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After several minutes of searching, Seth's doll found a window left slightly open. The figure squeezed and wiggled his way into the fortress. He found himself in a broad, dark hall. With a flutter of his wings he lifted himself easily to the ceiling. His small size and dark coloring rendered him almost invisible against the stone. Crawling upside down, he began to search for the true Patron Druugiir. He could sense the half-drow's presence deeper in the stalactite. The scowl sewn on his inky black face twisted into a smirk. The sinister doll darted along the ceiling toward his target. Soldiers passed beneath him completely unaware of him. Before long, he was within a few yards of his target.

-a thin smile spread across the lips of the Patron as he witnessed the struggle. He had nearly slain her when she had moved towards him, but having already mastered the blade, he knew its power and waited to see if she possessed the strength to resist it.

As his assassin spoke, the smile spread wider, a knowing, satisfied smirk. He regarded her again for a few moments, before relaxing slightly-

"You will entice him and then slay him while he is defenseless in your bed. As a female of some status within this house, your interest will provoke little suspicion and his death can be written off to anything I wish."

-Narrowed eyes watch the slender assassin as she struggles with the concept. A slow smirk of satisfaction spreads across his lips as he nods in answer to her question-

"You will bury that blade in his flesh and allow it to consume him, that I might capture his soul within one of my orbs."

-He was about to extrapolate, when they are interrupted by the arrival of Vierdah, his expression hardening as he steps back out of the reach of his assassin, then focuses on the new threat.-

"Ah.. we are graced with beauty from the depths, beneath the depths. You've assumed correctly this time.. I know where you call home, but I've no inclination to visit beneath the dark waters."

-Stiffening his posture, Val'atar brushes his hair from his face as he examines the new comer for a moment, then nods his head ever so slightly-

"To what do I owe this visit dark water dweller? Have you come about the weapon.. or to discuss alliance?"

He'd had it. He had been under appreciated his whole life as it was, really. He was the second boy and the third male mage in his house. He couldn't fight worth his measly weight in rothe excrement, and the house already had a house mage and a backup, so he just existed. That was both a precarious and boring place to be in. To not be needed and male was to be useless, and that which was useless, was fed to the spider b***h. Unless you were crafty enough to escape her clutches, that is. The entirety of his day was spent outside of his house running odd errands, making up a few as he went along to convince his matron he had been ordered of at a later time... He was fairly skilled in playing the game.

Those that performed well in the game garnered one of two sets of eyes. One ended it for the player, the other helped him cheat. The Masked Lord took a marked interest in Malzetoiz and was quick to snatch him up out of his mother's sight. It didn't take too long, however, for the normally relaxed and cool tempered god to wish that he'd let his mother have this particular thing. He had allowed the hermaphrodite to advance in his church rather quickly. Malzetoix had all the skills and the traits to do so! He was sharp, cunning, witty, and scheming. He was a half-rate theif and a first-rate wizard for his age and house's low rank. However, it had a few personality flaws. Mainly, Malzetoix was a self-serving, whiny b***h. The whiny b***h part, Vhaeraun could deal with, but the selfishness he could not. Nighshadows were to aid any male drow or thief they saw in need. Not stick their noses up in the air as they passed because that filth was beneath them. The church of Vhaeraun had its own aims and goals that Malzetoix completely ignored in leau of its own. As far as Vhaeraun was concerned, that she/he/it/thing needed to be taught a harsh lesson, and subsequently stripped all of the power he had bestowed on Mal until further notice. Mal, being as egocentric as he was, only saw this move as being under appreciated by his god as well instead of recognizing his own faults and trying to rehabilitate himself in his punishment.

Between leaving his own house into the service of Vhaeraun and subsequently, "the Masked Lord walking out on him," Malzetoix found himself at the gates of Au Shinduago. He was not so fond of the overwhelming Banshee majority, and less fond of the Vhaeraunite cell within the city, but it would have to do. The arcane-dominance made up for his religious minority and relative discomfort, for magic was the universal language. He'd already been through so much in his skewed perspective of the world that he would not accept anything less than the best and House Druu'giir was the best. Not so much for being the first house as being the premier arcane house in Au Shinduago, if not that he'd ever seen. He had no hesitation in marching right up to House Druu'giir's gates, leaning against a post with his thin arms crossed and a scowl etched into his feminine face. He was sick of the road and all it's dirt and grime and as far as he was concerned, he looked like a hot mess simply because his thigh-length blonde hair had a few knots in it and his clothing slightly scuffed. Finger combing it would only make it worse, so he just sat there and huffed obnoxiously until someone came and opened the door for this prissy little spoiled rotten princess ~ Vhaeraun him.

Vierdah sensed the change of atmosphere, for the air here was different, and buzzed with an energy that made even the Syryl draw breath. "I am no mindflayer, but I shall submit. You make a bold move, Val'atar, trapping a cave siren, though I realize your need for subterfuge."
Her black eyes settled on his faintly gleaming embers. She moved, a predator, in a circle about him, examining the lay of the room with an unchanged expression.
"Your mind is well guarded, but I sense apprehension in your voice. Know that I have no desire in usurping your seat of power, Ilharn. Vierdah does not take interest in governing a race of foolhardy swine. I would sooner destroy you than conquer you." The awful grin spread over her features once again as the Syryl came to a halt in front of Lord Druu'giir, her voice dropping to a layered whisper. "There is the risk of betrayal in every bargain. But your influence in Au Shindaugo may soon be compromised, for all you know... can you afford to decline aid at such a dark hour?" She chuckled darkly, then was silent for a time, allowing him to acknowledge her words carefully.

"Know however, that your success is in my favour. Much of my former power has diminished over time, but I remain a capable adversary. State the terms of your alliance. If it should please us both, I will grant you my assistance."

Erelala rode hard to the gates. Her steed tired as she dismounted releasing the creature. Her white hair flowed and her eyes pierced, clearly something was on her mind to take even the slightest bit from her beauty. Each step to the gate had her robes flowing behind her, a motion to get out of her way. As the shadow guards approached to see who had come to the door she dismissed them with a wave of her hand.

"Long I have slumbered; my skills have waned. Still, do not esteem yourself so highly... I have no fear of you, Drow, but I know potential when I see it." Something akin to laughter spilled forth from the creature's chest, hissing faintly in the darkness amidst the spectacle before her.
"You ask Vierdah for Kir Ashul?" Her hand touched the eye in the center of her chest, "a might reserved only for the royal blood of Luik? You are a bold one, indeed... Perhaps that is why you are interesting... Even so..." She crooned, making another circle about him. Her talons round his neck, she hissed in his ear from behind, her second voice carrying a venomous undertone. "The outcome I fear of granting such to the spawn of a demon's whims puts my heart at ill ease... bear in mind it is not a toy for child's play, half-blood." She said the last with savage emphasis, giving him a fair idea of what should happen if he gave her apprehension meaning. Then the siren drew herself up directly in front the patron, so that her gaze met him squarely. The normally sable orbs glowed orange in the center. "Very well... Though take heed; the tax on your mind shall be great. If you still wish to receive it, drop your defenses."

If he was still considering her proposal, Vierdah did not wait for it.
Luckily, his response pointed towards the affirmative, as he offered no resistance, even to the sudden grasp of her evil azure claws about either side of his face or the damning, horrible stare that smoldered inches from his own, digging at his mind, forcibly tearing and ripping like some vengeful beast until it found precisely the thing it was looking for. The glyphs on her form burned blue; skin and hair melted into obsidian, gathering darkness until only the faint shape of her body was left in the center of the maelstrom. Electric currents wound their way from her fingers about the wispy shadows to crawl over the half-demon's skin.
This was Vierdah's true form.
Faintly, a clear note of strange-tongued song rang throughout the mental spectrum, the defining characteristic that gave her kind their namesake. She let the noise consume him, wrench his thought away. Syryl magic was unpleasant to watch; being on the receiving end was a new horror all in itself.

"This is how I caught your assassin," Vierdah whispered evilly to his conscience, sharp teeth glimmering in the violet aura of the pillar. "Once you master it, it takes nothing more than a glace."

Ordinarily, she would have devoured him. The prospect was tempting... Here, a proud prince of the drow elves, beings the Syryl held in deep contempt, was rendered near defenseless in her grasp. Nothing on earth would give her greater pleasure than gutting him right where he stood, until entrails and blood poured at her feet as she held his snowy head aloft. Vierdah wisely dispelled her fascination of that particular outcome, however, and focused on the task at hand. There was still, after all, a thread of possibility in this one.

After the initial surge, the Syryl at last found her link. Long fingers of energy seeped from her digits, a wordless transfer of power that made even hair bristle slightly. Invoking the essence of her ancient god, Vierdah spoke the words that would grant Val'atar the capacity for the same volatile art she herself possessed. With a shudder, she released him and praised her grim work. The darkness withdrew, returning her to normal.

"Your head will hurt for awhile, but you shall perceive and wield the sight as I do in time. All magic requires patience. Fail to impress me or use it unwisely, however, and your mind will become my plaything, no matter what armies you command." she purred the threat.

"And with that oath dispatched, I know not of your enemy's mechanics. I do not often care for the politics of my dinner. But if my Lord wishes it, I will seek more than your little assassin could ever hope to purloin." She chuckled.

"As for Valthier..." Vierdah spoke as she rolled a bead from her hair between her two digits, a look of cruel anticipation on her face. She was not particularly fond of the role of poltergeist, but forgot her revulsion as the taste of blood invaded her memory.

"Time is not necessary. As I said, all it takes is a glance." She chuckled wickedly. Meanwhile, the bead flicked at the pillar melted from existence, leaving behind only a small wisp of purple smoke. Apparently her newfound ally shared the sentiment.