The High Forest
(3rd of Alturiak, 1380 Dalereckoning)
The wizard in Ormat’s service hadn’t been able to determine the exact spot in which she intended, so she’d simply imparted its image in his mind. When she stepped through the shimmering barrier, crossing a distance of several nations, far beyond the capability of her dimensional door, Vala had briefly wondered if she would end up inside a wall or turned inside out by magical displacement.
Thankfully, she found herself quite intact, staring dimly up at a forest canopy, about two bowshots from the cave she’d shared with Alirana Srune’Lett, the former Priestess of Lloth responsible for her mother’s death, now a redeemed agent of the deceased Eilistraee.
Her father, unwilling to accompany her, had remained in Memnon, the better to safeguard her husband. And fight off Ormat’s flirtations. Battling a persistent smile provoked by the thought, Vala turned north-west, remembering the path from the cave to the outpost that had been attacked, and hopefully later rebuilt. Her feet were bare, save for golden rings on each of her big toes that provided the effect of her psionic fields. A gift from Ormat as an apology for her rough treatment. One of several.
She wore another of his gifts as well, a much finer set of dancer’s regalia, a light shade of aqua with accents of indigo and gold, wrought of thin, finely spun silk and genuine gold thread. While she was uncomfortable showing so much skin, as the leggings were cut in such a manner that only a thin undergarment covered her modesty, held up by a knotted waist wrap and synch, he’d also paid to provide her with a near replica of a Drow piwafwi, a special hooded cloak that shimmered in the light, designed to disguise a person’s heat signature or even stop a bolt from a Drow hand crossbow.
It would serve if she was feeling shy.
Her earrings, lapis lazuli cabochons, were enchanted to deflect certain hostile spells. A pair of bangles were likewise enchanted to deflect scrying attempts other than those cast by Adir, Ormat, or another of their choosing.
Those, along with her powers, would serve if things didn’t go well.
For over an hour she followed the trail, adrift in her memories. While they had shunned her after she’d attacked Alirana in a blind rage, the Dark Promenade was where she’d been born, or at least, reborn. They had rescued her from the wilds. They had brought her back from the suffocating darkness that was Nobody. She owed them her life...and it made her wish she could have parted under better circumstances.
Then again, she would never had left. Never have found Adir and forsaken Nobody completely. Never would have been reunited with her father.
She would have fought against the agents of Ghaunadaur and Lloth. She might have protected Qilué and saved her, and thus, Eilistraee. Or she might have died in battle.
Fate was a curious thing...
Soon she felt as if eyes were upon her. She knew to trust her instincts.
Nonetheless, Vala continued unerringly towards the outpost, making no effort to conceal her footsteps. She did draw her piwafwi closer about her, indeed feeling uncomfortable in presenting herself to her former peers. They were not likely to understand the choices she had made, or those that had been made for her.
Sighing, Vala kept her eyes forward, even when she heard someone creep closer. Another would not have noticed, so subtly did they time their footsteps with hers, all the while keeping pace. Another might have failed to approach under such conditions without disturbing the thicker bunches of wild grass, still laced with morning dew.
Her Underdark experiences had to count for something.
She stopped, turned directly towards them, and crossed her arms, adopting a look of supreme disinterest at the sight of a startled Half-Elf male. His pale skin and dark eyes marked him as part Moon Elf. He recovered quickly, retreating with his rapier and blowing a long, clean note with a hunting horn in his other hand.
She let him do it. She didn’t even move towards him or manifest a power, allowing him to take a more advantageous position. His brow crinkled in confusion, but his eyes narrowed dangerously.
Another horn echoed through the forest. Another. Fellow hunters, answering the call.
“Who are you?” he asked quietly but sternly, “Why are you here?”
For a moment she almost replied “Nobody.”
Instead, she smiled, “My name is Vala Oblodra Telth’zol. I was once an associate of the Dark Promenade. I have returned to seek counsel”.
He frowned, thoughtful, “They are gone from this place. But their emissary hunts with us from time to time. Hold out your hands and surrender any weapons”.
Vala did as he bade, opening her piwafwi. He blinked at her attire, but said nothing.
“No weapons?”
“I am the weapon.” she replied with a smirk, “I came here by portal. No risky travel, you see”.
The horns signaled again, much closer this time.
“Are you going to tell me your name?”
He blinked, but said nothing.
Vala inclined an eyebrow, hands on her hips.
“I do not know you, irinal. I will not surrender my name to an Dark Elf of uncertain but obvious magical ability.”
There was a rustling among the thick pines and oaks.
“First its iblith...” Vala mused, motioning to her extended lower canines, a sign of her orcish lineage, “Now irinal. Seems like everyone has a derogatory for me.”
Three more Moon Elves, these ones purebloods, took positions on lower hanging branches thick enough to support their weight, yew longbows nocked, arrow tips pointed directly at her. She made a note of meeting the eyes of each one.
It made it harder to shoot someone if you looked them in the eyes. Even her own people became nonplussed.
Another Elf approached from ground level, a Wood Elf.
But then Vala realized it was not a Wood Elf. Her skin was too dark, like oak bark. Her eyes were also an unnaturally dark shade of hazelnut. More importantly, her features were distinctly familiar. As was her Singing Sword, the signature weapon of a warrior of Eilistraee.
“Nezierre?” Vala asked, bewildered, naming the Darksong Knight initiate that had defended Alirana from her attack, then carried out her banishment.
The female seemed equally surprised to see her.
“What are you doing here, Vala?” she asked in richly accented Drowic, and it took a moment for her to remember the words to reply.
“What has-”
“What are you doing here?”
The Half-Drow paused, then, “I need to speak to Iljrene.”
“You will not be permitted to rejoin us after-”
“It’s not about that!” she snapped, her shock blunted by the woman’s continued hostility, “I need to know more about the history of the Drow, before The Descent. It’s important.”
Nezierre’s eyes clouded over, betraying her internal conflict, “Very well. Noah, bind her wrists.”
Vala looked sidelong at the Half-Elf, clear amusement on her face as he did as bade, restraining her with a thick cord.
“I remember your abilities.” she said calmly, but with audible menace, eyes narrowed, “If I see you trying to concentrate, I will assume you mean to use your powers over us and I will kill you. Do you understand?”
Vala shrugged.
“So be it. You will find your answers, or not. And then you will leave. Do I have your word?”
She nodded. This was no longer her home. Her place was far to the south...
He studied his surroundings, unsure exactly at what point he’d ceased to be in the endless hall of mirrors, and instead arrived...here.
It might have alarmed him that he stood before a great tower of iron amid a sand-blasted landscape pockmarked with stagnant pools and rivers, the skies a mix of glowing vermillion green and impenetrable oil black. The winged, cackling demons and cowering mortals being led in lines of shackles may also have been distressing...but not a single living thing amid the ruined hell before him seemed to even notice his presence.
“Dis.” Adir concluded, “Second layer of the hells and realm of Dispater.”
That wasn’t right. The only means to enter the lower regions of the hells was through Avernus, and that realm, well known to many mortals, himself included, did not in any way resemble his previous location. Had he uncovered some previously unheard of backdoor into the lower realms?
“The trial!” he exclaimed, his mind racing, “I would wager had I selected another mirror, I may indeed have found Shar’s Shadowfell. Or Arvandor. Or anywhere else.”
It made sense; the gem had been the focal point, and the effect had been the mirrors, the spell the book would allow him to cast. Each one was likely a gateway to another extraplanar realm.
But how did this comprise a test?
It was only now that Adir noticed the second pillar, directly behind him, the mirror he’d touched earlier.
Only now, there was no reflection. It could have been sculpted from hematite. A thin silvery cord connected them to each other. Passing a hand over the thread revealed it to be intangible.
Touching the pillar, anew flashed the light, and he was in that empty expanse once more.
“What opportunities I might find in instantaneous travel between any realm of my choosing...” he pondered, “With Vala’s abilities, I could steal anything in all the realms to use against Ahriman. An artifact of the divine. An item possessed of the nullification field common during the Time of Troubles. Or perhaps I could spill open the contents of one or another plane of the abyss right in the King’s bedchamber! The possibilities!”
His mirth was short lived; his smiled died when he considered his surroundings.
“Dark...” he cursed, looking to the jacinth shard. A crack marred its surface, small, but deeply pitted.
Quickly, as to test his theory, Adir returned to Dis by tapping the same mirror, and quickly transported himself back by repeating the gesture.
The crack had visibly grown in size.
“It isn’t merely the reagent.” Adir observed, “It’s a timepiece. I only have a set amount of astral jaunts before the reagent is lost.”
The results of failure were unclear; would he simply be trapped here until his body perished from dehydration, or would he be returned to his body?
He was in no mood to find out for himself; the trial had to be completed.
“But what must I do?” Adir asked himself, puzzled, “Is there a “correct” realm to choose? What is the solution?”
With nothing better to occupy him, and having become quite finished with their host’s incessant offers for drink and company, Netal sat opposite to the Faerie Elf who would rule their Great House.
“I wonder what she sees in you.” he wondered distantly, critically assessing Adir’s blank, unresponsive face. A skilled wizard, certainly. Possessed of reliable allies, possibly. But what allowed him to pacify his daughter so fully?
She was a half-blood, certainly. Born of slave stock. But she was a Psion, powerful, an Oblodra female in mind if not entirely in lineage. Her fortitude to survive alone in the wilds of the Underdark, and at such a young age, was unheard of. Even the Do’Urden renegade had been in his forties, trained for decades by Melee-Magthere and one of the best Weapon Masters Menzoberranzan had ever seen. Her sheer telepathic presence, for one so young, that had overwhelmed him, brushed aside his defenses without effort... Her Power was frightening, monstrous.
Unnatural.
“I can’t even imagine...” he mused, “Where she found this strength, nor how you seem to have separated her from it. She has the power to rule a restored House Oblodra, on the surface or in any other city controlled by our people...and you’ve made her into a lap lizard bellying-up to be stroked.”
Adir, enraptured by the subtleties of the Codex, offered no reply, wasn’t even aware of his presence.
"Perhaps it would be a service.” he thought to himself, ”If I killed you. Blame assassins and slip away in the confusion with my daughter when she returns."
They lacked resources, but with their powers they could steal as they pleased, make their own way. He would suffer her indignity for a time, but her sentimentality would shine through. And her pragmatism.
“Nothing for it now.” he decided, “I’ve cast my lot in with you unless I can manage a jaunt to Skullport, and I’d rather avoid becoming a foot soldier of Bregan D’aerthe if I can.”
This labor could bear fruit. They could make a great house on the surface to rival the Baenre. They could rule Almraiven, or Memnon, or wherever they planted their feet. With such a powerful Psion, anything was possible...
The trip was a short one. Nezierre had used a small but stable portal to travel from the village, now called Lunarglen, oddly, to the Dark Promenade. It had needed to be recalibrated to allot two. It took another hour, with Nezierre glaring at her all the while. Vala, unwilling and unable to wage a war of nerves, ignored it as best she could.
As she stepped through the rift, she immediately felt the staleness of the air, noted the lack of wind and birdsong, and intuited the oppressive weight of the sheer mass of stone between her and the surface that had become her realm.
She shivered, though it wasn’t cold.
Several more Dark Elves, each sharing the inexplicable new features as her escort, guarded the gate. Each one looked to her in surprise and suspicion, though she didn’t recognize any of them.
“You will go no further than this room.” Nezierre told her, “I will bring Iljrene, and she will do as she will. Then we will return to Lunarglen and you will be gone.”
Nodding, Vala waited patiently, as the Darksong Knight exchanged quiet words with her sisters, then exited through a narrow passageway.
Several minutes passed, the portal gone quiescent, with the guards eyeing her the entire time, and Vala considered taking a seat on the hard stone floor when Nezierre returned with three in tow.
The first was another female Dark Elf and clearly a Darksong Knight, for belted at her waist was another fabled Singing Sword. It took several moments for her to place the female, time for them to stand before her, waiting for her address.
“Lelliana Vrinn.” she finally stated, recalling a well respected member of the sisterhood and an occasional advisor to Qilué. They’d never spoken at length, but she remembered dancing with her in worship.
The second she knew immediately; though no shorter than Vala herself, her slight, child-like frame, so slender and possessed of such an innocent face and high pitched voice that most mistook her for a fledgling initiate. Most of them wound up with a series of painful welts as the resident Battlemistress masterfully dispatched them with the flat of her blade.
“Iljrene.” she said, inclining her head respectively.
The third, a Human female, stood among them, out of place but by no means apart. She wore a dark violet gown with a black velvet cloak, her nearly ageless face at odds with her ancient eyes. Never before had she seen the woman, but her appearance was distinctly familiar.
Vala smirked, “You are Laeral Silverhand, Lady Mage of Waterdeep and Chosen of Mystra.”
The woman blinked, surprised.
“My, my. Does my reputation proceed me?”
“I spoke to Alustriel. She said you might still be here.”
Laeral nodded, though she seemed at a loss, “True enough. Soon, we will select a new sanctuary for the Ssri-Tel’Quessir and I will part ways, but for now I will advise the Sisterhood as I am able.”
Each of them took in her garb with mixed response. She pulled her piwafwi a little tighter.
“It has been a long time, child...” Iljrene noted sadly, undoing the bindings on her wrists, “You did not part well from us, but it pleases me to see you well.”
Her eyebrow raised in a question.
“Well enough.” the Half-Drow said dismissively, “First of all, I need to know what has happened to you. All of you. Was this Eilistraee’s doing?”
Iljrene looked stricken, “Alustriel would have told you of Qilué... No, this is not the work of the chosen or the goddess. A male named Q’arlynd Melarn is responsible for resurrecting the Ssri-Tel’Quessir, the ancient race of primordial Dark Elves, through us. With his aid, and the sacrifice of Eilistraee, we continue to return to the surface in accordance with her wishes.”
She smiled, though there was an unbearable sadness there, “This place is not what it once was. Most that were not killed in the assault by Ghaunadaur have moved to our burgeoning surface villages. In time, we will make a capital city in the High Forest and begin our society above.”
Nodding, Vala eyed her skin, still a dusky grey, “Did this happen to everyone here?”
Iljrene nodded, “And many beyond. Only those of pure Miyeritar blood or those in worship to the goddess were changed. Sadly, it seems that House Oblodra was Ilythiiri in origin.
Her skin went gooseflesh.
“I am here to learn of Ilythiir.”
Iljrene stared blankly, so she briefly explained her journey beyond the Promenade, and the peculiar visions that had plagued her.
The blademistress’ eyes clouded over when Vala mentioned her “marriage” to Adir and her impending child, but a flash of recognition forced her from her consideration, “Yes. We know of Wendonai as well. It seems we have much to discuss.”
She glanced to her Human companion, “Laeral, perhaps you can explain it better than I. You were the one who spoke to Q’arlynd”.
The Chosen nodded, “First, we need to get comfortable. This could take a moment.”
She clapped her hands, and in a whoosh of displaced air, a small table and chairs suddenly occupied the portal chamber. She took her seat, back to the portal. Lelliana departed, saying she would check on “the twins”, earning a look of gratitude from Laeral.
Since she didn’t understand the reference, Vala simply sat, demurely with her hands in her lap, and waited politely.
“Q’arlynd Melarn and the reformed wizards of Sshamath were most helpful with providing insight into this largely forgotten period of time.” Laeral began, “This story begins with two cities founded by the Ssri-Tel’Quessir, named Ilythiir and Miyeritar. Miyeritar was conceived in -18000 DR in the areas later known as the High Moor and Misty Forest, center of elven art and high magic in Faerûn.”
Moonlight.
Visions of a city. A name.
Ilythiiri.
“It was also the rival of Aryvandaar, a prominent city founded by the Sun Elves, who tried to peacefully annex their neighbor into their realm. The repeated refusal of Miyeritar provoked an armed response, and thus was the beginning of the First Crown War, roughly thirteen thousand years ago.”
“A dark time for all the people.” Iljrene noted grimly, earning a nod from the human wizard.
“Ilythiir covered the part of Southern Faerûn where the areas later known as Shaar and Forest of Amtar lay. It was an ally of Miyeritar and also founded by Ssri-Tel’Quessir, and so, with their aid, Miyeritar and the Dark Elven nation thrived. Some Ilythiiri houses began to venerate Lloth in order to gain power, who was at that time known as Araushnee the Weaver. She offered them a vision of Ssri-Tel’Quessir prosperity, and eventually supremacy.”
“In roughly -11700 DR Ilythiir began the Second Crown War, presumably in retaliation for Aryvandaar’s attack on Miyeritar. It was about this time the Balor Lord Wendonai was sent by Lloth to seduce a high Ilythiiri clan into her service, and the church of Lolth began to rise in importance. None now know which house, exactly, or if its members endure to this day. Hopefully, they do not.”
Infected with Demonic Taint.
Wendonai.
Iljrene nodded, finishing the story with, “When Lloth betrayed Corellon Larethian and tried to invade the Seldarine, both cities were razed by their neighboring Sun and Wood Elves. And so our people were forced into the Underdark, followed by our lady Eilistraee, who chose exile that she could someday redeem us, and lead us back to the surface. ”
Her voice wavered, briefly, then, “It would seem she suceeded.”
The bloodline, lost to demonic corruption.
Stricken.
Betrayed.
Cast down into the darkness.
“Recently, Q’arlynd discovered that House Melarn, as well as several surviving houses today, were not of the Ilythiiri, the Dark Elves who were active in the Crown Wars, but rather of the Miyeritari, those who were wrongly forced to partake in The Descent.”
Visions of a male Elf with pale skin and kind eyes, and his darker skinned mate.
Ilythiiri. A Dark Elf of Ilythiiri blood.
Bound with Faerzress, the fire that they called at will from Underdark radiation.
"I think the high Ilythiiri clan that first sided with Lloth later became the Oblodra...” Vala replied suddenly, startling her, “Or at least one of its members split from that clan and formed the Oblodra.”
Descendant.
Benefactor?
“Her mate was...” Vala puzzled, clutching her head, suppressing the agonizing pulses of a migraine that came with this revelation.
Visions of a male Elf with pale skin and kind eyes, and his darker skinned mate.
“Was...”
She saw, but did not understand, as her hosts rose to their feet, alarmed. Blades were drawn.
Are you the one?
Vala.
Vala?
“Vala?” Iljrene asked, advancing a step around the table.
Vala.
Vala?
Are you the one?
“A Psion!” she gasped, everything falling into place, “A Moon Elf Psion! He’s the reason our people have one family, only one family, possessed of so many Psions. He passed the ability down through his bloodline. My bloodline!”
It felt like her head was splitting. One realization led to another.
“And he’s communicating with me.” she realized, “Maybe not directly. A power, manifesting through our shared blood, activated not by the restoration of my powers but by the change wrought upon our people with the death of Eilistraee and the cessation of the Faerzress!”
“He knew his family was to be lost to Demonic corruption. They were Ilythiiri. All of them. He knew they may never return from it.” she continued, laughing, “But he allowed the possibility for a benefactor, a pupil, to redeem his house. That’s why my powers increased. Why he speaks to me in these visions. He’s trying to teach me. He has been dead for over ten thousand years and still...”
“Still he wants his house restored to its former glory.” Laeral finished for her, “The kind of ability one would need to have a power manifest after so much time, so much turmoil...”
“He may have been the first Elven Psion as well...” Iljrene noted, “It is a very rare ability for any of the people to manifest, a trait more common among Humans and Illithid, and we know that Humans likely learned from the latter.”
“Maybe this Moon Elf did, too.” Vala said, still grinning, in spite of her discomfort, “I must learn more of this male. Do you know where I might look?”
The expressions of her hosts dampened her enthusiasm.
“As I’ve said...” Laeral reiterated, “This is a forgotten period of time, nearly contemporary with the Dragon Kingdoms that dotted Faerûn in its earliest days.”
“Still...” Vala said, not discouraged, “I know this is the key to fully unlocking my powers. Already I feel my connection deepening with my new understanding.”
“Yes, well...” Iljrene added, “It certainly looks like you are, as well...”
Vala looked down, to the lengths of psicrystal budding from her flesh, the tenebrous blue mist seeping from her pores.
“Sorry.” Vala said, withdrawing the manifestation with conscious effort, “It’s a great deal to take in.”
Iljrene sheathed her sword, sighing, “You might as well remain for the night. I sense there is more you wish to learn, but we can hardly discuss it with you in such a state.”
“Yes.” Vala agreed, still trembling, then, “Is she here?”
The Battlemistress nodded.
“I would speak with her.”
“That is not a good idea.”
“I know.” Vala persisted, troubled, “But I need to, regardless. Please, Iljrene.”
“We will see.”
It was the best she was going to get. She let the matter drop.
“You will have a room and a bed tonight. A meal will be delivered. I am sorry, but you cannot roam these halls freely. You understand.”
“Of course, Battlemistress.”
“Very well. I will make the necessary preparations. Excuse me.”
Predisposed to logic puzzles, for how else could he have solved the previous trials of the codex, Adir arrived at a few different possible solutions after a time of careful consideration.
Perhaps the goal of the trial was simply to find the mirror pertaining to Toril before the gem shattered, to return to his physical body. This was unlikely, as the previous trials were based more in higher ingenuity than mere luck, but then, no written documentation of the Codex existed, so the assumption that the continued trials were based solely on logic was hardly concrete.
Perhaps, as his theory postulated, the creator of the codex was a nearly divine being, possessed of each of its bequeathed abilities, and this was a record of sorts of all the planes it had visited, and by merely surveying each safely, he could complete the trial.
Or perhaps there was a specific order he was supposed to observe. With no means of knowing any of this, and having attempted to cast divinations to ascertain knowledge of the codex in the past, Adir knew there was no way to obtain this information beyond what he could see and interact with here.
Or perhaps there was something he needed to do in each realm in order to fulfill a hidden requirement, and by neglecting to do so, he provided the cracks in the gem.
Decisions, decisions...
“Perhaps I should have simply given the Codex to Ahriman.” he chortled, “Let him lose himself in its pages and rid me of it. I could have it sent by proxy, have its pages inserted into his diary. I wonder if he has a diary...”
In the end they prepared for her a small chamber near the portal, likely the quarters of the guards assigned to her. Four beds filled the room, one in each corner. Three Darksong Knights were present, her personal escort, to dice her into filets the moment she did something inauspicious. Mostly ignoring them, since she’d tried two times to provoke a conversation and failed miserably, Vala cleaned herself in a washbasin, a wretched thing compared to Ormat’s hospitalities but welcome regardless, and ate a sparse meal of mushroom bread and rothé cheese, a familiar staple of Underdark life.
With evening well underway, she sat cross-legged and meditated, accessing her mindscape to review her daily experiences and opening herself to new insights. Immediately she knew that certain dark clouded areas were thinning. Still, the turbulence remained, that frightening, swirling maelstrom at the center of her being. She knew now that while it came from her, it was not necessarily of her. Maybe it would kill her. Maybe everything it’d taken would spill back out. She couldn’t say for sure.
"Can you speak to me?" Vala asked it, troubled but expectant, ”Do you want to speak to me?"
She’d hoped that with this new revelation, she would receive another vision. Yet her ancestor’s shade remained silent.
Nothing for it, she resumed her usual ritual of consolidating her experiences, and then emptying her mind entirely and indulging in something akin to reverie. Most Drow could not enter the waking dream, and some Elves couldn’t either. Adir certainly couldn’t. As a Half-Drow, Vala needed to sleep, but the period of relaxation akin to reverie left her restive. When she finished, she rose and collapsed onto the bed, throwing the thick, coarse wool sheets over her, and knew no more...
Adir scoured the realm of Dis, or at least, he now realized, a representation of the second level of the hells. Around the iron tower, the landscape extended roughly a league before terminating into a barrier of impenetrable darkness. Knowing the boundaries of this trial, he entered the iron tower, lacking protection spells but thus far unmolested by the phantom representations of various devils.
On the first floor, he observed shackled lines of humanoids being processed by their captors. Despite his profession as a slaver he had no taste for the sheer callous brutality he witnessed, as they were lashed with barbed scourges and branded with hot iron, and he looked away, sickened. Consulting the few necromantic spells he could without his spellbook, one of which could identify and locate nearby undead, he concluded that either these phantoms were mere representations of long lost souls, or a construct of the codex itself. There was no connection to them that implied living or undead status. A fortunate thing, due to what he saw, and he hoped the latter. Not even men like Ahriman should be made to suffer in this manner...
Up an ascending stairway there was a large study, packed with shelves of leather-bound volumes, lit by a fireplace smoldering at the far wall. The books were mundane enough, though the furnishings were not. The room was filled with the moans of anguished dead. The shelves were sculpted of bone, still fed by a network of pulsating veins. A fleshy membrane hung from the walls like curtains, which contained humanoid faces animated in grotesque caricatures of life. A table of bone hung supported by clusters of limbs stitched together, digits groping sightlessly. Resting in a chair of similar make, a golden-skinned, crimson-eyed woman studied him as he approached, clearly privy to his presence.
Adir reached for his defensive spells, but found his mind oddly muddled. Mystra’s weave seemed closed to him at that moment.
The woman, almost like a fellow Sun Elf but of a race of devils known as Erinye, smiled with a mouth filled with fangs.
“You are not him.” The Erinye said coyly, “Too bad for you.”
Adir blinked.
“You were expecting someone?”
“Yes.”
“You appear more...alert than those in your court, milady.”
She nodded, “This is a memory. One I have become entrapped in. One I can only escape by killing him.”
“Who?”
“It doesn’t matter. He isn’t coming back.” the Erinye hissed, “I will be trapped here forever, in this wretched illusion, unless...”
She came to a realization, and Adir’s instincts alone saved him, for he leapt back as she crawled atop the chair and hurled herself forward, propelled by dark feathered wings. A thin blade thrust into the space he’d occupied, pricking the skin under his pectoral but not penetrating.
Backpedaling, Adir quickly took stock of the room and what he could use as a weapon.
Reaching for the nearest shelf, Adir parried the Erinye’s next attack with a thick tome, which struck through with little resistance. Dropping the book rather than engage in a struggle, the Devil screamed in frustration as the tome weighed the sword, plummeting it to the floor. The Erinye swiped with her claws, and Adir grunted, pained, as she opened furrows across his chest. Were it not for the thin armor plating hidden in his layered robes, he might have been dealt a far more serious injury.
Rolling away and rising in a crouch, Adir reached for a burning log from the fireplace, its end crumbling apart.
“You think to use fire against me?!” The Erinye cried, laughing derisively, “Die, fool!”
Snapping the log out like a sword, he knocked her right hand out wide. As she leaned in to bite, he ducked under her, swatting her in the back of the head hard enough to break off the burning section of the wood. The Erinye stumbled forward, into the unbreakable metaphysical tether between him and the exit which, until that moment, had been behind him.
With a body more finely honed than most of a wizardly weal might have bothered with, Adir threw himself into her, legs pinning her wings, and held two ends of the tether, pulling it against her neck like a garrote. His superior weight held her down as he applied greater pressure, strangling her. She thrashed, gurgling, with the strength beyond her dimensions, and it took everything in him to keep from being pushed off. His knotted muscles clenched, as he nearly lost his balance. Sweat beaded his brow, stinging his eyes. He held tightly until the Devil stopped moving.
“Not exactly the proper use of an astral tether...” he grunted, breathless, “But it’ll suffice. What now?”
As if to answer him, the study disappeared in a cloud of impenetrable shadows, and he was again in the chamber of mirrors. The Pillar to Dis was no more. The pillar of jacinth possessed no more damage than it had before. A curtain of light manifested in the distance, reflecting his room in Ormat’s Manor. A spell burned itself into his mind; a teleportation spell, cast without reagent, that would transport him to the realm of Dis, though it could only be activated if he was in Avernus.
That was his answer, then. In each of the reflections there was something that didn’t belong. A guardian. To kill them without magic was to unlock that realm for travel. He intuited, rather than realized, that every realm needed to be unlocked to progress to the next page in the Codex, but he could now leave at any time, having unlocked one.
He had some work to do. For one, he’d get a proper weapon from Ormat. Maybe a few wands or scrolls, to test if he could cast magic using a medium. Garroting a devil was a little too risky for his taste.
She woke in the usual manner, ever since her body had begun adjusting to her pregnancy.
Vala startled awake, doubled over, and crawled to the side of the bed, where she’d wisely left the chamber pot. Assuming a posture not unlike prayer, she gagged over it, holding her belly as the morning nausea intensified.
Her roommates studied her, already awake, as she was sick in a louder manner than she tried to be.
When she was finished, she set the thing aside and took a deep breath, eyeing the growth of her belly. Not yet considerable, it could be mistaken for winter fat. Having seen what females looked like in the advanced stages, she hoped she would still be able to move by the end of it.
“I know I can’t wander.” she said to the disinterested expression of one of the Drow warriors, “But if you can find me a good spot to think, it would be appreciated...
Iljrene followed her subordinate to a small, partially submerged quarry near the bottom of the Promenade, thankfully still far away from the pit from to which their foul invaders had entered.
The lake had already nearly taken this room; glowing underdark coral and algae lit the dark waters, and thick vines covered the walls. A few toads or lizards gamboled about, but thick metal bars prevented the entrance of more dangerous fauna. Vala stood over an overhanging balcony, staring blankly. Her posture was relaxed, arms crossed over the railing.
She sensed Iljrene’s approach, and turned, tense, then calming.
“You have changed much in your travels.” the Battlemistress stated, eyeing her garb. Vala shrugged, though her cheeks colored and she pulled her piwafwi a little tighter, “Maybe. I don’t feel much different.”
“Happier, I think.”
At that, her expression softened, “Yes. Adir changed me. Changed...a great many things. I think I’ve found my home.” Vala replied, “Which is why I will fight to reclaim it. I know...things are not well here, after...”
She paused, voice breaking, then, “I can never fully appreciate what Eilistraee meant to you. I was no priestess, even though I wanted to be. For a goddess to...”
“I am not so certain that she is gone from us forever.” Iljrene noted, earning a confused look from their guest.
“What do you mean? Was she not slain when she inhabited Qilué in the final battle? You told me that the Crescent Blade can destroy a soul through decapitation. And Qilué was...”
Truth enough. While the events of Lloth’s desecration of the Promenade, its most sacred artifact, the Crescent Blade, and the subsequent loss of their High Priestess and Chosen was a tragedy, it may not prove to be a complete tragedy.
“...Cut down by the traitor Halisstra Melarn, Lloth’s Lady Penitent, her chosen of sorts. And Lelliana Vrinn killed Halisstra with her singing sword. The moon vanished, the swords went silent, and our powers waned... But despite Halisstra’s actions, it is possible that Eilistraee wasn’t truly killed.”
“What do you mean?”
“When the Lady Penitent used the re-forged Crescent Blade against Qilué Veladorn, she was being inhabited by the Dark Maiden, becoming an avatar.” Iljrene considered aloud, voicing a suspicion she’d silently harbored for some time, “That would mean that the blade didn’t hit the goddess herself, but a part of her essence infused in her chosen’s body. Deities can only be truly killed while in their planar realm or by being starved of followers. Therefore, Eilistraee’s survival is not impossible. She may only be...weakened, returned to mortal form, even. But perhaps not dead.”
“Then it is our duty to search for her...” Vala gasped, “All of us. Is anything being done?”
“Not at this time.” Iljrene conceded, “Corellon shields us, and we have regained a fraction of our former strength, but we are still reeling from being nearly destroyed. We could not weaken ourselves further based only on my suspicions.”
“I understand. But when Ahriman is no more and our home is ours again, I would return. If...”
She wavered, uncertain. In her expression, so open for a Drow, Iljrene observed a tumult of regret, fear, and longing.
“It is not my place alone to decide.” she replied, “But we will see, child.”
Vala inclined her head respectfully, then her eyes went wide.
Iljrene realized the girl was not looking at her anymore. She turned, to find Alirana Srune’Lett standing in the doorway, her expression veiled.
All over again her memories overcame her; Gul’tah, her mother, dying in the grips of a Demon summoned by Alirana for the sake of a sick hunt. Alirana, her faced blurred and indistinct, her senses dulled by the inexact memories of Nobody. Vala remembered attacking her, after the female had stolen her mother’s tooth. And again, when she had found her near a still pond, her mind lost. And again, in a forest beside their sisters.
Alirana, the fat, dilettante noble.
Alirana, the hardened warrior.
Alirana, the priestess and knight of Eilistraee.
She looked so familiar, and yet so different. Her earliest memories of the woman was a regal, graceless, vindictive cow.
This one, this Battlemistress, was nothing like that.
The sword of Eilistraee, tarnished but beautiful, hung from her neck. She wore a coat of silvery mail, and the livery of the Dark Promenade. Her eyes were hard, but yet also gentle, filled with empathy.
In that moment, she knew for sure.
Her legs went weak, her skin gooseflesh. The words she’d memorized jumbled in her head.
The female’s expression never changed, though Vala intuited an equally chaotic and disjointed reaction.
“I...”
“Keep away.”
Nezierre approached as well, hand on her hilt, “Say what you will and be gone. I will have no violence here, in our temple”.
Nodding, Vala fought to regain herself, and breathed deep.
“I am here to tell you something...” Vala said, shakily, “...and...to ask something of you.”
Alirana nodded, but said nothing.
She breathed deeply, then scowled, “I have feared you. I have hated you for nearly all my life. I told myself that...I could never forgive my mother’s murderer. That I could never rest until she was dead.”
Nezierre tensed, balancing on the balls of her feet. Even Iljrene looked nonplussed.
Vala fought for breath, averting her eyes, “I gave myself to Nobody, knowing that I was too weak. Knowing that I could not wantonly kill even to avenge my mother. It was my fault that I attacked you after the battle with the Yochlol. A part of me could have stopped it, but didn’t.”
Alirana took a step towards her. Another. Vala knew her skin bled vapor.
Nezierre drew her sword half an inch from her scabbard.
Another step. They were nearly two paces from each other.
“I knew in my heart that I had to kill you. I knew I couldn’t live if I didn’t...”
Iljrene leaned forward.
Alirana frowned, thoughtfully. But there was no fear there.
There was no fear.
Vala lunged forward.
She buried her face in Alirana’s breastplate, shaking, and could not hold back the tears, “...but I realize now that my mother’s killer died a long time ago. In the caverns of the Underdark, at the hands of Eilistraee. My vendetta was wrongly placed. I attacked you, hated you, for something that was not your doing.”
“And so...I need to know...” Vala moaned, feeling ill but unable to abate the words bubbling unbidden from her lips, “Can you ever forgive me?”
Nezierre exhaled.
Alirana recoiled at her touch, as if struck. Vala, fearing for one horrible moment that she had erred, looked up to Alirana’s face.
The Darksong Knight’s facade crumbled, and all Vala saw there was naked pain.
“Yes.” she said instantly, returning the embrace, “I’d thought myself unworthy. I thought that nothing could ever erase the stain of what I had done. I despaired at what I’d done to you. That I’d put you in such a state that you felt apart from Eilistraee, from your sisters here. That you had to choose between your mother’s memory and your future. I hated myself when I woke to learn of your sentence. For a time, I hated Eilistraee, for making you make that choice. I agonized over your fate. I still do”.
“I just...” Vala said, trembling, “I just miss her so much. All the time.”
“I know.” Alirana said, weeping, “I am so sorry...”
She fell to her knees. So did Alirana.
How long they remained in that state, she couldn’t say.
But eventually, she calmed.
“You are Alirana of the Promenade now.” she continued, pulling away, though they were no further than arm’s length apart, “Alirana of the Underdark is no more. There is nothing for me to forgive. Your soul, your destiny, is your own.”
“...So I brought you something. Something I wanted you to have.”
Vala slipped her hand into her piwafwi, and withdrew her mother’s tooth.
Alirana blanched.
“Take it.” she said, offering the token, “My mother is at peace, for her killer is no more. I don’t need it anymore.”
“Child, I-”
“Take it.” Vala insisted, “It cannot absolve me, but I want you to have it. Please.”
The Darksong Knight nodded, and accepted the tooth, tying it about her neck, where it came to rest beside her holy symbol, “I will keep it with me always.”
Vala nodded, tried and failed to rise to her feet. She was so distraught, so unsteady.
But then Alirana took hold of her arms, and helped her up.
“You are one of us, Vala. You always were.”
She nodded.
“Always, you are a Sister of Eilistraee.” Iljrene said.
Again, she nodded, wiping away her tears.
“If ever you need a place, a purpose, a family. We will be waiting.” Nezierre added, sheathing her sword, “I am sorry for my words to you, sister.”
“I needed them.” Vala replied, “I needed all of it. But I am at peace now. I am free.”
She smiled, “Thank you. All of you. I have done what I needed to, and now I must go.”
“I would help you in your travels.” Alirana said, but Vala shook her head, “You must remain, to rebuild. This place, our people, are too important.”
Stricken, the Dark Elf nodded regardless, taking her hand in a warrior’s embrace, “Our people. May the Dark Maiden safeguard your path, sister.”
“And you as well, sister.”
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