A Opportunity Worth Exploring

Gromph’s eyes trace over the crowd in his study with disdain, a disdain Nalfein almost empathizes with.  He’d empathize more if that disdain didn’t settle on Entreri and stay there.  Entreri had been invited–a planned addition to this excursion.  Maya and Dinin just tagged along.

Dinin sinks in one of the reading chairs, a boot tilting to and fro on the center table as he spins a stiletto dagger between his fingers.  His other foot bounces at the heel, impatient.  Artemis leans on the back of his chair, looking down at the bored drow.

“You begged to come,” he reminds Dinin, whose face scrunches up in irritation.

“I didn’t think the boy’d take this long,” Dinin mutters back.

“Never knew a wizard that didn’t take their damn time,” Artemis reasons.  Dinin snorts, their little exchange in Alzhedo passes completely under Gromph’s radar.  He doesn’t speak the language.

Nalfein allows himself a faint smile, and leans on his former master’s desk.  Charon’s Claw stretches out along the stone table, all angry red chthonic steel practically radiating black magic.  The little steel dagger next to it seems so quaint in comparison, but its enchantment is no less impressive.  The wizards that created each had a deft touch with their magic, talent and skill that ought to be passed on.

Maya opens one of the stacked Thayan tomes and thumbs through the dry theory lining each page.  Her eyes skim the words, but after a moment she snaps the tome shut.  She's bored, Nalfein can tell, no better than her restless twin.

"He did answer the summons, right?" Nalfein asks.

"Apprentice Thaezyr can be meticulous about his appearance," Gromph notes.

"Oh, I'm very aware," Nalfein leans on the desk.  He's deliberately played up his connection to his former master this time.  His full-black robes bare only two small diamonds of skin at his high waist.  Still, they're slim-cut and tastefully embellished with black sapphires.  Plain as they look, they're the most expensive set of robes he owns: archmage's robes–a gift from Gromph himself.  Nalfein has left his hair down for the occasion, like Gromph, always like Gromph.  Nalfein would never leave his hair loose otherwise.

His master taught him the association game, and taught him well.  Saying he's Gromph's student is one thing, dressing in concert with him is another.  One might impart a mild boast, the other imparts an understanding between Master and Apprentice.

There’s another reason Nalfein is mimicking Gromph today.  Vizaeth habitually dresses like Pharaun, trying desperately to capture his likeness.  Doing something so similar feels like solidarity, in some way.

If he had summoned Vizaeth directly to his office, he might’ve played in concert with his siblings.  Dinin and Maya have as much sense for appearance as Nalfein, a trait they all learned at their father’s feet.  Though the amount they rely on this varies between the three of them, there is a reason Entreri’s bored gaze has begun to wander.

Maya's dress is of a very classic drow style, long and slit up both sides, tailored to mimic eight folded legs.  The collar sinks off her slender shoulders and the midnight blue silk settles snug against her figure.  Winged insects flit about the hemline–emperor moths to match the silver hairpin holding her hair back.  Even in the dim candles of Gromph's study the whole thing shimmers like the night sky.  The shorts underneath are a comfortable compromise for a fight, and the low heel of her boots is practical and magically silenceable.

Dinin’s tunic is of the same dark blue silk, open-skirted and shaped into an eight-legged pattern like Maya’s.  Each silver-hemmed "leg" is tipped in a gradient black, and alongside his fitted black armor and the scorpion-shaped hairclaw holding his bundle of white hair in place, the idea of something dangerous, venomous, is very apparent.  It's an idea, a warning, Nalfein heeds without question.  For Dinin, venom is not an empty threat.

A soft, almost docile rap on the door heralds Vizaeth’s arrival.  Nalfein's siblings perk up, Entreri does not.  He shifts a little though, flexing his gauntleted hand and eyeing the door.  Nalfein realizes the shirt underneath his dark leathers is actually the same color as Dinin’s tunic, the dim light has just made the plain, hard-wearing wool look darker than it is.

Clever, but clearly a security measure.  No one’s going to mess with a human if two drow have dressed him in their colors, subtly claiming him as theirs.  He doubts Entreri knows, otherwise he wouldn’t be so compliant.

"You may enter, Apprentice," Gromph calls.

Vizaeth slips in, a cautious look on his face that shifts wildly about as he takes in the room and its inhabitants.

There's a little less Pharaun about him today.  His eyeshadow is a soft shimmer at the inner corners and a smudged woad blue at the outer edges.  His lips are painted darkly, as usual, and his hair is pulled back into a Thayan-style braid, cuffed twice as it hangs over his shoulder.  His robes are mostly black, simple, with accents of red forming vaguely spider-like shapes and an attached cowl with a scarlet lining.  A small bird skull dipped in gold hangs from a pendant around his neck.  He looks like a proper necromancer, as far as Nalfein is concerned.

It takes a moment, but as Vizaeth's glare drifts from Maya to Dinin up to Entreri, his deep red eyes go wide.  Decorum and protocol vanish, Vizaeth Thaezyr is looking at his first human, and he clearly does not know what to think.

“His name’s Entreri,” Nalfein speaks up, and Vizaeth starts a little.  “Artemis Entreri.  He’s an associate; I invited him.  The other two are my younger siblings: Maya and Dinin.”

“I…see,” Vizaeth offers Nalfein a shallow bow and continues to stare at Entreri.  His gaze has gotten a little more hostile, clearly over the shock.  “Why did you invite him?”

“I wanted to show you something,” Nalfein answers.  “He wouldn’t let me just take what I needed without coming along.”  Vizaeth knits his brow, but Nalfein gestures him over with a click of his tongue.  “How’s your identification skills?  With and without magic.”

“They’re good enough,” Vizaeth scowls as he approaches.  “I can identify most items with–”

Vizaeth’s words fall short as his gaze reaches the Charon’s Claw, and once more his eyes widen.  There’s an eager glint in his eyes again, a hunger to know and a kinship with the deadly magic thick in the blood-red metal.  His lips part in muted awe.

“What are you looking at?” Nalfein prompts, a light press not unlike the kind Gromph once used to teach him.

“A chthonic steel longsword,” Vizaeth whispers, peering at the blade.  “I don’t recognize the design.”

“Shadovar,” Nalfein offers.  “This is the Charon’s Claw.”

Vizaeth nods slowly, his lips twitch into a bit of a smile.  “Shadovar,” he echoes.  “The descendants of the Ancient Netheril that fled to the Shadowfell.”

“Good,” Nalfein praises.  “You know the history of your favored school, the Netherese were adept at necromancy, same as the Thay.”

“Is this a necromantic sword?” Vizaeth asks without missing a beat.  Nalfein is trying hard not to smile at the apprentice’s enthusiasm.  He remembers being this giddy about his studies.

Nalfein nods, and Vizaeth snaps his attention back to the blade.  He narrows his eyes, clearly trying to dig through the Weave on his own terms, without a spell to ease the way.

“Wounds it inflicts fester and rot,” he notes softly.  “And it’s magically keen.”

“Good,” Nalfein nods, “anything else?”

“There’s a dweomer I don’t recognize along the blood groove,” he says.  “I’m only recognizing one rune: ash.”

“It’s a modified smoking dweomer,” Nalfein passes his hand over the blade, pressing a little bit of magic into the metal to draw out a small cloud of black ash.  Vizaeth gasps softly, his grin widening.  “You’ve almost got everything,” Nalfein adds with an encouraging nod.

“It’s also linked to something,” Vizaeth adds.  Nalfein nods to Entreri, who holds out his clawed gauntlet.

Don’t tell him what it does , Nalfein signs to Entreri, who nods as Vizaeth slowly approaches.  The apprentice is still eyeing Entreri when he snatches the gauntlet and pulls it, and Entreri’s hand, towards him.  A slow, careful inspection passes, and Vizaeth’s eagerness only seems greater.

“It absorbs magic,” Vizaeth concludes.  “Stores it, and reflects it, sometimes through the blade.  If I were to hazard a guess, I’d assume the gauntlet and blade were made to combat spellcasters.”

“An excellent analysis, Apprentice Thaezyr,” Gromph praises, and Nalfein starts a little.  He’s been so caught up in Vizaeth’s excitement that he’s almost forgotten the Archmage was here.  Gromph has a soft smile on his face.  A little of that enjoyment is directed at Vizaeth, but most of it is directed at Nalfein.  It’s as if he’s proud, watching his former apprentice teach.

Vizaeth’s eyes are wide again, and his face is starting to flush.  He quickly dips into a low bow and stammers out a thanks before returning to the table.

“Not a complimenter, that one,” Nalfein whispers softly.  “That’s a high honor, getting praise from Gromph Baenre.”

Vizaeth nods; he’s letting himself be a bit more bold with his grin now.

"Relax," Nalfein adds.  "When he was your age, Pharaun could barely identify a drow weapon of a much lower caliber.  You're doing very well."

Vizaeth seems to settle a little at mention of Pharaun.  "Pharaun is a far better diviner than I am," he whispers.

"Is that a fact?" Maya asks, earning a glare from Vizaeth.

"Of course it is!" he's starting to get upset.

"Then be better," Dinin chimes in, making Vizaeth pause and blink.

"What?"

"Be better than Pharaun," Maya echoes.  "Surpass him, make him feel daft for underestimating you."

"Why would I ever upset Pha–Master Mizzrym?" Vizaeth asks, his tone hostile and his lips starting to curl.

"Revenge," Maya shrugs.

"To make him a stuttering mess for once," Dinin adds.

Vizaeth's tongue is visibly rolling over his teeth; he's thinking about it.  Given Pharaun's penchant for humiliating lays younger and less experienced than him, Nalfein isn't surprised.  Pharaun's probably made Vizaeth cry more than once, on purpose.

"Pharaun has experience on his side, but you can't tell what color a moth is when it's inside a chrysalis," Nalfein whispers.  He nods to the sword.  "You're close, one more thing."

Vizaeth nods, inspecting the blade a little closer now.  "It's sentient," he finishes, "and it's angry."

"I wouldn't recommend touching it," Nalfein nods, hand hovering over the Charon's Claw.  "The Claw is a malicious blade, and only accepts wielders with strong wills."

"Like Entreri?" Vizaeth guesses, glancing back at the human.  His gaze is a little less hostile, as if his excitement has muted his normal cagey attitude.

"Indeed," Nalfein nods.  "The blade obeys him well.  Now, you came for Thayan magic."

Vizaeth lights up a bit more and nods.  Nalfein fetches the tomes and settles them on the table in front of Vizaeth.  He goes over each volume in quick detail as he places each in a magical haversack.  Vizaeth listens intently, soaking up each little detail.  When Nalfein places the last book, he pulls the drawstring taut and extends the bag to Vizaeth.

"Keep these secret, understood?" he says, and Vizaeth nods solemnly.

"No one will know," he promises, hugging the haversack tightly against his chest.  He bows low this time.  "Thank you again for your faith in me, and the chance to examine the Charon's Claw."  Vizaeth quickly turns to Entreri and bows, a little shallower but still more respectful than most drow would afford a human.  "Thank you for allowing me to examine your blade," he says softly, dipping into heavily accented Common.  Entreri dips his head in acknowledgement, but Vizaeth is already hurrying out the door.

The room falls still for a moment, and Maya indicates subtly that Vizaeth is lingering in the hallway.  Nalfein is about to ponder on why when Gromph speaks up.

"You're giving Pharaun exactly the out he wants."

Nalfein glances at Gromph, then shrugs.  "Maybe," he agrees.  "But redirecting Apprentice Thaezyr could improve his grades, his engagement with his studies, even his relationships with the other students.  I've been here a tenday, sitting in on classes and study sessions.  This boy has no allies–just one girl he hates that Pharaun gets a kick out of partnering with him, he pays attention but he clearly isn't fully understanding the material–unless it's an area he's familiar with.  He's a good wizard, by no means the bottom of his class, but he could be great."

"Why do you care if he's not at his full potential?" Gromph asks.  "Why put blind faith in someone you barely know?"

Nalfein locks eyes with Gromph, the answer apparent before he gives it: "You did the same for me."

Gromph sighs and leans on the table, "I asked you here to teach all my students, not find a pet project."

"He's not a pet project, Master Baenre; he's a student.  I'm not going to be picky about which students should and should not succeed."

Gromph gives a soft grunt, but returns to the desk he was working at.

"I would speak with you privately, Apprentice Do'Urden."

His voice is soft, but Nalfein knows better than to refuse.  He nods to his siblings and Entreri, who make their way out.  Entreri takes his blades from the table as he departs, giving Nalfein a light pat on the shoulder.

Gromph waits for them to leave before speaking.  "Have you thought any, on my offer?"

"Of becoming your official successor?  A little.  It lacks much appeal."

"The other predominant candidates barely suit the role."

"Nauzhror is more likely to take the role.  Triel won't stand for a Do'Urden taking over as Archmage."

"Nauzhror would take it temporarily, at best.  A Dyrr or a Xolarrin is possible, but not my concern."

"You're worried about Pharaun."

"A powerful wizard does not an archmage make," Gromph reasons.  "Pharaun is a fine mage and a decent teacher but he is brash, vain, and self-absorbed."

"So you'd rather an obstinate, vain heretic take the helm?" Nalfein smirks.

"You know when to shut your mouth," Gromph reasons.  "When something goes too far, and," Gromph points out the door, "Your eye for talent is better than mine."

"I could be wrong about Vizaeth," Nalfein notes.

"You're not.  I did not question your choice because I thought you were wrong, Nalfein."  Gromph leans on the table with a heavy sigh, "You said Vizaeth was a good wizard who could be great.  Right?"

Nalfein nods.

"You are a great wizard, one of the finest I've ever trained.  You could be something truly exceptional, if you pushed yourself to greater heights."

"I don't want to be stuck in a hole for the rest of my life," Nalfein argues, “much less this one.”

"Then don't take my offer," Gromph concedes.  "But my offer will not be the last.  If the chance comes for Nalfein Do'Urden to rise into the role of archmage, I want him to take it."

"And if that moment never comes?"

"It will.  Now, I believe you have lessons to prepare for.  The next semester starts in…three tendays, I believe.  I expect you'll be prepared."

Nalfein nods and gives a low bow before slipping out.