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.

7. Politics

For the purposes of clarification: in this version of altered canon, the Shadow War, and the events of Neverwinter Nights took place simultaneously. I may go into this in a future story. I played the game with a Neutral Evil ranger designed after Bishop and it amused me enough that I ran with the idea and kept on running.

---

SOLAUFEIN

'Wielder.' Enserric's metallic voice roused Solaufein from his reverie of falling into the Anauroch - a common enough subject for his resting mind ever since his death there - which fled from his awareness like sand hissing through the sandstone ruin's cracks, earning a long and tired moan out of the dark elf. At least he had woken before he remembered the rats trying to eat his eyes. Death by slow crushing was the farthest from ideal way to go. 'We've reached your little doomed town.'

Slowly, one wine-red eye opened after the other. The warrior patted his cushion - Binne's backside - and she awoke with a disturbed snort. "Lith My'athar," he explained when she turned to glare at him for disrupting her slumber. Appeased, she nodded, yawned, and stood to offer him a hand. He took it and slowly stretched the discomfort and exhaustion out of his limbs. It had been unceasing fighting for his life since Undermountain, inter-mixed with moments of humor and existential dread at the geas that was slowly chipping away at his sanity each time he thought of his life on the surface. Something behind his brow throbbed each time he so much as remembered the stars, or mountains, or the sea; it was strange thanks to Halaster that he felt closer to his old self than he ever had before. He wondered in amusement if Binne felt the same pain in her backside when remembering her homeland, or if she was simply used to it at this point.

Cavallas' boat gently pulled into Lith My'athar's harbor with a soundless grind that Solaufein felt through the vibrations in his boots. He stood and came back to his faculties by inches. A distant white-haired figure on the docks at first sent him into an alert, but he recognized Nathyrra's wary stance from afar and felt relieved at the sight of her. "Who gets to tell the Seer we left her golem army with our bard?" Binne wondered aloud.

"I will," Solaufein volunteered. "You catch up on rest," he offered, knowing she needed it far more than him. Sleep seemed to be inordinately vital to the cambion, and he had carefully noted that she rarely rested well as they traveled. She let out a small, relieved sigh before nodding, and they waited for Cavallas to finish docking.

"You should talk to Rizolvir," Valen spoke up, drawing Solaufein's attention. He met the General's azure eyes in curiosity. "About new armor," he explained, gesturing to Solaufein's leathers. He plucked at his leathers fondly and considered the tantalizing possibility of hawking their loot and commissioning a new piece reinforced with mithral, but he already had a task in mind for the forge master that took precedence - the commissioning of a new helm and weapon for his a'temra. Their latest island adventure had cemented the necessity of acquiring a longer weapon for Binne.

As soon as Cavallas docked, Nathyrra approached in her usual cautious manner. "It is good you are all in one piece," she commented blithely, eying their states and then heavily frowned. "But where is Deekin?" He was a little touched at her concern for his friend; truly, Nathyrra was a unique female to be so concerned over the state of one kobold.

"Back with the golems," Valen explained. "On the Maker's Isle. We managed to get a small army for the Seer - although it was mostly thanks to Binne."

"Pshaw," the cambion scoffed with a blush. Solaufein was impressed that the General had upgraded to using her name and giving her credit; not two days ago he'd been growling in her presence. "'Twas nothing I did."

"You credit yourself too little," Solaufein stated. He turned to Nathyrra, drawing the wizardess' attention. "I have much to report to the Seer."

She nodded. "Cavallas?" she called out, drawing the strange boatman's eye. He turned his shadowed hooded head to regard her. "Shlu'ta dos mrigg udossa gaer?" She asked politely. When Cavallas nodded, a light lit up behind her countenance. "Excellent!" She gushed. "I have never met a construct before. What are they like?"

"Uncannily intelligent," said Valen. "These are unlike any modrons I've ever encountered. They're completely sentient."

"And entirely too political," added Binne. "They vote and deliberate, and everything. Honestly, it's a nuisance, lest you're into that sorta thing. Be sure you don't miss Deekin on your way back, he insisted on staying with them, something about recording their history. They've been through quite a bit, in just under five hundred years."

"Fascinating," Nathyrra breathed in undisguised excitement.

"A . . . lot has happened in the last few cycles," Solaufein explained when Nathyrra sent him a questioning glance. Binne trounced off the docks toward the Temple with determination, probably looking forward to her much-needed rest, while the General remained behind hovering near Solaufein.

When he was given a questioning gaze, the General suggested, "we should see the Seer as soon as possible, to give her our reports."

"Will you remain my bodyguard?" Solaufein asked, amused. "Or have I exhausted your services?"

"There's still the illithid and beholders to contend with," the General reminded him, "as well as whatever else is lurking in that cavern."

'Knowing your luck, it will be a hungry dragon,' Enserric soundlessly ruminated. Solaufein sent him a mental image of his last encounter with a dragon - the fat white Tymofarrar too bored and lazy to kill anyone, and it seemed to tickle Enserric as the sword started chuckling aloud.

"I've never heard a sword laugh like that before," Valen commented, disturbed. "And I never want to again. In any case, I'll guard you as long as the Seer commands me to."

Nathyrra soon busied herself bothering Cavallas for the details of the excursion, hoping he'd guide more drow boats through the dark river to their destination to bring the constructs back. Valen and Solaufein found themselves trailing after Binne's form toward the spidery temple, for his part Solaufein feeling more exhausted with every step now that rest was nearly in sight. How the tiefling was still standing was a little beyond the elf, but Solaufein figured that had more to do with the mysterious Blood Wars; Solaufein had been thrust back into the adventuring lifestyle only recently, after a few months of nondescript traveling up and down the Sword Coast in myriad attempts to have the strange Reaper's relic examined by professionals. It had been several years since had been to war, and he was not eager to return to it. The tiefling had never left war.

The black stone foyer was empty when they entered, however. Scoutmaster Cazna was near, and Valen barked out a greeting. She redirected them to the small library where they'd held their first war meeting, where the Seer was apparently waiting for them with tea. Tall built-in bookcases limned with spidery mithral filigree lined the long room's walls, with a few central tables filled since the last meeting with papers and books. Part of Solaufein felt inherent trepidation at setting foot in the temple, as such entry had been forbidden for nearly all of his life - standing in that library of his own volition a scant twenty years ago would have been completely unthinkable. For a moment, he could easily hear Phaere's voice from the past lashing at him for stepping outside of his bounds.

"Vendui, Malla Seer," Solaufein bowed respectfully in her presence, flustering the matron for a moment. She waited near a pile of literature and looseleaf pages, immersed in studies that confounded his eyes with imperceptible hand-scrawl.

"No need for such formalities," she instructed, so he stood. Her sky-blue eyes smiled with the upturn of her lips, and something in him warmed at the sight of it. "I'm pleased you're all intact. I sense you have good news for me."

He considered the nature of the news he had to deliver. Some of it was strange, but most of it was probably 'good.' "We defeated a few preliminary forces, led by the Red Sisters," Valen reported obsequiously as Solaufein debated internally on how to say what he needed to say. "Seems the Valsharess was investigating the isles, same as we."

"We have recovered a strange and possibly cursed scrying mirror, as well as a small golem army," Solaufein summarized abruptly. He wasn't sure how many details Malla Seer desired, but his brain wasn't cooperating and he had no desire to go into a long-winded explanation. He patted down his person before he realized that the mirror - along with most of his gear - was still with Deekin on the golem isle. "It will have to wait until Deekin returns," he said apologetically. "I forgot that I placed the mirror in his bag of holding . . . Nathyrra is traveling to the isle to oversee the transport of him, and the golems with him."

"You seem spent," the Seer criticized and placed a gentle, glowing hand on his pauldron. His energy levels lifted with the minor blessing, but it did nothing to help the bone-deep exhaustion.

"It's been . . . A lot has happened," Valen added delicately. Solaufein gave the unruffled tiefling an envious glance - how the man touted about such energy was really beyond him. Perhaps it had something to do with the type of demon in his blood . . .

"Rest easy, Solaufein," the Seer offered generously in Ilythiiri. As always, it pleased his ear to hear her speak his mother tongue - he'd never met a female quite like her and knew he probably never would again. She seemed too rare for the world. That fact alone made her worth protecting, and he could understand for a moment Valen's insistence upon following her every word. He wanted to obey the command too, though suspected it was more out of an indoctrinated desire to appease charismatic females. "Your rooms have been prepared in your absence, and we may speak more upon waking. Have no fear while you are in these walls. You are safe, by my word."

He thought about it for a moment and hesitated but relented and bowed again. "Alulove," he uttered in parting, and left her to the library along with the weapon master who continued the report in his absence.

Solaufein got turned around for a moment before finding his way back to the room he'd been assigned. Though he suspected that they had prepared a second one for Binne, he nonetheless was pleased to find her sprawled upon his bed in a deep sleep, lightly snoring, her armor tossed willy-nilly in haste. He kicked aside the bloodstained adamantine and slowly tore off his leathers in a pile and curled himself around her warm body contentedly. He'd never known a bed-partner who emanated such warmth, but it seemed common in the younger races. It pleased him, and he had started to find it much easier to slip into deep and peaceful reverie when she was near.

Deep in v'dri, his mind tended down familiar paths into his past. Once more he found himself outside the battlements of Saradush looking out on a red horizon that spilled bloody light on a sunset battlefield, littered with the bodies of the dead and damned. He felt the familiar weight of his old sword in his hands - a gift, from his love. She was there amongst the carnage, standing amongst the swaths that she had cut with her gleaming silver blade that thrummed with energy in the orange light. She'd lost her long midnight braid in the fight against Yaga-Shura, the fire giant, and stood proudly over his fallen rust-colored corpse despite the grime that coated her and slicked back her short black locks with the giant's dying arterial spray.

Her silver eyes locked onto Solaufein's own as he approached, shading his eyes from the fading sun with one hand. He had to stop for a moment as the wind whipped about them - massive wing beats from overhead alerted him to the presence of a great red dragon. Solaufein tilted his head back and watched as the great beast emitted a gout of red flame and swooped in lowering circles until he landed beside Aphra, his size such that the fallen warriors he landed on were merely squished beneath his mighty claws. The great red beast towered, colossal, over them all and emitted a roar so loud and deep it could be felt through Solaufein's feet on the battleground. It was a victorious war-cry.

He turned around as he heard his name called and the light bent around him and froze as he suddenly stood in an endless icy field, the wind battering at his back and chilling him to the bone. He felt as though he stood in winter outside of Hilltop again, lost in the blizzard that had nearly claimed his life. There were no mountains, however, or trees. Only a boundless field of ice. He wandered alone through the icy fields until he saw a flame in the distance and hurried his tired and half-frozen limbs toward it. What seemed a flicker erupted as he closed the distance into a bonfire that warmed him . . . Though a figure near it caught his eye as it bent over in grief, weeping. The horns that curved around its head gave the figure away upon approaching - it was Binne, deep in grief over something. Before he could approach and ask what bothered her, Solaufein was thrust out of the reverie into waking.

He blinked as his eyes, mind, and body adjusted abruptly to the present moment. It took him an embarrassingly long minute to realize that Binne was looming before him in concern, because for a moment he thought she appeared as someone else - someone similar with shorter horns perhaps, and whiter hair. He reached up to touch her face, feeling the need to assure himself that this was not merely another component of the v'dri. She was warm and true as always, with the same dark hair and russet skin. "Are you alright?" She asked in a voice heavily laced with concern. "You were tossin' and turnin' fierce. I tried to shake you, but you wouldn't wake."

"I am fine," he assured her, absently tucking her shoulder-length hair behind her ear in his caress. "You?"

She grinned. "Oh, I slept like a dragon."

He laughed, because it was an interesting choice of word given the subject of his v'dri, and she often snored like one too.

They'd awoken in the early hours of the next cycle to a rare peace and quiet and chose to enjoy that for a few moments more without speaking - entangled in half-sleep around each other. He nearly found himself drifting off again until a knock at their door forced him to confront reality. He felt still, but less tired, but still cursed his exhaustion under his breath as he answered the door.

Deekin was on the other side, who immediately shielded his eyes from Solaufein's nudity with hands thrown over his eyes and a yelp. "Ack! Boss! Big peoples is supposed to wear pants! Deekin not wants to see that!"

From behind him, Binne roared with laughter. Solaufein merely rolled his eyes and went about searching for trousers amid the fallen clothes around the room as Deekin stumbled in after him, bumping into furniture in his self-imposed blindness. "I am dressed," Solaufein announced, annoyed. "Are you happy?"

"Happier, yes," Deekin affirmed.

"I'm not," Binne announced. "Should I be?"

"We have training today, so at some point, yes," said Solaufein.

She perked up and immediately began ransacking the floor for clothing. "Training? So it's to be a day of arse-kicking, then?"

"Amongst other things."

"Well, I could certainly use it!"

Solaufein looked down to Deekin who had finally stopped shielding his eyes and was instead rubbing the sleep out of them. "Deekin just came to says that he is backs from golem island with other golems," he explained. "Also, er, Boss tells Deekin not to go to the kitchen but, uh—Deekin be pretty hungry and was, erm, wondering—"

"I will escort you," he offered, "and thank you for listening. I would hate to see you on a dhaerow platter."

Deekin gulped. "So, drows really do be eatings kobold? Deekin always assume Boss be makings bad joke abouts that."

"Unfortunately," he confirmed, "it is considered a delicacy."

"Why?" Binne wondered, honestly, as she pulled on a tunic. Her tail curled up in confusion. "It's not as if they have much meat on their bones."

"Many things about my society do not require logic to understand," he struggled to explain. "It is . . . About the preparation of the food. It is done with, what is word—purposefully—it is done with purposeful cruelty."

Both of his companions frowned at this, but there was naught to be done. He'd long ago given up trying to explain dhaerow ways to outsiders. Without understanding the intricacies of Lloth's religion, there was no understanding of their ways. Lloth was a part of everything that they did, in every aspect of their lives, down to the way food was prepared - as painfully and as fresh as possible when it came to meat - to the balance of hierarchy of the Houses - where only the strongest and cleverest were on top and capable of surviving abbanelith.

The kitchen was past the library with several attendants milling about; it was a simple enough matter to get someone's attention and have a plate of whatever was on hand prepared for them. Solaufein took security in watching the preparation with careful eyes. The Eilistraeens did not seem to mind or judge him for his caution - it was an ingrained habit, to only eat what he himself had prepared or witnessed, to avoid potential poisoning.

The General found them toward the end of their shared breakfast with strange news. "There are outsiders at the gates, claiming to know you," Valen Shadowbreath announced without preamble.

"And a lovely morning to you too, Valen," Binne said around a mouthful of pastry.

"It is a . . . Delicate matter that may escalate, if you cannot vouch for them," he continued as if she had said nothing.

Solaufein considered this quickly. "Rivvil?" He questioned.

"A human, and one of the short ones, I forget what you call them," Valen explained.

"Kobold? Dwarf? Gnome? Halfling? Goblin?" Deekin supplied, thinking of all the 'short ones' he could. "Please say it not be Grovel agains."

"I'm not sure," Valen answered uneasily. "Definitely not a kobold or goblin. Doesn't wear shoes, which I found odd."

"Halfling," Binne and Deekin said at the same time.

There was only a small number of individuals that could have survived the trip into the Underdark, chasing after him - and only a few that were in Undermountain who would know to send a force in their direction. He suspected Durnan's work, or the work of the Lords of Waterdeep.

"I imagine some rivvin would cause problems with the local Spider-thumpers," Binne stated.

"To say the least," agreed Valen.

"Take us to them, then," Solaufein requested.

Valen looked the group up and down and seemed aggrieved by something. "In armor, please," he pleaded. "Don't make my job any harder than it has to be."

Solaufein couldn't help the slight eye-roll that this warranted. Most cities, he knew, had a code of conduct that no assassinations could happen out in the open; though he had not yet had the chance to familiarize himself with Lith My'athar's unspoken rules, so he made a mental note to ask Nathyrra in the future.

"Aw, I haven't had the chance to clean mine yet," Binne sighed, sounding a little sad.

"The bloodstains make you seem more intimidating," Solaufein offered to try and cheer her up.

---

Solaufein's brow furrowed in concentration as he appraised the rivvin - a human female he recognized from the surface with a double-bladed sword strapped to her back, and a mouthy halfling clad in black armor at her side. "You are . . . Sharwyn," he guessed. Some rivvin names twisted on the tongue, such as Deekin's, but hers had sounded distinctly elven to his ears and stuck out in his memory. "And—I forget your name," he admitted to the halfling.

The halfling puffed up. "Wha—I'm Tomi Undergallows!" He announced, pointing to himself. "Now, how do you go an' forget the people you resurrected in a death-dungeon?"

"I resurrected many," Solaufein explained with a shrug.

"'Tis true," Sharwyn conceded in a diplomatic tone, "take no offense, Tomi. We are here to aid you Solaufein and have heard about this Valsharess."

Binne was staring between the two of them with wide, unbelieving eyes. "You got killed on the first level, but somehow made it all the way down here? How in the Hells did that happen? We had a guide, and a handy teleport!"

Sharwyn flung a bit of her auburn hair over her shoulder that had fallen forward in a shrug. "It is the same with us. I volunteered to travel when the Blackstaff came to the Yawning Portal and asked for volunteers for a small mission. We thought our fellows Linu and Daelan might have caused more of a stir - an elf and a half-orc - than a human and a halfling. Perhaps we misjudged. The archmage had a message that he wished to transport to you." She turned to Solaufein and pulled a small packet wrapped in brown paper with twine out of a shoulder-bag.

Solaufein barely glanced down before handing it over to Binne. "Read it," he requested.

She unwrapped it and pulled out a folded letter, and a small stone that fell out of it as soon as she opened it. On reflex she reached for it and caught it in one hand. As soon as it contacted her she cried out in pain; the stone emitted a bright flash of light before disappearing beneath the skin of her palm. Solaufein took her injured hand and examined it, but it was empty - it was as if it had melted into her hand and left no trace behind.

Valen's flail was the first thing to respond, almost of its own will flying into his left hand. "What treachery is this?" He demanded angrily.

Tomi was the first to take a step back, while all Sharwyn did was widen her eyes in surprise. "Oi, no one told me about any melting runes!" The halfling shot out. "I just thought there'd be treasure and distressed damsels! Look, even I admit I've read Volo's chapters on the Underdark an' all those Drizzt novellas, and I'm sure it's not all it's tossed up to be, but you can't blame a halfling for being curious! I'm small and sneaky, not treacherous!"

"What a ringing self-endorsement, Tomi," the bard sassed. Sharwyn's expression lit up in recognition. "I've seen this before!" She realized. "I know I have. What does the letter say, if I may ask?"

Binne did not seem to be hurt but confused. She grunted at Valen, who lowered his flail. Slowly she unfolded the letter and perused it. "It's addressed to me," She noted in surprise. ". . . A Word? That's what the rune is called - erm, oh. It was supposed to do that. Warning would have been nice, Arunsun, ya arsehole! So he sent you two down here to help with the war effort?" She asked, after she had glanced at it. "He could've sent an army," she criticized. "That might've been more helpful!"

Sharwyn shrugged and adjusted her pack on her shoulder. "I imagine the Blackstaff is occupied with the Lords of Waterdeep and their army in defending the city. It is an ongoing battle that he believes can be circumvented if a key fight is won. There was some divination involved, I'm sure, but the bottom line for him seems to be that the drow queen's assault on this particular city must be averted. We've come as volunteers to bolster the defense however we can and deliver the message. Tomi is a skilled shadowdancer, and my songs may inspire or dishearten entire crowds."

Binne's eyes narrowed. "Can you stop illithid from sucking our brains out, or deflect beholder rays?" She asked.

Tomi frowned and stepped forward, still eying the flail clenched in Valen's hand. "Er, no," he admitted, "but I used to have a cloak that could do that."

Valen finally put his flail away. "We will see what the Seer has to say about them," he decided.

"Seer?" Sharwyn perked up. "Is this your leader? I'm sorry, and you are?"

"This is General Valen Shadowbreath," Solaufein interjected with a quick introduction. "The Seer is a dhaerow matron of Eilistraee's priesthood. You will like her. Not all in this city will be welcoming to rivvin as she."

Deekin nodded and added, "Best avoids everyone that's not a moon-worshiper or they mights serve you up ons a platter."

"Aw you don't want roast halfling!" Tomi said. "We're too gamey."

"Tell me about it," Binne muttered. Then, at the perturbed/amused looks this warranted, she folded up the letter in her hands and added, "I mean, uh . . . We should take them to the Seer."

The surfacers endured as many ugly looks as they did intrigued and took in their surroundings with wide eyes. The city in the dark was luminous in a way, with tall glowing mushrooms and delicately carved structures lit by colorful faefire, such that no one had trouble seeing in the visible spectrum. People dressed in vibrantly colorful spider silks stopped in the streets and in their interactions to watch the armored company as they passed, though Solaufein knew that it was not the rivvin that drew the disgust from his kinsman, but him for defying custom and walking freely with them.

"Is that . . . A Lolth temple?" Sharwyn breathed as they approached the foreboding, arachnoid structure.

"Hm-hmm," Binne confirmed beside her with a hum, as she continued to peruse the letter with a confused knit in her brow.

"This way," Valen directed, holding open the main door for them.

The Seer was in the library once more that morning, surrounded by looseleaf and tea, the only change from the previous evening being that Nathyrra was seated next to her engaged in the same activity. It struck Solaufein suddenly as he remembered Aphra and the red mage pouring over tomes at the Temple of Oghma in Athkatla, hunting for hidden mentions of ancient scrolls. He swam in nostalgia and bowed instinctively in greeting to the females.

"Ah! I see you've brought me a few guests," the Seer greeted, and strode around her table to get a proper look at them. Uncertainly, Sharwyn and Tomi bowed. "No need for that here," she said.

"You're the, er, Seer then?" Tomi greeted back, though the end of it curled up in a question. Both the surfacers seemed thrown by her unexpected friendliness.

"I am. This is Nathyrra," she introduced, "and I see you've already met our General Valen, and Solaufein."

"We had met before," Sharwyn corrected. "I am Sharwyn of Neverwinter, milady, and this is Tomi Undergallows. We've come to assist in the war effort however we can. We're at your disposal."

The Seer inclined her head. "In my culture, it is considered a weakness to place yourself at someone's utter disposal," she gently chided. "Lest they literally dispose of you. But please, be welcome here. I know it may not seem so, given where you stand, but you are safe within these walls. I and my fellow Eilistraeens have taken up residence here since the silence of the goddess Lloth."

"Silence?" Sharwyn was confused.

"Her prayers go unanswered," the Seer confirmed, "and her priestesses lack any power now. For the first time since our Descent, my people are free of her yoke. Let us speak freely - I sense something has troubled you."

"Aye," Binne spoke up, and for the first time tore her eyes away from Blackstaff's letter. She turned to Sharwyn with a rare serious expression. She handed the letter over to the Seer, who perused it quickly, and handed it over to Nathyrra once she was finished. While she read, Binne asked of Sharwyn, "You say you've seen this before - a rune like this, called a Word of Power? What's it about?"

Sharwyn seemed surprised by this. "You do not remember?"

"Remember what?"

The bard nodded. "Let me try to explain. I knew when we met at the Yawning Portal that we had known each other before, but my memory was . . . Unclear as to why. Do you ever get that feeling, that you have known someone perhaps in another life?"

Binne's eyes rolled. "All the time."

Sharwyn nodded. "Well, it was like that for me, meeting you."

"We have met," the cambion reminded her.

Sharwyn spoke, "Yes, but I understand why now. We have met before, traveled together in the War, when we were both stationed at Beorunna's Well. The Hero . . . was tasked by Aarin Gend to recover runes like this, called the Words of Power used by the cult behind the Wailing Death."

Though his knowledge of the war was limited due to his presence on only one front, it surprised Solaufein to recall that they had both fought in the same conflict and yet had never crossed paths until now. Binne's frown was puzzled. Nathyrra had finished reading the letter and placed it on the table in front of her, smoothing it out with her fingers. Binne spoke, "I vaguely remember that. I mostly got stuck with dump escort missions, but there was something to do with the druids that I can scarcely recall. Gargle dimmed me brain."

Tomi chuckled. "Aye, that's the way it is for me too," he added. "Plenty o' things about the war I'd rather have not remembered meself."

Sharwyn shook her head. "It wasn't alcohol, I fear. There was an ancient vault. It was a strange adventure we were involved in, but it was completely impenetrable to entry. A flaw had to be instituted into its design before it could be opened; an impossible task, as the vault was constructed ten thousand years ago. However, one of the Words that was recovered allowed individuals to travel back to a specific point in time - any time at all - and return within an hour."

Binne blinked several times. In the silence, Deekin's pen started to scratch on paper as he recorded what transpired. "What?"

"That's impossible," Valen blurted.

"Possible with the right magical catalyst, according to this Archmage's letter," Nathyrra added. "These runes must be very powerful artifacts . . . I wonder how this Blackstaff acquired one such."

The bard shrugged. "I was told to deliver the message but know little beyond that. I know that was how the vault was opened. As I said, a strange adventure. It was explained to me after that traveling through time in such a way can alter one's memories. As it did in our case, for example. Though I remember it better now and seeing the rune again has helped my memory."

"This is true?" Solaufein looked to his companion in surprise.

Binne sighed. "I believe you, because it sounds too incredible not to be true, but I cannae scarcely recall what happened. I remember the Well, mind, and Bishop well enough - and I think it's coming back to me . . ."

She shrugged again. "Perhaps it will, in time. I remember it now only after seeing the Word in your hand. I believe Khelben Blackstaff has entrusted you with something amazing. He has given you the ability to travel to a point of time in the past and fix any one thing to your liking before returning. A sort of universal key into any door you wish, for one use only."

Binne whistled. "Tis a mighty thing he has trusted me with, then. I wouldn't trust me with such a thing."

"You do yourself too little credit once more," Solaufein chided. "You were his apprentice, and you have previous experience with such matters."

"One of dozens such apprentices," she reminded him, "and he sent me down here in the first place to figure out what happened to Halaster, which I didn't exactly accomplish. Not without help."

"We discovered where he was and freed him together," Nathyrra reminded her.

Binne was not convinced. "It feels like a weighty responsibility for me, still. A one-use-only artifact like this—"

"Must be used wisely, if at all," Valen cut in gruffly. "I do not trust it."

"Oh, you don't trust in anything," Binne assessed with an eye-roll.

"It is a gift in our hour of need," the Seer announced, silencing them all. "You will know, if and when it is time to use such a boon. For now, our numbers grow and our people thrive despite imminent conflict. It is a blessed day that has brought you two to us. How does the surface fare?"

Tomi was the first to respond in his usual manner. "Like shit - uh, no offense. I mean there's quite an offense being mounted, still beholders and drow poppin' up like daisies out of the sewers, but nothing pouring out of Undermountain anymore leastwise."

"You win some, you lose some," Binne said. "So things haven't really changed much, then?"

"That's what I always say. Nah, s'why I volunteered to go with Shar - I'm not needed much up there like the others, but at least down here I can do some good back-stabbing."

There followed a small debate between the General, Nathyrra, and the Seer on what to do with the rivvin, but it was ultimately unanimously decided that they would be safest in the temple away from the prying eyes of Mae'vir and the House's allies. They were given the quarters that had been prepared for Binne, which none of them minded. Deekin, who had been mysteriously silent during the entire encounter, expressed a desire to 'get it downs while it all be fresh' while the surfacers left to get accustomed to their new surroundings, escorted by Valen who firmly didn't trust them and was making it abundantly clear. Binne was enlisted by Deekin to relate the details about the war that she could still remember, along with Sharwyn, and Nathyrra had business to attend to with the golems that confounded Solaufein, and so he and the Seer were left alone in the library for the first time.

"Walk with me," the Seer suggested. "I wish to show you something." He could not resist and offered her his arm in accompaniment.

She led him out of the main doors and behind the temple to a small and peaceful mushroom garden, with a gentle stream of water that ran through it toward the Dark River. It had been cultivated by the previous owners of the temple, that much was clear, but the reason for it was missing. Solaufein's mental image of Lloth's priesthood did not match up with the gentle garden's keeping.

"It surprised me too," the Seer said as she read his expression, switching to Ilythiiri now that they were alone. "And yet . . . Here it is. I find Eilistraee's grace more abundant in this quiet place, than I do anywhere else in Lith My'athar."

She let go of his arm and knelt, arranging her white silken skirts around her black knees as she sat down amongst the phosphorescence that lit her features ethereally. "Ask your questions, Solaufein," she suggested, because on some level she knew about the questions that he held back from her even if he himself wasn't fully aware of them, "and do not worry about interrupting my prayers."

He sat down beside her with less grace and kept a wary eye out for potential assassins. Yet, his ears betrayed nothing but the babbling of the brook. It went against his nature to be at peace in his homeland, but the quiet and stillness crept into him and relaxed him against his better judgment. ". . . How much do you know of me?" He found himself asking.

"I know our Lady sent you to me," she answered quietly. "I know she plays a long game that she has no choice but to play, due to the chaos sowed by Lloth's absence. I know your name, and your face, for they came to me in the dream. I know that there is a pain in you that has never healed, and I know you have many questions for me. Go ahead and ask them, Solaufein. I do not mind."

He paused contemplatively. A thousand questions stirred, but only one poured forth: "Who are you?"

She seemed surprised. "You wish to know about me?" He nodded. "My name is Ourana. I . . . Am fond of the color blue, but most fond of silver, for it reflects our lady's moonlight perfectly." She smiled beatifically. "I have a weakness for a good vintage of morimatra."

"Do not we all?" He smiled. "What else? Where are you from?"

It was a moment before she answered, and her eyes searched the darkness as if it held her memories. "I was once of . . . The name does not matter. My house was dissolved. I ascended to Matron before it did, but only for a very short time. I only saw the rise of Sinvyl from afar before she called herself Valsharess, but in a way I feel as though she and I are connected. We both followed very different paths, and I often wonder what it would be like should our fortunes have been reversed."

"Your accent is centralized, Menzoberranzan, I think," he assessed, recalling Viconia DeVir.

"Yes, I once called it my home," she confirmed, and shifted in her seat to face him better. "In a way, I miss it's beauty and structure. The glimmer of light when Narbondel reached its zenith, the streets lined with cavernous homes whose architecture defies the senses . . . Now Lith My'athar has a peculiar way of making me homesick for a place I have never before missed."

He looked back to the city, and sympathized. "I feel it as well," he confirmed. "I know your meaning."

"I think we all feel this way, those of us not born under the stars," she said. A frown crossed her face that did not seem to belong there. "To a few of my kin, this is their first adventure into our homeland. I have often wondered how strange it must be for them to experience this place, and how alien to them it must seem. I do not miss my old life, but I miss the quiet hum of the pools, and the assuring spires lit in fae fire." Her expression grew wistful. "I miss my home on the surface just as much. We have an enclave outside of Silverymoon where I have a garden enclosed by white pillars that opens to the sky. I had never known peace until I saw Her on the surface for the first time. I imagine you must have felt something similar."

He laid down next to her and placed his arms beneath his head, feeling more relaxed than he had in a long time. "I do not know," he admitted freely. "Peace is not a gift I have earned. I did not know any other of Eilistraee's followers on the surface before I came here, though I had heard of them." He distantly recalled Drogan's small Academy and the numerous, incomprehensible tomes that the dwarf had piled around his home in massive stacks of bookshelves. The scholar had been confounded by Solaufein's inability to read, and eventually gave up and simply read to him to accommodate him. He'd been stunned to hear of other Eilistraeens that had made their mark on the world, such that history had seen fit to record them. This was knowledge never afforded to males of Ust'Natha. It pleased and saddened him to know that they were less well-known than the proportion of his people that still lived under the thumb of the vicious Lloth.

The Seer smiled, abating his turbulent thoughts. "Where else would we be? We love to dance under her moonlight and sing her songs. She does not hear them as well in the Underdark, but she is found to be here still, always with her people." She gestured to the quiet garden all around them, as if this was where the goddess dwelt. Solaufein frowned, less sure of it than she was. He had only ever felt Eilistraee as the Seer spoke of her when he rested under the light of the kind full moon.

"I have been unable to place your accent," the Seer suddenly said, interrupting his thoughts and changing the subject. "Imloth suggested it might be from Ched Nasad. I admit to curiosity - was he correct?"

He was a little amused that this was something her prescient sight had not automatically gifted her with the knowledge of. That she was curious at all about him pleased him. "Ched Nasad is a week's ride from Ust'Natha, the place of my birth," he corrected. "An outpost, smaller than Lith My'athar near a surface entrance fraught with elvish activity. The forces of Tethyr would often battle with our Great Houses."

The Seer's expression fell and grew deeply saddened as understanding dawned upon her features. "The place of First Descent . . . Of our Sundering. You were born there?"

Stories, legends, folk tales - there were none who lived that yet remembered the truth of Ust'Natha's origins, where the first dark elves were said to have descended into the Underdark. It had been a glorious legacy to uphold, in a way. "Yes," Solaufein confirmed. "Ust'Natha is no more. What few houses did not flee to other cities and find refuge were destroyed alongside House Despana, first house of the city. I escaped its destruction."

"Despana was your House?"

"Only in that I was its weapon master. I led the male fighter's society of the city and trained its forces in battle." He found it easy to speak of his past with her, despite having never spoken of it with anyone before. Even Aphra had been too tactful to ask of what she had seen and said only once on the subject that 'some scars ran too deep.' Ourana had a way about her that encouraged the heart to open against its better judgment.

She paused but a moment before leaning back to catch his eyes. "May I ask how you came to leave it? I imagine your conversion must have influenced it."

The story spilled out of him with ease, despite the pain in his past that had previously kept him from uttering it. "I hid my beliefs for many years before leaving. I did not believe I could leave without resulting in great death to innocent people. I felt the need to protect those in my city, even if at times we were undeserving. We were warned of the impending destruction by a rivvil under a glamour, a seamless illusion concocted by a nearby silver dragon. The silver lady's eggs had been taken from her nest by Despana's matron for use in a summoning ritual. The ritual was disrupted by the rivvil and her allies. Many of Ust'Natha managed to escape the dragon's subsequent wrath. Others did not wish to leave their life behind and died there. I had left my people in my heart many years before that, so when the chance to leave the Underdark crossed my way, I took it without hesitation. She offered me a way out, to see the moon for the first time, to burn under the sun, to feel the wind at my back, to wonder with her at the stars. I have not regretted it since."

Malla Ourana nodded. "I understand. Then this is the source of your pain, this city you have left behind. I have heard of Ust'Natha's silence from my grove. It trembled through the earth. It happened in a blink of the eye to our kind. Tethyr announced a new Queen, and far in the south of Amn where Ust'Natha still remains silent, the Bhaalspawn and their kind did tread. Where they walked, the world bled."

"You see much," he admitted.

She smiled. "Hence my title," and she laughed. "I notice things and stitch them together with intuition. I did not suspect Ust'Natha's fall to have involved Bhaal's warring children, until now."

He sat back up next to her. "She was one of them, the infiltrator. I knew her as Aphra of Candlekeep. I followed her to Saradush, alongside a sister of hers and eventually a brother, with a cantankerous druid, a tiefling actor, a deranged ranger from Rashemen, a wingless avariel, and the Chosen of Shar. This was years before I went to Undrentide or met Deekin."

She laughed again, and the sound of it delighted him. "I see you've always kept eclectic company. The Scourge of the Sword Coast, they call her in Silverymoon. A shame how stories deform in their tellings over time." She sighed sadly. "A warrior of her surpassing ability sure has gained enemies with her tale; I suspect many will try to topple her legend, as wizards do with Elminster. What was she really like?"

He glanced at her askance and found himself shying away from her gaze for the first time. "She is . . . A difficult subject."

"Indulge my curiosity, Solaufein," the Seer urged. "I have little but the impending doom to keep me occupied, and you must admit your tale is interesting."

"Aphra . . ." He began but found his words failing him. How to describe someone so vital? Who had been so necessary to his being? Who was a world wrapped into themselves? "She is studious."

Ourana seemed mildly disappointed by this word. "Studious?" She tasted it, as if it were unfamiliar.

He struggled to make her understand, but he so little understood the woman himself that the act of explanation was difficult. He began haltingly. "Aphra studies the world. As Valen studies battle. She devoured knowledge and distilled meaning, but . . . lacked wisdom. She feared nothing at all except what peculiarities lay in her mortal reveries. She slept so rarely, terrified of it. She seemed . . . very tired to me when we parted. Eventually whenever sleep would claim her, she would stay unconscious for nearly half a day, drifting in between the present and the past. She was so young when I first met her, convinced she would never see old age. She is burdened by the weight of her father's destiny always, and she lives her life accordingly, as if each day will become her last. She is . . . Very mortal." And that was when his explanation failed.

The Seer took a moment to process this before answering in his silence. "We seem to move so slowly to the younger races. I have often pondered if they think of how we feel, watching everything around us so rapidly decay. I was more curious about her appearance, however." She laughed again, lightly. "You see, they have wanted posters of her still up and down the Coast, which I think must do her some great injustice as they portray her as a great and monstrous horned figure."

He found himself telling her things of his own volition that he had told no one, not even Drogan. "The bounty was crafted so that she might walk freely without disguise. It is easier to change a name than it is a face. I met her first in her guise as a dhaerow named Veldrin, a dragon-crafted glamour that I thought to be fair. She seemed strange to me, pale eyes, long loose hair, and somewhat tall for a female. She irritated me at first with her informal manner, but I appreciated this about her in time. By the dawn's sunlight, when we escaped to the surface, I saw that her hair had turned to shadow and her skin to bronze - but her eyes were slitted as a dragon's and as pale as the moon."

Though he remembered then in that moment that he had escaped the Underdark under the cover of night, under the light of the half-moon that assaulted his eyes like daggers. When he had finally been able to see without pain, he saw Veldrin limned in her true form in the silver of Eilistraee's light, and he had wept like a child, overwhelmed.

"You admire her," the Seer realized.

It was rare for elven kind to be so attached to mortals, but Solaufein had always been unconventional by even dark elven standards, keeping company with kobolds, cambions, and dragons. "Openly and completely," he confirmed. "She forgave me."

"How long since you left her company?" The Seer wondered.

He struggled to recall. "Seven, eight years. Long for the mortal races, but near for me. I saw things there in the god of murder's temple that I care not to revisit. Aphra left for Kara-Tur many years ago with her brother. I am sure she has traveled the world, as she wanted to."

"It does not sound as if you parted on ill terms, then."

He shook his head. "No," he said softly. "We were close for a time, but mortals are quick. My affection for her will never dim, but her absence does not pain me. I know she is where she wishes to be. I think she was . . . Or felt she had diminished after what happened in the war. I only hope she has recovered, and that we may meet in more peaceful times. If we are lucky enough to know peace."

"I heard a love waver in your voice, when I asked you to describe her," she noted.

He stared at the glowing blue and green of the mushrooms in thought of that strange rivvil word, 'love.' The Seer switched to the Common tongue when she spoke the word, as there was no word in their language for such a concept. "In the way you love Eilistraee, I love her," he finally spoke. "My love for our goddess does not inspire me to sing; I choose to honor her by my sword. I feel no need to dance naked under her light. But for Aphra, I might have done such things, had she but asked them of me. Thankfully, she never did, and the world has never been subjected to the sight of my dancing."

She laughed much louder at this, and Ourana's eyes sparkled in delight. "Oh, but dancing might bring you joy!"

He scoffed. "And then I must give up my sulking? I think not."

"It sounds as if you have been through much in such short time," she assessed finally. "I wonder at the source of your pain, Solaufein, but I will not pry. It is your business."

The Seer's head bent in prayer as she clasped her hands before her lap, and he lapsed into silence. After a while, he found the courage to speak again: "The name of my pain is Phaere. She is long dead, so there is no healing to be done. It is an old wound and does not grieve me, who I am . . . Is because of it. It has shaped me." His time with Drogan and adventures with Deekin had done much to distance him from the pain, but he found that it did still hurt to speak her name aloud in the Seer's presence. It was not grief, but something lesser that had grown in the spaces that the grief had left behind - an old wound, an aged ache that had grown frayed at its edges.

She did not lift her head as she spoke: "If you would but ask our Lady for solace, I am sure she will grant you it. Sometimes, however, it is not solace that we need."

"I was built for war, not solace," he told her.

She turned to him and there was a hardness in her gaze that had not been there before. "I am a Sword Dancer of Eilistraee first, and Seer second. She may have granted me visions, but I have spent years studying her arts of both dance and swordplay. Eilistraee has Chosen you for a greater purpose than mine, however. I know your pain, Solaufein, and thank you for sharing its name with me. You have honored me today. Come, let us return to the temple, lest Valen tear the place apart in worry."

"It has been my honor, Malla Ourana," he said and stood to offer her his hand. She took it gingerly and together they walked back to the temple, arm in arm.

---

"I know your power exceeds this," Solaufein pointed out as he offered Binne his hand. She'd fallen prone on the ground after he easily disarmed her when she refused to use her abilities to her advantage, preferring - illogically - to eschew her innate talents in favor of simply attacking him with weapons.

She grasped his hand with a groan and stood back up on shaking legs. "Well that doesn't seem fair to me," she grumbled. "Besides, I rather like your head - I don't want to fry it."

"You will never win if you do not," he tried to explain. "I will give you a moment to breathe and gather yourself, then attack again. Our enemies will not be so gracious."

"That depends on the enemy." She took a few deep breaths, which abated the shaking in her limbs.

"It is either me, or Valen," he reminded her.

"Alright, alright," she relented. "I'll unleash a little, but I warned you! If I singe any of your hair it's on you!"

He highly doubted the possibility of that happening and spared no time to warn her before dropping a globe of darkness over her head. Switching to infravision, he saw her backpedal rapidly and curse while he simply waited for the right moment to strike, perfectly content in the pitch blackness.

Their sparring matches in the training yard of the Eilistraeens lasted only a few moments after that; once she had rolled out of the darkness, she whipped out with a leash of light that coiled from her gut that he recognized from their previous battles, and easily dodged under. The green light swept over him and coiled back into her gut. He remained in the dark to press his advantage while she hurled spell after spell of eldritch energy and light at him, sticking to purely offensive evocations which he was grateful for in a small way. He'd seen her magic curse enemies into madness and spell them to sleep and admitted to himself and Enserric that it would have been an embarrassing end to their match if he'd simply fallen asleep mid-battle. She made the mistake of lashing out with Akordia's whip, which he easily disarmed her of by allow it to wrap around his armored vambrace and pulled with his body weight, yanking her forward into the darkness. Just as the globe was dispelled, she was at the mercy of Enserric's edge, and admitted defeat.

"That was better," he complimented. "But you rely too much on this whip," he instructed, handing it back.

"Mostly out of a lack of other weapons," she admitted.

That was something they intended to fix that day. After their impromptu training session where he had gaged her skill, Valen took them to be introduced to Rizolvir, the Eilistraeen smith that had traveled to the Underdark with his fellows to ply his trade. Within minutes after Valen's introduction, the smith was wrenching holes out of a helm and determinedly taking measurements of Binne's horns and of Solaufein's dimensions for a customized mithral-chain enforced set of leathers. The war-scythe would take longer to make, Rizolvir assured them, but would be finished with the armor within a day or two. The helm would be finished within hours and would fit Binne like a charm.

They met with Deekin back at the temple in Solaufein's room and parsed out their options while he braided Binne's hair back and Deekin sketched in his journal. It was apparent that knowing their options was absolutely necessary, and the next step of their goal to stunt the Valsharess' efforts would be to talk to Nathyrra, who had scouted the caverns personally and knew what threats were out there.

Soon, they were back in the library with the two rivvil in front of the Seer, delivering a more in-depth report on their actions on the islands and discussing their future options with the Seer, Nathyrra, and the General.

"You've dealt major wounds to the Valsharess' forces and successfully hindered her efforts," Nathyrra said. "Your next step is to disrupt her attempts at gathering allies in the nearby caverns. She's made overtures to the illithid city of Zorvak'Mur, and the nearby eye tyrant stronghold."

"Eye tyrants and bleedin' mind flayers?" Tomi paled. "S'bit like asking him whether he'd like to be stabbed in the head or the eye."

"We've faced worse and somehow survived," Sharwyn reminded him.

"There also be the Mirror to consider," Deekin reminded Solaufein and pulled out the silk-shrouded vanity mirror from the avariel isle. Binne and Valen both took steps back from it - Valen a step closer to the Seer - as the kobold carefully handed it over to the matron.

The Seer frowned. "I am hesitant to use such a powerful artifact without preparation . . . I thank you for your offer, but I will have to commune with Eilistraee before undertaking this task. I have heard a little of the damage it caused on the isle."

"It can turn queens into paupers and jesters into sages," Binne summarized, "I cannae imagine what it'd do to you if broken."

"Hence my hesitation." She held the mirror briefly before appearing to reconsider and handed it back to Deekin, who seemed startled. "I will pray on it," she explained, "but for now, why don't you hold onto it?"

"Er, this be a big burden for someone as little as Deekin to hang onto," the kobold protested.

"You've managed well thus far," Binne told him. "We have faith in you."

"I had considered using it when dealing with the haszak," Solaufein threw forth, and met some criticism in the form of outright guffawing from Valen and Binne and a 'tsk' from Nathyrra.

"They would have defenses against such scrying," she cautioned him. "As would the beholders . . . Although there is a portion of the cavern that we were unable to scout, due to an entrenched presence of undead. It might be useful in that regard."

"I will think on it," Solaufein assured her.

"There is another matter of concern," Nathyrra threw out, drawing his attention as they had turned to leave. "House Mae'vir is throwing a revel and has made an overture to us. Your presence is requested."

Solaufein's brow rose. "Uns'aa? Ele?"

Her expression was quite serious as she said simply, "Abbanelith. The Matron of Mae'vir has recently outcast her eldest daughter from the main house, Zessyr, over an unknown disagreement; Zessyr is the one who has made the request. I would urge you to go but ask you to take an escort with you."

He considered this. "You will accompany me, then?" He wondered. "You are more versed in these matters than I."

"Solaufein's diplomacy is best expressed at sword-point," Binne explained at Nathyrra's questioning gaze.

"If that is your wish," Nathyrra conceded. "I will do my best to prepare you. It will be held at final light."

"You must dress accordingly . . . I will have someone see to it," the Seer threw in with a smile. "No armor or weapons are permitted in the public house."

"I don't like this, it's too dangerous," Valen had to cut in.

"Your suspicion doesn't even permit you to have fun," Binne realized with a slight sad frown, which quickly turned up in amusement as another thought occurred to her. "Though you're not wrong. This does seem the opportune time for some backstabbing."

"Then I am lucky I will have you to guard my back," Solaufein smiled.

Her eyes widened. "You want me there? As what, your battle-slave? Am I even permitted to attend such a thing?"

"It would be unorthodox, but in these circumstances, it would be wiser to have more allies at his side," Nathyrra explained. "Though, it will be hard to find a dress that fits you . . ."

While it was easy enough for Solaufein to simply borrow the appropriate clothes from Imloth, who was similarly sized, the challenge of finding Binne fitting garments took the latter part of the evening. Some rapid adjustments had to be made in order to find a nearly too-tight fitting black gown and boots of appropriate girth; the effect was that a dress had appeared to be painted onto her. Nathyrra appeared much more comfortable in a fitting purple gown, as did Imloth who elected to accompany them, dressed in silver and blue silks. Solaufein had chosen simple black, as he was unable to visually tell the difference between subtler hues of dark color and preferred simplicity. That he matched his companion made a statement for those who would read into it; that they belonged to no House and stood apart.

Valen had been invited as well, but declined curtly, having had enough politics to last a lifetime. Deekin, although curious was too afraid having heard too many stories about kobold being served for dinner and was still engaged in writing down details about the Luskan conflict with his fellow bard.

That left the three dark elves and the cambion to head to Mae'vir's public house by themselves. Solaufein felt strange and naked, walking through the city without Enserric at his side; Enserric had insisted that Solaufein not leave him behind if there was any killing to be done, but weapons and armor were forbidden. He had keyed his relic to the Reaper's realm to his quarters at the temple and felt secure enough with Binne at his side and most of his magic coming back to him. Safety was merely one nauseating portal away, should the worst occur.

"What should we expect in there?" Binne whispered to him as the foursome approached the public house.

Solaufein didn't know quite what to tell her. "Anything at all," he suggested. She frowned, and then let out a low whistle when they entered.

The revelry was in full swing by the time they arrived. The house was a single story of columnar glory and stained, spidery glass, with a multitude of private side-rooms to accommodate guests. Dark elves in riotous colors drank, danced, and dallied under hovering multi-color mage lights, and the air was rife with the heady scent of incense and sex. The only non-dark elves present were Binne and other serving slaves; she stood out a full head and horns above everyone, un-collared, and something in Solaufein's gut churned at being in the midst of a revel with his people after so long apart in his present company. The smell of the room alone had him swimming in memories he'd rather forget, of a life that was no longer his to live.

Nathyrra strutted them across the room drawing every eye at quiet, separate intervals, and sat them down at a nearby table as they awaited service. Solaufein could feel the eyes upon them, though few dared to openly gawk - he doubted that the Eilistraeens made a habit of co-mingling with the rest of the city, and this stood out as an unusual statement for them to make. The dhaerow of the revel were adorned in their best while he dressed simply and wore his symbol of Eilistraee openly at his neck as it peeked out from beneath his black silk tunic.

"Speak only if you are spoken to," Nathyrra instructed Binne, though he suspected that the comment was intended for him as well. "We are curiosities here and will no doubt draw undue attention."

"Keep my mouth shut, got it," Binne nodded, and looked a little deflated.

"The same must apply to Imloth and I," he tried to comfort her, but it didn't appear to work. "Males must not appear impertinent."

She appeared disturbed. "Why?"

"It is the way of things," was the only explanation the commander could offer. "Males are inferior to females in every aspect. I understand this is not the way of things on the surface."

"Well, perhaps in some cases, but the two sexes are not so extremely segregated as such, no. In places like Cormyr, it's the opposite. I hear they don't even let their women fight."

Nathyrra's curiosity got the better of her. "What a strange, backward place. I have seen it on a map and read of their Purple Dragon Knights. Have you ever been?"

Binne shook her head. A few hairs fell loose from her braid, and his fingers twitched as Solaufein resisted the urge to push them back out of habit. "I cannot imagine someone like me would be well-received there. Been up and down the Coast, though, as far as Kuldahar—" she cut herself off when she saw a half-elven female approach, with a slave collar. Her expression sobered immediately, and she lapsed into silence.

"Your orders, please," the slave requested politely in lightly accented Ilythiiri, keeping her gaze carefully trained on the floor.

"A bottle of morimatra," Nathyrra commanded after glancing between them to see if there were any objections, "and rothe milk for me." When the slave girl bowed and departed into the crowd, Nathyrra leaned in and said, "I will taste-test the food and drink for us," in Common for Binne's benefit. One of the cambion's eyebrows traveled up, and she nodded in understanding.

Solaufein appreciated Nathyrra's caution. Poisoning was not the preferred method of assassination for his people, and few would be so bold to do so in a public venue, but the circumstances were extenuating. With Lloth's departure, the only true clerics in the city were of Eilistraee's priesthood, which painted a target on his head as a technical member. He felt the precariousness of their situation acutely in the public house, with all the eyes of the city of Lith My'athar upon them. Though he doubted any would dare to make an attempt on his life, as the Seer's 'savior' his position was highly valued, the positions of those next to him were in question. He didn't trust Binne's safety to the crowd, even if he honestly believed she was too stubborn to permanently die.

It was not long before their presence was noticed by those in power. Shortly after the drinks were delivered, a male in blackened leathers and loose, long hair approached with a bowed head. "Malla Zessyr requests the presence of Solaufein," the male intoned, directing this toward Solaufein with a slight upturned gaze. Their eyes met only for a flashing red second before the servant trained his eyes back to the ground again.

Solaufein wondered at his position; what did the others of the city think of him, if the Eilistraeens had styled him as their savior? He did not believe he deserved the deference afforded to him. He turned to Nathyrra appraisingly, who gave the slightest of nods as he stood to follow the servant. Without second thought, he grasped Binne's hand and pulled her after him, knowing she would watch his back. Though he was the only one requested, he knew better than to meet with an unknown female with no back-up behind him - he could almost hear the General in his head berating him for even thinking of attending Zessyr unaccompanied.

They were led to a side-room, closed off from the revel with a guard posted outside the door. Inside was a lounge of dim visible light and colorful silk pillows thrown on various plush couches of turquoise, and a lone female situated atop one of them carelessly unguarded and unaccompanied. The servant that had led them walked over to her side of the room once they entered and assumed the position of bodyguard.

Upon closer examination, Zessyr Mae'vir was not a comely female. She was scarred, stocky, and seemed to wear a permanent sneer upon her face that suggested she knew very well what she looked like and did not care to waste anyone's time pretending otherwise. Solaufein could respect that. "Vendui," Solaufein bowed. From the corner of his eye he saw Binne attempt to mimic the gesture but think better of it when she tried to bend over in her dress and nearly fell out of it.

Zessyr stood and met his gaze fearlessly. "You are less impressive up close," she commented dryly in Ilythiiri in a low, unexpectedly rasping voice. He noted the scars that extended around her neck and found himself uncharacteristically empathizing with a female. He suffered similar wounds for many years before his regeneration after Undrentide, most recently from Akordia.

Still, he could not help himself when he replied, "I was going to say the same thing about you."

She seemed surprised, but not unpleasantly so. "The tongue on you! No female has ever chastened it?"

"Many have tried. Will you make attempt?"

"No," she promised, "and I suspect I would fail if I tried."

His eyebrow raised at that. "A rare thing, a female admitting to such."

Zessyr shook her head and paced. "I prefer you unbroken - I require a male with a spine to complete the task I have in mind. You fit this description admirably."

He switched to Common, noting from his periphery that Binne was scratching her head in confusion. "If you have an offer, make it plain," he suggested.

Zessyr switched easily in accent-less Common and stared at Binne for a moment. "Your slave, on the other hand, is much more imposing in person," she said. "You are quite . . . Tall, aren't you?"

"And you're quite short," Binne shot back, rubbing one of her horns self-consciously. "What's this about offers? Are we including me in this discussion now?"

Something about this displeased Zessyr. "Hmm. Your slave is ill-mannered," she told Solaufein.

"She is not my slave," he informed her, "and you would do well to make your intentions known."

Zessyr sat back down among her comfortable couches and considered this for a few seconds, before blurting out, "Very well, Solaufein. I wish you to kill my mother."

Binne's reaction was a derisive snort that went ignored, while Solaufein didn't miss a beat: "how would you have it done?" He asked.

"The method matters little to me," Zessyr snapped. "I wish the deed done and cannot do it myself. I am banned from the House. You are in a unique position - she will grant you an audience when you request it, as the Seer's emissary, and you will strike her dead. It is quite simple."

"Murder is rarely simple and often when planned goes awry," Binne shot in. "Surely you and your mother can work out your differences on your own. Why drag us into your affairs?"

"Bold and ill-mannered," Zessyr assessed with a narrowed gaze.

"She raises fair point," Solaufein defended. "This is not my affair."

Zessyr's reply was curt. "It will be if you do not intervene. My mother Myrune is loyal to the one calling herself Valsharess. When the time comes, she will betray you and your fellow moon-worshipers and drag this city into shit alongside her. If you do not believe me, ask her. Her allegiance will doom us all. All I require of you is to end her life, and I will be restored to my House properly - as Matron. I will not betray this city to the false one. I have no desire to return to Lloth's ways after her silence - I see a greater glory in store for us removed from her yoke. Consider my offer carefully, male. You will not receive a better one from my mother."

"I will think on it," he promised. "Is there anything else?"

"No. You may go."

"Alulove," he bowed again, and led Binne out of the room.

Once he was back at the temple where Nathyrra and Imloth were waiting and pleasantly chatting, he said, "we must leave for the temple at once."

Imloth was displeased, but Nathyrra nodded. "Oh, very well," the commander relented, "but let us take the bottle with us."

An argument between Valen and Binne over what course of action they should take immediately ensued upon his return to the temple, while everyone debated over what to do with this information. Above the clamor of the fiendlings arguing over what should be done and the rivvil interjecting questions, only Nathyrra remained silent and lost in thought. The Seer made placating comments here and there, but the assassin remained aloof. Tired of the noise, Solaufein placed a hand on Binne's arm to quiet her and gave everyone withering stares until they grew quiet.

"Nathyrra?" Solaufein beckoned, knowing she above all would be the most well-versed in abbanelith, next to the Seer.

"We must consider what to do next very carefully," Nathyrra began to caution slowly, "as it would be unwise to refuse Zessyr without cause. Her accusations of her mother are serious."

"We can't seriously take part in an assassination plot," Valen interjected. "It would undermine what we stand for!"

"I can agree with that sentiment," the Seer calmly spoke, "however now we are caught up in these events whether we want to be or not."

"What do you think I should do?" Solaufein directed this at Nathyrra.

She paused consideringly before answering, "You should first absolutely determine where Matron Myrune's loyalties lie."

"Will I have your aid in this?"

She seemed surprised by the offer. "Of course - if you wish it."

He nodded. "Then we will pay the Matron a visit on the morrow."

---

As always, Binne's body was warm, compliant, and offered no resistance to Solaufein's ministrations. It struck him that this was grace, something rare and precious in his strange and violent life that he couldn't afford to lose. There was something undeniably wholesome and forgiving in her nature that transformed passion into something sacred. It escaped the tongue, this sort of marvelous wisdom that disappeared as quickly as one attempted to define it, but the sense of wonder remained behind. He didn't know how to tell her about the feeling that defied words itself, so he demonstrated it to her with his body as best as he was able to. It pleased him to make her happy, as much as it pleased her to do the same to him.

After, they lay in near perfect contentment counting each other's scars in attempt to extend the feeling for as long as physically possible - before the very likely deadly day ahead of them caught up and dragged them vehemently from that contentment. He found a marvelous amount of curved welts she apparently didn't remember getting after an 'encounter with some Zhents,' and she idly traced Akordia's whip marks with her fingers. Eventually they had to face reality and helped each other in armor, gently tugging and tightening everything into place, finishing just in time to hear the General knocking. With a curt greeting, he led them directly to the main formerly-altar-room where Nathyrra was waiting, dressed like she was ready for business in her light-swallowing black leather armor. They had all silently agreed to leave Deekin out of their grim task.

"I have an idea," the little assassin said in lieu of hello. "One that may prompt Myrune to tip her hand to us, if her daughter was correct about her allegiances."

"Good morning to you too, Nathyrra," Binne greeted. "What a fine day it is to be planning a murder."

Nathyrra continued as if she hadn't heard her: "if we inflate your value to us as not only the Seer's savior, but as Eilistraee's very own Chosen, it will give Myrune a chance to prove her loyalty to the Seer by entering a compact with our forces. No such formal alliance presently exists."

Solaufein frowned. "But I am not Chosen."

The wizardess shrugged. "Who is to say you are not? The Seer saw you in a dream. Perhaps you are Chosen."

"There's a frightening thought," Binne commented.

Valen was already nodding in agreement. "Those Chosen by gods seldom live long lives."

But Solaufein saw into Nathyrra's deeper meaning. "Killing me would raise her in the Valsharess' eyes, Chosen or not."

"She will set a trap for us," she explained, "and we in turn will set a trap of our own."

"Can't the murdering wait until after breakfast?" The cambion grumbled, making him smile.

One meal later and the foursome were off to the gates of House Mae'vir, a phosphorescent mansion near the city gates with tall spires that stretched toward the cavernous ceiling. They briefly discussed their strategy in the likely event that a fight would break out before leaving for Mae'vir's household. Though he could tell their task rankled at the General and Binne, he felt grateful to have them both guarding his back, knowing well how deadly they both were in concert with one another from their battles so far.

When they announced their presence to the door guard, it took several long minutes before Myrune Mae'vir was ready to see them. Physically she seemed to be an elder copy of her daughter, without the facial scars but possessed a similar arrogant demeanor. It had been many years since Solaufein had come face-to-face with a matron in the near-fullness of her power, and he did not miss the experience at all.

Myrune wasted no time in discerning their intent. "If you have come to assassinate me, you have come poorly armed," she criticized in a reedy high voice in Ilythiiri, leveling the four of them with her pink gaze.

"That is not our intent," Nathyrra stated, taking the lead. "We have come to warn you that your daughter is attempting to take your place."

"Then you have wasted your time," Myrune snapped. "I know this much. She is young, and foolhardy. She will learn her place."

"The city cannot afford your squabble at this time," Nathyrra continued evenly, "not when we are facing the forces of the Valsharess. We must have unity, not strife. Sooner rather than later, you will require the protection of the Seer and her priestesses."

"Lloth's silence does not concern me," Myrune dismissed with a wave of a wrinkled hand. "She will not remain silent for long and will dispose of this interloper."

Solaufein felt his hand involuntarily twitch toward Enserric at his hip at the mention of the foul goddess and saw the General out of the corner of his eye grip his flail with white knuckles.

"The nature of her silence concerns us all," Nathyrra said. "Eilistraee remains strong."

"Eilistraee is weak," Myrune spat, "as her followers. Your presence in this city is an aberration, a mere consequence of these circumstances. Once the one who dares to call herself queen inevitably falls, we shall see where you stand in mighty Lloth's gaze, dobluth."

Nathyrra turned to Solaufein, who took that as his cue to speak. With appropriate respect, Solaufein lowered his eyes, bowed, and addressed the matron carefully. "Lloth will return in time," he lied. "But it will be at a time long after the Valsharess has razed this city to the ground."

"And who are you to know this? Ourana's 'savior'? Spare me your prophecies," Myrune laughed darkly.

"He is Eilistraee's Chosen," Nathyrra asserted, "sent here in our time of need."

This garnered Myrune's attention, though perhaps not in the manner that they wanted. It was anticipated that the meeting would go awry and break out into a fight, which is why they had all attended armed - as had Myrune, who was trussed in adamantine spikes over her silken robes and wielded a mace at her hips. They had hoped that Myrune would take the warning about her impending assassination seriously and embark on an alliance with the Seer through Solaufein, though privately Solaufein had anticipated that this would end in violence. Nathyrra estimated their chances were quite good that the meeting would remain diplomatic, but Solaufein sensed in that moment when he met Myrune's sneering gaze that everything was about to go awry.

He signaled Binne in the silent hand-language that he'd been teaching her and Deekin to begin casting. Just as the cambion began to mutter in abyssal under her breath, Myrune screeched out, "Kill them! Kill them all! Lloth will praise the slayer of Eilistraee's Chosen above all others!"

Myrune had attended them in her colonnaded throne room with masked guards lining the walls every six feet. Solaufein counted one wizard among their number, three bowmen, and four swordsmen. It was four against eight, plus a de-powered high-priestess. They'd anticipated overwhelming odds and planned accordingly.

The crossbowmen released bolts amongst them, thought all the missiles fell short of their targets as one of Nathyrra's contingencies slammed into place, protecting them from ordinary missiles. Valen let out a guttural roar and launched himself at the archers, felling one in a single initial blow and gaining the attention of two of his neighbors who drew melee weapons and unwisely engaged the weapon master.

Binne's spell followed Nathyrra's contingency and sent a pillar of eldritch light crashing down on Valen's enemies, knocking them flat and making them swift and easy kills for him. Within seconds, his foes were down and he was charging at a group of four swordsmen that fell into a pack in futile attempt to overwhelm the tiefling. Unworried, Solaufein charged at Myrune.

Hellfire swarmed over their heads as Binne hurled fiery eldritch blasts at any enemies in her line of sight. Nathyrra dropped a globe of darkness over the wizard as a crossbowman and swordsman fell away from the walls to engage her. Myrune's face erupted into an ugly snarl as she was forced to defend herself with her mace. She was far from an amateur and a stoneskin slid into place as her contingencies activated - but Solaufein kept her concentration divided enough that she couldn't cast any more spells. Enserric whittled away at the stone covering her skin carefully, strike after strike.

The wizard abruptly went down with Nathyrra's glowing blade through his back, as he was no match for a wizard-trained assassin. Valen was surrounded by enemies and in his prime element, red eyes flashing in the dark. Binne directed her attention to Nathyrra's other enemies and hurled a spear of light at one, impaling a swordsman through the chest and felling him. The odds had been evened, and now including Myrune there were only four enemies in total.

Myrune cried out for aid but it was to no avail - Enserric was everywhere she attempted to flee, and no amount of backpedaling could save her from his onslaught. Solaufein charged a dispel into his blade as he done back on the avariel isle and swung at the matron, finally breaking through her stoneskin, and slicing into her shoulder nearly the entire way through. Surprised, Myrune glanced down at her wound that was gushing forth blood in a torrent. This was a fatal error as she had no time to raise her mace to block Enserric's next blow that severed her head from her neck. Enserric let out a crow of victory as Myrune's head went tumbling down and an eruption of dark elven blood practically bathed Solaufein as Myrune's body limply fell in a heap to the ground.

"There's nothing like the taste of drow blood in the morning," Enserric crooned, flashing red. "Wielder, you spoil me."

The few enemies that were left alive looked upon this sight in stunned disbelief, and then nearly in unison dropped their weapons and surrendered on bended knees. "Udos ra'shel! Xun naut elgg udossa!" One cried from Valen's left. The tiefling reigned in his battle-rage carefully, eyes flashing back to blue as he assessed their new circumstances with an expression of displeasure.

"Well that was bracing," Binne commented lightly, brushing her hands over her armor with care. "So this is abbanelith? Can't say I care for it."

"It does not always end this way—" Nathyrra began to explain but was cut off as the doors to Myrune's throne room swung open.

In stepped the exiled Zessyr with a victorious smirk. She swept into the room as a queen with her nose high in the air, taking in the sight of her headless mother's corpse with aplomb. "Ah, I see my mother has died. How unexpected," she commented blithely, looking to Solaufein who was cleaning off Enserric on Myrune's robe.

Solaufein shrugged. There wasn't much to say. Myrune had put up an expected fight, but nothing beyond their capabilities. He was privately glad that he hadn't woken Deekin for this particular part of the adventure, as no doubt it would be something the bard would leave out of the final print. Assassinating Myrune in her own home wasn't something Solaufein would qualify as 'heroic' but necessary - the crazed matron had attacked them first, after all.

"Matron Mae'vir," Nathyrra formally greeted with a bow, drawing Zessyr's attention. "These men, once loyal to Myrune, have surrendered," she indicated the four surviving guards that were cowering beneath Valen's forceful glare.

"They will be questioned," Zessyr decided, "and vetted. You have done well, Nathyrra, Solaufein." She did not acknowledge the fiendlings, who rolled their eyes at each other. "Now, you may leave. There is much I must put to order."

With the deed done, the foursome left back to the temple. None of them seemed to know quite what to say to the Seer, who awaited their return. She took in the sight of Solaufein's blood-covered form with a disappointed expression, and something in him pinched at the sight of it. He had no desire to disappoint the priestess but could in hindsight see no way of avoiding the fight that had broken out. Myrune may or may not have been loyal to the Valsharess, but she was undoubtedly loyal to Lloth.

"Mother Seer," Nathyrra greeted uncertainly with downcast eyes. "Matron Myrune is dead," she reported.

"I know," said the Seer sadly. "It grieves me that it has come to this."

"She could not be reasoned with," Valen assured the priestess. "Negotiations broke down almost immediately."

"Aye, she was a mad bint," Binne nodded.

Solaufein said nothing, and only ruminated on what he could have done differently.

"I know your actions were necessary and for the greater good," the Seer assured them, but still seemed disappointed. "I only wish that . . . Well, it does not matter. What is done is done."

The others nodded and filed away further into the temple to clean up, while he remained behind, carefully examining his feet. "Solaufein," the Seer spoke up, drawing his attention.

"Hmm?"

"You are clearly troubled," she remarked.

He mulled over how best to say what he wanted to say but realized that he wanted most to say nothing. It was hardly the first assassination of his career, and by far one of the least efficient. With a chuckle, he admitted out loud, "I have never slain a matron in her home before." The Seer said nothing, so he went on impulsively: "I imagine it would have been different, without the silence of Lloth. She was greatly weakened. Why Zessyr could not have done the deed herself, I do not understand. I suppose it is my fate to bloody my hands while others cannot or will not."

"Is that what you believe?" The Seer questioned, her clear blue gaze searching his.

He nodded. "I said I was made for war, not solace," he repeated. She seemed even more troubled by this. He did not know what to say to assuage her feelings.

"As you say," she eventually decided. "Go, then. No doubt you will wish to clean yourself after this morning's tragic events. Be at peace, and see me after, if you wish."

He returned to the Seer after removing his armor and dunking his head in bath water to clean off the blood. He found his feet naturally leading him toward her door. After a single knock, she opened up and gracefully admitted him, and offered him a glass of morimatra from a tray on her table. Surprised, he took the offer and sipped at the glass gently.

"What's the occasion?" He wondered.

The Seer smiled mysteriously. "None whatsoever. I felt the moment called for it." Thinking of the morning's previous slaughter, he could agree that he needed the distraction. "Now, will you tell me what troubles you?" She wondered.

He thought on this question for a moment. It was not the death itself that stuck in his memory, for he had killed many before and it had ceased to bother him. Still, something about the action of the morning bereaved him on a visceral level. In the midst of realizing it, he admitted, "I am thinking of my own family."

Ourana nodded, like she had expected this. She drew herself a glass of morimatra from the bottle and sipped at it and sat across from him. "Did they fall, when Ust'Natha fell?" She asked.

"No. They fell at the hands of Despana, with my aid," he confessed reluctantly.

"I see."

"I am no stranger to assassination."

"Something you and Nathyrra have in common," she noted blithely. "You should speak to her sometime about her past, if she is willing."

He shook his head. "Her past is her own. I judge no one for their deeds. That is not my place."

"Yet you judge yourself," she noticed.

"I . . ." He did not think of it as judgment. Something about her presence caused him to search inward, into places he had never dared go before. He wondered what would have become of him if he had known her sooner in his life. "I find myself wondering what might have been if things were different. If I were different."

The Seer was frank in her reply. "I do not think ruminating on what-ifs will help you, Solaufein. If you were different, you would not be here. Perhaps you would be dead," she pointed out.

"Yes. But death does not frighten me." He'd been waiting for it for a long time - he had slipped into it often in his v'dri, of Undrentide's crushing stones.

"What do you fear?" She asked.

He thought of Binne, of Deekin, even of Nathyrra and Valen. He thought of Aphra, Imoen, and Saradush . . . And realized his fear in that moment. "Loneliness. I tire of being alone. I am grateful for my abbin, but now I fear for them. The Underdark is dangerous."

"Deekin and Binne are capable people, Solaufein. I do not think you need to worry for them."

He sighed around another mouthful of morimatra, which he realized had the remarkable effect of bringing his most hidden feelings to bear. "Binne died once and nearly died again on the avariel isle while retrieving the shards of that mirror. As for Deekin, I do not doubt his capabilities, only his fragility. He is so small . . ."

Ourana smiled. "You have a large heart. I cannot assuage your concerns, but I can assure you that your fears are valid. This is indeed a dangerous place, and they know as much. They are here because they believe in you and trust you."

She used the word 'trust' in its Common interpretation, the word being alien to their mother tongue. He had not learned what trust was until he had traveled to the surface. Looking back, he now wondered at Nathyrra who had only recently converted and had never seen the surface before, and at her trust in him. He marveled at the Seer's trust in him, and said, "My instincts tell me that trust is for the foolish. And the dead." The old axiom came to his tongue unbidden, instinctively.

"I have found that trust strengthens us," the Seer countered.

He left her chambers feeling much brighter and lighter than when he had entered, though perhaps that was the morimatra talking, and ran into the commander in the hall on the way back to his room.

Imloth called out to him and caught up with him. "I've never seen you out of armor so often, abbil," he commented. "You have become brave."

"'Tis cumbersome when one is drinking," Solaufein laughed. "I am safe enough in the Seer's company."

Imloth laughed with him. "It is nice to know she is well-cared for. Best not let Valen know."

"Why?"

"We are all protective of her and love her. But he does not fully understand our ways. He was shocked at the behavior of the females at the only revel I managed to drag him to. He seems to take sex quite personally." He said this as if he was affronted.

Solaufein snorted, and noted that a misunderstanding had taken place, but did not mind. "No wonder he is put off by Binne," he realized. "I should tell her she is being too forward. She is convinced he hates her, while I assumed he preferred men. I was half-tempted to seduce him myself."

Imloth rolled his red eyes. "Who knows his heart? Wait, are you drunk?"

"I shared morimatra with the Seer, and then . . . I did things. We spoke of much, but it is not as you think. Then she offered me another glass! And—I would like to go now and find more. Imloth, would you care to join me?"

"How can I resist such an offer? But you are buying. Come, we will go to the public house."

They drew plenty of stares walking down the streets, but less than they had during the revel. Imloth and Solaufein were found laughing over their drinks by Valen, Binne, and Nathyrra who had gone searching for them. The public house was a great deal less crowded than it had been at the revel, and no one minded their presence. Solaufein managed to convince Binne to try morimatra, though the other two did not partake. They related the story of their 'assassination' to Imloth when the subject came up, which caused the fiendlings to intently study their feet.

"What troubles you?" Solaufein asked Binne, mirroring the Seer's question earlier.

"It's just . . . Is this what drow families are like? Always trying to kill one another?" She asked.

Solaufein looked between Nathyrra and Imloth, and they all simultaneously nodded. "Most often, yes," Nathyrra explained shortly.

"I killed my twin brother," Binne suddenly blurted out unexpectedly, then flushed a darker shade of red. "I-it was an accident, mind you, but—I can't imagine doing such a thing on purpose, or hating your mother enough to want her dead. It, I, well, I never wanted . . . I never wanted him dead, it just happened. My first casting, while we were rough-housing as kids do. I was so ashamed that I ran away after that, and it took me years to get the guts to come back and face my parents."

Solaufein started laughing uncontrollably and accidentally spit out his morimatra.

Binne seemed genuinely hurt and confused. "What—what's so funny?"

Valen, wryly guessed, "Drow humor."

"What?"

Solaufein managed to spit out an explanation in-between laughs. "You killed your brother by accident, and it has haunted you since. I have killed all of my siblings, as well as my father, on purpose and have never been haunted by any of them. It is funny because we are so different!"

Binne frowned. "Solaufein, that's horrible! That's not funny!"

Imloth and Nathyrra chuckled with him. Nathyrra spoke first, "I helped kill two of my sisters when the Valsharess took over my house."

This surprised Solaufein, not because she had killed her sisters, but because she had chosen to reveal this detail about her past association with the Valsharess. No one at the table seemed to mind, however, except Binne.

"But—that's horrible! How did that even happen?" The surprisingly innocent cambion wondered.

Imloth shrugged and answered for her. "It is the way of things. You are rivvin, so you can be forgiven for missing the joke. Trust us, it was very funny."

"Yes, such is the Underdark," Nathyrra said.

"Why?" Binne was stuck on this. "And how? I have so many questions!"

"How did I kill them?" Solaufein's eyebrow crawled up his forehead. "You wish to know my methods? That is a strange request."

"Well, I'll admit to some morbid curiosity on that front but mostly I'm concerned about the familicide everyone just admitted to," she answered.

Solaufein took a drink before replying. "My first house fell to House Despana on Matron Ardulace's command. My eldest brother died first, for he saw my betrayal and thought to kill me before I could kill him. We fought, I won. My younger brother was, hmm, I do not know this term. You kill them quickly, so they do not suffer?"

Nathyrra tapped her lip. "Pre-emptive?" She supplied.

"Thank you, yes. He was still a child and would have been sacrificed to appease Lloth. I strangled him instead so he could avoid this fate. My father, the patron of our house, I got with a garrote while he was sleeping, by far the most disappointing assassination of my career."

"You were an assassin?" Binne blinked. "Why didn't I know this?"

"For many years, yes," he supplied. "It was part of my duties as weapon master of Despana. I was sent to train their men and hunt their enemies. I am hardly the only assassin sitting at this table," he reminded her.

Her tone was heavily sarcastic. "I realize that, yes."

Nathyrra perked up. "Do'zhahen sil'in?" She asked him.

"No," He answered in Common, "we were a lesser House before the attack. It was a lateral move for me, for I had the favor of Ardulace's daughter—"

Binne started laughing at that moment. "This is what you meant by abbanelith, aye?" She guessed.

Imloth grinned. "Essentially, it is. Politics as usual."

Binne laughed loudly and helplessly and took another sip of her drink. "Wh-what in Auril's frosty name do your family dinners look like?"

Nathyrra smiled gently. "Tense, with antidotes on hand and an army of rothe to taste-test our food beforehand."

The cambion sighed. "Why is there so much slavery in the Underdark?"

"Because it is a place that preys upon the weak, and the people that inhabit it are equally brutal. They must be, in order to survive," Solaufein explained.

"I've found that to be true of most places I've been, actually," Valen cut in.

Binne turned to him. "How long were you a battle slave for, Valen?" She wondered.

Valen struggled to recall. "I . . . Am honestly unsure. There are . . . Holes in my memory."

She seemed saddened by this. "Aye, that's a rub. Solaufein, how long ago did this happen? With your family, I mean."

He made a noise in the back of his throat as he strained to remember. "When I was . . . Around one and a half century. I think. I do not measure the years any longer. It has been at least that long since, I reckon."

Binne's eyes widened dramatically. "I knew time was different for elves, but I didn't know how different. Not many elves around Neverwinter. My parents are human, so it's very strange to think someone might've been around longer than they've been alive." She took another drink when Imloth offered to refill her glass.

"It is a fair trade off," the commander said, "as we mature more slowly than the younger races. The path to adulthood is long and treacherous for us."

Valen made a confirming noise. "I've found that to be trust about most everyone I've met."

"Tell me about it," Binne scoffed. "I spent almost half of my teenage years in a Zhent prison."

Nathyrra made an intrigued noise. "Oh! I have read of those, but only in archaic and out of date texts. I have many questions if you do not mind them."

Binne was dubious. "I don't know, but it makes sense that they're infamous. I'd rather not revisit it too much if that's alright. Not so much that it still bothers me, but I cannae scarcely recall what happened."

Solaufein was slower to process this information. "You . . . Were tortured by Zhents? When? Where?" His face grew concerned.

Nervously, Binne answered, "It's... it was a long time ago. I was fifteen or so when they took me, and 'tis a difficult memory to summon. I do remember escaping quite vividly, and killing lots of them with fire, but everything else is a little out of order. Sort of jumbled. I think there was a... flaying? Definitely a drowning. They killed me once and a Baneite had to resurrect me, I can't really remember how. Oh, and sleep deprivation - definitely the worst kind of torture! The bloody worst, fucking sods would clang around my cell with cymbals and minstrels as soon as I'd nod off."

Solaufein brightened in realization. "This is why you must sleep so often. I see."

She laughed freely. "I've been making up for lost sleep ever since! Hah, but no, I've always been like that."

"It is good you killed them, or I would have," he said.

Binne smiled gently, seeming touched by this. "That's the nicest thing anyone's ever offered to do for me. Thank you, Solaufein."

"We are abbin," he said. "We all are, here."

"To abbin!" Imloth declared and raised his class. The three of them clinked their cups together in a rivvil toast, save Valen and Nathyrra who yet did not partake.

They meandered their way before long back to the temple, whereupon a discussion ensued with Nathyrra and the two rivvin (minus Deekin who was still catching up on notes) about what lurked in the southern caves of Lith My'athar. Solaufein announced his decision to try for the haszak city next to negotiate with them, and this was met with some objections.

The rivvil offered to accompany him, and though he initially refused, Sharwyn made an excellent point about more spellcasters against illithid being better than none. Tomi in particular objected to being accused of not being 'subtle' enough but did admit openly that he'd rather not be face-to-face with mind-flayers. Valen refused to let the Seer's savior out of his sight and Solaufein required Nathyrra's expertise for the negotiations, and with Deekin this rounded their party to a number of six. Despite the nature of their mission, Solaufein felt better about their odds than he had on the golem isle.

He would quietly admit to Binne later, though, that he fully expected everything to go awry.

After a short visit to the smithy to pick up her new helmet, weapon, and his armor before leaving for Zorvak'Mur, Solaufein pulled Binne aside. "May I speak with you privately?" He requested.

"This is about as private as it gets, Solaufein," she noted, and adjusted the helm around her horns. Pleased, she rapped it with her knuckles and began to fiddle with her scythe.

He adjusted the mithral-enforced leather around his form. "You use my name now, I have noticed. It is more pleasing to hear than 'Solly.'"

"Well, you kept getting mad at me. What's on your mind?"

"I want to take the mirror with us when we investigate the caverns," he revealed.

"Thought you wanted the Seer to have it?" She strapped the scythe to her back and stepped forward to help him instinctively with his armor.

"Using it back on the Maker's Isle was a good idea," he complimented. "We found a peaceful resolution that never would have been achievable otherwise, thanks to you and Deekin."

She pulled a strap on his shoulder tight. "Nice to be recognized for my genius. So you want to keep it to scry on the illithid? Elder Brain won't like that, I bet. Those are like . . . Twenty demilich Halasters in one bit vat. So I hear. I've only seen pictures, mind."

He knelt down to adjust his greaves. "I . . . Have met one once. And many illithid. All of whom are dead. They do not make reliable allies and are incredibly dangerous enemies. I cannot tell you how many terrors I have woken from of becoming one of their mindless thralls. I would sooner kill a mind-flayer than speak to it."

She chuckled. "So it's to be that sort of negotiation?"

"It may come to that," he told her, and stood to regard her. "Though I suspect that they would easily see through our scrying unless we discovered a defense against it. They will attempt to enthrall us and may succeed. I have no doubt the beholders would detect us as well as the Valsharess, but scrying is not the reason I want to keep the mirror."

Binne pulled off her helmet and scratched at her head in confusion. "Well, the only other thing it's good for is for shaving your—oh."

"Let me be clear. I want you to keep the mirror and break it if we find ourselves in an unlivable situation," he informed her. "For me, that means finding myself enslaved to haszak, or worse, the Valsharess."

"What? No!" She spluttered. "You saw what this bloody thing did to that jester! And that priest! Sharess' shaven bits, who knows what it'll do to you? I definitely don't want to meet whatever your opposite would be."

"Nor I yours. Which is why, in the unlikely event that the mirror requires breaking, I will be placing my faith in Deekin and Valen to put the mirror back together. The worst it can do is transform him into a dragon, or Valen into a monk. Or Nathyrra to . . . An ogre. We fixed it before, we can fix it again, and whatever we might endure will be better than living with those festering tentacle sacks."

"You really hate mind-flayers don't you?" Binne chuckled, but still seemed horrified by his suggestion. "You say these deeply sarcastic things all the time and I'm not sure if you're joking or not, but it sounds like you're not and that frightens me."

"It is both a joke, and the truth. You were right - it may end up transforming both of you into celestial beings. It changed one avariel into a medusa, while the others remained physically the same. It turned a queen into a pauper. Who is to say what it may do to you? You may become a queen yourself."

"I was just havin' him on - you really shouldn't joke about that. That's like calling you a moon elf. I'd hate to be a deva. And you're just lucky that I'm not telling Nathyrra you said she'd be an ogre."

He clasped her shoulder to stress his point. "Nonetheless, you will keep the mirror safe when we enter the haszak city. I will not see us all enslaved by a jatha'la nempori ak'nen. I have chosen to trust you with this because we are abbin. Do you accept?"

She sighed and grabbed his hand with her own. "Well, it's nice that you're asking but it's not as if I can say no. I wouldn't want to be enslaved either. Are you telling the others?"

"I have told Deekin, and he is relieved to not have the responsibility. I have not told Nathyrra but intend to, and I assumed Valen would overreact."

She rolled her eyes. "With a flail and flaming red eyes, yes. That's for the best, eh? Maybe tell the Seer, though, see what she says first. Bit rude to offer her a mirror and then not give it."

Solaufein shrugged. "I tried to give it to her, and she refused, saying that she did not trust herself with an artifact of such responsibility. She stressed a need to pray on it."

Binne scoffed. "Priestesses. Always praying for things they can't think of getting themselves. What does 'responsibility' have to do with it? We've gotten by on recklessness just fine."

"Recklessness . . ." He repeated, "and providential incompetence."

"Well it doesn't take smarts to figure out how to use a mirror, does it? I did it in a few seconds."

He smiled. "Perhaps because you are more horns than brain?"

She scoffed again. "Oh, you're so funny Solaufein. So witty. Gimme the bloody mirror, I'll tuck it safe-like. Pray I don't use it to spite you and turn you into a, a, a newt, or something equally useless and tasteless."

He passed her a carefully packed satchel where the mirror rested, tucked in the softest of spider silks. "Most of the avariel were still avariel, but opposite in temperament. I would probably still be a dark elf, just as you would still be half-demon."

"Yeah, but you'll be a rotten one! Like that useless wizard fop sitting outside his tower, just counting the bats that fly by!"

"Sounds peaceful. I am looking forward to it."

"It's no fun making fun of you. You take all the fun out of it."

He merely hummed and walked away.

---

Drow-to-Common Dictionary:

Haszak . . . Mind-flayers, illithid
Udos ra'shel! Xun naut elgg udossa . . . our asses surrender, please don't murder us
jatha'la nempori ak'nen . . . another way of calling something a festering tentacle sack