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.

4. The General

VALEN

Ever since their scoutmaster had left, there'd been a quiet tension amongst the Eilistraeens of Lith My'athar that had set General Valen Shadowbreath's crimson neck hairs on end. For once he didn't want to blame his mood solely on his demonic blood, the primary source of his worst tendencies. The Seer was quieter, he had noticed. The Commander, impossibly more talkative. Everyone seemed visibly on edge and as a result the blue-eyed tiefling had caught himself manifesting small outbursts at anyone who asked him the same thing twice, or forgot their weapon to practice, or talked back to him, or generally irritated him in any way. It amused him a little that he received negative opinion for being a grouch when it was everyone else who made him that way with their palpable anxiety. If everyone hadn't been tip-toeing about him, perhaps it would be easier to avoid them annoying him. If he didn't pick up on the scent of fear in the air in every hallway and around every person, it might not getting to him as much. Maybe, if he wasn't surrounded by danger and the constant looming threat of attack, he'd be in a better mood. It definitely didn't help that Nathyrra was gone.

Halaster was a dangerous wizard by all reckoning. He had read a little about the Blackcloak, and what little he'd read his overactive imagination was able to fill in the grand picture. An infamously insane wizard didn't get to be over a thousand years old by being gullible and easy to trap. Even the idea that they were attempting to free this wizard from the clutches of a powerful woman with one of the Hells' own arch-devils on a leash made his tail curl. The anxiety was understandable, if annoying. And it felt as though everyone's faith in Nathyrra's abilities had diminished, while his had not. She had volunteered for the mission immediately, knowing she alone possessed the necessary expertise with the enemy to slip past their lines.

Nathyrra was their most accomplished scout and had volunteered to lead the company. She was surprisingly reliable for being a former assassin, but unpopular in the city for that reason. Many doubted her conversion was genuine. Valen empathized with her predicament as he recalled his own days as an inter-planar enforcer (one did not get to be Valen's age or survive long in drow society by being gullible and easy to kill). Her occupation left a stain on her reputation and left her mistrusted by many, though Valen had always gotten along quite well with her more so than many of the others. Even the Commander, by far the chattiest person the General had ever had the misfortune to meet, had taken longer to get on his good side. Nathyrra was efficient, ruthless, inquisitive, thorough, and even tempered - all good qualities (that her background caused others to overlook), but nonetheless qualities that were missed back at base.

When he'd first sought sanctuary in the Seer's encampment, Valen's entire world became upended. It had been a . . . Difficult adjustment. Coming to the Underdark and living there in Lith My'athar for the last five months was an even greater adjustment. Though Nathyrra was the most recent convert to the Seer's ranks (directly from the Valsharess' own), Valen believed her conversion to the Seer's goddess was as real as his to the Seer's cause; they'd fought and bled together, after all, and Nathyrra had initially intervened on his behalf with some of the other drow when tensions from misunderstandings began to arise. She'd also been useful in his learning the drow language more fluently, as well as navigating the complex political array of Lith My'athar's alliances which had since felt strained ever since an altercation in the streets between some of Mae'vir's men and their own.

There'd been an argument, because of course there was. Valen's solution - to definitively end the arguing, logically - had been to hit one of them in the face with his very heavily mailed glove and initiate a brawl, so they could just fight it all out of their systems. It didn't get out of hand, but blood was definitely spilled, and he'd been considered entirely at fault. Which was fair, since he had started it, but he resented the implication of Myrune Mae'vir that he was little more than a hound off the Seer's chain. And since then, he'd been asked by the Seer not to enter the city alone, so he'd been stuck with Imloth glued to his side ever since which was yet another thing that constantly annoyed him.

In hindsight, he'd realized that Nathyrra or the Seer would have probably tried talking rather than punching and avoided the whole thing. Diplomacy just wasn't Valen's forte; it'd never been, and it was never going to be. Give him a battle any day, but don't force him to talk to his enemies. That was just torture.

It pissed off the General even more when he noticed everyone seemed to go out of their way to avoid him after the recent brawl - everyone but the Seer of course, whose demeanor was a staunch rock in a turbulent river to the world around her. Still, as a meeting about a recent scout report amongst the Seer, himself, and the commanders veered off into a discussion about her latest and greatest prophetic dreams, Valen brooded about his fate. It was an old habit he'd yet to break, but in still moments when there was little else of value to contemplate (there was no such thing as prophecy - he admired the woman and believed she was intuitive to a degree, but her senseless devotion to her prophetic gifts was sure to get them all killed one day - call it an intuition of his own), his minded tended down dark and familiar paths.

"I saw a place unlike any I have ever seen, plagued by an eternal winter," the Seer was describing as her brows knitted in her struggle to recall. "A place of howling, ice, and despair . . . And yet the strangest thing - a winged man lay in the downy snow, soft gray feathers and sky-skinned who lay there, sleeping. He was dreaming, a dreamer within my dream . . . And above where he was buried by the snows marched an army of demons and the dead, armed with weapons of war and siege. I believe its meaning to be that we are currently battling a lesser evil - that the greater one is yet biding its time."

Her description perked a distant memory of Valen's from a life half-forgotten - and a name that was on the tip of his tongue nearly spilled out before his tongue stilled. He was suddenly reminded that the last discussion they'd all had about her dreams had sent Nathyrra with the scouts to Undermountain in search of some kind of mythical drow savior that the Seer insisted would aid them invaluably against the Valsharess with the side-effect of finding and freeing Halaster from their enemy's clutches by any means necessary. So far, they had yet to return, and no word had been sent back. Valen's instincts told him that their allies were dead or worse, but a good part of him - the dark sense of humor - felt like it would be a great irony if Halaster happened to just be taking a personal holiday, and the Seer's prophesied savior ended up being an infiltrator sent by the arch-devil.

As if sensing his need for a distraction from his thoughts, the ground beneath everyone's feet rumbled during the Seer's speech and she cut off mid-sentence. A grinding noise as earth gnashed against earth sent bits of stone crumbling from the old temple's domed ceiling, causing everyone to take a step back toward the walls to stabilize themselves. He crouched, and an audible crack sounded from the center of the room like a strike of lightning from a bottle. A thread of translucent white light appeared suspended in the air that reeked of magic. Unconsciously he positioned himself between the slight Seer and the light - the magic was unfamiliar but stank of power in a way that set his teeth on edge.

The other drow in the room fell into a circle around the growing thread, which expanded suddenly into a wide beam. The light remained translucent for a moment, then shot out in every color of the spectrum and spat out an unfamiliar drow wielding a long, black, wicked sword aloft in one hand. He was dressed in the adamant chain and piwafwi in the colors of one of the Valsharess' ground forces, and Valen's flail moved up in his hand defensively, anticipating an attack.

The tiefling's pointed tail twitched up in confusion when the drow from the portal began to moan in pain and collapsed sideways to the ground in a shaking heap, the black sword falling from his limp fingers with a clatter when he tried to raise it in his hands. He groaned and cursed in Ilythiiri and began to dry heave over on his hands and knees, apparently ill.

Valen's flail lowered a little bit in his confusion as he tried to blink the spots out of his own eyes. He closed his eyes just in time for the portal to emit another burst of color and emit a loud snap, and when he opened his stinging eyes he saw a kobold wearing several packs on his back, along with a pair of cymbals attached to his side and was wielding . . . a large book under his left arm. The strange lizard walked right through the room and came to a casual stop to the drow male's knees. The kobold looked around at Valen and his allies as they looked around at each other, wondering what gimmick would pop out of the portal next.

"Uh-oh," the lizard said in a scratchy, high-pitched voice. "Boss, we be in trouble, uh, again! Why we always be in so much trouble? It's all the time with you! I thought gettings crushed by a flying city was bad. Now we in the Underdark in a drow temple—uh. Boss?" The kobold poked the moaning, groaning male drow at his feet. "Are you sick, Boss? You look sick."

The drow, or 'Boss,' reached his hand out to his sword, but the General kicked it away from him which generally disrupted the energy in the whole room. Weapons hissed out of sheaths, crossbows cocked with the creak of wood. "Ele . . . Zuch . . ." The drow muttered under his breath into the floor in a pathetic voice and didn't even try to defend himself. It was, overall, a wholly miserable sight that everyone - even the Seer, who was psychic - seemed very alarmed by.

Another sudden crack of light and noise burst from the magic portal and someone came almost literally flying out, back-end-first and skidding to a halt near Valen and Imloth's backpedaling feet as it rolled to its side. The Commander and General stopped as their backs smacked against the walls and they pointed both of their weapons at the rolling, skidding form. It might have been a vastly different situation entirely if Valen wasn't suddenly distracted by a smaller pop of noise and light as a very non-plussed Imp flapped laconically after the one near his feet and hovered in place, looking bored with his circumstances.

Then, the form at his feet began to scream piercingly high in agony and let out sobbing cries. "My arse! My arse!" They shrieked in a very feminine voice. Hair disguised her face until she rolled over and he got a nasty shock with a whiff of her blood that had stained her chainmail, almost as if she'd died and rolled over into the mess.

Valen's senses went into overdrive as his pupils dilated and a conditioned flare of danger straightened his spine. His pulse pounded in his head and his eyes flared red as his demonic half woke up from a nap to the smell of devil's blood. "DEMON!" He cried out, and drew his flail back poised to kill. It was none other than a cambion, certainly a half-devil and no doubt a powerful one who was wafting power and death. "TO ARMS!" He ordered.

The fact that the half-devil was rolled onto her side grabbing her backside in pain didn't register until a split second later when the Seer's clear voice cut in sharply: "Valen, no!" The whole room stilled, and all turned as one to the stern Seer. "Stay your hands, these are not our enemies! This is not an attack, these people are our friends! I have been expecting them, but . . . Not in this exact manner." Her clear eyes leveled him with a flat glare that he was helpless to resist.

His flail fell slightly in his hands, even as the enchantment on Devil's Bane surged through his hand at the sight of the howling cambion. "Seer?" If there ever was an appropriate time to use the word flabbergasted, this would be it. He opened his mouth to say something, but then glanced down at the kobold trying in vain to lift the moaning male drow up, and to the half-devil rolling around holding her tail and whining about the state of her backside. The drow collapsed in the kobold's arms and flopped back to the ground just as the half-devil's cries subsided into pained moans. Admittedly, it may have been an over-reaction on his part.

The flapping, bored-looking imp drew his attention by clearing his throat with an officious cough. "Ugh," it grimaced, "must I be forced to endure such a display? Mistress, you are embarrassing yourself," he criticized a surprisingly low, nasal voice.

The devil twisted her form to glare at him while holding her tail delicately in her clawed hand. "Arrgh!" She moaned and hissed. "I'm in pain, Hembercane! Help me, you hackit cockswoggler!" Only about half of the words he processed through her accent, and his brain stumbled when it encountered the last bit.

The imp's eyes rolled. Many of the drow had put their weapons away, although Valen's clench on Devil's Bane remained white-knuckled even as the imp spoke. "As am I in pain, Mistress. Watching you pains me every day, but I endure because it seems my destiny is to watch you bumble and blunder through your destiny."

The kobold, meanwhile, seemed to give up his attempts at lifting the still-moaning drow and clucked under his breath. He took a quill out of a hidden pocket that seemed somehow already ink-ready and began to scratch at a blank page in his large notebook. "Yeesh, now the imp be monologuing? Imp . . . More dramatic . . . Than elves . . . And orc-man . . . Combined . . ." He seemed to be speaking more to himself, and Valen immediately dismissed the kobold as a threat.

Still, he turned to the Seer with frustrated, glowing red eyes. "Seer, they could be infiltrators," he hissed.

She stared at him with an amazingly simple, not-at-all-frustrated, knowing sort of look that suggested she had a much larger look at an affair that he'd only caught the glimpse of. Somehow her tone suggested the same. "I know they are not infiltrators, Valen, because I am looking at them right now." It was a stern, but very polite rebuke. The male had been reduced to retching miserably again, still on his knees with his forehead pressed to the cool floor as he muttered helplessly into it, while the kobold had finished his notes and left them on the floor while he patted his Boss on the arm gently. The cambion was rolling around clutching her tail and moaning about her arse, and her pet imp flapping inch by inch away from Valen's glare and giving him dirty glances out of the corner of his eyes.

General Shadowbreath cleared his throat and put away his flail under the Seer's gaze. His hand remained near it on his hip, but he wasn't about to disrespect or disobey her. Especially when she made a damn good point.

Another light crack resounded and the beam suddenly disappeared, leaving them all blinking at the sudden shadows. The Eilistraeens let out a collective sigh of relief at the absence of the invasive light. Valen's eyes were the first to adjust, and he was surprised - and pleased, to see Nathyrra standing in the middle of the room, apparently the last to emerge from the obnoxiously bright portal. She alone stood unaffected in the midst of it all, uninjured though her hair was visibly mussed from the air displacement.

Nathyrra's eyes locked onto Valen's with amusement. "I can't believe you could shout the word 'demon' unironically, General," she told him in the flattest tone there ever was.

He blinked a few times to ascertain it wasn't a hallucination. The scent of magic in the room had begun to fade, and it definitely smelled like her. "Nathyrra?" It shouldn't be possible to be flabbergasted twice in one day.

The Seer let out a relieved sigh. "Nathyrra! Everyone, please, calm down. Do you not recognize one of your own?"

At the Seer's confirmation, the energy in the room completely changed to one of relieved welcome. The tiefling was the only one still tense about the demonic presence, and he remained a little on edge. Still, he eased a bit when Nathyrra approached and gave a little bow of greeting, and the red of Valen's irises faded back into their natural blue as his alarm wore off. "Mother Seer, I beg you forgive our unorthodox entrance. I have returned to you ahead of our other scouts with the one from your visions." That surprised and amused Valen quite a bit, because Nathyrra turned to look and gesture to the male drow that was still retching on the floor, sick. "His name is Solaufein, an Eilistraeen, like us! And these are his . . ." Her gaze then turned to the kobold who was scratching at his horns and looking around at everything in the room in fascination and making cooing noises, and to the cambion still crying about her arse that she'd landed on, clutching her tail in her hands. "These people are his friends." She seemed to taste the Common word slowly, unsure of its pronunciation. "Their current state is the fault of Halaster."

It was a weak introduction; this was not the sight you'd expect of heroes from prophecy. The drow named Solaufein had vomited onto the ground at the end of Nathyrra's statement, which everybody processed unflinchingly just as Imloth began to chuckle. The cambion, meanwhile, cried out, "Dobbering barmy wizard! My ar-har-haaaarse! Why is it always me arse?!"

Solaufein paused in moaning to raise his head blearily and attempt to take stock of the room at an angle that kept his head touching the ground. "Ele zhah ol zuch vith'ez vigh faernen? Someone, please end me," he switched between the two languages interchangeably with an accent somewhat thicker than Imloth's own. Why he seemed to have a grudge against wizards was anyone's guess, but if Valen was going to give it a try he'd put his money on all wizards being far more trouble than they're worth.

"Damn you Halaster and curse your withered balls with impotence!" The cambion's cry was impassioned but diminished from her position on the ground. The pages of the kobold's book rustled as he chittered under his breath and jotted down notes with his quill. It seemed like he was repeating everything he heard under his breath and writing it down for documentation. The more these people spoke, the less Valen understood them.

Nathyrra's posture was uneasy, but she remained dignified despite the present company. How she said what she did with a straight face was a question Valen felt pertinent. "I have brought you the champion from your visions as you commanded, and I have some wonderful news. Oh, as well as some very bad news. Which should I report first?"

The Seer's voice was gentle, but her expression remained as stern as it had been earlier when everyone's weapons were drawn. "First, we should make sure our guests are intact. What has happened to them? How did you come to arrive here? I estimated your return would take weeks. The entrance to Undermountain is a journey of four cycles even on a mount. And where are your mounts?"

Seeing as someone had altered the laws of physics and it reeked of magic, Valen would put his money on the wizard. "Ah, that would be part of the bad news. It is a long story, Mother Seer—" Nathyrra cut herself off with a pause as her eyes went to the ceiling contemplatively.

The kobold suddenly fell back on his rear rather hard with a loud clatter from his pack when he tried and failed to help his Boss stand up on his own legs again. "Erm, Boss, you is not looking very good. You looks like now Old Boss after he eat too many berry pies and have really bad gas that stink out whole kobold cave, and Deekin one of only ones to not die because he be outside taking pee when it happened." This entire short story that left just . . . So many questions, and the kobold named Deekin uttered in one breath. The General blinked and shared a look with Imloth, both united in silent bafflement and in Imloth's case, growing horror.

The cambion sobbed loudly and rolled to her side, inadvertently closer to Valen's feet and setting him stepping back only to hit the wall again. He growled a little, instinctively. "Why'd it have to land on me tail! It feels broken!" She whimpered. "The bloody wizard broke me tail! THE LIGHT OF ME ARSE! A pox be on all wizards, Hembercane! You pox 'em all!"

The drow nodded and heaved out to the ground, "Siyo, xsa mina jal . . ." In wretched agreement.

Commander Imloth, to Valen's left, began to chuckle more loudly. "Zhal udos mina wun l'Olath Niar'haanin?" He offered.

Valen was about to offer to help him toss them in the river, but Nathyrra gave them all a very displeased look. The Seer turned to the Commander and smiled. "Nindolen ph'udossta quivveden, Imloth. Do not be rude. Not all are as lucky to know the grace of our language." He sensed a veiled lecture that the Seer was holding back, which was enough to make Imloth emit an amused apology and promised he'd hold his tongue from further snark.

Deekin stepped up to Nathyrra and tapped on her leg to get her attention. The General was surprised to see the drow woman so at ease in the kobold's presence, given the stories he'd heard about some finding kobold a delicacy; she instinctively crouched to Deekin's eye-level to listen to him with genuine attentiveness. "Warlock-lady not looking too good either, drow-lady," the kobold said, pointing at the cambion; that fact that she was a warlock at least explained one of the scents about the female he'd had trouble identifying; it was eldritch energy, coiled into her aura like a snake. His neck hairs stood impossibly more on end. Or perhaps that was something from the drow male - it was hard to tell with so many scents battling it out in the room. Seemed like everything was setting his teeth on edge . . . "This seem like bad drow place, but not bad people," Deekin continued. "At least they not attacking us yet like the others." His tone suggested that he was surprised by this.

Nathyrra shook her head and gave a light, rare smile. "No, Deekin, they are not bad people. They are my people."

Deekin relaxed visibly. "Oh. They be alright then. You help Boss now, maybe? Oh and goat-lady too, I guess, since she died earlier and all," he added like an afterthought, gesturing vaguely at the still-moaning half-devil. He recalled, distantly, finding that term offensive, but admitted when examining the female's horns that they did somewhat resemble a ram's that curved about her head, though the tip of one had been broken off and filed down at some point. Her 'dying' earlier, as alarming as the casual statement was to hear, at least explained the smell of death and devilish blood. He gritted his teeth and clenched his flail's handle, struggling against what his blood told him to do.

Nathyrra nodded and started to help Solaufein up with Deekin's assistance and together they managed to support him standing. "Mother Seer, can you heal them?" She asked. "Halaster has struck them with a curse that causes them both great pain. It is a geas that binds them to his service, against their will."

"Right in the noggin' an' arse," the cambion grumbled. Imloth twitched in amusement. Having to be quiet seemed to pain him greatly.

"Also Boss be hating portal travels and he be having to do that a lot lately," Deekin explained matter-of-factly. "A lot a lot lately."

Solaufein turned his head vaguely toward the dark elf chiefly supporting him, even though she was significantly shorter than him; the enchanted girdle she wore probably helped, though. "Nathyrra," Solaufein pleaded in a hoarse, tired voice. "Elgg uns'aa," he begged pathetically into her shoulder.

The Seer chuckled at his dark plea. "Treemma naut, a l'elamshinae d'udossta quar'valsharess, dos orn naut el yallt." She closed her blue eyes in prayer as the room grew silent to aid in her concentration. After a few moments, she drew up her hands, clenched them, and uttered a quiet praise to Eilistraee and opened them. A pale, gentle light - far less harsh than the magic from the portal emitted from her palms and hit all of the visitors, erasing their weariness and injuries. The individuals all glowed a soft silver before it disappeared, leaving them all visibly relieved and breathing easier.

Solaufein jerked forward and fell to his knees as the pain fell from his face. The Seer helped him off the floor with a gentle hand. "May the grace of our lady of the moon easy your burden. Welcome, Solaufein. I have been expecting you." He took her hand with some hesitation and stood. He looked down at her with eyes more burgundy than red in equal parts recognition and confusion. He was taller than other drow, now that Valen began to assess him, but shorter than himself. His ears were pierced a few times and hair was cut into a shaggy warrior's stripe that looked as battle worn as he himself was, the sides only with a faint fuzz. For a drow, he stood out for his height and appearance; despite this he seemed strangely at ease in the foreign surroundings. Now closer, the tiefling could identify the smell of something like earth and pepper that tingled at his nostrils and prickled on the back of his hands unpleasantly. It wasn't as bad as he reaction to the warlock's presence, but it stuck out as unusual.

Nathyrra came up behind Solaufein with a sly smile. "Do you still wish to die?" She asked. "I have a fine dagger you may borrow if you wish. I sharpen it daily, so I can guarantee its quality." She seemed amused and even a little intrigued at the idea, which Valen had come to understand was just because drow have a strange sense of humor. He felt his shoulders relax a little in reflex at Nathyrra's familiar manner; she either had him pegged and dismissed as a threat or was familiar enough with him to be casual. It boded well, though did not put Valen completely at ease.

Solaufein grunted. His voice was a lightly accented low tenor, indicative of his Underdark roots. "I think Enserric would be upset if I used another dagger. I am better. I will live, thank you. Whatever the wizard did depleted me—"

"Jealous?!" A new tinny voice barked, startling Valen and sending his hand down to his flail for reassurance. Everyone's eyes sought out the floor where Valen had kicked the drow's sword, where the black blade began to emit sparkling red depths that seemed to crackle with lively energy. The sword itself was the source of the voice, which is about when Valen realized that nothing was ever going to be normal or easy again. Not that his life had ever really been normal or easy, but at least up until that point there'd been a lull of routine violence. Or, at least there weren't any talking swords before that moment. Why anyone would desire a sword with a talking personality was beyond him. "Fah! I'm not jealous of other swords! Who said anything about being jealous?! I'm a shape-shifting magical sword! What more could you want in a weapon?! I do all the things! You know that dagger is just going to disintegrate in the sunlight anyway. Most people would be happy to have someone as useful as me around. I'm permanently sharp, I'm witty, and I'm shiny. Any dragon would be lucky to have me in his hoard!"

Solaufein snorted unprofessionally in derision - it seemed like he had an awfully long day. "Your word. Ignore him, he has been in a petty mood ever since I killed a wizard without him one time." The sword let out an audible, tinny huffing noise before growing silent and still, the red tint fleeing from the blade. "And now he is pouting," Solaufein pointed out with an eye roll.

The kobold scratched at his journal and muttered under his breath. "Enserric . . . Be jealous . . . Of other swords."

The cambion had stopped groaning and rolled back onto her knees to stand up, still holding her tail somewhat delicately but clearly and visibly surprised that she was no longer in pain. Though she was slightly hunched at the moment, now that she stood he could tell that she was even to his height, with dusky red skin, nearly amber-colored eyes, and a messy braid of half-fallen, shoulder-length dark hair. She'd blinked blearily after standing and turned around in a circle to get her bearings. "Bane's balls, that was heinous!" Her expression twisted into one of confusion and a little disgust. She shook all over in a dramatic shiver, as if her body were attempting to shake off its own sensations. "Oi, why's it smell like an angry tanar'ri in—" her eyes started at the edge of the room and took in everything swiftly before settling on the very angry General barely a foot away from her. She took a step back instinctively, responding to the subconscious threat, but her expression was not one of fear. Across her features spread an inexplicable delight. "Oh my!" She stared at Valen openly, appreciatively, and blinked several times as an irrepressible grin exposed her short canines. Her tail curled around her hand.

Valen felt himself flushing reflexively in the silence and giving her back a fierce glare, feeling his tail whip in irritation and thwack inadvertently against the wall behind him. The imp added to the tension by clearing his throat again, unfortunately reminding the General that he existed and drawing his ire. "Mistress, must I be forced to endure such . . . Illustrious company?" The imp's bald head cocked repeatedly in Valen's direction as he started edging further and further away from the tiefling, out of flail-range.

Valen let out a growl in the back of his throat that was straight from the caged beast inside. "Keep rattling imp," Valen rasped. His eyes flashed red again. "See where it gets you." General Shadowbreath's hand twitched near his flail, itching to destroy something after all that had happened in the last few minutes. All the conflicting scents and pheromones in the room were enough to keep him on edge.

The cambion turned away from the General and fixed a glare on the dour imp, who blinked in the face of his mistress' irritation impassively. "Stuff it Hem, you havering pisswomble!" She commanded. Her accent wouldn't have been out of place in the Cage, and he realized with a start that she could very well be from Sigil. "E's probably twice the demon you are and I'm at least twice the demon he is! Now get out've here, you're not bloody helping anybody! You're a sour grape, you are! Go-go on now, fuck off! Get!" She waved her one available arm at him dismissively a few times before the imp seemed to take the hint, or the magic kicked in, and he was banished back to his home plane. She limped over to Solaufein with her tail still delicately held in hand rather than go back to staring at Valen as she had before and seemed completely oblivious of all the eyes following her. "Solly, you look like shit," she observed in a complimentary tone with a smile. "What happened to you? And more importantly me, as last I remember I got blasted in the arse-bone by two Halasters with what felt like a Power Word of Pain."

Valen had so many questions about this situation now that it seemed like questions were all he had - and every time someone opened their mouth to try to explain what had happened, it just resulted in more unanswered questions. The warrior-striped drow, for his part, seemed half-heartedly annoyed by her comment judging only by his tone; it was the same tone Imloth took with Valen when the Commander finally had enough of losing to the tiefling at sparring. "You recall correctly, and fuck you, what have I said about calling me that name?" Solaufein stopped to think for a second with a distracted expression while everyone else seemed a little shocked by the almost casually rude exchange. "A moment — is piss-womble a real word?" He wondered. He looked to Nathyrra, bafflingly. "Did I hear that right?"

Nathyrra didn't have an answer and seemed just as distracted by this subject as Solaufein. "I . . . Have never heard of it, but my knowledge of Common idioms is sorely lacking. I'm sorry, what does 'fuck you' mean?"

The Seer, he saw, tried, and failed to interject with a throat-clearing noise, only for Deekin to perk up and join the exchange. "Oh!" The kobold looked to Nathyrra. "Deekin hear a sailor say that to him once!" The kobold then turned to the cambion with the clutched-tail. "Actually, Deekin think he heard a sailor call him that once."

The cambion blinked her bright eyes twice, slowly. "Huh, I was sure I made that one up." She looked down to consider the kobold with a trembling lip.

It was Solaufein that started chuckling darkly first, causing the cambion to burst out in synchronous laughter that no one else joined, although it did make Valen's lip twitch since he was sure that 'pisswomble' was actually Cager insult, or slang for a piss-rag, but he wasn't about to correct anyone. The strange duo quickly composed themselves and Solaufein finally turned his full attention on the Seer, who was beginning to seem a little lost. "I apologize. Who are you? Where am I? How do you know my name?"

The Seer smiled brightly, her blue eyes almost twinkling in the temples' mage light. "We've met, though perhaps you do not recall clearly when. It was in a shared dream, given to us by our goddess." Though Valen had not noticed it before, Solaufein had worn a pendant that had fallen out of his armor somewhere mid-vomit in the shape of Eilistraee's moon with a thin sword emblem superimposed, tied around his neck with a length of leather. The Seer's fingers reached forward to grace the crescent on his chest, drawing out a small and startled gasp from the male. "Our luminous lady has sent you here in our moment of direst need. I am called the Seer, and I and all of my people here serve Eilistraee, just as you do." This seemed to stun the drow into silence. "We have all descended from our grove to Lith My'athar to oppose the Valsharess. You have met Nathyrra already, and this is the General of our forces, Valen Shadowbreath." Valen gave them all a hard and assessing stare, betraying nothing. "Next to him is our Commander Imloth," she gestured and the male preened, "and the woman beside him is Cazna, one of our chief scouts, and this man is Elendrin, head of my personal guard." All except for Valen nodded and bowed upon being introduced, gestures Solaufein all returned.

The man still seemed stunned and turned again to Nathyrra last. "Do'zil al? Gracel'ec della uns'aa."

She nodded solemnly in response. "I could not trust you at first. Things are . . . different now. Before, there was a possibility that you worked with the Valsharess. I am certain now that you are not." She said this with a perfectly straight face without even glancing at the colors of his armor; though Valen supposed it might have been a disguise amongst the Valsharess' forces. It made more sense than everyone willfully ignoring evidence in front of them, at least.

The Seer interjected, "My lady has seen fit to grant me a form of sight beyond eyes, into current and future events."

"You know the future?" Solaufein's eyes gleamed with intrigue. "How far can you see into?" It seemed a bizarrely specific question to Valen, in light of the circumstances. He frowned as he watched the exchange, and the conspiracy theories tallied up in his head one by one.

"My dreams are not specific to times and places. It is up to me to interpret their meaning. I have seen all of Abeir-Toril engulfed by darkness and forced to bend knee to a false goddess. This will certainly be our fate if we cannot stop the Valsharess from taking Lith My'athar. Do you know of her?" The Seer seemed to be firmly keeping the conversation on track, assessing rightfully the lot of them as being easily distracted.

"I have told him a little," Nathyrra informed her.

"An ex-priestess trying to take over the surface from Menzoberranzan styling herself as the new Spider Queen," Solaufein distantly recalled, his eyes lingering on the statue in the nave of the temple which was - while no longer dedicated to Lolth, populated by a statue in the shape of the spider-demon-goddess. "She is not as interesting as a modest female with visions of the future who dances under the moon in the nude." Though his eyes yet were trained on the statue, his flattery was clearly aimed at the Seer who reacted rather inappropriately, Valen thought, to the comment with a quiet smile.

"That is but one of many of my privileges, as a servant of our lady."

The cambion's eyes had started to linger too long on the General again, making him twitch in reaction. "Trying to take over the surface sounds like something a drow priestess'd be crazy enough to try. Er, present company excluded. You folks seem alright." She glanced over at the Seer, addressing her brightly.

The Seer calmly nodded. "Yes. Thank you. I was privileged to see her rise to power. She was from one of the smaller houses . . ." The Seer went on a rather succinct explanation of the Valsharess' rise to power, and their recent intelligence on the presence of an arch-devil at her side. In the midst of it, Cazna and Imloth left to go about their duties, but he felt ill at ease leaving the Seer alone with outsiders, even with Nathyrra present. He did not trust them, even if she did, and it rankled at him to hear her so openly give them the intelligence they'd bled for. Who they were was even in question still, as far as he was concerned. Throughout, the kobold quietly and faithfully took notes, apparently documenting the entire encounter. He'd never even met a literate kobold, let alone a kobold scribe.

At the end of it the cambion scratched at her broken horn. "What's it with you elves and you following your dreams?" Her tone was honest bafflement, and it was a sentiment even Valen could unexpectedly sympathize with. She seemed to have as much instinctive distaste for the subject of dreams and visions as he did. A typical reaction from most people that weren't elves. "You know you're not supposed to take an idiom literally?" Solaufein performed a magnificent eye roll in response which even Deekin commented upon, audibly declaring it superior to all the previous eye rolls as he wrote down his notes, which made the odd pair groan in unison. "That's precisely how you all get mixed up in silly situations like this! The Valshireen wouldn't really be able to conquer all the surface - sure she'd kill a bunch of folks, but she'd piss off the Lords of Waterdeep and the Hand of Bane! Imagine - Khelben Blackstaff and Fzoul Chembryl finally united under a common cause. Suppose that means we all might become conscripted Baneites, but that would never really last for long."

"I can see how one of your nature might be wary of such subjects," the Seer interjected delicately.

The cambion's eyes narrowed. "'My' nature?' You referring to all the demons in the room or just me?" She seemed a little hurt by her tone but maintained an apathetic air.

Valen felt himself get a little angry around the eyes. The scent of devil blood was still heavy in the air, and it seemed to be coating her armor in places. "Watch who you call a demon," he warned in a low tone, struggled to hold back the beast in him that craved violent release.

Her reaction was the opposite of the one he wanted. She grinned and her pupils widened a degree. "There's a bit of the tanar'ri I was smelling earlier. Vicious!" She seemed inappropriately pleased with herself.

The Seer was as measured as usual, her voice as patient as always. "No, Binne Ofgren," she addressed, which seemed to set the hackles on the cambion, "I speak to your more human nature, which is prone to doubt, but also seeks reason." Her tone changed to one of amusement. "I am a Seer. Your friend and I shared a dream. I have many dreams of the future - even occasionally the past - that Eilistraee has granted me in her grace. It is up to me to interpret their meaning. I have seen you before even if you have not seen me, and that is how I know your name. Whether or not my visions are truly given by our goddess is irrelevant, as I have seen them come true today. I believe that we are here for a purpose, and that purpose is to save as many lives as we can from the Valsharess. Now that you are both unfortunately bound by geas by the Blackcloak to slay our common enemy, we are moved to action. This city is the last outpost of our people in the Underdark that the Valsharess does not hold sway over. Here we must make our stand, for in a few months she will undoubtedly attempt to drive us out. Here, you, you," and she looked to Deekin, and then Solaufein, "and you have all answered our call for aid. I have asked my people to join me so that we may defy her, and if we fall, so will the rest of Toril after us. She will overtake Waterdeep and use its riches to plunder and rule the Prime Plane as a goddess in her own right. With an arch-devil at her side, she even has an excellent chance of success."

Binne Ofgren, the strangest cambion Valen had ever seen, scratched her horns with a black-clawed hand as she processed this information painfully slowly. "Oh. An arch-devil sounds - that - that sounds bad. Why didn't you say that earlier? That's very, very bad. Er. Which one, do you think? Suppose it don't matter. Any one 'o 'em is as bad as any other."

"We do not know which one," Nathyrra informed her. "And she did say it earlier."

"Oh." Her hand fell to her side. "Well, I wasn't listening." At least she was honest.

Deekin let out a stressed noise. "Deekin not be liking the sound of all of this. Drow not historically kind to kobolds and usually eats us for dinner. Also, arch-devils sound mean even though Deekin not, uh, totally sure what they be. But they sounds bad. Do they be like tall, regular devils? But evil-er? Deekin regretting not reading more on demonology 'til now." As the kobold rambled, he scratched at the scales on his head absently.

The red skinned fiendling offered, "try to imagine a fourteen-hand, much smarter, more cloven hoofed version of me with bigger horns and spikes and such, and very into eating kobolds."

". . . Deekin want to say something, but it be mean."

"Quiet, you."

"That reminds me," Nathyrra interjected, "Deekin, you need to stay away from the kitchens during your stay here. We will have spare quarters prepared for you by tomorrow, although two might have to share."

The cambion shrugged. "I'll rest in a bloody barn if you give me a pile o' hay. Though it would help if, uh," and she turned her eyes on the still-glaring Valen, "the pretty blues would stop glaring at me. He's making my blood run colder than the wind in the Dale!" For the first time since she'd been healed, she seemed visibly uncomfortable.

Valen let out a grunt as his suspicion started making its own farm on the surface. The Seer smiled at him. "Our General is cautious by nature. Time must pass before you can prove your intentions and unfold your trust in one another. And it is vital that you work to do so, for we must all be united in working to stop the Valsharess and free you and Solaufein of this burden."

"I'll not argue if there's killin' to be done," Binne Ofgren chirped.

Solaufein clapped Binne on the shoulder once gently. "I am sure there will be plenty of things for us to fight along the way," he assured her. He turned back to the Eilistraeen priestess as his hand fell from her shoulder. "I stand with you, Seer. Fate has brought me here, I think, to collide with the Valsharess."

Strangely, the cambion chuckled out, "or the stench of it lured you here."

Solaufein's lip twitched up in amusement. "Or that."

Deekin wondered aloud, "what smell like pepper?" He sniffed again. "And . . . wet dirt?"

"Coriander, actually," Binne corrected. "Maybe it's just the smell of the Underdark." Her tail had long fallen out of her hands and moved naturally, if a little stiffly, betraying her interest as she stared at Valen once more. "I'm Binne Ofgren," she introduced herself pleasantly, "by the way. Pleased to meet you, General Shadowbreath."

He felt himself growling again as his suspicion harvested its first crop of surface-corn.

The Seer sheltered their new guests with her arms and ushered them along towards the staircase at the back of the main chamber, which led up to the priestess' old living quarters. Nathyrra turned to leave with a short goodbye in the direction of the library. "Don't mind him dear," she addressed the cambion. The General followed behind, unwilling to leave the Sword-dancer's back unguarded in the presence of untested strangers. "Valen is very protective of me, and suspicious of newcomers." He snorted. "Rightfully so, for we have faced several battles already and endured sabotage attempts from almost every corner these last few months. It has been a harrowing time for us all. Just a few weeks ago, one of our converts proved to be an infiltrator and made an attempt on my life."

Solaufein gave the General an askance look that Valen couldn't decipher and nodded. "Abbanelith," he stated. The cambion turned to glare at him uncomprehendingly. "Standard politics," he explained.

Assassination was fairly standard for drow by Valen's reckoning, but Binne looked relieved by this rather than appropriately appalled as one might expect. "Oh. I thought you were accusing me of having sex with goats again."

Solaufein seemed amused by this baffling remark and chuckled. It was strange to see a drow laugh so much; they were humorless by reputation, but Imloth was the only one he'd met so far with a developed of humor, even if it was a bit morbid and at times immature. The one time he'd been to the public house, Valen had been struck by the carefree and open laughter that rolled out onto the streets. Or perhaps it was merely the Eilistraeens who were joyous; he'd yet to see any of the Lith My'athar residents do much but scowl at him (or, in the case of a handful of females, gain an inordinate interest in him).

They continued up the steps toward the rounded corridor of living quarters. The Seer's was at the end of the hall; Valen had his own downstairs, but rarely spent time in it since he required little sleep and preferred not being left alone to his thoughts. He hadn't been aware that there were any guest rooms to spare, but given the Seer's visions, he supposed she had prepared one weeks in advance for the visitors. Her silken white robes rustled gently against her ankles as she stopped before an unfamiliar door, and a smile spread across her features when she looked to the newcomers. "Just so. We must share Lith My'athar with others of our people, who have floundered in Lloth's absence. We've been lucky to have a few converts, but most of them view us as interlopers and wish us gone. They have less love of the Valsharess than they do us, and the enemy of my enemy becoming my ally is a common Underdark idiom. Here, expect peace and quiet, but out in the city you should be wary and not walk unguarded." Her expression became serious and she seemed to direct this more at the kobold and cambion than Solaufein, who continued to seem nonplussed by everything he saw. He seemed to have become - as Valen had seen with everyone, himself included - instantly comfortable in the presence of the Seer.

"And stays away from the kitchens?" Deekin chirped, adjusting his pack.

"That would be wise, yes, little one," the Seer nodded. She gestured to the door, which her bodyguard Elendrin opened and bowed obsequiously for them. "We will prepare more room for you tomorrow, but for tonight you will have to share. I hope you do not mind."

The half-devil wasted no time marching through the wide open door without any preamble and collapsed with a clink of chainmail on top of a large bed that groaned beneath her weight. "This bleedin' box made of mushrooms? Och, I'm too tired to care. Too long of a day. Days . . . Weeks . . . Coupla years . . ." Her voice was muffled as she lay face-down. Valen glanced away out of habit when she rolled over and started tearing off her mail without regard to modesty and tossed it on the ground.

Solaufein, unperturbed, looked to the Seer. "Xal usstan telanth xuil dos wun l'kre'tan?" He questioned. His tone was curious, but his entire bearing spoke to his exhaustion.

She smiled at him. "Udos inbal mzilt ulu telanth d'Solaufein. But now, rest. Our Lady has smiled upon our meeting."

The drow male bowed, his piwafwi sweeping the ground behind his feet. "Alulove, Malla yatharil," Solaufein bade formally and followed Deekin into the guest chamber. The door closed behind them just as Valen heard the cambion begin to snore.

Valen stared at the Seer with a hard expression after the door closed. She returned his gaze amused, and said nothing, only chuckling. "Good night, dear Valen," she told him. "We will speak more when our guests awaken of our plans." She nodded at Elen, who followed her to her chambers. Valen grumbled under his breath. The others had parted already, and he was alone with his suspicions. His instincts demanded he find a guard for their guests; eventually he cornered one of the scouts wandering the halls and commanded him to stand watch while he went and got some shut-eye himself. He felt, in his bones, that the following day(s) was(were) going to be long.

His sleep was blissfully dreamless, though short. It took him a few moments to recall the nonsense of the previous evening. General Shadowbreath dressed and donned his customized armor in irritation at his circumstances, knowing his luck, the Seer would no doubt task him with watching over the newcomers in the coming days. He certainly wouldn't trust anyone other than himself or Nathyrra with the job, and she had other work to be done; his training of the soldiers, Imloth could handle. The Seer'd been particularly stern with him about her safety ever since he'd insisted on securing her a guard at all times, since the last assassination attempt. In all fairness, by the Seer's reckoning, she had been dodging such attempts her entire life and was hardly helpless in battle. In his defense, she didn't know what she was talking about when it came to demons. He didn't know what to make of their guests, but he absolutely and completely doubted (now that he'd slept on it, he was doubly certain of it) that the half-devil's appearance was a timely coincidence.

"What do you mean, 'runny?' That is a new word for me." Imloth's chatter floated distractedly over Valen's own thoughts, which arrested his attention with its randomness. He and Nathyrra had been speaking and practicing their Common outside near the practice grounds when he found the two sparring in the early part of the day, exchanges new tools and tricks.

"Wh-what?" Valen stuttered, blinking.

"It's how it was described to me by Solaufein," Nathyrra reported, looking just as confused as they were. "It means that the way time works is different in Undermountain. There are places, I am told, where it seems to stretch or somehow move slowly compared to how time passes in the Inn situated on its entrance. Some strange effect of Halaster's enchantment, or residual madness from his enchantment, I presume."

Valen was unable to suppress the guffaw that erupted from his gut. "Inn situated on the—W-what berk would put Inn on the entrance of an insane wizard's death-dungeon?"

Imloth nodded in agreement of some unvoiced thought. "Classic rivvin. I have to visit this place someday, it sounds too good to be true."

Nathyrra nodded. A somewhat shy, rare smile graced her face. "I'm told it's a popular tourist destination by Deekin. The more adventurers that die from it, the more people want to plunder it."

"That's completely barmy," the General decided firmly, though a feeling of admiration welled up in him towards the odd surfacers who would make a career upon uncertain death. "Though it does sound like it might be fun to explore," he admitted. "Just not at the risk of death."

Her lips twisted into a radiant grin. "It's much worse. People actually pay money to go inside knowing they will probably die. If the myriad traps do not kill you, then the residents of the dungeon will."

"I cannot imagine a self-respecting dhaerow paying to go inside a spider and trap-filled dungeon to save a mad wizard," Imloth mused. "Savior or no, it's just not something a smart male would do. He must be an Eilistraeen. Or perhaps he is also a mad wizard."

Nathyrra's lips fell into a purse as she considered how to respond to this. Her hesitation made Valen huskily laugh out loud, startling the two. "Don't tell me you actually believe he's some kind of savior. I need at least one of you to be realistic with me. I can't be the only one in this camp following their senses instead of their dreams."

"I'm not saying he is one," she quickly protested, eyebrows furrowing. "That being said, from all I have seen so far, if anyone has a chance to blindly stumble upon the exact weapon that will help us kill the arch-devil and the Valsharess in one go, it is probably Deekin. I have seen him kill enemies with a song. A song," she repeated slowly for emphasis and clasped her hands together studiously.

The Commander tossed back his silver-haired head in consideration of the ceiling. "I would pay whatever amount of gold asked of me to see that," he decided, after a moment's deliberation.

It surprised him that a drow would let his servants do his fighting for him, though Valen had seen little of the man and felt foolish speaking of things he didn't know. "How many days were you in their company?" He asked the scoutmaster.

"Only one day, though we tracked them through the tunnels for at least three," Nathyrra replied. "Hard to say, as it felt longer due to Undermountain's innate strangeness. I wonder if there is an academic term for it . . ." Nathyrra trailed off for a second before remembering her point. "Oh, you wish for a personal report. I know little of them so far. I have never met anyone quite like them. Deekin is far more than his appearance belies, Solaufein is almost as deadly with that sword of his as you are with your flail and has no love of Lloth, and Binne is as formidable as she is incapable of deception. I also feel as though I could spend a century in their company and still they would surprise me. I would say Solaufein is unlike most of our people I have met, and in many ways he has a quiet wisdom and subtle humor that reminds me much of the Seer."

"Wait, it took you that long to find Halaster?" Imloth was surprised.

She shook her head. "It took us that long to track them. They were captives for about a week. Akordia, whom I did not know well, captured, and led them further into unfamiliar tunnels. Though they were weakened from imprisonment, the three slew her and most of her dek'za while many of my men died and I was incapacitated. We were met with more resistance than prepared, although after the battle Solaufein resurrected Imrys and Solin. Zi'na and the others did not rise. We made a cairn for them there. I sent the survivors ahead while we worked to free the wizard, though due to unforeseen circumstances we arrived here ahead of them."

Imloth had bowed his head and closed his eyes, perhaps in contemplation of the fallen. "That clearly did not go according to plan," the Commander muttered.

Nathyrra laughed lightly, shortly, just the once. It did not sound bitter, though it escaped Valen how the situation was funny in any way. "Ha! No, and it did not help matters that the wizard did not want to be freed. And there were two Halasters, which none of the books mentioned. He wanted to kill everyone but—" Nathyrra cut herself off suddenly, as if she didn't want to continue. "I convinced him otherwise," she summarized abruptly.

It explained somewhat their sorry state when they had been transported in front of the Seer in the Temple. Valen shook his head in derision, knowing that what his imagination was filling the blanks of her story with was probably mild to the reality. Drow had a gift for understatement. "Tch. Wizards."

"Indeed. From where does he come?" Imloth queried. "I had trouble placing his accent."

She shrugged, the well-made blackened hide of her armor not so much as creaking with the movement. "I know not. He has likely lived on the surface for a while, as it seems Deekin wrote a book about his and Solaufein's first adventure. His accent puzzles me."

Valen swore. "Every time I hear about something this kobold has done, I have more questions and less answers. How is that possible?"

"You'll get used to it," she promised.

"Have you read it?" asked the Commander.

"The book? No. Deekin gave me a copy, but I have not had the time."

"It is the half-devil that concerns me," Valen interjected with a frown. "What do you know of her?"

Nathyrra blinked once, her expression faintly surprised. Her eyes became distant as her mind traveled those vast pathways in her imagination in search of observation. "She is from the surface and to the north, a city they call Neverwinter. I have heard her mention it twice. I think they met before in Undermountain. There is remarkable trust amongst them all, fueled by mutual hardship despite their short association. She is abbin to him, he says." At Valen's upturned eyebrow, she clarified: "Ah, we had not reached relationships in our lessons - it is a rare term, as close to the concept of 'trust' as there is in our language. They are as we are to each other. She is full of many fascinating colloquialisms and has already taught me seven insults, but that is all I truly know. She speaks much but reveals little. Are you upset by something?"

The tiefling rolled his eyes; he could always trust Nathyrra to put linguistics before everything else. "He's been angry for days," Imloth confided in her to the General's chagrin. "It has nothing to do with anything related to do with the a'temra, because he knows that would be hypocritical of him to say so."

Valen felt a growl form in his chest that he had to stifle. "You do not know their kind like I do," he said in a deep voice. "This has the machinations of Baator written all over it!"

Nathyrra considered him. "I think it is the machinations of Halaster. He struck them both with a geas to kill the Valsharess within a year. I believe even if this had not happened, Solaufein would have helped us had we asked, and his friends would have followed him here by their choice. Either way, the Seer believes they can help, and I trust her judgment. She has a way of knowing people better than they know themselves. If she has chosen to place her trust in them, then I will too."

He couldn't disagree with Nathyrra's assessment and fell quiet once more as she and Imloth continued speaking in quiet tones. It troubled him that the Seer had never mentioned a half-devil (or kobold) in her visions, though she had spoken of a male drow warrior and was sparse with the description. It could have been any one of her men, for all any of them knew. Aside from Nathyrra's odd endorsement, there was no reason to trust them yet beyond what the Seer's courtesy demanded from him. So, the bare minimum it would be, until further notice.

After a while, Nathyrra tossed her hair over her shoulder and informed them that she had reports to study and the Commander retreated to his training duties. Valen returned to the temple and headed up the stairs to knock on the Seer's door and entered as her guard opened it up in response to her voice trilling a welcome. The priestess' eyes lit up with a smile at the sight of him, drawing a gentle response from the tiefling. "Good morning, Valen," she greeted. "Tea?" She gestured to a full pot of steaming, fragrant tea that rested on her table in front of a fireplace of black stone that was lit with rune fire, emitting a low intensity heat from its sigils, and giving the room a subtle light.

He tiled his head in a polite decline. "No thank you. Have our guests risen yet?" He asked, getting straight to the point.

The Seer hummed. "Not that I know of. I would let them rest - though would you mind telling the guard to send them my way once they're roused? There is much to discuss." He nodded and turned on his heel. The Seer's voice stopped him before he left the room. "And Valen?" She added in a questioning tone. He turned to face her. "Try and be civil. They have given us no reason yet to distrust them, and we need them to trust us if we're to succeed. I'm counting on you."

Valen was fairly annoyed that everyone was lecturing him on the subject of trust when it hadn't been too long ago that he'd been the subject of everyone's distrust. True, the Seer had never treated him any differently from the day they'd met, but she was the exception, not the rule. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes and nodded instead, keeping her words in mind as he headed toward the guest quarters where they'd left the party. Hopefully, without the scent of the devil's blood cloying the air, he'd be able to get through the day without incident.

Cazna had left one of her own on guard duty, a tired-looking drow in leathers who looked very relieved when Valen relieved her of her duty. He decided that by 'civil' the Seer probably meant that he wasn't supposed to barge in on any doors or yell at anyone as much as he might want to, so he gritted his teeth, listened for sounds of stirring on the other side. When he heard low voices speaking, he knocked politely on the door and waited for a response.

"I gots it!" The kobold's scratchy, thin voice chimed out and there was the sound of scales clinking and something being knocked over before the door was pried open a crack. "Oh, it be goat-man," the kobold chirped, causing Valen's jaw to set and teeth to grind involuntarily. "Hi, goat-man!" The kobold scratched at the scales on his head with one of his claws before turning his head to look over at something beyond sight. "Boss, people for you."

"Let him in," Solaufein's low-throated scratch responded automatically, and Deekin opened the door. Valen marched into the quarters and bore witness to one of the stranger sights of his already strange life - there was the cambion, sitting on the floor cross-legged with her back to the edge of the bed, eyes closed and a contented smile on her face as the drow male threaded his fingers through her wet hair into neat braid between her horns. The drow barely glanced up at the imposing tiefling, merely nodding in hello before focusing on his hands intently again. Deekin wore his armor while the others wore linen, blatantly unguarded, and a part of Valen wanted to criticize the two for their lack of forethought. This was the Underdark, after all.

Binne's amber eyes flashed open wide when she heard him enter. "If it isn't General Paranoia!" She greeted with a smile, irking Valen. Solaufein tsked and pushed her head forward, and she tilted to tuck her chin in as her reaction had disrupted his progress.

Valen chose to ignore the albeit somewhat clever (must not let Imloth ever find out about it) nickname and directed his statement at Solaufein. "The Seer wishes to speak with you as soon as you are ready," he intoned, getting straight to the point.

Solaufein nodded, eyes still focused on his delicate work. He pushed the cambion's head forward at an angle sharper to tie the braid off. "Almost done . . . Xunor - complete." He stood and stretched while the cambion touched the inside braid looking pleased with herself and pulled a few strands from near her ears beneath her horns forward with a twirl of her fingers.

"Zoo-noor," she repeated slowly, like she was tasting the word.

"No, you must be softer, xunor," Solaufein corrected. "As in Zhentil." She repeated it under her breath a few times as he finally looked at the impatient tiefling. "Lead on," the offered to Valen as he finally addressed him and gestured to the door. For a moment, the General hesitated to wonder if they were going to don armor, and he had to grit his teeth to avoid saying something impolite when it became clear that was not the intention. Solaufein, at least, made a point to carry his talking sword.

The half-devil and kobold trailed after them and had little to add to the discussion with the Seer, which was mostly an iteration of their options. They ultimately needed to cut off the Valsharess' supplies, allies, and gain allies of their own - none of these would be easy tasks as remote and politically divided as Lith My'athar was. It was highly likely they would face trouble within their own walls, given how prone to in-fighting and politicking the Houses were. With an illithid pod to the north that had already allied with the Valsharess, and a beholder den to the north-east that was reportedly in talks with their enemy, most of the great Houses of the drow city were in conflict with one another over who to side with. While none of them wished to throw themselves on the Valsharess' so-called mercy, none of them had any love (or hope) for the Eilistraeens. Together, they were all that was left of the free drow of the Underdark. They had everything to gain, and everything to lose.

Solaufein, now that he wasn't retching on the floor and in possession of full faculties, seemed to know what he was about. The illithid the warrior deemed too risky to confront in their current state, for they needed to wait until they possessed an advantage in a negotiation with a psychic race of tentacle monsters. No one wanted to face the mind-flayers in battle if it was at all avoidable; in Valen's experience, diplomacy with such creatures was just as potentially deadly. The beholder den was less likely to be a diplomatic venture and apparently the Valsharess had stolen his gear when he arrived in Waterdeep, and it would take time before he could make up for that loss of magical protection from their many eyes. After that, Valen had brought his conversations with the Boatman, Cavallas, to the table when their options seemed limited - of tales islands across the Dark River upon which Lith My'athar was ported, and of the strange things happening on them. One, rumored to be habited by strange golems and the other by strange elves, possible allies in both cases and both likely to be targets of the Valsharess, who sought a foothold in the region.

The other two seemed to instinctively obey Solaufein except when they had suggestions of their own; he asked for access to the city and market so they might recover from their battles in Undermountain before leaving anywhere, but they all agreed along with the Seer that the islands were their best current choice for progress. The kobold, in a bag of holding, carried most of what they'd stolen from the dungeon to make up for their losses. To Valen's chagrin but expectation, the Seer volunteered his services as a guide with the implicit instruction of keeping Solaufein alive - as Nathyrra had other duties. Thus, he was stuck on more-or-less permanent guard duty. He was, at least, allowed in the city again without supervision, at the cost of providing that supervision to a group of strangers and potential interlopers. It grated at him as much as it confused him, that the Seer would risk her own safety - the benefit of having him at her side - for the sake of these strangers from her dreams. How could she believe they were more important than her?

He chose to wait outside their door and pace impatiently while they donned and sorted the rest of their equipment. If it weren't for the haircut, piercings, and the words that came out of his mouth, Solaufein would've fit right in with any of the forces in Lith My'athar in a piwafwi and adamantine mail. He didn't exactly seem comfortable in it, and it didn't really match the leather boots he wore, but it did seem to suit his coloring. The cambion's armor had been fairly mangled and bloodstained from their last adventure and switched out for another set of bluish scales that fit better that Deekin had appeared to be hoarding in his bag of holding. Bright-eyed, clean, and ready, they made a more formidable sight than they did tired, broken, and retching yesterday. As he swallowed his chagrin and led the trio to the doors of the Temple out into the city, Solaufein stopped and gave the General a pointed look. "What?" Valen gritted out in discomfort from the sudden scrutiny.

The drow hesitated before answering. "I thank you for your help," he offered, "though it is unnecessary."

Valen bristled. If his neck had hair, it'd have stuck up on end; as it was he had only a tail, and it thrashed in expression of his irritation. In the quiet of the temple and without the distraction of the others, he could sense that something he'd detected when the man had stumbled out of that portal - some scent that tingled the nose. He couldn't decide if it was pleasant or unpleasant, but his inability to identify it didn't help his paranoia about the group at all. "The Seer has asked me to," he explained, keeping his temper in careful check.

Solaufein's expression was an impassive, calm contrast to the tiefling who seemed to constantly find himself boiling under the surface whenever he was too near this group. The half-devil's gaze (and the kobold's) flitted between the General and the drow curiously throughout the exchange. "And you always do as she asks," Solaufein stated it, although it was clearly a question.

"Usually," Valen admitted dryly, "though not always in the manner she asks me to. In this case? Yes. I'd rather keep my own eye on you than risk someone else's." It was a good excuse, for an off the cuff response, and it made sense in his head. Why trust someone else when he could easily suss them out with close contact?

Solaufein's eyes widened in understanding. "You do not trust me," he realized. He seemed to find something about this funny and started chuckling.

"Well, we are a suspicious lot to look at," Binne shot in with a matching amused grin, making Valen's teeth grit.

"It is not that," the drow answered her, reining in the laughter. "It is - I feel now that am finally amongst my own people - truly - back in my homeland."

She frowned. "How's that funny?"

"In . . . The context," Solaufein said after a moment of thought. "When I first left the Underdark, it was in the company of infiltrators disguised as dhaerow. Now I am undisguised but accused of infiltrating."

"I am not accusing you of anything," Valen defended. "You've done nothing wrong so far."

In the background, the kobold's quill scratched and the cambion laughed. Solaufein shrugged. "Your trust is irrelevant to me. Are you any good with that flail?"

Valen felt his tail curl up as his eyebrow raised. "Are you any good with that sword?"

Solaufein glanced down at the sheathed longsword tied to his side. "What do you think of this?" He asked it - a gesture that would've seemed mad on anyone else, but Valen remembered (with annoyance) that the sword could talk.

"He sure seems useful in a fight," Enserric spoke up, though the voice was somewhat muffled thanks to the blade-cover. "Very strapping, broad under all that mithral armor, and quite intimidating when he wants to be." Valen curbed an involuntary growl in his throat when he realized that sword was referring to him. "They must keep him around for more than looks. I wouldn't want to fight him."

"Why does your sword talk?" Valen wondered, tiredly, rubbing at his brow.

Solaufein's expression became distant. "I asked myself that when I first met Lilarcor, the sword of an old friend of mine," Solaufein explained, "and I have come to understand now that - and this is true for most unexplained phenomena in our universe - it is probably always the fault of some wizard."

"Oh, very, very true," Enserric glumly agreed. "In my case, I was the wizard, and one mis-placed ghoul touch later, voila! The shiny pinnacle of justice you see before you was born. Though perhaps I was merely always a sword, dreaming it was a mortal man . . . Being this way for a few decades has really given me a lot of time to philosophize about my condition."

Valen didn't really have a response for that. He just wished that it didn't talk at all. Or at least, talked less. "Would you just keep him quiet?" Valen asked nicely.

"I resent that!" Enserric bit out, still muffled but his voice rose almost an octave in objection. "I'm the quietest one in this entire group! Why, I don't even breathe or make footsteps! Don't even get me started on these two!"

The General impatiently made for the exit and opened up the doors to the wide cavern that housed Lith My'athar. Behind him, he heard Binne chime in, "well, he's certainly not the loudest - that's definitely Deekin. Or me if I'm napping." The chatter immediately ended when the foursome entered the city proper. The temple, situated on a higher part near the end of one cavern, was built like a squatting spider on a web of walkways and bridges that extended over the entire cavern elegantly. Each house and building fitted neatly into the cavern's walls as the rock was seamlessly carved into their faces. Mineral pools of stretching stalactites formed the natural features of the city, which was lit not by light but the phosphorescence of mushrooms larger than most trees, strategically grown to provide a non-blinding natural light throughout the city.

Solaufein's reaction was the most genuine he'd ever seen out of a drow yet. The man trudged down the temple steps and took in the sights in both spectrums in an expression of naked, dumbstruck awe. "Usstan'bal ssuthus . . . wund ilta Cress . . ."

The kobold let out a whistle while the cambion seemed to be stuck in the doorway after hitting her horns on it once. The got out on the second try and emerged scowling, rubbing her forehead. Valen could empathize a little, as he'd hit his forehead on more than one, though he had the wherewithal to duck (and also didn't have the same horn problem). "Damn short elf-doors! Can't believe I'd miss—" She cursed. Then, she took in the sight of the open cavern and her mouth hung open. "Huh."

"Underdark be a lot bigger than Deekin first thought," Deekin observed in an uneasy tone. "Deekin thinking it be like his old home in kobold caves but it be waaaaaaaaaaay bigger than he ever imagined. How you think they manage to fit whole city into cave?"

"Looks like they've carved themselves into it," the cambion mused. "In a way that holds it all together. Like how other elves build themselves into the landscape, or roads are built into natural valleys."

The words seemed to involuntarily pour from Solaufein's lips - the comment seemed non sequitur. "I've escaped, into her arms?" Valen translated, feeling a little like he suspected other people did when he told them to go hump a razorvine when they annoyed him.

It took the drow a moment to respond, lost in a mental translation. "I spent a few time learn - no. What is the word for forced learn?"

"Oh, I know that one, it's that thing they do in Helm's churches!" Binne piped up, just as Valen offered, "Indoctrination?" Only Binne went on as they both turned to stare at her in confusion, and then growing horror: "They pick the boys when they're young and sexually abuse them to make them grow up submissively, and then fill their heads with nonsense about the Cult of the Watcher and so forth, and then they line them up in armor and set them against anyone Helm disagrees with to either die or survive and perpetuate the cycle of abuse on a new generation of Watchers!"

There was a moment of silence as everyone processed this. Though unfamiliar with human religion, Valen had heard of the Watcher Helm, but not that particular aspect of that cult. He also wasn't sure if he trusted the cambion with anything, least of all information, but it completely distracted him from a moment from everything else. "Do they . . . Really do that?" The General wondered out loud, a little horrified but also morbidly curious.

"Deekin not hear that about Helm god," the kobold examined, "but it make a lot of sense for him to be creepy being named Watcher, who spends all time watching people but not doing anything about what they do."

"The gods are creeps, Deekin," Binne insisted firmly, "though I guess Eilistraee is one of the alright ones," she amended, looking at Solaufein somewhat apologetically. "And Tymora's fair. But the rest of 'em are cunts."

"That is not dissimilar from what happens in Lloth's church," Solaufein spoke up with a strange enthusiasm in his voice. "It is almost relieving to hear that humans are not any better than us."

"Well, you both murder each other at about the same rate," Binne confirmed, "though for different reasons. And they like pretending they're better than that. Here, murder is pretty impersonal, which I find refreshing."

Now completely sidetracked, his attention turned find her amber eyes regarding him at the same time. "You find murder refreshing?" Valen stated more than asked, disbelievingly.

She gave him a consternated look. "I find it down here refreshing compared to surface murder. Up there it's senseless! Plagues, bandits, madmen, even the weather tries to kill you - and then there's good ol' fashioned random murderers on top of that, killing for thrilling, killing for shilling, it's all the same. There's no real reason, it's just chaos. It's in our nature. And people will invent all sorts of reasons - because your husband cheated on you with a barmaid or your brother stole your inheritance, or they gave you a nasty look in the marketplace. Nasty business. At least if I'm eaten by something horrific in the Underdark or murdered by drow, I'll know it's precisely because I was stupid enough to earn it."

The sense of living amidst chaos, or spiraling headlong into it, was something ingrained somewhere deep in Valen's bones that would never be removed, no matter how the passing of time removed him from the past. Though he had spent only a short time in the Seer's company, he had not left her grove until they had traveled down in the Underdark - he had been afraid to explore at first, afraid to leave, afraid to be. It had never really felt like home to him, even if it had given him some peace. Ever since they'd descended, he'd felt a little closer to the man he'd tried to bury beneath learned civility. "The surface and the Hells have more in common than I thought," the General mused.

"Why am I not surprised to hear you were in the Hells?" Binne muttered and endured his answering stony silence.

Solaufein turned his head back to regard the tiefling. "To answer your question, General, part of the Spider Bitch's doctrine forbids the leaving of her faith. To do so would invoke your own death, for she would send yochlol after you to drag you back in pieces. No matter where you run, her Web waiting for you is at the end of the journey."

That surprised Valen since he hadn't known gods to ever take such personal interest in their worshipers. "Seems mighty petty of her," the cambion observed and he found himself uncomfortably agreeing with her.

"And foolish," the tiefling added. "Wouldn't that ultimately result in a dearth of followers? And don't the gods need those who believe in them to exist?"

"I never said Lloth was intelligent," Solaufein told them, looking away and back to the city. "Just that she is, as Binne would say, a cunt."

"The cuntiest of the cunts that ever cunted," Binne agreed, nodding.

Once the sacrilegious discussion was over, the posse moved across the colonnaded walkways toward the city center as Valen pointed out landmarks along the way. A number of Houses, Mae'vir being the largest, lined the spidery paths. Toward the lower end of the large cavern, the walkways converged into an open market that seemed to make up the center of the web, where dark creatures fluttered about in states of lively disarray. Everything was for sale and on display that one could imagine - even the sale of flesh; though Valen thought it prudent to mention along the way that they were not to touch anyone with a collar on their person since that was considered an insult to the House of their ownership. Both the cambion and kobold were stunned into a rare and blissful silence at the revelation that slavery was common amongst the drow.

"When I came to the surface, it was explained to me that that it is not uncommon there either," Solaufein confirmed solemnly as they watched two drow females dressed to the nines walk down a line of collared people of all different shapes, sizes, and races dressed in rags and being quite literally auctioned off by a duergar slave master on a podium. "I have seen so in the human cities. Indentured servitude, cattle, prostitution, imprisonment," he continued on. "There are many words they have for rothe."

"Who are all these people?" The cambion wondered miserably. "Where could they have all come from?"

The General felt a little thrown by her reaction. "I was a battle-slave for countless decades in the Blood Wars. Slavery is commonplace on the planes as well, sickening as it is. I know the Seer has bought many and tried her best to rehabilitate them, but her coffers are not endless, unlike the supply of slaves."

Deekin nodded along. "Most kobolds be slaves too, usually to dragons but sometimes other nasty things."

"Not you," Binne protested, looking between the two of them with some mixture of alarm and horror.

"Deekin be exceptional exception, not rule," he chuffed. "Horn-lady not know that? You be more sheltered than Deekin originally think."

With a helpless expression, she turned to Solaufein who gave her a long and considering look. "Don't ask me to be silent," she demanded when he opened his mouth. "There's wrong, and then there's worse. And this is somewhere below that."

"I was going to say that evil is relative," the drow finished with an impassive eyebrow raise. "I have enslaved countless people; I have killed for every reason that there is. Show me a pinnacle of measurable evil, and I will surpass it for you." Valen's respect for the drow rose incrementally.

Binne's eyes softened and became downcast. The flurry of her frequent emotions bewildered Valen - he'd never seen anyone of fiendish blood, save himself, who was such a slave to emotion. She looked between the other two. "You're all simply full of surprises. Well . . . I suppose we can't do anything for them now. Can't kill everyone, and no money and all, can't even buy 'em . . . Fucking . . ." Her eyes were angry and she began to mutter to herself under her breath.

It did not take the cambion long to find a distraction in the form of Gulhrys, House Wizard of Mae'vir and proprietor of magical goods and ingredients in the market. The prices for ingredients by her standards seemed high; forgetting that they were in the Underdark, where commonplace resources she was used to finding would be hard to come by. Binne began to argue vehemently about prices with him, and it got bad enough to the point where Solaufein stepped in to distract her and lead her elsewhere while Deekin took over negotiations and began pulling item after item from a bag of holding on his back before the gleaming drow wizard's eyes.

Valen watched amusedly as the kobold pulled out several stacks of looted armor and weapons from a bag of holding to trade for potions, wands, upgrades, and ingredients. He was a proficient haggler, and not as much of a weakling as he seemed to be when he managed to talk Gulhrys down from a price or two, whom for his part seemed more entertained than appetized by the kobold. When Solaufein returned without the cambion to speak with the wizard and Valen turned in the direction his gut naturally pulled, and there she was.

It was a remnant of his past life, this sense of direction - as well as his charged initial reaction to the scent of her blood. They were shadows of the beast leaping at the scent of an enemy. It took conscious effort for him to quash down the sudden and violent urge to kill; if the cambion contributed nothing else, she was an excellent exercise in self-control for him. And it seemed the drow had deposited her in the public ale gardens to cool off . . . Right in between a group of Eilistraeens and Mae'vir soldiers, the latter of whom had just noticed the other.

His logic told him that Solaufein was his priority; he was the one in the Seer's vision that she wanted protected. Instincts told him that devils needed not be left to their own devices. There were just some things you didn't do - walk into portals blindly, piss off crazy wizards namely - and leaving devils unattended was one of them. For the first time in his life, Valen's logic overrode his instincts and he remained near the drow, keeping the gardens in his periphery while Solaufein and Deekin finished up their transactions.

As he donned a pair of bracers he'd traded with Gulhrys for, Solaufein finally glanced over at Valen. "I am sure Binne has calmed down since, would you mind telling her we are soon leaving?"

The General marched off only somewhat grudgingly and went to fetch the half-devil, making sure he kept Solaufein in his periphery with his angle of approach. He wasn't far, but he could tell that matters in the open-air ale gardens were getting tense from the postures of the two groups. The Eilistraeens were no longer seated and standing tall while the others had begun to gesture angrily. Binne stood in-between, her thrashing tail the only giveaway to her agitated temper.

She had shouted something at the Mae'vir men - Valen could see their house colors on their clothes now that he was closer - and then the air was charged with the scent of adrenaline. "I said BEGONE!" Binne repeated forcefully, and the word seemed to clap their air for a moment startling passersby who blinked . . . And then kept on walking with some haste in the opposite direction. The Mae'vir men exchanged no words or gestures and simply ran from the gardens at full speed, right past Valen and out of the market to their compound with nary a panicked shout.

Valen turned met the fiery gaze of another in Binne's eyes - a snarling, familiar creature he'd only seen with the Seer's help. Her eyes gained a glowing sheen, and he but breathed and it was gone. Barely a moment it was there, and then the golden-eyed beast carefully leashed in an instant, draining out of her countenance at the slightest shift of expression. She smiled, and he frowned, because it didn't seem natural. It fitted on her face, but it was not the sort of smile one would expect in the Underdark, especially from one who wasn't a drow - and even then he'd only seen the Eilistraeens freely smile in such a way. It was on the wrong face. Though he recalled Imloth chiding him on throwing stones as if he was someone who could judge what was and was not natural.

"Oh, hullo General," she greeted, the smile falling back into neutrality the longer they stood staring at each other in silence.

The General's eyes sought out the Eilistraeens behind her, who had relaxed back into their seats. "That was well handled," he commented, admitting internally that he'd have just punched them.

"Was that a compliment?" she asked. "It didn't really sound like one, but I'll take it."

"An observation," he corrected.

"Only because his version of telling people off is to punch them in the guts until they vomit and crawl away," Feiran, one of the guards Valen had trained, betrayed him from his seat at the gardens and lifted his ale in toast to the warlock. "Well shouted, a'temra!" he slurred in yet impeccable Common. "And may - hic - I add you have a very finely shaped - hic - pair of horns?"

Her tail curled up in intrigue. "Are all your people so forward?" She wondered aloud, amusedly. "I think I'm beginning to like drow."

Feiran squinted at Valen over a mug of what smelled like something a duergar made in his closet and Valen cleared his throat. "We need to go, it's time to leave," he informed her and walked off before she could get the last word. As they passed Gulhrys, she gave the drow wizard a well-reciprocated glare and silently accepted a pack that Solaufein handed to her.

Without mentioning the incident further, he led the three on foot across the pathways of Lith My'athar to the lower docks to the Dark River. The scent of the air changed in their approach and he had to remind himself to warn them once they were on boat to never touch the poisonous water. He was about to mention it out loud when he heard the cambion talking softly about him behind his back on the way to Cavallas:

"He looks like a tiefling," she muttered to her companions, unknowingly setting the hair on his nape standing. "Probably more human than demon, not like me. One of his parents' must've been half tanar'ri. I think I'm something different, but not sure what." She made a sniff, or a sniffle. "You know, I'm starting to think he might not like me."

There was a moment of silence before Solaufein responded by pointing out the obvious, "He can hear you."

"He's not going to pay attention," she assessed dubiously, "not if he doesn't like me."

Valen stopped and turned around. He pointed behind him and addressed Solaufein, the mostly-sensible one. "Of course I can hear you. That is Cavallas. He can take us across the river- but be wary of him. No one is sure exactly what he is or what he's capable of. He's certainly different, but not in a bad way, and he doesn't seem to have any desire to aid our enemy. He's the only one who can safely travel this river - it's waters are poisonous, its currents wild, and it is rumored to be fraught with strange and deadly creatures."

A strange smile crossed Solaufein's face. "It already feels like home."

Cavallas did not stand out much from his surroundings. He was a little taller than Valen and reeked of strangeness and decay - whatever Cavallas was, the beast in Valen was sure that it was better off not knowing. The creepy boatman had always given him chills, with his hollow voice and shadowed face. It didn't help that Valen had spoken to him three times over the course of two weeks now, and he was absolutely certain that the boatman had never changed out of the same robe. It had probably never been washed in however long Cavallas' life was. One of the Seer's followers had left out clothes of spider silk for the boatman once, thinking perhaps he was homeless or dobluth and hid his face to avoid attention, but the next day the clothing was gone and Cavallas was still in that same tattered robe. He'd probably just stood there and stared at it as someone else stole it. If he was doing the creepy boatman act to hide from people, he wasn't doing a good job.

As Valen thought about the boatman and watched Solaufein interact with him, he was peripherally aware of the others around him. The kobold had trailed after Solaufein and scrawled in a smaller version of his large journal, one of the trades he'd made for Gulhrys - an unused spell book that made a better journal for the bard than anything else nearby. The biggest distraction was Binne inching into the edge of his line of sight and staring at him. He endured her antics with dignity, not knowing how or even if he should respond. The chances of her being a minion of the devil were high, given their rare circumstances, but as he turned to regard her his suspicions immediately died with her grin. "Hullo!" She greeted with a wave.

He frowned, confused. Was she trying to goad him? They'd already greeted each other earlier. He glanced away from her and back to Cavallas.

"I like your hair," she continued rambling on. "I-it's very red. Mine's, uh, more black than red. I guess." Her hand had inched up to the ends of her braid and began toying with the tail of it in a kind of nervous tick he thought he'd never see on a devil. "It's, yours, it's the kind of like when the sun's just below the horizon over the docks in Neverwinter, and the sea starts to look as red as the sky. Have you ever seen a sunset? Or been to the surface? Well, I guess we're in the Underdark so you can't see one now. How could you? No sun. Silly question. Are—"

He felt like the ruder thing for him to do, between the two options of leaving or staying that he had to choose from, would be to allow her to continue enduring whatever form of verbal self-torture she was engaging in. The only other option was to engage and torture himself as well. So, he walked toward Solaufein purposefully leaving the two to follow and put it out of his mind where it belonged. He heard the cambion mutter under her breath some more and the kobold's quill scratching interrupted by a sharp intake of gasping breath when they both took in the sight of the Dark River unfurling in the din.

Valen had not been on the surface for more than a few years and never left the Seer's grove. He'd seen the sun, the littler one they worshiped called the moon, and the other even littler ones they called stars. It'd been amazing to see a world that revolved around something, that changed without a mood to guide it, that bent with time and flourished in decay. He'd taken in trees, clouds, weather, all of it in stride. It was odd for a world to react . . . Reflexively to things, as it was explained to him, rather than emotionally. Sigil had mood swings that affected the weather, and it had the Lady's iron will behind it. As for the Hells, each plane had its own patterns and role in the Wheel, but nothing he'd ever seen quite had the variety of life and natural wonder that he'd seen in his brief time on the surface. From what he'd been able to gather, it was a great deal larger than most of the planes - at least, the habitable parts were. Prime was vast, varied, and extremely hard to grasp. He'd glimpsed paintings of the ocean, of rushing rivers, of teeming jungles.

The Underdark was its own world in itself, one that he was barely beginning to understand even after spending roughly four months there. The General still had a tough time identifying noises splitting the silence of its vast, heavy oppressive darkness, where only mushrooms and magic were light sources. Much like the Hells, only the strong survived it. The Dark River made him a little wistful for the surface, even after his limited experience. It had natural cave fungus colonies over its vast, cavernous ceiling that lit the water with a distant, aqua glow. Only the crests of the River's waves were visible, crushing up on the black and rocky shore. He couldn't imagine how the surfacers must feel if it was their first time in the Underdark.

"How is there a river down here?" The cambion blurted, incredulously. "Who—what put it here? Where does it go?!"

"All rivers go to ocean," Deekin provided helpfully. "Even baby kobolds know that." He let out a yelp when he got whapped by her tail by 'accident.'

Cavallas was surprisingly helpful after speaking to the drow warrior for but a scant few minutes. He'd even taken to calling Solaufein 'Wayfarer,' though whether or not that was an official title, affectionate nickname, or obscure insult was hard to determine. He'd never called anyone else Wayfarer before, and only addressed Solaufein with it, which put a tally on 'devil-minion' side of things as far as the General was concerned. There was a significant, definite, absolute possibility this all had some connection to the arch-devil, and Valen wasn't going to start taking any chances with homeless, mysterious, and apparently immortal boatman who guided rickety crafts across poisonous rivers to mysterious islands. Not when the Seer's life counted on it, anyway. He was still getting on the boat, of course - where his own life was concerned, he had no care to spare.

The boatman offered them free passage to one of two places in the large river. One was an island rumored to be a golem-riddled defunct artificer's lab, a popular target for scavengers due to the rare metals used in the golems' composition. The other was something that had appeared only four months ago, a sudden island in the middle of the river that seemed to be inhabited solely by peculiar, winged surface elves. Solaufein decided immediately that they were headed there first to no opposition.

They boarded the boat with little scuffle and dumped their gear in the hold and lingered up top to get a good look at the river up close.

"Is he going to cast off, or . . . ?" The cambion trailed off of her own thought and squinted at the hooded boatman. "But there's no lines . . . How does he fucking steer this can?" As she finished her thought, the boat lurched gently into motion and pushed itself into the river. "Magic, right," she surmised.

"Best not to question it," Solaufein suggested helpfully.

The kobold had finally put away his notes, though what exactly was so important that he was scratching in down in there semi-constantly was beyond Valen's reckoning. "Deekin never hear of winged elf before," he finally spoke, after a long and blissful silence. "Boss, you maybe think this be an island of angels? Those be good guys and probably would help us if we ask!"

Solaufein brushed some hair that had fallen near his eyes to the side of his head and frowned. "Angels would not willingly dwell in this place, and neither would avariel," he told the kobold. "They are not common, and dwell in high mountains or near Celestia. I have met one before, although she had long been separated from her people and lost her wings when she was young. They are very isolated and suspicious of outsiders."

"Valen should fit right in then," the cambion cut in with some amusement. He didn't even bother glaring at her, but it did get a snort out of him.

"They particularly loathe my kin," the drow felt the need to add.

Binne let out a loud laugh. "We'll just send Deekin in to talk to them, then, and hope they don't eat kobold shall we?"

The kobold in question scratched at his horns. "Deekin not be liking that plan."

The drow shrugged in response, and once again proved himself to be the most rational amongst them. Valen was starting to understand why Nathyrra had said Solaufein reminded her of the Seer. They both had the same sort of insightful look at things, from a larger perspective - although Solaufein and Binne seemed to share the same unfortunate sense of humor. "If they are here, they can surely expect to encounter my kind. My appearance will be the least of our problems. I blend in. My concern is with dhaerow other than myself; what use would this make-believe goddess have for the people on this island? Why have they appeared to make their home here? What would draw aerial creatures to such a low place?"

They all thought about this for a moment. Binne tapped her lip and offered, "maybe . . . They're being cultivated as a delicacy?"

Solaufein's nose wrinkled. "Siltrin? Nau, you do not want to eat that. It will give you shakes, make you sick. Some might consider it a delicacy but I found it too tough. Only dothkarn would."

Her eyes widened, and then narrowed. "Are you joking? I can't tell with you sometimes."

Solaufein smiled, but otherwise kept a straight face. Binne snorted back more laughter before it could let out.

"Oh. So drow not eat kobold after all?" Deekin asked, hopefully.

"Nau, that is true. Stay away from the kitchen to be safe, as I have never met other Eilistraeens and know them not. Ask someone, or us, to bring you what you need from there," he carefully instructed.

Deekin seemed stuck on this. Valen was just hoping Enserric didn't start chiming in to contribute. "But . . . Drow eat other elves?" The reptilian bard wondered with a mixture of fascination and horror. "I mean, sure winter is hard and kobold not really discriminate what to eat, but we alls know kobold is not good eatings. To little meat on bones. Elves not much better, honestly."

Binne had started examining her own arms and body as if imagining what eating people, or being eaten, might be like. "I suppose I am meatier than the two of you combined," she admitted blithely. Her stomach growled. "Great, now I'm hungry."

"Some do," Solaufein clarified, "I do not. It is a revolting practice . . . Though now I am hungry as well, and curious about the taste of avariel."

"I was just thinking that!" the cambion chimed. "Have you ever notice how that seems to happen often?"

"We do both seem to think in disturbingly similar patterns," he observed.

Deekin looked even more doubtful than Valen felt. "You guys want to be killing winged elves and eatings them? Boss be more like Old Boss than Deekin thought."

"Can't be worse than grigs," was Binne's only defense, though this wasn't much of a defense.

"You've eaten grigs?" Valen asked and due to being blessed with a vivid imagination he was immediately horrified at the thought. She nodded tightly. "Why?"

"They're the only thing besides ogres and goblins to eat in Undermountain," she defended. "And I was hungry!"

"Being curious isn't the same thing has having a desire," Solaufein explained for Deekin's benefit. "I would not eat someone unless I was trapped in a cave for a while with them, and they annoyed me severely on several occasions, and if the only other source of sustenance was bat droppings."

Valen was about to comment on the eating of grigs again, but hearing this from the drow stopped him short. Solaufein did not seem conscious of the attention he'd gained with this statement. "Excuse me?" The cambion blurted out, staring at the drow. Solaufein shrugged and distanced himself by retreating to the hold, withdrawing a whetstone, and sharpening one of his daggers. She stared at him as he silently went about this meditative task with growing alarm.

The General was halfway sure it was another ill-made joke. "Drow are very strange," he commented.

"I know the feeling," she empathized.

He didn't engage her further less out of a desire to throttle her and more out of lack of knowledge of what to say. His urge to kill and destroy had been pacified what felt like hours ago, or at least since the market incident. It was easier to tolerate her when she was merely annoying, not threatening.

"I like your flail!" She was saying. "It's very, um. Shiny." Valen valiantly ignored her oblivious rambling. Much like earlier, it seemed to be a nervous tick for her. Unfortunately, they were stuck on a boat with nothing to do other than sit, talk, or sleep. "So's your armor. It looks like mithral. Er." She still seemed to be struggling for what to say.

He glanced at her for a moment but didn't meet her eyes. The air grew blissfully silent for a few seconds, before she shattered it again, sharing a more coherently thought-out theory of hers off the cuff: "I've a few theories about how you got involved with these here drow and I promise, only two of them are hilarious. Would you like me to share them and then maybe you can tell me which one is the closest to the truth? That way you wouldn't be telling me anything about yourself, and I'd still have fun rather than standing here trying to talk to the tense air and feeling slightly bored and nauseous on a poison river boat-ride to a flying elf-island because the magical clone of a barmy wizard slapped a geas on me arse."

Valen gave her the flattest stare in his arsenal and let her endure his silence for just a moment before asking, begrudgingly, "What are they?"

She literally leapt up into the air and yelped loudly about an inch, drawing the gaze of the others for a moment before they went back to their individual tasks (knife-sharpening, potion-sorting, and psychically but silently directing the boat in Cavallas' case). "Bane's balls, you startled me!" She hissed. "You said nothing for so long." He continued issuing his flat stare until she finished her thought. "Oh, right. My first one is that you're one of the arch-devil's minions, but don't worry it has a happy ending! Because, you see you questioned your purpose when you were sent to spy on the Seer, because you got lost along the way."

"Lost," he repeated dryly.

Now that the General had issued the permission that she had apparently needed, Binne went on completely unperturbed. "And then you just sort of had to survive in the Underdark on your own eating safe-smelling, glowing cave fungus that you found growing on the walls, but those all turned out to have psychedelic properties! You tripped out of your mind and into another dimension and were found by the Eilistraeens giggling in a mushroom forest, climbin' up the stalks. An-and then they helped you and took you in and now you defend them because you owe them your life! In my second theory, you're not a minion, well not one of the arch-devil's but you're an escaped slave from the Valsharess' compound - her personal slave, you see. But you were trained in combat at a young age by them and starred in all these gladiatorial arena matches to prove your worth. You were raised by the enemy to be her bodyguard, only for one day she did something suitably evil that I'm sure you could think up rather than me get specific about, you probably have a great imagination, and anyway it made you second guess what you were doing for the first time. So you led a revolt of her men and a few other slaves and although many of you died, quite a few of you got out - and you ran to a place where you knew you'd find mercy, from the Eilistraeens - her sworn enemy - since they're pretty much all right folk from what I can tell."

Valen was genuinely surprised she had spent as much time on these thoughts as she apparently had, in the brief time since yesterday. She also had a healthy imagination, at least. "And the third?" He asked, after he processed what she had said.

She blinked and shifted from foot to foot as the riverboat swayed. "Oh yes, right. The third is that something awful must have happened to you," she said plainly.

". . . That's it?"

Binne shrugged. "Aye. Something terrible happened to you and you ran away from it. Or, perhaps it's still chasing you as a shadow does. Some things never leave us no matter how hard we try to leave them, but they aren't all bad because they remind us of who we are and how far we've come. I thought that maybe the Seer makes sense to you in a very strange world in the sort of way Solaufein makes sense to me. They're so bright that they chase the shadows away. So you stick around, even though we're here in a world entirely of shadow in the Underdark, so maybe that shadow metaphor isn't the best one, but it's the best I've got at the present." Having finished her theories, she seemed to be satisfied with herself and took a seat on the deck next to his legs. "So, how close was I? Any of 'em on the mark?" She wondered, looking up at him.

The General thought about the best way to answer her. Her intuition surprised him and even more surprisingly, he wasn't as irked by her as before, and was finding it easy to talk to her when she made most of the conversational effort. "Your third is the most accurate," he admitted, "though they all held elements of truth."

She hummed in an appreciative tone. "Indulge me, General," she suggested. "We're on a long and boring float and this is the most conversation I've gotten out of you yet."

His lips pursed as he thought of what would be safe to say, even as there was a slight hesitation in him at the thought of considering her an enemy. "Many terrible things have happened to me. I have survived in spite of them all. I was trained to kill, or perhaps born into it. I was enslaved. I was lost, and I was found." It was the easiest way to summarize his life, not that he'd ever been in the position before of having to do so. It was strange thinking of such experiences and distilling them into points; his past had never felt distant, only removed by a scant few years. He didn't even know how old he was. There were more unknowns than knowns.

Binne was silent for a while. When he looked down, he saw her gaze fixated on something distant and unseen and her hands fiddling nervously with a necklace that was clasped at her throat of a large and simply carved black stone. "Ah, I was hoping it would be the first one," she offered in a wistful tone. "All those mushrooms would've been fun to eat, at least."

"It might have been a kinder fate," Valen conceded. "I have heard that arch-fiends reward their minions that are useful to them." Thinking about the devil again, even if it was inadvertent this time, made him recall his earlier suspicions. Though after speaking to her, he was half-convinced she wasn't really anybody's minion other than maybe Solaufein's. She had a good imagination but didn't strike him as cunning enough.

The reflexive glare from the thought seemed to trigger something in Binne that straightened her spine. "I'm no one's minion," she spoke quietly, her voice hiding a faint tremble.

Valen frowned. "I didn't say you were."

"But you implied it," she spat.

"I implied no such thing," he growled right back. "You have twisted your own meaning."

She rose from her seated position to glare at him properly. "Well whatever the bloody meaning is, you can take your suspicions and—I don't know, go feed 'em to the River! And then toss yourself in after if you like! Or just keep them all to yourself and go somewhere else on the damn boat, that'd be better. I don't really need them, and I've got plenty enough of them as it is!" She grumbled under her breath more or less continuously as she stalked away toward the hold and stomped down the stairs into the darkness, even though she'd been the one to tell him to leave. What exactly she was expecting to do down there was a little beyond him as it held nothing other than their gear, but that was her business.

The General was feeling confused and irritated about the entire conversation when Solaufein approached him a few moments later, replacing his companion's place at the railing as he stared down at the rushing Dark River. "General," the drow greeted, sounding relaxed in all the ways Valen wasn't capable of being. Valen nodded without replying, turning his gaze to the river. "You are in a fine mood," Solaufein commented. "I hope it will not interfere should we encounter combat."

"No, it will not," the tiefling assured. "The cambion—"

Solaufein's interruption was rather graceful, "Her name is Binne."

"She," Valen emphasized bitingly, "is very . . . Irritating."

"She senses your suspicion," Solaufein assessed easily. His leather and armored scales creaked as the boat rose up dramatically over a larger swell, and then gently floated back down almost soundlessly. "And subtlety is not your strength," he criticized, and some amusement leaked into his tone.

The hackles on the tiefling rose at this. "I have the right to be suspicious," he defended. Why everyone was so insisting on giving him grief over perfectly justifiable mistrust was beyond him, and it grated at him that everyone seemed to be trying.

Solaufein surprised him, though. "You would be a fool not to be," he calmly went on. "Where you stand, I now represent a threat to your power."

Like the Seer, he had a way of verbally cutting to the heart of a matter. Valen frowned at the drow's frank observation of his own circumstances. "I'm not worried about my power. I don't have power," the tiefling corrected.

The drow turned away from the water to regard Valen with dark-wine eyes. "You should be. You do. The Seer trusts in you. This is valuable. You are the General of her forces. Nathyrra has spoken to me of how you have earned their respect. My people are suspicious by nature, and our respect is not given lightly. You have earned theirs. And I have arrived, earning nothing, but have been given everything that you bled for."

This was making him uncomfortable. "I admit that I am . . . " Valen began, unsure. "Perhaps a little resentful of the idea of you issuing commands over my head. I will honor the Seer's decisions, whatever they may be. I have no problem accepting commands from you."

Solaufein's hand fell to Enserric's hilt in a hauntingly familiar gesture. Now that he wasn't puking on the temple floor, it was clear to see that Solaufein never completely let his guard down except around those he trusted most - inexplicably, this was the kobold and the cambion. Valen's hand had never strayed from Devil's Bane for more than a few inches since he'd inherited the flail from Grimash't. "I was the weapon master of Despana, First House of Ust'Natha," the drow confessed, unknowingly ending Imloth and Nathyrra's bet. "All that I have ever commanded has been burnt to ash, and glad I am for it. This is not a burden I take lightly; neither is it my desire to command forces into any sort of battle in the future. I work better in . . . Smaller groups. I am hoping to persuade the Seer to change her mind."

Valen snorted at that. "Good luck. She's more stubborn than I am."

Solaufein straightened as if to walk off, but then returned his gaze to the General with a weirdly attentive expression. "Have you ever been to the surface?" He queried.

He wasted a moment's considering before deciding that it was fair to reciprocate, when Solaufein had been nothing but forthright with him. "Not entirely. I'm from Sigil. A place called the Hive. I've been all over the Abyss and the Hells in the Blood Wars, and most recently the Underdark, but I haven't explored the top of prime. I've seen images, read stories of strange places. What little I have seen in the Seer's grove is beautiful, but I didn't venture out." Buried somewhere inside of Valen was a suffocating explorer.

"It is worth venturing. May I offer you my advice, General?" Solaufein's question was respectfully given, and the General had no doubt that if he said no, the drow would politely withdraw.

"Speak your mind, please," Valen said, as his respect rose more for the man.

"My kin are reviled on the surface," he began to relate. "In some places we are killed on sight if we walk undisguised. It is not so different for those of demonic heritage as Binne and yourself are, yet there are a few bastions where all may be welcome and prosper. Waterdeep is one of the largest amongst them. Binne was not raised in a world predisposed to be kind to fiendlings, by two loving humans that I have come to understand possessed unnatural patience, for they tried to raise her well, save perhaps instilling in her an unhealthy yearning for trouble. She likely irks you so because she is very curious about you. I have only met one other tiefling in my life who also was from Sigil, but he was your polar opposite in manner. I know from him that Sigil City is sprawling, raucous, and home to every kind of life form that there is. Someone like you would not stick out in a crowd, there. It is not so here. Your kind are not unheard of on the surface but are very rare. Half-demons are rarer still, known usually to be in positions of demonic hierarchy and are generally hated as manipulative and evil by reputation. My understanding is that Binne's demonic parentage is a mystery, and the only other individual of any demonic characteristics she has interacted with in her entire life - save you - is her deceased twin brother. She has never lived in any other worlds, unlike us."

Valen's response was as dry as the desert, not that he'd ever seen one in person. "And that is your advice?"

Solaufein's response and subsequent eye roll were equally dry. Maybe even dry-er. "No, my advice is to try calling her by her actual name next time, to glare less not more, and to be grateful for the fact that she is only manipulative, and not evil." The drow left the General to mull it over, stepping over to Deekin to check on the kobold's progress on the potion distribution. He had to give that Solaufein was nothing if not fair; everybody else had either been dismissing or outright criticizing his concerns over the newcomers. Here, the drow had validated him and then pointed out the ways he might improve, the way the Seer might, with a patient hand. Valen was damned if that didn't irritate him almost as much as the others' semi-nonsensical ramblings.

The island where the surface elves had been spotted was a few hours journey by Cavallas' boat. Valen had heard that duergar were able to sometimes navigate the dark river, but he didn't yet know how they went about it. Cavallas stood still on the prow, stiller than stone but for the fluttering of his old robe about his feet. Somehow, telepathically, or telekinetically, the boat was being guided with the proper current. Just sniffing the boatman was enough reason for Valen to never question the how or why of it.

The rest of the trip passed mostly in silence. At some point, the General managed to get shut-eye above deck, lulled to sleep by the lapping of water and awoken an hour later by the crash of it startling him. When he came to, he realized everyone had already geared up as Cavallas had alerted them to the presence of land.

Somehow (and he really didn't want to know how), the boat was pulled into a gentle shore. "They have shores down here?" The cambion blurted out at the sight of black, rocky sand giving way to the water. "Huh! And real islands! You have it all!" It sounded like an odd compliment that she directed to the Underdark in general, than anyone specific.

The drow wasted no time as the boat carefully pulled into the rocky shoreline and ground to a halt by Cavallas' will. "We have arrived," the boatman intoned just as Solaufein leapt off of it and onto the shore.

Valen followed shortly after. Feeling vaguely nauseous after spending so much time inhaling fumes from a poison river caused him to momentarily stumble upon landing, and then nearly fall over when the kobold practically leapt onto his back and was startled to meet his feet with mithral plate. He managed to pull the kobold in and not fall over, but it was rather embarrassing altogether. From his periphery he saw the drow grab Binne's hand as she leapt off and gave a hearty wave to the boatman behind her.

"Bye, Reaper's Cousin! Don't leave us stranded!" Deekin called after bafflingly, also waving. More baffling was the mimicked wave that Cavallas gave back to them from the boat.

"He won't," Valen assured everyone when Cavallas said nothing. "You'll have to trust me on that."

"I will wait for the Wayfarer, until death parts us," Cavallas assured in his hollow, un-assuring voice.

"Positively bone-chilling," Binne chirped as she straightened her belt. "You really do attract the strangest people, Solaufein."

"Good enough," Solaufein decided. His eyes glowed as he peered into the solid darkness ahead of them. "That is more a criticism of you, if you are the one attracted to me. Now quiet, I see a cavern." He wasted no time and marched off into the dark as they closely followed.

Having not seen them in action, he had his doubts. Being overwhelmed by Halaster and the forces of the Valsharess hadn't exactly assured him of the group's prowess, and until he saw them sufficiently tested he vowed he would retain to those doubts. Socially, the group had a dynamic that reminded him much of the Eilistraeens, who would often jest and tease each other with familiarity. He'd been angry the first time they'd subjected him to the same treatment until he understood it did not come from a place of malice and was a filial initiation (so it had been described to him by Nathyrra, who continued to have the most difficulty between them of adjusting). Solaufein and his allies seemed to talk much and accomplish little from what he had seen. He told himself to trust Nathyrra's judgment, but without her presence as a reminder, it was all too easy to ignore that voice of reason. Especially with the smell of devil's blood so close by; it bothered him only in moments, not constantly, but it was an insistent and nagging reminder of something he'd rather not have.

The shore had been narrow, with rocky outcroppings and cliffs that led to a cave. Though Valen could see reasonably well in the dark, he was glad to have the drow leading the group; any kind of eyesight was no match for the ability to detect traces of heat. The cavern narrowed into a crevice that Binne offered to send her imp through first; one invisibility and darkvision spell from the kobold later (who performed spells by singing them, though he thankfully refrained from using the cymbals strapped to his pack) and Hembercane, the most sullen and dour familiar Valen had ever encountered scurried his way into the dark.

He emerged a few minutes later out of invisibility, looking fully disgruntled as he always did. "There is a town of backward, dirty, winged elven peasants up ahead," the imp reported to his master with a withering, although ineffectual glare. "They reek of death and disease. I found an ambush of nine drow led by another red-clad priestess."

"There do seem to be a lot of those lurking about," Binne recalled as she tapped a finger against her lip. "Better question is, can my arse fit through that crevice?"

Solaufein assessed her, up and down, and Valen found his eyes following the same curves against their volition. Her tail twitched. ". . . There is always the relic," Solaufein demurred.

Valen's crimson eyebrows knitted in confusion as Binne's dark ones crawled toward her hairline in comprehension. "Aye, then the imp could carry us - or Deekin!"

The General didn't really fully understand what was going on until it had already happened, and he was processing the aftermath. A few seconds went by, and then Solaufein's arm had snaked out to grab his as he grasped something in his palm, and abruptly the world went white and gray.

Valen stumbled, feeling the need to regain his balance despite never leaving solid ground. His tail lashed angrily out at his sudden disorientation; the drow and the cambion had taken a step back. All around him was what looked like an endless white and gray fog, and a light source that seemed to emanate throughout. This was not the Prime, and a part of him knew it instinctively. There was a scent in the air that caught him by surprise since he'd only experienced it once - it was a change in the air content native to Limbo. "What is this?" He demanded. While he didn't believe this was an attack, he wanted to believe it.

"This place belongs to him," and Solaufein pointed to something that was unidentifiably the angelic version of Cavallas, in the same kind of ratty robe. Valen approached the figure which stood some distance away, surrounded on all sides by doors that stood upright of various make and wooden frames. It would be an otherworldly sight to anyone that wasn't planar. "It seemed easier to show you than to explain."

Valen snorted. "Is this Cavallas' cousin?"

Binne's eyes sparkled in amusement as she chuckled, emitting a flash of white teeth. "We don't know! He won't say! Resemblance is uncanny though."

The General's shoulders eased, although more questions than ever popped up in his mind. "You own a way to travel to your own private dimension on Limbo," he realized. He took in the doors all around them, all closed but each one radiating different smells and auras. "This is a nexus . . . To other realms!" This was the exact kind of thing he'd sought out all those years ago when he ran from Grimash't to the Seer. Escaping Hell would have been easy for him in such a case; instead, he'd had to go the old fashioned way by portal-hunting.

"You are quick," Solaufein complimented, "but it would be better to say I have found a way, than own."

"This realm belongs to the bearer of the relic," the Reaper intoned from behind him in Cavallas' voice. It spooked him a little, and he nearly drew his flail on reflex. "I serve its master."

"And whom is your master?" Valen pressed, looking for a more specific name or answer. It was like Cavallas, with strange gray speckled wings that sprouted out of its back, and Valen was willing to bet it had a colorful and untold history. No planar being got caught itself up in some kind of planar nexus without something terrible happening along the way.

The Reaper didn't hesitate, though. "The bearer of the relic," he intoned.

"It's a hunk of rock with some gems in it, looks gnomish or something to me," Binne offered. "It didn't smell like a curse, if that's what you're thinking."

He could feel a growl developing in his chest, somewhere, due to his irritation. "Word of advice," he gritted out, "straight from the Hive: don't play with portals. And warn me next time! How do we get out of here?"

Solaufein inclined his head toward the Reaper, whose cowl dipped in a nod. With a wave of a skeletal hand, the creature dismissed them from the plane. In a flash of light, they were on the other side of the crevice with a grumbling Hembercane and Deekin. Solaufein plucked the relic from Deekin's outstretched hand - it was surprisingly small, a black piece with a few carefully carved gems embedded inside that appeared to be adjustable by twisting and turning them. It fit comfortably and flatly enough in the palm of one's hand. Solaufein, with little care, dumped the artifact into his boot. "Where is this ambush?" The drow directed his question at the imp.

"In your boot?" Valen couldn't help but criticize. It seemed an odd place for such a valuable artifact.

Solaufein blinked. "Where else?"

"A pocket? The bag of holding? A pocket? It's a reckless place to keep such a valuable artifact. Think of what the Valsharess could use it for?"

"Probably conquer the world a lot faster," the drow reasoned, reasonably, "but I have tossed it away at sea and it showed up in my pack a minute later. It is attached to me through some unknown magic. You should worry less."

The General's expression did not imply he would be taking Solaufein's suggestion. Thankfully, he didn't have a lot of time to muddle in his suspicion for much longer as the ambush of the enemy ambushers was about to take place. After questioning the imp on the enemy's positioning, Binne cast a spell on Solaufein with an abyssal rasp and Solaufein quaffed an invisibility potion just as Deekin turned his face toward the ceiling and barked out a spell - singing it, at the top of his lungs. Luckily, that was the whole point - drawing the attention of the foot soldiers who would investigate the noise, or the bleeding of Valen's ears would have all been for nothing.

Four had been sent to investigate the heinous noise, and Valen charged around the corner flail-out with a roar to take them on. The first head rolled in the first three seconds of the battle, and the other three didn't even have time to process what had happened because they were too busy fighting the enraged tiefling with their lives. The beast was out of his cage, and in his element.

Binne, who had charged the same group from not far behind, let out a grimace and kept on running, seeming to think better of the situation. She turned her attention to some of the archers that had started firing upon Valen and pierced one to a wall with an entropic lance. This drew the attention of several others, though they were in turn distracted by Solaufein appearing out of invisibility just as he kicked one of the archers off of his sword, having walked across the walls in the brief time to get there. The drow threw a dagger at one of the others in the shoulders and kept moving onto the next as Binne took out the other.

Valen had made short work of the four overall, and was already charging the priestess - the most obvious figure cut in red. She was the center of Solaufein's attention as well, since she was currently hurling spells at him that he was having a challenging time dodging or throwing enemy bodies into, and there were still three other archers. A spider seemingly out of nowhere - a giant, ugly sword spider of all things - seemed to be helping them when it occupied a few of the other archers who found their crossbow bolts tipped with spider venom useless against it.

As the General ran at the priestess who turned to him with wide, almost violet eyes, she was barely able to hold up her shield in time from his flail. Devil's Bane split in two, and thanks to a rather deft wrist flicking it looped itself around her arm inside the shield as he yanked it forward, drawing a pained scream as her arm was pulled out of her socket. She rapidly spat out a healing spell to help with her pain, but the words stumbled her lips as Valen roared and in surge of strength ripped her arm off and flung it away. She stared at her stump in alarm for all of a second before her head turned around completely in its place from a flail-blow, and her body fell to the ground.

He flicked some of the blood and brain matter off of his flail and took a few bracing breaths, noting the sounds of battle had ceased.

"Bloody hells," Binne blurted out. "Helluva way to go!"

"Hah!" Enserric rang out triumphantly, sending red light gleaming out of his depths and spilling onto the cavern floor. "For lack of a better word, an orgy of violence! I say we keep him, wielder."

"Please do not use that word," Solaufein pleaded quietly with it. "You will give Deekin bad ideas."

They searched the bodies for valuables, though there was only a few useful things amongst them - a small collection of potions or kits, no weapons that any of them could use or needed but Deekin still managed to fit in his bag of holding somehow . . . And on the priestess' body, in a strange pouch at her belt was nothing but a nondescript shard of mirrored glass.

They were all frowning at it as Valen held it up for examination. "I don't get it," the General frowned. "It doesn't smell like a magic artifact, but it must be. Why else would she keep it?"

Binne tilted her face forward and sniffed at it - he didn't jump instinctively, but his tail betrayed his startle at her closeness. "Smells like bad elf."

Solaufein's left eyebrow rose up, expressively conveying his amusement. "Bad elf?" He repeated.

The cambion snorted and folded her arms. "Elf gone bad! Bad smelling elf, like if they didn't bathe or like a rotting elf corpse! Surely you've smelt a rotting elf corpse or two before, Solaufein."

There was a pause of utter silence after this statement. He expected the drow to get angry, or to just stay quiet and stare at her - or for her to express perhaps some shame over this ignorant remark . . . But instead Solaufein tilted his head back and smiled. "I remember that smell. Did you know, I was once trapped in a rotting elf city," he said this somewhat fondly, like he was immersed in a pleasant memory, "while it was on fire?"

Instead, Valen shared a confused look with the cambion while Deekin plucked the mirror shard right out of his hands and sniffed at it too. "Hmm. Deekin maybe holds onto this, big people not very smart-good at keepings little things safe. Boss dumb enough to put cursed artifact in boot after all."

Binne's eyes bored into Solaufein. "You're really the oddest person."

"This, from you?" the drow scoffed.

"From me!"

Valen understood well now that they functioned admirably as a unit in battle, but the talking threw him off. He'd never fought amongst a group of people as small as this that actually got along well with each other. Amongst the Eilistraeens, there was some camaraderie in arms, but never around him. They always stood to attention around him or clammed up. Imloth was the only one of them that seemed comfortable enough to make jokes at his expense. Here, they worked about as well as capable soldiers, but none of them stood to attention. The respect was unspoken. It was the first thing about them that he had found truly refreshing, and it put him a little more at ease.

They made their way into the strange elf-town. The General had to be talked into it when the entrance appeared to be an empty archway in the middle of the cavern that led to nowhere, and it set every invisible hackle on his neck on end. Like an angry cat, he had to be cajoled into it by convincing everyone to walk around it without having to entirely explain why; the three seemed to share the opinion that it was better to indulge him in his suspicions than try to question him about them. He was pretty firmly convinced that they were all still minions of the arch-devil - but he wasn't entirely sure whether or not they knew that they were. As he'd said before, it had Baator written all over it. (He kept telling himself this up until they found the third mirror shard. That's when he started questioning his judgment - when he watched Solaufein curse at the ceiling in rage as he dug through refuse to try to find one hunk of maybe mysterious metal that might help the Seer - or at the least frustrate the Valsharess a lot that she hadn't found it first. It was a lot of effort to go through for a potentially minimal payoff.)

The island they'd arrived at soon proved itself to be a nightmare. There were winged elves, but they were disheveled and confused. They spoke in half-random riddles, their logic was circular, and it was clear within a few seconds of talking to any one of them that they were all the victims of some terrible curse.

"Yes, but why are you here?" Solaufein had pressed, looking more annoyed with the diseased and tattered looking avariel in front of him. The tiny, bony elf's wings dragged on the ground, but his expression was jubilant and oblivious.

"Why are . . . We like it down here!" He repeated dumbly.

"Please stop asking him that question," the cambion pleaded with the drow.

Solaufein threw up his hands, cursed in Ilythiiri, and stalked off in frustration. The little male avariel with disheveled, greasy green hair and tattered wings blinked. And blinked again, in silence. They all had no choice but to follow Solaufein, who had calmly stalked off in the avariel's silence and approached the first building he saw. He walked up a few steps in tried the door and made a surprised noise when it was unlocked. Startled, the careless drow wandered in, and Valen hurried not wanting to have to tell the Seer later that he couldn't stop the drow from stepping into a trap in time and that was why the Savior's head was in a bag past the point of resurrection.

Thankfully, it wasn't trapped. The first building, where they had found the second mirror shard, was a library. A large one, that was partially on fire because whatever curse afflicted them all (as the librarian's husband was happy to inform them, for whatever reason) afflicted his wife peculiarly, turning her once-beautiful visage into that of a medusa. The medusa woman in fact did have a shard of the mirror on her person, something that mysteriously (most likely a wizard's fault) wound up in her boudoir the morning everyone and everywhere changed. He didn't want her to have it since she looked into it and it seemed to upset her, and Deekin was all too happy to help out.

Deekin, of all people (who Valen was starting to suspect was the brains of this entire operation) had a way to immunize himself from turning to stone, a carryover from a previous misadventure with a medusa that had been a great enemy of Solaufein's - he hadn't read the book, he wasn't sure - but everyone was pretty grateful to stand aside and let him handle it. Both the drow and cambion seemed amused, if anything, by Valen's concern over Deekin's safety.

From the doorway into the library proper, they could see the medusa's form slowly throwing books on a bonfire that had started to smoke the room out. Why was anyone's guess; the curse appeared to make people do incredibly strange things. Rather than try to get it off her person, they watched as the kobold tapped the medusa from behind and engaged her in a polite conversation, and simply asking for the shard at the end of it. They watched this work to some amazement, though it was more appropriate to say that Valen was the only one amazed that at the kobold's usefulness; Solaufein and Binne spoke unconcernedly of other things with one another in low undertone.

"I will bet my sword that this is Halaster's fault somehow," Solaufein was whispering.

"You think everything is Halaster's fault somehow," Binne accused, much louder; she didn't seem to have a volume control for her voice.

"Because it almost always is!" The drow insisted.

And by the time they had the third part, Solaufein was solidly convinced in his theory that everything, everywhere, was the dread wizard of Undermountain's fault. It was clear no one could convince him otherwise. After Deekin retrieved the second shard, Binne stumbled into yet another argument with a belligerent merchant that wanted to sell nothing to anyone. Bespelled as the dirty avariel man was, he was nonetheless incredibly lazy and seemed unconcerned with profit whatsoever. It became clear after a few moments that he did have a piece of the mirror secreted somewhere, but he wasn't inclined to part with it for anything of actual value.

"Stop," Solaufein suggested to Binne, and began to rifle around his pockets. His eyes lit up when he emerged with a piece of pocket lint that he placed in the merchant's outstretched hand. "Is that worth the mirror shard?"

The ex-merchant's nose curled up. "Not even close!" Solaufein's face fell.

"I have some dirt in my boot," Valen volunteered. "Is that worth less?"

"Only if you take back the lint," the merchant demanded. Solaufein did so with a glare and Valen emptied out the sandy contents of his left boot while Binne's nose curled up. He felt his cheeks flaming against his will as he put the boot back on.

The merchant, as it turned out, didn't have the shard on his person . . . But had a way to locate it with a talisman that he gave the increasingly annoyed Solaufein. The talisman had vibrated in in the drow's hands when they approached it . . . And found it with the town's pile of rubbish.

While Deekin made the excuse of needing to update his notes and pulled out his journal and sat down on the dirty cave floor, Valen and Binne stood by each other and hovered, feeling a little useless as Solaufein - since he was holding the pendant - was the only one who could really find the shard. The drow had begun cursing under his breath and kicked some trash around to see what was under it.

And so, Valen questioned the source of his doubts. Was it rooted in his past? Or were his experiences tempering his present, alerting him to something others didn't see?

"You have a lovely constellation of freckles on your nose," Binne chattered next to him, distracting him completely. "Did you know that? About yourself? I suppose you must not look in a mirror very often, you don't seem to me as a vain man."

The comment came from out of nowhere and stopped him up short. His brow crinkled as he tried to decipher her exact aim.

"I swear on Hem's lopsided skull that I will put a dunch in your composure, General Shadowbreath, if it's the last thing I do," she vowed neatly. After enduring his confused silence for a short while longer, she sighed. "Why do you hate m—"

She had started to ask the self-deprecating question, but he interrupted her with one of his own: "Why are you here?" He couldn't help but wonder.

Her subsequent, deflated silence was unexpected. "You don't think I should be here?" For such a tall, horned, red-skinned devil-woman with such a large personality, the question seemed very meek and small from her lips.

The General quickly reordered his thoughts, trying to salvage the conversation. It wasn't his strong point at all. "It isn't that," he said carefully and slowly, "and it shouldn't matter what I think. You . . . Must understand that you're a cambion. You're also from Prime, and that confuses me a lot. Most of my encounters with others of your kind have been hostile." All of them were, but she didn't need to know that. He thought of what to tell her without giving her anything she could use against him in the future. "I fought for countless years against your kind in the Blood Wars. Only one of power like yours would have enough intelligence and strength to marshal enemy forces into battle. I'm a person who has spent decades fighting a war against people exactly like you."

Her reaction was as unexpected as her earlier response had been. She inflated right back up and the sparkle came back to her eyes. "Aw!" She seemed to get the wrong meaning from something he said. "You think I'm intelligent and strong."

He frowned. "You know that isn't what I said."

"You know, I bet you have some good horror stories. You'd probably win if we fought though," she admitted freely. "That's a might scary flail you got, and I'm also not that strong. I like to think I get by on mostly blind luck!"

". . . I feel confused every time you talk," he admitted honestly with a helpless shrug.

She grimaced at this. "I've actually been trying to tone down the accent. Is it that bad?"

Valen shook his head, feeling a few loose strands from his hair fall forward. He brushed them away behind one of his ears and felt the weight of Binne's eyes on his movements. "No, I understand what you're saying - well most of the time - what I mean is, you're not like anyone I've met," he finally managed to settle on the words to describe how he felt, and it was a triumphant sensation. "You don't act, speak, or seem to think at all like any warlock or demon I've ever known. Or anyone I've ever known, really. You're a . . . A combination of contradictions. You're friends with a drow and a kobold and that's not even the oddest thing about you. At first, I thought you really were as haphazard and ridiculous as you pretended to be when you first teleported here, but you more than hold your own in battle."

As Deekin's quill scratched behind them, Binne let out a squeaking, helpless laugh. "Oi, just wait until we actually trip our way into a fight and see what you say then. That's happened, and I mean literally."

He didn't doubt it. "You followed Solaufein willingly into the Underdark, which puzzles me," he went on. It wasn't exactly something a sane person would do, but it almost made sense for a demon. "Why? Deekin, I understand, he's a case of hero worship, but why are you here?"

Binne gave him a quiet and assessing gaze. It was easy to forget the cambion wasn't actually as dumb as she presented herself to be. She just was easily distracted. "It's not really hero worship, for starts," she corrected blithely, "they'd met before. They're very good old friends. Deekin wrote a book about their first adventure together and everything."

He gave the kobold behind them who was still scritching and scratching with his quill in his journal quietly, studiously. "Nathyrra mentioned that. Have you read it?" Valen asked, finding himself a little curious since it had come up in a few conversations of late.

She urged him a little closer like she had a secret to tell, and though it grated at him he took a step closer to her. "Er, don't tell him, but I couldn't get past the first chapter," she said, perfectly within earshot of the kobold and why she had bothered trying to make a secret of it was anyone's guess. "Not his fault at all, he's a fine narrator - his editor took the soul out of the whole thing, it was really just . . . dreck. A more literate bard on the surface has promised to help him edit his new one instead. Apparently he wants to write about all this Undermountaindarkvalsharessyshite. I think it'll be a smash, i-in a good way."

He stared at her. "You . . . have a way of destroying words."

It wasn't a compliment, but she took it as one. "It's a gift!"

"Then you had not met Solaufein before descending Undermountain together?" He pressed.

She shook her head. "Well, no, that's where we met. But I suppose we're special friends now!"

"Suppose?"

Her eyes narrowed at him. "Why are you repeating words I say as if they're questions?"

But he had to know. "Are you in his debt? Does he owe you something? What do you stand to gain from all of this? You must have some angle."

This line of questioning didn't seem to impress her at all and she took a step away from him, looking uncomfortable and if he didn't know better a little hurt. "For start? If I had a hidden angle, I'd hardly tell you. And why must debts and gains factor into it? Can't we all simply be friends who occasionally kill people together with benefits?"

He considered Imloth, the Seer, and Nathyrra, all urging him to give these strangers a chance. How could he, when trusting went against his very nature? He frowned. "It always comes down to power, with your kind. I'm conditioned to think that either he must have power over you, or you over him."

The cambion pouted but something in her countenance softened. She did not seem offended when she nonetheless criticized, "You're really one to judge, judgyhorns. And if you'll recall, I was also slapped in the tail bone with a geas by two Halasters - two of 'em, Oghma knows why but is keepin' his silence on the matter. I'd probably still be on the frontline in Waterdeep otherwise. I suppose there's many fronts in this war, and digging through trash in a city of mad elves is, er, important work that I'd rather . . ." She trailed off and her gaze found its way to Solaufein, who was still grumbling - louder this time - and rifling through garbage. "Not personally do. Which is why Solaufein's doing it. 'Cause he volunteered."

They both paused in their discussion to watch the drow in morbid fascination for a moment. It underlined the moment. "It's not a judgment of mine," Valen eventually defended once his brain remembered what it was supposed to be doing, "just an observation drawn over decades that most devils are conniving and only out for themselves in the universe, and their own advancement. They'd step on anyone to get ahead."

"Generalizations won't help you here," she suggested with a smile and then laughed at her own joke. "Heh, get it? General?"

General Shadowbreath was not amused, and also had to make sure that Imloth never interacted with Binne, ever. "You confuse me," he repeated. "You all defy many expectations, but he . . ." Solaufein abruptly threw back his head and growled 'FUCK!' at the ceiling in anger, throwing a piece of garbage at the wall as it hit the cave wall with a slimey thud. The two fiendlings watched with straight faces, although Binne did let out a snort at the sight. "He, I at least feel like I understand," Valen finished.

Binne began to murmur a few indecipherable phrases under her breath that were decidedly not abyssal but decidedly were insulting. "Oh whatever, stuff it. I like Solaufein, not possessively, just honestly I like him and I think he's a good sort," she snapped. "He saved my life in Undermountain. I got, er, captured. By rakshasa . . . And sold into slavery to some ogres. I was a midwife to them for—for a long time and cooked the adventurers that didn't make it as far as I did up for them to eat. They slapped a collar on me that removed my magic and took—wh, oi, are you laughing at me?"

No he wasn't. His smirk was just twitching. That was all. "No. Yes," he admitted, "it's hard and . . . A little entertaining to imagine you as an ogre midwife."

She snapped, and her voice echoed off the cavern walls making him wince: "Well, it happened! And they took all my things, so I was naked as a bird the entire time!" She winced and seemed to rethink her volume after processing what she had just admitted. "So, if you're picturing it now, let me also mention I was starving for months. Or . . . years, I don't know, down there in my skivvies deliverin' nasty babies and cooking up halfling stew. So maybe add that to your imagination too. And that's how Solaufein found me - malnourished in the nude and enslaved to ogres by a magic-repressing torc, and I was completely at his mercy. I promised I'd show him how to get farther into the dungeon if he freed me, and he kept his word. He fed and clothed me and never once looked at me funny excepting when I earned it for being an idiot. He looks after his own and has never once described me as the 'devil girl with horns and claws.'" As she drawled, her expression became pensive. "So, yes, I follow Solaufein, because he treats me like I'm his equal and has never looked down on me," she concluded. "Although my height makes that difficult, but you know what I mean! And there's the why of it, so you can take your paranoia and shove it somewhere the sun don't shine. Which, I suppose is everywhere around here since we're in the Underdark . . . But also up your arse!"

The General blinked startled blue eyes, mulling over her heated defense. "That explains much . . . Thanks. You've given me a lot to think about." And re-think about, he silently added, and turned to see how Solaufein's search was coming along but stopped himself short to regard her again. "Also, I don't hate you," he corrected gently. The cambion snorted rather than respond. "Why should I hate you, Binne?"

"Because I annoy you?" Her upset morphed into another smile that spread across her face. "Hey, you're using my name now! I've graduated from cambion to my name. I feel privileged!"

The General hadn't noticed the slip up. It felt natural. "You annoy Solaufein far more than I, and he doesn't hate you whatsoever," Valen pointed out. "You shouldn't . . . Do not mistake my suspicion for hatred. You'd have to do a lot to earn that."

Binne squinted at him. "Well, you're always givin' me the stink-eye so that'd be why I assumed you hated me. A perfectly natural assumption, I think."

The idea of an eye stinking put a lot of mental images in his mind that he didn't really want. "What?" He asked, not really wanting to know where that particular idiom had come from.

"The stinky, gnarly, hairy eyeball?" Even worse mental pictures popped up. "That cantankerous scowl that's permanently afixed to your pretty face?" At this remark, he did start scowling as if on cue. "Oh, Valen, has no one ever told you that your resting face is a fantastic brood? I want to paint it, if only I knew even the slightest shit about painting," she confessed a little wistfully.

He glared at her. "I don't have a—ugh. Annoying someone isn't a good enough reason to despise them." He decided changing the subject was the best way to stop picturing creepy eyeballs with hair growing out of them. It seemed like his options were to dig through garbage or indulge Binne a conversation. "At first I was suspicious of you because of your heritage, but someone pointed out to me that would be hypocritical. You're the first half-devil I've met on the Prime that hasn't tried to kill me. I should remember that the Seer chose to trust all of you, and asked I give you the benefit of the doubt. I simply haven't known you long enough to trust you with more." The more he talked, the more like digging through the avariel trash with the drow seemed like a better idea, so he walked off to check up on Solaufein's progress. His jaw was beginning to hurt. Even Imloth didn't make him talk that much.

It wasn't altogether bad, though. Solaufein did nonetheless find the mirror shard, and as unpleasant as his mood was likely to be until he next had a bath, after seeing more and more of the cursed city Valen was beginning to understand that this mirror - if it was indeed responsible for these peoples' fate - was too powerful to be left alone, where the Valsharess might happen on it. If the worst thing Valen had to suffer through to get the artifact was a few uncomfortable conversations, it was an easy price to pay to keep it out of the arch-devil's path. While Solaufein grumbled and cursed in his native tongue, Binne managed to pull him out of his slump.

Since she was momentarily in charge while the drow was busy lamenting his hygiene, Valen found his lips curving in a faint smile in amusement to Binne. "Well, since the savior is preoccupied, where to now, milady?" He asked her civilly.

The half-devil was shocked, but unguardedly delighted with the olive branch and flashed a brilliant smile. Haltingly, with darkening cheeks, she repeated, "Milady?" In a high, bewildered voice. She cleared her throat and it was back to its natural tone. "W-well, I suppose we should go fetch him before he kills someone else's son by accident . . . And then maybe check out that temple over yon, it smells. . ." She sniffed in its general direction across the cavern. "A bit off."

A bit off was one word for it. His mind would come back to that last smile of the cambion's in that moment of unguarded and unexpected delight; it flitted into his mind and lingered when she fell, shaking and shivering in his arms as they set foot in the avariel's city's broken temple. Everything about the building set him on edge the moment they stepped in, but his gut reaction wasn't fast enough to prevent anything. In a shattered remnant of a temple hat belonged to a once-bright sky goddess, corrupted by the poison of Talona, an emaciated Talontar had raised his gaze to all of them - flying first over Solaufein and then fixedly on the half-devil as he pointed straight to her, with a wicked smile on his pale lips. "Talona blesses her," he rasped. "Praise be to our Pestilent Mistress!" The ragged elf drew his arms to the ceiling, turning his face upward to where the sun wasn't in beatific joy.

Solaufein's brows drew together in anger as Enserric was ripped out of his sheath, and the drow stalked to the priest while Valen tried to help Binne stand with the kobold's largely useless assistance. He was closest, the one there in time, but the sudden nearness still set his hackles on end. "Them freckles," she muttered as she stared up at his nose with bleary eyes, and became limp, dead weight.

---

Drow-to-Common Dictionary:

Ele zhah ol zuch . . . Why is it always mad wizards?
Siyo, xsa mina jal . . . A pox on all their Houses!
Zhal udos toss mina . . . Come on they're like wet kittens, can't I just toss them in the river?
Nindolen ph'udossta . . . Dammit man, these are our guests!
Elgg uns'aa . . . Kill me now
Treemma naut, a l'elam . . . By the power of Girl, you shall live
Do'zil al? Dos gracel . . . We go to the same church and you didn't even tell me
Xal usstan tel . . . ttyl?
Udos inbal mzilt ulu . . . Good night, sleep tight, don't let the bed bugs bite because they're actually stag beetles and they WILL kill you
Alulove, Malla . . . Ciao, bella.
Rivvin . . . Idiot surfacers
Dek'za . . . A company of jackasses, which in Alaska is colloquially called a jackalope - and this is true, you can trust me