Dark Flower Ch. 4 (previously A Skullport Tale)

[Mikayla]

The following continues the story of Sheyreiza Auvryndar, from Snowfall and A New Life, as well as Sheyreiza’s patrol. The events described below all happened in game, but I am relying on memory, so my apologies if I do not get things exactly right. Also, I am writing this in the first person, something I have not tried in…um…years and years.

***


“Yathrin Elvaelaeyl?”

I hear the male’s voice but I pay little attention.

“Elvaelaeyl?”

I realize I am not answering him because I am still not used to being called ‘Elvaelaeyl.’ Elvaelaeyl Tlabbar is not my given name after all. I was born Sheyreiza Auvryndar, and not only am I not from the same house as Elvaelaeyl, I am not even from the same city. I am supposed to be Elvaelaeyl Tlabbar though. The male calling my new name knows who I used to be, but the woman I used to be is dead and gone. I imagine it is not too hard for him to make the switch in names. Thanks to a House Claddeth wizard, I now look just like Elvaelaeyl did. Well, almost. There is still my eye.

My left eye is an abyssal star sapphire. A treacherous bitch called the Valsharess placed the orb-shaped gem in my empty eye socket after a human woman took my eye and my life. The life I got back, the eye I lost forever. While beautiful, the gem certainly marks me. When others stare, I wonder now if it is because I am attractive, which I know I am, or if it is just the blue stone eye which stands in such contrast to my natural ruby-red eye. Correction: To Elvaelaeyl’s natural ruby-red eye.

I look at the male, with both of my eyes. I can see through both just fine. Though my left eye is a gem, the Valsharess saw to it I could see through the sapphire as I could through my own eye. I also suspect that bitch saw to it that she can see through the gem just as I can. Or so she led me to believe.

The male is Hartex Claddeth, elderboy of House Claddeth of Ched Nasad. He is a deadly assassin, a talented masseuse, a more talented lover and the person who arranged for my transformation into Elvaelaeyl to hide me from my past and save Elvaelaeyl’s house from the disgrace that whore would have brought them. Thanks to Hartex, I was able to claim a new life, regain the favor of Lolth, and evade my enemies. I even got to kill the House Claddeth wizard who made my transformation possible. What sublime pleasure that had been. The wizard killed who I used to be, and I killed him. All of this thanks to Hartex.

And I hate him for it. I hate owing anything to a male, even if a noble one. I hate the fact that I am so young and he is older and better trained. I hate it that when we spar he can play with me like a hook horror toying with a dire rat. A male is not supposed to play with a female. His skill undermines my leadership.

I smile briefly. Well, most of the time he can play with me as he wants, but not every time. When last we spared he disarmed me but I managed to put my foot right in his groin, dropping him to the ground. True, he recovered quickly and nearly killed me, but it was some measure of revenge. My only other revenge is withholding myself from him.

When I was younger, we had been lovers in Ched Nasad, albeit briefly. When I came to Skullport and he found me, he sought to renew that relationship. I toyed with him once. I let him touch me, hold me, kiss me, undress me and pull me on top of him. Then I walked out.

He had been so angry he took to the streets and began killing any bystander who happened by. He killed a half-dozen or more iblith; men, women, children. I laughed. I could not have hoped to hurt him so deeply and painfully had I Matron Ghenni’s own poisoned dagger in my hands. The sight of him returning to the Burning Troll, covered in the blood of his victims, his face still flush with frustration and anger, is a little treasure I keep to myself. I will never forget it. It was simply beautiful.

My little triumph did not last long however. The fool’s slaughter brought us into conflict with a group of iblith mercenaries who took offense to Hartex’s slaughter of the children. Back and forth we traded assaults. At first, Hartex fought them alone. They would ambush in pairs or trios and he would kill them, but the little war was taking its toll on him. Finally, the patrol had to get involved. My ‘niece’ Vel’meth, lured the mercenary leaders out from their tavern and we slaughtered them.

A triumph, but another short lived one. The mercenaries’ employer was not happy, and their employer was a dragon. Things got complicated.

Worse yet, I could not withhold myself from Hartex forever, not in this place. Hartex was too good a lover. There was no one in Skullport as skilled, at least as far as I knew. He had bedded every female in my patrol, save me, and I did not wish to become a part of his little harem, but I could not control my lust forever and so I let him have me. He was every bit as good as I remembered. Maybe even better.

And for that I hate him as well.

I could not let myself become enamored of him or his skills. The patrol I commanded already knew that Hartex’s experience far outstripped whatever abilities I had, even though I was a priestess of the Spider Queen. This created a dangerous situation. More than once Hartex and I clashed in private over leadership of the patrol. So, I withheld myself from him. And withheld him from me. I still wanted him, wanted his touch, wanted the pleasure I knew he could bring me with those hands. Hands that seemed capable of delivering death or orgasm with equal skill.

Now, Hartex wanted me to lead my patrol on a little robbery. A little robbery that would fund his trip back to Ched Nasad now that his Matron Mother had cut off his funds and ordered him home. A little robbery that would fund my own business, the Spider’s Silk. He was waiting for me to say yes or no.

“Xas. We go.” I said flatly, answering him. My patrol members began preparing themselves for the mission.

Ordinarily I would never agree to rob a warehouse in Skullport. The enigmatic Skulls usually dealt with a disruption of trade quite harshly. The Skulls were, of course, the strange, bodiless, magical skulls that floated around Skullport enforcing their will upon the population. When I had decided to move into the drug business I realized I needed to remove the competition, namely a certain Illithid who sold potions and such by the docks. Wary of the Skulls prohibition on the disruption of trade, I had arranged to take up the Illithid’s business from his own supplier. I also arranged an investor for my little venture; House Claddath. I even arranged for a business front and locale; the Spider’s Silk, a traditional Ilythiiri massage parlor. Only when all the pieces were in place did I order the death of the Illithid. The actual killing was really an anti-climax to the planning.

Now, Hartex assured me and the others that the warehouse he planned to rob was abandoned and unguarded. It had only resisted looting previously because of the powerful magical seals that protected its treasures. Hartex had recently come into possession of the key that would unlock those seals, and thus, the treasures of the warehouse were ripe for picking.

Perhaps he told the truth, perhaps not. I would not have risked the venture on Hartex’s word alone. I am occasionally foolish – I have lain naked with the assassin before - but I am not so foolish as to risk the wrath of the Skulls. Hartex, however, volunteered to lead the theft. With his own life in the balance, I did not believe Hartex would deliberately anger the Skulls even if he planned on leaving Skullport shortly. The Skulls tended to act quite quickly when aroused.

And so I agreed to this little robbery.

My patrol made ready. I watched as they did. Inthara, my senior wizard, donned her light armor and pulled her wand of frost free from her belt. She cast several spells on her self; protections I assumed. Sergeant G’eldax, my lead warrior and scout, loaded his crossbow. That was all the preparation he needed. Moilir, the duergar warrior who was our partner, threw his enormous double-axe upon his shoulder and carried it like one might carry a pike or long spear. Hartex drew his two enchanted blades, looked them over, for what I do not know, then placed them back in their sheathes. Amenia, my bodyguard, donned her ubiquitous helmet and readied her own crossbow.

For my part, I quickly checked the breastplate I wore. It was a beautiful piece, but more revealing than truly practical for armor. It was one of the few things I had left from my previous life. It had changed almost as much as I had however. A local smith had reworked the house symbols on the armor. No longer did it bear the runes of Qu’ellar Auvryndar; now it bore the symbols of Qu’ellar Faen Tlabbar, a place I had never been but a House to which I was now a princess.

I gripped Dark Blessing, my morning star; a product of another Hartex robbery. Few things gave me real comfort in the Lolth-forsaken pit that is Skullport, but Dark Blessing was one of them.

I looked to my patrol members. One by one they nodded their readiness, all except that cocky bastard Hartex who was already headed out the door. Before he could open it, I gave the command.

“We go, now. Hartex lead.” It was petty and I am sure it was obvious that my command came after Hartex headed out, but I had to do what I had to do to maintain control.

My finger’s flexed around the handle of my morning-star and I looked at the back of Hartex’s head. Indeed. A priestess has to do what a priestess has to do to maintain control. Lolth’s will, be done.

To Be Continued.

[Gauntlet-Dragon]

I know what happens .

[Vendrin]

Interesting. I like it.

[Zakharra]

That rocked. I should get to writing about Inthara. She has a differing view of things

[Burt]

Very cool story. Despite seemingly being an anti-drow person I'd love to play with you guys sometime. I was thinking a cleric of Selvetarm...hmm.

[Gauntlet-Dragon]

Play a relative of mine . Cause of course G'eldax is the coolest guy in the group, if not in all of ALFA.

[Cayssan]

I wonder what will happen next....

That Moilir fellow sounds cool too, I hate that G'eldax character though.

You better write more mik, It makes it worth to play these sorta things to see it get written up by a writer of your skill.

[Vendrin]

Very cool story. Despite seemingly being an anti-drow person I'd love to play with you guys sometime. I was thinking a cleric of Selvetarm...hmm.

That would rock. Nothing like usurping a female in her field of purview without actually meaning to.

[Mikayla]

[Here is the second part of the tale. Please forgive my inability to recall exact dialogue. I am doing my best to remember the order of events and the conversations, but often, I have to settle for getting the gist of the conversation correct rather than each exchange of words.]

***

My patrol and I exit the Burning Troll and the pervasive smell of Skullport’s fish market hits me. I cannot stand it. Though I have been here for many cycles, the stink of the market never seems to fade, never seems to become commonplace. What bothers me the most is not the odor of the market though. What bothers me the most is the idea that the longer I stay here, the more I might come to smell like this place. I take baths more and more often now; sometimes just to get warm, but often to ensure I do not smell like Skullport. I use whatever scented oils and perfumes I can lay my hands on, but in this pit, true perfumers are far and few between. The scummy streets of Skullport are not like the glittering upper levels of Ched Nasad, to say the least.

As we walk I make symbols with my hands and face. “No more talking. Sign only.” The duegar does not understand our sign language, save for a few letters I have taught him for battle commands. To command him, I will have to speak, but that is just as well. I want him to act on my voice, and no other.

Hartex leads us east past the fish market. My glossy, thigh high boots, though spike heeled, tread quietly and surely on the uneven stones and through the puddles of fish blood. The boots are Ilythiiri magic, if a weak example of that art. Like the Ilythiiri themselves, Ilythiiri magic is both beautiful and effective in equal parts, something the dour duergar have never learned.

Hartex stops in an alley and points to a stout a door. “This is it.” He signs.

I look around warily. There is no sign of a guard or any protections outside. There is no sign of anyone even observing. None of this guarantees our safety or success of course.

I sign to Hartex. “Use your key, open the door.”

Hartex retrieves the key from a pocket and opens the door. He smiles at me and motions to the open entryway. I do not enter. As I have mentioned, I am not a complete fool.

I take hold of Moilir’s shoulder and whisper to him. “Scout the entry.”

The gray dwarf grunts. “Aye, as ye wish Priestess.” He takes his double axe off of his shoulder and brings it to the ready. He short-shanks his grip at both ends, costing him leverage on the swing, but making fighting in close quarters easier. He steps forward and as he does, he disappears from sight. For a moment, I can hear him though I cannot see him. Then I hear the sound of his footfalls change and I know he is inside.

We wait. Hartex and G’eldax flank the entry while Amenia and Inthara watch the alley. I watch all of them, and I watch above and below.

A minute later, the duergar reappears among us.

“Its clear ye dark-elfness.” Moilir says.

I nod towards the entry and the two males enter. The rest of us follow.

Inside we pass through a short entryway into a large, nearly empty warehouse room. A few kegs on stands seem to be the only goods, but I cannot see everything yet.

“Traps.” Someone says.

“G’eldax, clear the traps. Hartex, aid him.” I order. I stop advancing into the room and watch as the two males, accompanied by the duergar, advance through the warehouse.

Once cleared, we search. There seems to be very little, but my nerves are on edge. Two chests are found on opposite sides of the warehouse. Both are locked, possibly trapped. Still, this is too easy. I do not like this warehouse at all, I do not like this plan or this venture. I need to take action, so in a moment, I run through my assets – namely, my patrol

Each of my people is worth something to me, often measured by time. I know if I send Moilir in one direction, I do not have to worry about enemies coming from that direction without warning or without a fight. I figure Moilir is good for at least 30 seconds even under bad conditions. Amenia is not the wall that Moilir is, but she is tough enough to shout a warning. While Moilir may be a defense, Amenia is an alarm. G’eldax may know how to fight, but he is a coward. I do not count on him for either stopping an enemy or an alarm. He is, however, talented with locks and traps, and to those challenges I readily apply him. Hartex is also talented with locks and traps, and a prodigious killer, but difficult to control. I find the best thing to do is let Hartex do what he will, and when the enemy shows up, move myself to place Hartex between me and the enemy rather than try to move Hartex. Inthara is, as yet, nothing but potential. Someday she may be a powerful arcanist, but at the moment, she is most definitely not. I do not count on her for anything other than the occasional headache. With all of that in mind, I make my decisions.

I send Amenia back to watch the entryway where she will play alarm. If something bad comes through the door, I want to know about it. I am not willing to commit Moilir to the entry, however. I want him more centrally located. If battle comes, from whatever direction, I want to be able to quickly apply Moilir to the melee. That buys me time. Therefore, I keep Moilir in the main warehouse near me even though Amenia is my bodyguard.

Hartex and G’eldax I split up and send to the chests. Inthara I do not worry about. She is not a real asset at the moment, so I do not bother to apply her to any task I need done.

Amenia calls out. She asks if I want the door closed and I tell her no. I want to be able to make a quick exit if needed. So far this little robbery has been too easy, simply too easy.

G’eldax and Hartex pick the locks on the chests and open them. The chests contain a variety of scrolls and potions, and a few coins. Valuable, but nothing approaching the level of treasure that Hartex intimated would be found. Moilir approaches me with the spoils taken from G’eldax’s chest when Amenia’s voice breaks the silence.

“Mistress!” She yells. “The door has shut and will not open.”

Before I can react, the building shakes and I can hear a loud thud against the walls.

Panic rises up in me. I tamp it down. I decide to apply Hartex to the problem, to my panic. “Hartex, use your key, get that door open.”

Hartex, usually cocky and insolent, obeys without hesitation. It is amazing how quickly a sense of self-preservation can overcome ego. Apparently the Claddeth was feeling as nervous as I was about this caper.

The assassin moves quickly and gracefully, the key in one hand, and a blade in the other. He passes into the entryway. A flash of light comes from the entryway and I hear Hartex yell.

I give the sign for the patrol to circle defensively and they move. Inthara and I are at the center with the warriors and scouts arrayed around us.

“Hartex?” I call out.

“The door is in flames and it will not open with the key.” He yells back.

I waste no time. “G’eldax, pick the lock. Moilir, cut the door down if G’eldax cannot open it.”

Our efforts are in vain. Every attempt to open the door, by finesse or force, results in flames spewing forth.

Around us, the building continues to shake. A fire starts in the north wall and I realize the building is under a magical assault. Someone is trying to bring this warehouse down and they are trying to bring it down on me.

I look to Hartex. He is badly burned. I take the measure of his wounds and decide not to heal him, not yet. I still have Moilir.

“Hartex, watch the entry, Moilir, cut us a way out of here with your axe.” I command. I sign for Amenia to guard me. The flames on the north wall spread as do the flames in the entryway. A thought occurs to me. Perhaps Inthara could be useful.

“Inthara, use the wand of frost on the flames.” I order.

She complies, but the wand will not stop the spreading inferno.

To my left, Moilir is hacking away at the warehouse wall with his double-axe. The wall does not want to yield, but Moilir does not want to burn to death either.

Something catches my eye and I turn right to face a floating skull. So this is our assailant. Hartex starts to move out of the entry way behind the Skull, but the Skull acts first, striking Hartex with some sort of paralyzing magic with stops the Claddeth assassin dead in his tracks.

Now, for the first time, I see why the Skulls rule this place.

The Skull begins to speak to me but its words are drowned out by Moilir who has begun yelling. The duergar has breached the wall.

The Skull keeps speaking. It has come to address the death of the Illithid we killed. I hold up a House Claddeth symbol.

“The killer of the illithid is already dead.” I say. “Tsabbrak Claddeth was the killer, and he is now slain himself.”

“He was not alone.” The Skull says.

Too true. All of us but Hartex were there. One my very own arrows found the Illithid’s body. Tsabbrak is just a convenient scapegoat, especially since my bodyguard and senior wizard killed him the cycle before. The dead take blame so well.

I fix my grip on Dark Blessing and start trying to think of another lie to weave when Hartex begins moving again. He struggles against the magic holding him, and manages to get to his feet.

The Skull rotates in mid air and begins pulverizing Hartex with magics the like of which I have not seen since leaving Ched Nasad. I do not wait to see what happens. I turn and motion to the breach in the wall. There is no hesitation. The patrol members leap through the breach as fast as they can. Once in the street, we can see the entire warehouse exterior is engulfed in flame, some magical, some mundane. The Skulls have decided to show their power.

We run.

A minute late we are in my chambers in the upper levels of the Burning Troll. I do not, even for a second, think we have eluded the skulls. At best, we have only delayed them.

Though I just narrowly escaped being burned to death, I stand as close to the fireplace as I dare. I am cold, always cold, and I shiver. The rest of the patrol coughs from the smoke of the fire, and discusses the event excitedly. Some want to flee Skullport altogether. Some wonder what has become of Hartex.

I wait, but I do not have to wait long.

The Skull appears.

“You will stand trial for the killing of the Illithid.” It says.

“Why?” I ask. “The person who killed the illithid is already dead, and the person who planned the killing you already have.”

“Explain.” Commands the eerie voice of the Skull.

I comply. “Tsabbrak Claddeth committed the murder, and was ordered to do it by Hartex Claddeth. The Claddeth Matron apparently wished to establish a foothold here in Skullport, and chose to do it in the illithid’s business. So, Hartex plotted the illithid’s death.” It is lie mixed with truth. The facts are mostly correct, if incomplete, but the phrasing implies that which is not true: the phrasing implies I have no responsibility, when in fact, it was I who arranged to supplant the Illithid’s business and ordered his death.

“Hartex has been punished.” The Skull replies.

“Indeed.” I respond.

And then the Skull is gone.

Outside, we can here the burning warehouse collapsing, presumably over Hartex’s dead body. Certainly that is what the other members of my patrol believe.

Hours later we visit the ruins. Two bodies are found. We spend much time and effort trying to identify and speak with them, but nothing is conclusive. One of them is probably Hartex. My patrol members certainly seem to think so.

I do not.

It would be too easy.

Like the robbery of the warehouse itself. In the aftermath of the destruction we discover the warehouse belonged to the illithid we killed, thus explaining its ‘abandonment.’ We also discover it was Hartex who betrayed us and stole the portal stone. I discover more, and the betrayals seem to run ever deeper. Not all who I find disloyal are put to death. Some I just mark.

Still, I cannot leave the Burning Troll without seeing the ruins, and in seeing the ruins, I cannot help but think about Hartex. Not that I truly miss him, though I do miss his hands, both for their skill with a blade and their skill with my body. No, I think about him because it was too easy. I simply cannot believe I could be rid of that complication in my life so simply.

And so I wait, and prepare.

[Vendrin]

Touching.