A/N: first, as promised, my drawing of Estel during her childhood in Candlekeep. More are coming. FF has this weird way of handling links, so just close the spaces.
malenloth. deviantart art /Innocence-295645962
Xan was dying. The news wasn't at all surprising, he'd expected that particular turn of events for quite some time now. Every moment of every day for the last decade, in fact. He was so used to expecting death that by now it had turned into some dull, strange kind of courage. After all, if you were already doomed, what have you got to lose?
Not that he wanted to die. True to his luck, his death wouldn't bring brief discomfort followed by an eternity of happiness in Arvaneith that expected other elves, but instead thousands of years of bleak imprisonment in a sword. He supposed being reunited with the spirits of his likewise trapped heroic ancestors should've counted as some sort of consolation, but Xan did not cherish the thought of spending thousands of years in the company of ancient heroes berating him for the great things a moonblade wielder was expected to do and Xan never did.
Oh it was a great honor, to be chosen by a moonblade instead of being killed by it outright, and such special people were hailed as heroes, protectors of Elvendom etcetera etcetera. What good was a sword to a mage, anyway? Yet it has chosen him, a frail acolyte, and suddenly he was honored, hailed, heroic and other such words and promptly thrown out of Evereska on one fittingly heroic quest or another. Heroic and hopeless. That was a recipe for an elven hero right there.
Xan's spirit earned to remain in his peaceful Evereska, learning ancient secrets of magic among his own kind. But now his spirit was forever linked to the moonblade. And that brought him back to his current predicament. As in dying. A moonblade wielder's life energy was connected to his sword and the two could never be separated. But they were now.
The ancestors, when he went to them, would probably not be pleased that one of the ancient moonblades forged to protect Elvendom ended up at the bottom of a gods-forsaken mine for who knows how long, but at least the sword would not let anyone wield it unless someone worthy of it happened to wander into this particular mine, so it probably had no retail value. That at least was some comfort.
The elf's long slender fingers flexed, hoping against hope to close on the familiar handle that wasn't there anymore. That was exactly how he imagined his death, in some dark hole, unknown to anyone and utterly meaningless. People set out on adventures confident that, if they were fated to die, it would be a powerful, meaningful death that would change the face of Faerûn. But mostly, of course, confident that they would not die at all. Xan had no such delusions.
He could do with a few delusions right now, like a prospect of miraculous rescue by a band of adventurers that just happened to wander by. He could, of course, brighten his last hours by seeing Evereska in reverie, but, frankly, what was the point if he was going to die and never see it again anyway?
And so Xan lay in the cold and the dark, detachedly contemplating his own sad and imminent demise. Somewhere water dripped unhurriedly, knowing it had all the time in the world to undercut the stubborn stone. But to the elf whose life force steadily dripped away it was counting down remaining moments.
"It could be a dragon," Imoen mused, becoming increasingly bored as the fear of being buried under tons of stone lost its novelty. "Just saying. Kobolds are known to serve dragons."
"What is it with you and dragons?" Jaheira sighed. Her original strategy was not to dignify the girl's wild imaginings with a response, but Imoen was absolutely unrelenting.
"Wouldn't it be great if we killed a dragon? Then we'd become dragon-slayers, and the grateful townsfolk for throw a feast in our honor and—"
"We'd be dragon feast, more likely," the older woman cut in with obvious annoyance.
"You mean you never killed a dragon?" Imoen asked, completely crestfallen.
"D-dragons are d-d-dangerous and c-cunning," Khalid answered patiently.
"Well, that's the point!" Imoen flung her arms in the air. She felt like she was trying to explain something extremely obvious to very small children.
Estel stopped. Walking in the dark mines was rather like sneaking in the library at night, except the danger was not in encountering an angry monk. In fact, the evident absence of angry monks made it much easier. But now they were nearing the end, and she did not cherish the thought of facing whatever was around the corner, dragon or not.
"What do you see?" Jaheira whispered by her shoulder.
"Heat," the elf whispered back. "Not like those kobolds."
There was something else she did not mention. A nagging feeling Estel could not quite place, it was as if something in there called to her.
They advanced carefully. There was no way to sneak around and ambush whoever was inside – just a narrow tunnel that led into the cave. The source of heat became apparent as soon as they entered – torches on the walls eliminated the cave, inevitably briefly blinding them after all the time spent wandering in darkness.
"So, Tazok finally sends someone to replace me," the denizen of the cave appraised them critically.
"The miners are getting suspicious," Estel tried to think quickly to buy them time to adjust to the light.
"Yeah, they know someone is down here," Imoen joined in on the bluff.
"Well that is to be expected when all the ore suddenly goes bad!" The ugliest face Estel had ever seen slowly came into focus through the violet splotches that plagued her vision. Sickly greenish skin glistened in the torchlight, two huge tusks stuck out of his mouth, giving away his orcish blood. Strangely, his appearance put Estel at ease. After all, weren't all half-orcs stupid? Although this one was disturbingly well-spoken and wore dark-purple robes.
"I'm sure you just did your job, right?" Imoen raised her hands calmingly. "And really smart using those kobolds to spread the poison."
Behind them Jaheira tapped Khalid lightly on the arm and nodded to one of the dark corners. Shadows were deep there, deep enough to hide in. Her eyes, hindered by bright torchlight, could just make out motionless humanoid shapes. The mayor said miners were disappearing…
"Of course it's smart, did you think you'd just come here, kill a stupid blundering half-orc and get your money?" the half-orc snorted derisively. Imoen's words must have struck a nerve.
"Of course not, Tazok told us how cunning you are," Estel blinked rapidly.
"And did you think I'd just let you kill me after all my hard work once I became no longer needed? Ha!" the half-orc made a gesture with his hand, and the shapes Jaheira was watching stepped out of the shadow. Orange light danced on polished bones. Empty sockets watched the adventurers impassively. "That's right, I'm quite prepared for you. My little helpers have been watching you for quite some time now."
"Skeletons!" Jaheira got a better grip on her staff.
"Has a knack for the obvious, does she?" the half-orc smirked. "Kill them!"
The crowded cave wasn't the most convenient of battlefields. Reanimated skeletons kept them from reaching the half-orc, and that made him very dangerous. Still, Estel found it easy to bash skeletons left and right. Skeletons did not bleed, did not feel pain. They were abominations, and she felt no remorse for destroying them. Not that destroying them without some kind of paladin on your side was easy – cut off an arm, and you just end up with something trying to grab your ankles.
Suddenly, a wave of exhaustion washed over her. Estel shook her head, struggling to regain her balance, and saw Jaheira's frozen form in front of her. The druid's body was rigid, fighting to break free of the spell. Immediately, Khalid was at her side, protecting his defenseless wife from the blows that skeletons showered on her. The cleric laughed from safety.
"We've got to get to that orc before he does another trick like that!" Imoen hissed next to Estel.
"He's not—" the elf started to correct her friend automatically, but cut herself off.
"Like old times," Imoen winked and suddenly there was no one near Estel. The elven girl swore under her breath using words she learned from one of the guards back in Candlekeep and blocked a blow from the skeleton that was fighting Imoen just a moment ago. She risked a quick glance aside – Jaheira was still under the effect of some kind of holding spell and Khalid wasn't about to leave her unprotected to concentrate on killing the bad guy – that was probably going to earn him some serious telling off, given they survived this mess. The old times… Yes, she remembered 'the old times'. She never really approved any of them, or at least pretended not to, if only for the sake of not feeling so bad when Gorion inevitably reprimanded her in that disappointed voice…
The elf dived behind Jaheira, and the skeleton attacking her immediately switched to another closest living being. She kicked away the skull that tried to bite her foot, ducked under the swinging bony arm at the same time and, grabbing the spine, shoved the skeleton behind her and used the resistance to propel herself forward. Without turning her head she knew that the skeleton she just passed would be too busy crumbling under the suddenly reappeared Imoen to pay her any further attention.
With most of the skeletons industriously flailing away at Khalid now and Imoen protecting her rear, Estel only had to quickly cross the open space between her and the cleric. Then she would hit him on the head hard enough to knock him out, and Jaheira would have someone to vent out her frustrations on when she came to. The only catch was that the half-orc probably had another spell ready by the time she evaded his undead.
And that he did. Deep concentrated chanting barely audible behind the clattering of swords crescendoed triumphantly and another unnatural wave of tiredness reached Estel. The young elf slowed, stumbling on the flat floor, but did not stop. It surprised her that she was able to retain some control of her limbs at all. It certainly surprised the cleric as he made no attempt to defend himself when she half-fell half-plunged into him with sword in hand instead of being frozen in place.
Suddenly all the remaining skeletons crumbled to the ground and Jaheira nearly struck at Khalid once free of the holding spell. Imoen rushed to her friend and dragged unresisting Estel off the half-orc. Their enemy remained motionless, surprised expression forever frozen on his deformed face. A sword remained stuck in his chest.
"Estie! Estie, come on!" Imoen kept repeating with rising panic in her voice as she caught sight of the dark stain of blood covering the elf's armor.
"She's alive," Jaheira said dispassionately, coming closer. The druid frowned as she checked the half-orc. "He, however, is not. We needed to interrogate him further."
Estel sat up abruptly and looked at the cleric with wild eyes. "He's dead?!" she breathed out. "I didn't mean to…"
"Hey, you saved the day!" Imoen clapped her on the shoulder. "Auntie Jaheira is just grouchy that she had to be saved."
"I didn't mean to…" Estel repeated and wiped her forehead with her hand, realizing too late that her glove was soaked in blood.
"Search the cave," the druid ordered. "We will have time for stupor once we're back on the surface."
Imoen stuck her tongue out at the older woman and turned back to Estel. "Can you stand?"
"I'm fine, Imo, let's try to find some explanation to what was happening here," the elf said, trying to still her shaking hands. She tentatively rose to her feet and looked around. Details she didn't notice before came into view. The cave further in was decorated like a throne room, as if the half-orc proclaimed himself the ruler of this hole. Next to the makeshift throne was an altar. Estel came closer, her eyes drawn to the tapestry that hang on the wall above it. The white skull stared back at her, surrounded by dark-violet corona. She couldn't help feeling unexplainable hostility somewhere deep inside. Then again, was it so unexplainable? The symbol belonged to Cyric, the mad god of many abominable things sentient being liked to do to each other. Deception, lies… murder. Did she serve him today?
On instinct, out of sheer disgust, the elf tore the tapestry off the wall and was surprised to see a niche on the wall behind it. It contained one small locked box, the kind people often used to keep their private correspondence in.
"Good job," Jaheira said behind her. "It can be trapped, don't touch it."
"Hey, look what I found!" Imoen called out from the other side of the room. "There's a spell book, some pouches and a really nice-looking sword. Dibs on the book, though!"
With one last glance at Jaheira carefully handling the box, Estel wandered over to her friend, intrigued by her find.
"That sword must be really expensive," Imoen marveled at the sheathed weapon. Intricate elven carvings covered the handle and a single large stone shimmered faintly in torchlight. The girl took a grip on the handle.
"Don't!" Estel was immediately on her, covering Imoen's hand with her own to prevent her from drawing the sword. "You can't draw a moonblade out!"
"A moonblade? Those elven swords you kept going on about when we were kids?" unperturbed, Imoen took a closer look at the stone.
"Yes, and if it's here, then its owner is either dying or dead," Estel nodded, generously ignoring her friend's habit to refer to the last fifteen years as 'their' childhood.
"W-we did see an elven m-mage armed with a s-sword in Nashkel," Khalid remembered.
Xan was dying. Hallucinations were a sure indicator that his time was running out. At least he thought he's got a hang of those delusions everyone seemed so fond of. For example, some time ago he'd imagined the sounds of battle coming from the lair of his captor. But everything was quiet now, so apparently he didn't even have the strength to produce another delusion.
He was proven wrong when suddenly his hand felt the familiar shape of his sword handle. A warm hand squeezed his frozen one, making him grip the handle. As far as delusions went, he had to admit this one was very convincing, as warmth simmered up his arm. The elf opened his blurry eyes with an effort and saw, outlined by shimmering silvery moonlight, Sehanine Moonbow, looking down at him with concern. Her voice, the most melodic sound his ears had ever heard, spoke encouraging words to him.
Xan wondered briefly how come the elven Goddess of Moonlight spoke such horrid elvish.
