In Dreams
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of R.A. Salvatore/Wizards of the Coast ©. I don't own them; I'm just examining all their possibilities.
Author's Note: The following story is a combination of events and themes from my stories "The Lesser Evil," "Midsummer," and "Siren's Cry." Each scene will be resolved in a rather interesting way, so stay tuned.
Rated M for graphic violence, strong language, adult themes, and disturbing images.
Part 1
Not again.
It was the only thought that screamed through Drizzt's mind as the gnarled tree bark pressed into his back as his legs stretched out on the grass.
The press of ancient bark and the prickle of grass were soothing, loving massages compared to the fire that burned in his lower abdomen.
He put his head back and let out a long, angry groan as the pain became more intense. Drizzt's lavender eyes opened to get a view of the clear, starlit sky over the canopy of trees though all he smelled was burning; burning wood, burning oil, burning flesh.
His arms braced his abdomen against the pain, though he felt a familiar, sticky wetness. He looked down and gasped; seeing the front of his white tunic soaked in blood and torn. He braced himself harder, feeling a piercing ache as a slick, soft piece of tissue under his hand made him gag.
Drizzt didn't want to look down; knowing and fearing what he would see. His tiny, almost innocent sense of curiosity got the better of him as he slowly pulled his arms away and look down to see a pink tube of flesh peaking out from a gaping hole where the skin of his abdominal cavity used to be.
He wanted to scream, but his lungs would not give him the air and his throat closed it off. All he could do was sit and gasp, the pain backing off as his body became colder.
Drizzt slowly looked up from the mass of tissue and blood his body had become, looking out at the expanse of forest where he remembered tents had once stood and elves danced in Midsummer revelry. Now it was gray mist over a thick forest, no one present save himself and one figure standing a few feet away.
His vision was hazy, though he focused and saw a drow standing still and staring at him; a male drow with short, white hair wearing only a pair of black leather trousers and a mask on his chalk gray face. He looked around the scene with an expression of horrified awe, a bloody shortsword in one hand as only a stump was left of his other hand.
"Vel'uss ph'dos," Drizzt managed to gasp to the other drow. "Who are you?"
The drow gave him a tired, pained expression; his gaze settling on the grass in front of him.
Drizzt looked down to the long grass, seeing a mass of green flesh covered in blood; head a massive bulb with bulging yellow eyes. Its clawlike hands were raking in front of it as its jaw opened and closed. The creature let out a muffled cry Drizzt swore was the wail of an infant. The creature was horrifying to behold, yet he wanted to rush over and scoop it in his arms; protect it.
The creature's shrieks were drowned out by the thundering of running feet coming up the hill. He pried his eyes from the horrible sight, looking up to see a mass of humans in simple clothing running up the hill and shouting. Jarlaxle slid up from the hill and ducked away from the mob.
Drizzt wanted to cry out to Jarlaxle, seek any explanation for what was happening, though the sight of Artemis Entreri creeping beside him made his skin crawl. Jarlaxle stood in front of him, ignoring the other drow and giving a helpless look around the area. Entreri also froze, looking first at the carnage around him before his black eyes settled on Drizzt.
Drizzt wanted to locate his scimitars, though he only had strength to look up at the assassin. Entreri's gaze was cold at first, though he saw a hint of sadness; an emotion of which he could never imaging Entreri possessing, though here he was now. Drizzt swore he saw a small tear slide from one eye, though the cries of the human mob in front of him stole his attention.
"It's the damn drow!" a familiar voice called from the crowd, as Kemp of Targos, the councilor from Icewind Dale who had always played the antagonist to him and his companions, rushed to the forefront.
Targos rushed forward, stopping in front of Drizzt as Jarlaxle and Entreri slid away and the third drow remained standing in his position.
"You have wrought this madness on us, dark elf," Targos shouted, pointing at Drizzt.
"He is gravely injured, can you not see that?" another voice called.
Drizzt looked up, his eyes meeting the soothing, gold-green orbs of Nialian Springleaf, a cleric of Corellon Larethian and a close friend, who leaned down beside Drizzt and examined his wound.
"He killed Bruenor Battlehammer's daughter!" Targos shouted.
"She died fighting!" Nialian shouted back, his wizened face twisted in anger.
Drizzt's heart pounded in his chest as his blood ran cold.
"Catti?" he gasped.
"Shh," Nialian said, leaning over Drizzt and putting a hand to his forehead. "Do not stress yourself further. Just rest."
Drizzt's breath came ragged and sharp as a scream went through his brain. He looked around, seeing the human mob lead by Targos on one end, Entreri and Jarlaxle standing in the brush readying their weapons and glaring at the mob, and the drow, who had now fallen to his knees as he stared at the still-crying creature on the ground.
His eyes trailed to the side of the mass, seeing a humanoid shape in the trees far apart from the mess in front of him. The first thing he saw was a mass of auburn hair, then a pair of blue eyes shone through the darkness as her cheek pressed against the leaves.
Drizzt's breath was now only gasps; Catti-brie's mouth was relaxed, her face stained by a mass of blood that surrounded her severed head. Her torso was a foot away, clothing torn in a mass of blood, her intestines glistening in a river of blood that poured away from her.
A green, webbed foot splashed through the blood. Drizzt's eyes trailed up the green scales, huge tail, and large claws of the creature; spattered in Catti's blood as its toothy maw hissed at him in a cry that sounded like a baby's laugh. Its yellow eyes glowed through the dark, though faded to purple.
The creature morphed from a hideous, scaled creature to a young man with green hair and a handsome face. A moment later, Drizzt was looking at his own face; his tongue lapping the blood from his chin and around the large, angry scar on the right side of his cheek. His mouth turned up in a wicked smirk as a black mask framed his face.
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"No!" Drizzt screamed, bolting upright in the dark room as a wave of pain came over him.
He crashed back on the soft mattress with a groan as he put a hand to his torso, feeling a cloth bandage wrapped around his waist.
"Drizzt," Catti-brie gasped, gently grabbing his shoulders; her auburn hair dangling over him as her face was inches from his.
He reached up, clasping her cheeks as he pulled her in for a passionate, grateful kiss; his breath calming as a few tears poured from his eyes.
"Drizzt are you all right," Catti-brie asked, concern in her voice.
Drizzt took a deep breath, the pain in his abdomen subsiding as his skin recovered from the sudden jar to his fresh stitches. He looked up, savoring the sight of the green canvas of the healing tent. Elves still sang and talked merrily outside despite most of the Midsummer festivities being done for the evening.
He was still in Moonwood, he was still in Nialian's tent, he was still recovering from his appendectomy, there were no creatures, Jarlaxle and his companion were safely in Cormyr hunting for treasure, Catti-brie was still alive; all was right with the universe.
"Just a bad dream," he said, caressing the side of Catti-brie's face with a smile.