I wasn't sure that you would."

"I'm always enticed by the word benefit." The drow lord crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against a convenient stone. "So. I doubt you brought me out here to small talk, and apparently it's important enough that we've both risked our lives for it. Out with it."

The elf's still amused, but just smiles and closes his eyes, brushing it off. "I know your history, in fair detail. And I have been watching your movements within Vayen's regime for some time. It's very obvious that you intend to usurp him. His being ousted is in both of our interests. We'd like to help you do that."

"Who's to say I'm not a bigger lunatic than Vayen? Perhaps as soon as I come to power I'll make it my goal to eradicate everyone. It seems ironic that I've been asked this question several times in the last few days, but," Meir'cillus scowls, "how do I know that I can trust you?"

The elf smiles. "Vayen's power is built partly around his years of influence in this area. Were you to take his place, your hold would be weaker for some time. Certainly long enough for us to evaluate your intentions as a leader." And depose him if necessary, is left unsaid. It's far too practical to not be honest. "If we have no reason to believe you'll get so confident as to bring a war to Serandei, then that will be that."

Meir'cillus listens intently to all of this. He's skeptical, but really, he'd be a fool not to be.

"And how is it that you want to help me? And why? Why not depose him yourself? You aren't short of power."

"How... at this stage, I'll say only that we've planned carefully and have the right soldiers and the right casters for this purpose. The people on hand here were assembled meticulously for this exact purpose. Why; we believe that, the last corner of this continent taken, Vayen will become confident enough to attack Serandei eventually. Finally, as for deposing him ourselves...we can. However, not without a loss of life that wouldn't be justified by preemptive action. We also enjoy our status as objective, removed from the international stage, and in order to maintain that, we would like to leave as little trace of our involvement here as possible. We want you to take all the credit."

"I only have one more question, fountain of knowledge." At this, the drow lord tenses a bit. This might be a difficult subject. "Why should I even bother? Perhaps I don't dislike Vayen enough to depose him. Maybe I just want rank."

The elf smiles. "He moved into your capital and essentially made it his property while you were away, and allied with one of his campaigns nonetheless. Destroyed your state temple, commandeered your port city for his own uses. Kept it its own nation in name alone and destroyed the racial balance you'd finally lain the groundwork for, without hope of reclamation in the near future. Were you to say verbatim that you aren't seeking to usurp him, I would call you a liar."

"Usurp isn't the word I'd use. Alright then. I'll do this dastardly deed on both our behalves." His eyes narrow. "If you're thinking of tricking me, do make sure you've accomplished everything you wanted to in life."

The elf smiles. "Duly noted. Before I continue, I'll note that I don't know how much time you've allowed away from your unit for the night.

"They'll be fine for a while. If that's all you have to say, then I'll be on my way."

"Not at all." The elf tilts his head a little. "We have everything in place but you. We want to--and are ready to--move against Vayen next week."

"Honestly, and I don't know if you'd noticed this or not... I would be just fine with a little bit of motivation. My troops are worn out, underfed, ill equipped... they won't be of any use without some supplies."

"It's been noted. We have plent of supplies. You can have what you need. As for motivation, our sources say that Vayen has taken a very suddenly more militant stance against thos who oppose him in Ionnya."

The drow lord's eyebrow lifts. "More militant." His eyes fall. Memories, wanted and unwanted, swirl around behind them. "If Vayen is dead, then..." he looks aside. He does owe quite a debt to Ionnya for abandoning it. Perhaps by destroying Vayen's influence, he can repay that debt. "Tell me what to do."

T'narian smiles. "The first step will be to eliminate General Xayu. He's integral in holding the far-flung armies together. He's travelling with a slave...we need her. We believe that she has knowledge that can unwravel Vayen's sorcery from its roots. After that, General T'serkon will be moving through Ionnya in nine days. We have the means to move everyone there so quickly...it would never be expected. With his unit destroyed as well, the armies themselves will be disorganized and virtually useless."

"This I can handle." Meir'cillus gives a nod. "And I spoke with that slave earlier. Her cooperation should be relatively easy to acquire."

The elf nods. "If you recall that point a while back when Vayen was very nearly killed, laid out for several weeks, she had a large hand in that. She was only recaptured by Xayu then...if she's still sane, cooperation won't be a problem." He pauses, then continues. "In either case, I need you to both eliminate Xayu and neutralize his unit one way or another."

"And you think it will be that easy for me to simply up and betray allies who I've quartered in my own base." Meir'cillus tilts his head. "You certainly came to the right person. Will she know your name?"

"No."

"Even better. So I will eliminate Xayu, and you do whatever it is you're already planning. But again, don't even think about double crossing me." Meir'cillus turns partway, ready to go. 

"Wouldn't think of it. I'll be in touch." The elf stands up and, jumping nimbly down the stone, heads off in the other direction without looking back.

Meir'cillus is practically bouncing when he comes back. 

"Can you believe it, Felara? Someone wants me to do what I had been planning to do anyway. There is something so deliciously vile about a nation willing to make a deal with someone like me, just to save its own skin."

"It does seem amusing, especially when said nation prides itself on being so 'light' and 'good.' So," she inquies as she guides his horse around... "do you think you can trust this?"

"Of course not. But I was going to kill Xayu anyway, I might as well take it all the way." Meir'cillus steps up into the saddle, thinking. "If what he said about Vayen going militant in Ionnya is true, though, it'll make me that much happier to tear his balls off."

"I have heard a couple of rumours floating around between planeswalkers...supposedly he leveled the temple after refugees of some sort were claiming santuary there, and the cleric wouldn't give them up." Her voice doesn't change...she may well be talking about tomorrow's chance of light showers.

Meir'cillus stops abruptly. The temple... can't be. "Tell me more about that...?"

Felara stops when she realizes he had, surprised, and looks back at him. She blinks at his perturbation. "I figured you'd heard more than me. I don't know much more than that...did you commission the building, or what? I don't know if the idiots claiming 'sanctuary' were Ionnyan, if that's the problem."

"The cleric. Did she... did the cleric survive?" His eyes flash with abrupt irritation. "Do you know?"

Felara narrows her eyes a little. She's never seen him so easily stirred to severe emotion. It's almost as though...nah...couldn't be. "I got the distinct impression she didn't...not sure, though. Want me to find out?"

"Please do." Rey'deyono... "When we get back to camp, I'm going to deal with Xayu. I don't know how. But it's liable to get ugly in a hurry."

Felara nods, and is quiet for the trip back. She's not sure what precisely is going on...but she is sure that she's going to find out soon enough.