Disclaimer: No part of the Forgotten Realms setting belongs to me.
Li'lazza De'affin crouched behind a rock, her armored hand gripping the handle of her greatsword. Her white curly hair coming coming out of her loose bun in all different directions. Her simplest movement would would cause her armor to clank and, make the beholder in front of her, only a few feet away from where she hid, knowledgeable of her presence. There were a number of things this beholder could do to her, all more horrid than the last. She shuddered. Life and death were only a thin line apart.
Stealth and silence was what was needed, not a lumbering, clanking fool, as Shri'lara had told her. It was no coincidence that Shri'lara also happened to be the only stealth and silence type in The Band. Li'lazza had the sneaking suspicion that Zebeya, a druid and fellow member of The Band, would have probably been able to take the beholder with her spells.
Li'lazza could see Shri'lara, her dagger's point in her sleeve and the dagger's hilt touching her palm so that it could be grabbed quickly. Her clothes were tight-fitting, so that they lacked the swishing sound and tendency to get in one's way that was a trait of looser garments.
Li'lazza could feel the sweat on her brow. One movement, one sound, and she and Shri'lara would both be dead. She cared little for Shri'lara, being the snotty little egotistical assassin that Shri'lara was, but she needed Shri'lara. Shri'lara knew how it felt to be cast aside. To be told that "You can be of use to me...fifty leagues away." She knew how it felt to be a tool, a tool that understood all too well her purpose. It hurt. It was like a writhing serpent, coiling around your heart, chocking it, so that you couldn't feel anything else.
Then again, Shri'lara didn't understand at all. She might as well have been made of cogs and wheels, like a golem she had once seen in Lantan, for all the personality, the emotion, she showed. All Shri'lara knew was that she was an assassin, living and breathing shed blood, even to the point of being abandoned by her House, left to The Band until her house had need of her abilities. That was her life, and all she had to live for. All other ambitions had died long ago.
Shri'lara fumbled the dagger in her fingers. She could sense her fingers tingling, as if they wanted to make a mistake, but she was too trained, too skilled to mess up. Her life was on the line. She inhaled some air. Her eyes on the beholder, right in front of her. Obviously, he was a lesser beholder, a very stupid one. All his eye stalks were pointed in one direction as he floated down the cavern, limiting his vision. He isn't using his talents to their fullest extent, Shri'lara thought. At least she had some sort of advantage in a situation that seemed hopeless.
She had only one chance to kill this beast, if she failed it would be able to make its way towards Menzoberranzan, where it would surely cause many problems. Was this really worth dying over? Her blind loyalty brushed away the thought. Anything that would be a problem to Lolth, her people, was worth dying a thousand times over for.
The she heard a clack. The only thoughts going through her mind were: Armor, Li'lazza and damn. She stood still, unmoving, hardly even breathing as she waited for the beholder to turn around.
But the beholder never turned. He simply moved his eye stalks around to the side and then, seeing nothing, went back to what it had been doing.
Shri'lara nearly cried or laughed from relief but she didn't, she still had a job to do while the beholder still lived. Gingerly, she edged the knife slowly from her sleeve, finally, she held it in her hand. She slowly crept towards the floating abomination, painstakingly watching the ground for anything that if stepped on would make a noise. This was a thing of patience, something that she lived for. Others were strong, others had magic, others were dexterous but she was patient.
She sidled underneath the floating beholder. She brought her arms above her head, the point of her dagger up. She thrust up with all her might, until even the hilt of the dagger was wedged into the beholder's flesh.
She heard the beholder screech, and in a dazzling display of light it sent a number of rays in all different directions, trying to hit its unseen attacker, but it never did think to look under itself.
Black blood had spilled onto Shri'lara, coating her from the head down. The beholder began to fall, dying. She clumsily rolled out of the way, just as the abomination hit the ground. She stood up brushing unseen particles off her clothing.
"You do realize that if that beholder were a little smarter," She began, talking nonchalantly to Li'lazza, who slowly crept out from behind the rock. "We would be dead." She gritted her teeth, seething with anger. Li'lazza was taken aback with her sudden change of mood. "DEAD! And if that concept is so hard for you understand then allow me to show you."
Zebeya's spell wore off, no longer did the druid blend into the stone wall, the rocky pigment of her skin went back to obsidian. She stepped between the two drow women, holding up to of her hands. Zebeya was strange, left to The Band because of her druid powers and behavior. She wore from head-to-toe rigid leathers, strong because they had come from the hide of an Umber Hulk and, expensive because of their rarity. Her white hair hair, frizzy at its edges, were tied back into a leather throng.
The druid pointed towards a nearby rock. "Zilvafay's in another fit. I cast a silence spell so that the beholder wouldn't hear her babbling."
She referred to the seer, Zilvafay, who could see things that others couldn't, but at the cost of her mind. Sometimes she was sane, but most of the time she was lost in the grips of insanity. Insanity was the only time she had visions. Nobody could figure out the source of these visions. They had first started when she was very young but slowly over time the amount of time she spent sane dropped and continued to do so. Her mother had shunned her, her house shunned her, but they were not idiots. They saw that Lolth had sent them a useful tool.
Thus, Her mother had her wizards make a headband that would relay her daughter's visions to a mirror, where her mother could watch as they happened. When she was older, she was sent to The Band. Never once had she removed the headband, even to sleep, for the price of its removal was death.
"Again?" Li'lazza asked, cocking her head to the side, slightly. Her red eyes wandering towards Zilvafay. "She's such a pest."
"One day, that girl's house is going to stop caring for her and, I'll be there..." Shri'lara frowned. "When she isn't in one of her fits she is always whining, and when she is in one of her fits she is always babbling. I just want to strangle that girl until-"
Zebeya interrupted her. "And you'll have to strangle members of her house too. I doubt that you would be able to do that, seeing as who you're targets are now..." She stopped, allowing the assassin to interpret her words however she saw fit.
Shri'lara's face went pale, her eyelids slowly coming over her eyes, until they were slits. "The caverns of Underdark don't offer the best of targets for an assassin of my caliber, but I know of three others who trust an assassin enough to sleep near her. I also know personally of a certain assassin who has been known to betray trust..."
"Shrilly, just shut up. We have to make sure the pest doesn't run away." Li'lazza said. She didn't just brush aside Shri'lara's threat however, instead, she kept it locked in the back of her mind, planning to sleep lighter than she had before.
"Shrilly?" The assassin clenched her teeth, her eyebrows furrowed, tightening the skin of her forehead, but bunching skin together at the top of her nose.
Zebeya smiled, laughing. "I think it is a well-suited name for you. It matches your voice, perfectly! Especially," She paused. "for an assassin of your caliber." Her tone was mocking, making fun of Shri'lara's earlier boast.
Shri'lara looked away, clenching her fist. "Just get the pest."
"Which one?" Zebeya asked eying both Shri'lara and the distant Zebeya, whom idly sat on a rock, her arms around her legs, chin rested on her knees, rambling about anything that came to her ruined mind.
The assassin smiled, the corners of her dark lips forming a crescent, but her eyes were anything but mirth. Her eyes lay bare all her thoughts and anger, deadly thoughts. One could see by the way her eye's irises' color became lighter, her eyebrows slanting, the raw emotions of hatred that she felt for the others, tucked neatly away until she got a chance to strike.
Zebeya had seen that look before, being the eldest of them all, she remembered life in Menzoberranzan best. She knew that the assassin would not strike, breaking the unsaid treaty. They depended on each other, each of their skills covering for another's weakness. But when one of them had become nothing but weakness, that was when the treaty was null, that was when a life was taken, either by the hand of the Underdark's beasts or ally. That had yet to happen.
Zebeya looked towards Li'lazza from the corner of her hazel eyes. "You handle her this time. You are the best at it." She added, once Li'lazza had started to walk away, her feet coming dangerously close to squishing a mushroom, glossy specks falling from its lit top and mingling with the air. "And mind the mushrooms. They are part of nature as much as you are...even more so."
Li'lazza kept walking, as if she had scarcely heard the Druid's warning. She was hesitant to come within a few feet of the seer. She had to, though. Druid and assassin both watched her, searching for any sign of fright or disgust. Li'lazza felt both. Something about the seer's insanity was frightening, strange, it was unreal. She came forward to the seer, despite her doubts.
Zilvafay watched her, an empty smile on her lips, vacant eyes watching something that no other could see, something that her mind, destroyed as it was, had created.
"Come on, Zilvy. We gotta get out of here." The warmage said, trying to prod the seer off of the rock with the blunt edge of her blade.
"Zilvy?" Zebeya asked "That name is ridiculous.." She was ignored, Li'lazza wanting only to be done with her task.
The seer hopped off the rock, giggling. The sound made the warmage frown deeply
Zilvafay swayed as she stood, as if her legs had been liquified. She began to wander in a direction opposite of Li'lazza.
Li'lazza, grimaced as she removed a rope, frayed at the edges but strong enough for its current purpose, from her pack. She tied it around the seer's hands and held its end.
"Is this another game?" The seer asked, smiling, her joy was empty. She could not see the warmage's reasons for tying her hands together, controlling her movements, anymore than she understood why she was even there. She could not see past what her mind chose her to see, even that was not her own, the headband, glossy in appearance, the metal pieces were weaved with strips of leather, enslaved her mind and visions to one who cared nothing for her: her mother.
The seer hummed as Li'lazza yanked her around by the rope.
"We can camp here, right? No more areas to patrol tonight, right?" Li'lazza yanked again the rope, hard as she could, as Zilvafay tried to wander away.
"What's wrong? Is the poor little girl tired." Shri'lara taunted.
Li'lazza laughed. "Of course. There's no point in denying it! By the way," She said, handing the end of the rope to the assassin. "It's your turn to babysit the pest."
Shri'lara snatched the rope from Li'lazza's hand, holding it with both hands, eying Li'lazza spitfully.
"Seems safe enough to set up camp..." Zebeya examined the area, scanning even the tiniest speck of dirt for toxins.
It burned. The amulet around Li'lazza's neck, underneath her armor, burned her skin. The amulet was a way for House De'affin to call for her when they had need of her. It had been so long since she had been back to her House, so long since she had seen her mother...
She paused, the others staring at her expectantly. "Whatchya know, my House is calling for me..."
"You have to leave?" Shri'lara asked.
Li'lazza nodded.
"Then leave!" Zebeya said sharply. "Last thing we need is your House hounding us because you didn't answer their summons!"
The warmage didn't reply. She walked away, greatsword at ready. She knew the way to Menzoberranzan by heart, she needed no maps, no directions. She trudged on, armor clanking loudly, echoing from wall-to-wall and to her ears. Even as her body seemed as if it were to give way, exhausted as she was, she dared not stop. Delayed summons meant death.