Ammon Jerro sat near the fireplace in the empty taproom at the Phoenix Tail Inn. He had too much to think about. His war with the King of Shadows was filled with many losses, and very few victories.
The death of his great-granddaughter, Shandra, weighed heavily on his mind. That she died by his own hand trebled his consternation. In a rash fit of pique, he had ended the Jerro blood-line.
His mood was as lifeless as last night's ashes waiting to be swept from the cold hearth.
A tiny chirping sound from the floor near his feet made him look down.
Standing on its hind legs with front paws on his left knee was a small sable colored animal. Most folks would call it a weasel, but Ammon knew it as a sorcerer's familiar.
It probably belonged to that spoiled child with the flaming red hair and temper to match; Qara, what a fitting name.
When the familiar butted his hand, he withdrew it, not sure if the animal would bite or not. That seemed to upset the creature. It chirped again, stretching its head toward the warlock's hand.
Ammon looked down again, then drew closer looking intently. Behind the creature's pale gold eyes was a friendly intelligence; Eyes so very much like his own.
He raised his head, eyes welling up, threatening to spill over. "It can't be," he said, slowly shaking his head. He understood what a spirit vessel was, but refused to believe this creature was one. A fool grasping at straws, he chided himselfand dismissed the thought.
He felt a rough tongue on the back of his hand. Then a tiny head butted his hand once again. He heard a final chirp and looked down to see the familiar cross the room and disappear into the kitchen.
She sat on the bed in a room she shared with Tie and Zhjaeve. Loneliness, her constant companion, was with her this evening. She hadn't slept for what seemed like days.
Her favorite stress reliever, sharpening a blade, any blade, was not working very well. Every weapon in her inventory was razor sharp and still she felt depressed. She refused to admit how deeply she felt about the loss of Shandra.
Khelgar had a war axe that he mentioned needed honing. Now there's a challenge, Neeshka thought. Tie had named the impressive weapon Khelgar's Lightning on the day that Qara had enchanted it in this very room. Sharpening it's murderous arc would be a painful task, even with a good pair of gloves; Lightning did not care who it hurt. In her present state of mind, pain was what she wanted.
Without warning, a book thumped down on the bed near the rogue's feet. Neeshka looked up at the shelf it came from to see a tiny face with close-set ears and a black, button nose. It peered down at her and winked.
Just seeing that comical tiny face lifted her spirits. "You missed," she said, sticking out her tongue, "you wanna try it again?"
It made a strange purring sound and put its chin on folded front paws.
"There you are. Come here." a harsh voice at the door commanded. Qara strode into the room, ignoring the seated tiefling. She reached across the bed and pulled the familiar roughly from its perch. After examining the creature closely, Qara dropped it carelessly into Neeshka's lap. "That's not Tamin. Where did that thing come from?" she demanded.
"I don't know. It was here before I was," said the rogue. In her present mood, thumping this red- headed witch would do what a whetstone on a blade could not. "How do you know it's not yours?"
"My fam has dark eyes. This one's eyes are gold." Qara said hotly, "and Tamin doesn't have a tattoo on his belly."
Neeshka gently turned the creature over and examined it. It did not seem to mind her touch. "Well, it's a she," the rogue pronounced, "and that's a sigil, not a tattoo. Moon elves know it as Sehanine Moonbow's mark."
"Get rid of it." the sorceress said, jerking her thumb at the door, "Sal doesn't allow animals in here. You know the rules."
"And what is that weasel you named Tamin?" the rogue shot back. "That's not an animal?"
"Tamin is a familiar, not a weasel," Qara pointed out,her voice rising, "I work here. I have permission to keep him here. You do not." Without waiting for an answer, she stormed out, slamming the door.
"You just saved your miserable life, you wretch." the rogue hissed at the closed door. "So, what am I going to call you?" she asked, stroking her new friend's velvet soft fur, "moonbow? Hmm... moon something." She was surprised when the creature looked up at her and winked its right eye again. It curled up in her lap and fell asleep.
For the first time in days, Neeshka lay back on her bed and drifted off to sleep herself.
She dreamed;
This world had no form. All was in darkness. She felt a solid floor under her feet. There was sound, though; a universe of noise. Disconnected voices writhing in agony, torment, and madness. Behind them, a background of insanity that nothing on this plane could utter.
She instinctively knew that this was Jerro's Haven. Just like she knew her trusted companions were standing with her; Tiernah, their leader, along with Khelgar, and Zhjaeve would never think of leaving any of them behind. Yet in this lower plane morass, Shandra was missing. She disappeared when they entered. It would only be a matter of time until they found her... wouldn't it?
Voices she knew faded in and out. Tiernah; "Listen, we're not beaten yet, so just keep yourself safe."
Shandra's, filled with saintly resolve; "There's no way I'm letting you die, not after all we've been through."
Shreds of conversations Shandra held with demons; "The wizard they face is blood of Jerro, it knows this." Told with bass resonance from the lower planes.
"If it wishes to set us free, shedding of Jerro blood is all that is needed," in the hissing, wheedling tones of a master manipulator.
The admiring, sonorous voice of Mephasm; "What you have done, Shandra Jerro is brave, but foolish."
Evil's victory; "You destroyed my summoning circles. You have weakened me, and in so doing you have earned death." this, a presage to Ammon Jerro's cardinal sin.
"I know... grandfather...I'm sorry...I'm so sorry..." Shandra's final words in this life, accompanied by demonic laughter.
The world was silenced...
Her own voice echoing stridently, "he killed Shandra. Let's gut him."
Neeshka re-entered the waking world in shock. Her heart was pounding. She struggled to pull in a full breath. Her face was wet with her tears.
After collecting herself, the rogue sat up and took a look around. The one window in this room was thrown open. A cool morning breeze, scented with flowers from the garden outside, pushed the rough curtains away from the wall.
Last night, some kind soul had pulled a wool blanket over her. The other beds in the room had not been slept in. I can never figure out the elven need for sleep, she thought to herself. Reverie would not be a bad skill to develop.
A commotion at her feet made her look down at the foot of the bed. A familiar face popped up above her knees. "Well, good morning sunshine," she cooed to the creature she named Moonbow the night before.
She had to smile when another similar head appeared and nuzzled Moonbow's chin. It wound it's body sinuously around the familiar and made contented chuckling noises.
"Well, who's your little boyfriend?" the rogue inquired, "are you going to introduce us?"
As she approached the common room, the tiefling heard the tail end of a conversation. The well modulated voice of Sir Nevalle; "...ride hard for Neverwinter. I will meet you there. You are to go alone. Your companions are to stay here."
No, she won't go alone, the rogue vowed. If Neeshka's dreams meant anything, Tie would be walking into a hornet's nest. Shadow priests, vampires, and who-knows-what would assault Castle Never. She wasn't sure when, but Tie would be there, alone.
Dreams had never made much sense to the tiefling. She was too practical to pay much attention to them. Still, after traveling with Tiernah to Arvahn, both her life and her outlook had turned around. The moon elf had proven to the skeptical rogue that the hand of a higher power guided them all, through their dreams.
She took a quick inventory; Her blades were all sharp. A visit to Sand's shop in Neverwinter had allowed her to re-stock healing kits and potions. Holy water, she shuddered, had been in short supply; she could only find two vials. Oh well, she thought, two will have to do.
Not wanting to be overloaded, she considered leaving her bow behind. Her Roguebow, crafted in the Underdark, had a wicked look that she liked in a weapon. Its light pull belied the tremendous speed and hitting power it gave to any arrow. Qara had charged her a small fortune to enchant it with the power of lightning; Even a plain missile hit harder. She only had ten arrows left...
Neeshka made her decision. After slinging her quiver and bow, she held open her shoulder bag. Moonbow, without any hesitation, jumped into the bag and burrowed to the bottom.
"Like it or not, moonie, here we come," the rogue whispered, as she buttoned her bag and slipped out the back door.