Friend in Shadows

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and settings are the property of Wizards of the Coast ©.

Author's Note: This is the first in a two part story about the most fateful night in the life of a young drow. Those who have read some of my other stories will be familiar with the character of Mazn'reysla Sshemlet and know what happens to him after this story, but here's the story of how it all happened. This is the first piece I have done with an original character in too long a time, so reviews are not only appreciated but begged for.

"Friend in Shadows" is rated M for graphic depictions of violence, mostly related to self-mutilation. As an important note: if you or anyone else you know is hurting themselves, please seek professional help in some form.

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The floor was cold.

It was the only thought I allowed through my mind.

I was taking part in a typical ritual that night; sitting on the floor in my room in Sorcere, reading my tomes and trying to concentrate on tomorrow's lessons. Concerning the Creation of Undead, level one, that was the book I was reading then; the work book for my Necromancy class. I had to read a hundred pages before tomorrow and Master Tlabber was in no way forgiving of pathetic apprentices who didn't read their rudiments; I still have the scars on my shoulder from when his fingernails pressed through my skin as he grabbed me and recited the incantation directly in my face.

It was my sixth year in Menzoberranzan's academy of wizards and I needed to study. I was the secondborn of House Sshemlet, then the thirtieth house. The only thing we were good for was trading in magical items and artifacts from the surface and all over the Underdark. Ours was a tradition of the arcane; the arcane was Lolth's gift to the drow and it was the duty of every Sshemlet to be proficient in the Art. Even my Matron Mother Zethia, a skilled High Priestess of the Spider Queen, was a wizard of repute. It made her even more powerful and terrible. The same was true of my five sisters, my older brother Alsdrel, and every Patron of House Sshemlet.

It was my duty to Lolth to learn the arcane arts, it was the only way I could be worth anything as a pathetic male, and study I did. That night I was on the fourth day of my fast. I didn't need food. I needed focus. I needed discipline. I needed to scour myself. I needed to keep my thoughts in order lest they stray to more unpleasant matters.

I was, however, highly distractible. It was only three hours before my eyes would wander up the wall to the cracks in the stone, the nice, full desk filled with my tomes and those of my roommate, and all the tapestries the Masters kept on the walls on pain of torture. For some reason the tacky black imprint of a shadow dragon was making me nauseous. Then there was the other tapestry on the wall adjacent: the one by the door and hanging over his bookcase of spellbooks. It was a red tapestry weaved with the delicate details of a barbed web and the grand, terrible looking black spider in the center. For some reason, this bothered me even more and I didn't know why.

It was the exact same reason why our nightly chapel meeting also made me ill and why I couldn't even look at the grand, spider-shaped structure of Arach-Tinilith, the school for priestesses. I, however, did not care to think on that reason at the time; a reason that made me even more ill. I was a devout servant of Lolth. I had learned from my first moments out of the womb that I was the Spider Queen's minion; her feast. I was a male and therefore inferior. The only way I could win any worth in my pathetic existence was to be useful to her. It was a reality that was beaten into my skull and I never questioned it. To question was to die horribly.

I knew this, yet I did flinch from the tapestry, my already empty stomach sinking further. I was beholding the image of the Spider Queen. How dare I flinch from such terrible power? Such terrible power that could rip me apart, strip the skin from my muscles a tiny piece at a time. Just like my Matron Mother did to father. Nelizzin Sshemlet was no mere piece of magical fodder after all; he was the High Wizard and Patron of House Sshemlet. I saw him decapitate a kobold slave with one well-placed magic missile. Regardless, he was still chained to the wall of the House Sshemlet antechamber and Matron Mother spent two hours peeling his black flesh a tiny strip at a time as he screamed. Sister held me by the scruff of the neck and forced my gaze to make sure I understood the mighty wrath of those who even make the smallest joke against the Spider Queen. Father was a heretic and father deserved to bleed to death in complete agony. Or at least that's what Matron Mother Zethia told me over and over again.

Regardless, I still flinched, though I should not have reacted so. I should have averted my gaze in fear and felt the terrible power in my heart. Yet I didn't. I wanted to think I flinched in fear, though the feeling of hate was too strong. Did I hate her? Of course, even my mother did. This, however, was a different kind of hate, a kind of hate that could get my skin peeled from me. It was a sensation I first knew m second year at Sorcere. In my House I knew my proper hate. The further away from the house I was, the more I felt the taunts of the priestesses in chapel, and the more my peers would spit on me and attack me, the more the sensation came. Now, I could no longer ignore the thoughts and bury myself further in my studies. The hate pushed through that too.

I drew further inward at the thought, grinding my bare heel against a jagged cropping of rock from the floor and savored the burning itch. I needed to scour myself. I needed to stop the horrible thoughts of blasphemy.

This couldn't be happening, I would think more and more as the thoughts pushed through my mind. I was once a good little boy; perfectly obedient, always praying, always fearing, always knowing his place as a miniscule male in a minuscule House. I used to be merely a piece of meat who scrubbed floors…in the name of Lolth of course. Then I became a tool…in Lolth's service as a wizard in a house that saw magic as a power best used in the name of…

At last my mind went blank and the heel pressed further against the jagged rock, producing an ache that felt warm and slick. I looked up again, trying to regain my lacking focus. I was completely alone: roommate was off studying or carousing or killing someone or taking advantage of one of the younger students as he was known to do. Just like the next patron, of my house; the one after Father who took more interest in me, the one who would corner me in the lower chambers, make me kneel before him and …

The floor was cold. The cold felt good.

I breathed deeply, trying to catch my focus and be a good little apprentice once more. I was alone, utterly alone. Back at House Sshemlet, I was never alone. There were always the ghosts to keep me company: Teery the kobold who had once been a slave, yet still served his masters even after being beheaded. Then there were the old weapon masters who still wandered the halls around the training room; clutching their tools of survival in their hands and paraded around in denial of their torturous deaths. They were never really friendly, but at least they were someone. None of the ghosts attacked me; they were mere ghosts. Besides, no other member of the House could see them except for me, who saw them plain as faerie fire.

Brother found this out and told Matron Mother Zethia. Since that day, I would be locked in the basement with a violent wraith to see how well I could control him; a former House Patron who was boiled in oil still looked like a lump of melted flesh in humanoid form. Control him I did, though the gibbering wraith of a vivisected orc slave in another section of the house slammed my head against the stone wall, but was I brought him under control because that was what I was for. Matron Mother had Brother focus my Sight more during those first arcane lessons. He would have me scry while whipping me to improve my concentration. After a while, all I saw were ghosts. All I heard in my mind were their laughs and taunts, though I managed to filter the messages. I would hear rumors about people and use them against them. I couldn't use his sight at Sorcere though. The tower was too heavily warded against such creatures. Instead I was left alone. Utterly alone.

No, I must not get distracted. I must get back to my work and master the arcane like a good little slave…

No, must not think such things. Must look at the spider. Look at the spider, Mazn'reysla and feel as fearful of her as you were before you came to this place. Feel as fearful and loyal to your Spider Queen as you always have, as you still do. Nothing's changed. Nothing has altered your absolute devotion.

The next thing I knew, my chin was against my chest.

Look at the spider, Mazn'reysla.

My head came up one inch, but my neck seemed to cramp.

Look at the gods damned spider, Mazn'reysla!

My head at last sprang up as his eyes fixed on the terrible image of the spider in the tapestry. I examined every little embroidered hair on her body, every cruel barb on all her eight, graceful legs, every cold, glowing eye. I stared at the spider, absorbing it in my cursed, damned soul. This is what I should fear; this is who I should worship. I gazed at the spider. My muscles trembled and my stomach lurched, but I still stared…

…Then burst out crying, burying my damn head in my hands and falling to a fetal position on the cold floor where I stayed for a few seconds. The floor was cold. The cold felt good.

The fit passed. I sprang to a sit, trying to stabilize myself, though nothing was working. I had to move from that spot, I had to sit at the desk properly and read my book like a good little male. Master Tlabber is not merciful to those who do not read their lessons. I came to my knees, which threatened to collapse repeatedly. At last I crawled to the work desk a few feet behind me, on my hands and knees like I should. I finally felt good, then I felt sick. I came up to the chair and lifted myself up to it. It was a simple stone chair covered with red velvet. It always hurt my eyes, a burn I had to savor. I leaned down and grabbed the heavy tome, heaving it up and almost dropping it a few times. I plopped it on the desk, opening it to the space I had it. I remembered the exact line of incantation. It was the same line when I started feeling my blasphemy again. My eyes were bleary as I found a focus on the many books and spell components strewn around on the desk and the four shelves over it.

At one time, I could just sit here and work with these many tools and feel completely at ease, my mind put to a more useful purpose than the streams of doubt that would crawl in otherwise. I could sit here and know that I wasn't indeed blaspheming Lolth through my idle thoughts, but instead serving her as the obedient male I was. I was but a male and a male he had to prove he was worth something, lest he be tied up and have his skin stripped from him like Father.

At last my mind cleared a little of my blasphemy and I went back to my study. I did allow my eyes to trail to my favorite penknife on the edge of the desk; a nice, long blade I stole from Brother. It was very nice; its handle was wrapped in black rothé hide, though I was never able to get out that pesky blood stain from before. The blade was mithril; long and razor sharp. I always used it to prepare spell components. It was also great for scouring my thoughts. I would sometimes put little slices in my skin when my thoughts became too blasphemous; tiny enough so I could feel their ache. Sometimes I would rub in salt to make the point clear to myself. The blade still had a few drops of blood on it from the last time, but I tried to keep it clean otherwise. I guess I was losing my focus.

I pried my eyes off the blade and turned back to the book at last. It was time to do my work. It was time to learn my lessons like a good little male, lest I be turned into meat…

You must learn your lessons; you must show Lolth you are good for something.

Oh no, the thoughts were coming again. I must study. The page was on pried the proper preparation of the corpses of rats so they could be raised as little zombies: a spell I would learn in later this year. My fingers trailed around the book; I needed to so something to keep my focus, so I allowed myself to fidget a little. I clutched the penknife on the desk as I read beginning process of preparing the corpse for raising.

I mouthed the description of the preparation. My foot hurt and I was cold. I continued my concentration, but I felt my heart beat rapidly; my concentration was waning and going back to those thoughts.

It was becoming a little harder to pry out the thoughts, but I had to. Now the thoughts were not going away. The thoughts…or the reality?

My lips trembled as I read the steps of preparation in a harsh whisper. It was better than silence. I trained one finger along the lines while gripping the rothé hide handle of the penknife a little harder.

It was working, yes, that's it, just continue reading. You're doing well; just continue reading and conveniently ignoring how much the Spider Queen is torturing you for no purpose other than her own enjoyment.

The burn in the pit of my stomach became agonizing and very part of my form turned numb. My left hand gently pushed the book away as I turned in his chair to face the tapestry of the spider.

Yes, stare at her. Know how you are nothing in her eyes.

Tears started to flow again. My grip on the handle of the knife became greater. Get back to your book, Mazn'reysla; get back to your book. It's just the stress of your next test. You are just overworking yourself…

…In the name of Lolth who will merely tear you apart anyway no matter how hard you study. Just like Father.

I slowly raised the penknife in front of his face, admiring the deadly beauty of the blade next to the deadly beauty…or was it terror, or was it just plain senseless fear over…

I looked down to his right hand, raising it slightly and trying to keep it from trembling as I lowered the penknife over it.

Yes, this is what she could do to you if you don't get back to your work like a good little slave.

The blade gently angled downward and lowered. Now the point was pressing against the side of my index finger. Now it was piercing my flesh and I regarded little but a steady trickle of blood. The blade sliced downward, prying open my flesh down the length of my finger with an aching burn. It had to hurt more. I must scourge myself.

This is what happened to father. The thought managed to float through my head as I took my eyes off my mangled finger and back to the spider tapestry. This is what Lolth would do to you. Better know what it feels like…when she learns of your blasphemy.

The blade slid out of my skin, peeling up slightly before being trained on my middle finger and slicing a bit deeper to the point where it started to ache more.

Scour your…own thoughts?

The blade was scraping against bone as it traveled down. A river of blood flowed down my arm.

Scour yourself in the name of some goddess who hates you anyway?

The blade went from the bottom of my middle finger to the bottom of my ring finger and trailing up, peeling flesh and causing an agonizing burn.

Savor it, heretic! Savor your own mind.

The blade found its way to my pinkie and sliced diagonally, trailing around the edge of my aching hand and slicing across the bottom of my wrist.

You are going to cut your tendons that way, I thought to myself. You will lose the use of one hand, you won't be able to gesture and you won't have any use to Lolth. But is that such a bad thing?

The point of the blade caught under the skin as the flat was raised. The pain was agonizing. I felt more ill, yet I had to sit and savor it. I had to scour my mind from its blasphemy. I had to purge the taint by peeling the black skin upward and trying to tear it.

This is what Father felt when he upset the Spider Queen. This is what you deserve. This is what you will get if you don't stop this nonsense now and go back to Lolth. Yes, look at the tapestry Mazn'reysla, look at the tapestry. Look at her terrible wrathful beauty. Look at the bitch who killed your father and violated your body in the name of her own…

I withdrew the blade and threw it across the room; my uninjured hand reaching into a black box and pulling out a ritual athame I used in class: the one with the black handle shaped like a curled-up spider and the blade oh so magically sharp. I then dug the tip of the dagger's blade into the book and shoved it off, flopping it on the floor with a loud thud. I slammed my mangled hand onto the desk and raised the tip of the blade over my wrist.

I lowered the blade. One good thrust could send it through my wrist and a few more slices would take my hand off. It was what I deserved. My family would kill me for this, but it was my own sacrifice to Lolth. It was the only thing I could do.

Then I heard a voice from the corner.

"Is that truly the answer to all your inner torment?" it said, echoing through every part of my soul.

I jumped, throwing the athame on the desk with a yelp. My body trembled violently, my mind not able to even register what happened. I turned around to the part of the room where I swore I heard the voice.

It was a mass of shadow over my Reverie couch, though my Sight caught an odd thing; the outline of a figure underneath it. It was the shape of a black mask. I focused further and the figure of a drow materialized in the shadow, a drow reclining on against the wall, black hands behind his mane of green hair. His tunic was billowing black silk, black leather trousers that conformed to the shape of his well-built legs. One high, black boot was slung over his bent knee as his glowing green eyes bore through a blood-red mask.

I sat still, a river of blood running down my hand as I regarded this being wearing a look of relaxed perplexity. This was no mortal, though his aura was not the typical pattern of a specter. An energy wafted from the being's form that I had never felt before…or had I? Wait, this was the same energy from the great temples and any building where a high ritual was taking place. It was the energy of a deity, but this energy was not that of Lolth.

I couldn't help but stare in awe. This was a godform.