The drow adusts the rows of buckles under her ribcage, assuring that the armor's fit is snug and as mobile as possible.  She breathes a soft sigh and looks again at Knave, studying her as she has so many other times.  She lifts one hand and places her fingertips on the cold porcelain mask, feeling the shadow beneath stir-- sensing it, and experiences anew the eerie sensation of her the touch on her own face, but cold-- like a scar, part of her.  Her thread to the void.<br/><br/>"We go," she says softly, taking her eyes from Knave's emptiness to draw on her cloak, which she will wear throughout the day.  She is not the only dark elf to have made the journey to the surface, but she is known... feared and studied, speculated upon and tainted by rumor.  "We go," she says, and turns away from Knave to exit the room.  As she descends the staircase-- as usual, not hearing her 'companion' on the stairs but knowing that she follows-- she can't help but wonder if Knave is capable of hate, and if she hates Ithi'ka herself.<br/><br/>They are almost utterly alone in that room.  Ithi'ka sighs in frustration.  "Early, again."