RP:The Razurathian Invasion of Trist'oth

Part of the Saurian Onslaught Arc

Summary: General Aetherclaw successfully launched a surprise attack against Trist'oth. His army drilled up from below on the western outskirts of the city. They rained lava down from above. They were in possession of a magic-nullifying sphere. Their spearguns flashed blinding light. Chaos, carnage, and heavy drow casualties quickly follows.

Matron Gevurah, Daath, Mais, and Lanlan did all they could to save the city. Well, Lanlan tried to assassinate Daath while Daath was vulnerable trying to hold back a sky’s worth of lava rain, but mostly they were focused on saving the city. And Gevurah also saved Daath from Lanlan’s assassination attempt (without knowing Lanlan had anything to do with it).

(Omg Daath kisses Gevurah and Lanlan flips his shiz.)

Anyway, after is becomes clear that the cavern ceiling is at risk of collapse on the entire city, Matron Gevurah is forced to surrender for the sake of saving her city from total destruction. The Razurath are now occupying Trist’oth and running it under military rule.

The Drow City of Trist’oth

Lanlan is in his study on the top floor of D'Sel'D'issan, scribbling away at the end of a long scroll. The letters are tiny, except for the heading. "Deficiencies" is the only part of that not rolled up. On the floor next to him are several empty inkwells and broken feather-quills. There's a knock at his door, and it almost interrupts his fervor, but he breathes through flared nostrils and blinks it away. The banging continues more urgently, it almost rattles the hinges. "The individual who finds themselves so unable to refrain from disturbing my "me" time will never knock on another door," and he rips the door open and glares into a scared half elf's eyes. "What?"

Gevurah had just finished leading a mass ritual to Vakmatharas. The sacrificial drow’s blood still stains the hem of her robe. She wipes an athame clean with a black, silk handkerchief as she crosses the grand hall towards Mais. It’s increasingly common for the temple to accept male priests who show promise, or who aspire to be death knights. The draconian was by all appearances a useful mercenary for House D’Artes, but his death magic needed a little refining. “Do you plan on moving to Trist’oth during your study.” She speaks the question like a command - he better take this serious by moving closer to his temple. Meanwhile, a priestess practices her augury skills in a far corner of the temple. “No,” she gasps as she stares into a bronze bowl filled with blood, dirt, bones, and spider silk. She runs across the altar, practically trips over her own feet, and stumbles right up to Gevurah. “Mistress!” she shouts, “Woe! Woe!” She shows Gevurah the contents of the bowl and Gevurah’s face blanches. The oracle bowl suggests something apocalyptic and imminent, as in any second now. Without waiting for Mais to reply, she storms towards the altar and throws open a copy of the Tome of Vakmatharas. It opens to the exact page she needs. She can only hope she’s not too late.

Mais walks with Gevurah as they pace through the temple. "I was looking at some of the places to rest before I came in. There are a few that have caught my eye and I prob…." He was caught off, confused by the quick actions of the high priestess seeing her resort to her book Mais reaches into his bag to produce is own "try out time I suppose" he cracks his neck and readies for whatever has Gevurah spooked.

Daath D'jiv'undus stalks the halls of the Arcania with both a fondness and absolute hatred that burns within his scarlet gaze. This place shall forever hold a place within his mind, as it is where he began his journey towards his master of the gift Xalious bestowed upon the world. New students drudge about, many sleep deprived and overly anxious to please the cruel "masters" who currently run the ancient establishment. Often from rival houses the masters thrive on inciting cruel and almost impossible tests for the sons (and more defensemen some daughters) who are sent here to serve their patrons or matrons. It is as he traverses the dark halls with Mary a sine thought to his steps does he find himself once more standing before the office of the most cruel and vile master he had the "privilege" learning under. Memories of torture most sinister he endured flash before his eyes, and Daath's eyes narrow as he pushes open the door. "Yes? What is this? Who dar~" a flash of pale green light fills the room and the hall briefly. A moment later Daath steps back out into the hall, a quick glance to ensure the hall is empty before he'd head to his house. The old masters corpse wouldn't be discovered for some time he'd imagine.

Aetherclaw :: The Razurath army arrival was not one by normal route. Rather army had forseen the usage of a more direct route. One that was carved or rather, bored through solid rock on descent from Venturil. It was in the pit of despair they emerged, the deep dragon who cast his eyes upon a part of the wall that grew red, then white, not sound escaping as its eyes were drawn to the sudden light in the dark, and then it attempt to exhale, but failure to do so as soundlessly it slumped into a burning mess, as light that had born a hole had pierced it with ease, and without noise. Its eyes glazed over as the instrument of boring was pressed forward and shut off. The only sound as the lava from the rock that fell into the innards of the dragon let out a soft sizzling hisss. Aetherclaw stepped forward his body encased in a protective armour that was worn over the jumpsuit so often worn by the razurath. Its encasement built to lessen the heavy blows that would befall against their bones which the advantage as seen once on battle and also that befell his own mate and his children was now righted. Aetherclaw wanted revenge and he no longer desired to play by Rathal’s rules of engagement, which had been to make it appear they were mere tribesmen with spears and not spear guns, which blasted away opponents as easily as they shattered the scales of a dragon, or bore through solid rock as the device had now just done. Hoards of Red’s streamed through their bodies encased in the thick armour, their mobility unrestricted as if they wore not the armour, but as they did they stepped through and pursued their path uninhibited by the spells and whatever guards had been stationed in these tunnels. A city would burn today, and all its citizens would befall the Wrath of Aetherclaw. “Turn on the device.” He would utter to his second in command, and she would do so. A spherical orb of metallic content would spin, and spell after spell curse after curse, would be broken and spark turned upon itself, and destroying it utterly. Today the Razurath would turn every vile spell these people ever concocted against themselves, and the Razurath would use the very same drill to make lava rain from the roof of the cavern above upon this most wretched of peoples. As device turned on immense heat of the runes would melt the rocks around it as it overwhelming complexity created a heatwave that would rise the temperature of the cavern, the heat was on, and the Razurath drew out their spear guns, and turned them towards the city, and from their tips a brilliant light bright as the sun, would blind the citzens and all who looked outside before these same, spear heads who emit a blast of light from them that would set men and women and children ablaze. Aetherclaw would march through the fire of the gate, and drawing his unique razurathian blade, strike the first drow he saw, and then the next, before shattering the skull of drow spellcaster with his blade, and cast the body in a group of guards. “Hell has come for your heads.”

Lanlan along with most of the other houses probably, was caught flat-footed by the sudden assault. The Razurath were more familiar with drow tactics now and must've murdered or captured his scouts before they could warn him of an impending attack. For him, it's heralded by the insolent knocking of an underling. This was a dead person he was opening the door for, Lanlan knew. He didn't expect a meanly serrated blade to be tearing through bone and flesh inches before his face! Blood dripped on Lanlan's shoe. He closes the door. He vanishes. Actually he doesn't vanish, inexplicably, his spell fizzles, as does his next. The door opens again and a red scaled reptilian conquistador advances for him with what could be a bloodthirsty grin. Magic is Lanlan's go to, but he isn't quite hopeless, not in his own home. He yanks a plain looking gray staff from a rack and retreats into a small door with only barely visible seams. After advancing only a few feet into it, he stands waiting for the red guy to appear before him. He does, Lanlan pulls a lever, and spears perforate him from above, under, and both sides. Lanlan leaves him strung up like a scare crow and appears in his foyer where the first of his minions are already fighting off the threat inside House D'Sel'D'Issan. He locates each of his lieutenants to assign them tasks. "Rally ten from the pack and from the vanguard," he says to one. "You form a platoon, we're going to House D'Artes. The rest of you defend this House to the last," then he pulls back to the stables to have a lizard attached to his chariot while he waits for his lieutenant. "Oh," he says to his beastmaster, "Get that thing. Ready. Box it up, ready for delivery."

Gevurah :: The cities alarm systems blare loudly. Arcania’s warrior mages rush out of Arcania’s halls to join the battle. Each house, from the most noble to the common, mobilize their warriors, mages, and priestesses. While protecting their own estates is a priority, the drow heads of estates know to contribute a large portion of their forces to the defense of the city. Why live in a city at all if not to sometimes endeavor towards the common protection of the sovereignty? No one house can withstand a full invasion, and so the drow are forced to put aside their domestic squabbles and unite against the external, existential threat. The Grand Temple of Vakmatharas, like all of Trist’oth’s structures, takes blow after blow from the lava rain. Gevurah is joined by a circle of the most powerful priestesses, and one priest, in Trist’oth and they pray and chant in unison to accelerate and expedite a powerful but slow-to-cast spell. Gevurah’s decades of training make it possible for her to shut out the noise and chaos and focus meditatively on her connection with her god. For a moment, she leaves her body to more quickly find and ensnare His power. Meanwhile, in House D’Artes, the masters of her army can mobilize without her direct instruction. Five mages stay behind to fortify and protect the estate from some of the lava. A contingent of spellblades and warriors protect each entrance from Razurath invaders. The rest of D’Artes army empties into the street and swarms around the Razurath beneath the sphere. The mages find themselves practically useless, and the combat masters have to grapple with the blinding light of the stun guns to which they are especially vulnerable. Some begin to fight blindfolded, relying on their other senses to guide them in the chaos of war. In the Temple of Vakmatharas, the Razurath have breached the gates, but a platoon of priestesses await them inside to buy Gevurah and her prayer circle more time. The temple is just outside the sphere’s reach, for now.

Mais looks around as the sudden alarm blares he readies his spells and replaces the book back into his bag. “Defense formation” he says loudly to Thorn who quickly takes flight into the temple. Mais looks toward the door waiting for the attack to broach through the door. At the first sign of the intruders pushing past the gateway a grin crosses over his face “Ahh, More leather, I was hoping I could perhaps get some new shoes..” while talking he starts motioning with his hand and ends with a palm facing toward the invaders. A ray of black light ray rushes toward the lizard person and upon contact begins to send waves of decaying energy through his form. Mais then retreats at bit looking at the others keeping his back to the clerics behind him another spell escapes his mouth and he targets one of the others attacking with a burst of mana surrounding the other attacker, the magic quickly seized hold of the things lungs preventing any air from entering or exiting causing the creature to suffocate in the temple.

Daath feels something is off before any alarm is sounded or battle cries are heard. Truth be told there is for the slightest of moments an innate desire to just leave the underdark entirely. Truth be told he has he'd no great love of the place, so why stay? He can feel magic is somehow being ebbed away by some outside source. Curious indeed. While still able he casts a spell allowing him to travel to his house, where quickly he rallies his forces to act. The undead are left to guard the house, while all live drow and slaves are sent to bolster D'Artes forces. Defensive wards fail. Some undead even simple break apart and die, though enough remain to hold the line. Seeing magic fail raises a few questions, but while he can still cast the D'jiv'undus heir travels once more through magical means to house D'Artes, as he looks for his fiance, the only reason he has stayed here now. Their union was a business deal, and if he would leave her now in such times of need, their deal would be null and void. So he waits for the Matron of all Trist'Oth to rally her forces, ready to play what part he can. But as he looks around he doesn't see her. A quick grab of a nearby drow bearing the sigil of the house gains him the information he needs after a quick exchange. She was in the temple. He left his forces here to be of use, but headed to Gevurah's location with haste, opting to travel by less magical means as the flow of arcane is untrustworthy at the moment. While casting is tricky, the Magister carries with him a plethora of tickets previously charged to hold spells to use in such a situation. Daath is upon the temple soon, his presence known and the guards letting him through to Gevurah. Daath finds that a pitched battle is already at hand as he arrives at the temple, as well as having a sensation of his magic returning. He doesn't wait, spells are loosed to aid those fighting the Razurath, darts of magic streak through the darkness, rays of frost blast out and a barrage of arcane missiles lay waste to as many as it can.

Aetherclaw wrath was in its peak, and he was in his moment of rage the world around him felt slow as he cut through drow after drow, is clawed foot reaching out and grasping the face of drow slave, and dragging its skull across the cobblestone. Behind him he heard a fus, has he turned he realized that the designers of the sphere had overlooked a relatively harmless piece of magic that a child had cast. His eyes would dart towards the child, and he realized who she was, but her eyes no longer looked at his in the same way. The sphere broke, and the magic ending field was destroyed. "Turn the drill on the city, directly!" He would shout, and directing the drills movement to turn now that the sphere was destroyed, 'damn Xanna and her metal manipulation magical affinity,' it had been the one thing his engineers had overlooked. As a spellcaster sent a bolt across he dodged and spiraled out its way as it collided with his fellow guardsman. He glared toward where Xanna had once stood, but she was gone, she was a drows slave now, and no longer his child. "You died as your mother did, and your brothers and sisters. Leaving me alone." He said. His tears spilling from his eyes as he turned and slash the throat of three drow at once. Blinding them with his sword swing. The battle was slipping out his favor, what had been at first heavily in favor now sank much less out it.

Lanlan and another mage emerge from a tunnel under D'Sel'D'Issan first, as a blob of lava rolls down the side of his house and engulfs them. They carry on, the lava dripping off the sides of a protective bubble that now engulfs them and the lizard. A boiling pile of it is left barring the rest of his group from leaving until they deal with it properly. D'Sel'D'issan is on three levels. The top of it tapers to where Lanlan's study, personal quarters, and library are. The second houses the main barracks and main gates. The bottom houses the stables and other smelly things. The enchantments on this chariot make it more convenient than one might expect for Underdark travel. The lizard drags the chariot up the nearly sheer wall of his stone house, then wraps around to appear one more level up at his front gates. All the while the wheels of his chariot adhered to his walls as if by gravity. There was more razurath than drow here, his army was still assembling, they needed time. His ultimate goal is to arrive at D'Artes. The razurath attack most likely emerged from the West, and that would be where the highest concentration of danger was. Normally that would be exactly the type of logic that would deter him from going further West. Normally. But first he had to dispatch these cold blooded creatures who nearly killed him and dripped blood on his carpet. With one hand he held the reigns of his lizard. With the other he drew sharp lines in the air, circled them, and clenched his fist. Six foot long nails made of pure imagination materialize and pierce each offending razurath and the stone floor beneath them. Lanlan rides through them, trampling them with his lizard or slashing through with the long blades attached to the hub of his chariots wheels before they get a chance to disbelieve. Looking West, Lanlan's prediction is confirmed. Bright beams of blinding light flicker on and off. Behind him, infantry start to emerge from his gates and finish off the small number of reptiles who made it this far. A falling gelatinous lava ball plops onto one of his armored minions, eliciting bloodcurdling cries. Lanlan casts a spell to muffle the noise and issues a final command to mitigate the lava rain's damage to his house. Now he leaves to join the rest of his kin battling in the West.

Gevurah returns to her body and snaps open her eyes. She raises a hand over her head, says something in Ancient Drow, and slams her open palm down on the Tome of Vakmatharas on the altar. An invisible disc of dark radiant energy erupts from her palm, expanding outward at the speed of sound. The radiant power peels the ink off the spellbook’s pages and slices through every single Razurath within the temple, cleaving them in two with ease. All drow (and half drow) are unharmed by the spell. Gevurah lifts an arm in an arc over her head and the disc expands into a shimmering, silver half sphere that snaps open to enshrine the temple in Vakmatharas’s Sanctuary. The temple is now completely invulnerable to any attacks and spells, and no species except full and half drow can enter the temple. The lava, which had melted through several spires and burned a hole in the roof of the main worship hall, can no longer damage the temple. Drow are free to come and go. “Go!” Gevurah snaps at her priestesses. “Fight! Tell the others of the sanctuary!” That’s when she spies Daath in the crowd and looks visibly relieved by his presence. “Daath,” she says as she races towards him. “Where is their general?” she growls. She doesn’t stop, zipping right past him and expecting him to follow her out the doors to attack the heart of Razurath command. On the street, an epic melee battle is taking place, and lava rains from above. Initially Gevurah can use her pyromancy to wield a lethal flamethrower against Razurath, but as she heads west her pyromancy sputters and fails. She lifts her hand towards her face and looks at it in horror, then looks at Daath. “What is this?” She still doesn’t know about the sphere. That’s when the sphere is destroyed and suddenly Gevurah’s flamethrower bursts out riiiiiight over Daath’s shoulder, missing his head by a few inches. Whoops. Gevurah’s eyes widen at the error. “My apologies. Let’s go.”

Mais rushes out of the temple "Mala" he shouts out to his crow and runs through the doors. Gripping his shirt he pulls the silk garment off in a quick rip. "Azzaramath" the psedo-drow cries out and in the middle of a store is surrounded by a dim light on the other end of the light a massive 15foot dragon flies out at full speed taking to the top of the under dark looking for a cluster of any Razurath. Finding a group he quickly flies over them opening his maw and expelling a wave of acid over them uncaring if he hit drow or other.

Daath is thankful for the sudden return of magical wards, for Gevurah's fiery spell very nearly roasts his head. Giving her a look of "oh really?" But business is at hand, as war is here and a response is demanded. Gevurah wants the general, and a path has been cleared allowing for ground forces to move. But just as Daath would go about unleashing arcane might against the Razurath scourge, a massive chunk of molten rock falls from the ceiling of the underdark, slamming into the earth with tremendous force. Screams ring out in the darkness, and the dust takes several moments to clear and in the wreckage the massive, and still burning, molten rock sitting where once House D'jiv'undus stood. In a moment his house has been erased from existence. As the dripping flow of molten rock cascades down all over Trist'Oth the magus is forced to react or else all of the underdark will burn. From out of the darkness he summons forth the xalious-wood staff, the implement in which he focuses his vast arcane strength into a single spell. The magma rain stops, halted for now by the mystical strength of the drow. To Gevurah he says. "Kill them all! I’ll hold this for as long as I can."

Aetherclaw menancing glare hardly watches the large chunk of molten rock fall atop a house. It matter little to him as whose house it was, let along whether there were souls in it. He grabbed one of the few remaining drow Spellcasters with his tail, and yanked him forward towards his mouth and biting down and ripping through the brain matter and skull, spitting out the remains with casual spit. His eyes turning to the dragon now spewing acid upon a group of Razurath many sizzling away while some shrugging off the acid entirely, he realized that those who had died by the acid were the ones who had contracted Dementhe poisoning in the mines, any natural resistance they had had, had been destroyed by that infernal requirement for Cathabraka. What few Razurath of that group had survived would activate their spears and take shots at the flying dragon intent to bring it down. Aetherclaw grimaced, as he turned his eyes towards the gleaming clock tower. When this battle was over, that would be his head quarters. He swore it. Then he turned towards a pair of drow one a female and one a male who were coming his way, they looked important, and strong in the arcane. He let his draws drip whatever remained of the drows blood, and turned towards them, the white spirals of his body revealing runes inlaid in on them like tatoos, with the intent to greatly lessen, BUT not elminate their magic, he would duel them if they dared.

Lanlan darts from low overhang, to bloated cliff face, to stone arch avoiding the lava rain as best he can. It's not long, but it feels like an eternity before he catches glimpse of the iconic flame jet and he jerks the reigns and gets the lizard pulling him over to where he knows Gevurah must be. As he gets closer he realizes she's not alone however, and hesitates. Lava sprinkles over an ever weakening umbrella made of concentrated force while he deliberates and his passenger pronounces his protective spells with more and more of a passive aggressive twang... Lanlan huffs through flared nostrils and changes direction, carting himself up the side of a wall and taking refuge from the boiling magma in a deep cleft. From here he as an overhead view of the battle, and more particularly of Mais, a dragon he hasn't met, but who seems to be fighting for the drow. Inadvertently he's also melting his allies, and while Lanlan couldn't care about that personally, the inevitable truth is it's better if he doesn't. So Lanlan magically whispers to him the type of help he can offer, and begins coating all of the ACTUAL enemies in faerie fire. Each one lights up brightly for Mais to target and brutalize as he pleases.

Gevurah :: Mais runs out of the temple around the same time as Gevurah and Daath. She sees the mercenary morph into a black dragon and mostly aim for Razurath, but also kill drow soldiers. She growls at this heavy-handed tactic. They can’t afford to lose more drow in this battle! She’ll slap him after the battle, maybe, unless his gambit pays off and he kills more Razurath than drow by a wide margin. When the ground quakes, she stumbles and grabs Daath’s arm for balance. Daath forms a plan and the matron nods, turns on heel, and heads straight for Aetherclaw, no longer impeded by the lava rain, and deftly weaving through the battle. The general sees her before she had hopes, and the anti-magic runes begin to appear on her body, sapping her of her arcane strength. She unlatches her piwafwi with one hand as the other dives into her bottomless satchel to retrieve a mithril bead and a lock of braided spider silk. She whispers a spell under her breath as she smooths the bead and silk over her piwafwi. It becomes rigid and hooks along her arm as a web-shaped and web-engraved mithril shield. The anti-magic runes get caught in the shield’s sticky magical web, and the web begins to spiral and suck the runes into the shield and off of Gevurah, freeing her from Aetherclaw’s anti-magic tricks. “Aetherclaw!” she shouts as she runs at him. Her free hand blasts a cone of fire right at the general’s face. “Disable the magma!”

Mais still in flight manuvers around the cave and circles back to check on the damage he had done. As he approaches he lays eyes upon the remaining ones aiming their spears and launching them. Opting to do a barrel roll he manages to miss a few of them but a few catch him in his side. A loud Roar echos through the as he deals with the pain. Turning over to fly straight he glides down to land in front of the Razurath. Seeing them light up in farie fire he lets out a chuckle and begins to charge on all four paws. Stopping suddenly he would turn his back on the group bringing his hind quarters to face them and his massive tail with full intent on whiping out the lot of them with the single swipe.

Daath is doing his best to maintain the aether force that keeps the very ceiling from falling and burying his people beneath molten rock. This strain upon his person is tremendous, and even he struggles to keep this task up for very much longer. It's on Gevruah and the others to do something, and to do something soon for it seems something continues to melt the ceiling and add additional molten rock, adding to the strain the Magister has at keeping the spell up. His body starts to feel the effects, to the point he starts to cough up blood from the physical pain of exerting such force. He'd hope Gevurah hurries, else the spell would stop due to him exhausting his arcane reserves, or his body so my gives out. Both may very well be an option, leaving him easy prey. Yes, time was very much of the essence.

Aetherclaw felt the heat it burned against his skin. But then he was not like the other Razurath present, he hadn't worked in the dementhe mines, nor had he served at the polarite refinery, so what Gevurah was facing, was a Red Razurath at true strength. He pressed his face through the fire pushing his snout up until her hand, and then seizing it. "I will disable this, when you surrender, not before, and at the slightest hint of going back on your word, if so much as one of your dragons half drow, or mages if one more Razurath dies, I will do this again, and I won't stop. Your city will be occupied. We will be in charge not you, you can represent your drow, you have your house, but that is it.”

Lanlan could see Daath in full concentration. It must be him, he was side by side with Gevurah, not acting like an underling. And Lanlan's elongated eyebrows twitched whenever they moved in his direction. They only do that when something's really magical or when Lanlan's looking at someone he doesn't like. Clearly it was him who was holding back the magma rain all on his own, and it would be downright terrible if something were to happen to him while he was doing that. If say, a razurath in its death throes shot a spear high, it might hit a stalactite hanging directly over Daath's head. What if it fell? It might land right on him and crush him into meat. Then the lava would rain again, probably downpour after being held back for so long. Bad news for all drow. And yet...Lanlan shifted his attention away from supporting his people, and aimed a few magic missiles toward one such stalactite. They materialized as buzzsaws in his hand, and disappeared as he made them invisible. No one would see what he was doing, and in fact his only cue that they would connect was the small cloud of dust that surrounded the spire's trunk as his missiles cut through. It would work. It would take a second, but it would work. And it gave him enough time to magically whisper something in Gevurah's ear so only she could hear it. "GET AWAY FROM DAATH!" A moment later the man-sized stalactite divorced from the ceiling and would land on Daath in a moment.

Gevurah ‘s hand is snatched by the fire-resistant red, and there is no way she can pull it free by force. “Unhand me!” she snaps. She jabs her mithril-web shield up under Aetherclaw’s elbow with enough force to dislodge the weak joint and hopefully weaken his grip enough so that she can slip her hand free. “Surrender?!” she hisses in disbelief of the cheek on this overgrown lizard. But then she glances towards her city, its buildings crumbling or on fire, its magical defenses flickering and sputtering here and there. She looks up at Daath and she feels him withering away due to the sheer exhaustion of holding up a city-sized magical net. And when he fails? Her best mage, future husband, future business partner, gone and for what? And if she kills Aetherclaw now, she’ll have saved her pride and for what? For rubble and no throne worth sitting on? Is that her legacy? To be the Matron who survives the destruction of the greatest drow city ever built? But to surrender… to surrender… can she stomach the insult to her pride? Where the hell was Lanlan, he who knew best about the limits of her pride? Is this its limit? Should it be? What would he say? “Yes,” she growls at Aetherclaw. “The city surrenders. Disable the lava. Stop your soldiers and I will stop mine.” She will not shake his hand like some surfacer scum. Instead, once he acknowledges the terms, she turns to stop the drow-side of the attack and shouts the drow word for surrender, but that’s when she sees the stalactite getting blasted and start to come loose. “Daath!” she shouts. Ignoring Lanlan’s command, she runs, leaps, and launches herself towards Daath as she pulls a string of spider silk from her satchel. At the peak of her leap (buoyed by enchanted boots), she levitates then throws the silk like a lasso towards Daath. It widens like a fan and catches him sidelong then snaps him back towards Gevurah just out of the direct path of the falling stalactite. “Daath,” she says as she looks into his eyes to see if he is focused enough to fly himself back down onto the floor. Hopefully Aetherclaw’s men disable the lava in time, because the net is receding as Daath gets himself with or without Gevurah’s help, onto the floor. He’s coughing up blood so she doesn’t let him go. Instead, she fans her hand wide open on his chest and utters a powerful healing spell to stabilize him and give him energy.

Mais continuing his turn going a full three hundred and 60 degrees he inhales deeply ready to exhale yet another wave of acid onto the Razurath he stables himself and is about to exhale upon hearing the command to stop he closes his mouth the rush of acid filling his mouth and puffing out his cheeks. The burning of the acid proving to be to much on his tongue he turns to the side and sends a river of green liquid from his mouth to an empty patch of land. As the last of it is expelled Mais lets out a low dragon growl and from his nostrils a black smoke emerges covering the the dragon. As the cloud dissipates a lone drow standing in the buff stares down the pack of lizards ready to strike should they so much as take a single step.

Daath is at his very limits, as would any single mage be holding up the entire ceiling of the underdark city of Trist'Oth single handedly. The strain was ravaging his body, but he was managing. It's only when the threat of the falling stone coming to impale him does he faulted just a bit. But, in the most unexpected twist, he is saved. The lasso of spider silk rope finds him and tanks him out of the way of that would be certain death, denying Valmatharas his prize for now. The impact of his already beaten body upon the stone is the last bit needed to break his concentration on his speech, resulting in his magical shielding to start to fail. Like a tilted table the mystical barrier leans, causing the magma held previously at bay to start to ooze like a nightmarish waterfall of infernal death past the Arcania, flowing past all present and deeper into the western expanses of the wilds of the underdark. Of course it's not all that smooth, as the overflow of molten rock still seeps out and falls to damage various other areas in significant manners. But for the most part the city is somewhat saved, as much as a lone drow could do anyway. But, here and now Daath finds himself being not only saved by his fiance, but tended to. He has enough energy to wipe away the blood from his mouth as he watches her tend to him. He says nothing, allowing some strength to start to return to his battered body. As soon as he has enough, the drow acts without warning. His right hand finds Gevurah's cheek, and he'd raise his body to place upon her lips a tender kiss that lingers for sever moments. Be it the heat, the pain or the randomness of it all, but in this chaos Daevurah shares his first display of affection with the Matron of all drow. Not caring who is watching as he does so. No words are exchanged, and after their lips part he simply looks at her deep into her eyes before laying down again as he regains some small measure of his former strength.

Aetherclaw knew the reputation of drow, and even has he gave the order for the machine to halt its use of magma, and watched as the drow were forced to throw down there weapons, his face still full of seething rage, turned away from it only to turn back briefly, his eyes catching the drow now representative of the city. He says aloud, "That kiss just if it was meant as love, just saved you from being treated as prisoners." He turned to his junior commander who tossed a cube shape object into the middle of the square, a massive dark twist of shadows and light illuminated above it rising to a height of 10' shy of the superheated ceiling, revealing in the dark shadows of it the figure of a Razurath upon a dark throne its eyes like black holes with energy being drawn into them, its body insanely frail and twisted, its head larger than any of the razurath present. and it cackling voice reverbrating over the city. "Everything is proceeding as I have forseen." Aetherclaw grits his teeth, knowing full well that even Rathal had forseen his families death, and had not warned them. Another thing he would hold against his half brother, until the day he died. "commander, seize what remains of the Drow forces, line them up in the arena, seperate children from the women, and men from the women, then, issue them a daily ration 12 meitfruits, and Saurian Brandy. When we speak next we will speak of the matter of the slaves still living." Aetherclaw looked over the city and carnage, he had lost a a fifth of his forces today, just take this city, he knew that whatever battles to ensue would take much more, especially here.

Lanlan exhales actual steam through flared nostrils and gnashes his teeth. He turns to his personal defense mage and grabs him by the collar. "Why. Why did she save him!? Drow. Don't. Rescue people." He inhaled deeply and angrily as his eyes bored holes into his underling's. Probably for fifteen seconds straight without blinking. Just inhaled, exhaled, and stared. Then he looked back to make sure this incredible thing had actually happened. "She's. What is she doing? What. Is. She. Doing!? Healing him!" Somehow, healing someone seemed personal. "This is..." That she stopped him from dying was one thing, now she was using her own power, diminishing it, to replenish his? "...This is just..." That he warned her to save her from danger, and she used that warning to risk her life? "...It's wrong." And now they share a tender kiss in the heat of battle. Well she surrendered didn't she. I guess the battle's over. "It's-it's-it's so hard to hear, isn't it? Hahahaha from all the way over here," he says wearing a manic grin. "It almost looks like they've surrendered, but I know Gevurah would never surrender. Maybe she doesn't have a choice. Maybe they're going to take her prisoner." He yanks the reigns and starts heading back home, but hesitates. He looks back at Gevurah one last time before deciding she doesn't need his help.

Gevurah doesn’t pull away from nor does she deepen Daath’s kiss. She meets him in a sweet kiss that feels exceedingly appropriate after what they’ve just been through. Until now, their engagement had teetered precariously on a net of threadbare trust. By saving him, by risking her life for his, she has declared that she’s taking their partnership seriously. He already proved it to her by risking his life to save her city, the same city he’s long hated. He did it for her, and she did it for him. That simple kiss was an appropriate way to celebrate that shift, to acknowledge that something has shifted just enough to make room for trust. Besides, as the city burns while the Razurath troops march east to occupy the drow’s home, it also feels fitting to find some solace and companionship in Daath who tried so hard to save Trist’oth alongside her, and who ultimately failed alongside her too. Daath rests and she stands guard over him until she can find a D’Artes soldier to help her move Daath to her estate and place him safely in a room to recover. She can’t help but wonder, angrily, Where the hell is Lanlan? A few hours later, Gevurah will send out a message to all the drow nobles that sit on the Drow Council (and that includes Lanlan) to convene for an emergency meeting in House D’Artes.