Author's Note: Hello everyone. Once again, sorry for the terminally late update, but the proverbial shit has been flying fast and hard lately. And I'd like to shout a huge thank you to all of you out there still sticking with this odd little story and telling me what you think.
Oh yes, and for everyone out there saying to yourselves "Woe is me, for I cannot find a great, well thought out, DnD story with memorable characters…" Look no further. For here is a plug for the fantastic and sadly overlooked "Follies Under the Banner." Read it now. The captain commands it. Aargh.
Peace, all.
EireCat
The ancient tower loomed over Weylyn and Tal, casting its dark shadow like a huge sentinel over the night shrouded clearing. The crumbling battlements and moss covered arches could not disguise the fact that in its time this had been a formidable watch over the western forests. Now, however, the black tower kept watch only over an endless swaying sea of trees, and its proud parapets were primeval and decaying. The clearing was silent; even the crickets and night frogs seemed unwilling to disturb the solemn, forbidding hush that lay over the land like a shroud.
Tal swallowed. "This is an evil place. Even the stars seem dim to me here, Weylyn. Tell me, what do your elven eyes see?" Tal yelped softly as Weylyn backhanded him.
"I see a full grown man who's letting a dark forest and a decrepit outhouse turn him into a dithering old fishwife. Elven eyes indeed…" He snorted, storming into the clearing and muttering half articulated views on humans in general. Tal ran a hand through his mousey hair with a sigh and followed cautiously after the young half elf's dark form.
He caught up with him at the base of the tower but stopped short as Weylyn placed a hand suddenly against his chest.
"Watch your step. It seems our Drow friend wasn't entirely happy with the quality of his hirelings' services."
Tal looked past Weylyn's shoulder and choked in disgust at the scene before him. The sad remains of the final Stone Brother sprawled before them in a pool of blood, ichor, and flayed skin; a look of agony and horror stamped forever on his almost indiscernible features. Weylyn whispered softly in elven next to him, oath or prayer; Tal wasn't certain.
Turning from the horrific scene, the two of them paused, staring at the entirely unremarkable wooden door in front of them. The lichen covered it thickly, and the ancient iron catch was heavy with rust. The silence of the dark clearing pressed closer as if listening to the two men breathe. Tal prodded Weylyn.
"Well?" Tal whispered.
"Well what?"
"Aren't you going to open it?"
"Of course I'm going to open it. I'm just…waiting for the proper moment." Weylyn rubbed the back of his neck fitfully.
"Bullocks," hissed Tal with a grin that approached the gleefully malicious. "You're frightened. Admit it."
Weylyn shot him a dirty look. "If you're so smart, why don't you open it, Mr. At-One-With-the-Forest? I seem to recall this domain as being under your protection."
"Because, my friend, you are the one who called it a decrepit outhouse. And you are the one who said I was being a fishwife for thinking this place is evil. And you are the one whose friend is currently having gods know what done to her in that heap of black brick." Weylyn glared daggers at him.
"You bastard." He released a long sigh through his teeth. Tal was right. He'd come too far to turn back now because a broken heap of stone was giving him a case of crawling skin. Drawing his black blade with a defiant look at Tal, he took a running start and threw the entire weight of his shoulder into the ancient door. He grunted in surprise as it swung inward easily and sent him sprawling face first into a staircase of crumbling stone. Tal stepped over his prone form, trying to hide a smile.
"Nicely done."
Muttering creative obscenities, Weylyn picked himself up, and followed the dim shadow of the ranger up the stairs and into the darkness beyond.
The staircase wound upwards for seemingly miles without showing signs of a window or an ending. Tal had set light to a torch near the bottom of the steps, and they picked their way easily over the slightly treacherous broken stairs. The air in the long climb was silent and stuffy, ancient, but the dust did not hang as heavily in the air or on the steps as it should have. Weylyn grit his teeth. Someone was here; but who and to what purpose was anyone's guess. He sighed.
What the hell am I doing here? I should be on the Bay of Emeralds about now… slitting throats for the pure pleasure of running my hands through golden coins…or perhaps golden hair…
He smiled nostalgically at the thought.
Instead, here I am in the middle of a time forgotten forest, in a crumbling tower serving as the lair of the gods know what, miles from the sea that has been my only home for the last twenty-five years, and creeping stealthily towards an unknown and yet almost certainly nasty doom…for the safety and well-being of a gnome. A gnome
He shook his head. "You're really losing it, old boy."
Tal half turned, hearing him speak, and raised an eyebrow.
"Sorry? Did you say something?"
Weylyn laughed quietly. "Nothing, Tal. Nothing at all."
Eventually, the stairs ended, widening into a broad landing before a small, unassuming wooden door. Tal glanced around briefly.
"Well, my friend, there are no other openings. It seems this is the end of the road for us. Are you going to open it?"
Weylyn looked up from where he had been loosening his rapier in its scabbard and gave Tal a withering glance. "Let's not go through that again." Stepping forward warily, he lifted the latch on the worn wooden door and pushed. With a creaking sigh, it swung inward, letting the faint glow of candlelight filter onto the landing. It landed softly on Weylyn's face, throwing it into strange planes and shadows. He gave Tal half a wild grin.
"Well…once more unto the breech, old man." The air rang softly as he slid the black blade from its scabbard and burst through the doorway. Drawing both daggers with a snarl, Tal lunged after him.
Whatever the two expected to find beyond that dark doorway, it was not what greeted them. Weylyn blinked in the fitful light of candelabras and torches, taking in the rich carpeting and elegant furniture. Though there were a few animal skeletons of various species posed about the room, they were obviously nothing more than taxonomical studies. It was clean and comfortable and not in the least dank and dripping with dark sorcery. He paused, puzzled, and felt the air stir as Tal shifted around behind him.
A sudden shriek split the air, and Weylyn found himself bowled over backwards as a small form catapulted into his stomach. The back of his head hit the dusty stone floor with a sharp crack, and he blinked dazedly at the spots of light dancing before his eyes. He shook his head and tried to focus his fuzzy vision on the small figure perched on his chest. He let out a long sigh.
"Hello, Ellywick."
"WEYLYN! I wondered when you were gonna show up! I missed you a whole lot, and I didn't know whether you would come get me or not 'cuz WOW you took a nasty hit back in that alley, huh? I was pretty sure you were gonna save me, though, 'cuz Zan said there was somebody following us and BOY was he mad!" She giggled.
Weylyn clapped a hand gently over her mouth to stop the bubbly tirade. "I'm glad to see you too, Ellywick. But we had best cut this touching reunion short and…" He paused. "Who in the nine hells is Zan?"
A low chuckle floated across the room, as the dark elf stepped from the shadows, his lavender eyes burning in the soft light. He locked eyes with the pirate and performed an elegant mocking bow.
"I believe I answer to that epithet, my dear fellow. Or, more correctly, Zankazean Mandobrias. However, your little friend here doesn't seem to have the patience for that many syllables."
Not taking his eyes off of the elf, Weylyn carefully picked Ellywick up and set her down behind him. Within seconds, he had rolled smoothly to his feet and had his hand on his rapier once again.
"Ellywick, I want you to get out of here. Go with Tal; he's a perfectly nice fellow."
"But Weylyn…"
"Not now, Ellywick! Take her, Tal. Run. I'll take care of this pompous excuse of a spider whore's boot licker."
The dark elf smiled humorlessly at him, revealing fangs. "That may be going a bit too far, you spineless son of a wharf rat."
Ignoring Ellywick's shrill protests, the two leapt for each others' major arteries, hissing oaths, threats, and colorful racial slurs. Before any major damage could be inflicted, however, they were brought short by a sudden, soft clearing of the throat.
"Gentlemen, that is hardly necessary."
Weylyn turned from his intended victim and stared in the direction the cough had come from at the shadowy figure he hadn't noticed before. He (She? It?) was heavily robed, only a square, beardless chin showing from beneath a dark cowl.
"And Zan my dear; that is no way to treat a guest." The voice was low and slightly husky, but certainly not unpleasant. The figure stood, stretching, and offered a large elegant hand to Weylyn. He found himself peering up a good foot or so into the dark hood. "My name is Bevariel, welcome to my humble abode."
Tal stepped warily from behind Weylyn, running a hand through his tousled hair.
"A gentle welcome indeed, my lady," he said, his words clipped and icy. "But somewhat hard to swallow coming from those who have kidnapped one of our number and nearly killed the others. Namely, us. You will forgive us if we don't go out of our way to return your greeting."
Bevariel smiled softly, turning to the table to fill glasses of wine from a delicate crystal decanter. "Ah yes. I'm afraid you'll have to forgive Zan. He is loyal to a fault, but can be somewhat…overzealous at times." She turned her gaze to the dark elf lounging seemingly carelessly in a chair by the fire, who shot Weylyn an evil grin. "I needed to speak with your friend Ellywick on matters of some importance, and I fear that Zan may have taken my orders that she be brought here at all costs a little…too much to the letter." She handed Weylyn and Tal glasses of a dark red wine. "Please believe me, we meant no harm…no matter what it may have looked like." She looked at Zan again and he shifted uncomfortably under her gaze.
Weylyn shook his head irritably. "Yes, well and good. And now that you and Ellywick have had your little chat; we'll be going." He spun on his heel and began to stride back towards the stairway. He stopped short, nearly tumbling face first down the steep stairwell as Ellywick attached herself to his leg.
"Bevariel needs our help, Weylyn. Well, I guess everybody needs our help. There's some bad stuff going on, and she needs some heroes and I told her we're the best hero team ever and we don't want people to get hurt do we? So please just listen to her for a little bit, Weylyn. Pleeeease?" She looked up at him with big, soulful brown eyes. He glared at her sternly for a fraction of a moment before sighing in surrender.
"Oh, for the love of… Fine. I suppose since we've taken this much time to chase you over bog and briar, we can stay a little longer." He glanced at Tal, and the young ranger shrugged with a half smile, seating himself in one of the oaken chairs. Weylyn did the same, and Bevariel settled herself with a small nod of satisfaction before beginning her tale.
"How versed you two may be in the politics and history of this country, I do not know. There are few your age, however, who don't at least remember faint glimmers of the Red City wars some twenty-five years ago."
Bevariel calmly placed the stopper back onto the decanter and Weylyn raised any eyebrow at her easy, conversational tone. Few indeed could purge the memory of those years from their minds, no matter how hard they tried. Bevariel noted the brief ghost of terror that flitted across the faces of those seated at the table and smiled almost indiscernibly. Tal swallowed.
"The Red City wars," he intoned softly. "So named for the day of the black sorceress Kialla's greatest slaughter before the Knights of the Burning Shield drove her back into the mountains. The day the streets of the Bay of Emeralds were said to be paved with blood."
Bevariel nodded. "Little has been seen of Kialla since she retreated to the Black Spine with what remained of her followers. Most are content to leave her to her mountains and try and forget the horrors she painted across this land all those years ago. I myself am not so lucky." She lifted her hand to touch a small scar that marred the line of her jaw, smiling ironically. "I was there when the Knights drove her out of the Emperor's city. Please, do not think I am bragging when I say the Knights would never have been able to stem her slaughter if it were not for me and the few tricks I had tucked up my sleeves. Kialla has not forgotten this. Far from it."
She rose slowly from her chair and walked over to the single window that looked down on the softly shifting trees. "My eyes within her lair have brought me disturbing news. News of a plot that will not only mean my life, but those of countless thousands of others as well."
Weylyn toyed with the rim of his goblet. He shifted uncomfortably in the high backed chair. Something stank like a long dead haddock here. "If you were powerful enough to driver her away once, my lady," The word was laced with ice. "I do not see why she should pose any more of a threat to you now than she did twenty years ago. If Kialla," He swallowed as the name slipped from his tongue; even a hardened soul like his own could not fully forget the terror that the black sorceress had brought to the land when he was only a boy. "If Kialla were to return in all her blazing glory, I do not think it would be too much trouble for you to roust the Knights from polishing their swords long enough to send her on her way once again. That is," he arched an eyebrow. "As it was so simple the last time."
Zan growled low in his throat and rose slowly to his feet, his eyes burning.
"Bevariel has no need to prove herself to the likes of you, wharf rat. I'd suggest you sit and listen quietly before I'm forced to do something I won't regret in the least." Bevariel raised a hand and he sank reluctantly back to his seat, still toying with the pommel of his longsword.
"I never said it was simple, Weylyn. Battling Kialla, even with the near entirety of the Knight's order at my back showed me things…I do not wish to behold again. That, however, is not the point. Might alone will not save lives this time, Weylyn." She turned to face the pirate alone, her eyes gleaming beneath the dark hood. "Kialla is a clever bitch, and this time it may be the ruin of our people."
Weylyn laughed, resting his elbows against the table. "Our people? I don't know what family ties you are searching for, Bevariel; but I can assure you they are not there. I have no people."
Bevariel paused, and then slowly lifted a hand to pull the hood back from her face. "Look well, son of the wood folk. Look hard and see if, millennia past, our grandfather's grandfathers might not have called each other "brother."
The roughspun hood fell to Bevariel's shoulders. An eyebrow climbed slowly to the middle of Weylyn's forehead, and he heard Tal suck in his breath softly to his left. Bevariel's face was broad and square, much stockier than any normal female's. She was by no means a great beauty. And yet… The bone structure was almost delicate, the ears slightly pointed. There was a nearly ethereal quality to her otherwise plain, almost orcish features. Her emerald eyes locked into Weylyn's. It was almost as if she were…
Bevariel smiled. "Half orc… half elf. Yes. We share the tie of the half-blood, Weylyn. If such it can be called." Ellywick bounced excitedly into Weylyn's lap.
"Isn't that neat? I thought those two races would never get along but they must have cuz here she is!"
Tal choked on his wine and Weylyn shook his head. "That, my dear, is a logical impossibility. The two races aren't exactly known to seek marital bliss within the affectionate bosom of the other." He sucked in his breath sharply as Ellywick elbowed him in the stomach.
"Don't be rude!"
Bevariel's lips twitched in something that might have been a smile. "Merely improbable; not impossible. The exact details of the union I'm sure you'll understand if I keep to myself."
Tal ran his fingers perplexedly through his hair, making it stick up in random directions. "Well that's… That's all very well and good, but… You'll forgive me for sounding impudent, I'm sure… What exactly does this have to do with Kialla coming back to haunt us?"
Ellywick rolled her eyes at the stupidity of the young ranger. "Tell him, Bevy." She poked Weylyn in the chest. "Shhh. This is the important bit."
Bevariel nodded at the irrepressible little gnome and replaced her hood before continuing. "Kialla has her spies, as I have my own. Through some word of mouth or another she has learned that I am a half-breed. The trouble, for her at least, is she is not certain whether I am half elf or half orc, as she has heard both." She returned to the table and picked up the decanter, delicately tracing the fine etching on the crystal as she gathered her words.
"Unfortunately for us, she has found a rather creative way around this. Kialla has created a disease— a sickness born on the wind that will only strike down those of halfelven or halforcin blood. An infected half-orc has approximately one week before his muscles start rotting away. An infected half-elf has the same amount of time before his skin begins to bleed. It goes very much without saying that death, for each, follows quickly."
Tal's chair scraped gratingly across the ancient wooden floorboards as he suddenly stood. "That is madness. There are thousands upon thousands of half-bloods on this continent alone. If what you're saying is true, that would be mass genocide beyond what even Kialla's black heart could fathom."
Bevariel regarded Tal coolly for several moments, not dignifying his outburst with a reply. She set the decanter down again with a decisive thump. "We have less than a year before Kialla's plague spreads across the continent." She turned back to Weylyn. "This is why this time force of arms will not be enough. This is why I sent Zan to seek Ellywick."
Ellywick bounced to her feet and puffed out her chest proudly. "I'm going on a mission! Bevy's going to stay here and search this tower's library for the cure, while I'm going to Kialla's mountain to look for one too!"
Weylyn turned slowly and stared at the excited little gnome, a look of complete disbelief crawling across his features. He shook his head and snorted. "Out of the question. Ellywick, my dear; that is suicide plain and simple." He stood up decisively, smoothing the wrinkles in his breeches, and turned toward their host. "It's been a very lovely time, and we thank you for the wine, but unfortunately, we have to be going. Ta." With a humorless half-smile he turned on his heel and began striding towards the door.
Ellywick looked up at him pleadingly. "But Weylyyyn! We have to help all those people! And Bevy and Zan! And you're a half…half thingy elf too, you know. And and and… and I don't want you to die!"
Weylyn looked up from re-buckling his swordbelt. "I'm sorry Ellywick. It's far too dangerous and I absolutely forbid you to go."
Something dangerous lit up behind Ellywick's eyes. Had Weylyn noticed it two seconds earlier, he very likely would not have ended up flat on his ass, slightly smoking. Unfortunately for him, he didn't. As such, he woke up several seconds later to the sight of a very angry gnome standing on his chest, glaring down at him.
"Forbid me? Forbid me? Don't be ridiculous, Weylyn. I like you and all, but the thought of you thinking you can force me to do anything makes me laugh. Ha. Ha," she added for emphasis. "I'm gonna save you whether you like it or not, so you might as well get used to it." She jumped off of his chest and stalked over to the window pouting furiously.
Weylyn lay on the ground for a few moments, wheezing softly and pondering this particular piece of information.
"Right ho, then. When do we start?"
Ellywick shrieked and nearly killed him; jumping on to his chest and doing her best to hug the life out of him. "You'll come and help? Really really? This is gonna be so much fun!"
Weylyn groaned and got up slowly. "Why not? It's not like I have much of anything better to occupy my time. And I suppose it would be the…" He grimaced, almost as if he could hear the faint echoes of Olidammara's merriment in his mind. "…heroic thing to do."
Bevariel watched the two, smiling softly. "Well and good then. You had best start as soon as possible. I will not lie to you. This will be difficult and dangerous. Kialla is powerful and crafty. Do not underestimate the horrors she is capable of bringing to life." She stepped back to survey the little group. "But perhaps I can tip the scales a fraction more in your favor by rounding out your numbers." She beckoned to Zan, and he slid smoothly to his feet to stand by her side. "I will send Zan with you. He is a more than capable fighter and a good man to have at your back. In order for this mission to succeed, you will all need all the help you can get."
The dark elf grinned malevolently at Weylyn, the points of his fangs glinting in the candlelight. Bevariel gave a long-suffering sigh.
"Both of you… try to look past your differences for the sakes of those whose lives balance on your actions."
Weylyn and Zan stepped forward, the hatred between them very nearly radiating in visible waves. Under Bevariel's stern glare, they clasped forearms grudgingly, and the sound of bones grinding together echoed in the little room.
The corner of Bevariel's mouth twitched once upwards. "There. One big happy family."
At the base of the tower, the little group hurriedly stuffed the provisions that Bevariel had provided into travel bags. Weylyn glanced at Tal running a whetstone over one of his curved daggers.
"I do not ask you to come with us Tal."
The young ranger shrugged his thin shoulders. "I am not a man to abandon a friend so easily, Weylyn." He shoved the dagger back into its sheath with a sharp clack. "Unfortunately, my battle is still here. The Stone Brothers are still festering within my forest and I mean to drive them out, whatever the cost." He clasped Weylyn's arm and smiled. Weylyn returned his grin slowly, troubled by something he saw in the young ranger's eyes—a faraway look that bordered on the obsessive. He looked again, however, and it was gone. Tal turned back to stuffing rations into a sack.
"I can, however, travel with you as far as the Bay of Emeralds. I have business there anyway. You could use an extra pair of hands, I'm sure, and an extra set of eyes."
Weylyn rolled his eyes dramatically. "And perhaps an extra voice of sanity to keep me from strangling a certain babbling gnome…" He laughed as he ducked the sudden barrage of waterskins coming from behind him.
"I heard that!"
Zan finished carefully buckling the silver clasp of his sword belt. He glanced up at Bevariel, passively watching him prepare to leave. As he shouldered his pack, she walked up and placed a small, ivory key in his hand. Her emerald eyes met and held his violet ones.
"You know what you must do, Zankazean. Reveal nothing to them." She turned her back to him to gaze out across the moonlit forest. "Do not fail me in this."
Zan grinned wolfishly and gave an elegant bow.
"My lady…" With a flash of black wings he was gone. The tower was silent after he left, and soon not even the swaying of branches betrayed the fact that a tiny mismatched group of wanderers may have one time passed that way.