Somewhere uncomfortably warm...

Zenithral sighs internally. Well, I might as well get on with it... Zenithral changes his breathing to indicate he was awake, then blinks several times, fully opening his eyes.

"To whom do I owe the pleasure?" he asks groggily.

It's probably going to tell the owner of the place that I've awoken, Zenithral reasons. He sits up and investigates the room for useful books or other indications of where he is and if there's anything that could help him. "He's sure eccentric..." He starts to approach the curtain of lava to see if he can feel the intense heat that tends to emanate from molten rock. "Volcano? Underground? I suppose if it were underground, it would be magma, now wouldn't it?" He says to no one in particular.

With a start, he realizes Fluphy was left in Malavon's domain. He tries summoning the flumph.

"I'm sorry to keep dragging you into these kinds of situations...I hope you know I don't mean to..."

"Hm...this smell..." Zenithral says, breathing in. "My second thought is this reminds me of Poquelin when he was with us a short time...which is not a comforting thought. Fluphy, could you help me remember?"

Fluphy is curiously inspecting some of the lava flow when Zenithral calls him. The flumph toots over and reaches out a tendril to touch his cheek.

A stream of smoke... a fragrant smell...

Cherry wood. Amber resin. Just like the incense his mother would use, both for relaxation and for summoning small creatures of her own to show off for a younger Zenithral...

The memory sits in Zenithral's mind as clearly as if the events therein had only just occurred a moment ago. Fluphy warbles, and a wave of colors passes over its tentacles body. Once again the flumph's mental meal is flavored with negative emotions.

The flumph goes back to tooting around the ceiling, leaving Zenithral to his thoughts.

Sometime later Zenithral receives an unexpected visitor. There is a splash from the curtain of lava covering the doorway as a small, winged creature passes through and falls to the black metal floor. It gets to its feet, and then small bits of molten rock scatter all around as it shakes itself dry of the lava that covers it - revealing a rather scruffy-looking raven.

The bird cocks its head to once side, regarding Zenithral with beady black eyes. It doesn't seem to have been harmed by the lava at all.

"Well hello there," Zenithral says, turning to the stranger. Immune to lava..fiend, perhaps? Please don't tell me Nym sold me off to Poquelin...

The raven flaps over to land on Zenithral's shoulder. "Well hello there."

Zenithral returns the book to the shelf and looks at the bird. expectantly.

"Do you have a message for me?"

"Do you have a message for me?" The raven's tone of voice is certainly mocking. It meets Zenithral's expectant stare, then sighs in a very un-birdlike manner. "Bene telemara." What language is that?

"Fine. I just have some questions for you." The head bobs back, then forward, almost as though it's listening - but not to Zenithral. "When did you eat last? Is it too warm in here? Do you need anything?"

The raven sticks its tongue out at him.

"I can't tell if you're being serious or not...but it won't hurt to tell you anyway," he says. "I don't know when I ate last, but I'm definitely famished, now that you mention it...I have some dried meat in my pack..." Zenithral looks around to make sure he has his pack. "It is most certainly too warm in here, but lava---or is it magma...?--- tends to do that. I would like to know where I am, however, and who my...host...is."

Zenithral's pack rests beside the bed. His weapons are missing, however.

The raven jerks as though slapped, and then seems to roll its eyes. "Fine, you'll have some food. Something nicer than that dried stuff."

The bird flaps its wings to resettle itself on his shoulder. "In the meantime, there isn't much I can say about this place." It cocks its head. "You could guess though! Where do you think you are?"

The conversation is interrupted as the lava curtain covering the doorway parts. A tray floats into the room with a cooked meal of spiced plants and some kind of meat. The tray floats to a rest on a nearby table.

The lava curtain begins to close.

Zenithral glances at the closing curtain of lava. Dare I? No...this place has a curtain of lava than can open and close on demand. I doubt I stand a chance against whatever else is here...There will be other opportunities...hopefully...

"Dorn's Deep?" Zenithral throws out. "That would be both awfully convenient and inconvenient, all at the same time. Regardless, I thank you for your hospitality," he says looking into the raven's eyes, though not addressing the raven. He sits at the table cross-legged and closes his eyes in meditation. He opens one eye and raises an eyebrow at the bird. "Are you just going to stay here, or will I have some privacy? Or at least the illusion of it?"

The raven chuckles darkly. "He's a clever one!"

The lava curtain closes.

It flies to a perch above one of the bookshelves. It looks as though the small loft there has been specifically built for this bird. It settles down and fluffs its feathers. "Don't mind me at all. Just keep doing your... what are you doing? Praying? To Ilmater, no doubt!" Its cackle floats down to Zenithral's ears. "Now that's entertaining."

The raven squawks in pain, suddenly, and then settles down with only another muttered "Bene telemara!"

It remains silent, but continues to watch Zenithral with an attention that is far too unwavering.

Zenithral removes his metal-chain necklace and places it around his head, the warm metal on his forehead. It was usually cool, but this room...He casts prestidigitation to cool the chain and closes his eyes once more, allowing his surroundings to melt away. Entertaining? Bird must be bored out of his mind here...After the chain on Zenithral's forehead returns to room temperature, an hour later, he allows his eyes to drift open. He casts detect poison and disease on the tray of food as a ritual. "Never hurts to be cautious," he mumbles aloud for the bird to hear before it makes an annoying remark if it's still there.

During Zenithral's rest he feels a distant connection to Ilmater. There has always been something there, a vague awareness, much like how even with eyes closed a person can still sort of point to the nearest source of light. At the very least, he has always been forced to acknowledge that the light exists, but rarely has he ever felt any sense of warmth or comfort from the connection. As he considers what divine spells he may need in the immediate future, however, the glow seems to become brighter - or at least more focused, directed.

For the first time in a while, Zenithral feels an inner peace and calm flow through him. He is not alone here.

"Bene telemara! It's not poisoned. It's reasonably good fare for this place." The raven calls down from the top of the bookcase. "But if you don't want it, I know a guy who will. Handsome, intelligent, witty..." Another indignant squawk of pain. "Just eat it already!"

Indeed, the food is not poisoned. It looks to be some kind of blue sporebread topped with spicy red lichen paste, alongside a some strips of something that looks like tree bark, but is seasoned with salt. There is also a glass of water that once had ice in it, but is now as warm as the surrounding air.

Zenithral nods his thanks, cools the water with a wave of his hand and takes a drink. "Ah..." he says, obviously enjoying the raven's annoyance at his slow patience. "You, know my dear bird, I find you much more entertaining than a silent, praying half-elf. We actually do appreciate your company, don't we Fluphy? He takes his time with the food, savoring the taste and textures. He hadn't realized how famished he actually was...and how long it had been since a meal this good. Ug could only do so much while on the road and without a kitchen.

Holding near-perfect posture during the meal, dabbing his mouth with a cloth occasionally, he finally finishes the meal. "Absolutely delectable. Do give the chef my regards, my fine, feathered friend!"

"You know, for being a half-elf you're still full of - gah!" This time the pain has the raven flapping its wings in a sudden spasm.

Then it erupts into flame.

Zenithral catches just a hint of a small, leathery body with wings and a cruelly-tipped tail before the flames vanish, and then the raven is gone.

As the figure enters, Zenithral says a few instinctive words and closes his eyes, feeling for its presence.

He casts Detect Evil and Good"Helo again. Too shy for words, I see? Not to worry. I don't mind."

He stands from the table, returns to his pack and fishes for his orb of time and space he was gifted. Using it, he tries to discern the direction of north and the time of day...and whether or not he's on the material plane.

After that, he takes out his spellbook to study it, now bound by a leather strip sewed along the edge. Halla had once scolded him for being so disorganized, so he finally took the time to fix up the old manual.

The figure straightens abruptly at Zenithral's words, but says nothing until Zenithral takes out his book.

"Shy... I suppose I am," the familiar voice admits reluctantly. Zenithral looks up in time to see the figure remove her cowl. "But what does one say after so long? 'Hello,' just doesn't seem adequate." His mother smiles at him, hesitant but warm. "Even so; hello."

"Oh---!" Zenithral jumps and fumbles with his spellbook until it lands facedown on the ground, scattering pages that were probably sewn with too much haste. "Wh---pf--h---I didn't---" Zenithral sputters awkwardly as he reaches down to pick up the pages, then stops and turns around. "Mother?!" he manages.

He tilts his head and looks into her eyes, opening his mouth several times to speak, but no words come. "I...I have so many questions, but I'm afraid to ask any of them...so I guess I'll just start with the obvious...? His voice carries an edge of both relief and uncertainty. "Where are we, and why are you here?" He takes a seat at the table, folds his arms, and leans back, unsure of what to expect.

"Ask me anything, my son. I'll tell you what I can." Ilmadia sits across from him, her eyes taking in every detail of his face. They are a different color than Zenithral remembers. "This is Dorn's Deep, as you cleverly figured out." Her smile is full of pride, but the expression fades quickly. "I run things here," she says nonchalantly.

"Ah. That would explain the good accommodations," he says looking around. Still looking away from her, he continues. "I heard there are many prisoners here. Am I one of them?"

"Only until I can smuggle you out of here," Ilmadia replies. She follows Zenithral's gaze around the room, but she quickly returns to drinking in the sight of her son. "There is no need for you to be uncomfortable, however. Druzil was far too sarcastic when he asked on my behalf, so I'll ask again. Do you need anything? Just let me know what I can get for you." She seems genuinely eager to provide something.

"Understood." He nods and returns his gaze to her, feeling much more comfortable. "A new longbow would be nice, but I suppose that might be hard to expect. An arcane focus would be helpful for a few rituals, though. My old crystal was attached to the bow Nym the drow...traded...with me...Also, did you have cambion twins?" He holds an expectant look that demands more than a simple yes or no.

Ilmadia frowns slightly at the mention of a bow, but nods as he requests it and a focus. When he brings up the twins she freezes in place, hands clenching as the blood drains from her already pale face. "Why would you ask me something like that?"

"Well, you see, Erestor brought me to the Hand where we found two cambions, and he wanted me to help him kill them to 'save' you. Whether it would have done so or not, I could not bring myself to murder innocent children. Erestor is dead and the two children are being cared for elsewhere." Zenithral shrugs. "I just thought you might know something about it."

You always used to talk to me all about your new tricks and powers...I enjoyed them...well, most of them...Arannis would never let me stay around you long...I think after my recent adventures, I finally know why..." He slowly lowers his gaze as he speaks, face giving way to a distant depression.

Ilmadia stands abruptly as Zenithral talks about the Severed Hand. Each additional fact Zenithral delivers might as well be a slap as she gapes in shock and horror.

Arranis' name, however, calms the shock and replaces it with anger.

"Where are they?" Ilmadia's face and voice has solidified into one of cold rage. "Where are my babies?"

"And now you see why I said I was afraid to ask questions!" he says, putting a hand to his head.

He looks up into her eyes and takes a deep breath. "Harmony and Valiance are with Saki in a safe place. Someone I deeply trust is keeping the three of them safe, but for their safety, I don't wish to disclose their information for now---it's not that I don't trust you; it's just the fewer who know, the better. When I saw them, I fought off Erestor to save their lives, Mother. Should I have ignored Erestor and not gone with him in the first place? Yes, absolutely. But he said it was to save you. That's why I went. But I did everything I could, and I can assure you that I have done everything I can to ensure their safety."

Zenithral sighs and leans back in his chair. "I am sorry...I did not mean to provoke you...I just wanted to know...You know I was never much with words..." He chuckles. "Do you remember the time I tried to convince Saki that I liked her split-pea soup? She just about threw the whole pot over me by the time I was done."

Zenithral's memory does not amuse her. "I didn't mean to get upset with you, I just wasn't expecting the revelations that my children were found and moved and that my husband was killed by our son." Ilmadia puts her fingers to her temples and lets out a slow, hissing breath as she sits at the table.

When she looks up at Zenithral again much of her anger is gone, but there is still a manic look present in her eyes. "Thank you for protecting them. Not many would have taken the news of surprise siblings- especially ones like Isair and Madae-" her tone at those names is one of correction- "with such generosity, or defended them so stalwartly." Pride flickers in her gaze again, but her panic quickly overtakes it.

Gripping his hand tightly, Ilmadia leans forward and stares into Zenithral's eyes. Hers definitely look different than before, and she is paler. More drawn. There are faint stress lines on her face that should not have touched a half-elf like her for decades more. "I believe that you believe the twins are safe, but trust me, they aren't. Tell me where they are so I can return them to the Hand. It's the only place they will be safe."

"I didn't kill him. Val---Isair---that's the boy, I presume? He did that. As Erestor put a dagger through me. Madae saved me from the wound. They're powerful. I sense harsh power, but also radiance from them."

Zenithral cringes at the mention of the Hand. "The Hand is gone. The temporal magic collapsed and the great wizard...or what was left of him...destroyed it all."

A shimmering portal appears in the room, interrupting the conversation between mother and son, and the drow wizard Malavon steps through.

The ebon-skinned archmage opens his mouth to address Ilmadia, but then his red eyes fall on Zenithral. His white eyebrows form stark steeples as a wrathful grimace encompasses his face. "You!" Obviously a trick so simple as Zenithral changing the color of his skin is not enough to fool this master of the arcane.

Malavon turns heatedly to Ilmadia. "And this is where he has 'escaped' to? He was my prisoner! His meddling has set my work back for weeks! I demand that you relinquish him to my custody, so that I can make him pay for what he has done!"

Ilmadia's eyes nearly ignite with rage, and then in a flash it is gone. She rises cooly, and turns to stare the wizard down. He is taller than her, but it hardly matters.

"I shouldn't need to remind you that you are under my command. Your prisoners are my prisoners, and I will do with them as I will. Now." The word is as sharp as a whip crack. "Tell me quickly why you are here, and I may forget that you entered my chambers unannounced and began making demands of me." The familiar sound of a sword slowly escaping its sheath reaches Zenithral's ears, and Ilmadia begins inspecting the shining blade as though Malavon were not even there. "I certainly won't forget what you said about the set backs in your work."

Malavon's eyes widen and he shifts almost imperceptibly. He takes a deep breath, back ridged. "They have arrived. *This* one's companions. My forces have engaged them with slave fodder, but according to the reports they have already slain one of my wizards. They are dangerous. I assumed you would want to be informed immediately."

He steps back through the portal, red robe rippling behind him. "I needn't remind you upon whose shoulders would ultimately fall the blame for failure to defend Dorn's Deep and the work being done here."

His lip curls just short of a true sneer, and then he is gone and the portal closes.

Ilmadia remains completely still for a moment, then jumps into action. She sheaths her sword and snatches up Zenithral's pack. "Now is your chance." She thrusts his pack at him. "Tell me where the twins are," she commands, "and you can take your friends and go. Leave the North, and you will be safe."

Zenithral stands awkwardly as the conversation ensues. He exhales, cheeks puffed. After Malavon leaves, he finally speaks.

"Uhhh....I'm really not inclined to allow you to turn my siblings into devilish weapons for Belhifet..." He holds his hand up before she can reply. "Yes, I know that I so very little about his brilliant plan and why he's doing it...so tell me! If his endeavors are truly right, then tell me! I want to understand!"

"Weapons for Belhifet!" Ilmadia throws up her hands. "Who do you think I am trying to protect them from? Protect you from?" She shakes her head. "It's not for you to know. Belhifet has great plans, but greatness always requires sacrifices. I won't have you be one of them. Mother may have wanted to raise us up as perfect Ilmatari lambs for slaughter, but I protect my children."

She folds her arms across her chest and Zenithral is reminded forcefully of Arannis at his most stressed. "This is your last chance. Tell me where Isair and Madae are, and promise to leave the North immediately, and you and all your friends can walk away. If you refuse, I let Malavon deal with the intruders, and you stay here. Better you be far away, but I'd rather have you close than dead. I will find the twins either way. I won't be kept from my children again."

Ilmadia arches an eyebrow and this time Saki is sent echoing through Zenithral's mind. "Quickly now! Time is ticking for the twins. They will never be safe if Belhifet discovers their existence."

Like an arrow, scraped apart from hewn branches and strapped and glued, then and shot repeatedly over great distances before finally breaking into a splintered mess inside someone's heart. Zenithral was torn apart.

"If I tell you where the twins are...and if I promise I will leave the North...then my friends and I can leave Dorn's Deep unharmed." Zenithral says, struggling to process everything. "Is that completely correct? And do you swear it?"

"And the gnome woman. Nancy. Can she leave with me?"

"That is correct. Nancy?" Ilmadia looks confused, but barely considers it in her haste. "Yes. If you uphold your end of the deal and leave immediately, she can safely go as well. I'll swear it on whatever you like."

Zenithral dismisses Fluphy, having witnessed Ilmadia's confirmation.

Don't do it, part of him says.

He bites his lip.

You've seen Malavon's spells he's forged. Your friends are strong, but they are weary. another part says.

He opens his mouth to speak.

It's a trick. You won't be saving anyone...You'll just be dooming yourself to exile... The voice is louder.

He closes his eyes.

It's my mother...and my siblings... he protests.

"They're..."

You have a job to do. Given to you by Ilmater himself. Louder.

He clenches his fists.



He picked the wrong half-elf.

"They're in Kuldihar," he says. "Under the watch of Halla the Archdruid."

"Kuldahar!" Ilmadia gasps. "It's a good thing you told me. Thank you, Zenithral." She snaps her fingers and Druzil, in his true imp form, appears in his special loft. "Tell Malavon to cease all hostilities. He is to arm Zenithral with arrows and the finest longbow we have available, then find the gnome Nancy and deliver them both unharmed to the intruders. They are all to leave immediately. If they refuse, resume the defence. You can supervise, and let the wizard know I'll be...displeased with any deviation from my orders."

Ilmadia rushes to a bookshelf and picks an ornate box off the shelf. She returns to Zenithral and presses it into his hands.

"My dear boy." She embraces him and holds him close. "I've been so anxious since I learned that you were roped into all this. I'll rest so much easier knowing you've abandoned this foolish mission." She pulls away reluctantly. "You don't have to live the life your grandparents picked for you. I look forward to seeing the one you find for yourself in the south."

With that, Ilmadia steps back, speaks a few arcane words, shimmers, then disappears.

Zenithral winces when Ilmadia embraces him.

After she leaves, he continues to stand silently. Eyes still shut. Fists still clenched. A drop of blood trickles from where he bit his lip, falling off his face like a crimson tear.

Druzil appears in a flash of dark smoke, bringing a burning smell of brimstone to the room. The imp takes off with a flap of leathery bat wings even before Ilmadia finishes her instructions, diving through the curtain of lava. Bonded as her familiar, he hears her words even from a great distance.

After some time, perhaps a half hour, the lava curtain parts and Malavon beckons Zenithral from the room with a crooked black finger. "Whatever foolishness this is, let us get it over with quickly. Come, ibilith."

Dead-eyed, Zenithral rolls off the bed. He slings his pack on his back and follows silently without making eye-contact.

The archmage sneers at Zenithral's apathy. "It seems she broke you after all."

Malavon leads Zenithral through a passageway and into a grand hall, all of it crafted from the same black metal with rivulets of lava flowing down in some places, as well as a large fountain of the stuff in the middle of the great room. The metal must have some powerful magical properties to stand against the incredible heat.

Zenithral follows the drow out into an immense cavern lit by a lake of the molten rock. Walkways and platforms stand over the lava, leading past enormous vats, huge anvils, and more than a dozen fire giants hard at work putting hammer to metal. With beards of flame and dusky skin, they almost appear to be huge dwarves, looking over their craftwork with intense care. They pay no heed to Malavon or his charge.

The two continue on up a great staircase and into a set of caverns. A short while later Zenithral recognizes the market area where he fled from Malavon and the umber hulks. The incident seems to be fresh in Malavon's mind, for he mutters darkly under his breath as the they keep moving.

At some point in the journey Zenithral feels small claws dig into his shoulder, though he sees nothing there. A voice sounds in his mind, that of Druzil. Keep quiet, Zenithral, and you and your friends might actually survive what is to come. Malavon thinks he can make a power play while Ilmadia is gone.

They pass into halls of finely-worked marble. Here there are other drow, an assortment of warriors, scouts, and spellcasters. They move about with remarkable grace, but evident excitement, hands flashing to each other in some kind of unspoken language of signs and gestures.

One of the passing dark elf soldiers bumps into Zenithral and stumbles. "Watch your step, ibilith!" Did that drow just wink at him? Then the soldier is gone. But Zenithral feels something in his sleeve that was not there before. An arrow! It hums gently against his arm with some kind of power.

Druzil chuckles in his ear and mind. Bene telemara! This will be interesting...

Malavon stops occasionally to engage in sign conversation with several of the drow, and each one slips silently away to fulfill whatever instructions have been given them.

Then he brings Zenithral to a chamber that glows red with molten stone from a wide chasm that cuts across the floor. A walkway without rails crosses it, leading down a long tunnel. There appears to be some light on the far side.

There are several drow here, resting on their haunches as they keep watch on the corridor. Slumped against a side wall is the corpse of a dark elf wizard, an arrow sprouting from his chest and another from his eye.

Malavon gestures imperiously, and one of the drow moves into the corridor. Is that the same drow who bumped into Zenithral earlier? The dark elf soon disappears from view in the shadows of the corridor.

Malavon signals to two more drow, and they move closer to Zenithral, hands resting on the hilts of their fine weapons.

Malavon leaves, then walks back in a few minutes later shoving an elderly gnome woman before him. She keeps her face down, and remains quiet.

The archmage turns to Zenithral. "Now. Let us see if your friends care enough to collect their prizes." His red eyes shine with eagerness.

Oh how I hate you... Zenithral thinks, listening to Malavon. He's tempted to make a rash remark but bites his tongue as the imp told him.