In hopes of catching the late risers off guard, we set out at the crack of dawn. Fortune smiled upon us, as even the guards appeared to be in a deep slumber, allowing us to slip through a narrow opening undetected.
We tiptoed through the dimly lit corridors until we stumbled upon the self-proclaimed Drow, Barmaeril Bimrassar, lounging on the first floor. This pale Overworld elf had struck a deal with the academy a few years back, granting her the dubious privilege of mingling with Drow as if she belonged. If you were to look her up in the dictionary, you’d find her listed under "Opportunist." Yet, it seemed she had overestimated her prowess, for Miara was already lurking behind her, dagger poised, ready to deliver a swift end to the magister.
As we ascended to the second floor, beams of light spilled from various rooms.
"How do we know who’s where?" I whispered to Miara, who shot back with an icy glare
"I don’t care. Let’s take them all down!" I blinked in surprise at her ferocity.
We moved methodically, Miara veering left while I took the right, but still no sign of the Zarethi. Those schemers Miara believed were orchestrating the entire plot.
After a thorough search, we discovered a door hidden behind a towering 7-foot statue, leading us into a lavish new wing of the academy. The opulence was staggering, adorned with gold that shimmered like the sun. "By Eilistraee, how fragile must their egos be to need such ostentation?" I mused, marveling at the gilded architecture. Miara, however, was having none of it. "Keep moving." she urged, her voice a low hiss.
We crept toward a pair of grand, gold-plated double doors that swung open with surprising ease. Inside lay a sleeping chamber fit for royalty, lavishly furnished with a massive canopy bed, a golden bathtub, an exquisitely equipped dressing table, and a sprawling divan.
"Looks like being a hypocrite pays off." Miara remarked coldly as we approached the bed, daggers at the ready, prepared to confront whatever lay ahead.
There they lay, wrapped in the embrace of dreams. Mr. and Mrs. Narcissus, as I fondly dubbed them. I crouched beside their bed, locking gazes with Methyra, who seemed to float in a tranquil slumber. But that tranquility shattered like glass when her eyes snapped open, and a piercing scream erupted from her lips. In a flash of instinct, I drove the dagger deep between her brows. Miara caught my eye for just a heartbeat before she mirrored my swift action on Meloth.
"We need to make tracks before the guards come sniffing around." she urged, urgency lacing her voice.
As we slipped away, we had to weave through a few guards. Their patrols were shorter than we had anticipated, and they were already hot on our trail. Yet, we managed to escape the premises without leaving a whisper behind. Once we reached the safety of our old hideout, we shed our disguises like old skins. Miara wasted no time, igniting a fire and setting about preparing a meal.
"What’s our next move?" I asked, my curiosity bubbling.
"I don’t know what you plan to do, but I’m heading back to the surface. This place is a festering pit of despair. I crossed paths with a band of mercenaries on my way here, and I’m joining them." she declared, her resolve as solid as steel.
What remains here is a toxic concoction of hypocrisy, envy, and death. But is life above any different? A flicker of doubt gnawed at me; the surface dwellers didn’t seem particularly welcoming to Drow. Yet, perhaps they would be kinder than the Drow who thrived in this underground gloom?
