I don't think I like this chapter much... repeat to self and write it a hundred times: Ely – get on with the damn plot and stop fussing about the minutiae of the characterisation and their very tangled relationships!
Chapter 28 – Turmoil
Kneeling by the battered Deathsinger, Jen dragged the back of her hand over her damp eyes as she tried to pick strands of his long, silvery hair from the bloody mess of his once handsome face. Kneeling opposite her with a distinct air of contempt at her open display of emotion, Tsabandiir prepared a healing spell; laying a gentle hand over his comrades ravaged aspect, the Darkmask muttered the words of a prayer, beseeching his capricious god for an assistance that thankfully was duly given. As Xen'shai's face began to to re-cast itself into something more familiar, the half elf took the edge of her skirts and began to gently wipe the extraneous blood away, hoping to see how extensive the damage actually way. After a mere moment into her ministrations, she then heard a violent crash to the right of her; looking up, she caught the glimpse of a banner of red and an angrily lashing tail exit the room and guessed correctly that it was Valen.
Taking in a hitching breath in an attempt to calm her now shattered nerves, Jen furiously dashed away the new tears that then fell, leaving a streaked bloody smear across one cheek. Again, the Darkmask opposite her fell into himself, chanting under his breath before reaching out and almost caressing the Deathsinger that lay in between them with faintly glowing fingers, and the half elf watched the almost surreal spectacle of Xen'shai's nose reforming and once again standing proud from his face, the blooms of blood that had flowered under his skin around his eyes and cheeks receding away to nothing more than nasty looking bruises that would fade given time.
Still obviously in pain, the bard slowly opened his eyes, the brilliant green of his irises looking even more striking against their now bloodshot backgrounds. He gave Jen a disorientated look and groaned a little as his brows tried to knit together in confusion; raising a hand, he clutched at his forehead for a moment before attempting to heave himself into a sitting position. Laying a restraining hand upon his shoulder, Tsabandiir then forced the Deathsinger to stay upon the floor, muttering a few words in drow, the only ones of which Jen could figure out being 'no' and 'rest'.
Hearing an angry snort behind her, Jen turned and watched as conflict crawled across Nathyrra's face, obviously torn between her dislike of the bard and the shock of Valen's sudden, seemingly meaningless attack upon him. For a moment, the half elf thought that she was going to join her upon the floor, but instead she set her jaw in a show of stubbornness and reached for the door handle.
"Nathyrra – leave him," Jen pleaded, her stomach all of a sudden dropping at the thought of the assassin forcing out the tiefling's motivations and therefore spilling her own shame for all to see.
Upon hearing her words, Nathyrra gave Jen a look that was both surprised and furious. "He could be anywhere," she reasoned, trying to keep her voice even and calm; nothing could disguise the tight curtness that was evident, however. "When he's in this kind of mood, everyone needs to be on their guard; he could do untold damage if we're not careful."
"Then at least allow me to speak to him," Jen replied, her attempt to stand up thwarted as Xen'shai's hand left his forehead and grasped her wrist.
"Vel'bol uri'shoelt?" he mumbled, his eyes now closed once again. "Jiv'undus..."
"Lie... Ulnar suust... ol jal right – uh, ditri... ditronw..." the half elf replied in broken drow, trying to wrack her brains to bring forth the little learning Nathyrra and the drow male lying before her had afforded her during their rest periods, whilst the confused, almost timorous quality to the usually confident Deathsinger's voice cut through Jen to her compassionate core.
"Jenalil?" Xen'shai almost groaned. "zhah nindel dos?
"Siyo," Jen near whispered in reply as his hand tightened around her wrist.
"Bel'la l'Senger... Usstan ssiggrin dos zhahen natha wussrun'wa," he murmured, trying to smile but in the end grimacing as his facial muscles contorted painfully.
"Usstan xuat kampi'un..." Jen shook her head apologetically. "My drow isn't good enough yet..."
"It will be," the Deathsinger whispered, pulling her hand closer to him. "It will be. I shall teach you..."
Glancing towards the ceiling, Jen closed her eyes for a second, a flash of exquisite conflict chasing itself across her face as she ran her free hand through her hair, battling with herself as to what to do next, blaming herself for both the drow's injuries and the tiefling's erratic actions.
As if sensing this conflict, Xen'shai wrenched himself from the floor to rest upon his elbows, trying to ignore the stabbing sensation deep within his skull, and regarded her through puffy, bruised eyes, the blood on his face now drying to form a russet mask of gore.
"You told him," he whispered, allowing a hint of bitterness to creep into his tone as his memory pieced together what had occurred. "You told the Errdegah-chath..."
"No!" Jen replied with more vehemence than she intended. "No... I didn't. He... he obviously jumped to the wrong conclusion..." glancing at the door, she watched as Nathyrra shook her head and left. "I never... I don't know why... I just..."
Hanging her head as her insides sank, the half elf trailed off.
"His jealousy knows no bounds..." Xen'shai continued, his voice low. "It is not you I blame..."
Feeling something twist involuntarily deep within herself at this assumption, the half elf shook her head. "No, it's not... it's not jealousy; it's... he's... he swore... he thought you... I..."
Reaching up to touch the rogue's blood smeared cheek, the Deathsinger opened his eyes once more. "I would never hurt you," he swore solemnly. "Never..."
He then sank back to the floor.
Allowing a confused sigh to escape her, Jen covered her eyes briefly with one hand, completely at a loss as to what to say before she glanced around herself, all of a sudden acutely aware that she was surrounded by drow males, all of whom were watching her intently. Feeling her cheeks flush, she quickly shuffled back, pulling her wrist from the bard's grasp.
"Tsabandiir – do you think it is worth another spell?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.
Shaking his head, the Darkmask regarded her disdainfully. "His wounds are healed – the pain will subside quickly. Head wounds are... notoriously difficult," he responded in heavily accented but perfect Common, his tone dripping with barely concealed contempt. "He will have a headache for an hour or so and he will have to suffer the disgrace of a pair of impressive black eyes, but that is all."
Nodding, Jen thanked Tsabandiir before standing up.
"Jallil d'Ssussun-" Xen'shai began, but the half elf cut him off before he could finish.
"I'll be back in a moment," she said a little distractedly as she stepped towards the door, leaving the drow in the room to share a single, knowing look before they once again fixed their attention upon the bard laying on the floor.
o0o
Barging into Rizonym who, as the last one to enter the room, was still in the doorway, Valen strode into the corridor before stopping. His departure had been an entirely instinctual one; breathing heavily, the tiefling leant despondently against the pitted, cold plaster of the wall and pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes, desperately trying to banish the demon back to the prison constructed entirely from his own will within his mind, but his almost overwhelming desire to do the Deathsinger more harm made this almost impossible; the demon kept fighting back, reminding him of the drow's crimes, whether they be real or imagined - an act that succeeded stoking not only his forever present infernal wrath, but also an anger that was very human in origin.
He had no idea how long he had spent trying to calm his breathing when he heard the unmistakeable click of a door opening; glancing up, the Weapon Master found Nathyrra striding towards him, a grim look upon her sharp features, her fists clenched.
"What in the hells are you playing at?" she hissed angrily as the tiefling regarded her guardedly, not wishing to lose his temper with the assassin as well. "Whilst I would be the first to admit to harbouring similar desires to do that smug bastard harm, exactly what in the Dark Maiden's name were you thinking?!"
Taking a deep breath, Valen tried to rationalise his actions as he studied his bloodied knuckles before shaking his head in frustration, completely at a loss as to where to begin explaining exactly what it was that the Deathsinger had done to earn his ire in this way, mainly due to the simple truth that he was having difficulty in rationalising it to himself, let alone to anyone else.
Pursing her lips as her own temper rose, the assassin folded her arms over her chest and simply stared at the tiefling, but it was futile; he had thrown up his walls, and until he was ready, she knew nothing would drag his reasoning out of him; sneering silently to herself, Nathyrra leaned almost nonchalantly against the wall beside her, knowing that her own reserves of patience vastly outweighed those of the Weapon Master's, all the while staring levelly at him.
This time, however, the tactic did not work; the tiefling just stared back, his jaw stuck out belligerently as his mind turned wildly, trying to think of an excuse that would explain his behaviour without compromising any of his own integrity with regards to the vast, tumultuous jumble of long-forgotten emotions the half elven wench so inexplicably - and annoyingly - stirred within himself. Suddenly, the tiefling snapped his head up as his demon roiled briefly through him, complaining about the uncomfortable touch of a presence diametrically opposed to its own, causing a fierce desire to do it harm to flaring up for a split second with frightening ferocity before he buried it deep within himself once again.
Seeing the Weapon Master react in such a way, Nathyrra turned her head, expecting to see someone in the corridor; instead, she was met with the sound of a latch being unfastened and nothing more. Glancing at Valen, she frowned a little to herself, now truly more than a little concerned for his mental state, her attention only being diverted as Jen slipped from her room looking drawn and upset, a bloody smear dried upon one cheek, her eyes ringed with red.
Regarding both of them silently, the half elf wrapped her arms around herself before looking shamefacedly at the floor; glancing from both the half elf to the now stern-looking tiefling and back again, the perspicacious drow offered them both a shrewd look as she kicked herself from the wall.
"Okay; what's going on..." she began a little suspiciously, making sure her question was not directed at either one of them.
Shaking her head, Jen simply shrugged her shoulders, carefully avoiding eye contact with the assassin.
"I need to talk to Valen."
"I don't need to talk to you," the Weapon Master countered as he drew himself up to his full height and folded his arms over his chest aggressively, taking refuge in open hostility... and feeling his heart sink involuntarily as the half even female's brows drew together in bewilderment and hurt at his mordancy.
Feeling suddenly very uncomfortable being in the middle of this exchange of decidedly abstruse sentiments, Nathyrra decided that this was her cue to leave; as she went past the half elf, however, she did offer her a light touch upon the shoulder, which Jen received with a small, but undeniably grateful, smile.
Watching as the drow left the corridor and re-entered her room, both half elf and tiefling stared at the floor for a moment, each one unwilling to begin. Finally, Jen sighed in resignation and looked up at the scowling Weapon Master.
"I just knew you would do something like this," she began quietly. "I knew you would. I shouldn't... I shouldn't have come back. I wish I had never told you anything."
Hearing the accusation in her voice, Valen winced inwardly.
"He had it coming."
"That's not the point!" the half elf exclaimed as loudly as she dared, her exasperation at the tiefling's obstinate intractability now plain. "The point is it's not your business! I would have dealt with it; we've got to be able to work together – all of us – and that isn't going to happen if you go around half-killing our supposed comrades each time they look at one of us askew!" She paused and took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. "I'm not even going to pretend that I know what you were thinking in there... but whatever it was, whatever your reasons – just... don't do it again."
"Oh, right," Valen sneered furiously in reply. "So the next time he tries it on and doesn't stop, I'm just to let that go with a smile and a wave, am I? I can't do that, Jen! I can't stand there and watch him take advantage of you like this!"
"What's it got to do with you?!" Jen hissed back, her own confusion finding a conduit in anger. "Why must you resort to violence? Why can't you just leave it to me? Why?"
For a long moment, Valen just stared at her through lowered brows, his exterior stillness hiding the roiling chaos that dwelt within him.
"The Seer appointed me as your guardian, not just as a comrade in arms," he replied eventually, hoping she would not recognise the half-lie. "It was agreed not to tell you. No one else knows – not even Nathyrra. Therefore, any threat to you, whether it is external or from within our own ranks, is by default my business."
Feeling something sink within her at the rational, almost clinical way he explained his actions, Jen took a step back. She was unsure of what she wanted to hear from him, but one thing was certain: this wasn't it. Nodding as she drew her arms tighter around herself, her attention flickered towards the door that hid their companions; sighing in resignation, she stepped backwards again.
"Well, at least I know now," she replied, trying to keep the hint of unfathomable disappointment from her voice. "But it still changes nothing – I don't want you interfering with this. I can deal with Xen'shai." Seeing the look of acute disbelief that flitted across Valen's countenance, her own demeanour hardened. "I know you don't believe me, but I can. Now, we have to work together... and be grateful that no one has happened along this corridor." She turned away from him. "Just... try to see the bigger picture from now on."
"I think I am aware of the 'bigger picture' a little more acutely than you are," the tiefling countered testily. "But if that's the way you want it, then that's the way it'll be played." He paused. "Is that the way you want it?"
Closing her eyes, Jen tried to tell herself that this seemingly innocuous question had one meaning and one meaning alone before answering. "For the time being... yes. I don't need to alienate people, Valen – whether it's you, Nathyrra or Xen'shai. We've got enough to achieve without having to worry about each other. We now need to focus."
Without waiting for his reply, the half elf then made her way to the door and stepped through; sighing and running both his hands over his head so that he grasped the ends of his horns in sheer exasperation as to the whole situation he had found himself in, the Weapon Master followed her, preparing himself to face the Deathsinger once again.
o0o
It didn't take them long to come up with a basic plan; stepping back into the room, Valen's reappearance had been met with a stony silence, the drow male collective obviously closing ranks against him for harming one of their own, but apart from that, everything ran surprisingly smoothly, much to the consternation of the half elf caught in the middle.
Sharing the information Ilfra had given her regarding the rumours that the illithid's Elder Brain was somehow dying – or, indeed, being already dead – Jen glanced towards Deekin, Valen and Rizonym before agreeing; she then told her own tale of what Ixenthraxsis and Jacen had imparted to them the night before. Nodding grimly, Nathyrra had then outlined an idea that she had been nurturing for the last few hours since speaking to the drunken duergar; that if they could confirm the state of the Elder Brain, then maybe it would be prudent to send a message to Lith My'athar where a battalion could be mustered and Zorvak'Mur flattened, thus eliminating not only the alliance, but also any future threat from the illithid themselves.
At this suggestion, both Valen and Jen frowned.
"It could take tendays to sort out a proper assault," the half elf countered. "By that time, half the slaves will be gone – and we promised Ixenthraxsis we'd help her free the incarcerated; in return, she said she'd help us with our fight against the Valsharess. By the time we return, there is a good chance she will no longer be here, and without her, our chance of recruiting any allies also disappears."
"I'm sorry, Jen," Nathyrra countered, "but we can't take on a whole illithid city on our own, regardless of the state of its Elder Brain; it would be tantamount to suicide."
"We'd have the element of surprise-" Jen began earnestly.
"And we have allies in the Pens," Valen added, nodding. "I would say our chances of success are middling to fair. Yes; the illithid have fearsome mental powers, but when it comes down to it, they fall just as easily as any other mortal. Hit hard, hit true and we'll prevail."
"No," the assassin answered, her tone final. "It's too risky. Let's check things out, try to ascertain whether the rumours are true and then decide what to do."
Sharing a look that included Rizonym and Deekin, the four pretend-thralls eventually nodded, albeit reluctantly – even Valen, although he looked like he was being forced to chew a mouthful of wasps whilst doing so.
"Good," Nathyrra smiled grimly. "Then I suggest that we get going. The sooner we accomplish this the sooner we can make a decision and move on." She then looked gravely at each member in turn. "I suppose this is it..."
o0o
Before leaving the relatively safe confines of the tavern, Jehk'ril spent a moment casting the same spell he had the previous day upon the four would-be thralls, whilst the others retrieved their helmets and pulled them over their heads. Arranging themselves into the same formation as before, the small group marched out into the city proper and headed towards what looked like some kind of bazaar, populated entirely by mindflayers.
As they entered, most of the illithid turned to face them, their hideously slimy aspects glistening unpleasantly in the strange turquoise light as they stared blankly at them with milky, almost opalescent eyes before pointedly turning away, the message clear that the little entourage of drow was well below their notice. Only one illithid did not ignore them, although its demeanour was no less disdainful; seeing its interest, Nathyrra sauntered over and began to browse the wares upon the stall it was running before turning to face it.
"Mere trinkets," she sneered haughtily, picking up what was actually a highly enchanted amulet and holding up to the disorientating light. "Have you anything worth my interest?"
Regarding her blankly, the illithid's mental tone was was nevertheless amused.
I can see you are a discerning customer, it bubbled. Maybe this Thayvian circlet is more to your taste? Or how about this Kara-Turian blade?
"As I said... mere trinkets," the assassin scoffed. "I expected much better quality from Zorvak'Mur than this surfacer rubbish."
Surfacer rubbish? Please forgive me, but is that not slightly hypocritical considering your choice of thralls?
"You dare question me?" Nathyrra demanded. "Continue and I shall soon be thinking about fashioning a new tentacle whip for myself... do I make myself entirely clear?"
As crystal, the mind flayer conceded, its amused tone still firmly in place. Are you looking for anything in particular?
"No..." the assassin answered, now sounding bored. "I merely wished to entertain myself until the auction begins."
In that case, then maybe you might like to consider the pits? The illithid suggested. Your tiefling looks like a seasoned fighter – there may be some coin to be made from him, especially if he can face Qaemtas' half dragon and prevail.
"A half dragon?" she asked, raising her eyebrows. "So the rumours are true?"
Indeed, the illithid replied. A fearsome foe, and one that Qaemtas has been gloating over enslaving for a while now. It's tone all of a sudden grew crafty. I would actually very much like to see Qaemtas taken down a peg or two with regards to this... if you do enter your tiefling, let me know. That would be a fight I would be interested in witnessing.
Inclining her head, Nathyrra smiled wickedly. "Okay... if that happens, I will let you know."
Go to the pit and say that Artuur sent you, the mindflayer continued. You should get good odds, especially if you showcase first.
"Showcase?"
Let him pick off a few easy marks first, Artuur said, its mental tone airy. Let the punters see his prowess. That way you'll get top coin for a real challenge.
"Hmm... thank you, Artuur. You are definitely unlike other illithid I have met... not nearly quite as objectionable." she regarded the mindflayer with interest. "I wonder why that is..."
I learned a long time ago that profit was to be made in being more... approachable, Artuur replied carefully. It simply works in my favour.
"I see," Nathyrra allowed a trickle of approval to enter her tone. "Maybe you can help me further..."
At a price, maybe, conceded the illithid.
"Indeed." She glanced back to her compatriots. "We may be back later. There may be profit in this this for you yet..."
Artuur inclined its head, lifting its tentacles a little in acquiescence. I look forward to it, mistress.
"Then we have an...accord?"
I think that might be something I would like to consider...
Smiling to herself, Nathyrra nodded in approval. "Good," she said. "Good..."
o0o
Taking advantage of Artuur's advice, the small group made their way to the gladiator pits. They weren't hard to find; the stench of death and blood hung heavily in the air, and Valen found himself having to take a few deep breaths as his demon lifted its head in interest and sniffed. Lowering his head a trifle, the tiefling sidled up to Nathyrra as surreptitiously as possible.
"Why are we here?" he asked in low tones, not moving his mouth. "I thought we were going to figure out what has happened to the Elder Brain?"
"We are," she murmured back. "This is a place we can gauge how much control the illithid actually have... with so many around, they should be controlling everything; however, if one thrall can break free..."
Glancing down at the diminutive drow female, Valen gave her a brief, cynical look. "You want to pit me out there, don't you?"
"Can you think of a better way to gain an audience with the Elder Brain?"
"If it is dead, that won't work you know..."
Nathyrra allowed herself a small smile. "Exactly. In any normal functioning illithid society, the local Elder Brain would be more than happy to bargain over a prize thrall... so if there is no bargain, I think we can safely say that they are hiding something, yes?"
At this, the tiefling's cynicism turned to grudging respect. "You know, the way your mind works scares me sometimes..."
Glancing up at him, the drow's smile took on an almost impish quality. "Thank you."
The Weapon Master then dropped back so that he was once again walking next to Jen.
"What's going on?" she murmured. "Why are we here?"
"Going to try to bargain an audience with the Elder Brain," he muttered back, making sure he was staring straight ahead as not to draw any attention to themselves.
"How are we going to achieve that?"
"Fight."
Forgetting herself for a moment, the half elf glanced up in horrified surprise. "No," she whispered, dropping her head once more, feeling all of a sudden quite sick. "No, no, no. Those people... they're people we're supposed to be helping, not fighting!"
"No other way," he returned.
"You might get pitted against Ixenthraxsis."
"You don't think I can beat her?"
"I didn't sat that."
"Who said I'm the one fighting, anyway?"
She glanced back up quickly with a slightly contemptuous look on her face, deciding not to answer that particular question with words.
"Okay... it would be me. But this is the best way, believe me."
"I don't like it."
"Well, tough."
"You might get hurt!"
Looking down, the tiefling allowed a slight smile to twist his lips. "Since when did you care about that?"
"Stop changing the subject," Jen replied a little too quickly.
"It'll be fine. I'm sure Ixenthraxsis will be able to fight any compulsion she has to maim me."
"You hope."
"Well, we'll see."
"What happens if she doesn't?"
"Then I fight back."
"Valen..."
"It'll be fine; don't worry," the tiefling stared ahead of himself. "I know how to look after myself."
Giving the floor a worried look, Jen said nothing.
o0o
Striding up to the illithid whom Nathyrra guessed was the pit boss, the drow looked down her nose haughtily and tossed her head back imperiously. "I wish to take part in the proceedings," she queried disdainfully. "I take it this is the correct place?"
The pit boss said nothing as it nodded, waving its tentacles at her a little insolently.
"Well?" she demanded.
Well what? the illithid answered, its answering tone as haughty as Nathyrra's.
"Impudent iblith!" the assassin snapped. "Where do I sign up?"
Pointing over to its left, the mindflayer indicated to stall run by another illithid and a few blank faced thralls. Over there.
Without thanking it, Nathyrra left and sauntered to the table.
Yes? the mindflayer running the betting stall enquired.
"What do you think?" the assassin growled impatiently. "I wish to place a bet and possibly register a thrall to fight... if it is worth my while."
Nodding, the illithid pushed a piece of paper and a flamboyant purple feather quill towards her.
You may place your wager here; as for your thrall, write the details here. As an untested combatant, it will be pitted against other untested first; if it is successful, you will then be allowed to enter the more entertaining fights. The illithid sounded bored. Will you wager upon your own thrall, should you choose to enter?
"Of course. What is the point if there is no wager?"
Fine. What is your wager?
"An audience with your Elder Brain."
Stopping abruptly, the illithid snapped its head up and froze. Why would you wager such a thing? it asked guardedly.
"That is my concern, not yours," Nathyrra answered. "I have a proposition, nothing more."
A... proposition? The mindflayer echoed warily. I... I do not know if that will be possible.
"Really?" the assassin remarked mockingly. "It was possible in S'lorqua."
All of a sudden deciding to keep quiet, the illithid quickly took the now completed paper from Nathyrra's hands and handed it to a thrall, who took it away. Realising that she wasn't going to get anything more from the mindflayer, the drow smiled secretly to herself and went to rejoin the others.
Leading them to a more secluded corner, the assassin pulled Jen to one side to relay her information; seeing the sceptical look that passed over the half elf's face at her news, the assassin just shrugged, reasoning that under usual circumstances, the illithid were only too happy to make such ridiculous wagers, and that their immediate reluctance spoke volumes to her.
The other drow simply nodded in agreement.
"Well, I suppose one good thing comes from all of this," Jen muttered. "No one has to fight."
Looking a little sheepish, Nathyrra glanced to the floor. "Well, to be sure..."
"No," Jen replied emphatically. "We need to avoid fighting those who can help us!
"We're not saving the thralls yet, Jen," the assassin argued. "And if we are to be sure that we won't be granted an audience-"
"No!" Jen repeated. "We have our suspicions – that is enough. Whatever we choose to do next, we're not going to risk any one of us for the entertainment of the illithid. If anything, we should just hole up now and plan our next move."
Hearing a chime over the general bustle of the crowd, the whole group glanced around.
"Pit fights are about to start," Valen murmured.
Swallowing hard, Jen shook her head. "Let's get out of here."
"But we can-"
Folding her arms over her chest, the half elf gave the drow a hard look.
"Now we are here, we may as well go and see what is going on; numbers and the like," Xen'shai chipped in.
"I don't like it," Jen replied stubbornly.
"No one likes it," Nathyrra added, "but whatever happens, it'll be useful. Think of it as an opportunity to gather intelligence."
Feeling rather outnumbered, the rogue looked to Valen.
"Since you're the one who could potentially be fighting; what do you think?"
Nodding grimly, the tiefling glanced over his shoulder to regard the crowd that was assembling around the dome-shaped structure in the middle of the square. "I'll do whatever it takes," he said eventually, "and if that means fighting... so be it." He then refocused his attention upon the small group. "I do think we need to investigate further, though. Let's go."
