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[Vryn Vhae'Naliek]

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Alone, Vryn sat crosslegged upon the floor. His mind awash in what he knew to be so, and the dozen probabilities that could, or would, be so given time. Certainty an elusive phantom. A sapping draught of stagnant air that menaced him, threatening to cut him away from any hope.

He knew enough to ignore what he could not ascribe absolutes to, however, and pushed himself towards solutions and not random dwelling. Breathing slow and easy.

Inviting shadow flowed like silk drawn languidly across naked flesh.

Tantalizing.

Tactile.

A living thing bereft of judgment or emotion.

The darkened room remained in perfect order. No one thing uprooted or smashed, or broken. No fit of desperate, impotent histrionics echoed within these confines.

No rage. No sorrow.

All was still. A calm silence pervading the very air around the young drow, infusing him with a clarity of purpose without the weighty drag of melodrama, or delusions.

Shri'hrae was gone.

Lost, held in thralldom, or dead was now the question.

[Vryn Vhae'Naliek]

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Outside the nightsky was bruised with dark clouds blotting out moon and stars from Heaven to horizon. The sea below mirroring the grim visage above. Roiling and churning darkest blues and anger. Whitecaps breaking the surface to die away again in monotonous repetition.

'Princess' Folly' was moored no more than twenty yards from Vryn and Shri's home. Her sail furled, but prepped and ready to go with minimal effort, or work.

Within, his black clad form lost in Night's embrace, Vryn laid out his blades carefully. Edges honed, and poison unguents applied with meticulous detail.

Flexing each of his slender fingers, spiderlike, and focusing on his vitals.

Heartbeat. Breathing. Perception.

Every tool sharpened.

Hours earlier the silver tether connecting Vryn to Shri'hrae had thrummed painfully, reverbrated, dulled and died away to less than echoes. The sensations only remembered now, but lending an expendiency to his actions.

He had an absolute. Something had died. Something was wrong in a way he couldn't put into feeling.

Placing his mask over his features reverently, -becoming- the thing, becoming the shadow...losing himself, Vryn set out.

Now was for answers.