"Ah! You've returned!" Duncan cried cheerfully a night later as the group traipsed wearily into the Sunken Flagon when he was just cleaning the bar, well past closing time, each slumping gratefully into their habitual places, "Glad t' see yer all here…and each still in one piece, no less."
"Actually, I'm told there's an extra piece inside," Isaviel informed a little sharply. Her uncle's expression flickered and she knew he was hiding something.
"What do ye mean, lass?"
"You know exactly what I mean," she realised, "There's another shard – a fifth, actually, to add to Daeghun's, yours, Aldanon's and the one I took from the Gith," she counted them off on her fingers, "And it's right under the scar on my chest."
"Isaviel," Duncan sounded – and looked – horrified, "I – we had no idea…"
"Ah, notice the stumble in his words?" Bishop noted, taking an uncharacteristic seat beside the Moon Elf. She noted he smelled of firewood, the forest…and the lingering scent of Githyanki blood.
"Silence, Bishop!" Duncan commanded unexpectedly, glaring at the ranger before gesturing for Isaviel to sit with him on another table across the room, out of hearing of any others.
"Well?" she demanded as Sal returned to the tavern to greet them, offering them warm cider, soup…
"Look, Isaviel, I don't know if I should be the one to tell ye this. But if ye've got one o' those shards in you, then ye deserve to know everything," Duncan sighed, "Nearly thirty years ago now the King of Shadows led an army o' demons against the combined forces of the Lords' Alliance, and they met at West Harbour. They spilled over the hills and into the village without warning. Villagers fled every which way to escape the melee. But Daeghun's wife, Shayla, and your mother, Esmerelle, didn't. They stayed, you know that, but what he's never told you is that they stayed to save ye, not just t' find ye. As demons and magefire rained upon yer village, they fought to reach yer crib. By the time Daeghun realised they were missing, it was too late. He could only watch as the village was consumed by battle. As for ye wings – Shayla had been telling me about them just earlier that day – they were not like them of the demons or devils, they were already broad, silent when you flapped them, just like an owl's. Thick, glossy grey feathers they had. Well when Daeghun and Tarmas found you, they'd been cut off with some horrible demonic blade – they must have been…torturing ye when ye ma found ye. But there was no one else alive in the village – yer mother was there…so much blood…and you were clutched to her bosom, a deep wound in yer chest. She'd tried to shield ye but it must have gone through her and lodged in you. No one knew how ye survived, but ye did and yer wound healed itself in days. But if the wound was caused by the shard then that raises many questions. And I'm afraid I'm just all out of answers."
"So I have been lied to my entire life?" Isaviel felt sick.
"It wasn't my decision," Duncan promised, "And my brother will be furious I told you."
The ageing half-Elf leaned his head in his hands as he spoke, as if to hide from the pain of his memories. Seeing this, and feeling some measure of understanding, Isaviel put a comforting hand on his arm and tried to speak more kindly.
"Uncle…is there anything else you can tell me?"
"No, I'm afraid not," Duncan said, sitting up and looking at her with pained eyes, "Look, I wanted to tell ye, I did…but…"
"Why the long faces? Somebody die?" Bishop sneered from across the room, "If so it sounds like cause for a celebration to me," he took a swig of ale and waved his tankard at Sal for another.
Duncan and Isaviel gave up on their private conversation, the ranger's words having drawn the attention of all of the rest of the group. On her way back to the long central table, the Moon Elf paused to scratch Karnwyr's head as she passed by the fire in front of which he lay, gnawing on a bone. She saw Shandra's eyes on her again, that same uncomfortable look on the woman's face. Was that guilt? Or was it fear?
"Grobnar, you worthless half-man, strike up a tune…before I strike you," Bishop was telling the Gnome, which made Qara splutter into her drink – always water, since she remained there officially under sufferance – and Isaviel just rolled her eyes as Grobnar skipped obediently forth.
"Yes, Sir Bishop, it s-so happens I have j-just the tune."
"By the way," Bishop began, turning to face the Moon Elf with a wicked grin on his ruggedly handsome face, "I've decided it would be…in both our interests…if I stay on with you."
Isaviel raised an amused eyebrow, ignoring Duncan's immediate protests, eyeing the ranger carefully.
"And why would you do that? You weren't exactly willing to stick around after Old Owl Well, or to help us save Shandra."
"If I am welcome," the ranger sneered, a hand moving to her leg under the table, "Then I'd be able to help myself to my fair share of gold and dangerous adventure. Travelling with you has been the most fun I've had in years," and the rough edge to his voice made Isaviel shiver.
"Well," Neeshka mumbled, slipping onto the chair at her other side, "At least he's honest. And it'd make up for some of the others you've got around this place…"
"No, no," Duncan was saying quickly, his tone clipped and nervous.
"We don't need you, Bishop. And we don't want any more of your help," Casavir growled, words to which Isaviel rolled her eyes in exasperation.
"Ah," Bishop smirked, "Why don't you let our leader speak for herself, paladin, without you speaking for her, eh?"
"There's no need," Duncan agreed, "I'm sorry for before but you've done more than…"
"Oh, come now Duncan. I still owe you," the ranger fairly snarled, "And what better way to make it up to you than watching your…kin…here? After all, a debt's a debt all the way until the end, isn't that right, Duncan?"
In response the half-Elf threw up his hands and turned away, while Casavir, who had come over to sit opposite Bishop, aimed a pleading stare at Isaviel, who glared right back.
"I say Bishop can do as he likes," she snapped, "And I certainly do not appreciate being spoken for, Casavir."
An awkward silence fell, no one seemed to want to look at each other and only the slow swish of Neeshka's tail was audible. Finally Shandra sighed and looked up at Isaviel nervously. Seated beside Casavir she was thus facing the Moon Elf.
"Alright, as much as I hate to ask, someone needs to break this silence and it might as well be me. You know I'm grateful for everything you've done for me so far, but…what happens now? To me, I mean. I can't go back to my farm – you know, ashes and all."
"Well," the Moon Elf paused, looking at the fierce determination now showing in Shandra's eyes for a moment before shrugging with a tight smile, "You're welcome to join us, if you'd like."
"Why?" Bishop whispered so that only Isaviel and Neeshka could hear, giving the Moon Elf a nudge, a smirk playing across his face, "Because we need someone who's easy on the eyes? That's my job, I believe."
Their quiet laughter went largely unnoticed as Casavir found a new chance to speak, driven by chivalry.
"I agree with our leader," he told Shandra kindly, "It is your right, if you wish to travel with us."
"Thank you…both of you, but…" Shandra began, clearly taken aback.
Bishop laughed derisively, even as his hand began to drift over Isaviel's skin before almost unnoticeably toying with locks of her hair, where her loosened braids fell to her lower back. She tried very hard not to react, not at a table of those so adamantly opposed to him.
"Ye'll need to learn to defend yerself properly," Khelgar was pointing out, and finally Shandra nodded.
"Alright," she sighed, "If you're going to help me to learn to survive then I accept. But there is something you'll have to accept too. I won't be left behind because all this trouble keeps happening and I'm really tired of it."
"Sounds fair to me," Isaviel nodded, and felt Bishop tug at her hair as the others gave their affirmations to Shandra's place among them.
"So the farm girl's going to join us," the ranger sneered, "Good. We need someone to make up for the paladin," this drew a righteous glow from Casavir, and thus a hiss from Neeshka, "Or at least to catch arrows when Grobnar's dead." Several gasps followed, and barely contained laughter from Isaviel, Neeshka and Qara.
Unexpectedly, Bishop put an arm around Isaviel's waist, pulling her tightly to him as he waved imperiously at Duncan.
"For now I say we open some of those kegs and drown the Flagon in wine."
"Our little group has a lot more potential for intrigue than I'd first imagined," Isaviel admitted as she turned around to press a pin through her hair, which was still wet from her bath.
"I know what you mean, and I don't like it," Neeshka agreed, padding over to the doorway of the Moon Elf's room and nudging the door open a little further.
"I don't trust it, but nor do I dislike it," Isaviel suggested, grunting in surprise when she turned to see Karnwyr inching through the doorway, "It's full of potential to exploit, I think."
Neeshka knelt to pet the wolf, staring down the corridor, then paused a moment before looking up at her friend with a broad grin.
"Looks like our local ranger has been away from the party to take a bath. Trust me…I saw."
Isaviel rolled her eyes and seated herself at the end of the bed.
"I've learned a few important things tonight about our…friends. For one, Elanee is in love – or not far off – with Casavir." The druid had not left the paladin's side since she started drinking; she had become giggly and prone to blushing, "While Duncan can take neither so much mead nor so much wine as he would like us to think – and he wants to bed Shandra," he had been showing her his hunting trophies for a while, telling tales of his adventures, "…while all Shandra has eyes for is Casavir. And to add to it all, Grobnar is besotted with Elanee." The gnome had made that clear with a love song.
"And where does that leave you?" Neeshka smiled knowingly, pretending to think for a moment and then held up a hand which Karnwyr playfully snapped at, as if to punctuate the point, "Oh, yeah, that's right. That leaves you stuck between a rock and a very, very dark place."
"Bishop and Casavir, don't you mean?" Isaviel raised an eyebrow, trying to shake it off, but her heart raced and seemed to flip a few times all the same, "Casavir was dancing very devotedly with Shandra when we left, remember?" Wine seemed to make even him a little amorous.
"Of course. But he watched every bit of you leave the room…and Bishop watched him with murder in his eyes."
Isaviel's lips quirked at this, and Neeshka did not fail to notice.
"It's the intrigue they bring to you that I don't trust. That righteous aura Casavir has…it's revolting. And it's utterly unsuited to you. You heard Mephasm, and you felt the presence of the Blood Wars' creatures. Not to mention that vanishing trick you've always been able to do. And wings? I've seen the scars, and feathers don't mean anything. Mephasm has feathered wings. I'd bet my tail you're Devil kin, though I'm not following why I like you so much if that's the case. But anyway, that aura would break you, no matter how intriguing working out his secrets might turn out to be."
"I have no interest in Casavir, Neeshka."
"Yes, you do. You stare at him when you're not paying attention – don't think I didn't see you that evening after we saved Shandra. Staring. And you get too much fun out of frustrating him. You want what you know you shouldn't. And speaking of which, please remember not to trust Bishop. He's brutal and cruel…and he brings out the worst in y…"
"Neeshka, stop," Isaviel tried hard not to snap…and failed, "I thought you wanted his help in whatever it is you brought me here to talk about?"
"I do. Hey, I'm not saying don't have fun with him, but I'm just…bolstering how much you know not to trust him."
"A wise plan," Bishop's voice cut in as he stepped into the room dressed just in trousers and a less-than-half-laced shirt, closing the door softly behind himself. Defined muscle and gleaming scars showed in the firelight as he crossed the room to unconcernedly cast himself onto Isaviel's bed, taking a swig of wine from a bottle as he did so. But he was not drunk, and would not be, that was clear. Not until their agreed mischief was done.
"What is the plan, and when do we head out?" Bishop asked mockingly, leaning forward to place the bottle by Isaviel, and at the same time surreptitiously sliding a hand around her side to rest against her hip. His breath was hot against her neck and smelled of cinnamon and wine as he lingered there, watching intently as his hand moved and then pulled away to recline on his elbow once more.
"We head out once everyone has drunk themselves to bed," Neeshka said, trying to ignore what had just happened, "And the plan is this: to break into my…old thieving partner's house. And steal as much as we can – but we have to get his lucky coin, because it's the thing he loves the most, for some stupid reason."
"And why are we doing this?"
"Well, I said I would tell you what was bothering me, and it's him. I've got an old score to settle with him, and while you were away in West Harbour he finally found out I was back in town. I had to keep my head low, at least for a few weeks, waiting for his men to get sloppy – and now I've got the Thieves' Guild to protect me from his ruffians, so I have a chance to strike back. And I'm not going to stop at taking his things." Her expression grew darker than Isaviel had ever known it to be, and something in that look made her insides turn cold, "I'm going to sneak into his room while he's sleeping and I'm going to show him what I took…and then I am going to kill him."
The plan Neeshka had relayed to them was thorough and well thought out. She knew Leldon's home as well as she knew his habits, apparently. When Isaviel had asked why the Tiefling was so determined to do this herself, when she had so much of the former Thieves' Guild under her control, she had responded firmly that she could not let those she employed have all the fun. And from the fiery look in her pink eyes, Isaviel could tell it was more than that – this was personal; it was revenge.
Thus it was that Isaviel found herself slowly pushing open a ground floor window of one of the smaller – yet still at least outwardly respectable – estates on the north side of the Merchant Quarter. Slipping into a dark room, she quickly surveyed the area for traps – the window had not been easy to unlock for Neeshka, but even so it would not do to be overconfident, not if the Tiefling's summation of Leldon had been correct. Bishop followed, turning back around to pull Neeshka up after him.
But for a few chests of plain clothing and some odd books that seemed far too academic for one of Leldon's persuasion, the room was empty, just a storage place – perhaps to make it seem more viable as a merchant's estate, if the Watch ever paid a visit. Creeping on silent feet into the hallway, the idea was much the same – a few cheap paintings on the walls, a simple long rug of woven blue thread along the floor. Neeshka went one way, Isaviel the other, and it was only when she was about to round the corner that Bishop put his hands on her waist to stop her, and she bit her lip when he leaned against her back to 'tut' in her ear, his breath hot against her neck.
Moving away, the ranger headed to the corner, where the wall of the corridor ended and turned at a right angle to begin the next. His hand very steady, he reached out and unhooked a metal wire, following its diagonal course to the other side of the corridor and unhooking it from there, too. Isaviel watched with embarrassment as he disarmed the trap, wondering how she had not seen it. And wondering, also, what would have happened if he had not stopped her.
"There're quite a few sleeping guards down that way, including one who fell asleep at his post by the front door," Neeshka whispered a moment later and Isaviel turned to see the Tiefling standing by her side, watching Bishop with a slightly derisive expression, "But it's just a dead end. Leldon must be down this way. And you," she prodded Isaviel's shoulder, "Need to keep focused. Don't let him distract you – he's having way too much fun working out what he can do to you in times of concentration."
"She's not wrong, Isaviel," Bishop grinned.
"Shut up, Bishop," Neeshka told him firmly, though she could not hide her smirk, "I've seen her cartwheel by traps like that before…and make mincemeat out of men like you."
He just sneered at her, taking her words as false, and let her lead on. Although it was not particularly large as estates went, the house had many narrow, winding paths – undoubtedly a maze intended to confuse potential attackers. But either Neeshka knew Leldon's ways well, or she had been to this place many times before, because she knew all of the traps and exactly where to go. Isaviel was a little startled by the ease of it all, although occasionally as they inched along they had to quickly dodge a wandering guard, or Neeshka failed to notice a change in the traps, Isaviel having to pull her back more than once at the last second before she set one off. Two things seemed incongruous – although he had so many guards and such a well-defended house, Leldon did not seem to be expecting a visitor as familiar as Neeshka, for most of his traps were known to her.
In spite of her distrust of the situation, Isaviel followed Neeshka, as did Bishop, and at last they found themselves in what appeared to be Leldon's escape route, Neeshka slowly opening the door to his private chambers. This one was not trapped and had no locks – evidently so that the owner could escape in a hurry if needed. They crept into the darkened room to the sound of quiet snores, softly closing the door behind them. Neeshka gestured for them to stay where they were, and crept expertly through the dark, cluttered room, which was full of traps and strange, foreign trinkets, tapestries, furniture, discarded finery…
Leldon only woke when Neeshka's hand clamped down over his mouth, while her knee pressed onto his chest, that vicious Githyanki dagger at his throat. Her grin was wicked, and even Bishop looked a little taken aback by the malice in her eyes, glinting in the thin strands of moonlight filtering through the half-drawn curtains.
"You know why I'm here," the Tiefling hissed, raising something above his eyes which glinted in the fragile light – a coin, one she had just taken from its place upon a stand on the drawers, "You see this? I'm taking it. So that when you're dead, I can rob everything from you that you have ever cared about. But it won't be as sweet as the revenge I'm taking now."
He just looked up at her with fear in his eyes, but made no effort to plead. Whatever he had done, it was bad enough that he knew there was no chance. And he was right, for in a moment she had cut his throat, and his blood did not even have a chance to well up before the magic of the weapon dissolved his flesh, devouring him before he had fully died. Neeshka watched it all intently, though the smile had left her face. She looked…tired. But relieved.
A second of silence past, save for the bubbling and hissing of Leldon's remains, and then the Tiefling returned to Isaviel's side, waving the strange coin at her.
"This," she told her softly, "Will get us into that vault," and she pointed towards an apparently innocent wardrobe, which sported the strangest lock the Moon Elf had ever seen.
It appeared to be a padlock, buried deep within the doors of the wardrobe, with a few indentations and no keyhole in its face. Neeshka pressed the coin to it and turned it just a little, and a quiet click was heard, the curved bar of the lock sliding back into the main mechanism, and the doors swung open.
"Well, by all the Hells," Bishop breathed as they stared into a much larger alcove – more of a room, really – than they had expected.
Within no gold lay, nor gems or jewels, for like any self-respecting gang leader Leldon had invested his clearly immense wealth into a vast arsenal of wondrous weaponry. As they snuck inside, Isaviel found herself to be both awed and disappointed. They would not be able to carry much away, though Neeshka was already adeptly rooting through the piles of gleaming daggers encrusted with jewels and strange, arcane runes, dropping a few, mostly those complete with sheaths, in her pack.
Bishop stepped straight ahead, as pleased as Isaviel had ever seen him, and picked up an impressive longbow from the stand in the corner. It was black as night, but for a red jewel at each end, and with no visible string. However, when he brought an arrow to it, the jewels glowed and a gossamer-thin, silvery string appeared. A wicked grin grew on his face to match, and Isaviel could only gawp at the weapon for a moment more before more indiscriminately filling her pack, containing her glee when she discovered several shuriken on a table, each inlaid with a single tiny sapphire. That was something which Brother Merring had known to teach her, but that weaponry had been lost in the most recent battle at West Harbour, and she was more than glad to have some more in her possession, especially ones as fine as these.
Suddenly, Neeshka stilled, gesturing for the others to stop as well, turning around and pointing to the opening to the vault. As if on reflex, Bishop spun about too, sending an arrow through the futilely stealthy guard's throat as he appeared before them. As one the group shouldered their stolen goods and rushed to the exit, just as the alarm went up – a bell being rung at the door by a second guard upon seeing his master was dead, and his colleague twitching on the floor by the vault. A shuriken brought him a quick death, a low humming audible to Isaviel as it came spinning back to her. Surprised by the enchantment she snatched it out of the air before it could do any damage to her, but when they heard approaching footsteps down the hall the three thought no more of their new augmentations and vanished down the escape passage.
"I understand why you do this now," Bishop almost looked ready to laugh, sending a few more arrows after their pursuers, giving them enough time to bolt the next door in the plain, dark passage and stumble out into the street.
It was dark and almost deserted here, a light rain misting the narrow cobbled path leading back to the main street from Leldon's home. Neeshka was squealing with a mixture of fear and excitement as they bolted in that direction. Upon rounding the corner onto the main thoroughfare the Tiefling almost crashed into a startled Watchman patrolling the street, but they staved off any questions by showing Isaviel's Watch badge and muttering something about confiscated goods.
"We have some of the thugs attempting to pursue us even now – is your patrol group close?" Isaviel asked of him, trying so very hard to disguise her relieved laughter at the unexpected aid.
"Why…yes, of course!" the Watchman flashed a look at Neeshka, and Isaviel realised he must be one of those under the pay of the Thieves' Guild as well. When the Tiefling nodded to him, his look became more determined, "We will deal with them at once."
"What was that?" Bishop asked suspiciously once the Watchman had rushed back down the street to his group, undoubtedly set on arresting Leldon's surprisingly tenacious guards.
"We have contacts," Neeshka shrugged with a grin, "And we have a hideout to take this stuff back to, remember? Let's go! And we'll divide what we like between us."
"Sounds fine by me," Isaviel grinned as they kept up their quick pace over to the Dolphin Bridge.
Nodding to the guards on duty, again using the privilege of her badge, they were let through, leaving a warning about their potential 'unlawful pursuers'. Once the gates were barred behind them, they knew they were safe. They could hear a few shouts back the way they had come, but it did not sound like much resistance was being made by those once in Leldon's pay. With him dead, they would probably be more likely to make off with what they could and sell it for the best price. Rare was it that such leaders maintained a loyal following after death.
"I hope you intend to celebrate our spoils, oh lawful 'Lieutenant of the Watch'," Bishop pointed out at they strolled down the bridge, slinging an arm around her shoulders as Neeshka carried on ahead.
"What did you have in mind?" the Moon Elf asked, amused by her Tiefling friend's speed – Neeshka had taken more than she or Bishop, but was most buoyed by their success.
"Wine, a night away from that despicable Sunken Flagon…" he paused, pushing her back against one of the lantern poles on the street, "And maybe other diversions."
"Hmm…I'm sure we can arrange that," Isaviel smirked as he leaned in closer to kiss her, his lips hot and urgent against hers, growling against her to disguise his groan when she kissed him back…
They caught up with Neeshka just as she was crossing over into the Docks District, sending them a derisive glance. Her pink eyes were glowing in the darkness, her natural darkvision taking over in the dim light, although several lanterns hung along each street, allowing just enough light for human eyes to navigate by. There were many of the district's inhabitants out even at this late hour – the typical drunken sailors, though fewer than earlier in the year, and various other men and women out to drink away their poverty and toils, regardless of the day. The Watch seemed more numerous than it had on other nights when Isaviel had actually been present in the city, and that made her curious. She knew that Neeshka's guild was only growing stronger, even with the Blacklake and all its wealth remaining under a lockdown until further notice.
"I'm surprised you two could even restrain yourselves that much before we get back," Neeshka looked at them teasingly as the three made their way towards her hideout, "But Isaviel, I have a few things to show you before we all…retire for the night. And there's a lot of wine to drink, believe me."
"I'm all for that," Bishop agreed and the Tiefling just rolled her eyes.
Shortly they reached the Thieves' Guild hideout, although via a docks-side entrance with which Isaviel was unfamiliar, and rather notably it was at the opposite end – and side – from the usual entrance to Moire's old rooms. This looked older, more like a real house's entrance, with a little brass knocker and an apparently functional lock. But Neeshka turned the key four times, once right and thrice left, speaking a pass phrase as well, before the door actually swung open. This led to a dark passageway ending in a steep flight of skeletal stairs. There were no doors along the undecorated wooden walls, and when Bishop closed the entrance behind him Isaviel saw the complex mechanism below the handle click back into place.
"Well, this is different," Isaviel remarked, but the Tiefling just smiled over her shoulder.
The Moon Elf and the ranger joined Neeshka at the top of the stairs, where a plain archway led onto a broad mezzanine floor. Several of those full bookcases Moire had favoured to imply knowledge and wizarding conquests remained, flanking a set of curtains at the centre of the right wall. Over to the left, beyond a table surrounded by two large couches, was a low railing and a set of spiral stairs, leading up to an attic door beyond the rafters and down into a large kitchen area at the centre of which was a long dining table. Everything was still and dark, the fire at the other end of the room obviously grown cold, though Isaviel thought she could just about make out a little glow from it, as if it had been lit that day.
"We stopped employing servants as soon as I took over – too many people to employ – and got that table instead. It makes more sense to prepare your own food, right? Especially in this business," the Tiefling said absently as she went over to light the fire again while Isaviel and Bishop slumped into one couch, leaving their heavy packs on the table where Neeshka had dumped hers.
"You don't really go in for Moire's decorative style," Isaviel noted as the Tiefling was returning with two lit candles.
"No! It makes more sense to sell it all for as much gold as possible…I mean….what am I going to do with all those fancy carpets anyway? And that chandelier in her chambers was gross," Neeshka sighed, sitting down on the couch opposite and starting to empty the contents of the bags across the table between them.
"Why didn't you just take her rooms as your own? Weren't they the best defended ones?"
"I couldn't," the Tiefling shook her head, her eyes grown serious, "Not after what happened there. And there's a better safe in the basement, actually. Seemed safer for my own life if it wasn't just right next to my bed. Anyway, you can have her rooms. I sold all the stuff in there which was massive and disgustingly unsightly, but the rest of it's still there. You can just…have it all."
"I didn't take you as being so sentimental, Tiefling," Bishop spoke up at last.
"Well, it's not like Moire was ever unfair to me. That stuff against Isaviel just came up out of nowhere, and we had no choice in it."
"But you do like to plot to kill other people, don't you Neeshka? Even though….if Leldon had wanted you killed he would have struck out at you more directly by now."
"I…" the Tiefling flinched, starting to look uncomfortable, "That was personal and…"
"Ah, I see you have returned at last – and with more spoils to show for it! Is Leldon gone now? I trust he is."
That slightly accented voice interrupted the beginning argument and they all looked over to the man now standing between the curtains. He was still not fully visible, over there where neither firelight nor candlelight could reach, but even before he started to approach Isaviel was beginning to understand. His eyes shone such a deep red in the low light, fading slowly as he stepped closer until they were a clear amber. He was an Elf, Isaviel saw, though she knew of only one group of Elves renowned for the type of darkvision which would change his eyes so in the darkness. And once he stepped unconcernedly into the reddish glow of the fire, she saw his obsidian skin, his braids of white, ochre-tinged hair. He was a Drow; a 'Dark Elf'. Daeghun had told her of the Drow, the worshippers of the evil goddess Lolth, the Spider Queen, a people who lived in the Underdark cities of Ched Nasad and Menzoberranzan. But he had also taught her that there were those among them who sought to leave those evil societies, though not necessarily always for good, and that those Drow had to sever all the ties from their culture, the one which killed Moon Elf children for sport. Thus they were not necessarily always enemies – but oftentimes they were.
"This is Mae'rillar," Neeshka was saying, having already indicated Isaviel and Bishop. It took just one glance at the Tiefling for Isaviel to understand – she was in love was this Drow, and he with her if their shared look was anything to go by, "He's a trusted…friend – we've known each other since before I first came to Neverwinter – he runs the Thieves' Guild when I'm not around. I've been meaning to introduce you."
Mae'rillar nodded to both of his new acquaintances amiably enough, though his eyes watched them closely. He did not trust them, not even if Neeshka appeared to, perching himself on the arm of the couch by her side, not sitting properly. He was tall for one of his kind, taller than Isaviel, although certainly still smaller than either Neeshka or Bishop. Dressed carefully in neat black trousers and a fully laced green tunic he had evidently not been asleep at this late hour – for a Drow the time of darkness would be more comfortable than day, anyway. He appeared to be unarmed, apparently safe as he was in the warded and locked hideout, but his form was muscular, his movements agile and graceful. There was no doubt that he was trained in battle, and it would be a grave mistake to assume otherwise with a Drow.
Attempting to fight the discomfort she was feeling, Isaviel joined Bishop and Neeshka's discussions about the items they had taken. Mae'rillar silently watched them all filtering through the strange weaponry – most of it ornate but otherwise utterly mundane, with no hints of magic. They found a simple shortsword which Isaviel decided would be good for Shandra's intention of learning how to fight, and she startled herself by how uncomfortable the idea of the woman training with Casavir made her. The Moon Elf had only traded pleasantries – or the occasional complaints – with the paladin, but she preferred to know where his obsessions lay. If Neeshka was right, then she wanted Neeshka to stay right. Changes of affection, or alterations of lust, could jeopardise any feelings of control she had. And speaking of control, she wondered at her own hypocrisy on that front every time Bishop touched her, or glanced her way. Their kisses on the bridge had been mere preamble, she knew that. A promise, and a reminder. But if he believed that he owned her, she was determined to prove him wrong.
"I am glad that you have achieved your aim for tonight – and you must recount it to me later," Mae'rillar smiled to Neeshka, standing smoothly and moving for the stairs without any further explanation.
"So that is the one you leave to keep this place running," Bishop sneered once the Drow had gone, drawing a glare from Neeshka, "You did have a use for all those fancy rugs you sold, after all."
The wine had been stronger than Isaviel was used to, and available in far greater quantities than she had expected, as well. Moire really had loved her wines, and had kept two separate stores of it across the extensive basement. Neeshka had seemed a little distracted at first, and was clearly unwilling to explain her motives for killing Leldon in front of Bishop. After a time, however, she had become more cheerful and giggly, dancing with Isaviel about the couches. They had taken to arming themselves as ludicrously as possible with the weaponry they had found, to stage mock battles. Bishop had not joined in much, not until he had drunk a bottle and a half of wine, at least.
When Isaviel's attempts to acquire the ranger's cooperation, at Neeshka's urging, had failed, ending in a kiss instead, they had eventually turned around to see that the Tiefling had seen none of it, curled up on one couch and fast asleep as she was. Alcohol clearly made her tired. So they had snuck away, the Moon Elf taking the ranger by the hand and leading him to the other side of the complex, to the rooms which Neeshka had officially named Isaviel's. They had once been Moire's but this did not bother Isaviel as it did her Tiefling friend. The place had a vast, expensive bed. And a lot of new things for the Moon Elf to call her own.
"Looks to me like the Tiefling chose the short straw…willingly," Bishop commented with a smirk as he lazily discarded his tunic by the bed, a look which only grew when he saw the Moon Elf observing his defined, lithely muscular form appreciatively.
"All the more for us, don't you think?" Isaviel pointed out with a smile.
When she approached, now just clad in her long tunic, he pulled her to him as gently as she had ever known, leaning down to kiss her slowly, deeply, as one hand pulled free the laces leading down the neckline of her tunic. She could feel her heart pounding, could feel that she wanted him as well, but she did not trust how his gentleness made her feel. It made her want to trust him, it made her want to understand him. And that way lay emotions she could not bear to consider.
As if feeling the same problem, Bishop's movements became more insistent and he pushed the tunic from her shoulders before backing her up onto the bed, biting at her neck as he followed her and smiling against her when she gasped. His eyes were blazing when he drew back briefly, a hand trailing along her body, watching her with a smirk until she pulled him to her.
This night the dreams were worse in a more…personal way… than they had ever been, and Isaviel woke up gasping as dawn broke through the window by the bed. There had been no fire this time, no deaths – this time she had been the captive of the Githyanki immediately. In this dream Bishop had been there again, pulling her back roughly onto a hard stone slab as a Gith pulled her hands and feet away from her, fastening her with manacles by wrists and ankles. She was naked and vulnerable, and looking down at herself she could see real, gleaming scars of the waking world along with bruises and scratches that belonged to this nightmare universe. When one of those green skinned, mottled Githyanki had climbed onto the slab, onto her, she had pulled at the chains until her wrists and ankles bled, but it was no good. She had dreamed that she screamed, but that was no good, either.
Upon waking with a start, Isaviel could find no comfort in the way Bishop's arm had snaked around her waist as they slept. Apparently she had not made any sounds in her sleep as she was wont to when she had such dreams, for the one by her side had neither woken nor stirred. She felt tired and sore – no wonder she had dreamed as she did. Neither she nor Bishop had proved gentle lovers in reality and she could see the marks on her skin as surely as she could see the scratches on his back as he shifted, not waking as she slid away from him. Standing, she did not look around but rather pulled on her clothes, sweeping her hair up into an untidy bun and leaving the room to pull on her boots.
Once outside, with her mother's cloak about her shoulders, the Moon Elf made her way quickly to Sand's house. The hour was early, but somehow she knew he would be up, even if he was not expecting her knock on the door and looked around at her with startled eyes as the golem opened the way for her. He was seated at his table, just finishing a breakfast of bacon, eggs and toast.
"Ah, I understand," the wizard half-smiled after a moment by way of greeting, raising a mockingly chiding eyebrow as he stood to walk over to a cabinet of potions.
"You understand what?" Isaviel asked irritably, but Sand just smirked at her over his shoulder.
"Don't think I haven't seen this all before. Young women normally only call at my house for one reason at this early hour – for a potion to keep secret what they did the night before."
"If you tell Duncan, I will kill you," Isaviel told him earnestly, but he just laughed fully then, handing her the glass bottle with a shake of his head.
"I would like to see you try, truly. I imagine you know what to do? That should last you long enough for you to realise this 'mystery man' is not worth your time. And am I right in ascertaining that it is not the matter of telling Duncan what you did that you fear – for I am sure he suspects you do such things –, but rather telling him the identity of the man?"
Isaviel was quick to curse at him rather rudely, and he tutted at that. When she offered him money for the potion, however, he just waved it away with a roll of his eyes, pulling a chair out from the table for her to sit.
"Breakfast? You look tired," the wizard noted.
Nodding half-gratefully, Isaviel sighed and leaned her forehead against her hand. When he placed the food down in front of her and she began to eat it hungrily, she saw that his expression was more serious than she had expected.
"You have been sleeping badly," Sand stated, and she could not deny it, "I wish there were a potion to take that away, as well. Is it of West Harbour that you dream?"
"Mostly," the Moon Elf admitted, flinching at the memories of her most recent dream, "Sometimes…it ends worse for me personally."
"Ah. And this life of violence and crime? Do you not wonder whether that would make your dreams worse? Add fuel to the clarity, the guilt, maybe?"
"I feel no guilt," Isaviel denied, ignoring the twisting in her stomach when she said that. I let them burn. They died. So many died.
"I will not patronise you by pretending to agree," Sand told her coolly, sitting back now that he had finished his breakfast and watching her closely instead, "You do realise that he will betray you, do you not?" he said softly at length, and Isaviel stilled.
"Yes," she agreed quietly.
"And do you not fear what that could lead to? What of the others? If you see the truth of this, of how little you should trust him, why do you allow yourself to love him?"
"I do not love him," Isaviel denied vehemently, "What is there in one like him to love? And as for avoiding it…I think I would just be trying to stave off the inevitable. If I push him away he will just betray me sooner, rather than later."
Sand watched her closely then, and chose not to voice his thoughts. Still, his fear remained – surely an early betrayal would be better? The further she became embroiled in a search for the shards, the worse a betrayal would hit her, especially one from Bishop.