Chapter Eight – A Wasted Effort
A/N – Just as a side note, from here on out, the plot will stick to just about nothing in the original storyline. What can I say? I got bored with the original adventure, really. So ideas and such, and major plot items maybe. But this is no longer your typical scene by scene playback of the game.
EDIT: So sorry, so sorry! Updates are coming soon...er or later. I promise, I haven't forgotten about you! – wails at marching band practice – But anyway. I updated/edited the last section and added more to this chapter to compensate. I'm working on the updates, really!
"There was nothing down there."
Tazieyn's words were of disbelief and rage, and curses and epithets in a multitude of languages swirled in her mind as the events that unfolded at the golem hall played out in her memory. "It was a false lead. The Maker has been dead for centuries, his golems long gone to some other place...damn! We wasted all that time, and for what? Nothing! Nothing at all!"
"We have gained an ally from that escapade, my lady," Valen remarked in a droll voice as Cavellas expertly guided his sleek ship to the dock of Lith M'yathar. "Or have you already forgotten her?"
Being reminded of the impertinent aasimar did little to diminish Tazieyn's rage, and she squeezed her fists together in fury. "That ally would have no doubt found her way to Lith M'yathar, given the time. It isn't like there are many other places her that would welcome someone with celestial heritage. No, I'd say this trip was a definite, distinct waste of our time."
Practically snarling with rage, Tazieyn stalked off the ship without a second's glance back. Valen knew the way to the temple; leading the other two back to the Seer would be wholeheartedly his problem. "You!" She pointed at a drow warrior who wore a holy symbol of Eilistraee on his hip. "Yes, you. With the two swords and the red cape. Fight me. Now." She barked the commands like a general in an army, and the drow in question was halfway to appeasing her request before he realized he had no idea who she was or what her intentions were.
Upon being asked, she sighed heavily and shook her head impatiently. "I need to let off steam. Just fight me. I won't kill you."
"Troops, resume your training," the man called as he drew his own weapons. He turned to the furious half-elf and smiled slightly. "You are the one they call Tazieyn, yes? The Seer has said much about you."
"Just shut up and fight," she growled, but she visibly relaxed at his words.
"I suppose you should at least know who I am beforehand," he said wryly. "My name is Captain Marcel'n." He lashed with a simple, easily blocked strike, as though he were testing the waters. They circled each other, weapons drawn.
"Captain, you might be able to help us, now that I think on it," Tazieyn remarked absently as she feinted high and thrusted a blade low, toward his knees. This move was also blocked, and they circled once again.
"Truly? How, then?" He blocked and easily parried her swings, but was suddenly taken by surprise at a quick counter-parry, which he was forced dodge by slipping into a low crouch.
"Our last lead was a dismal failure, which is why I was, and still partially am, in a foul mood. Wasting time is not something I want to do." Her left rapier circled distractingly while her right blade found an opening and slashed gracefully. The strike was blocked and parried once again, the blades making a pleasant ringing as they clashed. "If you have any places where we might find real allies, then please, by all means. Say so."
"Directly, I know of no such information," he said slowly as he flipped gracefully to avoid a slash that flew dangerously close to his main sword-arm. "However, I have heard tell of a silver dragon that makes her home not far from here." A skillful move on his part disarmed Tazieyn's right blade and forced her to block his sudden flurry of moves with one hand. "I believe her name is Ali'manderra'sori."
"A silver dragon, huh?" she mused as she suddenly dropped into a low stance and retrieved a rather long, wicked-looking dagger from her right boot. Once again, armed with two weapons, she whirled into an attack that would have left most opponents reeling in dizziness. Marcel'n, however, simply twisted with her and avoided all but a single scratch in his armor.
"Ah, you want to dance," he commented as he spun away fluidly. "But yes, about the dragon. Rumors say she is an alchemist of no small ability. She would be a valuable addition to our forces, however..." He paused as the combat grew tense, their swords clashing one after another, the telltale rings echoing in the large cavern of the Underdark.
"However?" Tazieyn prompted as she drew back and circled once again.
"Reaching her would be most problematic." Another flurry of blows came at her again, though with two hands, she easily blocked and returned every one of them.
"How so?" she questioned as she slipped just out of the man's reach.
An amused look came over Marcel'n's face. "The only known path to her lair is through Zorvak'mur, the city of illithids. Mind flayers are formidable enemies, you know."
"You find that funny?" Tazieyn asked incredulously as she was once again forced into a guard stance. From there, she executed a series of quick thrusts and jabs that forced Marcel'n back a few more steps.
"Hm...very good," he complimented as he quickly worked to regain his footing. "Not the fact that you would be fighting mind flayers, but that they may be quite confused upon reading the thoughts of that kobold friend of yours. We spoke once, on the day of your arrival, I think. An interesting fellow, however his thought process is...somewhat hard to follow."
"That I can relate to," she replied with a laugh as she crossed her blades, parried down, and disarmed him of his right hand weapon. This he remedied by switching hands, leaving his left hand empty. "He claims to have dragon blood, and from what I've seen of him lately, my doubts of that are beginning to vanish."
Marcel'n's eyes sparkled. "Dragon blood, my lady? A fascinating person indeed, then. You seem to have quite a talent for attracting the most charming of friends."
"A question," Tazieyn prompted as she worked to find another opening in the drow's defenses. "I'm beginning to wonder; were you a bard, at any given time, perchance?"
"Oh?" The drow raised his eyebrows. "And why would you ask that?"
"Simply because you speak with the charm and wit of an entertainer," she returned, inwardly cursing her failed attempt to disarm him of his second weapon.
"I was a bard, once in a lifetime ago..." Marcel'n cocked his head sideways. "But those days are long past now." He slashed twice, the second strike leaving a slit in her cloak. "And what of you, my lady? Your words carry a degree of charm as well. One befitting a bard of no small talent, or perhaps..." he pursed his lips in contemplation. "A paladin?"
"Once," Tazieyn answered through gritted teeth. "Once in a lifetime ago, maybe."
As if by some odd stroke of humorous luck, the two opponents lunged for a disarmament at the exact same time, and as luck would have it, their weapons flew out of hand almost simultaneously. "A draw, then, my lady?" Marcel'n bowed with a flourish as he stooped to retrieve her rapiers for her and presented them to their owner, hilt first.
"A draw," she agreed as she accepted her blades and slid them back into their sheaths. She looked up at the drow captain and found every trace of her ill mood completely gone.
oOo
Kalith'sa fingered the flat of her katana thoughtfully as she packed provisions into a small pack. Had she still a House, then perhaps she would have been another one of her pompous, arrogant female counterparts, a priestess, perhaps, running around with one of those silly snake whips trying to coax the Spider Queen back into existence. But she, Kalith'sa of what was once House Viladree, was no priestess. Taut muscles rippled across her back as she stretched arms stiff from battle and fatigue, muscles that were solid and strong from constant use. Her walk was smooth and limber; her clothing, practical. She wore none of the fine, delicate, dwarvencraft jewelry with which her fellow drow so elegantly bedecked themselves. Kalith'sa was a warrior.
In some ways, she mused, she was almost more human than drow, though only another drow would be able to make the distinction. It was more in the way she fought, in the quick, decisive way she danced with her blade that was so unfamiliar here in the Underdark. Her arms and her blade melted into one and the same when she fought, and her style was one she had developed on her own through the years of hardship that had followed the fall of her House. She had been a child of a mere twenty-five years back then, innocent enough at the time, and yet the years had left her bitter and angry at whatever cruel fate that had left her trapped here in this hellish pit of a world to which she was born.
It was by mere chance that she had met the merchant caravan passing through the Underdark. Humans though they were, she had a chance to become something other than the slave she was destined to become had she remained on her own. She bought the katana, learned basic maneuvers from watching the merchants themselves spar with one another, and then, she had met him.
Of course, only she would have such misfortune as to see the accursed human again here, now, in the place that was supposed to be her refuge. She hadn't harbored such ill thoughts back then; all she had wanted was someone to show her how to use her new weapon. Humans couldn't have been anywhere near as treacherous as her own kin, she had thought back then. Naïve little girl. She deserved all she had gotten for her stupidity, she thought bitterly.
"Are you ready for our departure, little raven?"
"I'll not answer to your petty little nicknames," she responded acidly as she shouldered the pack, looping the scabbard to her belt with nimble hands.
"I believe you just did," Durshan responded as he strode into the ill-furnished military tent with a spring in his step. "We leave within the hour."
She met his eyes, rage swelling within her as she gripped her weapon tightly. "We leave within the hour," she echoed in acknowledgment and walked past him, exiting the tent without a glance back.
"Oh, come now. You are too beautiful to act like a she-wyvern," he called after, an exaggerated look of remorse clouding his face.
"Flattery only makes you more disgusting," Kalith'sa spat as she slammed a fist into a nearby stalagmite to emphasize her statement.
"Why do you hate me, I wonder," Durshan murmured as he deftly collapsed and rolled the tent into a neat bundle. "What did I ever do to you besides sell you that overgrown knife of yours?"
oOo
"Impressive," Tazieyn remarked as she watched a lithe drow woman weave in and out of various battle stances at lightning speed, striking out randomly at the circle of practice dummies around her and never missing a single one. "Who is she?"
Marcel'n cocked his head to one side and followed her finger. His face darkened when he saw the subject of her admiration. "Her name is Kalith'sa Viladree, although I suppose her surname means close to nothing since she is the sole surviving member of her House. House Maeviir freed her from the illithid slave dealers in Zorvak'mur once they heard about her reputation there in the gladiatorial arena." He grimaced. "She is...almost too determined, I think. A bit too eager to throw herself at the enemy with little regard for her own life. I suppose being a slave to the illithid can really change a person, can't it?"
"A good sword-arm though, you have to admit." Tazieyn fingered her rapier hilts thoughtfully, mentally assessing her own abilities. She was competent in a fight, sure, but her philosophy was more akin to slitting the throat as quickly as she could before she got sliced in two, herself. In a fair fight, especially with this Kalith'sa, she wouldn't stand a chance. "Maybe it's a good thing I don't fight fairly anymore," she murmured to herself. Startled by her own admission, she glanced at the drow captain nervously but he either hadn't heard or was acting like he hadn't.
"A good sword-arm indeed," Marcel'n agreed.