Felara whistles quietly walking through a half-burned village. Fires set by troops on the move, probably...they hadn't hung around to stop the populace from saving what they could. "Damn...I hate to see what the capital looks like, if this out of the way little town got hit like this...."

Meir'cillus is quiet, his mood seeming to match the pitch of the entire area. It is his homeland, after all. 

"I want to skirt the capital, if we can. No need to get bogged down in a ruined place." He glances at Felara. "Where are we to meet these insurgents?"

"Would just north of Gerionay be a bad answer at the moment....?"

The warlord closes his eyes a moment. "Let's just make this fast. I have to retain some semblance of logic, and this setting is giving me national pride-fury."

Felara nods, face serious. She'd been afraid of that. But at least he's aware of it. That will help. The elven commander urges his horse up near them. "We'd do best stopping here as anywhere. We're ahead of schedule, and if we get any closer, more people are going to notice us than should. Our illusionists can only do so much." By 'our' he means mostly elven...as it turns out, there are a good number of very good--albeit each very specialized--magic users among them.

"Call the halt then." Meir'cillus glances back at them, elves... his hated enemy, though even he couldn't remember why. "How do they feel," he wondered aloud, "about putting their trust in a drow warlord?"

"They feel that the council must know what it's doing in putting its trust in you," T'narian responds after ordering his men to a halt...and one of Meir'cillus's officers, forced to listen to this elf by the warlord's orders, gives the halt to the drow.

T'narian looks to Meir'cillus. "There are still lingering psychic shield remnants all around Gerionay...our seers are having trouble really knowing what's going on. Some scouting to see what we'll encouter when we reach the city would be pertinent." The implication is clear. No one knows this city like Meir'cillus.

"I wonder if Vayen has his dogs hunting me yet," Meir'cillus wonders aloud, "either way, if you have a hooded cloak it would be appreciated. I don't think i want to be recognized out there."

The elf nods. "I'm sure it can be managed. One moment." He turns his horse and tots towards a supply caravan.

Felara looks to Meir'cillus once he's gone. "You sure you're up for this?"

Meir'cillus tilts his head. "Why do you ask?"

"You've been grinding your teeth so much since we passed that first village that my jaw hurts. And Gerionay's bound to be worst, considering all we've heard."

"Someone needs to do it," answers the suddenly irritable drow lord, "and don't worry. I'm sure that I'll find some way to vent my frustrations while I'm there."

"Always reassuring. Except for master 'some way.'" She grows quiet again when T'narian returns, a grey cloak in hand.

The elf holds up the cloak. It's dark grey, certainly not as elven as most other bits of garb in the supplies...they can't always stick out like like dwarves at an elvish feast. "Will this suit?"

"Just fine," Meir'cillus nods lightly, reaching out for the cloak. "What is it that I'm looking for, exactly? Troop positions, fortifications?"

"Anything you see as pertinent; I'm sure you know them as well as I." The elf shrugs, returning his hands to his horse's mane. "Primarily troop positions and, if possible, the city's stance on General T'serkon's movement through the nation. Whether we can expect them to stay out of the way, resist them, or resist us."

"Gotcha. Make certain that my troops are protected, Felara and the slave especially, while I'm away?"

"With my very life."

Felara rolls her eyes a little and starts digging out her maps for the night.

Meir'cillus swings the cloak around, pulling the hood over his ear and a half and tightening it until his features are tough to make out. "All right, I'll get moving. Depending on how heavy the resistance is, I'll be back soon."

The elf nods. "May the sky keep you." Gerionay's a tough place to scout, so full of people and all. But hopefully Meir'cillus can handle it, and there's really no one more qualified to know where to look for useful information.

Meir'cillus walks off in the direction of Gerionay, concentrating fully on his walk... mostly his heels and ankles, actually.

The point of the triangular city that he's nearest to is the library. It looks a little worse for the ware...paint or architectural detail knocked off here or there. Overall, though, it's intact. The sturdy building has been converted in large part to a refugee camp, and, were one to look inside, many shelves have hammocks strung betwen them. It's bizarre almost to the point of humor, really.

Meir'cillus figures that there's no better place to do research than a library, and enters the grounds with a fair degree of stealth. He looks around, at last calling a questioning, "Hello?"

There are a few people asleep...just two. Most people have been relocated into homes by now. A human woman opens her eyes sleepily to look at Meir'cillus, and then dozes back off. The librarian, the same aging half-drow who's taken care of the library almost since it was built, approaches Meir'cilus. She doesn't recognize him, and smiles in her quiet old-lady way. "Hello, sir. Is there anything that I can help you with?"

"Well..." Meir'cillus puts on a distraught tone, "... I used to live here, years ago. I heard rumors and came back... what in hell happened?"

The librarian's eyes soften. "Oh, dear...you've probably missed a lot, then. Well, follow me...we'll see if we can't get you something warm to drink while we figure out what you need to know, hm?" She turns and heads towards a stairwell.

"I appreciate that, but please, save the provisions for those who need them more than me. I'm fine." Meir'cillus follows, fighting the urge to scream and rush out the door in search of T'serkon.

"Whatever you like. If you're sure, it might be better to head this way, then..." the half-drow takes a different turn at the top of the stairs. The library's third floor provides a decent though imperfect view of the city. A few blocks near the central marketplace have burned, but the blaze was contained before going farther. The palace and temple are equally distant. The palace looks perfectly intact from this far away. The temple, on the other hand...just isn't there. About two-thirds of the heavy rubble has been cleared, while a small section of its broken marble arches still remains on the lot.

Meir'cillus closes his eyes. Covers his face with his hand. Rey... he can't speak. Can't think. "Rey... Rey'deyono. She's gone, isn't she..." He's just hoping that elf was lying. Praying to someone that he was lying. Praying to everyone.

The librarian's eyes soften sadly. It had surprised her at first that he'd used her name instead of her title...no one did that. He must have been close to her. "You can't see it from here, but...her grave marker is in the northeast corner of the lot." She's quiet for a moment. "The High Priestess resisted valiantly, and died willingly."

"Are the streets safe enough to go there...?" Meir'cillus's voice is quiet, choking on the emotion that he's fighting so hard. If he'd stayed, she might still be alive.

"Most certainly." The librarian nods. "Vayen has a bit of a military law thing going around here. Usually only when troops are passing through the city. The Dual...well..." here she corrects, because Meir'cillus doesn't know what the rest of the city would... "Lord Yerosyn, since the queen isn't heard from any more than necessary, anymore...are allowed to maintain the city themselves most of the time. Or at least it looks like they do."

Meir'cillus nods, thinking. "I must go see her... tell me something before I go, though. I heard that the Dual were deposed a while back... who sits upon the throne these days?" I should very much like to have a word with him.

"Well...not officially deposed, you understand. But the guy who's really ruling the nation is the so-called 'Royal Advisor.' Vayen appointed him to 'help the Dual know the right paths through this new international stage.'" The statement's still bitter rolling from her tongue. She lives on information, has made preserving it her life, and is certainly quite aware of all the public knowledge there is about politics.

"You've been more help to me than you could ever know. Listen," Meir'cillus reaches under the cloak, pulling a few of his travelling coins from his pocket and holding them out to her, "I was never here. Is this alright?"

The librarian blinks, but takes them. Every little bit helps, trying to feed the people who come through here. "I don't even know who you are anyway, but all right."

"It makes things easier." Meir'cillus gives her a tired-looking smile and turns, heading back down the stairs. His mind is conflicted to the point of frustration... its possible that, if Vayen knows how Xayu's death came about, he'll have sentries at Rey'deyono's grave. But... he has to see her. Even if it costs him his life. And that is to where he turns his feet.

Large wooden planks have been lain over large parts of the once-magnificent temple's foundation to help with the cleanup. What's left of the rubble covering about half the lot is quite formidable up close: massive, skeletal hints at what once was.

One piece has been split and carved into an elegant though temporary smaller arch in itself, and stands upright in a cleared corner of what used to be a garden. The earth's been dug up and replaced into a slight mound, and the writing upon the marker pays its tribute to who rests here.

Meir'cillus looks carefully around the area, casually glancing around, looking especially for those who might be watching. After a moment, he steps in front of the grave, sinking down to one knee beside the piled mound. He doesn't know what to say, only that he has to say something. His hand settles upon the mound, eyes cloudy, mind whirling.

"It should be me," he whispers, "it should be me lying beneath this earth. I should be there, not you. You never deserved this, you, of all people... you should..." His head lowers, teeth grinding together so hard that his jaw aches. "Forgive me, Rey'deyono... if I had stayed, you might still be alive. Even... if you had never forgiven me, you might still..."

There are no more words for him. Only tears, tears that he scarcely even knew to exist.

"Touching," someone comments after awhile. "Pathetic in a way, but touching."

He doesn't care to hide the tears. Meir'cillus rises, looking slowly around for the source of the voice. "Mind your business, unless you want to share the ground with her."

The other drow makes no effort to hide himself. He's leaning against a second marker, smaller and less elegant than Rey's, that commemorates the others who died here. He's quite unimpressive, from bearing to appearance to garb. His clothes, though finely tailored, are simple, unadorned riding garments, ending in black leather gauntlets. "Like you'd want someone else to lay with her, when you never managed that." He picks boredly at his gloves. "Why are you here?"

Meir'cillus doesn't blink. Doesn't much more than move. "I'm visiting an old friend. If you want to know the rest, you'll have two choices on the matter. Either you beat it out of me, or you go to hell."

"Tempting. But I fail to see why you'd so easily throw away the opportunity to question in turn about your dear little nation."

"I don't need to tell you anything. I don't know you, or owe you anything, and I don't pride myself on trust information handed out by strangers." The drow lord retains a stooped, un-regal posture, still not wishing to look out of place.

"My name is Felin Xenald. I'm the royal advisor to the Dual." The drow tilts his head a little, though he couldn't really look more bored. "Clearer?"

"I trust there are a few dozen soldiers in the area. If you're an advisor with half a wit, you wouldn't approach me alone. So say whatever it is that you came to say, pretender." Meir'cillus stands straight, allowing his sorcery to build as usual, but holding it back... in case, of course.

"Pretender?" The advisor smiles. "Oh, no. I'm simply an advancement, the first step of this government's moving on to bigger and better things. Now then. What is it that you hoped to learn by coming here? I find it hard to believe that you'd take such risk to come and reminisce over a marked section of fertilizer."

"I came to say my peace to her. And you should watch your mouth. I can kill you in a second, if I want." He doesn't need to say that he doesn't care to die in the same instant. His eyes convey that notion very well. "As for what I came to learn, that's for me to know and for you to go fuck yourself."

Xenald smiles, a cool, bored sort of smile, and stands up. "Well. Can't say I didn't give you a chance. Activate it." When the words leave his mouth, a strange sort of energy blazes to life...the field of a marei orb. Before even double-checking to see that it's worked, two soldiers rush Meir'cillus, trying to grab and restrain him.

Hell... he knows enough to throw the cloak off in the direction of one, and wheel about with his swordbreaker towards the other. He knows he's screwed. But a little blood will make that go down easier.

The soldier manages to turn the blade aside somewhat, but a sharp, grunting cry announces its solid introduction into a not immediately fatal section of his torso. The other, growling, flings the cloak aside and grabs for Meir'cillus's arm. Two more soldiers, taking advantage of the time-tested three-to-one ratio, do their best to get hold of his sword arm and throw the warlord to the ground.

Meir'cillus knows he's going down. So he figures to do what he can, and shoves horizontally against the handle of the blade just before he goes down.

A soldier gasps. It's a dangerous wound...but potentially fatal and crippling are very different things. It's just too overwhelming...Meir'cillus is slammed roughly to the hard earth, followed by a blow to the head that's just enough to stun momentarily while his arms are jerked behind him and bound with admirable speed.

The advisor is still largely disinterested. "You could have made this easy, you know," he comments as the warlord is dragged back to his feet.

"Your mother could've swallowed you instead of conceiving, too." Meir'cillus, though wracked with pain, still smiles a dizzy smile. 

"And such a sparkling wit." Xenald smiles quietly for the first time, unperturbed. "But not to worry. We'll know what we need to soon enough, and if you cooperate well enough, maybe we'll even send you on your merry way. Once you can walk again." He turns on a heel and walks off. "Take him to the palace."

The soldiers escorting Meir'cillus are taking no chances...they're dragging to outright carrying the conveniently shorter warlord--albeit only very slightly shorter in one case--most of the time, seldom allowing him a steady foothold for more than a step or two.

The warlord couldn't care less, really. They'll slip up at some point, he's quite sure of that. But if they don't, he doesn't especially care. He can join her, then, if only to plead forgiveness.

The palace isn't as glimmering as it had been in his reign...but then, there hadn't been a war going on then. Only an occasional lynch mob. The soldiers are quick and none-too-gentle about making for the lower, dungeon levels. Not, however, before someone sees them.

Faresylia stops dead when she sees them, paling visibly. "...Meir'cillus?"

The former lord Yerosyn looks up at that voice, eyes caught in something that might very well be confusion. He smiles at the queen... if she's still the queen anyway.

"Faresylia... I seem to have forgotton my jacket."

The queen blinks once, then again, unable to quite figure this out, before..."what do you men think you're doing? Unhand him at once!"

The soldiers, though stopping, don't move to comply. "I'm sorry, Lady Persin," one of them states, "we can't do that. You'll have to take it up with the Royal Advisor."

Faresylia grits her teeth, but immediately knows she won't win this one. "I'm still a sovereign of this nation. You have no place to refuse for my underling! Release him immediately." She grabs one of the arms holding Meir'cillus, but another guard following--drow, as all the others--removes her hand only slightly gently, and definitely forcefully.

"I'm sorry, Lady Persin...you'll have to take it up with Xenald."

"Not yet, Faresylia." Meir'cillus glances at her, eyes somehow amused. "Not worth the risk." He's learning a great deal already. Pretender indeed. "And don't worry about these guards. They're only doing their job."

"Oh, yeah. We'll see how long they keep those jobs," she snips furiously. She stalks off without another word to anyone, step focussed. She's looking for her dear "advisor."

The guards resume their trek downward, certainly one Meir'cillus has made many a time...though usually on the other end of the ropes. To the dungeon it is.

"So," Meir'cillus speaks softly as they approach the dungeon, suddenly finding that his sense of humor becomes much more ironic when he's facing torture and death, "which one of you pillars of society wants to try and violate me first?"

Two of them smirk a little, genuinely amused. They've got to respect him a bit for that. Of course, that doesn't stop them from putting his hands in overhand shackles. "That isn't our business. The Royal Advisor will see to that." One of the other snickers a little at the connotation, though trying not to.

"What a waste," Meir'cillus laughs, "I at least want to feel it if its going to be there anyway." His eyes narrow at their laughter, though his smile remains. He's having entirely too much fun. "So, why are you snickering? His equipment didn't do it for you, eh?"

That youngish soldier flushes at that, trying to protest but not quite finding the words in time, taking himself entirely too seriously for his own good. Another of the soldiers smirks, and shoves him off towards the door. "I don't know what kind of sugar high our dear 'Lord Yerosyn' is on, but let's give him a few minutes to cool off, shall we?" And soon, they're gone.

As soon as they're gone, his expression changes. Falters. Her name is still on the end of his tongue. But that doesn't matter... but if that doesn't, then what? He has no answers, and makes no attempt to escape to find those answers. There is only to wait.

The wait is...long. It's quiet, for a very long time...just very silent, and very dark, accenting hard-edged manacles that bear his full weight. Fully part of the interrogation process, as Meir'cillus well knows. After a small piece of forever, there's a creak, then a re-latching of the door, followed by a series of unhurried footsteps on the long staircase. Xenald looks up at Meir'cillus for a few moments, tilts his head. "Well-stretched yet?" he inquires finally.

"Want to find out for yourself?" Meir'cillus's eyes are closed, but he's fully aware of the situation. It's such a delicate thing, interrogation, from either side of the table.

"Well, we do have a rack. You commissioned it yourself, if memory serves. No one in power around here seems to be able to stay fully intact for long."

"The royal we, is it? I don't see you chest as that impressive ah..." Meir'cillus's eyes open, and he blinks. "What was your name again?"

The advisor smiles. "Names are so fleeting, aren't they?" He picks through the various tools of the trade with deliberate slowness in Meir'cillus's full view, lingering over this or that. "Goodness, go through the city and ask what the former High Priestess's name was. Almost no one knows. And, of course, no one cares." Whate he finally selects is hidden, and he steps behind Meir'cillus, out of sight, though leaving the various mangling devices in full view.

"You're using the wrong tool, idiot. You're not going to get me to talk about anything with sharp objects or by taking shots at someone who was better in life than any drow on the face of the planet." Meir'cillus's smile fades a bit. "You'd better use your personality. It's the most painful thing in the room." His voice doesn't give it away, but he's certainly concerned now. But then... what is pain, anyway? Next the shattering of his only just-mended heart, it is nothing.

The advisor smiles. "Who's taking shots? I'm just noting how little importance all the lower creatures really have. Your priestess was nothing in the face of history. She'll be forgotten as soon as that arch crumbles. Sooner. All of those idiots she was trying to protect died with her, you know. All that work, all the pain she must have endured for a spell held so torturously long..." here, to drive the point home, the jagged, slightly dull set of barbed claws in the other drow's hand tear messily through Meir'cillus's back, shoulder to hip... "and all that for nothing."

"G..." Meir'cillus sucks in a harsh breath through his nose, wincing, but not crying out. He won't, can't let his voice show weakness here. Two things swirling within his mind prevent him from screaming in pain: Rey'deyono's face, and the notion that Felara would only laugh if he did, should she see it.

"Horizontal..." he mutters after a moment, "vertical cuts follow existing... lines. Takes less time to heal."

The advisor's torn between scowling and smirking, and ultimately does neither. "Duly noted. So tell me..." the claws sit lightly against the back of the drow lord's other shoulder... "what precisely did you do to the General?"

"I didn't kill him, if that's what you want to know." For once, he's not lying. "Although the temptation was there. He hogged the blankets."

Xenald smirks slightly and lets up two of the claws at the information. "Then who, praytell, did?"

"I don't know," Meir'cillus answers, again truthfully. There's really no proof that Therian did it, although it is the obvious conclusion.

"I think..." the claws leave Meir'cillus's shoulder, but then allow no breathing room before the metal-backed glove backhands him sharply. "That you're lying. I can be very nice, you know," two claws sink into the original wound, very nearly at the bone, "or we can continue. This is a trivial question. It's already been determined that Xayu's death was your fault. It's just a matter of how."

Meir'cillus instinctively holds his breath, but quickly lets it out. Relaxes his muscles, tries his best to ignore the pain. "His own... fault. As soon as... he let me see him bleed, he should have known I would come for him. And... I would have. But I didn't."

Xenald twists the claws just slightly, as though unintentionally. "Then who did? That oh-so-pretty little pet human of his?"

The former lord Yerosyn grimaces, but... he's still not broken yet. "I don't know. You tell me."

"Oh, come now. Don't make me get nasty on the easy questions. It's humiliating to get oneself severely mutilated over something simple. At least be defending some vital information or something for that." Xenald makes this observation quite boredly, tracing a claw--horizontally--across the other drow's back as he speaks. If it was you...well, things just can't get worse for you, now can they? And if it's the slave...who cares? It's a mangy human ruined by more centuries than its mind was designed to handle and quite insane. I doubt it's even aware of anything we can do to it...and we dont' have that slave in our possession anyway."

Meir'cillus is beginning to grow angry, as his adrenaline begins to kick in. This is inane from his point of view, and if they already knew why Xayu was dead, then this idiot wouldn't be asking.

"He had it coming. What kind of idiot keeps an enemy assassin so close to him? I would have killed him myself, had it not been done for me."

"So would a good number of us. But that's a moot point now, isn't it?" Xenald smiles a little. "But now. That slave couldn't strike against Xayu herself, else she would have long ago. Why would you have arranged his death? At this particular time, right before suddenly springing across the continent as though by magic, abandoning the Elentria campaign, I wonder?" He fingers the claws quietly. "And just so you know, for every wrong answer that you give me, one filthy lie about your blue-eyed worm fest will be added to the annals of history."

"The Elentria campaign was over. With Xayu dead, and you idiots immediately blaming me for it even had it not been my deed..." Meir'cillus closes his eyes, concentrating on breathing instead of bleeding, "... I thought I should take the fight to Vayen. Strike first. Live in victory or die in glory."

"And just what would convince a pathetic worm like you that you stood any chance of surviving, let alone winning?"

"The same thing that convinces you that you will live past tomorrow." Meir'cillus smiles again. "Idiot pride."

"Yes. However, even idiot pride has to be backed by some logic. There have been some very strange magical waves around your areas." He grasps Meir'cillus's shoulder with the clawed hand, carefully settles the claws for a moment, and then drives them deep to where many of the nerves of that arm should meet, jerking back. "Why?" His voice holds no hint of joking anymore.

Meir'cillus's eyes cross, but still... he has enough left to keep from saying anything. "The troops... eating faeries dust... good for the bowels..."

The advisor scowls, but before he can go on, he quiets when a messenger hesitantly descends the stairs, pulling his claws out of his essential predecessor. The advisor scans the note the servant brings him briefly, then looks up. "Lucky you. We get to do this later, too." He takes a handful of a red pepper-laced dust that will also stem bleeding and stave off most infection, flings it over Meir'cillus's back, and, shoving the claw to the messenger to clean, takes his leave.

"There will... be... no later for you." Meir'cillus closes his eyes. Whatever the note had said... he's grateful.

After the servant leaves...it's quiet again. For quite a long time, until the door creaks open, and female steps patter lightly down the stairs.

Meir'cillus doesn't open his eyes. He doesn't have the strength to, not really. "Come to cut me some more, have you?"

"Not exactly," Faresylia responds softly. She's not able to say anything more as she sets several things near his feet, face stricken. "Oh, gods, you at you...." her eyes well up with tears. "I'm so sorry...I couldn't stop him...." She shakes her head stiffly, looking down and forcing herself to just concentrate on the medical supplies she's pulling out of the bag.

"This is divine providence." Meir'cillus just shakes his head. "I left... this could have been prevented.  This is my punishment. I'm ... glad to see you alive..."

"Don't say that. You didn't cause any of this...Ionnya isn't strong enough to stand up against Vayen's army. And...it never has been, either. Not even when you were king." She wraps an arm firmly beneath his, wincing for him at what must hurt severely, but doesn't balk at bloodying her dress like she once would have, lifting him enough to unlock his shackles. She's barely able to catch him...doesn't succeed overly well, actually, with both ending up on the floor, but at least there's no serious injury.

The drow... not lord, anymore, would smile if he could. "Faresylia... you're risking yourself for me...? Why...?" He doesn't move to get up. Not that he really can, not for a little longer.

She huffs primly at thumping so uncermoniously to the ground and gets up, brushing off her quite-ruined dress and reaching for the bandages and antiseptic. "Because. Even if I don't have any power, I'm still the queen of what used to be Ionnya. And I have to help it however I can, whatever it takes." Lady Persin frowns lightly as she speaks. "And I think you came here because you think you can change something, somewhere. I know I can't do that...so I have to put that faith in you." That, and he's...well...him. Her longtime ally...maybe or maybe not friend, but ally, and a good king who had done a lot for Ionnya. "Can you sit up?"

"Sure..." Meir'cillus tries, but quite promptly falls back down with a groan of pain and irritation. The second time finds him succeeding, though it's not without a great deal of effort. "It's a good choice..." he assures her, "... Vayen took Rey..." he stops. He shouldn't explain himself to her, she'd think him mad. But... "The High Priestess."

Faresylia closes her eyes. She knows how Meir'cillus feels...had felt...about her...of course she does. "I'm...so sorry." She sighs shakily. She'd become closer to Rey'deyono in the temple's last days as well...her last pillar of support. The queen swallows hard as she pours some water from a flask into a bowl, then wets a rag, wiping the cool water water through Meir'cillus's injuries and washing away the pepper-laced 'medicine' before treating anything further.

"You were right, you know," she observes. "Remember how you would always tell me that the High Priestess was always more powerful than the Dual? And I would never believe you, but...that's where the people turned, when Vayen took control here. Everyone turned to the temple."

"Hope." Meir'cillus looks at her. "Hope is where the people turn. It's the first thing I learned about fighting... eliminate hope." He's feeling better with that awful stuff cleaned out of his wounds. "Thank you for this."

"I'm just sorry I couldn't stop it from happening." She looks up momentarily, then back to his back, not pleased with how she's fallen. With how the nation's fallen. "And yes...that's exactly what happened. The High Priestess was the only thing keeping things together around here, the only thing that kept Ionnya Ionnya. And so, the first moment she finally truly stepped out of line and challenged Vayen directly...." Faresylia winces visibly. "It was...just awful. I watched all of it, couldn't do anything..." her voice trails off, throat tight.

"We're royalty, Faresylia." Meir'cillus smiles a desperately held smile for her benefit. "Figureheads. We aren't supposed to be able to do anything. You can't blame... yourself." Leave that to me. "I'm going to kill Vayen. For Rey'deyono, for Ionnya... for you. For me."

Faresylia smiles, somewhat wanly, but...genuinely. "You do that. And...I really believe you might. This is going to sting." She wipes the new antiseptic through. It may not be spiked with nastier things this time, but it's still an antiseptic.

Meir'cillus stiffens unconsciously, eyes bugging just a bit. "ah... dammit all. You weren't kidding..." The pain subsides, though, within moments. It hardly compares to a sliced and diced back, anyway. "Faresylia. Those drow... those parasites... had something in their possession that stemmed my magic. Do you know... what it might be? Better, how to get it away from them?"

"It's a special toy Xental got a few weeks ago...I think Vayen made it himself, actually. Maree...marei...I think it's marei...orb. It neutralizes all the magic around it. I'd rather get you out of here as quickly as possible, but...I may be able to get it with a little time. And a little more luck."

"I don't want to leave without you." Meir'cillus glances at her, wondering why those words had come out of his mouth.

Faresylia's taken aback, and stops tending his injuries a moment before going back to it. "I can't say I quite no what to say," she manages after a moment. "I'm not in any immediate danger here, well...not at the moment."

"If Xental finds out that I'm gone, he'll blame you, Faresylia. And then you'll disappear." The drow looks away, uncomfortable with this sudden sense of nobility. "I can't allow that."

Faresylia looks down. "I haven't thought that far ahead," she admits. "But...I'm still a figurehead. I'm the only thing that's still Ionnya about this whole setup. If I left...I'm not sure how people would react. There could be a panic, especially for the humans."

"I can't argue with your logic..." Meir'cillus sighs, feeling far more helpless now than he had during Xenald's interrogation. "I need at least some information, Fareslyia... and I can go, to end all this before you are put at risk. Do you know where a general T'serkon is, or will be?"

"Mmm...not as specifically as I'd like. Information isn't exactly dropped into my lap around here. I did hear that he's passing through again...ugh. It's awful, 'charters' the naval fleet at less than half what it's worth." She sighs. "Going on...they usually come up through Yeferneth and then straight down here, pretty much flatland. He'll be headed to Anderon if everything is as it usually is."

"I have to be there to meet him then..." Meir'cillus starts to rise, but the effort leaves him one on knee, squeezing his eyes shut to wait for the pain to fade again. "Dammit..."

The demi-queen winces, kneeling beside him again and taking his upper arm firmly, since it's not exactly safe to touch his back. "Here. I'll help you."

Meir'cillus can't look at her. Blasted pride... but he does accept her help. There's no time for screwing around.

"I won't let your effort... be in vain..."

Faresylia nods. "Yeah...kick his ass." She stops after the long trip up the stairs. "Um...think you can ride?"

"Yes, I can. Just... tell me where to go." Meir'cillus is feeling a little better, enough to stand almost straight on his own.

Faresylia nods, heading out to a side courtyard, quite dark. "Here...wait here, I doubt anyone will pass by." And she heads off towards the stables, pulse racing. This sort of thing isn't her speed. She returns before too long with a messenger's horse...fast. "How far do you need to go? I can grab you some provisions if you need them..." she hardly knows what to say, through stress and being completely overwhelmed by something totally unexpected, a spectre from the past...visited in the worst possible way.

The warlord shakes his head. "No... just get somewhere safe. Stay safe. I have friends... allies near by. I will come back for you."

Why? She isn't Rey'deyono. You can't... make up for what you've done...

Meir'cillus puts all the effort that he has into mounting the horse. It's not easy, but... impending death is a powerful motivation.

Faresylia nods, smiling a little. "Just worry about Vayen and crew. Everything else will take care of itself if you can do that." She glances around nervously, pulling her shawl nearer to her shoulders, covering her bloodied dress, and heads back towards the dungeon with a hurried step to collect the evidence of conspiracy, the medical supplies she'd left behind.

The former lord Yerosyn urges the horse on, heading at a fast clip towards the camp where the others had waited for him... his consciousness not cooperating. They might be following him... he doesn't know. He does know that the others can handle an attack if he is. 

If he is being followed, no indication is given of such yet. Felara doesn't look up when he rides into camp. "Get lost?"

The Serandein commander is looking over some maps with her, and looks up when the warlord returns. "Oh, good. We were beginning to wonder..." his voice cuts off for a moment, and he stands up. "You're hurt."

"Hm?" Felara looks up.

"Anderon." Meir'cillus mutters, before toppling quite uncermoniously from the horse.

Felara's eyes widen...he doesn't quite hit the ground, caught in midair by something unseen. She hurries to him, though the elf beats her there, the human snapping sharp orders..."a healer over here, now! Meir'cillus? Can you hear me?" She puts a hand on his head.

"I saw... her grave." Meir'cillus stares dumbly into the night sky, disoriented... he has no idea where he is, or how he got there, not really. "Vayen has a pretender... 'advisor'... in power in Gerionay. T'serkon is supposed to be headed to Anderon." He blinks. "Felara?"

"Me." She looks away slightly, for just a moment..."I said we need a goddamn healer over here!" And then looks back to Meir'cillus. "You'll be alright, hey? What happened?" Time to keep him alert and talking, or try.

Meir'cillus's eyes clear abruptly. "I got caught," he explains in a weary, parched voice, "the torture thing... just a side effect."

Felara nods, face quite serious. She'd been about to look for a water flask for him, but then the healers finally get here. She steps back as Meir'cillus's wounds are analyzed quickly and he's moved gently to a stretcher, lain on his chest, head turned so that he can breath. The telekinetic frowns, grabbing up her papers quickly enough to follow. She's the most familiar face, probably, will keep him grounded. After all, no Meir'cillus, no campaign, and Vayen in her hair again.

The surgeons are good, and work fairly quickly...Faresylia's bandaging had been good, but first aid. Now the wounds are actually stitched closed...despite how tricky that is with sections of flesh missing.

Meir'cillus drifts in and out of consciousness during all of this... which is probably for the best, considering what's going on. When they're finished, he looks around, not entirely certain what he's looking for. 

"Are we in Anderon yet...?"

"Not until sometime after we've started moving, no." Felara looks up. "You really got the shit ripped out of you, you know that?"

"I think... Xental has a crush on me." Meir'cillus's eyes close again. "I made a mistake. I had to see her, know for myself that she is really gone. They were waiting for me."

Felara closes her eyes. "And? Is she really gone?"

"Yes." He offers nothing else on the matter. He just doesn't have the heart to fight her memories, not now.

"Alright then. That's settled, time to move things along. Now. Anderon. T'serkon is heading there? When?"

Meir'cillus blinks. "I don't..." his eyes open again, narrow in thought. "I don't remember. Faresylia told me... I can't remember."

"Faresylia? The queen?" Felara's mind is racing back through years of political trivia. Right...Queen Faresylia and King Meir'cillus, Lady Persin and Lord Yerosyn, co-rulers. The Dual or some ungodly stupid name like that. "Is that how you got away?"

"Yes. She's risked her life... I can't imagine why... to get me out. Vayen put a puppet in her employ as an 'advisor'... basically controlling Ionnya. Killing him might let us set up a stronghold in Gerionay... or it might get us surrounded..."

Felara frowns a little, thinking. "So. Bring T'serkon to us?"

"Maybe... or maybe I'm too muddled for this." Meir'cillus tries to smile a little. "I wouldn't mind the chance to... shove Xental's corpse into a hole somewhere, anyway."

"I'm sure. Tell me, just for posterity's sake...what do you think the chances are of the queen being in on all this?"

"Better than I want to admit." Meir'cillus has no illusions. Faresylia... in her place, he would have sold his ass out to Vayen in a heartbeat. 

"And your gut says...?"

"I don't think so," he answers truthfully, recalling the look on her face when he had been dragged into the palace. "At least not willfully. Faresylia... she was never very good at lies."

Felara nods, thoughful. All worth considering. "So what were they asking you when all this nicety," here she gestures to his back, "happened?" "How much did you say" is somewhat implied.

"Asking about Xayu... how he died. But I swear, I think they already knew, the way... Xenald talked." But truth be told, he's blacking out pretty badly about the whole mess. "I'm about... eighty percent sure I didn't tell them anything important."

"Not bad odds, anyway." At least he's straightforward. "Anything real specific you'd like to tell me, or should I leave you alone to get some rest?"

"Only one thing. Make sure that there are sentries out tonight, in case I was followed. Oh," Meir'cillus lifts his head a little, "I almost forgot... they have a weapon that can nullify sorcery in its area. The elves should know."

Felara's brow creases a little. "I don't suppose you caught what it was called?"

Meir'cillus blinks. "Moray... muree..." he shakes his head. "Something like that. Maree. Maybe."

"Marei?" The telekinetic couldn't be much less pleased about this particular development.

"Yeah, that was it," Meir'cillus nods, "Marei."

"Erf..." she scowls. "Localized, but damned hard to work around. Yeah, will see to that." She thinks a moment. "Where the hell did they get a Marei orb? Those things aren't easy to make. I sure as hell can't do it...and there's not a lot of stuff I can't make." She flexes her claw for emphasis.

"He said that Vayen made it himself. Vayen's power is... hard to describe. He's ancient, cunning, and worst of all, paranoid."

"Oh, good. At least we know when we get ourselves killed, the guy'll at least probably have the decency to be creative about it." She stands up.

Meir'cillus just lays down his head. Today has been far too painful for him, on a number of levels. But at least tomorrow, Xenald's blood will ease his suffering.

---

It's a long, hot day. Not so much as they're used to from Elentria's climate, but unpleasant nonetheless. Not long after the moon rises a couple of hours after dark, Felara heads back into the warlord's tent. He's had a lot of sleep...and this is pressing. "Meir'cillus?"

"Come in, I'm awake..." the warlord's voice replies to hers, in an odd, quivering tone. "What is it?"

Felara notes his voice, and wonders but...says nothing. She just holds out a note brought by a messenger this evening, bearing Vayen's seal. The warlord's certainly gotten more than one, but...never under circumstances remotely like this.

Meir'cillus takes it, wondering, but not caring. He still hasn't quite escaped his nightmare world yet, where it was not he but first Rey'deyono, and then Faresylia, hanging until Xenald's knife. He reads as best he can.

It's straightforward as ever...nothing out of the usual, mentions of this or that plan or change or of the progress he's expected to have by this point. But it does end unusually. Meir'cillus's presence is requested at the fortress for reasons that aren't terribly clearly defined, except as 'non-public points of interest."

"Non-public points of interest." Meir'cillus sets the letter down, thinking, but not really too hard. "It would be the chance to get in. But suicide, as I'm sure he wants my head for Xayu's death."

"Probably, but who knows? I assume you were asked to the fortress, then?" She knows better than to break the seals on those letters. Unless you're the intended recipient, it's...bad.

"Yes." Meir'cillus is at a loss. If he goes and just gets killed, Rey will go unavenged and Faresylia unprotected. His promises to Therian and Felara will be broken. "I should talk to the elf... I think... before I decide." He sits up, but its still a hell of a task. "What would you do?"

Felara pauses a few moments. "Going after Vayen is a fool's errand in the first place. If I'd thought enough of myself to try that much, then when this came up, I'd probably see what that elf was talking about about the slave 'possibly holding the key to unwravelling Vayen's power.' And decide from there."

"Point." Meir'cillus steps down from his sleeping place, growling at the stiffness in his muscles and back. "Would you... be so kind as to go and get them? I don't think the walk is going to do me any good."

Felara nods. "Back shortly." And she takes her leave.

When she returns maybe fifteen minutes later, she's accompanied by the elven commander. T'narian is admittedly glad to see Meir'cillus at least somewhat upright. "It's good to see you up. How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been minced." Meir'cillus grins a little despite himself. "Vayen has asked me to the capital. T'serkon is heading for Anderon. And a puppet government exists in Gerionay that could easily be overthrown and the city used as a stronghold. This is what I know. Tell me what you know."

"It took almost three days, but our psychics finally traced the memories in that slave's mind we needed. It's exactly what we hoped for, however, we need more time before it can be made useful."

"Then get on it. Send a letter back to Vayen with my seal, by one of Xayu's men, explaining that I am injured and unable to travel for a time." Meir'cillus closes his eyes. "They know I had something to do with Xayu's death. This will come as a slap in the face to Vayen... but he won't come after us himself. Paranoid hermit."

"He came this far after the priestess," Felara points out, somewhat quietly. She nods, though, and heads off for a notary.

T'narian nods. "It could be as little as a few hours, though several days seems more reasonable."

Meir'cillus watches Felara go, swallowing his rising fury over that remark, true though it might be. "Vayen has no need to fear me. He won't be in a rush, I'm sure."

The elf nods. "I'll keep you up to date. An extra note...I have several of my guards over Therian at this point. She's recovering mentally and physically from our examination and won't be on her feet for awhile. And, with some manipulations that were done, it's very probable that Vayen knows what we did, even, on a longshot, what we found."

"All of that is your concern, not mine." Meir'cillus glances up at the elf, looking somehow pained, bored, and confident all at the same time. "You handle your aspect. Leave the killing to me."

T'narian nods. "So what of Gerionay? You intend to move against the city itself?"

"Just the royal advisor. It would have to be extremely quick and clean, but I think we could handle it. There is dissension amongst the soldiers, and a weak man leading them, a man in conflict with the legitimate ruler." Meir'cillus lays back again, sighing softly. "But then, doing so may not be wise. It's your campaign. I'm just the attack dog."

"Hardly. There was one other warlord we may have offered our terms to, but you were the one who ruled this nation. We picked you for your knowledge, not because you had the superior force." Actually...he doesn't have the superior army. It's close. But not quite.

"What do you suppose will happen once Vayen is dead?" Meir'cillus glances at T'narian. "I have no more desire to rule anything. I'll kill him. But then what?"

"Then a number of warlords and generals will start jockeying for his position. We've looked into all foreseeable possibilities...none of them will be able to hold this extensive an empire together. Our best guess suggests that, with T'serkon and Xayu both gone, the warlord Venalsia is most likely to gain control. And she doesn't concern us in the least. And, if things develop into too much chaos, more than expected, we have someone designated to be strong-armed into power by our army. But that's a last resort, and the hope is in the former."

"There's something I want in exchange for all this." The drow lets breath out, trying his best to relax. "Ionnya. After Vayen is dead, can your nation help to protect it?"

"I can't make that promise on my own. But I will bring it up to the council."

The warlord nods a little. "Every day I feel less like my upbringing. Less Drow... more something else." Even his voice sounds somewhat uncertain at all this... like he thinks he might be telling the wrong person things that no one should here. "I won't allow my home to be overrun again."

"You're not a drow. Just an individual." T'narian tilts his head just a little. "More specifically, one who was able to take responsibility for a nation comprised of two quite different races. Not many people could have done that."

"Maybe." His eyes close again. "This is my last stand, I think, no matter what happens. If your council doesn't see fit to aid Ionnya, I will have to reclaim the throne. If that happens... you have my word that relations will be civil."

The elf bows his head a moment, as it seems the most appropriate acknowledgement. He isn't positive exactly what has the drow so much more disturbed than even torture should explain...but he has an idea. "In either case, the orb that Miss Felara mentioned to me...if we can get our hands on that, it may very well be exactly the catalyst by which what we've learned from the slave can paralyze her former owner."

"That thought did occur to me. If Faresylia is really legitimate, I believe she might be able to help us acquire it."

The elf nods. "There are no doubt failsafes that will keep it from affecting such a paranoid creator, but there's a good chance that with the information available, that can be overidden."

"I don't suppose my magic would be of any use?"

"If we can cause that orb to affect only Vayen...it'll be of plenty of use when the time comes. In either case...I should probably leave you to rest some more. It seems quite the harrowing experience."

Meir'cillus shakes his head. "It's only the faces of those I've abandoned staring back at me. I'll be of more use in a little while."

The elf's eyes sadden a little at that. He's not sure what spectres haunt Meir'cillus...but they must be wicked ones. "Will you be all right?"

"Define all right." The drow shrugs. "I can kill Vayen. I think for now, that is what matters most." He straightens out, lying down once more, letting his eyelids slide shut, though he isn't terribly sleepy. "Wake me when the war starts."

The elf nods. "I'll do that. Rest well." That said, he takes his leave.

Meir'cillus waves absently. He's hardly even there, he's so distracted, but this time sleep comes relatively easily. The same nightmares, the same faces, but somehow he feels as if he is too tired to care anymore.

---

"... put it back!" Meir'cillus groans mightily as he pulls himself from the floor, grumbling about having rolled off his cot in his sleep. "It must be a sign to wake up," he decides, and as his back feels quite a bit better he straightens his posture and shuffles outside the tent, looking around.

Felara looks up when he passes. "Good to see you up and about. We're thinking simple...an assassin on our dear advisor, try to avoid outright war if possible. Your thoughts?"

"Food is my thought. But yes, that would be the way to do it." The drow lord nods an answer while thinking that he wishes it could be him to take Xenald's life... but not in his condition. "I think they'll be looking for an attempt on his life. They know me pretty well... that bastard even knows my real name."

"Real name?" Felara blinks.

"Sure," Meir'cillus nods. "I changed my name decades ago, to keep my siblings from coming after me to ensure their places on the throne of this land."

"Ah...fair enough." She doesn't inquire further. "So how do you think he knew?"

"I don't. To me it is of little consequence except to prove that Vayen's cronies know much than first glance would suggest." Meir'cillus's eyes clear a bit, the haze finally starting to lift from his mind. "Are you to be the assassin?"

"We were just trying to figure that out. I can, yeah, but subtlety isn't exactly my strong suit. We were talking about whether that slave can be able enough to pull that off in a day or so."

"I have no doubts as to her ability. But let her make the decision." Meir'cillus sighs. "I'm really becoming a pussy in my old age."

"Don't worry. I can do the sadistic bastard thing for both of us," Felara observes.

"Right. So... am I to talk to Therian?"

"If you like. The last I saw her, she was in the south corner of the camp," T'narian advises.

Meir'cillus gives a slow, thoughtful, 'dammit why didn't he say no' kind of nod. He trudges off that way, thankful that his back doesn't hurt as badly as it did. 

"Therian," he calls out as he reaches the general area of the south corner, "are you here?"

She doesn't answer, but she's not hard to find, either...she's sitting on top of one of the sturdiest tents, the mess tent, hunched over her knees and quite introspective. She'd had on a cloak for a couple of days after killing Xayu, but...now she doesn't again.

Meir'cillus approaches the tent with a shuffling pace hardly fit for a brutal warlord. He isn't quite sure what to say to Therian just yet. 

"What are you doing up there?" It is hardly the thing to say.

A pause. "Sitting" is the croaking response. She just wants to be left alone.

"Strange, it looks like you're imitating a weathervane up there," comes Meir'cillus's sardonic reply. He's in no mood for this, though in fairness, he did receive the courtesy of an ear from the elf earlier when he was feeling moody.

Therian doesn't respond, just covers her head. So many memories she'd forgotten...so many she'd blocked out. The elven telepaths had reopened and reorganized many things in her convoluted mess of a mind, made the paths clearer...and yet she was better off not knowing most of what she hadn't remembered she did. Really, she's strung so tight that she's ready to lash out fatally at most anything that moves.

"Look, I appreciate the gravity of what's been going on, I do. It's not fair that the good of you is being ignored in favor of the good of many. But it's efficient. Whatever they did to you will mean Vayen's death, the crumbling of an empire of oppression that you and have both managed to escape from, miraculously I might add. You have an opportunity to help free those who have suffered his tyranny, and to save those who haven't from the horrors that you've endured. If nothing else," here Meir'cillus smiles, "you have the power to end this idiotic pep talk."

She doesn't care much that there are others in the same situation as her. She never has...she's been betrayed by other slaves more times than by drow. But he'd started out strong, anyway, and, in the retrospectively carefree century before, she'd have smirked at the bit at the end. "What is it you want me to do now?"

"There's a man who needs extinction. A drow named Xenald, who Vayen has placed in power in this country." The drow lord whistles at a passing bird. "You don't have to. We could just invade the place, and put everything at risk including innocent lives. Or I could go back, heaven knows I want to burn him to the ground. But you are the best at this sort of thing."

Therian fingers the hilt of Xayu's sword thoughtfully, running her ungloved fingers slowly through the grooves of the cool metal. "When?"

"T'nerian has the details. Like you... I'm only a tool in all this."

"Well isn't that bloody reassuring." Therian sighs and, after a few moments, crawls to the edge of the tent to jump off. She's just as soon sulk. Hell knows she has all the time in the world. But then, she'd just as soon not. Just to distract herself.

Meir'cillus nods, not really caring about her sentiment. He doesn't like Therian, though he does understand her a bit. "We can't fix your problems. Maybe no one can, not even you. But that's no reason to waste your potential, now is it?" This he says as they walk back, confident that she's both following and listening.

And ignoring him. And resisting the urge to emmasculate him over the 'potential' comment, per bad memories.

Meir'cillus has one more comment to make before they reach their destination.

"It's pitiful to see someone with so much ability allowing herself to be ruled by her past." And he's quite aware of the hypocrisy in his making such a remark.

Therian growls, hackles thoroughly raised. "You know nothing."

Meir'cillus tilts his head. "How do you know?"

"Because it's so fucking obvious."

He smiles. "To whom? I know a lot of things, Therian, I've seen your kind a dozen times, not as often as you might think, but often. Had a hand in creating your kind. So I know plenty."

"Oh, yeah. I'm sure a drow is so familiar with what it is to have his own damned brain ruin itself because no one cared to alter human memory patterns to last millenia. What it's like to physically lose your own race's ability to plan ahead and yet not gain elvenkind's ability to look to the past. To have your race rip apart your sanity. To have no idea where you came from, having a blank past and no fucking clue as to whether there's anything else. Yeah. I'm sure you understand."

Meir'cillus frowns. "Are you done?"

Therian just scowls, in a distinctly bad mood at her own outbursts and Meir'cillus's proddings both, and doesn't deign to respond.

Meir'cillus keeps quiet after that. Motivating her is not an easy task, it seems.

A short walk brings them back to Felara and T'nariens general area. "Here we are," he announces, to Therian as well.

She nods, just a little. As much as she seems otherwise at moments, she's still blind, and the input helps.

"Ah...good, I'm glad he found you. How are you feeling, Therian?"

The slave or ex-slave--she's still trying to figure out which on a number of levels, some quite literal, since she interprets this "job" as exactly what had always happened with Vayen, just with a different veneer--mutters something nonsensical. Her voice makes it incomprehensible anyway, and she knows that it will.

"She's not feeling civil. Though I can't blame her, really." Meir'cillus doesn't really know how to direct all this... he feels that he knows his place, and planning the use of armies isn't a strong suit of his anyway, apart from battle strategy itself.

"I see." The elf starts to inquire further, conversationally, but...finally thinks the better of it. He simply explains the situation, as clearly and concisely as possible. "So..." he finishes, tilting his head a little. "Do you think you can do that?"

There's a momentary pause. "What happens if I don't?"

Meir'cillus grits his teeth slightly. "It's perfectly voluntary, isn't it master elf?" He fully recalls his promises to Therian. He might be an ass, but he won't go back on his word. 

"Of course." T'narian is quick to grasp the importance of the statements.

Another pause, longer. Sometimes not having eyes has its perks...her thoughts would bemuch more obviously whirling were that not the case. Finally... "yeah. I can do it. Just need supplies and specifics."

"I only have one specific for you, Therian, as I was captured before I could learn anything of great importance. There is a woman in the palace in Gerionay... Faresylia Persin, the essential Queen. Don't harm her, unless you absolutely cannot avoid it."

Therian just nods. Understood. T'narian, with Meir'cillus's input, goes through city and palace layouts, moving her hand over map as directional illustration...and showing a remarkable lack of defensiveness, or looks it, considering that he nearly lost his hand more than once. A jumpy, blind assassin seems ridiculous, it really does...but she's still one of the best. "And so everything's in order? You're sure?"

"Yes, yes...damn." Therian turns her head just a little to Meir'cillus. "Any specific token you wanted?" Proof that the target's dead, trinket or body part. Assassins picking it themselves tends to lead to conspiracy theories.

Meir'cillus strokes his chin thoughtfully at that. "No." He closes his eyes, thinking. "I trust your word, Therian."

Therian isn't quite sure what to make of that, and finally just brushes past it. "What time of day is it?"

"Noon. This reminds me of the days when I used to be the only drow awake during human time around here." Meir'cillus laughs just lightly. "Hunting season, I believe they called it."

It's another thing Therian would have found amusing a century ago. "How long a walk is it from here to the city?"

"Not long at all. For me it was a few hours, during the day even."

Therian nods. "I should go soon, then...catch him in daylight hours." If he's connected to Vayen, he won't be honoring Ionnya's traditions of keeping twilight hours. "Your guards aren't fond of letting me near the weapons supply." Hint hint.

Meir'cillus eyes narrow. "Then kill them." He blinks, sighs lightly. His frustration with this whole situation has grown monumental, but letting it out like that will only cause problems. "I'll talk to them. Come along or stay here, whichever you like."

That said, the former warlord heads for the depot at a clip that's really too fast for his health's sake.

She follows. With some grudging direction from a guard, Therian's able to put together a useable stock of throwing daggers and three poisons. No matter what the situation turns into, she can make it work with these. She doesn't take a sword. She has Xayu's. "Give me two days," Therian notes as she tightens the straps on a vambrace a bit too shiny and new for her comfort, "before you start suspectng that something's gone wrong."

"In fifty four hours we storm Gerionay, then. Be prepared, if you hit a snag, to get out of the way." Meir'cillus has no illusions. He wants his home back.

"Fair enough. Anything else?"

"Not unless 'don't die' counts."

"No one left who cares anyway." She starts off for the edge of camp as she says that, waving a little over her shoulder.

Meir'cillus doesn't wave back. It would be pointless anyway... and he doesn't want to say that statements like that are what keep people from caring. He simply heads back to his tent, perfectly confident that he is useless for the moment.

---

The assassination is graciously anticlimatic. Not to say some of Xenald's guards weren't good, just...placed wrong. Allowed her a workaround. Faresylia's quite beside herself, but...guesses that Meir'cillus had had something to do with it.

Therian was torn on one issue. Eventually, a token is taken after all...a pendant Xenald wore, a mark of rank. This she leaves just a little ahead of Meir'cillus's trek through the camp, hanging somewhere she's sure he'll see it within a minute or two, and then just takes her leave of the camp again, with no intention of returning.

It doesn't take the warlord too long to stumble over the token. He doesn't make a point to look for Therian either... she's done her part, and in a way he's glad to be rid of her. Too much baggage.

"It's time to move into the city," he announces to T'narien not long afterwards. "We should peaceably occupy the capital as soon as possible."

"Oh?" The elf looks up from the sword he'd been sharpening. "Did the assassin return, then?"

Meir'cillus shakes his head, but tosses Xenald's pendant down upon the ground. "She probably won't, but the deed is done. I must see Faresylia if she's alive, and the city must be regained. Afterwards... assuming everything goes to plan, I'll answer Vayen's summon."

T'narian nods, checking the edge, sheathing the sword, and standing up. "I'll let my troops know at once."

---

There's some resistance from Ionnya's army, but it's minimal. The officers realize that whoever is attempting to enter the capital must have been the ones to take out Xenald...about two-thirds are fine with that. The other third supports Vayen, as he'd finally given the drow the superiority, but...they're the minority, and largely suppressed by their own comrades.

Faresylia is immensely happy about all this, once she gets over the shock...she immediately takes a stronger hand than she ever had before and, shockingly enough, at least one key general is actually listening, and helping implement things where she doesn't have the power to. She's practically bouncing in the palace's throne room, sometime after a public audience when only she and Meir'cillus are present. "I still can't believe you did that, just got rid of Xenald so easily."

Meir'cillus honestly thinks that he understands her sentiment there. "It needed done. Xenald's trump card was Vayen's protection, and obviously Vayen didn't care to let him go. I can see that you're doing quite well, lady Persin." His tone is actually something quite akin to... jolly. Just knowing that Xenald is dead makes him proud to be a treacherous slimeball.

"Yes." Faresylia smiles proudly. "General Sai'reln wants to see things function about how they were before...get both races working together again. He's helping me with the army. And tomorrow I'm going to announce a re-commissioning of the temple. Not sure when that will actually get done, with so much else to rebuild and having lost so much of the treasury to Anderon's exploitation already, but...it will be a high priority. I think it will help letting people know that Ionnya's in charge of itself again."

Meir'cillus cracks a genuine, almost warm, smile. "Rey'deyono would like that, I think. But Faresylia, we have so much catching up to do. Tell me about this exploitation you mentioned?" Here Meir'cillus offers her his arm. "And let's find someplace peaceful to talk."

Faresylia smiles, and takes his arm. Even though he's more civil than he was before, really...it seems like old times. And she thinks maybe things really will get better. "Yes, let's." She lets him lead. The palace hasn't changed since he'd left.

The former... and he supposes current... lord Yerosyn leads the Queen to where her chambers had been back in the day, thinking that Faresylia would be more comfortable there, away from the politics of things.

"Is this all right?" he asks of her. "If it makes you uncomfortable..." 

Why are you treating her so well? You never treated her this well. Is it nostalgia? Meir'cillus, are you going soft? Is... that so bad?

Faresylia shakes her head, no...this is fine. She smiles and produces the key to the suite. Locking it has seemed...pertinent, as of late. She unlatches the door and heads into The Queen's Chambers.