Dorn's Deep

Ilmadia's anger makes daggers of her stare as she takes in Zenithral and Malavon's dejected forms. The rest of the party is beneath her notice. "I had thought we understood each other last we spoke." She rests her sword tip down on the stone floor, her already pale knuckles white on the hilt of it. "Pray, tell me where you got confused in my absence." Her eyes narrow. "Quickly."

"Ilmadia!" With great effort Malavon lifts his head to look across the chamber at the half-elven woman. "I am afraid that I missed whatever instructions you left. I was gone in search of my dear sister - who was attacked and magically lost by the archer there." He points accusingly at Zenithral. "He and his companions have murdered their way through half of Dorn's Deep!"

Zenithral looks up slowly, still trembling, his eyes full of hatred. "Y-y-you promised we could leave safely...a-a-and we were not allowed to..." he turns his head towards Malavon.

The raven snickers at Malavon's accusation and Zenithral's tears, head twitching as it looks from Zenithral to Ilmadia and back.

Malavon scoffs. "This hidden fortress did not come to find you, heroes. You had ample opportunities to leave, and yet here you are, in the middle of the everything!"

He turns back to Ilmadia. "You know what problems they have caused for our Master. I was just about to end their meddling once and for all when this," he gestures at the glowing symbol, "put a stop to it."

"We---we were promised we could leave safely. With Nancy," Zenithral says to Malavon, regaining some amount of control over himself. "But you decided to try to kill all of the gnomes instead."

"Enough bickering!" Ilmadia scowls at the two, then seems taken aback as she meets Zenithral's hate-filled gaze. "And you be quiet, Druzil," she snaps, hardness returning, "unless you have anything useful to add." Ilmadia turns to Malavon. "Zenithral speaks rightly. I had things well in hand, and it looks as though you were the one to undo my work. But if it was not you, then who, my dear wizard, did I give my orders to?" Her condescending tone is familiar, but it carries a danger in it that Zenithral's rarely does.

The archmage raises a finger. "My simulacrum went rogue and attempted to seize power while you and I were both away. Surely you know that I would never wittingly go against your commands. As for the gnomes..." Malavon shrugs. "Slaves. They were worth little, and I had few resources to spare with so many of my own drow wastefully slain. Still, these need not have died, but for the dimwit there." He nods his head toward Ug.

The archmage raises both both hands up in a helpless gesture. "I could not very well reason with these invaders." The drow's eyes flick to the throne and the imp-raven still seated upon it. "Belhifet himself told us how dangerous they are. One might be inclined to wonder why our general, the Black Swan, feels so strongly about protecting them."

Somehow, the raven manages to smirk. It is obviously enjoying this exchange.

"A copy of you? Disobey orders? Never...!" Zenithral retorts in mock surprise.

"If needbe, my familiar can show all that has transpired, but..." He's suddenly reminded again of the image of the blood-stained sword. His gaze turns back to Ildmadia in desperation as the despair washes over him again. "What happened in Kuldahar...?"

"So you mean to tell me that you let a side project loose to cause no insignificant amount of damage to my operations here?" Ilmadia's eyes flash. "You forget your place, Malavon. No one cares for your wonderings or your inclinations. I am Belhifet's right hand, and no one knows more of his plans than me. You are simply an asset. Though with the chaos you have allowed here, and the resources you have lost, I wonder if you are even that." She lifts her sword from the floor.

Ilmadia looks to her son. "Later," comes the terse reply.

Malavon begins to stutter a response, but is interrupted by the raven on the throne. "Actually.. there is one who cares about the wizard's wonderings..." The raven melts into Druzil's true imp form. When next it speaks, it is not the little fiend's voice that issues from its fanged mouth, but one far deeper and terribly familiar. "Ilmadia. This whole affair would never have occurred had you yourself followed orders, yes?"

Malavon jerks at the sound of Belhifet's voice, and then after an initial moment of shock he perks up, a smile creeping across his face.

"What is it that distracted you from the duties to which I appointed you? What is it that drew you to... Kuldahar... my Swan?"

A cold feeling seeps through Alalla's bones at the sound of Belhifet's voice. A faint wisp of anger wriggles in her stomach but it is crushed by the spell. Belhifet isn't even here, and he owns them all.

Ilmadia stiffens, though she plays it off as regal straightening. Her eyes dart about frantically as she sheaths her sword. Her gaze falls on Zenithral. "Erestor," she blurts suddenly. She composes herself. "I apologize, my lord, but he's been missing, and I believed he was being held captive in Kuldahar."

"Erestor? If Kuldahar has a prison that can hold him, he is a broken tool indeed. Let the elf rot. But that is a poor excuse for my general to abandon her post!"

Druzil turns his head to consider Malavon. The movement is strained, and muscles in the small creature's neck spasm.

"And this one... Whatever mistakes he made, he did under your watch, yes? You will decide his fate. You are the one to render judgment, and none will question your motives." A weighty pause. "But know that whatever punishment you lay on his shoulders sets a... precedent."

"I thought you approved of lawful marriage." Alalla stares blankly at the imp. "Yet you tell her to abandon her husband?" She shrugs slowly, her plate armour feeling heavier than usual. "But I'm foolish to ask. I know for fact you only care for wedding vows as far as they benefit you. Perhaps things are better for you and your swan with Erestor out of the way."

You finally find the energy to do something and you poke the devil?

Does it matter either way?

"Law benefits all. It keeps the decadent from tearing everything down, and helps those who should know better to find their place. But I cease to be surprised at your lack of understanding, Alalla. You have failed to learn true wisdom at every juncture, and I tire of your mewling."

Tendons pop in Druzil's arm as it lifts to point a claw at Ilmadia. "Handle this. I will not tolerate further failure."

The imp's eyes roll up into the back of its head, and it passes out on the seat of the throne.

Ilmadia quickly loses her composure after Druzil collapses. Her chest heaves even through her half plate as her breathing becomes rapid. With a manic scream of frustration and outrage, she points a finger at Malavon then utters a single horrific word.

The wizard collapses, dead, no more able to resist than an ant beneath a boot. An echo of Erestor's death under Valiance's power.

Ilmadia doesn't spare a glance for the man she killed. She paces in a tight circle, pulling at her white hair. She stops quickly, and turns to face the party. "Surround them, and watch them closely," she commands her giants. A slice of her hand ends the despair trap, and the giants advance.

The half-elf marches quickly up to her son and grabs his wrist, then drags Zenithral, still under the effects of the spell, away from his friends and the giants.

"Zenithral, the twins have never been in more danger." Her voice is frantic and breathy. "You must help me get them back. You are their last chance now." Are those tears in her eyes?

Seeing Al's signal that fighting will not be needed right now, Vincent changes tactics. Popping back into the material realm, Vincent casts invisibility so he can maintain an advantage in case he is needed (blink fading unused). Seeing Zen puzzling over the Simulacrum, Vincent works his way over and mentally helps Zen, unfortunately it's not much help.

With the way forward clear of the spell trap, the fire giants step fully into the chamber and begin prodding at the companions to move them all to the center of the chamber.

One of the giants they recognize from when they first entered the forge area above. He is unapologetic with his herding. "Come on now, tinies. Not a weapon or chant, or you'll feel our wrath. Which you won't like."