Mordecay: Thank you! I'm glad you like it.
4/1/1388
For the past several days, we have sailed upon this boat. This wretched, cursed—
4/2/1388
My apologies for leaving so abruptly. Another bout of seasickness struck me, and I was forced to deal with it.
"I hate the sea and everything in it." I muttered, as I heaved what remained of my lunch into the watery depths.
"Including your stomach contents?" Elanee teased.
I gave her the dirtiest look I could muster. She just chuckled. "You do have a point," she admitted, her face becoming serious. "This water feels…unnatural."
She looked over the railing into the seemingly bottomless ocean. "It is too deep. Too different from the Mere's waters."
"Bah." Khelgar spat, walking past us. "The only thing wrong with this ocean is this blasted thing you call a ship! It rocks like--" His face suddenly turned green. He ran towards the railing, but could not reach over it. I grabbed him by the back of the shirt and lifted him until he could spill his guts into the water.
His was pale as I set him down. "Damned boat," was all he could mutter before walking away.
Neeshka watched the display with great irritation. I could tell by the agitated twitching of her tail that she was growing tired of our companion's complaining. "Hey Solafae, how much longer until we--"
Another round of my vomit fell overboard.
"Nevermind." Neeshka sighed.
Later that night, I sat down to rest. My stomach had finally settled. I intended to take advantage of the moment. I wasn't sleepy, but I was tired.
Khelgar sat across from me. "Don't like the ocean. The tree worshiper is right about it. It's unnatural."
"What makes you say that?" I asked.
"You can fight an orc, a human, a troll, but you can't fight this damned water. It makes you sick, and there's nothin' you can do!" He slammed his fist into his palm. "If I could, I'd send this ocean running back to it's mother!"
"Why are you so eager to fight?" I asked.
"Eager to fight? Well, I suppose I am, if you can call it that - I mean, it's all in good fun."
"Of course."
"Some take pride in craftsmanship, or in hunting, or in haggling for the best price on a blade or other piece of steel. Me? Talking with my fists is my art form." He grinned. "Every tavern's an opportunity, I say. There's usually someone who can take a few punches to the gut and groin before they start weeping like a child."
"But what's the point?" Khelgar is an excellent fighter, but he often fights senselessly. Why would he do such a thing?
"Well, I don't know. I enjoy it, I guess. It's a mark of pride to be able to stand tall, and take every punch, then give it right back until I'm the only one standing."
"Is that usually how it turns out?"
"Most of the time. Only beaten really bad once, but I learned from it, and I'm determined not to let it happen again." He smiled, his eyes getting a little twinkle. "Thing is, I'm glad it happened. It was my destiny."
From what I knew of Khelgar, he would not say such a thing lightly. "Why do you say that?"
He struggled for a moment, trying to decide whether or not to tell me. "I suppose I can tell you. You're a fighter too, so you'll appreciate this. You see, I used to win. Almost undefeated."
"Unsurprising." I meant it. Khelgar is an excellent fighter.
He beamed with pride, flattered by the compliment.
Soon, he returned to his story. "But there was this time in a tavern far from here that I chose a fight that ended up choosing me." He sighed a little dreamily. "It was fate, I tell you."
"How so?"
"Well, it wasn't much of a fight.' He launched into a story. "You see, there were these skinny robed humans, barely twigs, that were sitting at the bar when one of our... 'competitions' broke out."
"Competitions?"
"Fights. There were chairs getting smashed, people screaming, tankards being used as clubs." He sighed happily. "Glorious."
"I don't understand the problem."
He scowled. "Well, everyone was having a good time when I noticed those skinny humans were just sitting there, not even having the decency to pay attention, just nursing waters." A disgusted expression formed. "Waters."
"I see."
"So I asked them, well, shouted really, what in the hells they thought they were doing, ignoring the fine entertainment and then insulting the establishment by not having ale."
"What did they do?"
"Well, they ignored me first. And maybe I shoved one of them a bit. Or tried to break a chair over their skulls, since they were making a point of pretending they didn't hear me. Rude, I tell you."
"How did they respond?"
He gave me a sheepish look. "Uh, well, they used me as a bar rag, first. And not a single punch I threw even hit them, they were moving too fast. And plus, I think I was seeing double. Or triple."
They had to be monks. My younger brother fought in a similar manner when unarmed. He was equally deadly with a great sword. I made sure of that.
Khelgar continued his story. "After they smashed my face into the bar a few times, they showed me the floor up close - the floor was pretty dirty by that point, by the way - then, as the final blow, they sent me flying like a drunk hippogriff out the window." Another happy sigh escaped his lips. "Magical, it was."
"I see." Was my dry reply.
"So after I woke up and wiped the blood out of my eyes - and finally found all my teeth - I went back in and thanked them. Best beating I've ever received."
"How did they react?"
"They seemed a little taken aback by my friendliness, and it turns out they were part of some order, Sun something or other, and get this - they'd devoted their lives to fighting with their fists."
Definitely monks.
The dwarf's eyes shined with awe. "Can you imagine? Lifetime devotion to brawling. It's their lives, their craft."
"Monks."
"They're monks, aye. Crazy water-drinking fools. Hmmmph. Hope drinking water isn't what makes them fight like that."
"It's not."
"You know a monk, lass?"
"One or two."
He nodded. "Anyway, that life sounded like destiny to me. I mean, those skinny excuses for humans were good, and they spent their whole lives kicking the hell out of others. Training for it."
He looked me dead in the eye. "That's when I knew that's what I wanted to do with my life. My purpose was clear."
Khelgar looked up at me. "But what about you? You're one of the few elves that don't mind getting your hands dirty in a fight. You fight with your fists, and your blades. You fight well enough that even the meanest of the clans would respect you. Who taught you to fight like that?"
"My mother."
"I didn't know that foster father of yours had a wife. From what I've heard, he sounds like the quiet type. Not too interested in a woman."
"I speak of my biological mother. Not my foster." I only knew my foster mother briefly. She was the one who implored me to seek out and save her friend in the battle of West Harbor nearly a decade ago.
"A skinny elf like you?! Well, you're not as skinny as most elves, but where did she learn to fight like that?"
"She had many secrets. Where she learned to fight was one of them."
"So she taught you? Why?"
"She wanted a warrior to add to her army."
"What was your mother exactly? Where did she get a whole army?"
"She was the matron. Our clan leader you could say. She assembled her army over her lifetime."
"What happened to her?"
"She died in battle."
"I'm sorry, lass."
"Don't be." I hold no affection for my mother. I never have, and I never will.
"Who killed her?"
"Another matron." This was an evasive answer. She was killed by Matron Sinvyl the first time, but Ilivarra killed her for the second time. Khelgar does not need to know of my sister's matricide.
"I hope you didn't let her get away with it. Killin' a lass's mother deserves a hell of a beating."
"I didn't." Another evasive answer. I died in the fight, but when my sister summoned me a century later, I did much to defeat Matron Sinvyl. Even if it was my sister, her lover, and her friends that destroyed her.
He nodded. "You should get some rest, lass. We've got another day on this cursed boat to handle."
I nodded. "You are correct"
I now put my journal away to follow his advice.
4/3/1388
A dream came to me tonight. I do not dream often, but this dream is not uncommon.
I stand in the temple of Lolth of my household. Matron Sinvyl's forces spill in from all corners. She knows our defenses well—too well. There is a traitor in our midst.
Thoughts of treachery can wait. My mother screams orders, and I work to follow them. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Ilivarra. She darts through the forces with the agility of a feline. Her expression is desperate, and her eyes are locked on a struggling man tied to Lolth's altar. Her bardic love. Corran.
I ignore her. I fight, but my mother is subdued by Matron Sinvyl. How could she take care of someone so powerful with such ease? My mother is disarmed, and a rope is tied around her neck. She struggles, but her efforts are futile. Matron Sinvyl hangs the rope herself, and my mother is left to strangle from the ceiling.
My blood boils. How dare Matron Sinvyl dishonor my house and my matron in such a way. I keep a cool head, but I still rush for Matron Sinvyl.
I catch sight of Ilivarra again. She has freed Corran, but has not joined the fight. I am surprised. Ilivarra is no coward. She is brave to the point of folly, yet she runs from the largest threat ever to invade our house. She and her lover escape through a portal, and I am left only to wonder about her cowardice. What could change Ilivarra's nature in such manner? Some elements of her specific bravery were still present. She did not seem to care what happened to her, but she seemed terrified that something would happen to her bard, or to the tiny life growing in her abdomen. So, she runs. Why? Why would she do such a thing?
I approach Matron Sinvyl. She smiles cruelly and engages me in combat. I am the better fighter, yet she overpowers me. How? Questions flood my mind, and concentration becomes difficult.
Suddenly, she slashes my blade at the hilt. I am stunned at the broken pieces of Hell's Fury, but I am left little time to process as matron Sinvyl's blade runs me through.
My world starts to darken. I look over at my mother, knowing that without one of the daughters to take up her staff and mantle with the course of five minutes, every living creature within a mile radius will die. But the house will not collapse. I see the bodies of my eight remaining siblings lying on the floor. Only one remains alive, and it is because she ran from the fight. Ilivarra is Matron now. I am enveloped in darkness.
I awoke with a start. Neeshka's flame eyes stared back at me.
"Hey, Solafae, are you okay? You were muttering stuff in your sleep." Her face became curious. "Who's Sinvyl?"
"She is nothing more than a nightmare. I am alright. Thank you for your concern." I tipped my head in gracious acknowledgement.
"No problem." She smiled. "Sorry I woke you up, but you know, the tree worshiper or the dwarf would have done it anyway. Probably wanted to complain some more."
"You don't like them?"
"Well, the dwarf needs to watch his tongue, or it's going to run right out of his mouth and get stepped on. I mean, you did me a good turn, all I want to do is help out, and he's yelling at me like some old mule." She sighed. "I know he's short and it's rough being in the "big people's" world, but he needs to stop being all defensive - especially for someone so small."
"He just needs a little more time to get used to you." I suggested.
"Story of my life. You'd be surprised how much you hear that when you're about to be burned at the stake or run out of the local hamlet."
I raised an eyebrow.
"Well, maybe not you. You're a drow, so you must know something about that."
She's right. It took a long time for the people of my village to get used to me. It does not matter if they liked me or not. I can live with the scorn of my race, but it seems that Neeshka is still learning to accept her differences. She will learn eventually, or she will die. It is a simple fact of the world.
"The tree-hugger probably doesn't know anything about that. She looks perfectly normal, except for her hair. If she just combed the twigs, she'd fit in just fine." The tiefling sneered. "And she complains about not fitting in with the world outside her Mere."
"What do you think of Elanee?"
"The tree-worshipper? What about her?" Neeshka shrugged. "If you're asking if she has any money or valuables, then no, I already checked."
"I was more interested in what you thought of her in general."
"I don't know. She's got pointy-ears but doesn't smell of the Lower Planes, so she's probably not a tiefling." Her tone was clearly mocking. "And she's too tall to be a halfling - and too thin. Plus, she hangs out with animals, so she's an elf." She shrugged again. "What do you expect me to say? She's one of those nature priests, worship trees and the land, don't like cities, so don't have much traffic with her kind."
"Smell of the lower planes?"
"Yeah. Usually people with fiend's blood have sort of a smell. Sometimes it's strong enough that even regular humans can pick it up, and sometimes it's faint. Yours is faint."
I kept my face carefully straight. "What makes you think that I have fiend's blood?" This was an avenue of conversation that could turn ugly, but my swords were well within reach.
"You don't have to be all evasive about it, Solafae. The smells too faint for me to tell how many generations, but it's there. You're devil-blooded, aren't you? The smell's just as shadowy as the baatezu, but it's there." Her expression clearly said, 'Don't try to lie to me.'
"I think my smell speaks for itself."
She smiled. "I understand. You have enough trouble when you look like a drow. Don't need to add a devil to the mix."
That certainly saves me a lot of potential explanation.
"Thank you, Neeshka."
Neeshka grinned. "No problem, Solafae. And thanks for not trying to lie to me about it."
She walked off, and I intend to go back to sleep.
4/4/1388
The moment I woke up, the sounds of an argument reached my ears.
"Well I say you're a miserable excuse for half-devil, goat-headed beast!"
"Yeah? Well I've seen footstools that are taller than you!"
Khelgar's fists were clenched, and Neeshka's tail was moving in a deadly manner.
I was quick to become between them. "What's this all about?"
"She took my axe!"
"I did not! Just because I'm a thief you automatically assume I took it!"
"Nah, I think you took it because you're a no-good, rotten--"
"That's enough." I said firmly.
Khelgar fell silent.
"Now," I began, "Where did you see it last, Khelgar?"
"By my bed, where it always is."
I walked over to his bed and knelt down. Sure enough, the axe had been knocked under the bed. Khelgar probably pushed it by accident when he got up to deal with his sea-sickness the previous night.
"She probably hid it underneath while we weren't looking."
"Khelgar, Neeshka, I will not tell each of you how to behave. You're both adults, and are entitled to your opinions. However, if you two must argue you will do it calmly and rationally like adults. If you cannot settle the argument, then you are to come to me and I will settle it fairly. But you two are not to brawl over matters such as these. I will not tolerate either of you brawling with your allies. It benefits no one, and only makes us ripe for the killing blow from our enemies. If you two come to blows, you must deal with me. And seeing as I am the only cleric present, I would strongly recommend you follow my orders and avoid any actions that would make me think twice about healing you both. Do I make myself clear?"
They nodded.
"Good." Normally, I would have made them shake hands on the matter, but it would not help to damage their pride further.
"I will leave you both to your own devices." I said, leaving.
I thought of getting some breakfast, but decided against it. Just looking at the lull of the waves made me queasy.
Elanee smiled, leaning on the railing. "You handled that well."
I shrugged. "I suppose so."
"You have done this before?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
I was not sure I wished to tell her about my military history, so I decided on a more neutral answer. "I am the oldest of eleven."
The druidess lifted her brows. "Nature has certainly blessed your mother."
There was nothing natural in her fertility. I know it, my sisters knew it, and every female in our previous generations knew it.
"That's open to interpretation."
"You sound a little bitter. Did you not love your siblings? Your father?"
I bear no affection for my siblings. My father, I never knew. I had dozens of steppatrons. As my sister Adintal would say, "Guliara went through consorts like she did tampons."
"Love is an abstract concept in my society."
"Ever evasive. Talking to you is like pulling a thorn out of a beaver's tail, do you know that?"
"Do you have any brothers or sisters?" I asked, changing the subject.
"Only those that lived with me with the Mere."
"Tell me about the Mere of the Deadmen. You seem to know much about it."
"Do you think this is the first lifetime I have spent in the mists of Merdelain?" She gave me a teasing grin before starting her tale. "My life in the Mere dates back several lifetimes... many of my ancestors lie beneath its waters. And my ancestors were there when Medelain gained its human name, before there were even such tiny settlements as West Harbor and Red Fallow's Watch."
"Red Fallow's Watch?"
"The name means nothing to you, does it? Of course not - the Mere claimed it over fifty years ago in its slow march across the land. And before that was the event where it gained its human name."
"Its human name?"
"My people once called the Mere, Merdelain, the "Slow Tide" or "Slow Marching Court" in the times before the wars of men gave it a new name, before humans settled on it shores." Her eyes were distant as she spoke. "And those settlements are mostly gone now, their manors and castles now ruins desperately reaching their hands above the water. It is for all who dwell within cities, that the land will take again what was taken from it - whether cut stone, carved wood, or fields sliced by the plow."
"You said this wasn't your first lifetime in the Mere of Dead Men." Such discussion of ruin was bringing back too many memories of my final battle for my household. Too many questions.
"No, for my father perished there in the fog, slain by orc soldiers from the mountains. It is his life that I speak of when I say 'lifetimes.'"
She appeared sad. "On the year the swamp gained its new name, there was a great battle fought miles within its borders. Orcs, spilling from the mountains, drove humans, dwarves, and my people into the swamps where they were surrounded - and cut down in the fog, trapped in mud where the footing of the orcs proved truer. But there were no need for graves, their corpses were all embraced and dragged down, and what dead lay upon the surface were taken by the others who dwelled in the swamp. And so, even in the fog, the ghosts still whisper and weep of lost Merdelain, the song taken up by countless elven widows that cry across its shores. And always, the mere seeks more dead to draw them down into its waters, down amongst the dead ones."
She still sounded sad, but not regretful or grieving. Those emotions lead to nothing. Dwelling on loss is useless.
"What happened then?"
"I was orphaned from that battle - when the first of the Circle found me, wailing in the mist, in those very ruins you traveled to outside of West Harbor. They gathered me up, and I made no sound, and they took me into the heart of the mere, to show me its secret ways. And there was always much to learn."
She sighed. "In time, though I knew only some of its ways, I became accepted into the Circle - and accepted by the Mere as well. It was only the last test that I failed."
"What test?"
She seemed to become defensive. "Perhaps we shall speak of it another time, but not now."
I looked out into the water. A strange assortment of bubbles seemed to rise near the boat. Too close.
A cold feeling trickled down my spine. Something was not right.
Without warning, a bladeling shot out of the water.
"The Kalach-cha!" He screeched, digging his long talons into the side of the boat and climbing up.
I balled my hand into a fist and punched him right in the face. He fell back into the water, his skull cracking like an egg. I told you I'm stronger than I look.
Elanee was chanting spells as more bladelings appeared. Neeshka and Khelgar had grabbed their weapons and were dispatching the creatures. I spoke a command word, my hands glowing with red light. The pieces of Hell's Fury instantly appeared in my hands, and I decapitated an approaching bladeling.
Once the final bladeling was slain, a githyanki rose above the water, propelled by her magic.
"You will answer for your crimes, Kalach-Cha!" she cried, attacking me.
While a good cleric, she was no match for me in combat. I took care of her with a stab in the guts. When she fell, I searched her corpse for clues, only to find none.
"What exactly did you do to make a bunch of religious zealots like the githyanki mad at you?" Neeshka asked, going to search the bodies of the bladelings.
I frowned. "I don't know, Neeshka."
"Maybe your sister did something to piss them off." She suggested.
I chuckled. "Perhaps."
My companions stared at me, astounded.
"What is it?" My tone was suspicious.
"You actually laughed. Lass, you never laugh." Khelgar stated.
I blinked, not sure how to respond to that. However, I quickly regained my composure. "Be that as it may, we have work to do. Once we get to land, we must learn more about the nature of these creatures, and what they intend to do with us."
Not waiting for them to respond, or to make another comment about my laugh, I returned below deck.
4/9/1388
"So this is Neverwinter? Suppose it's passable - for a city built by humans." Khelgar said several days later. "Can't say I care for it, though. You want a proper city, you build down, not up."
Elanee shifted uncomfortably. "This place feels... unnatural, the wood and stone, it's as if they've been silenced."
"I wish you'd both be silent. The entire trip was just one long whine from the two of you." Neeshka spat.
The tiefling put on a deep, dwarvish imitation of Khelgar. "Oh, me stomach feels funny. This boat rocks like a baby's cradle."
It was followed by a high-pitched mockery of Elanee. "This water is so unnatural and deep, not like the swamp of dead people I grew up in."
Elanee and Khelgar glared, not wanting to speak so as to add oil to the fire.
"Not that I've got great memories of this place, but it's home." She addressed me. "So - where are we going first, Solafae?"
"The inn."
Khelgar grunted. "Not sure I can stomach any food yet. A stiff drink and a good tavern brawl, on the other hand..." He shrugged. "I say lead the way. Besides, I'd welcome a stable bed after being trapped on that filthy excuse for a boat."
We soon found the inn, and my foster uncle, but that is a tale for another time.
