Dark Flower Ch. 7 (previously The Flower Ch. 1)

[Mikayla]

This continues the story of Sheyreiza Auvryndar and follows the story ‘Broken.’ Before I write any more, I would like to acknowledge all of those who have made the story possible. Though Sheyreiza is my creation, the world in which she lives is not, nor are the people she meets. While the credit for the Forgotten Realms goes to Ed Greenwood, and much of what we know about the Drow in Faerun goes to R.A. Salvatore and Elaine Cunningham, my thanks really belong to all the ALFAns who have played a part in this story. So, thank you to Wynna for the Summons quest that gave birth to Sheyreiza. Thank you to Burt (Mediea) who was Shey’s first nemesis and gave her those wicked scars and the false eye. Thank you to Thrasy for hosting and I am sorry I gave you such a bad time about the quest. Thank you to the Skullport crew, aka the Faen Tlabbar trade enclave, aka Qu’ellar Noamuth, aka ‘The Patrol’: Zakharra (Inthara, and the original Elvaelaeyl Tlabbar), Spiderjones (Amenia) Opera-Ghost (DM, Zatarra D’Phasma, and the other Kiaransalee priestess), Gauntlet-Dragon (G’eldax), Trazk (Trazk), Magonushi (Vel’meth Tlabbar), Vendrin (our DM), Cayssan (Moilir), Souvarine (our half orc slave and later, Vali’rae Tlabbar) and the other males, Vaktas, Zkelson, Tsabbrek Claddeth, and even all of those we killed. Thanks to the TFN DMs, and thank you to mr. Duncan (Jain’n), Aeterna Doloris (Anolesa Silversong) and the rest of the Lonelywood crew. Without all of these people, Sheyreiza would have had no allies, no enemies, no adventures and no story.]

***

Warmth.

Sheyreiza had no idea how long she had been laying in her bed when she heard the stone door to her cell open. Had she been asleep? Had she been in reverie? Awake? All of those? She did not know. She remembered putting the glass in the bottom of the bathtub. Perhaps the dwarves had come to let her bath. Perhaps it was just the guard bringing her another plate of dwarven gruel. He seemed to do so every cycle, no matter if she ate the one before or not. A good little dwarf that one; simple, stout, and good at following other people’s orders. He would have made a great slave.

She did not hear water sloshing in buckets. She did not hear the familiar dwarven tongue rolling off curses and comments. It was not the dwarves bringing her bath water. She heard no armored footsteps. She did not hear the familiar sound of thick pottery being laid on stone. It was not the guard.

Sheyreiza opened her eyes but did not sit up. Jain’n, the darthiir male, moved into her sight. Jain’n, who called himself Lord of Lonelywood or some such ridiculous thing. He was beautiful. A blond, golden skinned elf that looked as if he had just stepped from the pages of history. He looked every inch the epitome of what Sheyreiza hated in the darthiir and he was. Indeed, he was more. His family, his ancestors, the Vyshaan, had been among those that had actually driven Sheyreiza’s ancestors into the Underdark. Jain’n had told her it was through his family that Corellon leveled his curse upon the Ilythiiri. Sheyreiza doubted that was true, but she had no doubt that Jain’n’s ancestors had played a large role in her own ancestor’s destruction and banishment. For that, she hated him.

The sun elf male bent low over Sheyreiza and put a hand to her forehead, checking for fever. She had none, or she did not think she had one. The male pulled back her blankets and frowned as he saw that she was laying amidst soiled bed sheets. Sheyreiza had not moved in a long time. Cycles. Days. Why should she? What was the point?

The male walked away. He looked at the dresser she had left pushed away from the wall, and then at the carvings. He pulled a knife and began gouging out what she had etched. Carefully, he began to search the room. He found the drawer with its bloody symbol of Lolth and he destroyed Sheyreiza’s makeshift shrine. Sheyreiza did nothing.

When he was done searching the cell, Sheyreiza could hear him prepare her bath. As he did, he found her shard of glass. He picked it up, frowning, and his eyes sad. He took the shard out of the cell then returned to check the water.

He was beautiful, but so odd. It was Jain’n who had strangled Sheyreiza that fateful night in the snow. Despite his heritage and hers, he had not killed her. Instead, he brought her to King Bruenor Battlehammer as a prisoner. Then Jain’n did something very strange: He pleaded for Sheyreiza’s life. Sheyreiza did not know why, she only knew that he had. The King had relented, for a while. Jain’n then came to visit her. At first, Sheyreiza thought this was a typical interrogation lead in. A soft, almost friendly approach first. When all that could be gained by friendly questions was gained, then the torture would follow to see what more information lay beneath the surface. The torture never came though, just Jain’n. And Jain’n was always pleasant, courteous and thoughtful. He called her ‘lady’ and treated her as such with great respect. It both pleased and infuriated Sheyreiza. She wanted to hate him; she needed to hate him.

One night, the darthiir put a flower in Sheyreiza’s hair. He said it was enchanted and would never wilt. It was beautiful and he wanted her to wear it. So that was his game. It seemed clear this darthiir merely wanted to have sex with her. Fine. Sheyreiza had fucked her way out of the Valsharess’ dungeons, and she had fucked her way across the Dark Lake. She knew she was beautiful, and she was more than willing to use that beauty to ensure her survival. She had even fucked that bastard Hartex Claddeth to keep him placated; and for her own pleasure of course.

Jain’n, however, made no move to have sex with her. He just started talking again. He told Sheyreiza that he had a dream, sent to him, he believed, by Eilistraee. In the dream, he walked through snow until he came upon a single perfect flower. He had been guided to find this flower to save it from the cold of the freezing northern snows. So in the dream, that is what he did. The dream occurred the night before Jain’n had encountered Sheyreiza on the road north of Luskan, or so he said. Jain’n told the skeptical drowess that he was convinced Sheyreiza was his dream flower in the flesh. He believed Eilistraee had guided him to her. He believed that Eilistraee had sent him to bring Sheyreiza warmth. He believed he was sent to save her.

Sheyreiza believed this was the most elaborate bunch of rothe dung she had ever heard from a male trying to have sex with her. Why waste the breath? He had a sword, and guards, she had nothing. He could take her any time he liked. What was the point of all this talk of flowers and snow and Eilistraee? Was he trying to convince himself that when he lay with her it would not be rape because Eilistraee told him to do it? Sheyreiza was astonished at the darthiir’s apparent need for self-deception.

One thing he said stood out though. He offered warmth. Sheyreiza had not been warm in so long. She was born into a cold world and it had only gotten colder. After the plane of Dream-Shadows, where her health was stolen, she had never really been warm again. Though she sat just inches from a fire, or lay in water so hot it was near scalding, she was always cold. How she longed for warmth.

Perhaps Jain’n really could save her. Perhaps he did bring warmth.

Perhaps her need for self-deception was as great as his.

She hated him from the start and wanted to go on hating him but she found that she began to look forward to his visits, and not just because he brought her better food than the dwarves did. He came again and again, never interrogating her, always just to talk. He brought her fruits from the surface, he brought her honey, he brought her silks and he even bathed her. When he was here, he was a better servant than any Sheyreiza had ever had as a princess in Qu’ellar Auvryndar. The strangest thing was that he so clearly wanted to do it. Why? Was he a masochist? Sheyreiza could understand that if he was. She had met enough of them in her time. Jain’n did not strike her in that way though.

He also made no move towards having sex with her. Even though he bathed her, even though she once passed out with fever in his arms, helpless, he did not take advantage of her. Was he really going to wait for her to tell him it was alright for him to rape her? Ridiculous.

She could use him in the mean time. Sheyreiza abhorred the idea of being beheaded or being having her body defiled after death. She asked Jain’n to ensure that if and when she was executed, her body was burned in the traditional manner. He promised no one would ever use her body in such a manner. She also asked him for a vial or poison or a simple dagger if it came to that. She would rather take her own life than given the dwarf king the satisfaction of taking it from her. Jain’n had been reluctant and made no promises. Sheyreiza sensed that the concept of her death made him uncomfortable. He was so odd. Why? Why did he not revel in her doom? What was wrong with him?

Now he was drawing her bath yet again. Sheyreiza did not move. The male gently removed the soiled sheet from her and stripped it off the bed. He picked her up and carried her to the bath. Slowly, carefully, he set her lithe form in the steaming water. He began to bathe her. She watched. She did not resist, she not speak, she did not do anything. What was the point? She had been broken. All she had left was to wait to die.

The elf bathed her in silence, then dried her. He got her dressed. Sheyreiza did not help him. When her she was clothed, he put the flower back in her hair, behind her ear.

“I want to take you somewhere.” He said. “I want to show you something.”

Sheyreiza looked him, her face expressionless. Nothing mattered now. “As you wish.” She replied.

He led her from the cell, out through the halls of the dwarves and into the snow. It was night out in the world above. The wind blew across the snow creating little white clouds that tumbled across the frozen expanse. Sheyreiza had brought neither cloak nor the stone of warming that Jain’n had given her. Ironically, Jain’n mentioned that she did not seem affected by the cold any longer.

“I feel the cold, I just do not care.” She replied. Freezing to death seemed a better fate than a dwarf axe.

“But you are not shiv…” He did not finish, for he could see that she was shivering, she was just not doing anything about it. He looked concerned. Sheyreiza wondered why. Perhaps he was afraid she would die of exposure before he could sacrifice her to Corellon. Or perhaps he did not think he would be able to rape her if she was frozen. It did not matter.

Jain’n turned and led her south along a trail. They walked for a long time until Sheyreiza saw a gate, a crude wooden portal through an even cruder wooden wall. It reminded her of orc fortresses near the surface.

“What is this place?” She asked.

“Bryn Shander.” Jain’n replied. “A human village. But do not worry. You will be safe with me.”

“If you say so.” Sheyreiza really did not worry. What could happen? The worst was that the villagers would kill her. So what? The dwarves were going to anyway.

They walked through the village and Sheyreiza was reminded of orcs again. The buildings were smelly, ugly and simple, just like their inhabitants. There was virtually no magic present at all. The sight of it, the smell of it, made Sheyreiza miss the glory of Ched Nasad. Ched Nasad, also known as the City of Shimmering Webs was a city of tens of thousands built on the glimmering, calcified webs of Lolth herself. This human village could not even compare to the offal filled pits that lay at Ched Nasad’s lowest level. Well, that was not true, but this village was infinitely more pathetic if not quite as disgusting. Sheyreiza and Jain’n walked on through the primitive village and back out into the snow.

Dawn came and Sheyreiza soon found herself shielding her eyes from both the light of the sun and the glare from the snow. It was intolerable. Her eyes watered sending streams of tears down her nearly frozen cheeks. This place was its own little hell, a mortal plane stripped from the coldest regions of the abyss, or so it felt to Sheyreiza.

A human male appeared and Jain’n greeted him. The two men spoke in the common tongue of the surface, which Sheyreiza understood somewhat. The human was a hunter and he and Jain’n seemed on good terms. The human was taken aback by Sheyreiza and greeted her. She said nothing. Later when the human had gone, Jain’n asked her if she spoke common. In the past, if being interrogated, she would always mislead her enemy about her language capability. Now, she did not care.

“Yes, I can speak your common tongue,” she replied with an accent. “I just had nothing to say to the human.”

Jain’n shrugged and led on.

He brought her to a tree filled gap between two hills. Jain’n explained that in this part of the surface world, any large clump of vegetation like this meant warmth and water. It was, Sheyreiza thought, like the little oasis found in the underdark where there was natural water or food. He bid her to go look closer.

“As you wish.” She replied, her voice still flat.

She moved into the woods she could see a path before her. She knew Jain’n had led her here for a reason, so she took the path. She walked through thick woods and branches grabbed for her robes and scratched her indigo-black skin but she did not care. The wind seemed to die off as Sheyreiza came through the other side of the wood into a small clearing. The clearing was surrounded by more woods and rising land, and filled with trees and grass and snow. There was a camp and a fire ahead. She walked towards it.

An elf male stood by the fire, bow in hand. As she approached his eyes went wide and he drew an arrow, but then he looked beyond Sheyreiza and stopped. He must have seen Jain’n.

Jain’n introduced Sheyreiza to the elf, but Sheyreiza said nothing. Leaving the elf archer and the campfire, Jain’n led her to a rocky formation along the vale’s edge. He laid a cloak down over the snow covered grass. Quickly, he built a fire using burning logs from the main camp’s fire. He bid Sheyreiza to sit on his cloak but she wedged herself in close to the rocks, trying to shrink her world as much as possible. The open spaces of the surface were incredibly discomforting to her, and even in her despair, she could not help but gravitate towards that which came naturally. Jain’n sat next to her and started trying to warm her with the fire and with his own hands. He spoke to her of Eilistraee and of the elves and of the dwarves and of her life and his.

“If you say so.” Became Sheyreiza’s refrain. She did not have the fight left in her to argue theology, politics or race. What did it matter?

He talked to her of the Dark Maiden, his dream and the flower. He talked to her of his lost love, his own Ilythiir daughter T’ia, and the Ilythiir of the glade who worshipped Eilistraee. Sheyreiza had realized Jain’n really did want to save her. The foolish, naïve, but beautiful elf appeared to hold some personal guilt for what had happened to the drow. Perhaps it was his early ancestors that led him down this path. One of them helped destroy the Ilythiiri, but took a dark elf as a concubine. By saving Sheyreiza, perhaps Jain’n sought to atone for his family’s crimes. There was also his previous lover, an Ilythiiri, to consider. Like Sheyreiza, she had been born in the Underdark and come to the surface. Jain’n had not been able to save her from the humans that killed her. Perhaps Jain’n was looking to atone for that as well? What he could not save then perhaps he could save now. Perhaps he sought to heal a wound that had plagued him for thirty years.

Did he really expect Sheyreiza to live as his pet? Did he really expect her to turn from Lolth so that he could feel better about his past? Did he really think that saving Sheyreiza would atone for his failure to save his lost love? He was a fool.

On the other hand, the male truly did seem to care for Sheyreiza. No one had ever spoken to her like he did. No one had ever taken care of her like he did. She had never seen anyone look at her the way he did. Almost no one anyway. A memory came to Sheyreiza, a memory too painful to allow to come the surface full and uncensored. The memory of her son. Sheyreiza tried to suppress the memory.

The black hearted priestess of Lolth found herself struggling to close the door in her soul that Jain’n was trying to open. She had pushed back, but the day she slipped the glass shard into the bath tub was the day despair slipped out of that door. That despair now enveloped Sheyreiza.

“You have destroyed me.” She blurted out.

“What do you mean?” Jain’n asked, concern in his voice.

“You have opened a door in my mind, in my heart, behind which lay all the emotions and feelings I have tried so hard all these years to master, and now, they have crept out. I am filled with despair. I no longer pray to my goddess. I no longer care about what happens. I am destroyed.”

“You are not destroyed, you are reborn, and like a child, you must grow now.” He replied.

Sheyreiza let the tears stream down her face. What dignity did she have left to protect? They talked more, but Sheyreiza remained unconvinced. There was a look in Jain’n’s eyes that reminded her of….

She suppressed the memory. She pushed it back with all the strength she had remaining. She could not let that memory and its feelings come out of the door in her soul that Jain’n was trying to open. In her mind, Sheyreiza kicked at the door to close it.

Sheyreiza looked around. “So this is what I am supposed to accept? Some dwarven halls? A little forest outpost? I have nothing.”

“I do not want to see you die.” Jain’n said. “I will not see you die.”

The elf sat straight up and took a deep breath.

“What if I let you go?” He asked. “Right now. Let you run. Would you?”

“What?” Sheyreiza narrowed her eyes, her voice taking a pitch of concern. “I would do nothing. I could not get away. You would cut me down in a moment.”

Jain’n shook his head. “No, I will let you go. I told you, I do not want to see you dead.”

Sheyreiza frowned. “I would not get very far, unarmed, unarmored, and nearly naked in the snow.”

“You could have my sword. I have enough coin and food to get you almost anywhere.” Jain’n offered.

“This is a trick.” Sheyreiza hissed. “You would shoot me in the back if I left. Or the other elf would. The others would me hunt me even if you two failed.”

“The others would hunt you.” Jain’n admitted, nodding. “But if you wounded me, I could not follow you. Kill me, and I could warn no one. You would have at least a day’s head start, maybe more. And we are far south of the halls. You could get away.”

Sheyreiza stood suddenly, her once languid body now charged with adrenaline. The despair had been washed away in tide of fear, curiosity, anger and hope. Sheyreiza glowered over the sun elf, her narrow eyes searching his face for any sign of treachery or any sign of honesty. Was this real? Was this just a trick? Had he been Ilythiir, she would know, but, Jain’n was not Ilythiir. He was unlike anyone she had ever met. She would put him to the test.

“Well, then the first step is your sword.” She held out a black hand to the sun elf, daring him to do as he said. Slowly, carefully, the elf stood. Jain’n’s amber eyes looked into Sheyreiza’s red and blue ones. This time she held his gaze. It had been a long time since she had been able to hold her eyes to his, but now, she was filled with the rush of the moment.

Jain’n drew his sword. Now that she had asked him for the blade he knew she meant to run, or was at least considering it. Any Ilythiir would kill her now. And that was fine. Better to die here, unwatched, by this man’s blade then under the dwarf king’s axe.

Jain’n handed Sheyreiza the sword.

She scowled. It could still be a trick. She placed the blade at his calf.

“If I cut you here, you will not be able to pursue me.” She raised the blade to his thigh. “If I stab you here, you will not be able to pursue, and unless someone helps you quickly, you will die.”

Jain’n shook his head slightly. “I could drink a potion and be healed. You had better just put the blade in my chest.” The elf raised his chainmail shirt, exposing the naked skin of his torso. Was he insane? He had to be bluffing.

Sheyreiza upped the ante. She placed the blade’s tip against the hollow of Jain’n’s neck. “And if I cut your throat, you will die. You will not be able to drink any potion or speak any spell to save your self.”

Jain’n swallowed hard and almost shook, but still he held his ground. “Yes, lady, that is true.”

Sheyreiza shifted her weight forward just a fraction and the razor sharp tip of Jain’n’s sword cut into his skin. A drop of blood trickled from the wound. It was no trick. There was no protection, no ward, nothing but skin. Sheyreiza could run him through, kill him, and flee.

A moment after that realization, Sheyreiza also realized Jain’n was still alive. Why? Why wasn’t he dead already? Why did she hesitate? She had never hesitated before. She started to shake.

Sheyreiza thought for a moment about all the others she had killed. The iblith, the illithid, but mostly about the Ilythiir. She had never hesitated. Indeed, she was quite used to killing. Not a month before she had fled Skullport she had found a male skulking around her quarters. She cornered him and decided to put him to the same test she gave every Ilythiir who fell into her clutches.

The test was simple and Sheyreiza had conceived of it on the spur of the moment when she had met Amenia. Sheyreiza needed to test recruits like Amenia for loyalty to Lolth and she needed to weed out spies from House Tanor’thals. Sheyreiza had used her dagger to carve the symbols for Vhaerun, Eilistraee, and House Tanor’thals in the floor of the inn room where Sheyreiza’s patrol often met. Once the symbols were carved, Sheyreiza pulled out her old silver skull rings that she wore when she had been a Yathrinshee, a priestess of Kiaransalee. Shey scattered the rings over the three symbols. Then she demanded that Amenia strip naked and pee on the three symbols and the rings. Simple.

Amenia was humiliated, but she did it. Sheyreiza had reveled in the humiliation as well as the defilement. The test became a commonplace occurrence in the chambers of the patrol. Shey later add a little wrinkle. For those who passed the test, they then had to clean up the mess they made. A little more humiliation to let those who passed the test know where they stood. For those that did not pass, death.

The male who had wandered into the chambers claimed to be a wizard from Sshamath. He said wanted ‘no trouble’, but Sheyreiza did not care what he wanted. He was in her grasp now.

She told the wizard to swear faith to Lolth on his immortal soul and forsake all other gods. As she did, she kicked back the carpet revealing the three symbols etched in the floor. He, like the others before him, was going to swear faith and take her little test. Sheyreiza also notched an arrow to the string of her bow. Not everyone wanted to take the test. Not everyone passed.

The male tried to talk his way out of it, but Sheyreiza was not listening. Swear or die. Piss or die. Simple.

The wizard summoned a globe of darkness and Sheyreiza heard him running for the exit. She had been through this little scene so many times even though she could not see him she knew exactly where to fire. Without a second’s hesitation, she drew her arrow and released. She heard the impact then the sound of the body hitting the floor and a wet gasping noise. Calmly, Sheyreiza walked out of the darkness to find the wizard laying face down in a pool of blood. He was still alive. Amenia came out of the darkness. Sheyreiza gave her bodyguard a quick sign and Amenia drew a dagger across the stricken male’s throat.

Sheyreiza had not hesitated then. Now she did. It made no sense, no sense at all. She was an Ilythiir, a dark elf priestess of the Spider Queen and this person at the end of the sword was a darthiir, a traitor, whose family had long ago contributed to driving the Ilythiiri underground. He deserved death. No, he deserved damnation. Still, Sheyreiza did not kill him. The shaking in her arm grew worse.

Sheyreiza stared into the amber eyes of the defenseless male. Something inside her was keeping Jain’n alive. Something that had grown deep down in the dark reaches of her soul near where the broken pieces of her psyche had fallen just days before. Something that had crawled out of the door Jain’n had opened.

Sheyreiza raised her arm and set her feet to strike. She risked a glance around. The elf at the campfire was not to be seen. She could do it. She could kill Jain’n and walk out of here, head south, and never be seen in these lands again. She had spells to hide her, and Jain’n surely did carry enough food to last her for several days. She could go.

But to where? Menzoberranzan? Ched Nasad? Neither would welcome her home. Where could she go?

Jain’n caught her eye again. He said nothing, he simply stood with the sword at his throat. He was clearly afraid, but he was just as clearly determined to see this through.

“Are you insane?” Sheyreiza asked.

“I know what is inside of you. I doubt you will kill me.” He replied.

“You know what is inside of me? You ‘doubt’ I will kill you?” Sheyreiza screeched, her voice breaking. “I am a Yathrin d’Lolth and you have given me a sword to put to your throat. Why?”

“Because I know what is in your heart. I know you do not really want to leave.” He swallowed. “And I am willing to risk death to set you free.” Why? Why would this darthiir give his life for hers? There was no question now that the offer was sincere. But why? What did he see in Sheyreiza?

Sheyreiza tensed. Her eyes narrowed again and she pulled her shoulder back just slightly to strike.

And then she dropped the sword. A flood of emotion poured through Sheyreiza’s body and she could only think of one thing to do with it.

She stepped forward in a rush and kissed Jain’n full on the mouth with a passion that she had never known. Her hands ran through his hair and gripped his head, pulling him into her kiss. For a moment, the elf was caught by surprise, his eyes wide with shock, but then he kissed her back. He pulled her body into his and lifted the slight priestess off the ground. She wrapped a leg around him and they kissed furiously. He dropped back onto his cloak and settling her down into his lap.

Sheyreiza was in the moment. Her skin was flush, her eyes open but glazed, her soft lips parted as she breathed heavily. With long, slender fingers she untied her robes and opened her self to him. She revealed the white tattoo of a spider at her neck and her other adornments, but she also revealed her passion.

“This is more than just lust.” She whispered.

“I know.” Jain’n replied.

“I have only felt anything even like what I feel for you once before. And it was most definitely not lust. It was…it was something I have no word for.”

Jain’n was kissing her soft skin but those words caught his attention. “Tell me about it.”

“It happened when I had a son.” She replied.

“You have a son?” Asked the darthiir, clearly surprised.

“Yes. Actually, I had a son.” Sheyreiza paused. The door in her soul began to open again. “He belongs to my mother now.” She tried to hold back the tears but it was useless. “After he was born, he was given to one of my sisters to raise, as is the custom of course.”

“If he can be saved, I will save him. We will save him. Eilistraee will help. She loves you and she loves your son.” Jain’n said, a note of urgency in his voice. It was as if he could sense the door in Sheyreiza’s soul was opening, and he wanted to get a foot in before it closed. “But you spoke of a feeling?”

She nodded and the door swung open just a bit more. “When my son was born I had the strangest feeling. For a moment, just a moment, I wanted to hold him. I saw him there, a newborn, being wrapped, and I wanted to hold him and make him safe. I….I….felt for him. I don’t know, I don’t know how to describe it. But I felt for him. I wanted him to be safe. It was wrong, I know. A mother must not feel for her children for she has to test them, to judge them, but in that moment, I did not want to test him or judge him, I just wanted to hold him.”

Janin’n could barely choke back his own tears. “That is called love, Sheyreiza, that is called love.” Jain’n said, his eyes watering, his voice near breaking. “It is normal, it is what mothers are supposed to feel for their children. Your goddess, your demon, makes you give up your children and your love so that you have nothing but her. Don’t you see? Your demon took your child to destroy your love.”

Sheyreiza looked at Jain’n. She took a deep breath. She knew he was right. Lolth did take from her everything and anything she might have loved and replaced it all with fear. But that was not the whole story either. Perhaps Lolth had stolen Sheyreiza’s child, but Lolth did it because she loved the Ilythiiri. She did it because the Ilythiiri had to be strong to survive the hatred of the entire world. Lolth had protected and guided the Ilythiiri for ten millennia. Who was Sheyreiza to begrudge the goddess what she asked?

Then Sheyreiza remembered. She remembered the eyes of her son when he was just born. They were red, deep red, like Sheyreiza’s and the were the most beautiful thing Sheyreiza had ever seen. He had looked at her. He had looked at her with those innocent eyes that had never seen a spider or an altar or a whip. He looked at Sheyreiza and saw only one thing. A mother. In that instant, not only did Sheyreiza know that she could love something, she knew that she could be loved. Not quite every creature in Toril wanted Sheyreiza dead. There was one creature, one person on this planet who, at that moment, would love Sheyreiza more than anything. Her son.

Then he was gone. Taken by her sister to be raised elsewhere in Qu’ellar Auvryndar. Her son would never know how Sheyreiza felt for him in that moment. As he grew, he would have the capacity to love beaten out of him just as Sheyreiza had.

Sheyreiza had been deeply ashamed of that momentary lapse of strength. She had no word for how she felt about her son when he was born, but she knew that the feeling was a sign of weakness. She never spoke about that moment or that feeling ever until this day in the vale. And never did she show her son the slightest affection. Indeed, she avoided him while she still lived in Qu’ellar Auvryndar and when she did have to see him, she treated him like the lowly, untrained male he was. Sometimes Shey wondered if he even knew that she was his mother. Such was the Way of Lolth.

Sheyreiza’s memories swept out of the depths of her soul, carried on the vines the love that had been growing in those deep dark recesses and she was overcome completely. Here in the vale, in the arms of Jain’n, she found herself beyond her teachings, beyond her dogma, and even beyond her goddess. She reached out and began kissing Jain’n again. Sheyreiza did not know what she was doing. She did not know what was right or wrong anymore. She did not know how to act. All she knew was that she was filled with that feeling, the one Jain’n called love, and it was completely overwhelming. Her protections, the hate and dogma which she had grown up with, lay broken before the door that now opened in her soul, and over the broken pieces of her emotional defenses, her passion poured out. As they lay together on the fur cloaks in the vale and Sheyreiza knew something she had not known in a long, long time. She knew warmth.

[Burt]

I expected more from you Mikayla. You should have left Sheyreiza permadead the first time. Wave goodbye to your well crafted board persona...

[Vendrin]

Congratulations.
Good story.

But teh Burt is right.

[Mikayla]

Story edited, not too change substance, but to correct errors and improve flow. As for the critique about my board persona....well....perhaps, but I will say two things: If you think my board persona has no love in her, you have not been paying enough attention, and second....no story is over until its over......



Edit: On second thought, what does Sheyreiza have to do with my board persona? Sheyreiza is a Live PC. She is not 'Mikayla' or even 'M'kayla.' Granted, there are some similarities, but they are not the same.

[Burt]

You have always been to me an inspiration for what the drow are all about. The fact that one of your characters seems to have betrayed these tenets of ilythiiridom has kind of warped my image of you(r board persona). Unless of course it's all a clever ruse - in which case I'll eat my hat...or kilt...or...whatever you want.

[Mikayla]

Fair enough Burt, but before you lose all faith in my board persona, please do keep in mind that when Sheyreiza was first created AS a heretic - a follower of Kiaransalee. She only came to Lolth later, in game. And....were there another place for her to run in ALFA where worshipping Lolth was not a death sentence, she would have gone there (IC she did not know about TPI or Westgate, so she could not go there). Now, well, I just play like it happens. Sorry if I let you down.

[Souvarine]

maybe a tad cliché, but...i'll give it credit in that it surprised me, i never expected that from you .

[Burt]

Let's face it - one way or another it doesn't really matter what deity a drow worships, as long as it's not a good one. If you follow any of the drow pantheon (barring the Dark Maiden) you're likely a back-stabbing, hate-filled, dark-skinned nutter. Vhaeraun, Kiaransalee, Ghaunadaur, Selvetarm...it doesn't matter. You're still drow. Sure you're a heretic but Lolth has enough followers to not really bother caring, and in the end you only help her weaving her webs of betrayal, deceit and general nastyness.

Once you start kissing sun elves and breast feeding baby gnomes you're into completely different territory. You left the realm of drow and entered the realm of "Hi! No wait - put that sword away, I'm a good drow!". It's worrying to see you in particular strolling across the border Mikayla because you've always been my bastion of hope for ALFA's drow. It seems like a sellout to go with the goody goodies just because there was no obvious alternative.

But hey if you're having fun then good on ya. Don't let my silly notions get in your way.

[Vendrin]

Burt. Just because you worship Eilistraee does not mean you have to be good.

It is by far the largest amount of drow eilistraeen worshipers, but she does also accept Chaotic Neutral followers.
And as Mik said, the story is not done.

[Souvarine]

Well, this story only changed my view of the character, not the author. Actually what made me wince is how she came to feel love so fast (in the text, i wasn't prepared for it).

That aside, when you rp a drow on alfa, you will...eventually but assuredly (until an underdark servers goes live), come to a situation when your pc has to choose over death and another life. Drows being what they are (not stupid), i am sure many would at least try to feign converting.

Besides this is but the part 1 of a series... and we all know roses have spines...

[Zakharra]

I loved it Mik. A real well written character development.

[Aeterna Doloris]

Well, that was... Long.

*mutters about the misspelling of Aeterna* ;P

Now when do I start writing stories... Probably never. Oh well. *shrugs*

[fluffmonster]

Betrayal, whim...this is what being drow is all about, is it not? And would it not be appropriate for the Drow Mistress of ALFA to touch all things drow, even dabble with Eilistraeens who are like it or not a fundamental fascet of the entirety of drow? Who knows you may be about to see the first truly well-played Eilistraeen in ALFA (which isn't acutally true, Aeluren was damn good).

[Mikayla]

fluff observed:

And would it not be appropriate for the Drow Mistress of ALFA to touch all things drow, even dabble with Eilistraeens who are like it or not a fundamental fascet of the entirety of drow?

**Examines her list.**

Kianransalee? Check.

Lolth? Check.

Eilistraee? Check.

Hmm...now...that leaves Vhaerun, Selvetarm and Ghaunadaur....err....scratch Ghaunadaur, he is all gooey and yucky and stuff and not really drow anyway. So, the trick is, how can one person be a Yathrin, a Yathrinshee, a Sword Dancer, a follower of the Masked Lord and a Judicator?

For the love of Lolth, I think I need a cocktail.......