Dark Flower Ch. 5 (previously Another Snow Fall...)

[Mikayla]

Sheyreiza was awakened from reverie by a gentle shaking. Amenia stood in front of her, her lithe body silhouetted in the doorframe of the ship’s cabin.

“There is smoke on the horizon, and the iblith says that the smoke comes from Luskan. That is as far as he can take us.” Amenia spoke in the drow tongue.

“I will be out in a few minutes.” Sheyreiza replied. “Tell the iblith to move closer to shore and bring the vessel to a halt. Have him ready the longboat.”

Amenia nodded, stepped out and shut the cabin door behind her.

Sheyreiza pulled off the human garments she had been wearing over her armor. She, Amenia and the sorceress Inthara had been traveling on the surface for many days now. Ordinarily they kept themselves well covered. Now that they neared their destination, Shey had something to take care of and she did not want to ruin her human clothes. She still needed them. It would not do to have the locals of Luskan see her Tlabbar breastplate or indigo-black skin.

She folded the large, baggy, light blue garments and set them aside. She then pulled on the sash from which her long sword hung, slid her arm into the clawed shield she carried and picked up her morning star. She began to pray, using the morning star as a holy symbol, for it was.

***

The human captain who piloted the Sword’s Spray saw Sheyreiza exit the cabin. He did not react with the usual alarm a human might display on being confronted with a dark elf. He had been sailing with the drowess and her entourage for almost a ten-day now. They had boarded his boat in Waterdeep and together they sailed north, avoiding contact with other travelers and giving a wide berth to Neverwinter and Port Last. The captain was terrified of his passengers, and rightly so, but he was a sailor, and that seemed to be enough for the drow. With the help of his two teen-age sons and Carlon, the grizzled old bo’sun, the Sword’s Spray made good time up the coast despite the contrary winds. That seemed to please the drow, and if the drow were happy, the captain was happy. Why these drow wanted to go to Luskan, or why they traveled the surface at all, was completely beyond him, but he would not dare ask.

It was day outside, but not bright. As Sheyreiza walked up the steps from the cabin onto the deck, she could see the sky was gray and dim. Cloudy? Yes, that was what the surfacers called it. Cloudy. Overcast. A very cold, moderate breeze was blowing in her face. It was amazing that the humans could travel almost directly against the wind while relying on that same wind for power. Tacking? Was that what the captain had called it? The ship made what seemed like a never-ending series of turns back and forth across the wind to make headway where Sheyreiza had thought headway would not be possible. It was not magic, just good sailing. Apparently what the iblith lacked in arcane and divine magics they had to make up for with such primitive, mundane, but effective techniques. She would remember that.

Sheyreiza looked around the deck. Inthara and Amenia stood to either side of the craft. The two teen-age boys were preparing the ship’s long boat while the old man they called a ‘bosun’ manipulated the ropes running to the sails. Aft, the captain manned the tiller. Sheyreiza turned and stepped up onto the aft deck and walked towards the captain.

“M’boys ‘r makin’ the longboat ready fer ye.” The captain said.

Sheyreiza’s reply was simple, but non-verbal. She smashed the man in the side of the head with her morningstar. Blood sprayed from the impact and the stunned man fell to his knees. Sheyreiza struck again and this time her blow caved in the top of his skull. On the main deck, Amenia drew her long sword and thrust it into the bosun’s gut. The weathered old sailor gritted his teeth and grabbed at the blade with his bare hands. He snarled at Amenia and reached out for her. She drew the sword out from his torso, stepped back and swung down on the wounded man, cutting deep into his neck. Like the captain had, the bosun fell to his knees. One hand clutched at his new wound, the other hand drew the knife the bosun used for everything from eating to whittling. For a moment, he held the small, old knife out at Amenia in defiance, and then he fell face first into the deck.

Inthara unleashed her wand on the older of the two boys preparing the boat. The first blast of frost spun the young man around and the second blast finished him. Only the youngest boy remained.

Sheyreiza walked forward towards the last boy. He was what the human’s might have called a stripling. Skinny and maybe five and half feet tall, Sheyreiza thought he was rather elven in appearance. The boy surveyed the carnage that had been wrought, looking from his now dead brother and father up to Inthara, then to Amenia and finally at Sheyreiza.

Sheyreiza stopped in front of the boy and smiled. It was an impossibly beautiful smile from an impossibly beautiful creature that should never have seen the light of day. The drow priestess unstrapped her clawed shield and let it fall to the deck. She reached out with her hand and stroked the trembling boy’s cheek. She handed him her morning star.

“Hold this.” She whispered. “It will make it easier.”

The terrified boy hesitated, looking from Sheyreiza’s beautiful, but terrifying face to the gore-splattered, unholy morning star that even now seemed to be greedily absorbing his father’s spilled blood.

“Take it.” Sheyreiza whispered, now running her other hand through the boy’s hair.

The boy reached out and took hold of the morningstar and he could feel its ancient evil, he could feel its need, its hunger. The boy realized that on some level, this weapon was alive and it wanted blood. The trembling boy pissed himself.

Sheyreiza looked into the young man’s eyes and smiled. She leaned in and kissed him and as she did, she drew her dagger. Her off hand gripped the boy’s hair tightly and she thrust the thin-blade of her house dagger into his heart. It was over before she was through kissing him. She let the boy fall to the deck gently, and smiled.

“You know what to do.” She said to Inthara and Amenia.

***

Hours later a small, unmarked longboat rowed its way into the port at Luskan and pulled up to one of the docks. No one noticed. No one noticed that out at sea, a vessel known as the Sword’s Spray had sunk, it’s hull breached from within and its crew dead. No one noticed three petite, graceful, hooded figures climb out of the longboat. No one noticed when the three hooded figures set out away from Luskan down the road to the east.

***

Sheyreiza walked along in the dark, intermittently shivering and coughing. It had begun to snow as soon as they had left the human settlement behind. The snowfall at night reminded Sheyreiza of her last excursion to the surface, the one that had claimed her life and her eye. She remembered how beautiful she found the snowfall at night. This time, she found little beauty in it. Ever since her trip to the plane of shadow, her health had been weak and she never seemed to get warm. Walking through the snow on the surface only exacerbated the problem. She was coughing more and more now, and blood came up more frequently. Sheyreiza always hid the bloody coughs from her entourage. She could not afford to show any further weakness.

Although she had planned on heading north when she fled Skullport, Sheyreiza had not realized that would mean heading into snow and cold. The weather of the surface was a mystery to her. In the last ten-day she had learned much that she wished she had known before: going north meant going to the cold.

The trio walked east through the night. They discussed what cover stories they might use should they happen upon other travelers, but the discussion tapered off as each of them turned their attention inward with the deepening cold. Eventually they trudged through the night in virtual silence; their footfall’s crunch along the snowy ground the only noise.

The snowfall tapered off and Sheyreiza could see a river ahead. There was a bridge, but there was also a camp of sorts on the other side of the bridge. The river was not frozen and given the cold, Sheyreiza thought it would be suicide to try and wade across it. The bridge it would have to be. She signed to others.

Be careful, say little, just move along, and be prepared to run.

Amenia and Inthara nodded.

The trio headed across the bridge and as they did, Sheyreiza could see an entire camp of darthiir, surface elves, on the other side. Campfires blazed brightly in the dark night and she longed for the warmth they would bring. She knew Inthara and Amenia did as well, as both women had been shivering almost as much as Sheyreiza had.

The darthiir looked up as the trio walked by. Sheyreiza said nothing and simply nodded as they passed. Her heart was pounding with fear, but she kept her pace steady and confident. The key was not to draw attention.

“Good evening, cousins.” Said one of the elves in his native tongue.

“Evening.” Sheyreiza replied. She nodded again and kept walking. Her size and gait must have given away her elven blood, but the hood and wrappings, ostensibly worn to keep out the cold, covered her skin and hair.

“Do you seek the elves of Lonely Wood?” Asked the darthiir.

Sheyreiza shook her head. “No, we are merely traveling on to Mithral Hall.” She kept walking.

The darthiir spoke again, though this time his voice was insistent, not warm. “Halt.”

Sheyreiza bit her lip. She stopped. There was still a chance to talk her way out of this.

“Put down your weapon.” The darthiir commanded. Sheyreiza was carrying the long bow she had started using after her last foray onto the surface. She had vowed never to be outranged again. At the moment, she doubted the bow would help her however. She laid it down.

“You look cold, and ill-prepared for the northern snows.” Said the male-elf. Behind him, the other elves had taken to their feet. One notched an arrow to his long bow, but did not draw it. Another handed Inthara a fur lined cloak.

“We are from the south.” Sheyreiza said. “And you are right, we are ill-prepared for the cold. We should be going in fact, so we can reach shelter.” A second fur-lined cloak was passed to Sheyreiza. The situation was growing odder and tenser by the second.

The priestess looked from the speaker to the other elves. They were all readying their bows. Sheyreiza took a deep breath as her heart began pounding rapidly. Then she suddenly calmed. Sheyreiza knew that feeling; her body knew that conflict was inevitable and when Shey was in conflict, she was as cold as the snow that lay all around her. Sheyreiza felt an odd sense of destiny, of pride and of regret. She looked at Inthara and Amenia for a moment while the darthiir kept talking. Why had they followed her here? What had they seen in Shey that made them leave the underdark and come to this Lolth-forsaken land. Shey did not know, but she was, oddly, glad to have them here.

Sheyreiza signed to her companions. Prepare to scatter. It has been an honor to lead you. Praise be to Lolth. Both women nodded slightly, and each slowly reached for their weapons.

“What did you say?” Said the darthiir with alarm. He cast or triggered some spell and his skin quickly took on the appearance of stone. The other elves raised their bows and took up fighting stances.

Sheyreiza turned back to the male calmly. “I said we come from the south.”

“Well, you speak some truth. You are ill-prepared for the cold.” The male darthiir said, his voice betraying his suspicion. “But I have placed your accents.”

“Oh?” Replied Sheyreiza. “And where do you place them.”

The stone-skinned elf answered Sheyreiza with drow sign language. Several of us know your language. Sheyreiza’s eyes went wide with shock. The darthiir kept signing. We are familiar with your kind.

The darthiir spoke aloud. “I think its time you showed your faces.”

Sheyreiza’s hand was already inside the folds of her garments reaching for one of the vials containing a potion of invisibility. Then she looked at the fresh snow. She fled across fresh snow from surfacers once before. Even an invisible person left visible tracks in snow. On her last trip to the surface, the humans had followed her footprints in the snow despite her having snuck right past them.

Shey glanced up at Inthara and Amenia. Both women were shivering, almost uncontrollably. And if they got away, where would they run with these darthiir trailing them? How long would they last in this cold? The trio had purchased human made clothing in Skullport to blend in, not in preparation for such a bitter climate. Without shelter, without aid, they would soon succumb to the elements even if they did manage to evade these darthiir. Shey looked at the elfish long bows. And how likely was it that they would evade them? What was the chance the trio could run far enough, fast enough, to avoid the deadly shafts of the elven bows. Darkness would cover the initial sprint and the imbibing of the invisibility potions, but the elves would track them and fire where the tracks led.

Any chance was better than no chance. A motto Sheyreiza had lived by, from her time in Ched Nasad, to the Valsharess’ dungeons, to her first snowy death on the surface and then in the streets of Skullport. But here, there was no chance. No chance at all.

She let go of the potion vial and pulled her hand out of her garments.

The darthiir demanded the trio show their faces again. He began to speak about being lord of this land or some such non-sense. Sheyreiza did not care. Lord of some snowy field meant little to her. The title of some primitive darthiir tribal chief was nothing she was concerned about.

With cold, nearly numb fingers she reached up and pulled her hood back, then unwrapped the scarf from around her face. She shook her long, silky white hair free and heard one of the elves gasp at the sight. Sheyreiza pulled off the human clothes she had been wearing and revealed herself in full. Her breastplate, with its symbols of Lolth and House Faen Tlabbar, gleamed in the dark of the night.

Her revealing ended the male’s ridiculous prattling, at least temporarily.

“I am Sheyreiza Auvryndar.” Shey said aloud. “Priestess of Lolth, Princess of House Auvryndar, Fourth House of Ched Nasad. You may make a great sacrifice to your darthiir gods this night, but I will not die running like a rat.” Sheyreiza pulled Dark Blessing, her unholy enchanted morning star, free from her belt. She stared at the holy symbols carved into the weapon and silently prayed to Lolth.

The stone-skinned male started speaking again: Something about surrendering. Shey did not care in the least.

She signed to her companions. Good fortune, and may shadows cloak you both. I will see you in the Demonweb. When Sheyreiza had last come to the surface she had died in the snow, hunted by humans until cornered. With nowhere to go, she had begged for her life and been shown only the mercy of a quick death. That death, the cowardice of it, haunted Sheyreiza. Now she found herself in similar circumstances. She would not make the same mistake twice. She turned to face the male speaker.

“You said you are the ‘lord’ of this place?” Sheyreiza asked the stone skinned male aloud.

“Yes, I am Jain’n, the Lord here.” He answered.

“Then you are the one I should kill first.” Sheyreiza replied. The beautiful, lithe priestess burst into action so fast it caught the battle ready elves off guard. Darkblessing came around in a vicious circle and impacted against the male darthiir’s stone-like skin. He staggered backwards but did not fall. Sheyreiza had no idea how badly she hurt him, if at all, but she drew her arm back for another strike. She would die, but she would die fighting this time. It seems Lolth had given her a second chance at life, and at death, and just as she had come back to the Spider Queen in life, so too would she come back in dying.

The male reached out one stony arm and grabbed Sheyreiza by the throat. She gasped but maintained her concentration and brought the morningstar crashing into the man again. He warded off her blow with his other arm, and his protective enchantment seemed to minimize the damage. Sheyreiza wound up again for another strike. The male kicked her feet out from under her. He was incredibly strong and kept the slight drow priestess suspended in the air with one hand. She kicked back, putting her booted foot right in his groin, but the man did not release his grip.

Amenia leapt to Sheyreiza’s aid and tried to free her. Inthara unleashed her wand on the other elves and the other elves rushed in. Amenia ignored her attacker and kept struggling to free Sheyreiza while Inthara tried to protect Amenia with her blasts from her wand.

The stone-skinned male spun Sheyreiza around in the air and put an arm around her neck. He began choking her. Shey flipped the morningstar up striking the man in the head but his protective spell still held. She swung down with great force into his knee, and again the spell protected him. He was wounded, but barely. His arm clamped down on Shey’s throat and her air was cut off. She gasped in vain. Another elf behind the stone skinned male prayed to some foul god and suddenly the stone-skinned man got even stronger. Sheyreiza felt as if she was in the grip of an ogre or small giant. The man shook her and she dropped the morning star. She kicked and writhed trying squirm free but his grip on her neck and body was unbreakable.

Around the two grappling elves, Inthara and Amenia fought with the other darthiir, but Shey could not focus on them.

“Lolth!” Sheyreiza managed to cry out, her voice rasping as she was choked. Desperately, Shey drew her dagger and thrust it up and the stone-skinned male’s face. She struck him several times, but still he choked her.

“What a hellcat.” One of the elves commented.

Perhaps, Sheyreiza thought, but a hellcat in serious trouble. Shey realized she was losing consciousness as black spots appeared in her vision. She fought for air, but the man would not let her have a breath. Sheyreiza had been captured once, by the Valsharess, and she did not want to repeat that experience. Death was better. Sheyreiza decided to turn the dagger on herself, but her oxygen-deprived brain did could not think clearly. She thrust the dagger at her own throat but it struck stone-skinned arm instead.

Too late, Sheyreiza realized her mistake. She lowered the dagger to thrust into her heart. She was much too weak and the blade slipped from her grasp. She kicked softly, still trying to wiggle free of her attacker but her struggles were useless. Her squirming slowed, her vision dimmed, her kicking stopped, her arms fell limp, and then Sheyreiza Auvryndar passed into unconsciousness…..

[Zakharra]

Yay! I love it. Keep the writing up Mik! W00t!!! A PC of mine is in the story!!

[Burt]

Fortunately for you it was the drow loving elves you encountered...