Chosen of Eilistraee

by Anja Kidd

Far beneath the doomed city of Waterdeep, Eilistraee's unlucky Chosen (and his minions) find themselves set on a collision course with destiny. Rated M for language, sexual content, drow humor, and violence. This story is cross-posted on AO3 and WP. COMPLETE.

2. Undermountain

This started off as a late-night experiment about the idea of a drow paladin. Thanks to the EE of both NWN and BG, my enthusiasm for this world was renewed.

I will provide my own translations for the spoken Ilythiiri at the bottom of each chapter.

And here's how the names and their accents all sound in my head:

Hembercane = think of how you say 'remember,' for some reason he sounds like Alan Rickman to me? Don't ask.

Binne = Bee-nah (second syll. is short, should have a bounce to it), I read her in my head with a mix of a Glasgow brogue and a Geordie accent. Check out Anglophenia on YouTube if you're curious about regional Britannic dialects.

Solaufein = Soul-au-feign (the 'au' as in fault or august), always read drow as having a slight Greek, Croatian, or Lebanese sound, because that's kind of what the language sounds like a combination of when you try to read it out loud. I guess think of Deanna Troi and Gal Gadot having a baby, and what that baby would sound like, if you can't picture that. Maybe try and picture it anyway, because it's fun and that would be one cute-ass baby with two great moms. In BG, Viconia's voice over had a slightly Russian/Slavic twinge to it, as did Jaheira's for whatever reason. What I'm trying to say is, whatever your imagination says, yes to that.

I know in the game that there is a portal stone that takes you back to the surface, and it saves time. It doesn't make sense in a story, so it doesn't exist here. There are a lot of things I've altered, and I'm not interested in preserving what is canon. This is fiction written by a fan; you don't need to know anything about Forgotten Realms or the Neverwinter Nights games to read or understand it, but it definitely helps to at least have passing familiarity with Dungeons and Dragons, if nothing else.

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BINNE

One thing I'm known for is how loudly and often I complain about things; just ask my familiar, Hembercane. The dour twat was of no help at all when I'd been captured - bastard banished himself back into the astral plane with a smirk. I was so busy cursing at him that the rakshasa got a drop on me and sold me to the ogres on the second level. The ogres that kept me weren't very chatty to begin with, despite the odd eloquent mage one, but given the circumstances I really didn't want to try and test their patience. For the first time in my farcical life, I was keeping my loudmouth shut. It never failed to get me into messes; really, I should've learned to shut up much sooner. I could've avoided that whole druid debacle.

But while I was proving my arse useful by cooking and being a midwife, I did pass the time by muttering to myself about my situation. Really the only thing that kept me sane, I think. I'd been in worse spots, maybe. I was at least grateful it wasn't my arse but rather all the other insipid adventurers' arses on the line. I had safety from the nasty grigs and diseased harpies so long as I didn't try anything suspicious like escaping and continued to prove to be more useful alive than I was tasty. It helped that they were convinced my flesh tasted like sulfur and brimstone, in the words of the ogre mage that captured me. For the first time in my life, my demonic ancestry tipped the odds in my favor. Cooking sentient beings and being a midwife to the smelliest people in all of creation was marginally better than being the one getting cooked.

I'd be more grateful to Tymora for my small fortunes if it weren't for the blasted smell. The smell of 'em was something like you wouldn't believe! I'll never forget the stench of that hideous place as long as I live, and I'd surely live a few centuries if I didn't do something monumentally stupid. I may have mentioned that I'd been stuck in worse positions; I'd run away from home straight into some haunted woods after I fled the accident that slew my twin brother, after which I'd nearly died of starvation, and then I'd been held for weeks to be interrogated by Zhents before escaping and murdering some of them. Then I'd taken myself a jaunt home and got trapped in my home city that decided to go to war with itself while it suffered a debilitating plague during which I helped my father pile up half of my neighbors and light the pile on fire. After that I'd gotten shot in the side of my arse twice with arrows by the same bastard during the Luskan War. Then there was that time in the Underdark very briefly those months ago, when I'd been mistakenly summoned by a baby-killing drow priestess of Lolth whom I managed to annoy enough into banishing me, which was ironically the least amount of maimed I'd ever been on an 'adventure.' One might say that I'd seen and smelled a lot of rotten shit, but I swear that Undermountain has been the worst-smelling place I have ever been in my long life. You would not believe some of the things I've endured; forget the misadventures, let's not overlook the fact that I'm a midwife to ogres.

Ogre children, by the way, are just as disgusting and mean-tempered as their parents. Even worse if you can imagine. And I hate them more. I want to hit them. In their tiny ogre, baby faces.

I was happy enough to be alive, I just wished some of the idiot adventurers I had to cook for the blasted ogres would make themselves useful for once instead getting themselves captured and eaten. Was it too much to ask that Waterdeep, the City of bloody Heroes, the City of bloody Wonders, send in someone to save the day that wasn't a self-destructive moron? I'm hardly Ms. Heroine, but even I managed to make it to that mentally challenged flesh golem on the second level before the kitties jumped me. Of all the ways to be enslaved, this was easily the most embarrassing.

It's not as if I could escape on my own, even if I had sincerely tried - not with the nasty power-repressing collar they'd had the gall and cleverness to place on me. Even if my familiar wasn't such an arsehole, I couldn't summon him with the bloody thing on, so I was all alone.

And see, I have this aversion to death. Dying once at the hands of Zhents was enough for me, thank you, and I've died twice at their hands within the same week. I've also been remarkably close to death on numerous uncomfortable occasions, up to and including nearly getting sat on by a dragon. It's never fun. I also have a recently developed aversion to getting eaten. Of the two fools I'd hired to take me down here, one had already been eaten by ogres, understand – I'd been spared only because I spoke Ogrish and had proved my tailed arse useful. Growing up on a farm had never helped me until this exact moment in my life, but if I could bring foals into the bloody world, I could damn well bring a bloody ogre.

Even had I escaped the disgusting ogres, I'd have all the blasted faeries in the southern dungeon to contend with. And even if I made it back down to the second level where I was captured, those rakshasa would just try to eat me again anyway! Everything in Undermountain is trying to eat you, understand. Even the fae. Those grigs are evil little bastards and I wish them all horrible, painful deaths-by-suffocating-down-my-throat.

There's not a lot to eat in Undermountain that isn't poisonous or actively trying to eat you instead. I'm not ashamed to say I've eaten pixies. Someone has to! They're a menace.

Aside from all that, I was doing great. I was staying on the ogre mage's good side and apparently I was a decent enough cook. Well, for ogres, anyway. Who would've thought? And besides, it's not as if I'd spent all that much time in this dungeon anyway. Only about a month. Or a few months. Or a few years. I was having a tough time keeping track. Time got a bit runny in Undermountain. I should've saved myself a lot of trouble followed in mother's footsteps and become a cleric of something. Then, I could have led a boring life and committed suicide forthwith.

As I let my mind wander about (I had very few things to keep me occupied, other than spooking the old blue dragon a few hallways down) while I was doing the dishes, occasionally seeing if I could plot any new escape routes and wondering if that dragon in the south-eastern corridor ate as much as these ogres, I nearly missed him. Him being: The one adventurer that got through.

Said adventurer could have arrived at a much more fortuitous time, like, say, four weeks ago, or maybe four months ago, or was it four years ago? I'm not complaining or anything. Wouldn't want Beshaba to think I was ungrateful on account of her gracing my forsaken life. Would you believe I used to be cheerful? That was back in the time when I didn't miss the sunlight and the population of Undermountain weren't up in arms doing to Waterdeep what Cyric did to Bane.

So, the first adventurer. I was so preoccupied with my own mental world that I barely noticed him in the shadows – luckily, I have sharp eyes or I wouldn't have caught him at all. I didn't have time to cry out, and I didn't intend to. I was startled enough that I did hear myself gasp a little bit, but that may have been him gasping. I imagine he was just as surprised to find someone alive down here as I was.

I had a little area away from the main ogre encampment set apart for me, but I wasn't allowed to go far. (They dropped me off raw meat sometimes as food but eating the adventurers with them felt a little like crossing a line. I know I'm a cambion, but I'm not really all that nasty about it, promises.) The corridor next to it was used as a kitchen. This was the place that I was supposed to sleep, and it was small and humid and I hated it. At least it was lit, and it was marginally better than being eaten alive. So it's no surprise, in retrospect, that an adventurer of unlikely fate had managed to find me without getting detected by the ogres, since they avoided me when it wasn't midwife-time or dinner-time. Hard to believe they think I smell bad (though it'd been a while since I'd been allowed to bathe).

Anyway, I caught him in the shadows just as he was entering the room. He made no sound at all, but I saw his own shadow moving across the floor like water flowing over rocks. I couldn't see his face, only the edge of his feet and the tip of his hood in the dim light. "Who's about?" I hissed and squinted, cursing my vision under my breath.

Halaster had an odd sense of humor, so it was entirely possible this was some kind of trick, even though I knew that Undermountain was currently functioning under his absence. I hadn't seen his pet flesh golem since that one encounter, so I had to assume that Berger was gone as well. There'd been activity in the dungeon, I could sense it in the magic from the walls, but it was scattered. Between the Blackcloak's own ambient magic in Undermountain and the ogre's collar, I couldn't sense for shit. I was forbidden to leave the ogre mage's presence with the collar on - physically forbidden, literally - so I only knew what they told me. Not the most reliable source of current news.

The adventurer paused. "No, who are you?"

Ah. "You're probably thinking I'm one of Halaster's tricks." My voice cracked from disuse, and I cleared it in embarrassment.

His posture straightened. "How would you know what I think?"

He had me there. I stepped forward to examine him a little better and felt my tail sway in approval. He looked like he could fight, at least, from what little I could see. I sniffed but couldn't catch anything beyond the stench of ogre. "Because it's what I think. You know, if you're not real, you're an awful elaborate lie. Halaster's certainly done madder things. He's a barmy sack of goat testicles, I hope he hears me say that. Now, out of the shadows with you." I made a shooing motion at him toward the light just in case I misjudged him and he turned out to be a simpleton. "Come on, now! If you're real, that is. The ogres don't come over here, least they won't for a few hours. You are real, aren't you? I've been here for a while, and I think it's entirely possible you aren't. I may have forgotten what people look or smell like." The words came back to me in droves - it felt indescribably wonderful to have someone other than the mage to talk to.

A few moments passed in silence before the man stepped out of the shadows. He didn't remove his hood but I could see his face in full at that point – handsome in the fierce and almost uncomfortably perfect faces that only drow have, and with eyes the color of fine wine. (Oh, wine. How I've missed you, in the long dark of this dungeon . . .) Since he hadn't tried immediately to kill or antagonize me, I assumed he was some sort of renegade drow, for there was precedent, even if they were rare. Still, I glared at him under my scrutiny and while he simply stared curiously back. I was doing my best to not look astonished, considering he was the first other adventurer I'd seen here that was alive and breathing. He had to be either extremely clever or extremely fast in order to have survived this far. Drow were notoriously tricky, and I knew from an uncomfortable personal experience that if any of 'em were born with anything deficient, they either sacrificed them to demons or chucked 'em down a pit for driders to eat. So he, he probably wasn't an idiot, and he had a more than basic understanding of tactics and traps. He'd have to, in order to have lived long enough to get to my section. His cloak was long and green and his scaled armor glinted dimly in the firelight – inexpensive and a tad unfitting, I thought, which struck me as odd because he moved with the grace of more than passing experience. His face was still young, though that was a meaningless term when applied to elves, thus I was unsure what to make of him. He could have perhaps been born into the adventuring career or maybe . . .

"Tell me who you are," I demanded.

He glared. "No, you first, fiendling." His eyes were mostly fixed on my face, but they kept wandering down. His voice was almost as soft as his shadow, with an untraceable accent. There was a harshness in his tone outside of the intentional whisper, suggesting disuse or injury as well as an understandable caution.

"That's Miss fiendling to you, you wanker, because I asked first." I raised my voice because I had no fear of being overheard and crossed my arms over my breasts, worried that he was having difficulty concentrating for all the wrong reasons. I'd been naked for so long that I'd forgotten what clothes and armor felt like. Days were impossible to reckon in most sections because time flowed differently in everyone. Undermountain was a bloody circus, and here I was, a naked clown.

It took him a moment or two to answer. "I am called Solaufein," he grumbled. His voice was commandingly quiet, with more rasp than tone and gave my body an involuntary shiver. The name definitely sounded drow, and his accent wasn't thick but it was telling, and he didn't mention a House name. Most drow loved bragging about their prestige, but this one seemed to be suspicious. That worked well for my idiom, since I'd been dealing with people finding me suspicious my entire life for reasons that weren't my fault. In this instance, me naked in a crazy dungeon with a collar on, it was probably the correct feeling to have.

I nodded and bowed with a certain degree of sarcasm. "I am called Binne. Pleasure to meet you, Solaufein. I'm, quite obviously, a captive in these parts. Mind telling me what you're doing down here?"

He glanced around and shuffled restlessly. "What does anyone do in Undermountain?" Dodging the question, but fine. "More importantly, what is a demon doing captured here?"

Oh, so that was going to be a thing. He must've been stuck on my horns and the tail. I felt it twitch erratically in response to my irritation. "Far be it from you to judge someone by the shape of their horns or ears," I smarted, "but I speak Ogreish, and these stupid, stupid ogres thought that was interesting." I re-thought that statement. "They're not all that stupid, not really. I just hate them. A lot. Really, I've met dumber Helmites. The mage one is remarkably intelligent. I gave him the idea that I'd be more useful alive than tasty in a pot. They said demon flesh was no good to eat, so I cook for them."

He processed this and then his face scrunched in disbelief. "You are the ogres' cooking rothe?"

I sighed. "Well, I used to be a stable-hand, but it's been hard to find work in Undermountain these days. Much as I appreciate the conversation - really, I'm tearing up in relief as only one of the ogres is anything other than unpleasant to talk to, but he's still the worst conversationalist - can we skip to the part where you free me?" I scratched at my collar.

"Possibly," he offered vaguely and then stepped a bit closer, cloak swishing. I found myself unconsciously taking a step back and felt irritated at myself. I was powerless without my collar and hadn't exactly had much to eat during my imprisonment. I had no way of knowing how much weight I'd lost, and no mirrors to see my appearance. I'd spent most of my time in captivity cathartically cursing the gods. "Tell me how you got down here, first," he demanded. At least his eyes were fixated on my face. Drow had a certain reputation, the males in particular. I realized that I'd been worried for the last few seconds he was simply going to kill me and felt a little embarrassed of my anxiety. Without my power, I felt completely useless. I was stronger and durable than most elves or humans on account of my demonic heritage, but I was no ogre. He had done nothing threatening so far and only seemed curious, so that put me a little at ease.

"Durnan opened up the Well for me after I presented him with an official writ when the Lords first sealed it, when beholders started popping up out of the shadows and eye-blasting street walkers," I muttered dryly. "Tch, no bloody other way to get down here that I know of." I looked up at Solaufein rather desperately as an idea came to me. But first, I had to get some information. "I've been down here . . . Oh I don't know how long. Maybe a few days. Or a year. Or a month. What's happened to Waterdeep? Undermountain is restless."

"Why do you care?" He wondered, honestly. His face scrunched then in thought, or distaste. "I am not convinced that this is not an elaborate hoax of the mad mage's design."

I frowned. I didn't know how much I wanted to tell this drow about myself or background, but considering I was a collared slave to ogres unless he decided to help me, I felt it best to simply put my cards on the table. If sincerity didn't convince him, nothing would. I hesitated on account of the ironic notion that I, a six foot cambion, was hoping to win over a drow with my sincerity.

I cleared my throat. "Uhm. Ahem. Well, for a bit of completely not suspicious context, I found myself in the Archmage's Academy once as a child where one of my appearance might have blended in - or at least drawn less notice to herself. Where else do the magically gifted children of adventurers' go? Elsewhere I face stones thrown and one time, an actual mob! True story," and I trailed off a little as I recalled fondly that Zhentarim imprisonment solely for the revenge I'd acquired after escaping it. "My teachers there only cared for my abilities, not my . . . Father's traits." I gestured down at my nudity, which I'd grown accustomed to after a month because the ogres thought it was funny to not give me clothes and were ripe bastards. There was a nearby lava flow, so the place was hardly cold, and I'd honestly just gotten used to it. I'd been thoroughly divested of all my earthly possessions, even my earrings, when the ogre mage had slapped the torc on me. There would be no way of hiding what I was - and for a moment I praised Tymora in my heart for the luck that it was a drow who had crossed my path, and not some blade-happy adventurer. At least they weren't likely to kill a demon spawn if they found a creative use for them. I'd rather be violated than dead.

I flicked my tail to grab his eye's attention when I felt them lingering away from my eyes again and felt a bit of nervousness well up in my gut. "My family owns a ranch in around Neverwinter," I went on after my hesitation. "Oi don't look so surprised. That's where I was born and that's where my da and ma live, and where I'd much like to go back to! But I'm stuck here until the Blackcloak is found! He's been missing, place is a bloody steaming uproar of goblin-shit! You can go back up and ask Durnan if he remembers me. Tell 'im Binne sent'cha, the big gal with the horns. I bet his wife would remember me too, wench threw me out of the bloody Inn when I walked in. Ugh! Paladins! I was, no, no sent isn't the right word. Coerced. I was coerced into it." I shrugged. "That would be a more accurate way of describing what happened to me - I was to find out why Halaster had seemingly disappeared from Undermountain. He's been silent and un-scryable. I've been here for so long that I've forgotten what grass smells like. So, has Waterdeep gotten itself knocked over in my absence? Last I knew, the grigs and eye-tyrants were hassling locals, and it got everyone a bit miffy."

Solaufein's hood shifted down as he glanced from side to side, revealing scarred and silver-studded ears, and a carelessly tumbled shaven central stripe of short, shock-white hair. It was refreshingly normal, unlike all those elves I'd seen with the long, pristine, pretty braids that went to the floor. "There have been dhaerow raiding parties raiding the surface for a few months now, and assassinations of key figures all around the city. It is a siege from the shadows," he explained.

"Well aren't you dramatic. Are you with them?" I wondered. I didn't have a problem with it if he was - if it came between my own life and Waterdeep, I'd pick myself - but I'd already pegged him as an outcast based off of his manner and appearance, as well as the fact that he was addressing me as an equal. Dark elf males were subservient toward females of their kind to a sharp point, but only when they followed their weird demon-spider goddess' precepts. They held no such deference at all toward females of other races. I'd seen as much the one time I'd been mistakenly summoned there by a whip-happy priestess to oversee a drowish christening. It featured in my nightmares sometimes. And it's not my fault my arcane name sounds similar to a lot of others! Who knows what horrid thing she was actually trying to summon? Solaufein didn't address me with disrespect, but refreshingly possessed none of the deference of a male dark elf conditioned by his society. His spine was too straight; though his eyes were the right shade of wine-red-wary when they graced my form. There was more suspicion than admiration, which I respected. I wasn't in any position to seduce someone. I would come across as too desperate. "You don't strike me as a spider-kisser," I admitted honestly, "but one cannot be certain. I could care less if you are or aren't, because frankly, in my position as I am I have little use for the gods or morality. I'll take what's given to me, at this point. If you are an elaborate trap, I'd prefer if you just told me now or killed me and be done with it. I've had enough of this awful dungeon either way."

Something in his posture relaxed, and I felt a little more at ease in reflex. I suspected he might be faster than I, and it pleased me to see he was not quick to draw his blades. Too many in his position were and had somehow lost sight of the value of solving one's problems nonviolently. I felt my tail twitch in excitement at the thrill I felt of feeling hope and grabbed it in one hand to keep it still. "No. I . . ." He seemed to hesitate. "I follow my own goddess. Eilistraee. She is why I am here."

He fingered a medallion beneath his undershirt and pulled it out to show me. I'd never seen her sigil, but it didn't look like anything like the Spider Queen's so I nodded brusquely as if I knew exactly what we were talking about. I had to ruin the image with my big mouth. "Oh right. The, er, elvish one. Is she, er, the song one? Or the . . . Tall one, with the arrows? Or the, er, pretty rainbow one? Eh." I trailed off and bore his stare, that fell on me like an intelligence drain. I gave up. "Look mate, much like infernal contracts, I think what happens between men and their dark secrets is their own bloody business." I changed the subject because gods were always an uncomfortable subject. "So, other drow have been raiding? Up from Undermountain? I had heard there might be a way to the Underdark in the lowest levels, but I thought it was just a juicy rumor. I knew Halaster was mad, but I didn't think he was stupid. Who builds an entrance to the Underdark in their death dungeon? That'd just. That would just be crazy." I tried hard not to laugh at my own joke, and only let out a snort.

He gave me a weird look, apparently unamused. "That is almost word-for-word what a halfling I met earlier today said. Now I am not so sure you are real." I guffawed at this, but the suspicion he'd held earlier had gone. "They are likely from here, or a nearby entrance. I have encountered a few parties, so I suspect they have taken over the dungeon. I've seen many duergar too, and b'ahlach. The attacks have been going on for several weeks. You've been down here for over a month? With the ogres?" He seemed stuck on this as much as his eyes seemed to be stuck on the horns, or my breasts. He caught himself staring at my tail in my hand a few times during our conversation, but I paid it no mind. "Naked?" He added with a hint of amusement.

I rolled my eyes at him. "Well, I don't know how long I've been here! Time here is - is - is runny!"

"Runny?" He tasted the word uncomprehendingly.

"It runs funny!" I struggled to convey the concept that I'd only ever felt, and never described. The passive swell of time and memory in Undermountain was likely more mental than literal, but one could never be too sure in a mad wizard's death dungeon. "Like a - a viscous soup. It doesn't always flow right way, or as fast as it does in other places. You'll see! And yes, I have lived with the ogres. The fey all tried to gut me so they could eat me. As long as I cook and clean the ogres are civil to me and keep their grubby hands off. It's not my fault they took my armor as a, a, a sick joke!"

He apparently couldn't get past this idea. "With these ogres? The ones I have been killing all morning?"

"You've been killing them?" I clapped in delight like a giddy child, Sune help me. "Ohohoho! How many?"

He shifted from foot to foot and paced to the other side of the small room, clearly uncomfortable about confined spaces. Strange for one whose native environment was the Underdark, but maybe he was one of the rare surface drow. And had he really come down into Undermountain alone? Who was this guy? "Xa. They have begun a war with the fae down here, so I have slain many. Why are you down here? Did you come alone? You said you were coerced."

I held up my hand and whistled. "That's a lot of questions. Suffice to say I'm not dead is because I happen to be good at lying, and the reason I'm alive is because I know how to cook some mean halfling for ogre dinner. You know, for the baby ogres."

Solaufein stopped his impatient pacing and stared at me with unreadable eyes. "Oh. That was not a joke?"

I glared at him again and pointed at my serious face. "I cook the adventurers that these ogres kill. I know a smattering of Ogreish, most beast-tongues, Abyssal . . . And some Gnollish. And I'm not proud of it, because my accent is atrocious." I sighed. "Beast tongues aren't so hard, fairly simple. It's the Sylvan - that one is tricky. Very specific pronunciations, lots of words that sound the same, don't get me started on the adverbs - never thought knowing that shit would be useful at any point in my life, but wouldn't you know it, it's saved me more than once!"

"What? You talk too much." Solaufein glanced off to the side and then dashed out the doorway to peer down the hall, maybe to see if there were any ogres overhearing us.

"You're the one who asked," I grumbled, I followed him. I hadn't talked to a person that wasn't a fucking ogre in over two weeks, and just now realized I'd been rambling. The drow paused for a moment, listening, and I leaned in, breathing in the earthy scent and glanced over his shoulder. He even smelled like the surface, which was wonderful. He brushed me off, startled, and I merely stared at him like he was an idiot, and felt my tail whip back in irritation against the stones in the wall. It didn't occur to me until a few seconds later that it probably was weird that I'd just up and crept up and sniffed him.

"Er, sorry," I offered unapologetically. "I haven't seen anyone except harpies and ogres." He gave me that weird, unamused look again. "You know, it won't be dinner time for some time. They won't come down here, and they have terrible hearing. They think I smell funny. At least, they won't come unless someone has a spontaneous baby or something. Uh, Cyric, I hope that doesn't happen, I might be forced to kill myself." He gave me a funny look. "I'm, uh, also the resident midwife."

The drow grimaced and then softened into a thoughtful expression. "There are female ogres? I mean, I know that there must be, but . . . I do not think I have ever seen one." A look of curiosity followed by disgust crossed his face again.

I had followed his train of thought. "You don't ever think about it, I know, but the females look terribly similar to the males. Some of them even have magnificent beards, too. Like dwarves. They don't sound all too different from the males either. Or smell different. The only real difference between the two ogre genders is that one of them have dangly bits that the other don't!"

The drow decided on one final expression and appeared horrified at the thought of ogre dangly bits. "Rul'selozan," he decided in a disgusted voice, and peered back down the hallway. I thought back to the various escape routes that I'd come up with in my mind and decided there was never a better time than now to tell him my idea. I wasn't going to be stuck in Undermountain for another second alone with these monsters, not if I could help it. I'd been waiting for someone to come down this way for some time, and I wasn't about to pass the opportunity up. The promising elf was certainly my ticket out of there. Maybe I'd have to start worshiping Tymora if I thanked her too much . . .?

And speaking of the drow, he was just about to open his mouth and say something but I cut him off. "Ssh! I've been waiting for another live one for a long time, and I'm not about to waste this moment. I've a plan. I cannae do it alone, though. I need your help, please say yes."

He stared at me and folded his arms grumpily. "I know you not, and I am not so foolish as to release a demon from their contract."

"You know more about me than I do about you!" I cried, throwing my arms up in the air. "You know I speak ogrish. Most people don't know that! Of course, I kind of just threw that out there, but, you know!" I grasped at straws. "Must you judge a woman by the shape of her horns? Surely you have faced worse from surfacers in your time above."

He frowned and drew his hood back up about his face. "You are no mere demon spawn, that much I can tell," he admitted. "But it is not because of your heritage that I say thus. Undermountain is full of attractive lies. You may lead me into a trap."

I guffawed at the implication and the notion that I was at all attractive in that moment. "Oh, spare me. You know you want to kill all those ogres. They're an affront to decent sensibilities! Their stench is heinous and I've a quick way to be rid of them. All you have to do is help get me the damn hells out of this hole."

His posture and his gaze didn't waver an inch. "You said before that you were summoned, and now you try to dodge the subject."

I groaned and leaned against the corridor wall. "Really? You really want to get into that? It's a long story."

"I think I have the time." Half of a wry smile played at his lips. "After all, they're not due until dinnertime, and time is runny."

"Bah. Halaster is missing, you know." I breathed in deep and spoke fast. "I was, am a warlock – former apprentice of Blackstaff, the arch-mage of Waterdeep, and it isn't as uncommon as you'd assume even for us horned types. It was the one place in Faerûn I barely stuck out. When I graduated, I left the city and wandered. Made a bit of a name for myself after killing a lot of Zhents maybe - kind of - by accidentally on purpose. And for killing a lich so I could have his jewelry at some point or another. I liked to think I made my ma proud - but we was all estranged then. So, I eventually made my way back up the Sword Coast, hit Neverwinter, reconciled the family, got stuck in the city during that plague business and helped out with the war effort against Luskan, then got a summons . . . about a month before I went down here, I was summoned by one of my old teachers when I'd opened his letter. First I thought it was a prank. Then he said that the Council was concerned about Halaster, and as it turns out Blackstaff had had been tracking the Blackcloak to make sure he didn't do anything completely insane here in his death-dungeon. Ha-ha-how I laughed! Then Ol' Khelby said the mad bastard had disappeared off the face of the map, they couldn't find him through any form of divination, and they were basically throwing any able bodied person they could at the problem until it got solved, and all sorts of baddies from Undermountain were crawling over the city too fast and in numbers too severe for the guard alone to handle. I had nothing better to do, so I 'offered' my investigative prowess. Hired two idiots to escort me, though I thought I'd be fine on my own without a large group to bog me down, but here I am." I paused, took another deep breath.

Solaufein said nothing, so I decided to add, "It, uh, didn't turn out as well as I'd hoped. Hoped I'd quit halfway through out of impatience and blow up the whole dungeon in a fit of pique, as I'm wont to do, but then me spell backfired! Thought I'd be doing a public service, yeah? This place is a damned tourist trap, and a hazard. Hundreds die in here every year! Now, Halaster's definitely dead. Maybe I would've really gotten somewhere if it hadn't been for those damn cats on the second level. Hadn't expected 'em. Outsiders always seem to hate me. And that's the short version of my long, sordid tale, so now can we get down to business please?"

He took some time to respond. "Halaster disappeared months ago? Are you certain of this?"

I snorted at that. I was tired of this conversation already. I knew I'd have to repeat this information to whomever was running the show upstairs and that just made it worse. "That's what they told me. I just assumed 'yes,' because it made a sort of sense to me. Why else would any of this be happening? Unless Halaster himself is behind it all. It stinks of a well-laid plan, or a mad wizard's whimsy. Not sure there's much of a difference since the end result is the same. It'd be a great sort of irony if he just went on vacation during all this."

Solaufein turned away and started pacing again. I, for once, kept my big mouth shut and decided to just let him think. "I was sent here by Durnan on behalf of the Lords of Waterdeep to find Halaster and figure out how to stop the dhaerow attacks. They are not going to be pleased if he's dead. There have been many assassinations on the surface, and thefts of magical artifacts on top of the many raiding parties. Waterdeep is being evacuated. You say you made it to the second level?" He perked up at this thought.

I thought, aha, a way I could be useful. "Yes," I started slow, "since Halaster is gone, the place hasn't changed and the puzzles are still the same. You could almost make a map of this place. Know it like the back of me hand." I stared down at my hand and noticed my claws had grown a little out of control. I twitched self-consciously and wished a pox upon the ogre mage for stealing even my damned nail file. "I know where some decent treasure is, mind you," I added after a pause.

"I am still experiencing difficulty believing that you have been down here, naked, playing midwife and cook to ogres for a month," he said abruptly, shaking his cloaked head in disbelief. "I cannot decide between amusement or pity about your predicament."

"I'm a warlock," I hissed violently, because this was indeed a touchy subject for me and I hated being pitied, "and I can't summon anything or use my magic until this...this...THING," I yanked and pulled at my metal collar on my neck, which had been endowed with all number of dispelling magic runes and anti-magic spells – the ogre mage's work when they dragged me down here, "is off my neck. Ow!" I'd accidentally scratched myself with one of my own black claws and pouted. "Why'd I do that? Ah, so, yes, at least I know a lot about this place, considering the time I've spent down here, so freeing me is definitely in your best interest."

Solaufein, the evil, evil drow, smirked. Fuck Tymora right in the ear. He unfolded his arms and rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. "What is the price of freeing you?"

"Not a price, it's the ogre mage. I can get you to him, and then you can just kill him or convince him to take this bloody thing off—" I yanked violently at the iron collar again, wincing. "I will literally do anything for you if you help me out of here."

"Why would I need you?" he seemed genuinely confused.

"Because I'll do anything, anything! I'll cook for you if you want. I make a mean gnome stew! I-I know how to distill alcohol. I'll shine your shoes, polish your sword, help you through this dungeon, take you to all the treasure I know of, darn your bloody socks, fight your enemies, loan you all the magic I have, I'll—"

The drow warrior held up his hands, eyes widening. "Fi—"

"Raise you an army of demons and the eternal undead, just please, please, please get me out of here!" You know what, after you spend a month being a slave to a bunch of dirty, filthy ogres, you'll lose part of your dignity too. So I'm fairly unashamed to admit that I got down on my hands and knees, grabbed Solaufein's cloak to bury my face in and hugged his leg as I begged for his help with tears in my eyes. "PLEASE. Get me out of here! I can't stand this—awful—horrible place anymore!" I might have sniffled a bit and intentionally pushed my breasts on his legs. The tears were real from being emotionally overwhelmed at talking to a whole person after so long, plus I'm an emotional sort of buffoon, but I'd ham it up if it got me his help faster.

Solaufein carefully extricated himself from my grasp and gently pushed me away. I clasped my hands together and gave the best innocent, helpless look I could muster, which must've looked terrible. I had black horns the size of a goat's that curved around my damn head, sharp black claws instead of nails, dusky red skin, a spiny black tail, and eyes the unnatural shade of flames. Somehow it must've miraculously worked because he pleaded, "please get off of me. You mentioned a plan?"

Oh, Tymora, I knew you were looking out for me! There were only two forces in Undermountain who had to power to remove my anti-magic collar – the ogre mage just a tick to the north, and the Fairy Queen all the way in the south dungeon. The Fae were totally out of the question, so of course I had to get the ogre mage to do it for me. The Fairy Queen would just blast us to the next life for even glancing at her funny. Although Solaufein wasn't terrible on the eyes - might be she could take a fancy to him. Or try to eat him. I didn't want to chance my only ticket out of here, though. At least the ogre mage was a somewhat reasonable sort. I knew he was too clever to trick into it, but with my new drow friend, I had an ace card. The key to my collar was in a pouch on the ogre mage's left side – I'd watched him very intently as he put it in there when he captured me – and after I got that, then I could safely go about my way of brutally killing every ogre in the main hall.

The plan? It was a lot simpler than you'd think it was. The element of surprise was on our side, and though I knew that the ogres wouldn't smell the drow over my own, but just to be sure I had him roll around in some spices left about.

Although it turned out that Solaufein wasn't alone. He had a pet kobold named Deekin who was surprisingly talkative. And was also a bard who was a proficient spell caster and turned out to be smartest person I'd ever met. I was coping on the inside. I would've been surprised, but my life had always been a joke so it made a sick kind of sense. I didn't judge people by their friends, though. It worked out for the best, because having a spell-caster made the plan much smoother.

Soon was time for ogre dinner. I'd "cooked" something, more or less just heated some random things and made it smell good and was on my way to take it to the ogres. Solaufein was watching closely from the shadows – he was good, I could only see him because I was looking for him. Ogres aren't observant creatures to begin with, the mage being the exception, so they wouldn't see him coming. It wouldn't really matter anyway after I got my hands on that key to my collar – they'd all be dead, dead, dead. Elminster's poxy bawbags, but my blood raced at the thought of it. Sweet, sweet revenge was soon to be mine.

I braced myself for the coming stench – and there it was as soon as I entered the main hall of the north section of Undermountain. Unwashed, rotting flesh and everything else that comes to mind when you say the word 'ogre.' It was horrible. Most of them started growling the instant I walked in, pushing that humongous, covered platter. (The ogre mage had an odd sense of humor and liked his meals 'civilized' on plates and with utensils on such. Fancied himself a gentleman) The ogre mage at the head of the hall silenced them. He was just sitting there, idly reading a book of history, which looked quite comical in his large hands. He licked his finger to turn the page when he saw me.

I cleared my throat. "Here's the grub, master," I greeted cheerfully in ogrish, terrible accent aside. The ogre mage barely looked up and then motioned me forward. My pulse started racing. I didn't dare look off to the side or behind me to find Solaufein, that would give the game away. I just carefully and calmly walked forward. There was a brief whimper I thought I heard from the platter in front of me. I felt bad for the summoned wolf of Deekin's, it was probably squished and uncomfortable. Dire wolves aren't exactly small, you know.

The ogre mage put down his book when I was in front of him. He looked at the "dinner" suspiciously, and then said in perfect (slightly accented) Common, "what's it this time, witch?" (he'd never bothered to learn my name) "More adventurers coming down?" He sighed plaintively. "You'd think they'd learn, but no, they just keep coming. And now with these dark elves causing all this ruckus, there's just going to be more."

I shrugged and nodded. "Sure, why not?"

He turned his suspicious gaze from the platter to me. "You seem very tense, young one."

I was thirty two, but apparently that didn't count for much in ogre years. "No, just very tired." I switched back to Common. Ogreish was a bit harsh on the throat and water was hard to come by in a dungeon. "Enjoy the fruits of my labor," I gestured at the 'dinner.'

He stuck his gnarled face up in the air and started sniffing. I acted perfectly natural despite the fact that I was screaming inside. Stupid ogre. You don't smell anything. Shut up and eat your food, you smelly fiend!

And sure enough, after a short while the ogre mage nodded and I slowly turned to walk away just as he opened the dish.

All I heard was a growling and a cry of pain. I whipped around and saw the dire wolf, almost slowed from a Time Stop it seemed to me, launching itself at the ogre mage, snarling like it was rabid. The ogre mage gasped and the whole room was transformed into chaos. I heard the kobold bard from the hall and a distance start clanging cymbals together in a distracting song before it went silent and flaming crossbow bolts started making their way into ogres' arms and necks from the periphery.

"Useful little bugger," I admitted with admiration.

Solaufein had been wearing an invisibility spell and dispelled it as he leapt out of the shadows without a sound and struck an ogre in the belly. I was impressed. The ogres started howling. There were maybe ten or fifteen of them, I hadn't counted, but I was sure the warrior had. I kicked the platter aside, sending it crashing into the knees of the nearest ogre, who started to hop up and down on one leg, clutching the other one and yelping in pain. I picked it up from my feet and beat him over the head with it twice, not that it did much but annoy the ogre. So, I kicked him in the dangly bits with my bare, clawed foot, and it came back bloody. The nasty ogre fell over and howled in agony.

I would've laughed if I had the time, but I didn't so I ran towards the ogre mage, my toe-claws (they were the worst to file down) scratching harshly against the unlettered stone floor. I didn't feel it since they were tougher than the rock, but it sent a shiver up my spine unpleasantly at the sensation.

As an aside, I always thought it funny that this particular ogre insisted his brethren keep their living space clean despite never washing themselves. It was revolting in an ironic sort of way. I digress.

Deekin's little surprise wasted no time and launched itself at the ogre mage's leg, who didn't dodge fast enough and was busy casting a spell in his head. Distracted, he howled when he realized what the wolf was aiming for and the pouch with my blessed, blessed key snapped off. The wolf shook it in its mouth and then cast it aside, towards me, attention never diverting from the mage. I have never been more in love with an animal in my life, nor would I ever be since, because that is not the sort of thing you admit to in front of sober company.

I jumped and shouted in pure glee while the ogre mage cast me baleful glances. I was so happy I could barely hear the sounds of swords clashing and armor clinking and intense growling from where Solaufein was busy dodging and attacking the remaining ogres in the room. I caught him out of the corner of my eye pulling out a dirk with his right hand and attacking with two weapons, keeping his bastard sword in his left. He wielded the sword with surprising strength for an elf and cleaved one of the ogre's heads clean in two with it and reversed his swing in a moment to cleave a second one halfway through the neck, and still dodge the blow from a third as he ripped it out and black blood poured forth like a revolting fountain. He was quite useful indeed.

I fiddled with the pouch in frustration – I was too excited to even get it open. "Binne!" An angry shout came from the drow. I growled a bit and finally got the key out. I heard a loud whimper from the dire wolf and saw out of the corner of my eye the ogre mage kick the beast away. A loud howling started to fill the room, from the ogres or the wolf, I couldn't tell. I tried to fit the key into the lock but couldn't see what I was doing and kept fumbling.

"Auril's frozen cunt," I cursed and shoved the key into the lock in of the collar that had permanently scarred my neck, bending as I twisted it. "I hate ogres, hate ogres, hate ogres..."

And then it just fell off, like magic right into my fingers in two. The torc glinted for a moment with blue light, and then grew dim like normal steel. It was glorious. All the reserves of energy I had swam in my body, in my mind, filling me to the brim. I was full to burst out of my skin and I grinned. And then I laughed. And I laughed harder.

I cackled, feeling the entropic energy coursing through me once more. I had felt very alone and barren without it – the gift of a warlock is more innate than studied, even it was an unnaturally acquired ability. Mine was innate as far as I knew, or a pact had been made on my behalf in the womb, for I did not recall ever making one. I had to study to learn to shape my power, hone it like a weapon and make it sing and soar. I was not like the ogre mage who had to rely on memorized spells. My power was not structured and sourced from the Weave; I drew upon shadow, chaos, and decay. A warlock is antithetical to the Spellweave, like the needle that threaded through it but could be no part of it.

The chanting in the room briefly stopped as my cackle echoed about in a cacophony of noise combined with all the other ogre's and the dire wolf's howling. But I couldn't stop laughing, laughing out of joy. I experienced happiness for the first time in a long, long wait. I felt tears pouring down my cheeks in relief, so overwhelmed with feeling I was. It was as if the suffering had gone by in a blink and I was on vacation from myself - only to just then have returned. It felt like coming home. I wept and laughed simultaneously like a child, unable to contain either my sorrow or joy as half of me that was missing returned, making me whole again.

The ogre mage had erected several magical barriers around him and was now standing between me and the briefly downed dire wolf with a mixture of disappointment and apprehension. I glared through my tears and wiped at my eyes. I felt a disturbance at my back and saw the corner of Solaufein's forest-colored cloak out of the corner of my eye, as his back brushed up against mine. The sight sent a memory straight to my nose as those funny things go, and over the scent of wolf and the sight of green came the bittersweet memory of Neverwinter snow. The remaining ogre clan started to surround us, snarling, gnashing, which took me right out of my brief reminiscence. Through my glare, I grinned, though from me it was more of a smirk. I could never smile and light up a room with friendliness; my canines were too sharp.

I cast the first thing that came to my desperate fingertips purely fueled by emotion, which let loose brands of hellfire snaking their way out from my hands towards the ogres and the ogre mage. The fire dissipated on his magical barrier but it at least made him flinch. The other ogres didn't stand a chance and I watch them as the snakes of fire ate and wrapped their way through flesh and bone and incinerated all that it touched, all the while humming happily to myself as I felt the very magic of Undermountain, combined with my own, humming its own little happy harmonious tune. Magic did strange things in Undermountain – it either did the exact opposite of what you wanted it to do, it worked twice as effectively, or it blew up in your face. I suppose I was lucky, having only experienced the failure once.

As soon as the spell was done, only two ogres were left standing. The ogre mage's barrier had protected him, but his stoneskin was gone. The other two looked between each other and seemed confused. I sighed happily and looked at my newest friend askance. Solaufein's expression was, as I was starting to understand typically unreadable, but I thought I saw his teeth flash from a brief smile. "It's so good to be back," I sighed again happily, and rubbed the remaining tears from my eyes.

A wolf's howl brought us back to the battle. "Yaith ptau'al, a'temra," Solaufein murmured and launched himself at the ogre mage, sword glinting in his hand.

I don't think he realized I couldn't understand him. I only knew how to curse in drow. "Dosst ilhar uriu vith xuil rothe!" I shouted after him the only thing I knew how to say in his language. I turned my attention to the two ogres I'd left standing.

They were injured and burnt, but only partially. "You're dead," I declared, pointing. I tapped into the well within me and pulled up another spell. It grew in my closed palm like a tight coil of entropic energy, and with a grunt and a thrust, I pulled back and tossed the javelin of my rage right at them. It shined like a little beam of sunlight and split into two mid-flight and pierced them deep, and I swore I could briefly see their little stinky, ornery little ogre souls leaving their bodies. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and rubbed my neck where the collar had once been. Yes, it was definitely good to be back. I felt alive, and more cheerful and more like me than I had been since even before Undermountain. Before now, I'd just been drifting through a fog. It felt like the sun was shining on me, even though I must have been a league or so under the earth.

The ogre mage really hadn't stood a chance. The combination of Solaufein and the wolf was too much for the bastard and his magic barrier had finally fallen. The warrior slashed, dodged, and kicked, almost too fast for me to see, under the ogre's own sword and spells, and then with one final move which I can only accurately call a whirlwind of swordplay to hit the barrier successively until it exhausted itself, and the ogre mage fell to his knees in surrender immediately after. His hood had fallen back in the battle a while and it struck me that Solaufein wasn't wearing a helmet. Parts of his warrior-stripe were now dark with the blood that had sprayed across him in the fight. He made a frightening and intriguing image, with the ogre mage at his bloodied sword's point.

The ogre started chuckling. I felt insulted. "All right," gave up the ogre mage. He addressed the drow who was only panting slightly. The ogre wiped blood from his face that was streaming from a bite wound that the dire wolf had inflicted. "I surrender. A fine battle, little one. And you, witch," he tacked on in after-thought, looking over at me briefly. I expected something else, I don't know what, but what was there was a mix of amusement and something else. I wasn't good at reading ogre's faces, which can be attributed to the fact that most of their faces are too hideously mangled by their own unfortunate genetics to read. "A good ruse. I knew you'd have the guts to try and escape eventually. Of course, I didn't count on you succeeding, but still."

"We're hardly little, ogre," I told him in ogrish. "Or young. All the same, I'm rather glad I succeeded."

"Oh, so would I be, in your position." He looked back to Solaufein who had stayed his blades but clenched the hilts. The wolf panted and sat at his feet. I looked around, wondering where the kobold had disappeared to. "You've defeated me in quite a cavalier—"

Solaufein suddenly cut him off, turning to me, and held up an arm to quiet the surprised ogre. "A moment." He addressed me in a low voice. "Did you just tell me my mother has sex with rothe?"

I thought about that question for a good second. I had to phrase this delicately . . . "If I say yes, will you be mad?"

He stared at me. The only part of his expression that changed was a twitch of the lip. "Is that - all - you know how to say in my language?"

I brushed a piece of hair behind my ear and twirled it; an old nervous tick that lost me many a game. ". . . If I say yes, will you be mad?"

His straight face cracked and he started laughing. It started off as a rasp, and then erupted into a full throated and deep laugh that had him bent over nearly in tears. I couldn't help but laugh along with and feel a bit foolish about being nervous. It was actually a rather wonderful way to end the battle, honestly, and felt like a much needed release. Our ogre captive who had no idea what was going on seemed caught up in the jolly mood for a good while until we both noticed him laughing along and then he appeared to get uncomfortable. This made us both laugh harder.

Eventually, the ogre decided it was his turn once we had his attention again. "I assume since you know the cambion this means you're not quite in cahoots with that blasted fairy, though since you decimated my forces it seems she now rules this level." I was going to tell him that I was likely going to go after that blasted fairy after this too, simply because I now could, but I held my tongue. "I suppose all good things must end. Now, what are you planning to do with me?" He addressed the rather inappropriately relaxed Solaufein, rightfully because I'd barely known the man an hour and I already knew he was in charge.

Solaufein thought about it, shrugged, and then put his sword down. I stared at the adventurer in shock and disappointment. Where was his infamous drow killing spirit? What sort of dark elf was he, anyway! "I am not planning anything. Know anything about the others of my kind coming up?" He added the question like it was an afterthought.

The ogre mage looked puzzled and shook his head. "You are not the first one I have seen, but I know not their purpose or from whence they came. The lower levels, I assume. There's an Underdark entrance down there. I cannot say for certain, but that would be my guess. Berger would know more."

"Berger?" He repeated the sound like he mistrusted it.

"Halaster's son."

"That flesh golem?!" I was shocked, shocked. "You mean to say he turned his son into a flesh golem?! And people just . . . And everyone in the, they just - just let him do it? To his own son?"

The ogre mage looked confused. "No, the flesh golem is his son. He built Berger. Halaster's always treated him like a son. He's rather simple, keeps to himself. Doesn't mind any of us. I expect he'd been mutilated by the invading dark elves, but there might be a chance that he got away. Probably hiding in the lab. He rarely leaves it."

"The flesh golem," I repeated, stunned.

Solaufein sighed and tugged his hood around his ears. "I have no time for this. Leave," he commanded. The ogre mage looked a bit startled, huffed, and then stood up and hobbled his gigantic way off, blood trailing him. The three of us stared at the ogre's retreating form until he left the main hall and his faltering footsteps faded into nothing.

"Lucky bastard," I muttered into the sudden silence. "Anybody else would've killed him. I wanted to kill him. Why didn't I kill him?"

"You were right," Solaufein informed me in a surprised tone. I couldn't see his eyes clearly underneath his hood but he looked a bit surprised.

I was going to say, 'I'm always right,' but that wouldn't have been true because I'm frequently wrong, so I said, "That's unusual. Wait. Right about what?"

"The plan. Though you would have removed the collar faster if not for the claws." He stared pointedly at the culprits.

I examined my fingers in despair and almost felt tears welling up again. "Fuckers stole my special claw-file."

"Please do not cry," he asked of me in an unnerved voice. "It makes me want to kill things." Solaufein put away his weapons and whistled for his kobold pet while I swallowed that statement.

"Deekin?" The titular bard said and stepped into visibility not more than twenty feet away. I jumped, a little startled and annoyed at his soundless entrance. How had a kobold gotten the drop on me? Deekin frowned back. "What Boss be thinking?" He scratched out in his reedy voice.

I shrugged. If the world, through trial and error could manage to produce more than one halfway decent drow, or one halfway intelligent kobold, then ogres could be intelligent too. Snorting, I glanced around at the room, noting the heavy number of dead ogre bodies strewn about and then headed for the mage's desk. You heard me. He had a desk, which he was entirely too large for. Preposterous! I stared at the twosome briefly before resuming my ransacking of the room. I was looking for something specific, only one thing.

I turned my attention back to the ogre's desk. In it, I found not only my weapons, but my chainmail, most of my clothing, and jewelry as well. My bloody leggings were missing. My ring was a practical thing, I'd had it since I'd completed my studies fifteen years ago and it functioned as a focusing tool. I was even more scatterbrained without it. Also, it was pretty. Aside from piercings, the only other piece of anything I cared about or wore was the necklace Brega gave me, and that was for sentimental reasons. I'm not a sentimental person, but Brega is. Was. Is. It was a simple yet elegant pendant, onyx, and silver chain, large and precisely cut. Whenever I touched it, I remembered I still had family. Have. Had. I used to hear his voice, sometimes. Hadn't since the Wailing. But I looked, and looked through the desk, and for the life of me I couldn't find the nail file. I wanted to cry again.

I looked over my shoulder and saw Solaufein was still busy ransacking the chamber with his pet, so I started shoving my tunic and chainmail on, feeling weird without something guarding my Nether scrolls. My boots were uncomfortable in the extreme, however, due to the length of my toe-talons, and I had ripped a hole the toes of them as well as in my gloves when I tried to put them on, which put me in an extreme pout. I hadn't found anything to file my claws down with, so I was stuck barefoot, pantsless, and gloveless in a bloody death dungeon and somehow that was an upgrade from my previous position. Devil's luck, they call that. It's what happens when Beshaba spits on you as she walks by.

By the time I was finished, Deekin and Solaufein were finished looting and everyone was back in business. It was a good feeling, but I was still annoyed. It was also, though, the time for questions and answers. "What else do you know about Undermountain?" Solaufein asked me, for some weird reason. I was going to tell him that I'd gotten around by luck of the portals, but the kobold beat me to it.

The kobold looked up at his boss in an interestingly critical way. "Deekin thinks, um, maybe goat-lady not get out much being stuck down here with smelly ogre babies."

I felt my tail twitch, giving away my irritation. "The rakshasa caught me by surprise, is all," I muttered. "I'm hardly defenseless. But they had an anti-magic—grr! Never mind." I sighed and shifted from side to side, neither really willing nor able to answer adequately. "I don't want to have to repeat that. Do you know the way back to the well? Take me back up to the surface and I can tell everything I know to whomsoever is still in charge. Fair?"

The drow shrugged. He glanced down to the summoned wolf, yet to be dismissed, and scratched the animal behind its ears. The tame summons panted and butted his hand with its nose when he stopped. "I suppose that is fair. I can hardly expect you to endure an interview without pants. Although Deekin somehow manages," he added and his eyes darted down and away quickly from the kobold. I followed his eyes reflexively and regretted it. To my annoyance, Solaufein laughed at me again. Although it was a good laugh - infectious. "I saw you look."

I almost growled, which only made the drow chuckle more. "I wish I hadn't! I regret it now!" I grumbled, frustrated at my predicament but had largely gotten over it thanks to Solaufein. He had a fucked up way of getting my mind off of things, but it seemed to work. Not bad for someone whose people usually try to enslave you on sight.

Where exactly we had been in the dungeon was a bit of an important question. Solaufein, for whatever reason, adamantly refused to use any of the portals. I was certain one of them would return us to the well room if we just tried a few, but he was absolutely insistent. We nearly ran into Ol' Blue before he finally admitted that we were lost. I had to talk the dragon into not using us as a snack; it helped that Deekin spoke Draconic and knew a dirty joke or two to amuse the old bastard enough to leave us alone. "Sir Deekin the Dragon-Tamer" was his name, now. He'd well-earned my respect with that episode.

Deekin then tried to figure it all out when Solaufein started getting snippy and looking defeated, and he led is in a bit of a circle, but it was a more familiar area. We camped out for a while with snacks until he spotted a hidden door in the dungeon walls what led to a long and dark tunnel.

"Who wants to go first into the long, dark tunnel?" I asked, not raising my hand.

Solaufein and Deekin looked between each other. Strangely, Solaufein smiled and leapt in, not knowing where it would go - and then I heard the horrific sound as his shout was cut off by the sudden drop. Deekin whooped and crawled in right after him. I wasn't even sure my horns would fit, so I went horns-first and nearly got stuck until the whole thing dropped out into a greasy slide. I screamed the entire way down, feeling glad I'd head-down because that would've been worse without trousers.

I broke my fall on a pile of already-broken mushrooms. I was lucky I didn't break a horn because I landed more or less on my back. Solaufein and Deekin were laughing looking no worse for wear while I accidentally sat on my tail and started cursing up a storm. I resented that I'd probably - no, most certainly - flashed them in that time, but the pain in my backside blotted out all other input.

"Boss, we be giving goat lady potion? She being loud," Deekin complained.

I clutched my tail and cried. "My ar-har-harrrrrse . . ." I moaned plaintively.

"Nau, I shall do it," Solaufein decided, and approached me. He knelt down to my level and placed a gloved hand on my head and closed his eyes.

Suddenly, the most searing, white-hot pain I'd ever felt flowed through my body. It lasted for three seconds and then abated, and all the pain was gone. I felt like I could even see and hear more clearly. My sense of smell was a bit off, because all I could smell for the time was the tickling of faint herbs and something green. It must've done something off to my senses, for me to think that green had a smell. "That hurt worse than a branding iron! Augh! What was that?!" I shouted but calmed down immediately. "And why does everything smell green? Hey, my arse doesn't hurt anymore!" I was pleased despite the pain and stood up to brush myself off.

Solaufein frowned and leaned back. "It has never hurt anyone before."

Something in my skin had started itching terribly. I forgot all about the pain and stood up, hoping I hadn't contracted lice after managing to avoid them in the dungeon for so long. "Let's just go," I groused. I wandered right into a fire trap, but thankfully I was pretty fireproof. It did annoy me a lot though and made Solaufein laugh pretty hard. It was nice to see him so amused, but not as such and often by my expense.

We ended up stumbling into a turf war with harpies and ogres and just decided to hold back and kill the winner. It was, unfortunately, the harpies. They tried to pick up Deekin and steal him because he was good eats, but the harpy got speared in the gut with hellfire by my spell and they dropped him in pain and distraction. The kobold fell ten feet right on top of Solaufein, which caused me to point and laugh uncontrollably, which caused one of the grigs allied with the harpies to pull on my tail and trip me good. Solaufein managed to stand up and tried to charge at the grig only to trip over me again, and then the whole thing got pretty ridiculous after that.

Thankfully, Deekin managed to kill most of the harpies with his song. I wouldn't believe such a thing was possible if I hadn't seen it in action. The bard was a terrifying series of contradictions.

We eventually found a nice spot and sat around a fire in the northern corridor to rest a bit before heading back. There was even a water source where we could clean up a bit that fed a small garden; a barmy dryad lived nearby and kept the others away from her; she was at least civil and didn't attack us once she figured out we weren't going to try anything and let us rest near her tree. She didn't want our help getting out of Undermountain, though, because she had figured out that she was less likely to get her tree cut down by surfacers down there as she was up there. Like I said, barmy.

I was over it. I was tired, but not hungry thanks to some jerky, and very sexually frustrated, and all I wanted to do was lay down with some peace and quietly diddle. It gets lonely in Undermountain, and I'd been without a while before I descended. Amidst cursing my fate, I hadn't much else to keep me occupied since my enslavement, and it isn't as if anyone getting happily laid regularly would go to Undermountain on a potential suicide mission.

Alas, while I attempted to discreetly go about my business, Solaufein had to go and ruin everything. "You must know I can hear you," he spoke from his cross-legged watch, not even turning to look at me - I had expected he had entered his reverie, but no such luck.

"Wha!" I flustered, pulling my hand away and sat up. I was glad you couldn't see a blush on my skin. "No, I wasn't! Hush!"

He seemed confused by my response. "Why do you act ashamed?" He genuinely wondered.

"I wasn't!" It wasn't shame, it was just . . .

"Are you embarrassed?" Why were his questions always so pointed?

I grumbled a bit. "Well, no, I suppose not. Just thought you were sleeping and then you just broke this long silence. And it's a bit of a mood kill. I'll, um. Finish later, somewhere well out of earshot. Don't mind me." I coughed. "Just spent months in a dungeon with nothing to keep me company or occupy me time but things I'd rather not think about at this moment. Er. Not that ogres kept me company."

He seemed amused or surprised with his eyebrow raise. A little hard to read, Solaufein. "Surely they tried something. They are ogres."

I scoffed in mock offense. "Rather prejudiced of you, all things considering! But no, they thought I looked funnier in the nude and thought I was thoroughly hideous and smelled terrible. Not like I had regular baths available! Ogres are particular toward their kind. I looked about as appetizing to them as I'm sure I do to Deekin."

His brows pinched in consideration. "You could stand to gain some weight, but you are not unappetizing," he complimented, and it struck me as a very strange back-handed way to compliment someone.

I didn't think he had intended to insult me, though, so I just took it. "Thank you. Hard to find a lot to eat besides grigs, but I managed."

There was a bit of another silence that I wasn't sure was awkward or wasn't. I was still a bit flustered, Deekin was still lightly snoring, and Solaufein was impenetrable. "If you are unable to finish, I could help you," he suddenly offered.

That caught me very off-guard. "What? I mean . . . What? You . . ." What in hells was he saying? "You — want to help me masturbate?"

He frowned and adjusted his posture so he was facing me better. "Well, maybe not when you put it like that."

"How would you put it, then?"

"Where would you like me to?" Solaufein shot back, and I couldn't help my laughter.

"I'll give you that one, I set meself up," I let out in-between chuckles. He was smirking. "But really, how do you mean?"

His expression grew a little more serious. "We are both warriors of a kind and have not shared the bed of another for some time."

I sighed. This poor man. It was probably because most surfacers were all spooked by drow. It was the same sort of problem I had. "It's been well over that for me."

He was very matter of fact when he added, "I know that you hold back an attraction to me; I will not hold mine back from you. It would only be natural for us to use the other to sate our sexual desires."

Solaufein was definitely a strange elf. Not a bad one, but strange. I was considering the offer now. "To be fair, you're the first male I've seen in a long time and you're rather uncommonly pretty. S'only natural for me to entertain a fantasy or two, but I'm not looking to complicate things." The very last thing I needed was one of those tumultuous regular relationships like most people seemed to have.

His expression didn't change at all as he went on. "It would not be complicated unless you made it so. I have a room at the Yawning Portal they have set aside for me if you desire privacy. My offer will remain open."

I didn't really know what to think of him at all. He kept throwing me for loops. "I'll think on it," I promised, and then said I wanted to get more shut-eye. We didn't speak again of it when we woke next, but we were already on the move to get to the Portal room and restock on supplies.

It was a surprisingly short trip thanks to the dryad's directions. Past the color-bridge and down the endless hallways we went until finally, at last, I caught sight of the most wonderful thing I might've ever seen – the well to the surface. Talos' titties was it relieving. After Deekin banished his pet, we began the long and slow trip back to the surface, to the well-room of the Yawning Portal, and I started muttering quick prayers to all the deities I could think of that I might've angered for cursing so long and often while I was imprisoned. It was a long, long way to the top, so it's a good thing it was a lengthy list.

The well-room was as unspectacular as I remembered it, but it was peppered now with the odd drow and surfacer corpse, which was new in the way of decoration. Durnan was pacing about the area in a frustrated way, at least I think it was Durnan because I didn't have much interaction with the man from before. At the other end of the room, standing next to an abundance of assorted gear and scrolls stood a beautiful blonde whom I knew at a glance to be a priestess of Sune Firehair – not because I was excellent at determining these things, but because of the huge symbol that graced the top of her cleavage. Besides, all priests of Sune are attractive; it's one of the stipulations of their insipid, narcissistic religion. I was scowling at her without really knowing why. Sunites had always irritated me, probably because they didn't seem to like me. I'd learned to stick to Ilmateri and Tymorans thanks to the likes of them; one Sunite had refused me service even though I'd taken an obvious beating. The Ilmateri across the street didn't hesitate.

In addition there were two other adventurers in the room that I thought I recognized, maybe – a red-headed woman in leather armor and a burly half-orc with a nasty double-bladed axe – but I didn't pay them much mind.

What I did pay mind to, all in all, was the goblin with a child's broom that began squealing and pointing at Solaufein, jumping up and down. The situation got even weirder when the goblin ran behind the warrior and grabbed his boot and cloak and cowered from the approaching Innkeeper. "Grovel stay! Grovel stay! Yes! No? Maybe?"

"Uh," was all I could say.

"Does this belong to you?" Durnan huffed with a beard. He barely gave me a glance, the bastard.

"Grovel says he says Grovel can stay if Grovel clean or get-off-my-leg! Gro-Grovel not go back, yes? Grovel work hard!" The Goblin was hard to understand through his accent, but to his credit he seemed to sincerely embody his namesake. I couldn't help it - but I had to somehow suppress the laugh when I caught the drow's glare.

"Do you just collect kobolds and goblins?" I wondered.

"Nau!" Solaufein insisted firmly, despite evidence to the contrary. He almost sounded petulant. He tried to gently wriggle his person away from Grovel, almost like he was trying to be polite about it. It was hard not to laugh at him for being strangely adorable. "Well, I did send him up here," he amended carefully. "But I do not own him."

Deekin's long nose wrinkled. "Deekin think goblins smelly and noisy," he determined, "and this one be no good in a fight. As bait, maybe."

"On that we agree, master bard," I asserted.

Solaufein swung his eyes up and down in exasperation. "He is harmless and was waiting by the well. All the other goblins of his tribe are dead."

"Grovel clean good, nice, yes, no, maybe?" the goblin asserted, literally clinging to Solaufein's leg like I had been earlier. The comparison in my head made me frown and twitch my tail. I felt suddenly very sorry for the poor creature. I accidentally swatted Deekin with my tail in morbid thought about this lonely little creature, and the kobold yelped in fright.

"Boss!" Deekin complained. "Goat-lady be beating me with her tail. Can you makes her stop?"

"So long as she is not strangling you with it, I do not care what she does with her tail," Solaufein told him bluntly. I couldn't suppress the laugh then. "Stand elsewhere if you wish. I am not in charge of her."

Durnan's throat cleared and he pointed at the goblin. The drow warrior started trying to nudge the goblin away from him, and then tried literally shaking the goblin off his leg, looking only mildly annoyed the entire time.

"Solaufein the Goblin-Whisperer," I named him, and he gave me the nastiest glare. It tickled me down to the tips of my horns.

"Alright," Durnan bit out after a few seconds of consideration while we bickered and Solaufein tried to shake the goblin. "He can stay, so long as he doesn't make trouble. We can use every willingly helping hand, in this wild time."

I'd never hear a goblin cheer in joy before. It was a little unsettling and my tail moved before my brain did as it whipped around and batted the goblin on the head gently away from Solaufein. Grovel whirled his arms back, fell to the ground startled and went to pick up the broom, frantically sweeping around the dead bodies while muttering to himself. We all watched him do it for a few seconds before remembering why we were all standing there. "I also found this a'temra here in the possession of the ogres," the Solaufein summarized and gestured at me with a flippant hand. "Do you recognize her?"

"I don't know what an ah-tem-rah is, but it doesn't sound like a compliment," I stated. "And no, I wasn't in their possession. I was unlawfully enslaved. There's a difference!"

"My apologies," Solaufein murmured, with no small amount of amusement.

My tail twitched. Out of the corner of my eye, Grovel was trying to push one of the drow bodies over into the pit around the well. It was very distracting. "Well, if you need to restock or need healing, Thesta can help you," Durnan grunted and he gestured at the Sunite in the corner. "To be honest, I assumed you were dead, and that's what I told the wizards when they came knocking. I'll send a message to them by day that you're safe. Help yourself to the food upstairs, and anything else you need."

I nodded, doubting Durnan even remembered my name but still appreciative of his generosity, and then focused a glare on White Thesta. I would have rather died than gotten help from one such as them. Solaufein spoke, saving me the trouble of cursing more of the gods and damning my fate further. "We will return in a few hours. I came to report that Halaster is being held by the dhaerow in the lower levels. There is an entrance to the Underdark that must be closed. I require more potions, and then I will go back down and find him."

That surprised me. "You want to go back down there?"

He looked at me as if he knew me, and then his wine dark eyes pierced right through me. It was the oddest thing anyone had even done to me. And then he said the oddest thing I'd ever heard anyone say: "Of course I do. And I must. Why, do you not?"

I started laughing harder than before. I was about to tell him where he could stick his crazy ideas, but then it hit me for an amazing moment that I actually missed the temperature in the dungeon. I missed the warmth. It was something small in me that admitted that I actually wanted to go back and find my way to the end of the maze, if only for a chance to get a crack at Halaster's corpse and kick it in the dangly bits. A part of me wanted the thrill of that death; Auril's Call, my father called it, when the icy winds that drew the ice trolls down into his native Black Raven valley howled, summoning the warriors of the tribe to answer. Tempus' war horn was the way my mother described it - this clarion call that drove her to her first adventure on through her last. I felt it in my bones, but it was more like fire than ice. It was a desire I'd felt once that I'd thought long gone - the call of battle. Something thrummed in my veins, a power that seemed to emanate up from Undermountain. The warmth came from my feet. I'd technically left the dungeon, but it was clear in that second that I met the drow's eyes that Undermountain hadn't left me quite yet.

So I stopped laughing and looked down at the bottom of the well thoughtfully. "Well, I wouldn't mind going back and killing more ogres," I admitted quietly. "That part was fun. And I wouldn't mind finding Halaster and kicking his corpse in the arse."

I looked back at my savior and he smirked. Damned intelligent drow. "I heed a similar call." Had he read my mind? The rest of his words indicated he hadn't, but he was remarkably intuitive: "Whatever sickness is now at the heart of Undermountain, Eilistraee desires it purged. She sent me a dream . . . After contemplating it, I felt a call to action, and would rather that the people of Waterdeep remember that at least one of my kin aided them against this incursion. This is not my people at their best."

It was my turn to look at him like he was very, very stupid. "Are you telling me you came here following a dream?"

"Yeah, Deekin be asking him the same question," the kobold piped up, drawing my eye down to his level. "Deekin thinks elves and humans be silly sometimes, but Boss seem to know what he's doing. Deekin give him that. He be hero material, and good protagonist for Deekin's next book. Deekin think people without big dreams likes to be readings about people with them."

I grunted and raised my eyebrows. "You're a gentleman, author, and dragon tamer, master bard. Color me surprised. Your boss is either mad, or god-touched. And either one is a very dangerous thing to be. I tend to steer clear of prophecies and gods and such. They seem to want to have nothing to do with me, which is just as well, as I want nothing to do with them." I turned to Durnan who had stewing in contemplative silence after hearing that Halaster was captured. "I don't like that look about your face, Durnan. It's entirely too thoughtful, and I find that offensive."

The burly human Innkeeper huffed at me. "No magic I know of could keep the Blackcloak down in his own lair," he voiced quietly. His eyes reached Solaufein's. "Halaster is Undermountain. It . . . You will understand the further into the dungeon you get." I understood a little of the madness at the edge of his eyes. There was a bit of fear in Durnan, I could smell it beneath the sweat, musk, and stench of kobold. Time was runny in Undermountain, and without a sense of time passing, your sense of self became all mucky. We define ourselves by how we spend our time after all - and what happens when time becomes meaningless? I'd forgotten that he'd spent more time in there than I had, in his life. "It is a madhouse you're descending into. A deranged prison. And its Warden is missing. So if your goddess truly sent you, then you might be the only one who can get there. Can you disguise yourself as one of their scouts or patrols, and infiltrate them?"

Solaufein looked at me, and then at Deekin. "That was my intent. We will need invisibility scrolls and potions if something goes wrong. I already have a piwafwi from one of their scouts."

I didn't know what a piwafwi was, but it sounded important - and it sounded like the drow had a plan. Half of me railed and shivered at the thought of going back to Undermountain, in all the wrong ways. I longed to wreak havoc, to tear, to destroy. To avenge. The demon in me clawed at the surface - which reminded me . . . "Oi Durnan, I don't suppose yer wife has a nail file of some kind? Or even a whetstone. Sharp knife? Anything? I-I can't wear boots like this." I pointed at my toes in emphasis.

The kobold laughed at my predicament. Laughed. Oh, I was gonna get him. Maybe I'd push him into Ol' Blue and see how hard he laughed while being electrocuted. "What're you laughing about, you mangy lizard? You're not even wearing bloody pants!" I criticized.

"She has a point, Deekin," Solaufein appeased, but then turned to me. "You are also not wearing pants."

I guffawed. My chainmail and tunic went down to my knees, at least. Also, my tail made it rather . . . Complicated. "I was a captive! What's his excuse?"

The little bard was aloof. "Deekin not wear pants because they not be making any in Deekin's size with big enough hole in backside for Deekin's tail," the kobold defended reasonably and adjusted his pack on his shoulder. "And also because they be ruining Deekin's aesthetic."

"I'll find something for you, lass," Durnan interjected diplomatically, and rose from his seat. "Though I doubt I have pants you won't tear in the rear."

I growled as the Innkeeper walked off while the kobold laughed some more. "Sorry," Deekin finally announced after a moment. "But Deekin like not being on receiving end of jokes about pants for once."

"If anyone makes another comment about my tail or nudity again, I'll help Grovel push them down the well," I threatened.

The kobold and the drow exchanged a look that I didn't like. Solaufein smiled at me. "I preferred the nudity." He stalked off to bargain with White Thesta, the Sunite, while I just stood there somewhat dumbfounded by him.

I didn't really want to go back up to the Yawning Portal, and I wasn't sure about any of the new people inhabiting the Inn since Waterdeep had been shut down. I knew that before I had gone in, Durnan was an alright sort - his wife was a mite tetchy and threw me out on account of me horns initially, but he convinced her to look past that. Paladins. Ugh. I accidentally on purpose thwapped Deekin a few times with my tail until he meandered his way over to his boss, and then back upstairs presumably to get a meal. If they accepted a kobold bard, I felt I must have been in special company . . . But the Sunite was guarding the stairs up, and I didn't want to be near her.

Frustrated by my dilemma, which shouldn't have even been a dilemma, I sat down on the makeshift bench near the Well's control mechanism where Durnan had been and studied my hands. I suddenly didn't know what to do with myself now that I was not in hostile company, and in complete possession of my faculties I had some entertainment in the form of Grovel as he tried to shove bodies into the well to 'clean.' No one appeared to be stopping him, so I eventually started pushing them down with the goblin, taking a little satisfaction in watching them fall and hearing the crack at the bottom.

Solaufein eventually made his way back over to me. "What are you doing, and . . . Why are you doing it?" His brows knitted. His words registered as sarcasm, but his tone suggested he was genuinely perplexed.

"Throwin' bodies down the well with Grovel. I'm not going near that priestess," I blurted, "and I don't know what else to do. Whose else is going to help him? I'd rather be down there killing things, honestly. When are we going back?" I felt jittery, like the battle-rage hadn't worn off yet. I felt restless.

He stared at me. Solaufein was not an ordinary drow, this much I had figured. He was a warrior of some skill, but so were many drow. Not too many were nice, like him. Perhaps what struck me so odd about his was his sheer, blithe sincerity in all his manner. It was as refreshing as it was odd. I supposed I fell somewhere down the middle of most people - I felt bad about not helping people sometimes, or sorry for them when they were going through rough times, but I didn't often go out of my way for strangers. He'd gone comparatively far indeed out of his way to help me. I didn't act on my dreams. I was too interested in my own survival; and yet . . .

There was the other side. My mother was a fierce disciplinarian with a paranoid disposition who taught me never to cower from a challenge. I had no idea who my birth father was. My real father is an ex-Uthgardt barbarian married to my mother who taught me everything I needed to know about life. The other father, the one that must've raped my mother, had never been of interest to me until my powers manifested. A shadow has had more influence on my life than the real person. I'd run away from my father and mother, after Brega . . . Ah, Brega.

I touched the stone pendant at my neck and stared down the well, where Grovel and I had been tossing the bodies of dead, scavenged enemies. I wasn't really good or nice. Those were arbitrary words anyway, as fleeting as the wind carrying a bird. I'd escaped captivity but wasn't free - I was a leashed animal, content in my rein until it choked me. Undermountain had stirred the demon in my blood. I felt the call of battle after getting revenge on the ogres just as surely as my real father had in the howling winds of the north. It was something I hadn't felt in years, not since the plague hit. The Wailing Death had not stricken me, but my demon had seemed to lose its voice after it left my city.

I didn't like Solaufein's eyes on me anymore - he was too perceptive for his own good. I didn't know what he was perceiving about me, but I could feel his eyes deducing me whenever he looked my way and I didn't like it at all. He was having the strange effect of causing me to dice myself into mental pieces.

"I have never met another Eilistraee follower," he suddenly confessed in a weary voice. I looked at him, away from the well, and felt the pull of the dungeon on my soul a little diminished with my attention astray. "I know you are sick of me speaking about religion—"

"It's like once every bloody mark with you! Nigh, clockwork!" I growled, putting more irritation into my voice than I sincerely felt just to see if it got under his skin.

It didn't. He was completely unaffected by all my tactics. "I apologize if I have offended you. I will not push the subject."

"No, just spit it out. Don't give me that look." Plus I was still starved for conversation after my enslavement. I didn't like religious talk, but he wasn't trying to convert me - just sharing his experience, and I found that valuable. My bluster was more instinctive than purposeful.

He began to speak low, barely above a whisper, and the intensity of his tone arrested my attention. "All of my life, and I have been alone in my faith, surrounded by the Spider Queen's fanatics. For most of my life, I was one of them, though I loathed every second of my existence. Save for the last ten years, I knew nothing but the city of Ust'Natha as the weapon master of House Despana, and head of the Male Fighters' Society. I trained the warriors of our city. I led our battles and raids. We have been locked in an unceasing war against Tethyr since the time of the Spider Queen's rise. It is all my people know. For hundreds of years I killed as the right arm of the Handmaidens, and I did not ever believe I could endure an existence free of it; I was certain I would die at any moment, almost every day. I assume you know only a little of my people. To survive in the Underdark, you must walk hand in hand with your own death. My home is a . . . Terrible and beautiful place. I am frightened to return, for I might meet the man I once was."

Memories swam of piling the bodies of my neighbors with my father, bodies of our workers, our friends, our soldiers, our people and lighting them on fire. I was a reckless sod my whole life until that day. Everything changed. I remember looking at my father to my side and recognizing my own heart beating in his chest. I'd never before felt such love from another being, but my father and I were fairly certain that the death would eventually claim us all at that point, so we didn't mind getting all teary on each other on account of it. Smoke got in our eyes, was the excuse that Drak and Binne had both sniffled out that day over the swill at the Sunken Flagon.

I felt, when Solaufein spoke, that a part of him spoke of that same feeling. There was accent to his words that seemed stronger now when he spoke of his homeland. As though the memories had become nearer. I had no idea why he was telling me this at all - we didn't know each other very well, having only met in the last few hours really. I admit there was a surprisingly easy and immediate connection between us after he had saved my life, and we'd had a terribly fun time flirting and killing things together. However, he certainly held my eyes with unwavering calm. When he did not speak again for a moment, I asked, "How did you ever get out?"

He smiled very briefly, but then the smile fell. Clearly not a pleasant memory for him, judging by his reaction. "I was saved. Spared, perhaps is a better word. A group of surfacers disguised as drow infiltrated my city, and I escaped in their company before it was largely destroyed by a silver dragon."

My eyebrows crawled up my forehead and my tail curled up in curiosity. "I sense a mighty tale there."

"For another day, maybe never; I fear if I utter it aloud Deekin will write it into a book," he grimaced. "The condensed version of the tale is that I had a dream, and then I saw an opportunity. Similar to what is happening to me now. You may not take much stock in dreams and I can understand why. You have surely wondered where the gods were when you were suffering most. I know you must have because it is what I have done."

I snorted. "Oh, gods are just an excuse for morality. They are ephemeral, like words, and disappear as easily. They crave mortality even as they condemn it, and act like spoiled children when they are not appeased." I had some strong feelings about the divine, to understate it. "That being said, Tymora seems like an alright sort." Did that make me a Tymoran, if she was the only god I'd ever given any consideration? A goddess of probability - mathematical principle - seemed like the only thing you could really trust in a world that made no sense. Change, randomness - this was the only order of things. My mother may have been a cleric, and I respected Tempus as her deity - I just didn't worship him. And why did it always have to be about religion with this bugger? So I told him, "I believe in the gods as I believe in everything, but I don't worship them. Although I know little of your goddess. I thought she was the goddess of song and dance. She can't be too awful if she sent you my way, I suppose."

"There are some dances made to honor her, I have heard," Solaufein spoke after a moment's consideration. "From what I have read about her worshipers, they sing and dance often in her praise. I have never done so, myself. She is also a goddess of the moon, the patron of drow that turn away from . . . She whom I will not name in the same breath. Eilistraee is also considered the goddess of swordplay. In ancient Tethyr she was once honored as a god of death and righteous retribution. Mortals call her Selûne, elves Sehanine, but no matter the incarnation or depiction her light is the same."

"That certainly makes sense," I complimented. "Seems like you were naturally drawn to her faith."

He nodded and seemed pleased at my understanding. "It feels like a natural inclination, to me. But as I said, I have never met any others. I knew her only as a hope of something better in my nature before I ever learned she had a name, or even a face. I was certain that once I fled Ust'Natha that the Handmaidens would find and drag me to the Orth'Orbbcress eventually." Drow language was lost on me, but contextually I understood that he was still talking about Lolth. A thoroughly nasty deity that we both wanted nothing to do with. "It took me twenty years after that to gain the strength to utter my goddess' name aloud, and it was the moment before I left it behind forever. I saw a way out, and she led me to it. It may sound mad, and I do not apologize for it. I am who I am, and if she has truly called me here to Waterdeep, than that means she must have need of my skill." He patted the bastard sword at his side. "My skill is the only thing in my life I have ever truly been able to rely upon. Battle is all I have known; it is my only trade and art."

I'd known plenty of battle, but I expected that my experiences would pale next to this lonely outcast's. My parents had always loved me. I knew of other planars out there born to strange circumstance in all manner of world or dimension - planeswalkers, they call them. Aasimar, tieflings. I was half something or other and lucky enough to be born into the least likeliest circumstance - to a pair of adventurers looking to settle down for good on a ranch. The kind of people who never once looked at me as though I was different than them because they took whatever the world gave to them, no matter how troubling, and gave it back with a shine. I tried to do the same in my own way, but rarely succeeded. Something in me was unavoidably destructive by nature, and I didn't think it was an accident that I'd always been drawn to battle. Something about Solaufein seemed incredibly sad for a moment while he spoke, and he reminded me of me.

I did my best to disguise my concern with humor. "Well, if she only sent you here to die, I expect you would've by now. As it stands, now we're being invaded by drow, and you're the only one who can successfully infiltrate them. Is Eilistraee also the goddess of irony? This certainly has the stench of fate about it."

I had noticed Solaufein did this funny squinty thing when he was amused, as if he were trying to hold back a laugh - or had trouble believing what he'd just sniffed and was trying to decide if it was horse shit. "What is the stench of fate?"

I sniffed about him, and he didn't lean away like he did last time I'd accidentally invaded his personal space. Cambion noses were a little more sensitive than an elf's, but I suppose the tradeoff was that they had better sight and hearing than me (though he was unfairly tall for an elf, as I stood at eighteen hands and his eyes hit my nose). I could hardly smell him under the scent of the blood of his enemies, however. It was a combination of ogre blood and something deep and dark, like grave soil, as well as something light and green like mint. "Pah! I don't know. Everything stinks of unwashed kobold now," I scoffed.

I received a snort in response. "It is better than the smell of gol I will not get out of my cloak, thanks be to Grovel," he muttered and made for the stairs. I grinned and followed him up when he mentioned food, as I didn't appear keen. I didn't even mind that I had to walk past the Sunite, although her eyes lingered on me and it grated against me nerves. I didn't even glance at her, though. Proud of myself for that one.

Mhaere, Durnan's holier-than-thou wife, made my skin itch when she glared at me for a little while before seemingly getting over it when her husband distracted her. She definitely didn't like that she had to serve me food, but I felt my tail give away my happiness with its swish before my smirk confirmed it. It was only a stew, and rather bland, but it was positively heavenly. I felt no more itchiness from the Tyrran the entire night.

I lingered near Deekin or the drow more out of a sense of comfort, I supposed; I felt no kin to anyone in that room. The rest of the adventurers all had suspicious eyes. Durnan eventually returned with a small file and pair of boots courtesy of his wife, who had started avoiding me when she noticed I felt uncomfortable in her aura, according to the Innkeeper. Nice enough of her, I suppose. Still hated paladins, but nice of her. Her feet were too small, though, so I ended up having to take a pair of his instead.

I had perched next to the kobold bard, despite not liking the smell or sound of him when he clearly hadn't bathed in several weeks. He had his charming moments, but his singing might literally kill me one day, I was certain. The scent wasn't so bad in hindsight, but it was clear that it'd been a while since anyone in that room had bathed. Still heaven compared to Undermountain's residents. Deekin was terribly chatty, I discovered, which suited me fine. I hadn't spoken to anyone in a month besides an ogre mage who mistook himself for a courtier. I'd take what I can get.

Deekin had taken out a large leather-bound book and began writing in it as we spoke. I turned my attention to the darty-eyes-adventurers all around. No one approached us save one - a lovely crimson-haired bard woman who introduced herself as Sharwyn and offered her hand, and a curtsy when I took it. "Now aren't you a fancy lady," I complimented. She'd struck me as familiar, but perhaps that was true of all bards. I inclined my head and let my hand fall forward, rather than get up and curtsy. I was lazy, it's not a crime. "That's a proper greeting, that is. I be Binne. That be Deekin." I jabbed a thumb at the lizard.

"We're previously acquainted," she nodded daintily at the reptilian bard and gave me a disarming smile.

"Yeah. Boss finds bard lady in Undermountain dead 'til Deekin whack her with a rod," Deekin summarized for my benefit. "She not get very far in dungeon, though," he added slyly.

Sharwyn winced. "That's . . . Not really necessary to mention, is it? Although, yes, it is true. It stings my pride to admit. I'd rather not dwell on my most recent untimely death, thank you, Deekin."

"I got enslaved by ogres," I bluntly told her. "Undermountain's a shithole. Don't feel bad about it."

"So our mutual savior mentioned." Sharwyn seated herself across from us on the table. A waft of something like plums hit my nose pleasantly, and I was struck with jealousy that she'd clearly been afforded a bath recently. I had a one-track mind. Deekin was at my side, but turned his attention to a book he had in his possession that he had been scrawling incomprehensible notes in. I wondered what on earth could've had his attention so, but it mattered not. I stared at the bard, trying to figure out what it is she wanted. "I actually think we may have met more than once," she announced, startling me. "In Neverwinter, yes?"

I perked up instantly. "Neverwinter?! I'm from there!" I crowed happily. "Oh, how's it been? I've been gone away too long. Is it winter there yet? Please tell me it is. Oh! I miss the snow!"

"No snow, but there's a lot less plague than there was before," she answered with a sarcastic wave of her hand, "but other than that, 'tis going along as it always has been. The rebuilding is largely complete, except for the Peninsula. I have been away from some time myself. I remember you, actually, but it has been a while. It helps that you stand out," she added candidly. "You are Binne Ofgren - I think we first met outside of Blacklake. You were also in the volunteer corps, working for Gend in Port Llast and the Well, as I and my friends did. We rarely spoke, though, to my regret, and must have only exchanged a handful of words here and there. I confess I was a little self-absorbed back then and overlooked you. Strange, how many of us who survived the Wailing Death and the Shadow War should find ourselves here."

I searched my memory and tapped my chin. "Let's see," I murmured as I rifled through the haze of loneliness and horniness and hungry to try and remember fuckall about a war I'd specifically tried to drown the memories of in ale. "My father had volunteered to clean out the plague-mad that had taken over the former city quarter . . ." Absently, I noted Deekin's flurried scratching. Was he . . . Recording this? Bah, I'd ask later. "I remember the nobles had started hoarding grain from the storehouses like it was a dragon's gold," I went on as I picked up steam, "So I'd gone with Da to join the guard when the city was quarantined, since Ma was staying with her family in Blacklake when they first closed it off and they wouldn't let her out. Bastards — wouldn't let us in to see her without joining the bloody guard! I thought, eh what—"

I paused and swam for a moment in dim recollection. Solaufein had reminded me of it earlier, but now it came back with a sour taste in my mouth. I could smell the acrid air, tinged by the burning flesh of the dead. We piled the bodies on top of each other and lit them afire and knew that none would mourn them because all that knew them had died from plague as well. Farmhands and their families we'd found dead in their homes boarded up inside purposefully and piled our friends inside to light their homes on fire. I used to find thrills in ancient tombs and killing Zhents before I came home to watch the city of my youth die. It was as if, while the plague ravaged Neverwinter and we were all trapped inside, the demon parts of me became as still and silent as the corpses of them what we put out of their misery.

The drow had somehow known, better than I just by watching me, that I craved that fire again. I'd felt it, or something like it, when my collar was removed. He must've recognized it because he saw it in himself. "Damn, Solaufein was right," I accidentally said out loud. I dismissed Sharwyn's questioning glance. Still, I didn't recall any bards, but I rarely recalled specific details when I went into a battle-rage. "'Tis possible we have met and I can scarce recall," I admitted, "but my memory is failing me. I've killed a lot of people since, you know. That was a few years back, and much of it indistinct now, to my memory. Mead, you know."

Sharwyn smirked. "I imagine so. Perhaps I can fill in some missing details for you. When we met, I was there with the man they later called Hero of Neverwinter."

"You knows the Hero of Neverwinter?" Deekin interrupted, teeming with interest. Strange to hear someone genuinely excited hearing about the so-called Hero without a drop of sarcasm. The kobold stopped in his scrawling for a moment. "Oooh! Deekin has lots of questions for you. There be a list somewhere in heres. Hrmm." His arm ducked into his pack far deeper than it physically could have, and it took me an embarrassingly long time to realize it was a bag of holding. My eyes didn't understand what I had seen, at first.

"I suppose I have some time to answer them," she acceded gracefully, "after all, you are the hero that restored me to life. I am at your disposal."

Deekin scoffed. "Deekin be no hero. He tell hero tales, is all."

I frowned at the kobold's swift and short-sighted self-assessment. "Now you do yourself too little credit, master bard," I told him sternly.

He glared at me. "It not be nice to make fun of Deekin."

I schooled my features into a plain mask. "If I hit Solaufein with my tail on purpose he'd chop it clean off and toss it in the well. I only do it to you because you let me get away with it." I whapped him on the back gently with it in emphasis, and he swatted at it, irritated. "You make it so easy. I know you to be far from weak, master bard."

He pushed away my offending appendage. "Gah! Deekin cannot be working like this! He not be sitting next to goat-lady anymore." He grumbled and positioned himself nearer to Sharwyn on the round table. "Now, Deekin has very important question for lady bard about Hero. Does he wear a cape? Or not?"

I tuned out the barrage of useless information. Deekin didn't appear to want to know anything useful about the man they had all unfortunately mistaken for a Hero, just tiny details like the color his clothes and if his sword was shiny and what color were the eyes of his pet wolf, and if he loved the sad lady paladin and whether or not he was a kobold. He seemed genuinely sad that the Hero of the story wasn't a kobold, and even said he thought the rumor was too good to be true. Deekin was mostly disappointed that the Hero he'd envisioned didn't actually seem very heroic and mostly had to be bribed, bullied, and literally geased into action when he got saddled with the responsibility of saving Neverwinter after getting involved with the whole Aribeth and Fenthick debacle. Could hardly blame Aribeth in hindsight for defecting, considering how they were both treated by the Lord and his Nine.

I believed Sharwyn's version of events and highly doubted someone like Aribeth would have been involved with the 'Hero' - and Bishop surely would have bragged to me of such a conquest, as he did with everything else. He'd been my alewife, after all. The salty Luskan ranger had struck me as a scruffy, flaming bawbag when I met him and I wouldn't personally be sorry if our last parting had been the last time I'd ever see his hairy arse. Sharwyn had stirred up the memory of No Man's Land a little more clearly, and she was the authority on it all as far as I was concerned. I had little to do with the Shadow War, or even the plague. Sure, I helped clean up the city and fought in a battle or two and such, but that was far as my involvement got. I would never say I was 'in' the war. I barely touched it. After the Wailing Death was lifted from the city, I got saddled with escort missions during my volunteer period on account of my horns and propensity for massive amounts of collateral damage. Also, the one time I was sent to route cultists I pretended to be a fiend that they'd summoned and just got them really drunk instead, myself and their precious Hero included, and we all woke up naked in the High Forest surrounded by angry druids. After that Gend didn't ask me to help again.

As for the illustrious Hero, first time we'd officially met I'd gotten into a ridiculous argument over ale down by this pub in the docks (long before he got the titles) and we'd called each other every name under the sun. Bishop wasn't terrible looking and gave as good as he got, and past him being a flaming bawbag he managed to make me laugh, so we'd had a drunken bonnie bugger or two. It was hardly noteworthy. We'd gotten stinking drunk on a fair regular basis (along with Da and half the rest of the docks, the plague was a strange time) and had a few mishaps including one argument where he'd finally just shot me in the left buttock with one of his arrows and I'd beaten his hairy arse in retaliation, but that's not the sort of detail they probably thought to include in the official version. 'Gets wasted with demons and barbarians every night' isn't the sort of thing they'd like to include in the Historias. They'd much rather paint their saviors as idyllic, than the wreckages that they really are.

Second time I really 'bumped' into him, still had no idea who he really was and he still wasn't famous or nothing. I'd barely caught a glimpse of him as he brushed past me while I was getting supplies from Eltoora one day, rather rudely I might add. Arsehole barreled his way right through my purchase to demand her immediate attention as if the bloody world waited at his word. I recalled bowing obsequiously and making an arse out of myself, all, 'pardon me your Worshipfulness, I didn't expect to be in the presence of a KING,' because I'd had a difficult day full of grave-digging and he'd just been the icing on it. He stared at me while the wolf at his side panted and sniffed my hand. Bishop waited for me to be finished with my piece, bowed sarcastically then said, 'don't worry, peasant, this'll be short and painless,' and went right back to talking to Eltoora. I gave the wolf a few pats, and that was the end of that.

Not counting that incident in Blacklake and the whole cult shit that I barely remembered, the last time he and I had met he literally hit me in the arse with a stray arrow during the Battle for Old Owl Well against some Many-Arrows who thought they'd get the upper-hand while we were being routed by Luskans, and then we all got startled by that dragon showing up. Right in left cheek again, practically the same spot, just as the red dragon landed. Took me right out of the battle. If it weren't for the fact that he was already the Hero at that point and I was in so much pain, I would've probably tried to kill him, and then you'd be listening to a dead demon.

After he reportedly convinced Lady Aribeth to stand down during her siege, I suppose he must've fucked off because I recalled her hanging on a wintry morning with a taste of bitterness in my mouth, and it was shortly followed by decree of the Nine that the Bishop's name illegal to publish or say aloud. He was officially exiled for lighting Castle Never on fire and trying to kill Lord Nasher, though no one knew whether or not that was true. He hadn't been seen, probably got out while the getting was good. They surely would've hung him on the hanging tree next to Aribeth, otherwise. I didn't like paladins, at all, but it was . . . ugly. The crowd cheered for it. They scorned Aribeth even though she had dedicated most of her life to protecting them and turned on them after watching her lover hang. Fenthick's crime had only been being not too bright and manipulated by a cult. Bishop's only crime was a desire to not be manipulated by arseholes and be left alone. Aribeth's only crime was losing her faith. None of it seemed entirely healthy.

I'd met Aribeth all of once, before my ma, da, and I watched her take a swing from the tree. I'd bumped into her and she had apologized. It was in Port Llast a while before she defected, and she'd had dark circles under her eyes. Her aura prickled at me as she hurried away when I awkwardly and impulsively asked her if she was feeling alright and wanted to talk. I didn't know what else to say but I was struck with the urge to say something because she seemed as though she'd been crying. She didn't even know my name and seemed conflicted for a moment before assuring me she was fine and rushed off. After that she'd stared at me once more from across a ways like I'd caught her eye. She'd seemed surprised by what she saw and looked away. Probably just judging a lady by the horns. Paladins!

Durnan and his family had set up cots for all the adventurers and such that holed up there from the chaos outside. I didn't need to be told what was going on - the scent of fear was so strong in the room at times I felt nauseous. I dozed off to the sound of Sharwyn's voice telling tales of our native city and felt a vague sense of regret in my Nether scrolls for having been neglected for so long. I had spent almost every waking minute trying to find ways to break my collar until, at one point, I'd given up. I hadn't resigned myself to my fate, but I knew I could not break it on my own. I'd waited, and cursed, and waited, and cursed, and truth be told I had no way of knowing how long I'd truly been down there. I'd found a pathway to the second level only by trial and error with portals in different patterns. I'd spent a whole week on the test until I'd found the right combination. I had my mind on other matters, is what I'm saying.

I'd been foisted of my armor and clothes for laundering and cleaning and allowed a nice warm bath, which surprised me a lot since I wasn't aware I was allowed to be treated nice by Durnan's wife's order, but hey. Maybe they aren't all so bad. The downside was I'd been given an ugly shift to wear until the morning, but the upside is I was now clean and grateful to be so. I even told Tamsin to tell her mother thank you, since it was probably the only nice thing a paladin had ever done for me.

I'd tried to fall asleep on one of the cots they gave me, but Solaufein's offer rang so loudly in my head that it drowned out the rest of my thoughts. I could hardly find a moment's privacy with everyone running about and when he'd caught me earlier in an isolated moment, it had gotten me a little paranoid. It wasn't so much that I cared that people knew I was masturbating, it was just awkward to do it while someone watched you if they weren't your sexual partner.

I waited 'til everyone was asleep that I could see or tell and walked as quietly as I could up the stairs toward Solaufein's room. My heart pounded irrationally when I knocked gently on his door. Solaufein's feet padded over to the door and he opened it. I was greeted with his scent before my eyes adjusted to the sudden light; the grave soil smell had thankfully abated, but there was a faint coriander somehow with something I didn't recognize. I'd never paid much attention to it before because I assumed it was Undermountain that had set my teeth on edge, but there was something about him now that we were away from the place that bothered me. It wasn't quite an itch, but it felt . . . Tingly, like a menthol balm at the nape of my neck. I wasn't sure if I liked it.

He took in my appearance with amusement. It was strange seeing him out of armor with tousled hair. Not at all displeasing, just strange. "What is that?" he gestured to the nightmare I was wearing.

I plucked at the nightgown. "Couldn't wander about up here nekkid, or Mhaere might've boxed my ears. So I got this to wander about until they launder my things. Nice enough folks." I poked my head inside. "How come you got the big room?"

Solaufein opened the door. I had to duck to come in, blast being six feet. I did stand nearly half a head above him, but he was rather tall for an elf. "It was luck of the draw, as Tymorans say. It is the bridal suite."

I closed the door behind me and felt my tail twitch. "Who would have a wedding here? Above Undermountain?" I didn't believe it. "The great big death-puzzle?"

Solaufein shrugged and crossed the floor. He'd been in the middle of taking off his armor, it looked like, and he unclipped his sword belt to place it near the bed. "I was told that it was not uncommon. I have found humans to be extremely odd creatures."

"Oh, I'll agree to that," I said and tried not to think about my parents because it would've been uncomfortable to have that one on my mind, and then floundered a little bit for a topic. It was suddenly silent. I'd never been particularly good at small talk. "So, er," I blundered.

The drow stared at me, or through me. His eyes had a funny way about that. "Take it off," he instructed. I didn't mind being naked, even preferred it, and that is how he met me . . . But it felt a little different now than it had before. Maybe because now, I'd actually had a bath. I worried for a moment that going further might somehow disrupt things, but I was past caring. I was more than ready. I stepped out of the fallen shift and forward, and started pulling off his clothes too, starting with his shirt.

"Where should I . . ." I trailed off, wondering where exactly he wanted to begin.

Solaufein gestured toward the bed. "You should lay down." I smiled and did so. I flopped back, feeling a little nervous about my horns and claws - but I managed to avoid sticking them into fragile bits of the bed. He approached, slowly, and I instinctively spread my legs. "Tell me if you want me to stop," he instructed.

Solaufein is direct, skilled, and patient. You could say that about his swordplay or his lovemaking; this much I learned that night. He crawled toward me on the bed like a supplicant petitioner and swiftly latched his mouth on my sex. The rush of blood suddenly had me seeing stars and letting out uncontrollable sighs that pleased him. I entered a place beyond words where I could only take simple direction as his tongue performed an ornate oral service that left me whimpering and laughing in joy at the same time. Perhaps it was because it had been so long since I'd lain with a man, or perhaps I'd never lain with one so skilled; I was not about to question my fortune.

When Solaufein pulled his head back for a moment to regard me, I met his languid gaze. "Your eyes glow," he observed with interest. I had to remember how to speak Common first.

"They do that in battle or arousal," I nodded, and felt something flame in my gut as his eyes wove around my curves. I felt like I was burning up and I found myself creeping forward on the bed on my hands and knees to take him into my mouth. I sheltered him kindly from my canines by wrapping my lips around him and swirled my tongue around the head as I started to give him long strokes. His hand twisted in my loose hair and gripped my horns as leaned his head back and moaned, and the wanton sound of it set me quivering.

He pulled up at my roots lightly, gently pulling me away from him. "I will finish too fast if you continue," he hissed. He explored my features with his callused fingers, trailing from my brow to my lips.

"You talk too much," I informed him, and pulled him down to seal his mouth around mine. Fair was fair, and he'd said as much to me. I needed the touch of another as much as he did, so I knew he could not mind, but the act of kissing was a little more intimate than I think he was expecting. His lips didn't move to accommodate mine at first, as if he was confused, but he quickly obliged and pushed me further into the bed, grinding against me as I wrapped my legs and tail around him.

He drew me achingly close to the edge over and over again; first he had taken me and placed my knees nearly over my head, the height advantage I held making it entertaining for us both to find inventive positions and new angles. I'd had ridden him for a time and found another release of my own. He'd had his chance to torture me and I had a bit of fun denying him but wondered at his discipline. He was a drow, I knew, and that had to mean he was used to women calling the shots. Their priestesses were infamously cruel and demeaning of the other sex, and submission seemed antithetical to their culture.

I let a wicked smile cross my face. "Take me from behind," I demanded. He blinked. Maybe it took him a few moments to remember words, as he said nothing, but his hesitation spoke. I let him take his time positioning himself and bent obligingly forward over my knees, and practically purred when he ran his fingers down my spine and all the way down to the tip of my tail.

It didn't take Solaufein long to figure out his pace. I bit my lip to keep from screaming too loudly a few times; something about the angle, perhaps, or the size of him being just right. I knew not what it is, but it felt divine, like a rage but less out of control. I was . . . Somewhere else mentally that he'd sent me, in some deeper and cleansing awareness. My tail had mostly been obstructive during our little experiment, but I found an out-of-the-way use for it and wrapped it around my belly through my legs to rub against the both of us. It was nice, having a prehensile tail sometimes. He'd taken his time at first in the position but gasped at the new sensation and started ramming a bit harder and deeper.

I heard more than felt the sheets tear under my claws as I got sent into a climax so hard it made my head spin. A cry erupted from me out of my subconscious and clawed at the walls. I felt his discipline crack as his hands gripped one of my horns and the other my hair; an erotic, deep-throated groan erupted from his chest, and his seed was hopelessly lost somewhere inside of me as I felt him empty in a quick series of thrusts. It left the both of us gasping and content animals.

It was, altogether, a genuinely nice evening despite the doom of things.

We laid about for a while before figuring out how to form words again. "That was . . . I'm . . ." They weren't the best words, but they were all I had.

Solaufein hummed in agreement and closed his eyes, breathing in deep. "Ssin'urne xunor," he hummed.

"That's a word for it."

". . . A dhaerow female would have found that position demeaning."

I scoffed. "I don't feel demeaned. Satisfied, yes."

He smiled and it was a nice and gentle look on his face. He was silent for a few moments. "I need to v'dri. I think your word for it is 'reverie.' If you want to leave feel free, or you may sleep here, but try not to make too much noise." His eyes fluttered in close before I could get another word in at him.

I told myself that I'd leave in a little while and watched him for a moment. I got up to take a piss and clean up, then went back and cozied myself next to him, feeling safe and warm for the first time in years that I could recall. I quickly fell asleep and forgot all about leaving.

I kept on forgetting all about it until I woke up to a rather startled human girl shaking me and jumping back in fright when I bolted upright, startlingly awake. "AH! S-sorry miss!" The girl blurted. "I just w-wanted to tell you that we have your clothes ready, um . . ."

I rubbed my eyes and clucked in recognition. "Tamsin. Right. Durnan's, uh, daughter. Where am I? Am I dead? Stupid question, no, I'm obviously not." I shook my head from of my already-fading dreams. My dreams usually ended with me dying in some horrible fashion, but I'd gotten used to ignoring them.

Tamsin flushed all the way to her hairline. "Um, you are in the, er—"

I cut her off and finished my own thought. "Right! Undermountain. Right. Gotta prepare for that. Fuck. Yes, and if you have it, another bath would be lovely. Where'd that blasted drow go, anyway?"

Tamsin flushed to the roots of her hair, and it just hit me that I was a large cambion woman with big ol' horns and a flashy tail standing stark naked in the Hero of Undrentide's room. "M-master Solaufein is downstairs, madam."

Well, she'd found me stark naked, and there was no going back from that. I politely introduced myself. "I'm Binne. That's my name, you can use it."

"Y-yes, Mistress Binne." Her cheeks became several shades of darker red.

I snapped, feeling more amused than impatient at her embarrassed manner: "Stop stuttering! I'm not a 'Mistress.' And I'm not going to hurt you, or I'd have done it already. Why is it people are always afraid of me? Is it the height? Or the horns? Or the nudity?"

"I-I think it might be all of those things, milady . . . If you'll follow me to baths . . .? The water might be cold now, I'm sorry."

The second bath made me forget about all my fluffy-headedness and helped me realize that I felt better than I'd felt in years. My clothes and armor had been placed out of hands reach of the bath, so there was a bit of a chilly scramble to put on the chain tunic and boots and such, but it wasn't so bad. I'd even been given a nail file, though I'd accidentally broken it against my claws after getting my toes, which embarrassed me a little so I hid it in a potted plant and prayed silently they wouldn't find it.

I got downstairs finally and met Deekin, who started distributing communal potions of antidote and such to me. I was immune to most poisons (infernal blood thing), but the gesture was nice, and we were going up against sneaky drow so it probably was better to be safe than sorry. No sooner had I thought that then I noticed Solaufein's approach. I thought I would feel something different between us when we woke next, but I was pleasantly surprised to feel exactly the same as I had before. Just a little more satisfied. A little more comfortable.

He simply nodded at me. The fires had dimmed in the hearth since but I saw a few embers reflected from his eyes, glinting in the studs on his ears as he knelt to stoke it. This time, he was a looming, silent shadow save for the shock of white hair that was now cleaned and bound back in a short braid. I relaxed and yawned. "Solaufein! Is it killing time, then?" I wondered.

"Almost. Get ready," he instructed, "if you still desire to. You may meet us by the well."

"M'ready. Lessgo." I yawned again. My body ached all over once I sat up, but in some pleasant as well as unpleasant ways. "Have you any potions of speed? I seem to be a bit slow. Ah, I haven't slept so soundly in ages . . ."

I sensed, rather than saw Solaufein impatient eye roll. "Your snoring would keep up the whole city," he grumbled and left me behind to fend alone and headed downstairs. It hit my horns on the door-frame downstairs twice in the process, giving Deekin some amusement at my expense, but I did eventually manage to get my arse back down the stairs to the well-room. I was less excited about it now that I was awake then I'd been before I fell asleep. The kobold was positively chipper the entire way down. Eventually the drow pointed out, in a tone of forced politeness that made me smile, that talking was a less than good idea until they were more certain of their surroundings.

Something niggled at my memory, but I was still trying to sort out whether or not I was still dreaming. Durnan hit the switch and barked a goodbye, while Solaufein nodded. I blinked a few times as the well clanked and clacked. It was a terribly slow machine, almost tortuous. Darkness crept up on us until all we could see was the glow of Solaufein's eyes, scanning us in the spectrum of heat.

"Where are we going?" I thought to finally ask.

"As far down as we can," Solaufein uttered ominously.

"Have you been past the second level? Because I know how to skip past it and get into Halaster's laboratory," I offered. "It's a shortcut."

He stared at me for a few seconds, light of his eyes abruptly cutting out and reappearing as he blinked in disbelief at my words. Or maybe he was staring at my hair. Without a mirror, it was assuredly awful. I patted at it self-consciously. "Why did it not occur to you to mention this before?"

"Deekin bets goat-lady forgets. He does that sometimes, which is why he writes things down." Was the kobold defending me? Or being sarcastic? It was hard to tell. Did he understand sarcasm at all?

I defended reasonably, "Well, it didn't come to mind before now. There's not much left in there 'cept for all the golems. I figured out a shortcut downstairs through the portals through days of trial-and-error. Getting to the lab may be tricky if the drow have been fiddling with things, though. They're sneaky, sordid bunch. Present company excluded."

"That be where Boss' cloak come in handy, yes?" Deekin supplied.

Solaufein's response was to sigh and pull a rather nice looking cloak out of Deekin's bag of holding. It was likely made of spider-silk, but its significance escaped me. What had he called it earlier, to Durnan? Blast, I hadn't been paying attention. "Are you just gonna walk up to them and say hello, then?" I wondered.

The drow warrior snorted, or maybe guffawed - it was hard to tell because he usually comported himself with dignity. He had none to spare for me, however. "Vendui abbanen, sjaad'ur ussta bran vithanna rothen. F'sarn reiyal kyreshorlh vigh!" He mocked.

I frowned. "That didn't sound complimentary at all."

Solaufein groaned and switched back to Common. "You are correct, it was not a compliment. I included hand gestures, but it now occurs to me you could not have possibly seen them. I have wasted a perfectly good joke on you."

I squinted. I saw only the glow of his eyes and his vague physical outline. It didn't help that he was wearing dark armor and had dark skin. I did not have darkvision, but I could see well in night conditions. I probably would survive in the Underdark, but not well. "I'm going to have to learn drowish to understand you, aren't I?"

"It is called Ilythiiri. Suffice to say that any sane drow would rightly think me mad. I would have to convince them I keep the two of you around for pleasure . . . or sustenance."

Deekin made a whining noise. "Drow don't eat kobold! . . . Do they?"

Solaufein's sudden silence was an answer in of itself. "Any of my people we encounter I must approach alone. You and Deekin will remain in invisibility at a distance, and attack only at my signal. The background heat of Undermountain's lava flows shall provide good heat cover for you."

"That sounds very silly and complicated," I criticized. "It'd be far easier if we killed them all and resurrected one to interrogate," I pointed out, "and my plan wouldn't offer your backside up to them for stabbing like yours does."

He was full of eye rolls that morning - and it knew it was an eye roll because I could hear it in his scoff. And here I thought we were becoming special friends. "Just be as quiet as possible and do as I say." I followed behind Deekin when the well finally lowered and the dome opened to the dim light from the nearby lava flow beneath the Yawning Portal. I couldn't see the top when I tried to peer up, so far down we were. And the Underdark would be darker still . . .

I told myself I would only follow him until I killed all the rakshasa and ogres downstairs in revenge, for enslaving me. I would use him to kill them all, and in exchange I would help him with his drow problem. I couldn't help that he was a drow, mind you, but I was good at killing and so was he. After all, he'd saved my arse, and it was only fair, and the sex was pretty damn good, and he wasn't at all weird about it after like most would've been. He'd not exactly asked for my help, more . . . Simply expected it.

It felt strangely natural, despite the unnatural circumstances of our meeting, that I should follow him into coming battles. Maybe it was his bearing; he walked and moved his sword arm with the weight of years of experience. As an elf, who knew how many centuries he'd been around? Maybe it was how he spoke as if he knew me, and I'd never really had that before. I'd never felt like true kin to anyone but Brega, but here this stranger had taken me in stride and it felt like the most inexplicably natural thing to do. And maybe I'd stay because it seemed like he could use my help. And maybe he was nice to me, if a bit rude at times, but it wasn't because I had horns. And maybe if he criticized me it was sometimes warranted, because sometimes I had dumb ideas. And maybe the kobold did amuse me a little.

Maybe this all wouldn't be so bad.

---

Drow-to-Common Dictionary:

Gol . . . Nasty-ass goblin
Nau . . . Hell nah
Rul'selozan . . . Ugh, gross!
Yaith . . . Fucking pay attention you crazy demon woman
Orth Orb'cress . . . A real shithole of a place you don't want to be if you're Solaufein
Ssin'urne . . . Kind of compliment you can only give to someone post-orgasm
Vendui abb . . . Hey dudes, pardon my loud sex-slaves, as you can plainly see I am totally batshit