RP:Secrets Beget Secrets

Part of the Surface Tension Arc

Synopsis: Emrith pays Nymh a visit in his holding room in Frostmaw Tavern. The room is under elf guard and elf healers have been tending to Nymh's wounds. Emrith asks Nymh to tell his story, and the bard explains that he a bard, a free member of House D'l'sel D'issan, loyal to Laezila, and a humane drow who cares for both wood elves and drow and wishes for the elves to reclaim their homeland. He gives Emrith information that House D'Artes needs House D'l'sel D'issan in their war efforts. Emrith tests this by telling Nymh that House D'Artes killed Matron Laezila. Nymh doesn't believe the lie based purely on logic, which leads Emrith to conclude that the second house is indeed valuable and important to the first, as Nymh originally stated. Emrith lets Nymh go on the condition that he not tell anyone about what happened in the forest. Nymh agrees, thinking privately to himself that the explosions speak for themselves anyway.

Frostmaw Tavern

Emrith enters the tavern in the early morning and, without preamble or so much as a moment to stop and greet those in the common room whose acquaintance he has made, the elf heads for the stairs which give up the upstairs of the establishment. He comes quietly to the guarded door behind which Nymh waits - presumably, at least - and pushes it slowly open after motioning silently to the guards at either side of it to be especially watchful. He is about to step across the threshold when one of the elves on duty leans close and whispers to him in their own tongue. Emrith nods grimly before preparing to enter the room.

Nymh has done enough whistling to sustain himself. Despite broken teeth, he's able to chew, and swallow food. He's able to suffer the pain to use a chamberpot, instead of soiling himself. All thanks to his musical magic... but, if he'd had his ocarina, he could have been fully healed by now. It was probably stuck in the mud somewhere among half a dozen landmines waiting for a drow to step too close. He cursed under his breath, finally able to rasp out words, and leaned his head back. He had a sash tied around his eyes, to blindfold him. The daylight was just too bright, to heap onto all the other pain.

Emrith steps into the room and closes the door behind him. Pulling a ladderback chair across in front of the room's only exit besides a single small window in the northeast wall, Emrith seats himself and regards the half-drow in the bed. Elven healers have done their best to tend his various wounds, but the man still looks quite the sight. "Since I am here without a drawn sword, you may consider yourself fortunate. It might have been easier if I had let you die," Emrith remarks casually, then folds his hands. "As it is, I do not know your business in Sage Forest, and executing you for simply being in a bad place seems, to me at least, much like amputating one's leg when one's foot suffers pain. Excessive, in other words. Your drow cousins might favour that sort of folly, but I do not." Emrith clears his throat, lets a beat of silence spin out. "So I would know your errand that day in Sage, your reason for being where I found you. More, I would know more of you...your associations, your goals. If I am to heal someone - or withhold further healing, should that be required - I would rather understand than be ignorant. If you need water to wet your throat, I will fetch it for you. This can be as easy or as hard as you wish. So, what have you to say for yourself?"

Nymh hadn't expected this. He'd expected someone to come asking for troop movements, for patrol routes, for information on the Houses, anything that might give one an edge in the war. Instead, he'd found his captors cared for making sure they were killing their enemies. Noble. "Then you've noticed I'm only half drow." He rasped, chuckling into a cough after the words. Only other drow and wood elves would tend to notice easily, he supposed. "Well then, allow me to elucidate. I am a bard, a mystical profession pure blooded drow are incapable of. I'm the only bard of drow blood in this world, as it happens. The Bae'Qeshel is my art, and mine alone. It made me a valuable enough slave, that I survived being a gray elf in the underdark. It wasn't long ago that I came to Frostmaw to beg Hildegarde for refuge from the drow, as I'd fled... only to find myself approached by the matron of the Second House, Laezila. I found a home, among my people, then. A house that keeps no slaves, led by a most enigmatic matron. A house of misfits, of freaks, and cripples, the refuse of Drow society. I owe her my loyalty, and none other. I do not fight in this war. You may have noticed I dropped my acorns. My business in Sage has been to replant where war has taken its toll. I've rescued a wood elf, trapped under debris and forgotten. He recuperated in Kelay with an associate of mine, Rinn, and has likely made his way back to Frostmaw. If so, you could probably find him in the elven camp. He could vouch for the truth of my tales. My music saved his life." He'd go quiet then. It had been a taxing effort to speak so much, but Nymh was a weaver of tales, and known to be long winded.

Emrith nods his head intermittently while the half-drow speaks. He cannot necessarily separate truth from falsehood simply by listening to a confession, particularly one given under some duress, but Nymh's words do have at least the semblance of truth to them. Surely, the man knows that Emrith can and will attempt to verify every bit of this tale. "Your bardic magic is...peculiar, to say the least. I have an ear for music, and I have never heard its like. Your ocarina, I'm afraid, was lost. If no one has found it yet - and chances are good that it is still whole on the forest floor where we first met - then perhaps in time it will be found and returned to you." Emrith falls silent a moment, pondering how best to proceed. "You are member of a house full of misfits, a house that seems to thrive on abnormality. This is peculiar, to what I know of Drow society. I am given to understand, then, that either your matron is very powerful, very young or very foolish...perhaps more than one, or all three in different measures." The wood elf steeples his long fingers, resting them beneath his angular chin and regarding Nymh closely. "If you are rescuing even wood elves and attempting to right some of the wrongs done to the forest of my kinsmen, then you do so at her suffrance?" This is not quite a question, but Emrith does expect some sort of answer to it. "If it be so, then there may be hope of ending this conflict with far less blood to stain the earth. Your matron is of the second house, and not the first; may I rightly assume that it is the designs of the first house that grind the gears of war, rather than of your Laezila?"

Nymh had to pause a moment, before answering. He didn't need to reveal Laezila's secrets, after all... his loyalty to her was absolute. "I've been privy to a conversation between Gevurah D'artes and my matron. I'm led to believe that D'artes, which is led truly by the lichdrow Tiphareth, is the driving force behind Sage's invasion... but the first 5 houses all form a part of the Drow Council. My matron has her part in this war, though she holds me in good confidence, and allows me to do as I will. We are of like minds, her and I. Not all drow thirst for war and bloodshed. It was once thought the Matriarchy under the Spider Queen could never be overthrown, but it was first house D'artes who changed drow society forever by overthrowing that structure. It is my hope that matron Laezila will change the drow forever in her image, as well. Thus do I serve her, among the people who have kept me in brutality as a slave my entire life, until but months ago, when I made my escape thanks to the sword arm of a daring, and noble man. Krice, was his name." All truth, every bit of it, but a bard's tongue was one for weaving tales, and if anyone could lie utterly convincingly, it was a bard. "The drow did invade Sage, and though I appreciate it's beauty, I'd personally see the wood elves return to their home. The drow do not know how to tend to the forests, it is not their true home. I do enjoy being able to walk beneath the moon, and the stars, however. The sun is a wretched thing, but they are things of beauty."

Emrith watches Nymh's face carefully as he speaks, meaning to detect the faintest hesitation or physical indication of either fabrication or reluctance. He sees one, early, when the half-drow begins to speak of Laezila, and files the information away for later scrutiny; the man appears very loyal to her, and that pause alone makes Emrith think there is more either to his tale or to his regard for his matron...but for now, it can wait. "I do not wish to kill all drow, and I strongly suspect that the greater number of my kinsmen feel the same. I bear little ill will toward drow, at large, and I, too, do as I feel I must in order to end the war. In some cases, harm is done to those who do not merit it themselves." he sighs heavily. "It is a travesty, it is. If I thought both drow and elves could live peaceably in Sage, I believe that some among us, myself included, might be amenable...but I do not speak on behalf of my people in this matter. I know that a few would rather die than ever treat with the drow, but I know, as well, that it is often circumstances that make us what we are. Many would see the elves as a scattered, broken people, but we are not; we are a strong race, long-lived and wise, with much to offer the world but without the means to render where we wish." Emrith rises suddenly, moving to the water-pitcher and filling a small clay mug with cold water. He brings it to the bard, offering it silently. Now that he is up close, Emrith is in a perfect position to do as he does next. He leans down over the other man, and his face darkens. "Laezila is dead," he says softly, his voice gone cold. "You owe your loyalty to a shattered house without its matron. The first house of TristOth has, it would seem, made an example of her. I can let you leave, but it is likely that, as a member of her infamous band, you will never see another sunrise. What would you do now?" Emrith is no bard, but he is very skilled at deception; elven social customs and politics are often mazes of rhetoric in which a clever tongue and a convincing lie will build the winning platform. Here, Emrith is using all of his considerable wiles to tell an untruth in order to rattle the bard out of his apparent calm. He is hoping that the relative isolation of the tavern will have left the half-drow completely out of the loop; his guards have not permitted anyone in or out without Emrith's say-so, and have deliberately spoken very quietly and without revealing much of import when speech was necessary. Here, then, is a gambit.

Nymh considered his words, as he brought him water. Laezila, dead? Within such a short span? He'd left from her own House, to come to the surface. There had been no attack on the second house from the first. Of that, he was sure, absent as he may have been. Gevurah D'artes -needed- the cooperation of Laezila and her powerful house to drive this war. Without the support of the second house, the war would already be over. If the first house went to war with the second... all the troops in Sage would have to be withdrawn to fuel the conquest, and to protect the other houses assets as such a civil war would be tremendous in scale. "You make up the stupidest lies." He spoke in calm, self assured tones from behind his blindfold. Nymh, it seemed, had faith in his skills of deduction, and his knowledge of drow politics. He was indeed privy to important knowledge... much of it gleaned from his time as a slave, with sharp ears and a cunning mind.

Emrith leans toward the man, getting close enough to strike should Nymh be so inclined. "Stupid lies, you say? No, I think not. It would have been a stupid lie if I expected you to swallow it whole. But I had to be more sure of you than I was. Your calmness in this tells me much. I thank you for the information. Not all blades intend to strike flesh. You would do well to remember that." Having thus spoken, Emrith straightens up and returns to his chair, for a moment deep in thought. Nymh's absolute assurance that Laezila is not dead, and that Emrith's own lie was a foolish one, suggests that there is great need of the second house, if not in the war than in other permutations of drow politics. The lie would not have been foolish if Laezila's death at the hands of the first house was possible, or even likely, after all. Resuming his seat, Emrith folds his hands beneath his chin again. "I have come to a decision about you, and what I shall do with you. Perhaps you are more skilled at deceit than I believe, but one must be willing to take small chances. I will send for a druid friend of mine, and she will give you a potion which will help you sleep. While you are asleep, she and a few of her fellows will work on helping the worst of your wounds. when you wake, you should find yourself the better for it; you will not be wholly yourself, not right away, but you should, at the least, be up to a little exercise. Your door will be unguarded, and you may go. But hear me now, or wish forever after that you had: I will not suffer a traitor. I have already tasted it once recently, and will not again suffer it. When you leave here, you are to tell no one of the reason for your incarceration, not even your matron. An elf party ambushed you and, finding you innocent of any crime, released you; if anyone asks about your wounds, such as are left to their sight at least, you will not speak of what you found in the clearing. If you do, I will soon be privy to the knowledge. I would see no particular sport in taking pieces off of you one at a time, but I will do it this time. I can make the last few days seem like a faint bad memory, and if you betray me, rest assured that it will come to pass. Keep what you know of me and my designs to yourself, and I will have no quarrel with you. In fact, if you speak truth about your efforts in Sage, then I will commend you for your humanity and bravery. You can surely continue those pursuits and embellish further the noble impression you give, without breaking this one agreement I ask of you. My aid in your healing and willingness to free you hinges on your choice. Choose, here and now. Do you agree, or shall you linger here awhile yet?"

Nymh had no choice but to agree, truly. The mines were but more devastation in an already bloody war... and stirring yet more conflict would only slow his efforts in helping others recover from this conflict. What Emrith had gleaned from his words was fine for him to know, truly... Zendor likely could have told him as much of Drow politics. The five great houses were each far and beyond the next of the ladder, and the council maintained most of the power of the underdark. Moreover, if a less bloody resolution could end this war, Nymh would welcome it. He did not necessarily support the Drow cause... or the Drow at large. He saved them from the battlefield same as he'd save wood elves, where he could... those that would allow themselves to be saved by a 'gray elf'. But his endgame had nothing to do with this war. He wanted only to support Laezila, and see her grow in power, in influence. To see her one day influence the drow to becoming less vile creatures. A long, hard road, but one that was not impossible... D'artes had proven the truth of it. "The explosions in sage will speak for themselves. I will tell nothing." If the drow scoured the area of the skirmish with mages, maybe they'd find the mines. He'd keep to his word, though... it was more important to safeguard his life, and his integrity, than to warn the drow with words they might not heed anyways. Nymh did smile, though. "It is good that the wood elves have clever allies." They had sorely lacked as much for too long. "Your terms are acceptable. I bind myself to not speak of your secrets, in oath. Hah, there's a word hard to find the equivalent of in drow." Somehow, this all seemed to amuse him. This conflict had been some time coming... he had no desire to be in the middle of it, however. No desire to fight for either side... of which he had heritage from both. "One day, the drow and the wood elves of sage will treat together as equals, on hospitable terms. That is my goal, and I believe it can only happen through the efforts of matron Laezila. This war will accomplish so much less, and cost so much more." He shook his head. "But, that is a dream far, far from my grasp for now." A dream he would dream, it seemed, as they gave him healing... or killed him swiftly when he was helpless. No, they already would have if they meant to, most likely. Still. One learned to expect the worst, living as a slave... as a drow.