The Dark Flower, Book II
Chapter 1.
The Underdark. The very mention of it is enough to send chills of fear through some. It is the world below the world; the world without sun or moon. It is the realm beneath the surface of Faerun. The Night Below, as the Underdark is sometimes called, is divided by depth into three great layers; the Upperdark, the Middledark and the Lowerdark. Regardless of depth, the layers of the underdark share certain features; they are without natural illumination, save for the dim, iridescent lichen that grows sporadically through this otherwise lightless world. With a scarcity of light comes a scarcity of plant life. There is no weather as a surfacer would see it, though air does move and temperatures might change ever so gradually. It is a world of unparalleled hostility. It is a sunless void where the only “sky” is solid rock, decorated with stalactites that drip cold, mineral-rich water onto the tips of the reaching stalagmites below. It is a world where the vertical is as important as the horizontal. It is a world that will swallow the unprepared on a whim, with no regrets and nothing to mark their passing save for the echoes of their screams.
It is also a world of monsters. Creatures of pure madness, methodical evil, and never-ending hate stalk the crystalline paths of the Underdark; the Illithid, the Eye-tyrants, the Duergar, the Aboleth and of course, the most infamous of all the dwellers in the dark, the Drow. These races vie with each other for dominance in wars the surface peoples will never know of. Houses of Drow are born and exterminated, cities of Duergar are forged and broken, cabals of Eye-tyrants gather and are destroyed, and yet few surface scholars will ever even hear the names of these lost houses, cities or cabals let alone know their stories. These ‘civilized’ races of the Underdark are not alone; ravenous carrion crawlers, slithering deep dragons, hungry hook-horrors, furred Quaggoths, sightless Grimlocks, incomprehensible cloakers, and all manner of the living dead make their home in the places of the world where the sun will never shine. The creatures of the Underdark are the stuff of nightmares, figuratively and literally.
All is not evil in the Underdark, however. Even in a world of darkness, there is light. Like the lichen that softly illuminates some caverns, there are a few in the Underdark that seek to do justice rather than impose tyranny. One such enclave of light is the Promenade of Eilistraee. It sits near the city of Skullport in the upper layers of the North Underdark, a beacon of hope standing in stark contrast to that pit of hopelessness, the Port of Shadows.
In the Promenade one can find a cadre of drow; though dark, beautiful and deadly like the rest of their kin, they are not evil. They are the followers of Eilistraee, the Dark Maiden. Their mortal leader is Qilue Veladorn, High Priestess of the Dark Maiden, Chosen of Eilistraee and Mystra, and the most enigmatic of all the members of that most enigmatic group, the Seven Sisters. Here then is a light for the drow of the Underdark; a light holding hope of redemption, salvation, and freedom. The cadre of drow in the Promenade call themselves ‘the Chosen of Eilistraee’ or more often just ‘the Chosen.’ They are not great in number, but they are steadfast in resolve. Their decades long stand against the forces of evil arrayed against them gives testament to the power the drow race might achieve if its people were united in common cause rather than divided by the chaotic whims of a mad goddess or god.
Many of the Chosen, like Qilue, were born into societies free of the Spider Queen’s influence. Other members of the Chosen were raised in the traditional manner under the whips of Lolth’s priestesses. Indeed, at least one member of the Chosen was not only raised under the lash of Lolth’s clergy, she used to wield that lash.
That woman was Sheyreza Auvyrndar. Sheyreza was a native of Ched Nasad, the City of Shimmering Webs. She had been born into the House of Auvryndar, or Qu’ellar Auvryndar as the drow would say. Her mother was Matron Shyntlara, which made Sheyreza a princess of the Qu’ellar. Like all such noble born daughters, she was expected to become a priestess of Lolth. Sheyreiza followed that path but along the way secretly stepped off of it; she became a heretic priestess of the Revenancer, also called Kiaransalee. Sheyreza’s heresy was discovered and she was forced to flee her homeland.
Though she never returned to Ched Nasad, Sheyreza did return to Lolth. In the depths of Skullport, Sheyreza found the Spider Queen again and began a new life as Elvaelayl Tlabbar. It was Elvaelayl’s appearance she now wore and had worn for years. The real Elvaelayl did not need it; she was long since dead, her mortal remains burned at Lolth’s altar by Sheyreza. Sheyreza’s old form was all but lost now. She did not even remember what she had looked like. Physically, she was Elvaelayl Tlabbar now. She was tall for a dark elf, and extraordinarily beautiful among a race known for its beauty. Though slender, her breasts were full and round. Her hair was long and white, while her skin was the deep indigo-black common to the drow. Sheyreza had Elvaelayl to thank for the exceptional looks; Elvaelayl had come from Qu’ellar Faen Tlabbar in Menzoberranzan, a house known for the beauty and wantonness of its daughters. Sheyreza’s form was lost, and Elvaelayl’s was all that remained. Well, almost. There was the eye and the tattooing.
One of Sheyreza’s eyes was ruby red, the most common eye color amongst the drow. As with many of her kind, Sheyreza’s natural eye color tended to shift depending on mood. Her red orb could flare brightly like an open flame or smoulder with a deep intensity akin to a forgotten ember. Her left eye, however, was not red, nor was it even natural. Sheyreza had lost her left eye in battle on the surface. The lost eye was replaced with a star sapphire taken from some nameless abyssal pit and then shaped and polished into a perfect orb for her eye socket. It was enchanted, naturally, and Sheyreza could see through the sapphire just as well as she could see through her other eye.
Though her eye was indeed a rarity, it was usually her tattooing people noticed first. Across her skin were drawn stylized webs and spiders. The inked webs wrapped around her body and limbs not unlike the shawl that lay wrapped around her shoulders. Close examination by a trained eye would see the stylization of the webs was not an artistic artifice, but a representative one: the webbing of these tattoos was drawn to look like the calcified webbing upon which the city of Ched Nasad was built. These tattoos had been added after Sheyreza had taken Elvaelayl’s form, and were an homage to Sheyreza’s homeland. Though exiled, Sheyreza always thought of Ched Nasad as “home.”
At the moment she was in another home, however. The cycle’s reverie was ending and Sheyreza was reclining on a velvet upholstered divan in the clerical dormitories of the Promenade. Her red and blue eyes were not quite closed, but they were not entirely open either. As her reverie passed Sheyreza’s eyes opened completely and she looked about her room. Nothing seemed out of place. The room was long and narrow. At one end was a door to the dormitory hallway. At the other end was a divan upon which she took her reverie. In between, along the walls, were various dressers, chests and armoires containing Sheyreza’s things. A delicate shoulder-height folding screen separated one part of the room from the rest.
She stood and let the wisp of silk she had draped over her shoulders fall to the floor. She wore only an adamantine belly chain, resting lightly on her hips. The black links of the chain were almost invisible against her dark skin. A keen eye might see the chain, but even the keenest elven eye would not see the runes engraved on each link of that enchanted chain. Not without a very close examination anyway, and Sheyreiza had not let anyone get that close to her in a long time.
Silently, she began to dress. First came her boots. They were tall, riding up to her thighs. The blue dyed leather was glossy but supple, and tightly hugged the curves of her legs. Next she slipped on her fingerless, elbow length silk gloves. These were also blue and matched her boots. More delicate looking silk garments followed. The silk was not as fragile as it might seem, however; all the silk garments she wore were woven of spider’s silk. They were exceptionally strong, though just as soft and slick as silk purchased on the surface of the world. Here, amongst the drow, such materials were often used under armor to protect the wearer from chafing. Such was Sheyreza’s purpose with these garments.
Over her boots and silks she began to place pieces of armor. First, she laced greaves around the shin’s of her boots with long blue ribbons of spider silk. Matching vambraces were placed on her forearms. Again, these were fixed with long spider silk ribbons tied in delicate looking bows. Breastplate, shoulder plates and other pieces followed until she was armored from shoulder to toe. All of the armor pieces were made of mithral and lacquered blue and black. The mithral plates were engraved with the constellations of Faerun’s night sky. Hymnals to the dark maiden were engraved in Espruar along the edges of those plates. Intertwining the Espruar runes were engravings of thorny rose vines and the occasional rose bud. In the middle of the breast plate was singular design; a sword, entwined with a thorny vine from which tiny rose buds sprouted, standing on its point before a full moon. The rose, vine, sword and moon motif was Sheyreiza’s personal heraldry, derived from a combination of Eilistraee’s symbol and Sheyreiza’s legacy; here in Skullport, in the life she now led, she was known as L’olath’anon, the Dark Flower.
The woman called Dark Flower continued her preparations. She secured a pouch at her hip with a sash, and into the sash she folded numerous small potion vials. Over her shoulder and back she slung a quiver of arrows, and another at her hip by the pouch. She placed her long, gracefully curved bow into a leather sheathe, open at both ends, and that too she wore on her back. She tested the sheath. Reaching back with her left hand, she thumbed the leather thong that held the bow in the sheath off its catch. She drew the bow out and brought it around. Then she returned it to the sheath and reaffixed the leather thong.
Next she picked up a long, segmented claw-shield and slipped her left arm into it. Normally such a shield might weigh twenty pounds, but this one was mithral and was thus much lighter. Like her armor, it was engraved with elven runes and Sheyreza’s rose, vine, sword and moon motif. Though clearly marked as an Eilistraeean item, the claw-shield reminded Sheyreza of her days as a Yathrin d’Lolth. In the Port of Shadows, the Chosen of Eilistraee typically used traditional shields while the Lolthians protected themselves with the more malevolent, aggressive appearing claw-shields. Sheyreza liked the claw-shield for its functionality; she could grip things with her off hand if need be. Not well enough to wield another weapon, but better than if she had used a more traditional shield. It would, for instance, allow her to grip the scabbard of her sword while it hung from her side. It was to her sword she now turned.
From its stand, she picked up a long, heavy weapon sheathed in a black-lacquered wood scabbard. L’Jusron d'lil Olath 'anon. The Wrath of the Dark Flower. From the scabbard she drew the dark, double edged adamantine-alloy blade. Along its length, starting near the tip, was ribbon of engraving; a thorny vine from which sprouted tiny rose buds. The engraved vine ran to the cross-guard, which was in turn fashioned to resemble a fan of rose petals amidst thorns. The long grip, large enough for two hands, led to a pommel created to resemble the moon. She smiled just slightly as she looked down the length of the bastard sword. It was so like the Elven peoples to create a thing of unparalleled beauty for the the ugliest task imaginable; killing other people. She sheathed the sword and slid the scabbard in between the wraps of the sash at her waist.
A mithral helmet matching her armor lay beside the sword stand. Unlike most helmets, this one did not interfere with its wearer’s senses; along its sides were carefully formed wings that amplified sound. It was a clever creation to say the least. As always, she would have to do her hair before she wore it though.
Her boots made little noise as she walked to her full length mirror. Slowly, carefully, she braided a few lengths of her hair near her face and tied them behind her head at the base of her skull. This would keep most of her hair out of her face in combat, and still allow her to wear the helmet as comfortably as such a thing could be worn. When she was done she tilted her head back and forth a bit testing her braids.
Pausing, she stared into the mirror a moment and took in what she saw: an elven woman, a drow stared back at her; a red eye, and a blue eye; a beautiful face, framed in white; black and blue mithral armor forged by dwarves and enchanted by elves; a mithral claw-shield that looked more like a weapon than protection; a recurved elven bow; feathers of enchanted arrows peeking over her shoulder; feathers of poisoned ones showing at her hip; the hilt of a long sword jutting from her waist, the scabbard and weapon thrust through her sash.
It occurred to Sheyreza that she was not so different than that sword; she was something beautiful designed for something ugly. Like the sword, it seemed to be Sheyreza’s destiny to kill.
How had it turned out this way? It was not what she had intended. Indeed, such a fate was exactly what she had been working against for so long.
All good intentions aside however, she would likely kill soon, or be killed; or most likely, both.
***
A year earlier Sheyreza had come to the Promenade from the North. She came not to kill, but to bring life to the dead. She had traveled from Lonelywood to Neverwinter, and from there to Waterdeep and Skullport all to bring the remains of a young woman named Sadei to Eilistraee’s High Priestess, Qilue Veladorn. Sadei was a faithful, energetic but inexperienced follower of the Dark Maiden who had sought to bring Eilistraee’s song to the folk of Neverwinter. Sadly the folk of Neverwinter turned a deaf ear to that song. Sadei was arrested and sentenced to death by a human paladin of some human godling named Tyr. Sadei was then brought before a second follower of Tyr, this one a gnome cleric, and he too decided she should die for the simple crime of being drow. Finally, Sadei was presented to the Master of Neverwinter himself, Lord Nasher. This Lord followed the path of his subordinates, and though Sadei had committed no crime, save for being drow, her death was ordered. The shortsighted, murderous Tyrrans wasted little time in carrying out the sentence.
Some months later, Sheyreza learned of Sadei’s death. Though Sheyreza had never met Sadei, she felt some kinship with the slain woman. Sheyreza also felt great anger and disappointment in the barbaric humans and their godling. Sadei was not their enemy; indeed, only through the work of people like Sadei would the drow race ever be brought back into the light and made an ally, not an enemy, of the surface world. In killing Sadei simply because she was drow, the Tyrrans of Neverwinter had helped ensure that the bulk of the drow race forever remained their enemy.
Sheyreza had written to the Lord of Neverwinter. Though sorely tempted to address the iblith in tones that would reflect her disgust with his race and religion, she found restraint in the pen that she rarely found in her tongue. To begin with, she did not use the term iblith. Iblith is the drow word for excrement, waste, offal and non-elves. During her years in Lonelywood, Sheyreza repeatedly tried to stop thinking of the non-elven races in those terms, but when angered, she found she could not help it. She often wondered if her feelings were really so bad. Even the surface elves referred to non-elves as N’Tel’Quessir, or “not-people.”
Despite her anger she restrained herself. She was, at in a letter, capable of great diplomacy. As a result, under the cover of darkness, the Tyrrans quietly turned over the remains of Sadei. Sheyreza took the remains and returned to Lonelywood. Her intention was to see Sadei’s remains interred in the one real temple of Eilistraee she had ever heard about; the Promenade of Eilistraee. The Promenade was near Skullport, however, and that meant she would have to pass through Waterdeep. Sheyreza decided to wait and arrange safe passage through that city with Arizt’el, her half-drow friend and fellow Eilistraee worshipper.
Unfortunately, before such passage could be arranged, Jain’n and Sheyreza fought over the newcomer and Lonelywood’s pact with the Black Archer. Sheyreza was expelled from the woods. Suddenly, Sheyreza found herself without a home, but with a mission; to return Sadei’s remains to the Promenade. She had no time now to arrange safe passage, so Sheyreza had simply headed south and done her best to keep a low profile.
Sheyreza despised Waterdeep. Though Sheyreza could see it was a mighty city in terms of its population and its diversity, it was still little more than a collection of hovels inhabited by ignorant and largely hostile iblith. It could not compare in grandeur or sophistication to her homeland, Ched Nasad, the City of Shimmering Webs. Ched Nasad had been built on layers of calcified webbing said to have been spun by Lolth herself. Layer after layer of city sat atop each other in a great v-shaped rent in the underdark, miles below the surface. Enormous, ensorcelled castles seemed to float on webbing above bazaars, massage parlors, drinking pits, torture dens and poison breweries. When standing in Ched Nasad, the city was not just to your left and right, fore and aft, it was above you and below you as well. Everywhere faerie fire outlined shop signs, waymarkers, Qu’ellar walls, academy gates and staircases. It was a magical, wondrous, and wholly unsurpassed paradise for the dark fey. Waterdeep was a cesspit in comparison. Granted, it was a very, very large cesspit, but it was a cesspit none the less.
She wasted no time in finding her way down to Skullport. Years earlier, when she had been a denizen of the Port of Shadows, she had known the routes to the surface only too well. She had scouted them out for slaving raids. Upon her return she found that some of the faces had changed, but the sea caves were still there and they were still running travelers down to the Port. From the Port Sheyreza simply struck out into the Underdark She had heard the Promenade lay to the north east of the city, so she simply walked that direction. It did not take her long to find it.
The Promenade was not at all what she expected. Drow strongholds are usually either hidden completely, being a warren of narrow, easily defended passages that connect to main thoroughfares only through secret doors, or seeming impenetrable castles bristling with deadly house glyphs, shriekers, slave warriors and other guardians. The Promenade was neither. It was simply an open cavern, filled with the ruins of an old city. Sheyreza passed through no gate, no wall, no secret doors, no maze, and no defenses of any kind. The first Eilistraeen she encountered was child playing in the ruins. The child took little notice of her, but Sheyreza could not stop staring at the boy. She had never seen such a thing; a drow child playing freely in the underdark without guard or ward nearby. He played carelessly like an iblith child of Waterdeep. No, not carelessly, childishly. Not far off was a great statue of the Dark Maiden herself. At its feet was a dancer, a drow female of great beauty, nearly naked, dancing before the image of her goddess. Sheyreza’s eyes began to take in the whole of the cavern. Here and there, drow moved to and fro carrying on the daily activities of life. Most of the city was in ruin, but some of the structures had been renovated and it was clear they were occupied. This was not simply a temple, this was an entire village.
Sheyreza was stunned. In her whole life she had encountered no more than six drow followers of the Maiden, including herself. From where she stood in the cavern, she could see dozens. Ahead of her, behind the great statue of the goddess, was a ridge. A line of armored and armed drow warriors stood across the ridge. At their center was a great stone building; the temple itself.
There Sheyreza had met Qilue Veladorn, Iljrene, Ithlyn of the Five Fingers and many others of the Chosen. Sheyreza had wept when she saw the inside of the temple. Though a priestess of the Dark Maiden’s for more than five years, never had she seen an actual temple to her own goddess.
The Chosen had welcomed Sheyreza with open arms. Sheyreza confessed to them the sins of her previous life. She found that her former name, her former life, was not unknown to them. Qilue, Iljrene and Ithyln all remembered the evil Sheyreza had perpetrated as Elvaelayl Tlabbar. There was no condemnation now, however, no judgment. Sheyreza was not called to answer for what the Chosen must surely have viewed as crimes. Sheyreza was astonished. She knew it was Eilistraeen dogma to convert the followers of Lolth and give mercy wherever possible, but dogma often does not survive reality. Here, it seemed, dogma was reality. In short time, Sheyreza was no longer being welcomed by the Chosen, she was one of them.
Though the Dark Ladies, as the priestesses were known, were many, Sheyreiza was among the most experienced. Only Iljrene and Qilue herself exceeded Sheyreza’s knowledge of the divine arts. As a result, Sheyreza soon found herself leading patrols in the underdark around the Temple. These frequent patrols were the source of the temple’s name: the denizens of the Port had noticed the patrolling Eilistraeens and derogatorily referred to those patrols as “promenades.” The Chosen found themselves using the term to refer to the area of caverns, structures and passages they were forcibly occupying, and the name stuck.
Arizt’el Varillo, the half-drow, half-elf swordswoman Sheyreza had met in the north, came to the Promenade not long after Sheyreza had arrived. Both settled into the enclave and made a home there. Sheyreza lived in the clerical dormitories while Arizt’el moved into a private house with her daughter, Kestal. They patrolled together, both in the caverns outside the Promenade, and in Skullport itself.
The Port had not changed much. Indeed, the charred ruins of the Illithid warehouse Sheyreza and her patrol had barely escaped from still lay just outside the door to the Burning Troll. Malakuth still ran his Vhaerun worshipping “Daggers.” The Lolthian high priestess Kesra returned after a long absence, and ruled the Tanor’thal enclave once again. Amryyr the wizard still worked the streets, markets and back rooms of the Port. At the bottom the faces had changed somewhat. Sheyreza’s role had been taken over by Szintala D’Phasma, a priestess from Menzoberranzan who served as the Tanor’thal’s eyes and ears in the Port proper. For awhile Szintala had been accompanied by a noble male D’Phasma, called Lareth and a commoner male named Numenor Fen. Sheyreza had not seen Lareth in months, however, and presumed him dead. Numenor had come under the sway of the Chosen and of a woman, Laele Xiith. Laele’s hold on Numenor had proven the stronger of the two influences and she led Numenor and herself to their deaths at the hand of Szintala.
Laele Xiith was of the Xiith family, formerly Qu’ellar Xiith of Menzoberranzan. The Xiith were, so far as Sheyreza could discern, Vhaerunites. They were led by a male, a wizard, named Tazzen Xiith. The other Xiith included Aglin, Dorgazz, Jyslin and Gryndal. Aglin was a taciturn, lecherous warrior who was Tazzen’s brother. Prone to licking his lips and leering, Sheyreza had initially held out hope that Aglin could be brought around to Eilistraee. Szintala’s killing of Laele ended that. Laele, who had been flirting with the Eilsitraeen compound and way of life, had been the only thing really drawing Aglin to the Promenade. Once she was dead, Aglin was rarely seen. When it became clear the Promenade would not avenge Laele immediately, Aglin turned his back on the Eilistraeens altogether. Dorgazz was another male whose tale was much shorter. He met an early end in the Port and passed from this world to the Demonweb largely unlamented. Jyslin, was Tazzen’s older sister and a priestess of the Masked Lord. Her faith was in crisis when Sheyreza met her, however. Tazzen was openly, even brazenly, ruling his little clan. Indeed, Tazzen had introduced Jyslin as his “older sister” and at the same time made it quite clear he was the one in command. Jyslin eventually fled the rest of the Xiith for the Promenade, where she became emotionally involved with Arizt’el.
Gryndal was the last of the Xiith Sheyreza met in that first year. He was more personable than Aglin, more memorable that Dorgaz, more rational than Laele and more stable than Jyslin. Only Tazzen seemed to hold the same kind of potential that Gryndal did. With Tazzen though, all that potential was warped and twisted into a love of wealth and secrecy. Gryndal, though drow by birth, had not yet been tainted like Tazzen had. Perhaps because he was younger, perhaps because by the time he was being raised his parents had moved even further from the mainstream of drow society. Regardless of the reason, Sheyreza saw more useful potential in Gryndal than in the other Xiith combined.
Gryndal had come to the Promenade with Laele, Numenor and Jyslin. His faith in Vhaerun had never been strong, or so it seemed. When he came with the others, he appeared to be looking for meaning, for a purpose, for a home. The Promenade offered him all of those. Gryndal was reluctant at first, but just as fate conspired to take Laele and Numenor away from the Chosen, fate conspired to bring Gryndal into the Chosen’s bosom.
While traveling through Skullport, Gryndal had been kidnapped. His abductors tortured him mercilessly. They cut off his ears and his nose and inflicted as much pain upon him as their skills would allow. Through it all, Gryndal focused on one thing: Sheyreza. He had heard some of her story; he knew she had been a priestess of Lolth, he knew she had been to the surface and had been captured by elves and dwarves, he knew she had her children taken from her and he knew something of the pain she had suffered to come to Eilistraee. As his abductors tortured him, Gryndal focused on Sheyreza’s pain. If she could survive, he could survive. If she could take it, he could. If she did not give up, he would not give up.
Ironically, Gryndal had no way of knowing that Sheyreza had never been tortured like he was being tortured. While she had suffered many indignities and much loss, never had a captor subjected her to the kind of truly horrid suffering Gryndal went through.
Despite his wounds, Gryndal escaped with the help of Altonyr, a surface elf from the human city of Neverwinter. Altonyr was a young, fiery warrior and ranger from the north. He had been sent to the Promenade to offer what assistance he could give by his mentor. Though he complied with his master’s wishes, Altonyr did not fully understand them. Why the Promenade? Why would the forces of Neverwinter send help to the drow of Skullport, even if they were Eilistraee worshippers? Hearing Sheyreza’s tale of Sadei and her shameful death in Neverwinter shed some light on one possible motivation, but there was no easy way to confirm the theory.
With Altonyr’s help, Gryndal had made it back to the Promenade. Qilue healed him of his physical wounds, but nothing could help the wounds to his soul. Gryndal was made of stout stuff, however. Instead of descending into selfish hatred as Aglin had done when Laele died, Gryndal saw his calling and his purpose; he would serve Eilistraee.
His newfound faith could not have come at a better time for the Promenade. Enemies abounded. A patrol of Protectors, the Promenade’s defense force, led by Arizt’el was attacked by slimes and oozes dropping from a cavern ceiling. Four were killed, though Arizt’el survived. That attack heralded the beginning of what had developed into a state of siege at the Promenade. Steamfall pass, the passage which linked the enclave to the Port of Shadows, was now constantly littered with deadly traps and sharp caltrops. At least three times in the past six months humans, orcs, half-bloods and other iblith had attacked the forces of the Chosen. It was unclear who was behind the traps and the iblith attacks, but there was no doubt who was behind the oozes; Ghaunadaur, the Slimelord, the ancient evil who had plagued drow-kind since Araushnee was banished from Arvandor.
Once, long ago, the Cavern of Song in the Promenade of Eilistraee had been the site of Ghaunadaur worship. Qilue Veladorn, as a child, imbued with the radiance of her goddess, destroyed Ghaunadaur’s followers in the cavern. Despite the great victory, neither she nor her followers were ever able to truly rid the site of Ghaunadaur’s presence. Now, it seemed, the Slimelord wanted his cavern back.
Sheyreza, along with Arizt’el and Gryndal, stepped up their patrolling. Sheyreza had even accompanied the Xiith, led by Tazzen, into the sewers on one of their excusions just so she could get a better look at where the Slimelord was likely gathering his power. She had not been disappointed; a large black pudding had been found infront of a collapsed section of tunnel. Through the fallen stone and rock, more black goo oozed. Sheyreza could not be certain, but she felt that behind the collapsed tunnel lay an enormous ooze, quite possibly the source of the Slimelord’s growing infestation.
Something else had caught Sheyreza’s attention on that trip, however, or rather, someone else. Moilir, the duergar warrior, had returned to the Port. As before, he was playing the part of a mercenary, selling his double-axe to which ever drow paid the most, or, even more likely, to all of them at once. Moilir had been a part of Sheyreza’s entourage when she had been here years before. He was the one who had chopped an escape hole through the wall of the Illithid’s warehouse as the Skulls brought tried to bring the place down in flames. During the sewer excursion, Sheyreza kept a close eye on the stout gray-dwarf. He was still a formidable fighter, capable of dealing and withstanding incredible punishment. Despite being more than a match for any of the Xiith, Moilir played the role of a proper servant, even going so far as to scold another Duergar mercenary for speaking out of line.
It was a clever ruse and Moilir played the part well. Sheyreza admired him, both for his toughness and his ability to play head-games her people. Such social subtly was usually lost on dwarves, even duergar, and certainly she had never seen it combined with such raw physical power. Sheyreza smiled as she watched Moilir alternate between killing goblins and playing the Xiith. She just hoped she would not have to kill him someday. It would be a shame to lose someone so interesting and capable.
Her nostalgia at her reunion with Moilir was forgotten shortly. Inthara Despana, better known as Butterfly, had come to the Port. Sheyreza was overjoyed. She did not realize how much she had missed her Butterfly. Sheyreza was on a mission with Gryndal when they encountered Inthara wandering around the underdark near Steamfall pass looking for the Promenade. When they took her to the temple, Inthara wept with joy.
Inthara fell into life at the Promenade as easily as a Butterfly might land upon a flower. Sheyreza’s joy at seeing an old friend would not last long.
Shortly after Inthara arrived, Arizt’el Varillo failed to return from one of her trips to the surface. Cycle after cycle went by without word. Sheyreza began to look for Arizt’el and make inquiries. She also began to visit Arizt’el’s daughter, Kestal, when she could. Kestal was mute, so Sheyreza did her best to teach the girl the drow sign language. The girl was worried, though, and justifiably so.
Sheyreiza asked Qilue to cast a sending to Arizt’el and Qilue did. There was no reply. Qilue tried scrying, but she could see nothing. Then Inthara had a vision of Arizt’el’s fate, and no worse fate could be imagined by one of the Chosen. Arizt’el it seemed, had fallen to evil drow and had been sacrificed to their foul goddess or god.
Sheyreza set about doing all that she could to find Arizt’el, dead or alive. It took more than a month, but eventually Sheyreza discovered that Arizt’el had, in fact, fallen to drow; and she had fallen in Undermountain.
Undermountain. The most famous labyrinth of death in all the realms. Halaster’s playground. Layer after layer of ever-shifting dungeon filled with every imaginable creature the Mad Wizard could find.
Sheyreza did not want to go in there. She had been into Undermountain, three times in all. Never had she tread very deeply. She did not want to. It was a foul place, a wrong place, a place where reason and rule did not apply. Sheyreza came from a society of chaos and evil, but it was a chaos and evil that she understood and more importantly, it was a chaos and evil weighted in favor of the drow. In Undermountain, the only person above the chaos and evil was Halaster himself.
Still, Arizt’el was her friend and her sister-in-arms. She could not simply let her go without a fight. Outside, the others would gather soon, or at least Sheyreza hoped they would. She had sent many messages and messengers to the surface; some mundane, some magical. Only one of Arizt’el’s surface-living allies had responded, an elf woman named Ilyanna. She was dead within a ten-day of walking into the port, killed by a dire spider just a few yards from the Promenade. Inthara had fallen as well, but Qilue and Sheyreza had managed to bring her back.
Sheyreza’s hopes now lay pinned on the other surface allies Arizt’el had accumulated over the years, primarily some human ‘commander’ named Gaeden and Arizt’el’s elven lover, Azune. Though more than two months had passed since Arizt’el fell and Sheyreza had begun looking for her, Sheyreza had not been able to make significant contact with either of them. She needed them, however. Without them, the force of volunteers from the Chosen she had gathered would not likely be able to cross the iblith city of Waterdeep unhindered. Just as importantly, her force of volunteers was simply not up to the task. Inthara had not really recovered from the battle with the dire spider, Gryndal was still relatively inexperienced, and their ally Ilyanna was dead. They needed more capable warriors, spellcasters and scouts. Without more aid, it would not matter if the Lords of Waterdeep themselves guided the volunteers across the city to the Yawning Portal; they would just be guiding the volunteers to their death.
Soon, those that had gathered would make last ready their gear, say their prayers, and do whatever it is they felt needed to be done in their last hours here. None of the Chosen held any illusions about Undermountain. It was quite possible they would lose even more lives in their effort to retrieve a dead person.
Why do it then?
Sheyreza looked at her image in the mirror.
Why stick your head in the dragon’s mouth? Why risk the living for the dead?
The answer was in her eyes. She knew it. It was a part of her. The answer was as simple as it was true.
Because it is the right thing to do.
Arizt’el was a friend, a sister-in-arms and faithful follower of Eilistraee. Just as Sheyreza had risked death traveling to Neverwinter to retrieve Sadei’s remains, so to would she brave undermountain to retrieve Arizt’el’s. Another thought came, unbidden into her mind.
You are lying to yourself.
The thought stunned Sheyreza.
You are going because you would want others to go if you had fallen.
She blinked. It was true.
It is no different than why you do not despoil bodies and why you treat the dead with dignity, even your enemies. You do not wish your own body despoiled, your own dignity sundered. You know what that is like, don’t you?
Sheyreza swallowed hard and realized she was sweating. It was all true. Much of what she did, she did because she hoped that if something bad happened to her, someone else would come to her aid, or at least not mistreat her remains. She looked away from the mirror, down to the dresser. She could not stand her own gaze.
A doll looked back at her. A child’s toy, made of bright cloth, with yarn for hair. Sheyreza smiled slightly. She remembered buying the doll for Kestal. She hoped it would give the child some small comfort while she waited for her mother to return. Sheyreza felt her jaw clench at the thought and her eyes burned and teared. Why did Kestal have to suffer so much pain? Why did she have to wait in a cold house which no sun would ever warm for a mother who would likely never come back.? In what world was this fair?
But then, what world was fair? Was that not a central teaching of Lolth? Life is not fair. Even the ignorant iblith knew this. Life is not fair.
But we can try and make it fair.
She looked back into the mirror.
The world that is fair is the one we make for ourselves.
A tear streamed from Sheyreza’s eye and her jaw trembled as she clenched her teeth shut. She held her own gaze.
Selfish reasons or not, it is still the right thing to do.
Sheyreza scooped up the doll with one hand, and grabbed her helmet with the other. It was time to go. It was time to live up to all the fancy words, all the dogma, and all the preaching. It was time to do something right.
At the door she paused and looked at the doll. She had meant to give it to Kestal before she left but a thought came to her.
If I give her the doll, will Kestal then wait for me? And if I do not return, shall I break her heart too? How many of us must Kestal come to love and lose before we think of her, not ourselves?
Sheyreza put the doll back on the dresser. She would give it to the girl when she got back, and if Sheyreza never got back, then while Kestal would never get the doll, at least she would be spared one more heartbreak.
The Dark Flower, Book II - Chapter 1
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Mikayla
- Valsharess of ALFA
- Posts: 3707
- Joined: Sat Jan 03, 2004 5:37 pm
- Location: Qu'ellar Faen Tlabbar, Noble Room 7, Menzoberranzan, NorthUnderdark
The Dark Flower, Book II - Chapter 1
ALFA1-NWN1: Sheyreiza Valakahsa
NWN2: Layla (aka Aliyah, Amira, Snake and others) and Vellya
NWN1-WD: Shein'n Valakasha
NWN2: Layla (aka Aliyah, Amira, Snake and others) and Vellya
NWN1-WD: Shein'n Valakasha
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Sandermann
- Rust Monster
- Posts: 1228
- Joined: Sun Jul 18, 2004 3:01 pm
- Location: Richmond, North Yorkshire
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Killthorne
- Orc Champion
- Posts: 422
- Joined: Tue Jan 06, 2004 6:22 am
- Location: Saint Cloud, Minnesota
