RP:Cagey Game

Part of the Surface Tension Arc

Synopsis: The half-orc assassin Styx is captured by drow soldiers and taken to the Fort to be held for questioning and, most likely, execution. The soldiers call upon Gevurah, who interrogates the oft sassy orc. Vakko joins Gevurah and enjoys the day's spectacle. Styx, a follower of Vakmatharas, reveals that she was sent by three Sylvan elders, Syelnar, Maegus, Gilwen, to undermine Trist'oth's plots. Styx offers several times to work for Gevurah, but the High Priestess of Vakmatharas is cautious. In the end, they agree upon a game to test both Styx's skill and desire to work for Gevurah. The orc is released, weaponless, in the center of Trist'oth with a party of drow that includes Vakko hunting her trail. If Styx escapes Trist'oth and the Underdark and reports to the Drow Embassy in Craughmoyle quickly, Gevurah will reconsider employing the orc. If Styx escapes Trist'oth and the Underdark and does not report to the Drow Embassy, the drow will find her and kill her. If Styx does not escape Trist'oth and the Underdark, then she is dead.

During the course of the interrogation, Styx also reveals that her twin daggers were enchanted by the Lich Lord Diiroehn himself, and thus Gevurah quickly steals them for herself.

Fort Trist'oth

Styx was being dragged, unconscious now but it was only moments ago she was holding her own against a patrol in the underdark. Along with the half orc, the party were carrying back two dead, killed in such a way that seemed to confuse a few of the soldiers. They chained Styx to a large obsidian post in the center of the fort, erected for dangerous people that were captured. The lieutenant bound Styx as securely as he could, using magic manicles. Styx's vast arsenal was kept on a floating disk that the drow guided to the armory. It was a pile of weapons that, when stacked, looked approximate to Styx's size. The half orc retained her armor, and her cloak after being thuroughly searched. The half elven half orcish woman was starting to come to, brought down by a poison dart.

Gevurah was called to the fort by one of the House D’Artes soldiers. The priestess rarely oversees security matters, but recent anti-drow violence on the surface has drawn the militant authorities in The First House above ground. Thus, this prisoner has the misfortune of being subjected to the discretion of Gevurah and her narrow-minded philosophy and goals. As Styx comes out of her sedation, Gevurah whispers in the corner with the guards who chained Styx. She asks them “Where did you find her?” “What was she doing?” “Where there any casualties?” “How did they die?” Styx will be able to see Gevurah’s right side, faintly lit by faerie fire. On the drow’s hip rests a whip of multiple snake heads. They writhe and hiss sleepily. It is clear by her dress that she is not a frequenter of the fort or physical combat. Her accessories and tools serve a God, and the discipline of a magic-caster. The idol of Vakmatharas that Gevurah wears on a chain around her neck is obscured from Styx’s line of sight. The priestess turns her gaze down, over a shoulder and at the prisoner as she commands the soldiers, in drow, “Douse her.” Two soldiers carry a water trough between them. The trough serves the lizard mounts of the small drow cavalry water, but the water is rarely refreshed. Thus, Styx is treated to a frothy shower of stale, room temperature water made slick by lizard spit - and drow piss, of course. One flaw in the fort’s design is a lack of conveniently placed bathrooms. Thus, some soldiers can’t be bothered to cross the fort for something as short and trivial as a piss. The water, spit, and piss soak into Styx’s armor with the intention to both demoralize her and to encumber her armor even further. Gevurah turns towards the prisoner and crosses her arms, studying the orc’s reactions wordlessly.

Styx doesn't quite react as expected. She didn't flinch or cringe, but she reacted with practiced grace. Her hand had gone to where her dagger was. Was. It took a moment to sink in that she didn't have her dagger. The taupe-green skinned female looked a touch disconcerted more about the absence of her trusted blade than being covered in piss. Now soaked into her tightly corn-rowed hair. Styx noticed Gevurah watching her, and turned to face the drow. Her hands were neatly held at her center, and Styx's feet remained shoulder-width - something of a stance of attention. The two dead drow had yet to be attended to. One stab was what it took to slay them, but no poison was found on Styx's blades.

Gevurah can’t bring back the dead, and thus she delegates the task of dealing with the dead drow to someone of a rank below her, which is everyone in the fort at the moment. At the bottom of the totem pole is Styx, which brings pleasure to the now second-from-the-bottom: a young scout boy who spits in Styx’s direction. He misses, in a dazzling display of why he is the lowest ranked scout-in-training at the fort. Embarrassed, he doesn’t try again. Gevurah begins her questioning of the orc in her native tongue, “Do you speak drow?”

Styx doesn't really flinch. Her hawk-like yellow eyes follow the spittle to its final destination. Styx snorted a bit, but it seemed to be by happenstance. She replied in kind, in the orcish tongue. "I understand drow." She gave Gevurah a somewhat derisive look. "I won't speak it yet." she said, now in Elven. She observed Gevurah for a reaction.

Gevurah doesn’t speak orcish, and her ignorance of the language shows on her expression. Elven she does understand, and she replies in her own heavily-accented Elven, “It doesn’t matter me what you choice to speak.” She makes various minor grammatical errors when speaking Elven. She hasn’t had the opportunity to practice it amongst native speakers, and thus her command of Elven is very academic and prone to unnatural word choices. “Which matters is that you speak, and that you speak the honesty. Your life is unimportant and easy to kill.” She pauses and watches the orc before continuing. “Why were you hunting drow scouts?” She fingers the idol of Vakmatharas that hangs from her neck.

Styx gestures toward Gevurah and replies simply "In his name". Styx gave Gevurah a determined stare, eyeing the idol that she was touching. She'd never heard Vakmarathas speak to her directly, but she felt incredibly close to it. He had guided her hands for centuries, but failed to assist her in slaying more drow. Styx didn't look incredibly complicated - not like the elf or the drow. The orcish features showed. Styx was stockier than an elf, more muscled. It was an odd mix to be sure. She stood, almost like a statue before Gevurah. "He didn't allow me to kill the rest."

Gevurah arches a brow when Styx gestures towards Vakmatharas and scans the prisoner for anything that would indicate that she is a follower of Vakmatharas. “Does Vakmatharas ask you only kill dark elves?” Skepticism colors her voice. Anyone with a cursory recognition of the Vakmatharas idol and what the God of Death stands for could try to game Gevurah by pretending the deaths were in the name of her God. Gevurah is acutely aware of this and on guard.

Styx wore no such symbols. In fact, no symbols of any sort decorated Styx's form. "No. I was paid to kill dark elves. I kill all in his name, for he has my sole allegiance." It would be rather obvious Styx was an assassin. Her phrases were terse, and meaningfully to the point. She didn't shift around, or change her stance. Even if she was covered in spit and piss.

Gevurah doesn’t find Styx’s stoicism particularly odd, thanks to her ignorance of typical surface dweller behavior. Most drow are trained to be stoic when captured, and thus she assumes that surface warriors would be similarly trained and apt to execute that training. The priestess remains unmoved by Styx’s dedication to the God of Death; racism is a powerful thing. “Who hired you kill dark elves?” She signals Styx’s responses to a scribe who translates the sign language into drow.

Styx responded in perhaps a typical way. "I'm not sure who hired me. As an acolyte of Death, I propose an exchange. I continue to breathe - as I do not yet wish to join my Master - and I'll tell you who hired me." Maybe it was a small bargaining chip, but Styx had to be careful. "Nothing tricky either. You must swear it in His name."

Gevurah blinks slowly. The humor bleeds out of her expression - and there was very little humor to begin with. “First of all, you join Vakmatharas when he wish you join.” She glares at this alleged follower of Vakmatharas’s faux pas. It may very well be that surface dwellers and drow worship Vakmatharas in different ways, and hold onto slightly different beliefs and dogma, but Gevurah would counter that the drow way is the correct way. Isn’t it always? “Second, you say you not know who hire you. Later, you say you know who hire you, but you tell for price. This inconsistency does not make me smile. If you know who hire you, say it and I agree to you a chance you live - a chance.”

Styx finally moved. Her head lilted to one side. Sarcasm was apparently lost on Gevurah and Styx actually laughed. But soon regained her stoic composure. "You have much to learn about the surface." Styx finally answered in drow, and her tone was quite dire. Styx breathed in, slowly, and emptied her lungs - slowly as her eyes drifted shut. "I have knowledge of the world above ground. And I offer it to you. But on the requirements I am not chained or barred. I offer everything in His name. Take me in your custody." Styx opened her eyes again to look at Gevurah. "I can prove my devotion," She of course, didn't expect the drow to agree, but she had to try. "I can answer: It was not Drow who had hired me."

Gevurah doesn’t react when Styx laughs, but does hiss when the orc mocks her knowledge of the surface. “We have plenty of drow above ground. I don’t see the need for you.” The priestess switches from speaking Elven to Drow when Styx does so. “I find it strange you want to work for me. Tell me who I am, if you know it.” Her gaze narrows keenly on the half-orc, as if she is testing her.

Styx looks over Gevurah, knowing the woman was important. "I can tell you follow the Lord Death. Your clothes make you out to be a noble. I don't see very many weapons so I assume you are either a priest or a mage. You must be important if you're the one to question me, rather than someone native from the fort... I know not your name, but I can tell you expect me to bow at your feet." Styx paused for a moment, making sure she had summed up all her deductions. "You deflected my observation. Drow on the surface have not lived on the surface. But perhaps I was sent here to learn, not teach. I cannot discern His will when He stops me from killing."

Vakko passed easily through the gates, he was knows to a few of the guards there, and took many jobs from the higher ups at the forts. Ones usually too dangerous to risk angering any house by losing their precious forces in some dark hole in the wilds, this just meant more coin for the mercenary. He had heard an interesting rumor and wished to see if it was true. Hands resting easily on the hilts of his sabers he made his way past the training halls and through the winding corridors before coming to the correct doorway. He did not even pause to request entry like a good boy before pressing into the room. He stood there for a moment looking upon the soaked half-orc chained to the pillar, the corner of his lips teasing up into a half smile as those two tone eyes take in the sight. His amused look shifting to the daughter of the first house, no attention is given to the guards in the room. That he was sure would slightly upset them, he liked that. Not a word was said from him as he moved over and started to play with the confiscated gear. Examining any blades that may be there, as he had a soft spot in his head for sharp toys, but he too knew enough not to touch the blades or even the hilts with his bare hands, poison or curses could have been woven into the item to deter this very practice.

Gevurah settles into a chair and sighs as she suspects this will take longer than she had hoped. The priestess truly was planning on just killing the prisoner as quickly as possible, but the issue of Vakmatharas begs a more thorough investigation before the prisoner may be dispensed of one way or another. She watches Vakko enter briefly and does not react to his presence, which in the case of a noble is a good thing. She remains at the drow definition of ‘ease.’ One of her assassins nods a greeting at Vakko. The priestess address the orc. “So you want to work for me, and you know I expect you to bow, and yet you do not bow. You petition poorly for positions which may save your life.” She pauses and waits for the orc to bow her head. If she doesn’t, Gevurah will emphasize, “This is an excellent time to bow.” If Styx does bow, the noble simply says, “Good.” Either way, she presses back to more urgent issues than whether or not Styx was sent to Trist’oth as a student or teacher. “Tell me who sent you to kill drow, and I will give you a chance at life after these chains.” She quickly barks at Vakko with the familiarity of a lord barking at a butler, “If you steal anything, I’ll have your head as a mantlepiece. If you see something you like, let me know. I may work something out.” Styx can rest assured that she will likely be robbed.

Styx had offered a bow. A light one. Styx wasn't easily given to bowing to mortal things, but for a priestess, perhaps just this once. "The only things he cannot have are my daggers. Blessed by the Lich Lord Diiroehn himself. The rest of it is easily replaced." She mentioned, intentionally delaying Gevurah. "I thought it might be painfully obvious, but a clan of surface elves hired me to track where the war parties were coming from. They handed me a bag of gold, and I didn't ask any more questions. Does that satisfy your question?" Styx was now tired of the game. It showed in her tone.

Vakko could not hope to contain the smile that was upon his face when he looked over to Gevurah after her threat, ah to have her threaten him so, it was almost like drow flirting. He took a small step from the gear, having for the moment no relieved it of any of its more interesting pieces, he did so love to collect, and took a few steps towards the first daughter. Though he keep a safe enough distance, out of a kind of grudging respect. “Then I shall strive to make the best of faces before you strike off my head.” He gives a slight incline of his head as a kind of bow. “I would be the lease I could do.” His attention then shifted to the half orc, his head slightly tilting to the side trying to figure the chain of events that must have happened to bring the poor girl here. When she spoke of the daggers his attention shifted to those pretty little blades and how they would look on his wall. But his attention lingered on her, when she spoke of who hired her he nearly laughed. If there was a more vague answer he would be hard pressed to come up with one. But as a mercenary he understood the values of keeping the information of your benefactor secret, though under these circumstances, even he would reconsider.

Gevurah smirks at Vakko’s thoughtfulness to wear a pretty expression if and when she beheads him. The smirk grows into full laughter as Styx requests that the daggers not be stolen - and not just any daggers either, but those blessed by Diiroehn himself. She signals to her assassins to intercept Vakko, just in case, and take precisely those two darkly blessed daggers away from the floating disc. As she does this, she speaks to Styx, “You continue to fail to grasp the predicament you are in. You don’t realize how powerless you are in this very moment.” When Styx answers Gevurah with a lot of generalities and attitude, the noble looks to Vakko and says, “I would appreciate it if you smacked a more precise answer out of her.” She now responds to Styx’s contemptuous tone in kind as Vakko supposedly begins his lesson in precision speaking. “Perhaps you were sent here to be a student, for you have much to learn. The drow have more enemies than just the sad sack of wood elves on the surface, and not all wood elves are of equal threat. If you truly wish to be useful to me, you’ll tease out names between those rotten teeth of yours. Furthermore, it is no mystery to the elves from where the drow originate, so I suspect you are lying about your mission - or leaving out important information.” Trist’oth is certainly too massive to be a secret.

Styx bows slightly to Gevurah. "Touch, and you may know." Styx slowly lowered herself to a cross-legged position. She was seated squarely against the back of the pillar as she seemed to focus her energy. The assassin that attempted to lift the dagger cried out as life was literally sapped from the would-be handler. They were divinely enchanted, and empowered to inflict death. They were bound to Styx. "To be as specific as possible" she started. "I entered the tavern in Kelay. No persons of interest present so I check for a job offer pinned to the board held within. I read the offer, the note was written by an elfish hand. Signature was vague. It specified a date and time and to meet at a location within the forest. I went. Elves were watching me the entire time. They thought they hid well. Their symbol is of a brown leaf with a green circle. They call themselves 'Protectors', but I suspect that was a false name. One was called Syelnar. One was called Maegus. One was called Gilwen. They referred to the drow as a blight. They spoke mostly in whispers, in high elf, but I understood them. They appear elderly, in charge. What they charge me with is simple: Find the true source of the drow blight. Gather information on Trist'oth, and eliminate any that might oppose." Styx opened her eyes, her meditative reciting over. "That is the information I remember, Dread Master." She blinked at the iteration of 'dread master'. But it was habit.

Vakko looks back to the pair of guards that where supposed to bar him from taking those blades. Only two? Insult. But then again it may be interesting to try. But then the request comes in from Gevurah for him to start a more aggressive interrogation. After a moment of thought he would give a slight shrug of his shoulders and move past Gevurah to stand before the chained woman. It would be easy enough to see that he was no noble, his dress and armor where that of a common soldier. He crouched before the seated woman his face lingering closer to hers as she spoke. Two of the three names she spoke where known to him, having heard them in passing and from reports and his own little scouting on the surface. They were capable of setting the half orc on her path. Still crouched before her, a lingering promise of pain if Gevurah did not approve of the recitation the male looked back to her to see if the words satisfied or not. Should they not have, the mercenary knew a good many pressure points to cause great pain but little to no damage to the body, they allowing him to torture all he wants with nothing to show for it. Some would see that as pointless, he saw it at progress.

Gevurah clicks her tongue in disapproval as one of her entourage cries out in pain. She gets up and crosses towards the daggers without fear, whispering a soft incantation as she does so. The daggers levitate under a weak spell of telekinesis, which only affects inanimate objects, much to everyone else’s luck. She moves the daggers onto the floating disc where they previously rested and moves the other weapons gently onto the floor without touching them directly. As she does this, she addresses Styx again. “The drow you killed did not bleed from their wounds. Tell me about that.” The disc floats before her gaze as she returns to her chair and she asks a fort guard to fetch her a small box big enough for the daggers. She keeps the disc floating above her lap, which relieves her of the focus necessary to maintain the telekinesis spell. She signals to Vakko to remain at the ready, but to not strike. His presence seemed useful in getting Styx to talk the first time.

Styx looked up at Vakko. She remained ready. "Had I known you would treat me like Dread Master, I would have come more prepared." Styx shakes her head, spreading the piss-spit-water mix all over Vakko as he was near enough. But now Styx was a little less wet around the face. "It's simple. I stabbed them with Death's hands. My daggers, you seem interested in, have the power to steal life. They are bound to me, just as my soul is bound to Vakmarathas. If you check the body, you will see the stab wound is surrounded by a specific state of rot - akin to what the surface worlders refer to as..." There wasn't a drow term for the word, so Styx spoke it in Elven. "Frostbite". She quickly resumed the conversation in drow. She was fluent enough to stitch the sentences together, but she was no expert. The words were unrefined, and she switched tenses occasionally. "I would normally have freed myself by now, but I find your company enjoyable, Dread Master." Pushing the title of her childhood school master onto Gevurah, Styx spoke it with a particular emphasis. Her entire personality had shifted in the blink of an eye. She was no longer stoic, or abrasive. Her tone reflected calm familiarity.

Vakko made not a move to shield himself from the spray of the rather fun mix that Gevurah had doused the half orc with earlier, he simply sighed but smiled all the more. If she honestly though that would bother him, she did not know the life of a commoner in the drow city. He has had much worse than this thrown at him. “Well that was not very nice.” He chuckled as he is forced to wipe some from his eyes, and stubbornly held his position, rather interesting to see what would happen next. This is much more entertaining than a day of drinking at the tavern.

Gevurah suppresses a grin as Vakko gets sprayed. She doesn’t suppress it for his sake, but for Styx. He wouldn’t want the prisoner to think that anything she does warrants approval, but the priestess did find the moment a bit humorous. She chuckles more freely as this newly passassive charge describes her company as ‘enjoyable.’ She noticed that the orc is now calmer and more subservient, but she is not sure how this change came to be - is it genuine? If so, what brought it on? Does pointing it out make it go away, like shining a light on a shadow? “Tell me about Dread Master.” She risks shining that light. The guard brings Gevurah the box and she excuses him. Once no one is close enough to touch her, she tips the floating disc towards the box to deposit the daggers with a dull clang. She closes the box and magically locks it so that it can only be opened by her - or by someone of superior magical ability who knows how to magically picklock such a spell and can overcome Gevurah’s power.

Styx sighs almost whimsically. She refocuses herself, letting her eyes drift shut. "Dread Master is a teacher and a guide. He represents both life and death. To understand death, we must understand life." It was cited from an old habit. They would start every class that way. "Dread Master was the name of the man who taught me all my skills. He was father, mother, teacher, and persecutor. He teaches the best assassins on the surface. I cannot tell you more. If you don't kill me, he will. You, like he, expect nothing short of total excellence."

Vakko lets his head tilt to the side slightly as Styx’s starts to talk about this Dread Master. The way she spoke of him made him seem like a kind of death knight, though they typically are much more clumsy than a master assassin. He made a note to look into such a person on his next venture to the surface. It sounded very interesting indeed, and he cannot help himself when it comes to something that could be entertaining to him. Slowly he stands and takes a small step back giving the chained woman a little room as it seems that she and Gevurah where on slightly better terms. Though he was still well within range to end Styx in the blink of an eye if the need arises.

Gevurah eyes Styx’s demeanor and still can’t place just why exactly Styx has become more accommodating to Gevurah’s requests. The possibility that this calm demeanor is a charade remains salient. When Styx reveals she expects to be killed by this Dread Master even if Gevurah releases her, Gevurah’s brow furrows. “If I choose to release you, you assume you will soon be killed by this dread master. You previously offered your services to me. You are of little use to me if you will be killed upon release by a more skilled assassin. On the other hand, you claim to have an interesting bond to Vakmatharas. If logic serves me, it seems to me that the best use I have of you is to keep you as my prisoner and study you until I have no more questions, at which point I either release you to be killed by Dread Master or kill you myself. This is the picture you paint for me.”

Styx shook her head at Gevurah's comment. "If I reveal more information about him - surely my life will be forfeit. I cannot describe him in any other way. Such is my vow. To never reveal Dread Master's identity other than his title. I have not yet forfeited my life, but the offer for my services still stands..." Styx smiled coyly, her tone reflected a somewhat playful tone. "If you think you can handle me."

Vakko arches an eyebrow as he looks from Styx to Gevurah, the half orc was playing a rather dangerous game. No matter her skill she had no hope of fighting her way out of here. For all intensive purposes she was as it stands a dead woman, and yes she still plays. Vakko liked that, his smile growing slightly before he chuckles. Looking to Gevurah he gives a slight shrug. “At the very least she is interesting. A good pet, no?”

Gevurah rolls her eyes at Styx’s final, playful comment. She isn’t angered by it, but she doesn’t enjoy the game. Styx’s services sound like more trouble than they are worth. To Vakko she simply states, “Good pets are neutered.” To Styx, she elaborates, “Breaking you in sounds like more trouble than it is worth. You show no promise. You say you have great skill, yet here you are chained to a post and two daggers short of your full arsenal. I could accept this as evidence of the drow race’s superior skill, of course, and yes you do possess specialized knowledge of the surface, but that knowledge is trapped inside the thick skull of a prideful beast. ” She pauses to think about her next move, taking into consideration the fact that Styx did answer some questions with no talk-balk and the proper reverence expected of a hired mercenary. A Vakmatharas-fearing informant has its value. “You talk of skill I have yet to witness. You also like games. I have games of my own. Here is what we will do. You will be released, without any of your weapons, in the middle of this city. Soldiers, assassins, this mercenary,” she nods indicatively at Vakko, “and a spellcasting scout will be hunting you. Here are the terms of the game. If you escape Trist’oth and the Underdark, Vakko will tell me. The drow that I have sent will stop hunting you. Within two days, you will report to the Drow embassy in Craughmoyle and ask for me, High Priestess Gevurah. This will indicate to me your desire to work for me, and you will take no jobs nor report to the Sylvan elves or this Dread Master until you and I have spoken again - at which point I will tell you exactly what I want from you.” There is no way the priestess will express her exact desires now. The priestess won’t risk tipping her hand in the event that Styx report to the Sylvans before the Embassy. “If you do not report to the embassy, the drow will hunt you again until you are dead.” Pause. “Oh yes, and of course, if you do not escape Trist’oth and the Underdark, then you are dead. What happens after that shouldn’t matter much to you.”

Styx sighed. "A stacked game? Dread Master, you flatter me. Then allow me my tools." She pointed at the pile of shiny metal objects. "There's a bandolier I require to begin..." Styx seemed disappointed at the outcome, but she would soon prove her merit. No weapons. It had been so long since she was presented with a challenge. She smiled almost wickedly in rememberance.

Vakko let his head tilt to the side as he looked to Gevurah, not at all happy about being voluntold to be a pawn in her little game. He will be looking for a proper compensation for it, and add it to the growing bill for the first house. Oh he did not do anything without getting something, in the proper drow fashion. But what else did he have to do today. He smiled to Gevruah before looking to Styx, giving a playful wink he moves starts to head for the door. “Been some time since I had a good hunt, do try to make it interesting.” Every path from the drow city to the surface was known to him, along with the dangers of each. All it came to was which path would she take.

Gevurah mirrors Styx’s wicked grin. As for Vakko, she does intend to compensate him if he survives - though she fully expects he will. “Good. Now, if you’ll excuse me. I’ll be looking for news of your outcome, one way or the other.” She rises to leave, taking the box with her. “Your name?” Her entourage prepare to follow her out of the fort. The rest of the soldiers start delegating roles amongst themselves for Gevurah’s little game.

"If I lose, my name does not matter." Styx watched quietly as Gevurah was starting to take her leave of the fort. Her daggers - her lifeline to the mighty god of death himself were being taken away. Styx fought with every ounce of will that she had not to call the daggers to her, to pull the box from Gevurah's grasp. She prayed, silently, for the first time it was a plea. A plea to the god Vakmarathas, and for the first time in Styx's life, it was not a prayer of offering. Soon, she felt so strongly that she began to mumble the prayer aloud. She knelt, with her head bowed and her hands neatly clentched upon her thighs. "Shephard of Death, your vessel requires your assistance. Blessed be my weapons with which I have offered many souls in your name. Do not allow me to lose a part of myself to the games of a drow. Lord of all things in unlife, Hallowed be your name, Vakmarathas." The prayer was mumbled in common, but surely most of the drow heard it. She opened her eyes and lifted her shackled hands. "Now, if you don't mind... I'd like to begin." Styx's features were placid, unfeeling and unchanging. For a non-drow, she shared a great many behavioral charactaristics. Except for humility. She was a bit too prideful for something so trivial. Styx was the best, and if she continued to believe in that just as she believed in Vakmarathas, nothing would stop her for long.

Gevurah overhears part of Styx's prayer and indulges in a satisfied smirk. She leaves without acknowledging anyone in the room.