Entering a drow city could be difficult at the best of times.  Thankfully, the great Houses were fighting each other moreso than usual, meaning the guards were more focused on themselves than threats from the outside.  Given that they were both supposed to be dead, Moliira had taken time in their disguises.  Makeup was used to rewrite their faces, and a tiny amount of magic to disguise Moliira's distinctive eyes.  The clothing that helped them blend in came from the drow who had sought refuge within Maral'hal, and the goods they carried disguised them as merchants.  It was enough to get them into the city.

For Moliira, it was strange to return after so many decades.  But she hid her emotions well, only moving her eyes constantly to take in as much information as possible.  Yazaere was mostly silent, deftly guiding her sister through the streets.  Finally, they stood within sight of their ruined home.  Moliira glanced to her sister, she had been there far more recently, and the grief was much closer.  But they moved away before speaking, finding their way to a busy marketplace.  Tea was easy to get, since the city was close enough to the surface for regular trade.  They spoke in low voices, trying to decide the best course of action.

"If it is lightly guarded, all the better.  Once we get in, it will only take a few minutes.  But we can only hope for no intrusions.  It might be a smart move to find a third pair of eyes," Moliira suggested with no small amount of reluctance.  It meant showing trust to another, someone outside of the situation.  And that was no easy thing normally for a drow.  But she and Yazaere had their reason beyond normal paranoia.  A bit of shouting reached their ears, and the sisters turned to see just what commotion had started.

Following a thread of fate could take one to the most interesting places.

Traveling from the deserts of Arri, to the Hades of the goddess Dalanesca after being freed from imprisonment, Story now made his way to an entirely different underworld. The dragon sought pieces of his past. Curiously, although he could see leads and connections so easily on his own for others, he had been at a loss here. He'd acquired many leads, from the newly reborn goddess Angela and her kin, and also from visions he had received in Porta Inferi.

It was more than what he was given that drove Story to the aptly named Umbral Depths. He felt a nagging pull here.

His quest had originally been for an ancient blade he had wielded in courts from another age, but had become much, much more. Malchiah, another of his kind he had sealed long ago was alive, and had been released somehow. He would prove dangerous. Not just to his own well-being, but to Revaliir as a whole, given his ambitions. He was either still here in this drow city, or he had been here. Story was sure of it. The energy was unmistakable.

Slipping in unnoticed had been exceedingly simple. Being what he was, illusory talents came naturally to Story. His soft crimson gaze carefully scanned the market square crowd, though he was careful to keep his face shrouded in the hood of his cloak. The drow here were not necessarily xenophobic, but knowing an unauthorized…"human"…had gotten this far undetected would cause a panic. Unfortunately, snooping about would only get him so far here. He would need to ask someone eventually if they had seen anyone that looked like Malchiah. He just needed to find the right dark mer.

"You! Stop right there! Put your hands where I can see them."

Story froze. How could he be so dense, and so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he had not noticed he was being tailed?
He slowly moved his hands up over his head, removing his hood as he did so. Shaking out his matted salt and pepper locks, he remained with his back to the drow official that addressed him.
"I doubt it will sway you, monsieur," Story began to coax with his deep, accented tone. "I assure you though, I mean no one here any harm. I have a very specific personal agenda in mind. There is nothing I plan to do with any information I glean about this place."

Frowning, the drow grabbed Story's shoulder to whirl about to face him. His gaze was intense, and he had deep lines and furrows in his countenance very much unlike a drow, or any elf for that matter. Telling of a life spent drowning in stress.
He wore plain mercantile garb, but it was clear that this drow was a guard or detective of sorts.
"It concerns me more how you got in here in the first place. Security detail is light, but…" he trailed off, shaking his head. "You are coming with me."

Story's acquiescence abruptly came to a close with this demand. "Pardon…I'm afraid I cannot grant that request. This is too important to be put on hold. I can easily explain the situat-"

He was interrupted by a blade being pointed at his throat, and a trio of other drow emerged from the crowd, drawing their weapons as well. Much of the chattering and activity had silenced around them as people witnessed the scene, and passerby gave them a wide berth. Some stopped to gawk and whisper.

Her eyes were drawn to the stranger that was being shouted at, and keen ears caught the conversation.  The way he spoke, Moliira could tell that he did not belong.  And it was once the blade had been drawn that Moliira decided to act.  He was a stranger in a harsh world, and she could get him safely out of it.  The only question was just what was he doing down here.  She glanced at her sister with a grin, and the drow moved towards the stranger, who was now surrounded by four drow with blades drawn.  A perfect time for interference. 

"There you are!  Where have you been, Matron Mother Teken'ar does not like to be kept waiting.  And you, go.  You know that she does not like her people being interrupted," Moliira said, her voice cold and clear as a mountain wind.  There was just a touch of magic behind the voice, giving her the sense of haughty command.  There was a gamble in using that particular name, but it was the first one that had come to her mind.  Before her exile, House Teken'ar had been feared and respected, even if it was still one of the lower Houses.  But the threat worked, the head male muttered something to the others and they dispersed into the crowd. 

Turning her eyes to the stranger, Moliira had a slight grin on her face.  "You do not belong here, that much is clear.  Would you like to have a drink with my sister and I?  We have a proposition for you, and I'm quite certain that we can help each other out," she said, keeping it simple.  Yazaere had an amused look on her face, and rose her hand to invite them both over.  "I will never understand your proclivity for picking up strays, my sister.  But he looks interesting at least," she said, eying him in an appraising manner.  Her younger sister poured them wine, a brew made here of certain mushrooms.  It had an interesting taste to anyone not used to it.