They had taken several days to clean the sphere after Lavok's unexpected death. There were any number of interesting artifacts and devices from across the planes, which Haer'Dalis had volunteered to inventory; Anomen kept a close eye on the examinations, ready to cleanse any tainted object with Helm's grace. Aenwyn wandered the halls searching for any remaining threats in the shadows, convinced of the darkness behind every door.
While the last remaining Corthala had no intention of maintaining or even keeping the planar sphere, he had acknowledged its temporary use as a makeshift base. And this gave him time to investigate the holdings of one of his long-lost ancestors in an effort to discover more of the Corthala curse.
Though "curse" was beginning to seem like the wrong title. Valygar shook his head as he leafed through a stack of journals and letters. The ancient necromancer's revelations had left him doubting everything he had learned growing up. He glanced over at the other occupant of the room, Aerie. She, too, cast doubt on his previously iron-clad beliefs of the evils of magic and its corrupting power. The young elf was a model of purity and innocence, and if anyone could refute his bitter claims it was she.
But then there was Solaufein to counteract anything Aerie could produce. The warrior-sorcerer claimed to have renounced his dark culture but he had done nothing to earn Valygar's trust yet. A voice at the back of his mind reminded him of Lavok and the second chance he had deserved before his death. Drow deserve no mercy, Valygar responded, but the excuse was weak and he quickly dropped the line of thinking.
Aerie's shriek cut through his brooding. The shriek was one of delight rather than his initial thought of fear, however, and she brought a scroll over to him.
"It's a scroll of flying! N-not a normal one, either, but it looks powerful!" Valygar hadn't seen such a look of delight on the woman's face since he had met her, not even during her talks with Haer'Dalis. A weight settled in his stomach. He immediately thought of their encounter with the Red Wizard and his—er, her—precious scroll.
"I wouldn't trust anything in this place, Aerie," he began, but he could tell his words had no effect on her.
"I'm sure it's safe, Valygar, not all magic is evil." She gestured to the surrounding sphere even as her eyes remained glued to the parchment. "Excuse me, won't you? I need to study alone." She flew off without awaiting an answer, leaving Valygar to sigh in the empty room.
"Lavok has left one left surprise for us, it seems."
Solaufein can see threads of magic building around Valygar, especially since their relocation to the sphere, but he knows he shouldn't say anything. Not yet. One of the things about being from the dark is that people often forget you're there, and he has heard many things. He has heard the arguments between the other-worlder and the wounded sister-of-the-sky; he has heard the knightling speak his bleeding heart to an uncaring demigod; he knows the rumours of the dark man's family and the curse which channels through his blood. Solaufein hasn't been in this world of blinding light for long but he knows enough to keep silent. Even if one of them had asked for his advice (which no one has, although the other-worlder demands story after story of the Underdark) they wouldn't want to acknowledge what he has been witness to.
None of them truly want a drow's opinion. He can't decide whether he is meant to atone for his race or justify his existence; even with these outcasts who feel like safety for the first time in ages he cannot relax his guard. There is that moment of wary surprise when they bump into him in the sphere's hallways covered quickly with a mask of indifference or forced camaraderie. Except the demigod, of course. She looks at him with the same deadness as she does with anything before her. He hasn't told anyone he knows her heritage yet; they all think he hasn't a clue but he could tell the first time he saw her for what she was. Murder in the bones. Just as the dark man has magic stamped into his essence. There's no denying what's buried deep within.
An image of spiders crosses his mind at this thought and he shivers. He has made his way to the sphere entrance and closes his eyes to feel the cold moonlight from the portal. The drow slips away each night to pay respect to the cold maiden which enflames his heart more than the cursed sun can ever burn his skin. The enclosing walls of the sphere remind him too much of his old home, as do the reaching shadows.
To his surprise, there is another watching the moon tonight. "There is no moon in Sigil," the blue-haired man says. "I think 'tis one of the few things I would miss about this plane." His voice is soft and gentle, so unlike his normal brash tenor, and Solaufein wonders at the almost vulnerable aspect to it. His goddess reveals many things, it seems.
"It was not often I could escape to the surface to behold the Pale Maiden, but every time she took my breath away. She is no less precious now that I can see her nightly."
"Aye, you have the right of it, nightingale. Few are the treasures as precious as those not possessed. Each time I see one of your night skies my heart aches with wonder."
He wonders after this name and had asked once but the bard had merely laughed and replied "You must admit your mournful words have oft held our ears in thrall, singer-in-the-night."
The drow feels a slow blush come to his cheeks. He realizes he has been keeping a close eye on the wrong companions. Danger comes in many forms and Haer'Dalis' is one of the deadliest.