Hello all! This is my first work of fanfiction for the Forgotten Realms universe, though it's my second one altogether, my other story being The French Devil Bat (an Eyeshield21 anime/manga story). I hope you guys enjoy this one, and please read and review! :3 It's always nice to hear what people think of my work!
And now, to get started.
"It wasn't supposed to end this way." The drow turned, narrowing his eyes at his elder sister, her own normally blurred and distant red orbs surprisingly clear in this instant. He wasn't sure how true her statement was, as she had a habit of never explaining herself or her plans to any around her, be it to slaves, soldiers, priestesses, even their own Matron Mother. Closing his eyes with a smirk, he turned his head back to the direction he had been facing. The Secondboy would normally eat up all of his sister's predictions, her small jobs for him. Anything she offered him to give the male a better standing with their temperamental mother and even more capricious goddess, all so he could live another day. Now, it was all gone. Whatever the Lolth-blessed soothsayer had intended, had planned, had either been dismantled due to outside forces or abandoned because of her own whims. Her words were of little consequence to him now. He opened his eyes and straightened, chin lifted in an indignant fashion as he whirled to face her once more.
"And how, dear sister, was it meant to end?" She remained silent, stoic, though there was regret there. Not for her loss of a brother, at least in the emotional or ethical sense the surface races had, but for the loss of her most loyal pawn. It was, after all, the drow way. "…So, you cannot say. I thought as much. You never did put the fate of others in our House above your own." She merely shrugged as a calm smile spread across her face. The female lifted her chin in a superior fashion as he had to her.
"No drow ever does. Well, no drow ever does and lives to be so selfless a second time. And now you shall pay the price for my choices. Execution for the sake of our family's survival. A pity…though there is an alternative, my brother." He lifted a brow, wanting the answer but having no plans to beg for whatever scraps of hope the woman may throw at him. She knew better than to expect him to. She walked towards him slowly, extending a hand into the air while pointing above them. "The surface." His blood boiled at the mere suggestion of running away, scurrying to the land of the traitorous surface elves… It was beyond blasphemy in the eyes of Lolth to do so! As if sensing his thoughts, or perhaps simply seeing them written all over his face, the soothsayer chuckled as she brought her hand down to her face, holding her chin with a sly smile. "Believe me; it will benefit you in the end. My song was perfect and true, just heard incorrectly. This is your choice in the end, however…" She then turned her back to him, walking away while talking, not even looking back to see if he was indeed listening. The female knew he had no choice but to hang onto every word. "Retreat to the surface and find your true role in the service of Lolth, or stay here and die as mother would have you do. Revenge and power, or subservience and death." And just like that, she had gone, leaving the drow noble with his thoughts. Would he condemn himself to the living death of surface life, of turning his back onto his home, his people, their ways? He looked down, finding it a difficult decision given how little his sister had given him to go on, and how much he had to lose… Still… The thought of not only living, but having his vengeance on all those who had kicked him, belittled him, ever since his birth, was simply too much to pass up.
"For the glory of Lolth, Queen of the Spiderweb Pits, and the retribution of The Abused and Betrayed Secondboy." For the fall of the House of Black Hearts. The male had made his choice. He would head to the surface and find his destiny.
"It wasn't supposed to end this way." That was all the Matron could say, could think, as she watched the humiliating slaughter of her house taking place before her. With each blink of her eye, three more of her soldiers died. Five of her priestesses. They'd made sure to target the clerics of Lolth before all others, understanding the fierce power they could unleash if they gave them the time. Time. She needed more time, more power to salvage things… It seemed hopeless. Several scores of slaves died every second, not even putting a dent into her enemies. Kobolds, wretched, weak things. That was what the Matron of the currently falling house got for not spending the extra coin for proper slaves to go to war with, or at least paying the local mercenary band of Teke'ghym for information on them, for their military aid in this fight. Now her house, her lineage, her seat of power… Even her name would be forfeit, wiped clean from the histories for her foolishness. She screamed out in agony as finally one part of her personal hell came to an end… The childbirth was done. She panted, thanking Lolth for that bare scrap of mercy as she sagged, not having the energy or will to see about her ailing house. Still, she had an obligation to herself to see it through to the bitter end. She then looked down at the struggling babe, crying for attention, and was dumbstruck. A son.
Her third son.
"Lolth be praised!" She cried as she grabbed a knife, hovering over her child menacingly. "My goddess, take my child in offering and deliver me! Send me strength! Claim my son's life in trade for—" Before the Matron could finish, drive the dagger home, the shaft of an arrow launched from a crossbow went through her neck, resting there as her throat began to fill with her own blood. Once again, she was at a complete loss of what to do as she hit the cold ground. As she lay there, her baby gurgled with a smile, and she knew rage. She spat blood, knowing her true children, soldiers, everyone, had been killed as a silence went over the field of battle. She gazed up at the perpetrators who had come to gather around her in triumph.
"It's over, drow," one of them declared, eyes narrowed as he spoke in Common.
"Rivvin…" She snarled, pained to know they would kill her rather than another house in the underground city of her own kin. She turned her eyes back to her smiling boy, knowing only hate for him. "Dos phuul avinsin streea!" She cursed him, lifting her knife again in one final attempt at redemption, only to have her hand roughly stomped on by one of the humans. Her attempts of murdering her own child were twice made in vain. Within moments, her life's blood filled her lungs and drowned her, painfully and with grieving humilitation. Once the victory was claimed, the men looked at each other, then down to the child. None had the heart to kill him, but none had the stomach to pick him up, especially since he was still attached to his wretched mother by the birth cord. Eventually, one of them, the man who had kept the Matron's hand down, cut the cord and lifted the child with a sigh.
"My own Aislinn would have birthed sometime this night, I suppose one more wouldn't hurt… We can't bloody well leave him here for the wolves, can we?" They all looked down at the smiling, cooing drow child, still covered in blood. What on Abeir-Toril would come of their village with him around…?
For a time, no one was sure what would become of the drow babe. Aislinn had been worried, but caring; knowing no one else would take in the boy. The pair were afraid that something would happen to the frequently smiling child, and equally afraid that he might cause that very something to happen. After all, in the question of nature versus nurture, no one had ever thought to investigate the trials of a drow on land…would he thrive, or suffer much like a fish out of water? In contrast, their son Markus had been thrilled about the prospect of having not only a little sister to take care of, but a younger brother to play with. As for Adeline, their newborn daughter, she had a curious reaction to the child. She had been screaming, crying, wriggling, and nothing her mother nor the midwife did seemed to help, and then Melkid had come in awkwardly holding the bloody and gurgling drow newborn a safe distance from his chest. What happened next shocked everyone. The red eyes of the male turned to meet the mysterious teal eyes of the female, and they both paused a moment. As if something were passing between them, something invisible that held intense meaning. It was a strange sight as all of the others looked on, and then the pair started to giggle, smile, and reach for each other. The father, dazed and curious, put the two together. And they were content. Within minutes they had fallen asleep in their new mother's arms. Aislinn smiled softly, and then sent her husband a harsh stare. "And just what were you thinking, leaving him all covered with blood? How did you even find a drow child in the middle of that fray?" Melkid rubbed the back of his neck with his hand as he averted his eyes, glancing to his long time friend Cairen, who had been watching from the door, for support. The man simply shook his head with a half-smile, offering none of his odd wisdom in this. It seemed even he was at a loss for explaining exactly what possessed the other to bring home the child despite his aversion for him. He looked back to his wife, feeling uncomfortable with the gaze she was drilling him with.
"I…I really don't know. It seems the Matron that plotted the attack on us was with child, and birthed during the battle. She tried to kill him for whatever reason rather than protect him from us. I don't know why." He looked to the baby, sleeping soundly while snuggled into his wife's arms. "I shall have to ask Irrnolu about that. Regardless, I didn't think to clean him…I couldn't think of anything else besides getting him home." Aislinn raised a brow at that, shifting the children in her arms.
"For me to care for while you run off to drink away your new obsidian skinned troubles, hm? I'll have none of that." Her tone was sharp, and it stuck the man as she'd intended. "We can't show him the bottle as the solution for everything, or we'll create a monster rather than save one. And you cannot ask Irrnolu about this, cannot even mention it to her!" The blacksmith moved from the doorframe, nodding his accord.
"The lass is right. I dinna ken what the late Matron's reasonin' was in attackin' the babe, but it's o' no matter now, aye? Besides, if she learns we're keepin' the wee thing, she'll find some way o' extortin' us. Blackmail. Claim Lolth wants the boy and send a whole mess o' clerics after the lot o' us. Nay, its better that we keep him here and speak not o' him except to those we have to." He pointed to the sleeping boy, eyes serious as he regarded his friend. "We canna think o' him as a drow or he'll be doomed, your own wee lassie has already accepted him. Same with your boy. Time for us all to make some changes in our thinkin' and do what we can to protect him better than his mother." Melkid sighed, unable to fight the pair over the child's fate, in fact he felt ashamed that he had tried given how helpless a baby was regardless of what sort of elf it was. Still…
It was late at night when he met with Irrnolu, the one who had tipped them off to the impending attack on their village. Melkid didn't trust the woman, but her information had proven invaluable over the years regardless of the payment she demanded for her services. Other towns and individuals across Faerun had similar situations with spies and bandits, though this case was a little different…
"Well, well, it seems you cannot have your fill of me." The man turned to lock eyes with his contact, a rather slender and unassuming drow female. She chuckled, arms crossed as she regarded her now and again client, the decorative mask on her face glinting in the moonlight. "Despite how my kind came close to killing you this night." The farmer's face remained grim, and she sighed. "All work and no play, I take it. You've been much less entertaining since you married, that's too bad. You weren't half bad, for a human. I hope your Aislinn knows how to get the best out of you…" He gritted his teeth, loathing the way the dark elf spoke his wife's name. It sounded like poison dripping from her lips, a threat in and of itself without any actual malice to it. At the time, his sexual traipses with Irrnolu seemed harmless enough, even gaining her semi-loyalty and protection from drow raids, such as the failed one earlier in the night. In retrospect, however, he wished he'd never laid eyes on her. He felt nothing for the woman, and she nothing for him, though her passive annoyance at him having broken off their 'arrangements' after finding the true love of his life put the fear of Mielikki into him. He'd compromised Aislinn's safety just to sate his own lust and curiosity for the strange woman. No strings, she'd said. He should have known better than to trust a drow.
"Don't talk about her. Don't even say her name, or think it." His voice took on a warning tone and his eyes narrowed at her before he straightened, seeing her face go from a smirk to a teasing pout. She was truly chaotic, not really caring about whether the human female lived or died. She just enjoyed tormenting her former lover. "I called you here to ask you about something…something the Matron said before she died." She quirked a brow, crossing her arms as she waited for whatever it was he needed translated. "Rivvin, dos phuul avinsin streea." He said, not making the clarification that only the first word had been aimed at him and his fellows and the rest at the Matron's newborn child. The woman seemed to pause for a moment, and then sighed again from boredom.
"Oh, so simple a task you've called me for. I won't even ask for coin." She laughed softly, glancing to the still bloody grounds that they'd battled on. "Rivvin means 'humans', which I'm sure you pieced together yourself. Dos is 'you', phuul is 'are', and avinsin is 'doomed', though streea…Very interesting…"
"Enough baiting games. Give it to me straight or leave." The female pouted.
"You really are no fun anymore. Streea means to 'die', though it can mean either suicide or…" She paused, wondering how seriously the man had taken the now dead woman's words. Upon seeing his expectant expression, she knew he was. Far too intently for this to be a casual question for him. "You do not truly think yourself cursed, do you human?" He growled, stepping forward with a fierce look. "Do you fear drow so much?"
"Damn your minxish nature and be out with it! What else it could mean, Irrnolu?"
"…To die in the service of Lolth."
Of course, getting to the surface had been much easier said than done for the drow. The Underdark was a treacherous place filled with all sorts of creatures who would rather see the drow dead than walk free. Thankfully his race was feared enough so the more sentient of beings kept a wide berth between themselves and the dark elf. Cave fishers knew no such fear unfortunately, and it seemed he had stumbled upon a nest of the beasts. The drow male simply smirked, having no trouble from them despite their best efforts… Fishers were solitary hunters, and so many being together in one place had them bumping into each other, knocking each other's curious 'lines' as they attempted to snag him. He glanced down at the now unguarded eggs, raising a brow, and then simply left them. It wasn't as if they were going to suddenly sprout legs so early in incubation and give chase to him, now were they?
The rest of the trip had been somewhat uneventful. He'd 'dealt' with a few lone slaves fleeing various drow cities, even some deep gnomes who'd been on an expedition… Through all of it, he remained unscathed, leaving a trail of strange bodies behind him. None would be surprised at his abilities to survive, though the trip to the surface had taken far longer than he'd anticipated… Twenty-six years, to be exact. Thankfully his sister had always been patient, probably had planned for the trek to the surface to be a long one considering how dangerous the last expedition to the surface had gone for their kind on the same day that he had departed. An entire House had gone up, and none had come down. Since then, he doubted any had traveled there, which had the monsters multiplying without the fear of dark elves soon invading and enslaving them all. He had no problems putting that fear right back into their hearts…Well, the ones who survived, at any rate.
On the day he made it to the cave entrance, he smiled viciously. Lolth had protected him time and again on his solitary journey, which only added fuel to the fire in his eyes. It seemed his sister had indeed spoken true of him having some sort of purpose there, though he wished it hadn't taken so long… It was a strange thing, his being stuck in the wilds. Time and again he'd made it to the end of the tunnel, only to find it blocked. No matter how many turns he took, he always ended up at the same spot. Blocked, having to turn back. When he'd come around this time, however, it had been opened. He couldn't believe it, but it was open. He ran to the surface, almost afraid that the way would be closed to him if he hesitated. Then he felt something catch his leg, and he fell to the cave floor with a loud thud. At first he couldn't piece together what had happened, why he'd fallen, then he felt himself being dragged, so he turned over onto his back to see what had him. A cave fisher, one who'd survived his unintentional but quite effective assault on the community nests. He cursed, drawing a dagger from his boot as he hit a large rock along the cave wall while the creature continued to drag him, cutting the line before he was turned upside down. He hit the ground again, drawing his sword and leaping towards the beast as it in turn charged him, furious at the wound to his most crucial hunting tool. The drow had a bit of a swelled head given how easily he'd dispatched the others of its kind, though he forgot one crucial thing: They had been crowded and bumping into each other. This one was alone, and fishers did their best
hunting alone. It reached with one of its great claws to grab him by the waist, though the dark elf threw his dagger at the creature's face, embedding it in its eye. Naturally it hesitated; though it gave the elf's other arm a nasty bite before he let the other go completely. The drow knew continuing the fight injured would be suicide, despite how he'd half-blinded the beast, so he did something that all drow did at some point but none ever spoke of doing.
He turned and ran as fast as he could.
The runaway Secondboy would be damned if he was going to die within spitting distance of an exit that he'd spent nearly three decades running circles around trying to escape through! The creature it seemed was not about to let the drow go, but thankfully its wounded eye did little to assist it as it gave chase to the elf, and a few bumps and slight trips put a healthy distance between the two. The drow made it to the surface, running out into the sunlight and ignoring the brightness of it as he knew what tailed him. The cave fisher hissed at the light, and then begrudgingly left its most hated prey thus far in its life to his viciously won freedom. If you could call a drow living on the surface by the promptings of a priestess free.
For his own part, it took the drow a long while before he decided the creature had not followed him. Any of the priestesses or sorcerers of Tu'alnuiiat, or anywhere in drow society, would have proclaimed with confidence that the fisher would not had tailed him, and probably scorned him for behaving so cowardly regardless of his wounds. Call the renegade crazy, but he would put his life in his own hands rather than trust the words of dark elves that had never been on the surface to test that assumption with their own lives. In fact, the only reason he had stopped in his running was pain and exhaustion, not a feeling of safety. Everything around him, the plants, the animals, the sky, felt so foreign and potentially threatening despite how they all behaved as though he was nothing new. As if a drow was something commonly found in the area. Most would find it insulting that they did not seem to fear their kind, but the secondboy took it as a good thing. Better to be ignored and passed by than made center stage in a hostile confrontation. His mother, his Matron, had taught him that, though most indirectly.
He rested against one of the trees, groaning as he held his bleeding stomach, finding it more important than the pain in his arm from the bite, though that was serious as well. So, several decades and a couple of wounds later, he'd made it. He wondered if his sister had been paying attention to his progress, or if she'd forgotten about him altogether in that time. He knew if she was paying attention, she'd find some way to communicate with him and relay her orders, 'suggestions' she called them. At least one of the tasks had been accomplished so far. He couldn't keep from laughing.
"Took a while, but I've made it to this desolate place." Next was to find out exactly what his 'dear' sister wanted him to do while he was here, what Lolth required of him before forcing his mother to spare his life rather than kill him on sight. It wasn't as if she hadn't dispatched assassins to find him, which he assumed was part of his sister's reasoning for why he should run for the world above ground for her own machinations rather than simply killing him in the courtyard that night. He hadn't brought any supplies with him aside from his weapons, so the first thing he needed to do was find a way to bind his wounds. He supposed his cloak would do, fashion was second to physical health so it was an easy sacrifice… Then some of the animals scattered, and he stiffened against the tree. Someone, or thing, else was out there. The drow looked around, unable to actually see anyone else in the forest. Then he glanced down to his own body, knowing running was out of the question from his exhaustion mixed with the blood he was quickly losing. The bite on his arm would make fighting impossible since all he had to fight with was a heavy two-handed sword. His only option was to remain perfectly still and silent, and pray to Lolth that whatever was there would simply pass by without noticing him, though he wasn't going to accept death if something found him, perhaps he could still fight despite his injuries should it come to that…
"Be still, drow. You're outnumbered." The recently surfaced underdweller turned his head, narrowing his eyes as he considered the speaker. The tongue he used was Common, typical of a human. Not surprising that was what found him, he'd heard that there was a human settlement close to the caves local to their city. He considered his words, glancing to either side of the man. Sure enough, he was outnumbered. Not vastly of course, only ten men. In an uninjured state, that would pose no threat to him. He slowly, shakily, rose to his feet, noting the way the men took a step back and gulped. Fear. He smiled slightly. His brother would have had a field day with these fools.
"Are you going to kill me, then?" The man in the center narrowed brown eyes at him, standing tall and well-muscled for a human. He was the only one who showed any actual backbone.
"That depends on you, though your kind isn't welcome here. We've had your sort come up before." The drow's face grew serious; knowing his chance for survival had likely been cut in half for each of his kin these people had encountered. Judging by their steady hands and unsteady faces, it wasn't a comforting number. He grasped his sword with his good arm, lifting it uneasily as he growled at the man.
"I never did like having my fate in the hands of others."
"Then I dinna ken how you'll feel about this, lad." Another voice had joined from behind him, one with an odd accent. Before the wounded elf could turn and see who said that and what they meant, he felt a sharp pain in the back of his head coupled with the sound of a sickening 'thud'. His world went back to blackness as he sagged to the ground in a heap. The humans looked between each other, then the drow, and the leader crossed his arms with a sigh.
"This is far too familiar a scene…" The one who'd hit the dark elf from behind tossed the rock he'd used up and caught it easily on it's way down, then knelt down to check on the creature.
"Och, one that'll likely meet the same ends." He glanced up to the leader of the group, shaking his head. "This one's badly wounded. Fatal. I figure he met trouble on the way up here. 'Tis probably why he didn't flee or fight us until the end there. We canna leave him here." The others glanced to the tallest of them, obviously uncomfortable with being murderers but not exactly wanting to drag a full-grown drow into their village. The man's face took a stern expression and he opened his mouth to reprimand the other for even suggesting things were the same, only to be cut off by the blacksmith raising a hand. "You dinna trust him, and neither do I, but think o' your boy. Think o' what he'll be learnin' if we kill one such as he, wounded and alone, without any reason beyond fear. I can already see the lad's face…" That was the end of the leader, along with the other humans, who were now ashamed of their thoughts of the new male. The tallest of them sighed, running one hand down his face with an annoyed groan.
"I hate it when you're right." The more open-minded of the pair chuckled at that, nodding his accord with a smile.
"I ken. It dinna change that I'm right." They all looked down to the dark elf, still unconscious, and after a few minutes of deliberation, the leader and the more jovial villager were elected to carry the large male. "Gods, the lad's heavy! I'll be fair puggled by the time we make it back to the village…" The other male grunted as he found his friend was correct on their new captive/guest's weight.
"Just shut up and help me."
The drow awoke with a start, sitting up suddenly in the bed, groaning as he clutched his side. He growled at his own weakness, eyes darting around the room he was in to take in his surroundings. It seemed to be a room in one of the human's homes, which made him less than comfortable given the circumstances that brought him there. He'd been blindsided by some human hiding behind the tree, and his head hurt as he recalled the disturbing thud sound that had been his skull if he hadn't missed his mark. The pain there said he hadn't. Looking out the window it was clear that it was night, which meant he'd been asleep for hours…or perhaps not? He might not have surfaced until late in the evening. He certainly wouldn't have been able to tell the difference, he hadn't known the time in years, just gauged it based on his own exhaustion. As no one came out to threaten or kill him, he relaxed. They hadn't even bothered tying him down to ensure he could not escape. A dull ache from his ribs made him realize that it wouldn't have been necessary, something that made him sick to his stomach. He, a dark elf, a drow, from one of the most prominent families in all of the Underdark city of Tu'alnuiiat, wasn't even threat enough to require the time to tie a few knots in plain rope.
His head hit the pillow with a growl, and then his eyes went back over the room. It was somewhat messy, mostly clean but with piles of books and loose papers all over the place. Errant fabric swatches, stones, animal teeth and claws, plants… It seemed more of an apothecary shop than someone's room. Perhaps a guest room converted to storage? It would explain all the books piles up… At that moment the door opened, which had him jumping to a sitting position again. Once again, his ribs paid the price for his sudden movements and he groaned low from his throat as he closed his eyes in an attempt to mentally lessen the pain.
"Awake I see." He heard a young male voice come from the door before closing it, mirth evident in his tone as he chuckled. "You need to relax and not move so much. I'd think you'd understand the severity of your own wounds." The drow kept his eyes closed as he growled at the voice, still holding his ribcage. He felt the bed shift as the human sat on it, sighing to himself. "Then again, elves are rather stubborn, aren't they?" That was as much insult as he was going to take from the male.
"I know exactly how bad it is, and exactly how much to move and not move, I don't need some human to—" As he opened his eyes to glare at the male before him, he was completely stunned. Sitting on the bed with him, cup of water extended to the foul-tempered dark elf was…definitely not a human. Obsidian skin, bright red eyes, stark white hair, pointed ears… There was no mistaking it. This man was a drow, like him. "…That blow to the head must have been more serious than I thought." The second drow simply laughed, shaking his head as he put the cup into the other's hand.
"No, your eyes are working just fine. I am a drow, like you." He smiled brightly; in fact it made the other uncomfortable given how little dark elves smiled sincerely without having a knife hidden behind their back waiting for you. "You're actually the first one I've ever met face to face. When my father and uncle brought you in, I was thrilled and horrified all at once to see one of my supposedly evil kin." He extended a hand with a laugh, still smiling. "I'm Ambrose Cameran, of Gellindale, a humble little human farming village." After a pause, and downing the entire glass of water, the injured dark elf took the other's hand and shook it.
"Ryldrin." He paused; still not sure he was actually seeing another drow on the surface, in a human home no less. "Ryldrin Rilynndar, of Tu'alnuiiat, a proud and dominating drow Underdark city."