Rhilshen.

A place of many things unfamiliar and high on the list of things she did not like, (though admittedly, that list was long and could take centuries to read through.) A place where she had not yet stalked out high ground, found the shadows unending, discovered niche to settle herself in akin to bloated, smug spider spinning endless web. Unfamiliar territory, xas, it was right up there with not liking magic, really.

She did not like magic.

No. That was incorrect. She did not like magic that was not cast; birthed, controlled from her own fingertips. She did not like the feeling of not being in control, having no say in where or what energies of magic wove across body as she traveled through a twisting darkness that pinned as well as needled it?s way through armor, skin, body, soul, bones?and she recalled, briefly, the conversation that had continued right up until the Old Owl had tightened face and stalked through gate before her.

In fact, black mouth had parted to ready a razor-retort to a rather good jab Ayreg had taken at her expense on the subject of magic?when the sensation of the Gate itself made the woman shut her trap faster than any well placed blade slipped betwixt ribs. Her amber eyes widened momentarily in reaction of the after wash chills made against ebon skin.

??.finicky..?came to her, almost as if it was carried to her ears from far below the depths of darkest ocean. At the same time she heard it, she stepped through at last with nary a rattle or clank of metal.

To be surrounded by guards with white knuckles upon weapon hilts.

Standing in the pregnant silence of eyes, closed and opening mouths, rattle of sheaths in uneasy pause the Raven shook her head side to side to side, settling invisible feathers after that little bit of ruffling from travel.

She seemed pleased at their reaction. Chin arising sharply in the dungeons as if once she stepped upon this little bit of land, she owned it.

Never Rhilshen itself, of course, as that would be terribly rude. But this tiny square her feet occupied? Her?s, xas. Slanted yellow eyes in black lids tick-tocked right, left, up, down. Where she was, and with whom she was, noticed, filed away for later as she dallied in pause from her withdrawal of the gate.

Her head turned to the steel gray headed man eventually, dismissing the questioning alarmed looks given her way.

?Xunus dos tesso mina naut ulu jous sarolen?? Near petulant, that question. As a child to a parent who had taken away favorite toy in some sort of punishment.

At a demure five foot, five inches, The Raven, Suliss?urn Xukuth had arrived upon the Empress? domain. Gold gaze had locked upon the man who had come before her, steady upon Jade-fire green.

She almost, almost smiled, and perhaps, he could almost hear the thoughts within that violent, shattered, pretty little head: Let the dance begin?

She's an elf, milord.

The honorific, the title, amused Her Majesty to no ends. Truly, the discomfort mostly that Jodiah took from it, more. If there was any man left on the face of Rhy'Din who deserved to be recognized for his prowess and skill, his survivability? It was Jodiah Ayreg.

She would never tell him that, of course. Males, you understand, were flighty creatures who let such compliments go straight to their head. Then it was too late to save them from turning into the knuckle dragging, muscle bound beasts they eventually evolved into with too much praise.

Don't worry, she's not from Shayltan.

Exotic slanted eyes had lowered, lidded as a fat, black cat's would, making the vivid slash of bleached bone white lash lowered to obscure the sudden unmistakable twinkle in molten gold. They disliked her presence. She made them uncomfortable. They feared her--oh how it made her little heart pitter pat pat.

One man, standing behind the ridiculously over dressed Imperial armor, further to the side, took a double look toward her with eyebrows rising in recognition. He knew what she was. Not Shayltan, but Drow. Scourge of the surface, terrors of the night. Wide lips were pulled abruptly from brilliant flat white teeth to show them in an animalistic display of domination toward the male ill at ease by Her Majesty?s blue-black skin. He shifted, and she might have considered more if it were not for the swirl and eddy behind her announcing more bodies were hurtling through gate toward Rhilshen.

The gnomes chaotic swarming nature, bringing with them gifts of True Silver, precious metal stronger than steel, provided her a suitable distraction to frowning at the back of the Old Man's head. Quarters! For her! She did naut need some pampered, perfumed room with maids and silken sheets! Damn that old buzzard!

Dove's wings brows drew downward over nose, the closest Suliss'urn ever came to frowning at anything when Ayreg turned toward her, inclining his head.

Go with the Captain. I'll find you after, and introduce you to the Empress. There's..something I must see to, first.

She craned her neck up at him, too sharp chin still jerked upward in a manner that warned the old man She Was Not Pleased with this, suddenly, and would like to protest. A lot. With uncouth words as well as a dash of vocabulary best suited behind heavy wooden doors...When the sharp, hawk-eyed, double take he gave her with those burning green eyes made her clench jaw tightly into a white line.

He'd never truly seen her bow before. She did, from the waist, pallid crown of white hair glittering all the colors of the light in the room as she did so, as if it were, indeed, a crown.

"As his Lordship commands," whispering voice rattled out from throat. An eerie thing in the dark of earth.

Straightening with arrogant pride, the female drow turned her eyes toward the Captain, expectantly. No matter how many questions burbled up to the forefront of mind.

The drow was terribly capable of understanding, on occasion, what ticked against Jodiah Ayreg?s buttons and that which did not. Observation was part of making sure one lived for another day, and, on occasion, if his Lordship was ever wont to notice?Suliss?urn Xukuth did in fact enjoy watching people. Be it as they squirmed, screamed, bleed to death, lived, trembled in fear, and or all of the above at any given time.

The Captain led her left whilst pointed furled ear heard the footsteps of Ayreg pausing, then turning and going off right. A hand to the hilt of her saif sheathed at her waist was placed, then naut removed not matter how many steps further into the fortress she would take. Paranoia was any drow?s middle name after all. Why should hers be any different?

The Captain had said something, she?d heard it; but for a moment nonetheless, slanted yellow eyes touched briefly a red clad set of shoulders. Habit. A shadow to your shadow, then the woman swung the full brunt of feral, wild, wolf gold eyes upward to the male leading her ever inwards, beside her.

What had he said again? Oh yes.

Pardon, my lady, but you are a... a dark elf, is it? I have heard tales that your kind live beneath the surface of the world in the deep places of the earth. Could you explain....

Tilted eyes narrowed into tiny little slits, revealing naught more than the bottom crescent of harvest moon eyes.

?Nau Lady, be I,? whispered abrupt and harsh. This was the last response Jodiah Ayreg heard from her as the two marched rather swiftly. The words were entirely repeated from an earlier episode, elsewhere.

As for the rest of her response, it was kept to the walls and well out of earshot by the time she got around to feeling like answering it.

?Do you want bed time story? Ask your wet nurse.? Sweet, kind Suliss?urn.

"Immediate attention? No." The wounds suffered by the hand of Garen Corlagon were, for the most part, well and truly healed now. Obsidian did a fine job of patching him up, after all. He had gotten a few knicks and cuts and bruises in the meanwhile, but it was nothing life-threatening so far as he was concerned.

He rolled his shoulders back once, age-creased lines casting strange shadows upon his own scarred visage. "I am as healthy as I ever could be, given the state of affairs at the moment. I am ready to submit myself to your magics, Alysia."

"Given the state of affairs at the moment?" The priestess laughed. "That is a tactful way of describing things." She stepped to one side, walked a slow circle around him.

As she did so, she reached out with her will, harnessing one of the many ley lines grounded in the ancient Temple and using it to enhance her vision. Sight brought a blinding mass of color, overlaid across Ayreg's body; a haze of yellow clouding the man's chest, mottled purple twisting around joints, electric blue denoted old fractures snaking jagged across bones, and dim lines of heavy gray clinging-mist like to scars.

She thought he was a mess, but wisely didn't give voice to that thought.

Nearly glowing with the energy she'd drawn from the ley line, Alysia came to stop and stood before the death knight, looking close at his face, the almost signature scar there. "I wonder how long that's been there," she murmured, then more clearly said, "This might be a bit uncomfortable, so you might want to lay down?"

Ayreg, the amazing technicolor human grouch. He certainly had more than what one might consider to be his fair share of injuries and scars and old, healed wounds. A life of battle, a litany of pain. The drive for combat. It was all he had known, truly, between moments of sanctuary away from the hardship.

It is what he lived for.

Sitting in the Red Dragon, nursing a tankard of orc-swill ale while dandying a pretty girl on his knee? He'd leave that for the knaves and know-nothings of the world. Jodiah Ayreg was a man bred for martial conflict, reveling in the glory of a battle hard-won against insurmountable odds.

The most recent injuries that would be brought to light was there upon his throat. Bright and new, perhaps within the past several days, the energy coalesced into twin semi-circles, top and bottom, centered into a dark, mean bruise. Strangely enough, another such mark was on the other side of his neck, too, highlighted in the dot-dot-dot of a row of flat teeth.

He stayed motionless as she made her circuit around his form, hands folded behind his back. He stood as tall as she did, as proud and strong as an ox under her scrutiny. Even the Lord Ayreg's pride would not be enough for him to dip his chin to her, though, once she came to face him again and peer close at the vertical slash down the right side of his face. Another injury that could have been catastrophic save only the intervention of happy chance. He even got to keep his eye.

He moved toward the center of the room. It seemed more right, somehow, though Ayreg himself was not much one for the finger-waggling ways of the sorcerous. Ignoring the twinge of pain in his arthritic knee, he lowered himself with the grace of a blade-wielder to his knees. He knelt there where she had been when he first entered, but did not lay down onto the cold stone floor.

"I am accustomed to pain," he said, as if explaining why he wasn't in the process of laying onto his back.

You'd have to be, wouldn't you, thought Alysia distantly. She nodded, commenting, "As you will, Jodiah."

He couldn't see properly. What had been a great white cloud engulfing his vision had reduced itself to a simple blurr of movement. He'd turn his head, and the surroundings would become a mottled patch of noise and twisted color, and they seemed to move several seconds behind from where they should have. There was a dull ringing in his ears, an ehco of words that were already spoken.

Lightning bolts to the skull didn't leave someone as broken as this.

"Did..."

His own voice echoed, the single-syllable word resounding a dozen times in his own ears, each a bit more tinny than the last. Movement again, his head turning. There. A splotchy white blurr against a larger splotchy black blurr, and somewhere within the amorphous streaks of white were two smaller patches of red, overwhelming and being overwhelmed by the environment about them.

"...Did... it... work...?"

"Mmhm. That it did." Alysia spoke quietly, carefully modulating her voice. She watched his movements, cautiously. "But your nervous system might be... well, reacting almost as if you were a newborn. It is to be expected, but it'll take a while for you to adjust. Is your vision clear enough... do you want a mirror?"

"A m--... a mirror..."

Even the act of blinking was dramatic. A huge cascade of black from the top of his vision, sweeping down to blindness, then opening back up to the mottled blurr. He lifted his hand in front of his face, but details weren't able to be made out.

Not yet.

Sweat beading across his brow, falling far easier down his face without the bulwark of wrinkles to hold them back, he eased back onto his heels from his position on his knees, then pulled a leg out from beneath him. "Yes.... a mirror."

The priestess got to her feet, form still glowing slightly from the residual energy of the ritual. Thunder rumbled to the north, heralding the approach of a storm. She found a circular mirror about the size of her hand, then stood before Jodiah, smiling oh-so-faintly. The mirror was placed into his hand, his fingertips wrapped around the polished glass.

"Give yourself time to adjust to the changes," said Alysia, stepping back. "It could take hours... minutes... days, I don't know."

The silvered handle of the mirror felt cold. And hard. It was a wonder that merely touching it didn't cause his hand to turn into a block of ice, from how cold it felt. Everything felt more. If you had put a steak down in front of him to eat, it would have been the best-tasting meal of his life. Cut him now with a knife, and it would have been the most exquisite pain.

Shakey hands held the mirror, blurring his vision as he stared at the reflection on the glassy surface. He couldn't quite make it out, not with any great detail. Except one small little inconsequential fact.

The hair that framed his face, that he had drawn down out of the tail before the ritual had started? It was black as pitch, with only a very few strands of lighter gray near the temple.

Only one or two.

"It worked."

Jodiah Ayreg pushed up on the foot that he had dragged out from beneath him, getting unsteadily up to his feet. Boots didn't seem to want to work quite right as he took a step back, then two forward, rocking with the weight his body directed. He gripped his head, groaning softly.

"I-- ...I don't have time to wait, Alysia. There's too much to be done."

Of course it worked, thought Alysia.

"Lord Ayreg," The priestess chided him, an edge of steel sounding in the smooth contralto. Fatigue and the sort of hunger peculiar to those with vampiric weaknesses made her somewhat foul-tempered. "Name one thing that cannot wait for you to gain your bearings. Just one."

"I cannot, Emperess."


She exhaled slowly, staring at his face. "There is indeed too much to be done. But it can wait. It's waited this long."

Wide eyes, stunningly and vividly green, too unnatural to be completely human, blinked slowly again, and his head bobbed in a quick nod. Strangely, he didn't even realize that there wasn't the usual tightness in the back of his neck. The white linen shirt, tailored to fit him, was more snug now than it had been before the ritual had been started. Time and age had wore away at muscle and bone, creating a leaner frame. Given youth once more, he again had the body of a warrior -- and a metal-worker -- and appeared that he would need to have all of his clothes taken out a size or two.

Shoulders rolled back, followed by his head. Ayreg closed his eyes so that he wouldn't be disoriented by the motion of lolling his head back, pivoting it along the full axis of movement, but there were no little cracks of muscle or bone that had usually accompanied such motions. Leather-like skin had tightened as well, losing the age-lines and age-sag, turning his leather-like skin into something more smooth, if not still swarthy from sun-darkening.

Despite the presence of the scars still on his face, and the bruise deep-set into his throat around the flat dot-dot-dot of the circle on his throat, he was... young.

Or young-er, to be specific. The hints of crow's feet forming at the corner of his eyes would never have put him into his teens or twenties, but there wasn't enough gray or wrinkles to be higher than forty. In truth, he didn't know exactly how old he would have become.

The image he clung to for the ritual was more idea than age: old enough to be tempered with wisdom, young enough still to be able to put it to good use.

Several minutes later, after he was able to react with a bit more control over his faculties...

"I have brought another, Alysia. I had instructed for quarters to be arranged for her, but it will still require your approval later before the guard captain has a fit."

He gave a quick shake of his head, as if trying to recover from a blow to the skull. Glancing down, he examined his hands again.

"You should sleep for a while," Alysia commented, without much expectation that he would do as she suggested. She took the mirror from his hands and tossed it underhand. It landed with a clatter on the floor, but didn't break.

"Who's the other you've brought? I can't imagine what sort would unnerve the guards."

"She is drow." As if that should explain everything. In a way, though, it really does, doesn't it?

Like any man with a good headache, he flinched from the sound of the mirror bouncing against the hard stone floor of the room atop the tower, but even that pain was a passing thing. The dull roar that had been a dull ringing had turned into a shrill ringing, and he had been hit enough times on the head while wearing a helmet to know that meant it was getting better. Most of the blurring in his vision had corrected itself, as well, but while the motion blurrs were gone there was still the problem with a more gaussian blurr. Everything appeared... fuzzy. Even Alysia herself appeared to have a fine layer of white fur encasing her body where there was no simple shadowsilk shift to cover her.

He shook his head again, trying to jar his brain back into proper working order.

The silver-maned woman headed for the tower's door, opened it, and took a step down, clearly intent on him following her out. "You look a bit dizzy, Jodie." A wry smile touched the corners of her mouth. "May I trust that you won't fall down the stairs?"

Until she said that. His eyes opened, snapping instantly over upon her, and he stared with a fair degree of uncertainty. He couldn't be sure about the look on her face, but the tone of her voice didn't seem to indicate that a thousand terrible things were about to befall him.

Does she remember me now? he thought, or does she does this without realizing?

"I'll do my best, Alysia." About the stairs, obviously, "Do you want me to bring her to you? Or would you prefer to meet her yourself? I will warn you: she has a tendency to be a little bit... jumpy."

"Jumpy. Hah!" Her mirth sounded muffled as she turned away, looking down the stairs. Her features betrayed none of her thoughts. "There was a time when drow were common in this Fortress. I had even procured some of their sculptors for... well, that was a long, long time ago."

"I'm not terribly sure that would put her more at ease or not, Alysia," he said, following her down the stairs. "She holds no love for her race. When you see her, I think you'll understand why."

Alysia paused, then continued. "I'd be surprised if she wasn't jumpy -- and I'd prefer to meet her myself."

"As you wish, Emperess," Jodiah said as they passed a guard who had paused from his patrol of the corridor when the two arrived at the bottom of the stairs out of the tower. He would have to find the captain of the guard and find out just where, exactly, Suliss'urn was taken to.

Hopefully she didn't kill any of the guardsmen yet. That wouldn't do for a good first impression when she's about to meet the Emperess of Rhilshen.

The trip through the Fortress of Rhilshen was a quick one after they had found and spoken with one of the guardsmen. The Captain had spread the word out for the guards to know -- as is their duty, of course -- where the black-skinned guest was quartered at. Traveling through the corridors with the Emperess made for quick travel; servants in the livery of the Skye Clan were quick to step to the side of the hallway and bow their heads respectfully, and those that weren't were quick to be pulled aside by one of the many armed soldiers.

They came, at last, to a simple oaken door strapped in iron. It could have been any of a hundred other doors in the Fortress -- it could even have very well been the door leading into his quarters -- but he knew the layout of the Fortress well enough now to know the directions given to him.

Jodiah turned to the white-haired Priestess, and gave her a grave nod. "If you'll give me a moment, Alysia, I have to reintroduce myself to her. I told you -- she can be.. ah.. a little jumpy, and she doesn't know about the ritual. It will be but a moment."

A crooked smile and an eloquent shrug was her response. She wondered about the whole jumpy thing, but inclined her head toward the iron-bound door. "As you will, Ayreg."

Turning around on his heel, he lifted his hand to rap his knuckles twice against the oaken door, then twisted the lever and pushed the door open. Stepping inside, he nudged the door half-closed and walked inside cautiously.

"Suliss'urn?"

Of course. Drow were notorious for their teddy bear-like qualities, were they not?

In the time of the trip from the tower to here, Jodiah Ayreg never pulled his hair back up. He had actually just finished buttoning the high-collared red military-cut coat up the right side of his torso, and rebuckled the belt about his waist before he opened the door.

The collar was loose, still, from the little hook of thread not yet being looped over the button on the inside of the opposite collar. He had tried it on the move, but couldn't get it to hook over properly.

Something he'd have to rectify once he was more stationary than he had been over the past several minutes.

Vividly green eyes were the same, though. Scars across the face were the same, too, if not originally shrouded until he lifted a hand and pulled his hair back from out across his face. His hair, black as a raven's wing with a few thin, isolated strands of graying-black, was fuller, now, too; thicker.

"So now I need permission to be around you, Suliss'urn?"

There was... something about that voice, too. It was almost the same grind of a metal file across rotting bone, but it wasn't quite so horrible-sounding as it had been.

The rasp of velvet over steel, as opposed to the rasp of steel wool upon sandpaper.

Truth be told, it... did not really even factor into his mind that she wouldn't recognize him. Perhaps her original statement was made only because of the distance from the chair in the center of the room to the door.

Perhaps.

With her hand upon the hilt of her thin-bladed sword, Jodiah Ayreg rather instinctively reached for his own. If she wanted to dance, by the powers, he'd dance. He actually was interested in seeing just what his new, younger, stronger body could do.

Unfortunately, Frostbrand -- his sword with the blade of ice -- wasn't there. It had been taken to his room by the gnomes with the rest of his effects. As his hand fisted into the air at his side, he quickly decided what else he could do to head off this onslaught of drowen fury.

He chose to lift his hands, palms up and out facing her. It was a pose that not only showed he was unarmed, but it was also a stance of fighting with hands and feet. Not his forte by any means, but if he had to, he would. Ayreg's mind worked over things to say to her; things he knew that she knew that only he would know. There were many, of course, but they could also be coincidental -- or learned by a spy, perhaps.

They'd have to work. As he figured it, he only has about two seconds until she begins the repeated process of sticking something sharp into him, and there he was standing like a greenhorn recruit without even a buckler to use for a proper defense.

"You know me, Sulis--! Unggh!!"

Unfortunately, the laws of inertia state that, while she may be drow, and well-versed in many things -- propelling herself at him full throttle... well.... Suffice it to say, the clash and rattle of armor on impact must have been an interesting thing for Alysia (who was still waiting outside, at this time) to hear muffled through the door.

And, also, let us not overlook -- the jagged edges of mismatched mithril plating was not exactly comfortable against soft clothing. This is something he was able to discern quite readily from his place on the ground now beneath her, bowled over the sheer force of her impact.

Hands gripping tight upon the Truesilver vambraces covering her upper arms, his present only hope was to keep her arms pinned to her side and unable to draw anything with a pointed tip or bladed edge from any scabbard or sheath. "It's me -- Ayreg! Old man. Gray owl. Dosst Killian!"

"It was a ritual," he stated rather matter-of-factly, from his place there on his back. "Powerful magics used to revert my age. I... I don't understand most of it, because I'm not a mage, but look at me, Suliss'urn! Do I not bear my scars? Do I not have my eyes?"

Teeth clinched together, expelling something from his throat now that very nearly resembled a growl. Outrage at being attacked mingled harshly with the fact that she didn't seem to believe it was him.

Just how much of this was Alysia overhearing outside, anyway?

His chin raised sharply and turned to the side under the as-yet-unhooked collar. Ayreg might get addle-brained from time to time, but he was no fool. He wasn't about to do anything that might provoke her to stick him with a knife -- and she typically had anywhere from one to thirty-seven secreted about her figure somewhere -- so he kept his arms out to the side where they had fallen after being so very wholly pounced.

With his neck thrust to the side, he pushed his shoulders down against the floor. The collar pulled away, as did the linen shirt beneath to expose the mean bruise upon his throat.

"Do I not wear your mark!?"

When she released the collar of his shirt and coat, his head snapped back to look at her. From the ground, his head lifted a few inches for a more direct stare into her wolf's-yellow eyes. Even he didn't truly know why he felt the need to explain himself, and to justify his actions. This had been planned for weeks now; since long before she came to the forge with her last gift of mithril for him to make those sharp things she so enjoyed sticking into people.

The same stock of mithril he had the gnomes bring through the shadow gate, an deliver to his room. He'd have to find a suitable forge, first, though; one equipped to handle the heat of melting Truesilver down so that he could design--

Oh. Right. There's a drow sitting on him.

"An old man on the field of battle falls first, whether from fatigue, or from being a slow-moving target. It can't go back to the way it was, Suliss'urn."

Jodiah Ayreg, unfortunately, was not a man known for his patience regardless of what his physical age was. Even this dose of dislike for his newfound youth grated at him like nails on a greenboard.

"This was my wish," said he, "I needed this to stay strong, to stay healthy -- and to stay alive for the battles ahead. We came here to do war, remember? I doubt very seriously that a rocking chair would make a suitable battlefield mount."

Did he actually just snap at her?

"Now get off of me. The Emperess would like to meet you. She's standing outside."

He rose up to his feet, frowning grimly again. That frown. The one he normally had all the time anyway. And to think when he came in, his face was actually almost pleasantly neutral!

But, then again, women always had a tendency to put a perfectly happy man into a foul mood.

Giving the bottom-hem of his red military-cut coat a swift tug to straighten it out again, he tried -- in vain -- to loop the hook of thread over the button on the inside of the collar.

Too tight.

Too tight! He'd need to have the coat let out in several places before he could try to wear it properly again. Brushing some dust from his pants -- and, naturally, they're black so they show everything he turned and stalked over to the door, leaving behind a trail of unhappy grumbles in his wake.

The man lifted his hand, wrapping fingers around the latch and pulled, opening the door fully for whom was standing outside. He swept to the side with the door as it opened, providing Alysia with full and unrestricted access to... the room.. in.. her own.. fortress... Yes.

Then, with a teeth-clinching smile, he spoke almost formally, "Alysia, it is my... distinct pleasure... to introduce you to Suliss'urn Xukuth. Suliss'urn, this is Alysia Skye, Emperess of Rhilshen."

Meet the gaze unflinching she did. And it seemed at least, the two females had some in common, as whichever opinion the drow was wont to form upon first-sight was kept firmly behind a mask of blue-black features definitively elven. Sharp lines, angular cheeks, and a wide mouth which neither curled nor grimaced.

This was not the Underdark, she was no longer second Daughter, there was no insult taken when Alysia tipped head to Old Owl first, and her, second, though the gesture would be noted as well as the...not so much tired, but faint touches of weariness around the Empress' facade.

Suliss'urn Xukuth, it is an honor to make your acquaintance-- had she known the woman at all, the nuetral line of mouth would have quirked a touch at such a generous greeting.

It's been nearly a generation since drow were welcome in this Fortress, and I suspect my guards may have been caught by surprise with your arrival; I apologize if they were less than civil. Will these quarters suffice?

Oh. So many things to say and so little time. After all, one did not keep an Empress waiting any longer than she already has, yes? Bare feet were turned together, legs as well, as the drow tipped a semi-formal bow from waist, keeping her head and eyes upward and upon the other female. No offense, but old habits died hard.

"They have been trained well. No offense was offered." If anyone had been less than civil here? Well, certainly wasn't the guards. "The honor is mine, Empress." Let it not be said that old drow could not remember old tricks. At the very least, Alysia came with less snake-headed whips and demands of immediate bloodshed and loyalty. A pleasant change than most of the females in power Suliss'urn fondly remembered kil-meeting.

Now, as for these quarters...Almond shaped eyes framed in startling white narrowed only a touch.

"Perhaps a mistake has been made, they are most obviously for dignitary of some sort. I believe the guards meant to take me to a more--" Less disgustingly frilled--"unostentatious room." A pause here, the militaristic manner in which she held herself was tainted very little by the near animal-like behavior just a moment before the door opened. Bet ol' saggy pants didn't think she knew any big words, either, mm?

"An easy mistake, given the current situation," said as mithril clawed hands unfurled, thus, taking any edges from her words. That, too, was habit. Drow always looked for hidden insults, subtle word play in speech. Suliss'urn remembered the cues as well as body language to smooth such idiosyncrasies detected, should they be.

The drow's sharp features tipped to the side slowly. Oh-so-slowly, akin to a hound hearing the faintest whistle human ears would never catch as she studied with wolf-eyes the feral grin given to her.

She approved, lack of fangs or not, and that, truly, was all that mattered in the scattered little world of Suliss'urn. Like or dislike, there was never much gray space. White lashes lowered themselves until they became bone fingers over gold.

You're too kind. These rooms are wretched. I couldn't imagine spending more than a half-hour in a place like this without . . . setting it on fire

"Mm. Xas. To put it mildly. Pink was never my color and frills were always better looking upon males." To which, of course, she flashed a not-so-much grin, but bare of teeth. Alysia might have a more impressive set of pearly whites compared to the flat of Suliss' grin, but it was no less tame. There and gone within seconds, of course. If the drow could actually smile, well that was a secret, wasn't it?

There's another small suite near Ayreg's quarters, more suited to a warrior than a gilded administrator,--Suliss'urn paused to consider this. As if she needed too.

"That suite should be more than acceptable and makes sense, ," rasped with a different note. Again, though, trying to read a drow was akin to trying to swim upriver during a rainstorm, in the rapids, nude, with a broken paddle made out of stone. Just wasn't going to happen.

"--as I am, of course, his Lordships bodyguard." Wait...what?

Oh. Didn't Knot-In-Pants know? She just decided. Wasn't that sweet of her? Yes of course it was. Now hug and make up!

Jodiah Aryeg was many things. Imposing, harsh, blunt, honest, stubborn, willful, noble if it suited him and contrary.

He was also one giant, walking-talking-big-red-button which Suliss'urn absolutely found fascinating to push. There were so many angles, so many ways, so many aspects. For instance, one button could make him mount up and meander all the way back to a place to pick up a specific drink without saying a single word after.

Faaaaaascinating. Xas?

Yet another button made him grind his teeth to--why, a lot like what she assumed that sound was in between me and...my bodyguard.

Suliss'urn turned languidly upon the heel of one foot from Alysia toward Jodiah then lidded gold eyes half-mast as a giant, fat cat should after consuming and entire deer to herself. Pleased? Never. In fact, that was all she did. There was little to no expression in the line of wide black mouth or tilted eyes to pinpoint what went on in the back of white covered head.

Grumpy? Who was grumpy? Why, everything was sunshine and roses with Suliss'. Meadows filled with bloody daisies and screaming pixies.

"Beg your pardon, I find it so easy to lose track of time," mildly offered toward the Empress, never an apology however; drow do not feel sorry.

...Well. Perhaps they do when their blades miss--besides the point.