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.

13. The Betrayer

Much great googly gratitude toward Trisa_Slyne for helping me out with this story.

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PT. 1: ARIBETH

As a consequence of having no light source in an ice cave, Aribeth had lacked the ability to keep track of time while she was trapped in her solitary fortress. It was what she had begun to call the cave that had become her home as much as it was her prison. She knew time had assuredly passed; a hundred years or a hundred minutes did not make a difference to her. Her passive awareness did not permit her to care. She, for the first time in her ceaseless continuum between life and death, had accepted her fate. It gave her time to reflect. Retrospect was quite clear, through the ice. Crystalline, even. Aribeth de Tylmarande fell away and became what the plaque had decreed her to be - she was nameless, she was lost, and she had forgotten.

She realized many things about herself, in her isolation. It became a kind of meditation, her stillness and numbness. She forced her critical eye inward and had concluded that her entire life had been a lie. When Lord Kelemvor had pronounced her False, a traitor to her own heart and to the god she'd claimed, he'd spoken true. Death saw cleanly through the lies that polluted the minds of the living and delivered a fair judgment. She could not acknowledge that Cania was where she belonged unless she accepted that she herself was a lie. A lie she had carefully built and crafted with love, of perfection, grace, and justice. She had committed herself fully to the lie, forgetting what life had been like without the burden of it. There in the cave, she was no longer Lady Aribeth, sworn to Tyr's service. She was finally no one.

It was almost liberating, to be free of her life and its trappings - everything, from her name to her agency, to her very ability to move. That was the true torture that Mephistopheles promised - that she would come to believe the things that were said of her and accept that this was where she belonged. If Aribeth were being honest with herself, it was the first time in her entire existence she'd felt content with her lot, as hopeless as it was. In Cania, life and death were interchangeable, but if she had to trade one state for the other she might hesitate in her choice. At least in death, she no longer had to pretend she was anything or anyone. She could simply . . . Be. Living would mean pain, and suffering, and balance. Living might mean atonement. Aribeth didn't think she deserved that.

Then, a motley assortment of living beings had to muck it up by waking her up and reminding her of everything she'd left unfinished. Of Neverwinter, of Fenthick, of the world she'd given up on and which had given up on her in turn. She felt a phantom heartbeat in her chest when Imoen's name had slipped from Solaufein's lips, though - that was the moment she realized she couldn't just accept her fate and wallow in it. Not while Imoen was still alive, somewhere, and possibly in danger. That meant she had to escape Hell, and it seemed like Solaufein had a plan.

She had indeed prayed on it, as Solaufein had suggested, ridiculous drow that he was. Or rather, Aribeth had thrown a prayer to the Void toward any god that would dare receive it, from a broken, faithless, treasonous soul such as she. She blindly commended her soul to any god that would dare to have it, and for a moment, she thought that she had received an answer, but it was nothing like the feeling she once got from her communion with Tyr. That had been a sacred, warm, celestial tranquility, a sense of rightness within the universe, that she and everything were as they should be. No, the feeling she got in that moment contemplating the fire in the cave was quieter, like a whisper of a laugh across her mind. It was feather-light, and impossible to grasp, and slipped away from her the moment she tried to focus on it. It could not have been divine, she decided then - it was nothing but her imagination. It could not have been real. She was alone, as was just. As was deserved.

"Uh, where did you get that armor?" The question from the cambion's lips startled Aribeth out of her thoughts as they had started to leave the cave.

Aribeth stopped in her tracks, halting the entire party in the process, and looked down at the armor she'd worn for so long in life - it had largely been ceremonial, but the enchantments upon it made it more than simply a work of art. "I was wearing it as I died," she distantly recalled.

"Your breasts - I mean breast plate?" Despite her skin being a fairly dark shade of red, her cheeks did darken a shade. "No, I remember that day," she went on, "and not to summon bad memories but I have a vivid recollection of it in all its gory entirety, and you were hung in prison rags. They took your sword away too. Not sure where you got it, guess it doesn't matter, it being broken now."

"I dare any sword to defy my superior edge!" Enserric called from his sheath.

"I wish that sheath muffled him better," Binne lamented to Solaufein, who smiled somewhat shyly.

Aribeth blinked, and realized she had no clear recollection of the day of her death. Only snippets, moments, flashes. The taste of a dry mouth. Her throat, burning, vision blackening. So much screaming. "Was I? I can no longer remember. This is how I most clearly remember myself, so this must be how I appear in death," she rationalized, because after all it was better than being clad in rags.

"It looks . . . Mostly ceremonial," Binne understated.

"And about as useful as the Valsharess' armor," Solaufein noted, to Aribeth's confusion.

"Can a ghost actually wear armor? Is it real?" Binne was full of questions. "Can I touch it?"

"Her gauntlet felt real enough to my face," Valen pointed to the healing red mark on his chiseled cheekbone.

"Who is—I'm sorry for that, by the way—I know not what you mean or who those people are, but I will make do," Aribeth said primly. "I'm quite used to maneuvering around in my armor, and its enchantments should still work, although I'm . . . Not sure how, considering I am dead," she noted with a frown. ". . . I am not opposed to trying on new armor, if such a thing is possible."

"I bet Deekin and Nathyrra could figure it out," Binne waved her hand dismissively. "Where's the death-stick? Somebody whack her with it! Worked on me twice!"

"She has no body in the strictest sense, so that would not bring her back to life," Nathyrra gently corrected. "She has already been sentenced by the god of the dead and condemned to Cania. To defy that order is beyond our meager power, I think."

". . . It would also have to be in an elven size, which I believe we are unlikely to find in Hell," Aribeth added.

The kobold interjected, "You be surprised what we finds adventurings about, Ladybeth. That actually how we gets into this mess in the firsts place - Boss goes around, picking up cursed stuff he finds all the times."

Solaufein rounded on the unfazed bard. "How was I supposed to know the arch-devil had made it?"

"You finds it in the shadow plane!" Deekin criticized. "Better question be: how cans mysterious relic on shadow plane not be cursed?"

"The Reaper saved our lives many times," Solaufein pointed out calmly. "I believe Eilistraee guided me to it."

"Of course you believes that, elves and their dreams," Deekin scoffed and sighed.

"Tell me about it," Binne muttered.

"Trust me, the Seer is a lot worse than he is," Valen said.

"I cannae even imagine," Binne shook her head, her expression somewhere between sad and amused.

Solaufein turned back to Aribeth and appraised her. "You'll need a new weapon in the meantime, and we will need warmer clothes. Deekin?" he directed his attention to the bard.

Deekin shrugged. "Deekin will check his bag of holding and sees what we finds. If not, maybe bat-man has better stuffs, or d'jinn man. Deekin can sniff out good trades. Hey, maybes someone sets up shop in the tavern! We should check. Deekin bets it be warm in there. Maybes they have foods that not be jerky or mushrooms! Oooh!" He sounded excited and clapped his hands together with the enthusiasm of a child.

"What? There's really a tavern down here?" Binne was incredulous. "Why—who would build and run a tavern in Hell?"

"Doesn't Undermountain have an Inn situated on its entrance?" Valen asked her as the corner of his mouth up-turned in amusement.

"That's different," she defended, "Durnan's an Undermountain veteran and I wouldn't trust anyone else to run the Portal. It would be even less safe!"

"Well, the owner could either an enterprising glabrezu, or something a lot worse," Valen answered her. "Probably the latter."

"Fantastic, Valen, thanks for that. Deekin, would you care to sing the Doom song? We're about to march off into uncertain doomsy circumstances again, and it seems only fitting," Binne snapped.

"Deekin composed new verse before big drow battle," the bard shared eagerly. "Boss-Lady cares to hear it?"

"Entertain me!" She demanded, throwing her arms into the air. "Do your worst!"

"Excuse me, what is the 'Doom song?'" Aribeth wondered politely.

"Deekin show you!" The little bard chirped and began to pull out his cymbals that were strapped to the sides of his pack.

"You'll soon regret asking that," Valen promised her darkly.

Aribeth steeled her nerves, but nothing could prepare her for the reality of the Doom song. It screeched, it hollered, it cajoled, it ridiculed, it praised, it condemned, it maddened, it incited, it was everything except what she understood to be music. If this was what kobold music was like, Aribeth was frightened to discover what they considered art. She was sure it would be right at home in the halls of Pandemonium. The group followed Solaufein who led them out of the cave and out into the snow, and after a few minutes Aribeth broke down nearly into tears. "Please! No more, I—I can take no more," she told the kobold and rather embarrassed, caught up to Solaufein who turned a knowing smirk on her.

"It is an acquired taste," the drow assured her.

She sighed and prayed to whatever god was listening that she never acquired it. "For a moment, I missed the cave," she shared with him wryly. This made Solaufein chuckle. "I know where the Hellsbreath Tavern is," she informed him. When he raised an eyebrow, she continued and took a step ahead of him to take the lead, "At least, from here. This lost city is not large, and there are barely three areas of note - the quarry, the tavern, and perhaps the githzerai temple."

"Githzerai?" Nathyrra caught up to them and seemed interested at this mention. "There are planar travelers here?"

"Not many, but yes," Aribeth nodded. "We are here," she indicated toward a sign that had appeared out of the heavy snowfall, which stood next to a nearly snowed-in staircase that went down into the earth, ending at a black and ominous seeming door. Solaufein took the lead once more and after an amusing dilemma where he couldn't open the door, Nathyrra politely pointed out that the golden script above the door said 'pull' in Abyssal. Solaufein glared at it and pulled the door open, leading to a warm dark hall lit by hellfire-light, illuminating the hall in red. Aribeth knew where the tavern was, but had never frequented it, viewing it as the demons' domain, though she knew some of the lost that were more lucid than others went to drown their sorrows there. It made her wonder at her condition - how could she be dead exactly, if she could still experience the effects of living? Intoxication, pain, anger, she felt it all. Was there any difference in her condition, after her judgment? What did being a 'ghost' really mean, if she could still essentially fully interact with the living? Did it simply mean she was never allowed to permanently die?

Nathyrra distracted her by turning to her and continuing her line of inquiry as soon as they were inside. The drow woman brushed the snow off of her cloak and hair with her fingers next to Boon who shook off the snow from his coat, and she asked of Aribeth, "How long have they been here? The githzerai, I refer to."

"Pilgrims come and go out of the temple to see the Sleeping Man and pass his trials," Aribeth answered. "The sensei inside has been there for quite some time, I believe. Or at least she was there before I was imprisoned. I do not know how long I was in the ice."

"You were frozen probably not for too long, a few months at most," Binne reasoned, trying to cheer her up no doubt as was the cambion's strange nature. It made Aribeth want to smile, but her lips had forgotten the shape and she did not believe she deserved any kindness, so she did not. "Nathyrra said that you started a riot because of the Devouring that's going on, that's making everyone disappear. Do you know anything about what that's about?"

"It is how Mephistopheles is fueling his army," Aribeth did her best to explain. "He is raising the dead wherever he can find them and using the souls of Cania as fuel to power them. They become his undead slaves, and their identities and memories disappear. He knows he may do with the damned as he pleases in his domain. I objected to this treatment as I felt it went against the fundamental order of the universe, and he threw me into an ice wall and froze me to the spot. That is how you found me."

"What is the Sleeping Man?" Binne wondered. Once they had all shaken the snow from their forms onto the ground, Solaufein led the way down the hall to another black door. "That one says, 'push,'" Binne pointed out for him. He rolled his eyes at her and pushed inward on it.

"A celestial that resides in the temple, permanently sleeping," Aribeth said to her. "You should go there yourself. It's quite something. I attempted the trials myself when I first arrived in Cania but did not get the chance to see him."

"A winged-type who likes naps? Sounds like my kind of angel."

"There is an entire religion and school of thought the githzerai have organized around him. As I said, you should see it for yourself."

They stepped through the door after Solaufein and took in the common room before them, with the hellhound trotting after them and sniffing at Binne's fingers. It was vast and made of stone, with many branching halls and rooms around it that led to different areas of the surprisingly large complex. Beneath their feet and cut into the stone were fire-pits where velox-fires were perpetually kept burning, warming the area pleasantly - not that Aribeth could feel extreme temperatures anymore. She felt just cold enough to be distracting, and just warm enough to be uncomfortable. There seemed to be no in-between. Aribeth could not read the Abyssal but was comforted that there seemed to be elven labels as well, and labels for every door in many languages that she did not recognize. Slaadi, Eryines, baatezu, devils and lost souls of all sorts milled about socially and paid their odd mostly-living group little mind. Binne seemed to be hiding behind the crimson-haired tiefling, which was a feat for a nearly six-foot cambion with large horns, but she did her best to seem inconspicuous in the back of their group. The large three-legged hellhound next to her did not help.

Deekin took to the room immediately, cooed in approval and approached the nearest unoccupied fire pit and sat down right in front of it, to warm his toes. Solaufein followed him and looked around askance. "Deekin, when you are warm again, see what you make of this place. I am going to explore, I will meet you back here. Understood?"

"Yes Boss," Deekin agreed immediately, nodding, and flexing his feet.

"Stay near here and try not to start trouble," he requested of Binne and Valen - Valen seemed offended by the suggestion and Binne rather sheepish. "Nathyrra, come with me, please," he requested, and Nathyrra nodded and made her way to his side. Aribeth awaited her instruction, but it did not arrive, and the two drow disappeared into one of the rooms that Solaufein had pointed out and asked the meaning of. Aribeth watched their forms trail off, feeling a little lost before she decided that someone ought to watch out for the fiendlings, hound, and kobold, and that someone might as well be her.

Once Solaufein and Nathyrra were out of ear-shot, Valen looked to Binne with an amused glint. "Why does he automatically assume we're the ones who will start trouble?"

"I wouldn't! Probably," Binne defended half-heartedly. She patted Boon on the head, who panted happily. "I bet it's just because we have horns. Let's find a nice quiet corner so we can people-watch, hopefully with alcohol. The last thing I want is everyone the room noticing me because some arsehole decided to—"

"Oi, I know you!" A gruff voice spoke up from behind them.

Binne stiffened and paled, blurting, "Fuck! I can't go anywhere in this dump! Why am I suddenly missing the cave?" Aribeth could acutely empathize with the cambion's feeling. Things were much simpler in the ice, after all.

"They said there'd be a change in management," the voice continued as they turned to face it, and though the shadows in the tavern were heavy, the form of a large older bat-winged and black-tailed tiefling appeared out of them, swaying in place as he rather lazily pointed a clawed finger in the general direction of Binne's breasts. "Somethin' about the big M stepping down for his unqualified lil' girl to take the reins," he rambled.

"Well, then you must not be talking about me," Binne defended flippantly and eyed the finger like she wanted to break it in half, "because I'm neither little, nor a girl. Though I do agree that I'm highly unqualified to rule over Hell and should never be given the opportunity to do so. Who knows what I'd do with all that power? A woman might go mad . . . And try to take over the planes!"

"And we wouldn't want that," Valen riffed.

"Right," she went on, "only one of us devil-types allowed to try that at a time."

"You'd better get in line," Valen suggested playfully.

"Excuse messir," Deekin interjected politely. The older tiefling looked down at the kobold and seemed surprised by what he saw, judging from his expression. Aribeth supposed she must have had a similar reaction to meeting Deekin and wondered just where in the Hells Solaufein had picked up the little bard. He was shockingly effective at upending social situations. "I be Deekin," Deekin introduced carefully, pointing to himself. "You are?"

"Arden Swift's the tag," the gray tiefling bowed drunkenly, to his credit not sounding too sarcastic. "I ain't ever seen a talking kobold in Hell, but these are strange times indeed." Aribeth felt the urge to punch him for his assumptions, born out of her recent faithlessness and a strange whispery thought that she might as well let go of her impulses - after all, she was dead and damned, what more did she have to lose? Her composure?

That was when Aribeth noted, now that the tiefling had swayed closer to their light from the fire Deekin had chosen to camp around, that there was a recent-looking wound on his forehead. Though she was not one to usually comment upon people's appearances, part of Aribeth wondered what Imoen might do in this situation that she was finding herself confused by. She found herself missing the trickster's guidance, and suddenly blurted out to Swift, "It looks like you've made a habit of making friends," and pointed to the steadily-oozing-blood wound. "Can't imagine anyone picking a fight with you - you're so awfully charming."

Arden Swift chuckled. "Had myself a tussle with the local sensei. Thought waking the napping celestial might be fun, but she didn't look too kindly on that notion."

Aribeth could imagine. The entire school of thought the githzerai styling herself as Sensei Dharvana relied upon interpreting the dreams of the Sleeping Man. Waking him up would completely upend her entire religion. "And your plan to wake him was to what, slap him around? Tickle his nose with a feather?" Aribeth presumed, affecting a polite tone.

The tiefling laughed. "You're not as lost as the other deaders, are you?" There was a glint of lucidity when he looked at Aribeth in his eyes, that made the ex-paladin a little uneasy. "Nah, I remember you," Swift realized. "You're that one the big M locked away for banging on about the Devouring. The paladin that fell so low. As if anyone ever gave a flying fuck about this anthill full of lost souls."

The urge to punch the tiefling returned in full force. "Whom I may be is none of your concern," Aribeth insisted tersely, fists clenching as Swift inadvertently summoned the memory of the crushing, paralyzing ice. Her feelings toward it were suddenly less wistful than they had been before.

"Whomsoever any of us happen to be, is no one's concern but our own," Binne added.

"You're not exactly helping our case," Valen told her wryly, earning himself a shush from her.

"So is this the fiend corner, or did someone let you off their leash?" Arden jested, turning to Valen. The hellhound at his feet between him and Binne began to growl lowly as something changed in Valen's posture. His hand did not stray toward his weapon, but there was something noticeably different in the air. Aribeth had no skin to get prickled by fear, no physical hair to stand on end, but Deekin started to back away from the encounter and Aribeth made note of it, widening her stance until her feet rested below her shoulders - ready to move at any moment, but solidly rooted to the ground.

Valen seemed inappropriately amused by this mistaken assumption. "I can understand why you would think so," Valen conceded, "but I would hope you'd have enough tact to keep the thought to yourself."

"Ah. Gave your master the laugh? Just as well. I won't scrag a man for finding better prospects," Arden said, eying Binne once more. This caused Valen to instinctively glare at the winged tiefling.

Binne only sighed. "It's like everyone just assumes we're Solaufein's slaves everywhere we go," Binne joked. "Is there something written on our faces that reads, 'return to owner'?" Aribeth looked about for the drow to intercept this situation before it grew out of control, but they were nowhere to be found. Their conversation had drawn some Slaadi and Eryines eyes from around the room, however. "No one here is anyone's slave," Binne clarified to Arden, "and to be perfectly frank, I'd rather you buggered off with your assumptions somewhere else as fast as possible. Bloody well scram."

"I would listen to her if I were you," Valen bit out, looking now irritated and less amused, "and pike off before I close your prattling bone-box." His hand twitched toward his flail.

"Sometimes it's like we're speaking entirely different languages," Binne complained with an eye-roll to the ceiling. "Whatever happened to simply telling someone to shut the Hells up and bugger off?"

"It means essentially the same thing," Valen explained, "just in Cage cant."

"You know," the older tiefling said slyly, leaning in close to Binne who drew back suddenly, looking uncomfortable, "the big M, he liked to brag down the ranks about all the mortal women he kept as pets. You want to know the story of your conception? It's the same story of blood and pain that marks every one of his bastards littering the planes. Looks like the only thing you inherited from him was those eyes, though."

There was a silence after Arden Swift's remark wherein Binne looked down and away as her expression grew pinched and her tail curled around her leg almost repressively, and then Valen reached for his flail as his eyes flashed murderously red.

"I believe the lady asked you to leave," Aribeth cut in, addressing the tiefling with her fiercest glare. "I will give you one warning, sir," she offered generously with much more respect than Swift deserved. The last thing their party needed was more trouble, and Solaufein had essentially specifically told them not to do what they were about to do, but there was something off-putting about this tiefling that was inspiring Aribeth's fists to clench at her sides. She'd never thrown a punch without warning in her life, but she was feeling the urge to do so and it was getting harder and harder to justify repressing it.

Valen seemed to have none of Aribeth's qualms and stepped forward to Aribeth's side in front of Binne, who accepted Deekin's hand when it was offered, and covered her eyes with one hand.

Arden Swift was either too drunk to care, or the sensei had done more damage than Aribeth thought on his head. The tiefling leaned forward toward Aribeth as he said, "You're awfully fierce for a bitch who folded as soon as she was held accountable. Yes, I've heard the story of the fall of 'Lady Aribeth.' How funny you should be here in the traitor's Hell with the rest of the traitors, after you turned stag—"

Aribeth had spent most of her life repressing her more banal urges in the name of service to Tyr. Some actions and urges simply couldn't be indulged when one was a representative of Tyr's divine justice. However, there was a time - long before she discovered Tyr - when she walked as a hunter of orcs and stalked them as her prey. There was a time she did not hold back. She revisited that time when she took up Morag's mantle, but even that was a lie. Liberated now that she was no longer in the service of the gods nor lying to herself, Aribeth was suddenly free to act as she chose. This revelation sang out victoriously in her mind as the whisper she'd heard earlier during her so-called prayer to the Void became an ecstatic shout, and her mailed fist collided with Arden Swift's jaw in perfect synchrony with Valen's own.

Solaufein and Nathyrra had returned just in time to witness this, though Aribeth did not notice this fact until Arden Swift spiraled away from her and Valen's dual strikes and straight into Solaufein, neatly toppling the male drow over as he struggled to remain upright. Arden reacted instinctively and flapped his wings, flailing his arms wildly as Solaufein covered his face with his forearms, protecting himself from getting gouged by the tiefling's claws.

Nathyrra held back with her glowing short sword instantly drawn, ready to rush in and stab at a moment's notice, but she noted that no one else had drawn their weapons. Her eyes scanned the room as she took notice of everyone else's reactions, while Valen rushed forward and kicked Swift off of Solaufein, sending the other tiefling rolling on the ground and sprawling in his struggle to get up. Nathyrra quickly darted forward and helped Solaufein up, quietly laughing at something that Solaufein muttered to her in their native language.

Aribeth found herself reaching and clenching her fist for a sword at her side that wasn't there, and instead ran forward bare-handed to punch Arden Swift straight in the jaw again just as he stood up to regain his bearings. The bat-winged tiefling had been reaching for - of all things - a trumpet strapped to the side of his leg when the impact cracked bone audibly and he fell back again.

Nathyrra, faster than anyone Aribeth had ever seen, was suddenly there and kicking out toward the back of Arden Swift's head, and the tiefling fell to the side with a loud thud, unconscious. Just like that, Aribeth's first bar-brawl had been ended. She privately admitted that a part of her felt disappointed that their enemy hadn't put up much of a fight.

For the second time since the battle began, Aribeth took stock of the room, noting they had every eye on them - and while it might have been unnerving in life for Aribeth to have so many demonic eyes upon her, she felt nothing about it in death. None of them looked malicious or seemed angry, although a few looked annoyed at the ruckus.

Aribeth looked down at Arden again and noticed that Deekin had meandered his way over and was unstrapping the trumpet that lay against Arden's leg. Somehow, miraculously, the instrument had been undamaged in the fight, and it at least would prove valuable coin if they could find the right buyer - though in Hell, Aribeth thought this might be a bit dubious.

She did not have the opportunity to dwell on that thought as Deekin suddenly put the trumpet to the tip of his mouth, hit a random key, and blew into it without warning. What emerged was absolute chaos - the roar of the turbulent sea, the sound of clapping nearby thunder, the chilly howl of fierce northern winds, the battle cry of orcs roaring down a mountain charge - all of the loudest sounds that Aribeth had ever heard could not compare to what erupted from that trumpet. The sound of Deekin's note shook the heavens.

It shook much more than merely that, but in hindsight, Aribeth would find this would be the best description of the Trumpet of Pandemonium, the worst - and certainly most kobold - instrument to have ever graced the planes. Aribeth had never visited Pandemonium, but she'd heard plenty of stories. Who had not? It was the realm of absolute, gibbering madmen. The raucous noise of its winds would either outright deafen or drive anyone insane in moments. Portals to it were as good as a death sentence. Perhaps the trumpet was merely a recreation of the sound - a loud enough cacophony to disrupt anything and anyone, but not enough to drive them completely insane or outright deafen them - but it certainly got a reaction out of everyone in the Hellsbreath Tavern that day.

It was fair - the trumpet's overwhelming sonic capability had destroyed most everything in the common room - tables, chairs, glasses, steins, everything except the living and dead beings inside of it. If their earlier fight hadn't grabbed the attention of everyone in the room already, every eye was now fixed upon Deekin with the utmost irritation.

There was a sudden, almost deafening silence that followed the short note; really it had lasted only a moment, but a moment was enough for the trumpet to do quite a bit of damage. What broke it was a loud voice cutting through it - "HEY!" - and the sound of loud, angry footsteps stomping toward them. A murmuring suddenly began to overtake the room as the customers of the Tavern and residents of Hell all began muttering to each other.

A blue-haired, human-seeming man had stomped up to them from one of the back rooms that had a multilingual label on it that meant essentially 'pub.' The apron he wore was black, but what was distracting about him is that there was nothing else underneath it. Valen intercepted him as he stomped up angrily to Deekin and kept him at arm's length. The man looked up at the tiefling in pure outrage. He seemed to pick his battle, though, and redirected his anger at the kobold. "Just what the fuck do you think you're doing?!" He demanded to know.

"Um, Deekin sorrys blue-man, but Deekin also wonderings who you be?" Deekin asked politely.

The blue-haired man's glare turned into a snarl of bared teeth. Something happened then that Aribeth had entirely not been expecting - the skin of the man expanded and began to dramatically grow scales, as his teeth lengthened and sharpened and his nails became massive talons. Valen stepped back, alarmed as the man's hands split and molded into three massive fingers as he went down on all fours, and then grew and grew and grew until his head reached the ceiling. Aribeth hadn't noted how far down under the ground they'd traveled, but the ceiling was surprisingly high for an underground tavern - at least enough to fit the massive blue dragon. He bore down on Deekin with a snarl.

Deekin didn't seemed frightened, to his credit, and neither was Aribeth since she was pretty sure she'd already 'died' hundreds of times since coming to Cania and no longer experienced fear as an emotional reaction to certain death. She did certainly expect to die in the next few moments, so what actually happened surprised her.

Deekin grinned. "Oooooh! Deekin always wanted to meet big blue dragon! Old Blue in Undermountain was too olds and too scragglys to talk much to little Deekin, and mostly just asks for stories and riddles, so this really be fulfilling one of Deekin's dreams! Deekin is so honored to meet you, sirs mister blue dragon!" He was excited. This was not the reaction the dragon had been hoping for, clearly, judging from its suddenly disappointed expression.

"Alright, which one of you idiots does this belong to?" The rumbling blue dragon demanded to know of the rest of them as his bright, ice-blue gaze fell upon them.

Everyone looked to Solaufein. Solaufein scratched the shaven right side of his head uneasily. "He is my . . . Bard?" Solaufein tried.

Aribeth wanted to smack herself in the forehead but thought that this gesture might undercut what Solaufein was attempting, and so she resorted to merely rolling her eyes.

The dragon seemed to find this faintly amusing. "So, he's your entertainment?"

Solaufein thought carefully about his answer. "If I say yes, will you be mad?" Binne snickered quietly.

"Deekin is just so pleased to meets you, sirs!" Deekin gushed. "Oh, and Deekin really sorry abouts mess. Deekin not know that trumpet be doings that, so Deekin not going to be doing that agains, for sure. Or at least not indoors, no sirs."

"It's a damn blessing that you took that thing away from Swift, he was always threatening to use it instead of pay his tab," the dragon admitted. "It is obvious, but I'm saying if you ever play that thing again in here, you'll have earned yourself a one-way ticket down my gullet. And just who the hell is gonna pay for damages, huh?"

"Er, you can put it on my father's tab?" Binne offered tentatively.

The dragon laughed outright. It was rumbling and thunderous and shook the room, not as severely as the trumpet but enough to set them all on edge. "You think he ever paid up? Fuck no! I run a business, woman. Where's my payment?"

"Well, we have gold. Right?" Binne looked to Deekin, who started giving her the cut-throat gesture, but she barreled on, "and you're a dragon right? Dragons love gold!"

"That's right, genius! I am a dragon and I love gold! That's why I have a horde in my basement that I have gate-trapped! Why the fuck would I need more gold?" The dragon scoffed. "Payment in velox or nothing, berk."

She pulled out her last berry. "Consider that a down payment while I go outside and find more," she offered diplomatically instead.

The dragon eyed her like she was dinner for a few moments, before shrinking back down to his naked, human, apron'd size and taking the berry from her clawed hands with aplomb. "THANK you," he emphasized. "That'll be forty-nine more berries."

"Fifty berries?!" She guffawed.

Valen grabbed her by the hand and led her away from the group toward the door. "Don't push him, you'll make it worse. Come, I'll help you find them," he offered and led her away. She let herself be led away quietly, sparing a lasting glance in Solaufein's direction, and then seemed focused on Valen's hand in hers.

"Do the rest of us have to pay fifty berries?" Nathyrra wondered for all of their sakes.

"No, no, no, that's just to cover her father's tab, and the damages," the dragon laughed, kicked Arden Swift's unconscious and broken body, and walked off toward the bar with a pep in his step. Aribeth couldn't help but stare after him - the strange naked dragon man.

"But, she wasn't even in the fight," Aribeth noted after the dragon left, and pondered their circumstances. She looked to Solaufein, who was still staring after the door that Binne had left in, and he shrugged.

"We found our smith in one of the private rooms in the back," Nathyrra told Aribeth, who perked up. "He is also lost, condemned to Cania, and knows how to manufacture elven-sized armor and weapons of surpassing strength. Does this interest you?"

Aribeth nodded respectfully to Nathyrra, and some of her old manners crept in. "Certainly. Please, take me to him. It would be my pleasure to make his acquaintance."

Solaufein and Nathyrra had not expected to run into Rizolvir in Hell, Aribeth gathered. Rizolvir was a drow with a long and low ponytail of white hair bound back at the nape of his neck and came up to Nathyrra's height despite having a fit build. The 'why' and 'how' of his being there seemed to be of some pressing concern to Nathyrra, even as Rizolvir started immediately taking Aribeth's measurements. She had not scarcely introduced herself before he was poking and prodding her, measuring her bust, her inseam, and then suddenly he was done. Nathyrra rapid-fired questions in Ilythiiri over her head to the smith, who only grunted and gave single-word replies. Aribeth turned a questioning gaze to Solaufein, clarified for her, "Rizolvir has no memory of his judgment. Nathyrra wants to know how he has come to be here."

Aribeth had a clear memory of hers. How she wished she could forget the way the masked, impassive god of the dead, Kelemvor, blithely and callously stripped her soul bare of all the lies of the living and condemned her to the traitor's circle of Baator, where those who had proven False to their hearts and gods fell. His words had pierced her as sure as any arrow. She would never forget it as long as she existed. It had put an end to her, had freed her. He had said, 'in Cania, you will meet your ultimate fate.' Aribeth had presumed that this meant the ice, but now considered the possibility that she had been wrong. "All the lost are judged before arriving, are they not?" Aribeth wondered, looking to the drow smith.

His expression was troubled. "One would think," he answered in accented Common. "It is not so bad," he decided as he started perusing through ingots and fittings. "I have been able to re-stock my inventory here with all the rare metals available, and though business is slower, it is still business, merely with different clientele."

Aribeth blinked. "I would never have thought capital so important in the Hells, but I suppose one must make a life for themselves wherever they might be."

"I will find a way to restore you to life," Solaufein promised. "Dos inbal ussta hithern."

Rizolvir only shrugged. "I have had worse fates. I was able to re-build my forge thanks to the velox the dragon obsessively hordes. At the end of the day, I am still making and selling armor and weapons."

Aribeth could not imagine a fate worse than Hell, but then perhaps she was not blessed with a drow's imagination or gift for understatement. After taking her measurements, Rizolvir asked her a few questions about materials - apparently currency was no issue since he owed her new party, and would be making her armor for free, and only charging them for the repairs in their other armor. Aribeth had no preference, well-used to maneuvering in heavy armor and plates, and as one of the dead she was unconcerned with warmth or comfort. With the final extraction of a promise from Solaufein that they would return in twelve hours and that Solaufein would accept a helmet (begrudgingly) when it was insistently offered to him, they left the smith to his work and returned to the common room of the tavern.

Aribeth then consented to answering a few questions about Neverwinter as a city from Deekin, and thankfully the little bard did not press her on her involvement in the war, as it was yet a delicate subject for her. His questions seemed directed entirely around the presence, or disturbing lack thereof, of kobolds. Aribeth, for her part, could not remember the last time she had seen a literate kobold, let alone a civilized one, so was a little baffled by the line of conversation.

Binne and Valen returned later from the outside, chilled, and dusted with snow, with a sack full of velox berries and plenty to spare. The dragon was happy enough for this addition to his stock and offered them all firewater with the extra velox - a drink made from the fermented berry that warmed you to your bones - but Aribeth refused, knowing no food or drink would satisfy her. She had no need for either, being dead, and it would only serve as a momentary distraction from her fate besides.

She had no need for distractions. What she wanted most was focus on the task ahead and forge onward, but Solaufein and Nathyrra decided that until her armor was finished, it would be best to avail themselves of the services of the Inn and rest. Aribeth felt personally that she had rested long enough and would not be sleeping for at least the next few centuries if she could help it.

Meandering her way to one of the unoccupied fire pits, Aribeth announced to the others that she would be 'meditating' there if anyone had need of her, seated herself, and contemplated the flames. Solaufein entered her periphery for a moment and she turned her head to regard him - her eye was drawn to his simple black garment for a moment as it seemed strange to see him out of armor, but then she remembered the hole that had been at the center of his chest-plate. His presence immediately disrupted her brood as he shifted from foot-to-foot, seeming to seek permission. She turned back to the fire and gestured next to her.

It was not that she minded the presence of others, but she wasn't sure whether or not she wanted to be alone. Solaufein was easy enough company and not overly talkative, which she could appreciate, but without something to fight, or a clear directive, Aribeth felt - for lack of a better word - lost. When she glanced over to the drow, she realized that there were many questions on her mind about the world of the living she had left behind, and perhaps a few that he had answers to.

Solaufein's wine-red eyes met hers with understanding. "Do you wish to speak of Imoen now?" He queried politely.

Aribeth hesitated to answer. "That is a complicated question," she finally said. "I am . . . Unsure if I have any right to knowledge of her," she admitted.

"She would not mind it," Solaufein said with absolute certainty.

Curiously, the ex-paladin asked, "What is your relationship to her?"

"Imoen is dalninil," Solaufein said somewhat cryptically. "As family," he clarified. "I am fond of her. We traveled together for a time. I became protective of her, as did many others in our group. Imoen perhaps resented this at times and has now become fully independent. I am uncertain as to her exact whereabouts, but the last that Jaheira spoke of her to me, Imoen was in the company of Minsc and Aerie at the end of the war and headed toward Rashemen. I am unsure if she has remained there, or since traveled elsewhere."

"You consider her family, yet you do not keep in touch?" Aribeth wondered.

Solaufein looked away from her and into the fire, but did not hesitate to answer, "Imoen has become peculiar since Saradush. Perhaps even since before."

Aribeth couldn't wonder how the cheerful pink-haired witch-thief could be any more peculiar than she already was. "How so?" Aribeth asked, wondering if this was another instance of the drow talent for understatement.

"Withdrawn, is perhaps a better word," Solaufein answered after a while of consideration. "I think she does not desire to inform us of her whereabouts. She prefers to walk alone in this world, now. What is your relation to her?" He asked, flipping the conversation.

Aribeth struggled to conceptualize a summary for the entirety of her interaction with Imoen. She decided it was impossible and stuttered out what she felt like she owed Imoen, while editing out most of her complicated feelings regarding the matter. "Imoen was there when no one else was. When I needed someone to help me find a solution to the Wailing Death, she was there with a direct line to the Blackstaff. When I needed help to find the Waterdhavian creatures, she was there ready with a solution and a team to track them down."

Aribeth paused and swam in unpleasant memories as she looked into the fire. "When Fenthick . . . When I lost Fenthick," she began tentatively; tasting Fenthick's name on her tongue felt odd after so long a silence, "Imoen was there to ground me, to reassure me, always. She did not give up on me, not once. I thought to tear down Neverwinter brick by brick for what they had made her and Bishop and Fenthick and so many others suffer through, to shatter the geas on Neverwinter's gates and avenge Fenthick on Nasher . . . But now I know I did that for myself. For my own sake. I was always more concerned with vengeance than justice, more quick to violence than diplomacy. All my courtly manners could never hide the angry young woman I had always been, even since my village was lost to the Many-Arrows orcs. I lost faith not only in Tyr, but myself, and then I became one of the lost of Cania. It seems fitting," she concluded bitterly.

"Would you return to life, if given the choice?" Solaufein asked.

Aribeth shrugged. "I would like to think so, if I was given the chance, but I do not believe such a thing is possible for me. I have already faced my judgment and been deemed False. I could not find faith when you asked me to pray."

"Yet you are here, with us," Solaufein pointed out.

She smiled, and a strange bittersweet feeling she hadn't felt since she was alive washed over her, accompanied by that same whisper she'd felt when she had thrown her prayer to the winds. She wondered, not for the first time, if something - someone - had received it, and answered back. "Yes. Here I am." She felt, in that moment, that she could confide anything to this drow and he would simply accept her - he did not press, did not judge, made no demands. "I thought perhaps . . ." She began slowly, gaining courage as she went along. "I thought perhaps I heard something. Felt something. A sort of whispery, fleeting feeling I can scarce describe. I feel it even now in moments. It is as if when I speak of it to you, it is here, in the back of my mind. Some awareness? Not quite like the faith I once held, but it is not an unwelcome feeling. It is at least different. I wish I understood it better so that I could describe it to you. Tell me Solaufein, what does Eilistraee feel like, for you? I heard Nathyrra say you were Chosen. Is that true?" She wondered, genuinely curious now about just how exactly this company of drow and fiendlings wound up in Hell.

Solaufein appeared consternated. "I wish she would not say so. I do not feel 'chosen.' If I am, it is no dramatic affair. I am completely unlike the Chosen of Mystra, or Bane. Eilistraee is . . . A warmth that soothes. A love that ever shines. The feeling she grants lasts but a moment, but it returns whenever I seek it. I know the Seer spent many hours in meditation, communing with Eilistraee. I do not. I call upon Her in moments of need, or reflection, but I am not as religious about it as Binne has probably implied. Eilistraee means something different to each of Her followers."

Aribeth considered this. "What does she mean to you?" She asked.

Solaufein had to think about this for a while and turned away to look into the fire for a time. Finally he answered softly, "Home. She presents the possibility of one day finding a better home for my people. A better path than the one that the Spider Bitch has laid out before us. What did Tyr mean, for you?"

Aribeth had thought about this plenty, when she was trapped in the ice, and so had an answer ready for him: "I think it was about idealism for me. The concept of justice brought me peace when I devoted myself to it. It gave me something to aspire to, a chance to be better than I really was. To be someone I was not. I was accepted by my cousins in the city, who sneered at my rough manner until I corrected it. Once I did, Neverwinter itself seemed to welcome me. I rose easily through the ranks of Tyr's clergy, I excelled at the training. It felt right, for a time, until it didn't," she summarized bleakly.

Solaufein's query then surprised her: "Are you more yourself, now?"

She hesitated. "I think so," she said uneasily. "I at least feel closer to myself now than I ever have before, in a strange way. It is a little ironic since I'm dead and damned, but that's Hell for you, as I have come to understand it. This place has a way of showing you who you really are. Tell me, Solaufein, do you and your friends end up getting into fights wherever you go?"

He rolled his eyes up to the stone ceiling, as the light caught the whites of his eyes, reflecting back. "Xa, it is our idiom. We are a troublesome lot, it seems. I presume that tiefling earned his beating, however. Though in character for Valen, it seems unlike you to offer the first punch."

Aribeth found her lips curling involuntarily in a half-smile as she said, "You say that, having only met me as a dead woman. Had you met me as a youth, you might say differently."

Solaufein smiled back. "And you did not know Nathyrra and I until we found Eilistraee. Let us say we all share a colorful past, and leave it at that, xa?"

"Fair enough," she conceded and smiled a bit wider. Aribeth found herself unexpectedly laughing. The bittersweet feeling returned, this time to stay.

---

PT 2: VALEN

Valen turned his pale face to the perpetually overcast, heavy gray skies of Cania, and for a fleeting moment after stepping outside the hot Hellsbreath tavern, he enjoyed the feeling of snowflakes kissing his skin. Before coming to Prime, he'd only ever seen snow in the iciest layers of Baator and had never actually paused to enjoy any of it. His conditioning during the Blood Wars had simply prevented him from really enjoying anything - he had been solely focused on the task of destroying the enemy, with single-minded intent. The cold and bitter winds had been a nuisance. Now, with no certain enemy to face and Binne at his side, he felt strangely free, standing unfettered and uncaged, despite technically being trapped in the larger sense. Even with the three-legged hellhound sitting, panting, between them, Valen was at ease. He knew there was a demon still screaming to get out, somewhere inside him, but even the demon was sometimes struck into silence when he was in Binne's presence.

"I miss Neverwinter," Binne lamented beside him, and he turned to see her doing the same thing he was. The demon was quiet, for once. She momentarily closed her eyes and stuck her tongue out until an ice crystal landed on it and stopped to smile at him when she noticed him staring. Her fingers sought out the ear of the hellhound and caressed it, almost nervously.

"Tell me about it," he suggested as he led them away toward a velox bush he'd spied in the distance, trudging through the snow.

She trailed after him happily enough as she rambled about her city's streets as she'd once wandered them as a younger and more carefree woman; her favorite pubs, which ones served the best mead and which ones served cheap swill seemed to be the primary focus for her, along with which wizard towers to avoid, which temples would patch you up for free and which ones wouldn't, how it was smart not to piss off someone named Eltoora, how if you wanted something a woman named Ophala was the person to hit up, and which food stands had the best grub with which streets they could be found on.

Valen was content to listen while she chattered on; he was certain by the time that they had gathered enough berries, he could have navigated the city of Binne's youth himself, even in the dark. Time passed by swiftly enough despite the wintry chill that seeped through their armor, mostly thanks to Binne's trailing narrative.

They wandered about and found several bushes loaded with berries - they grew to fruition quite rapidly, to Valen's memory, but there were simply some areas in the wastes where they would not grow at all. He lost count of how many they had taken and figured more was better than less and wisely did not point this out to Binne. When they had gathered enough, Valen announced, "We should head back, this is more than enough."

Binne seemed surprised and looked down between the hellhound, and Valen, with an armload of berries. "Oh! Well, let's go back then. Er, I hope you remember the way, I definitely don't."

He led the way back to the tavern while she and the hellhound trailed behind, the both of them with armfuls of berries since they had not had the foresight to ask for Deekin's bag of holding. When they reached the stairs down, Binne caught up with him from behind and bumped his shoulder with her own in a friendly, flirty way. "Mind getting the door, milord?" She asked. Both of her arms were full, while only one of Valen's was.

He opened it for her. "After you, milady."

Eyes followed them as they entered, and they spied the others spread between two different fire-pits scattered about. All the residents of Cania were still giving them a wide berth, and Arden Swift's unconscious and robbed body was still on the ground, snoring face-down. Deekin was nowhere to be seen, until they entered the bar section that is, and spied the kobold chatting to the big blue dragon in his natural form which took up the entire space behind the bar. The dragon, for his part, seemed fed-up with the kobold but didn't look like he was about to eat the little bard, so Valen chose not to be alarmed.

The dragon's gaze widened when he saw them. "I said fifty, not a hundred, berks," he rumbled out. "Can't you count? Not that I'm complaining. This will be a nice addition to my horde."

"We lost count, thought more would be better than less," Binne pointed out, and dumped her load onto the bar-counter. The dragon eyed the berries almost hungrily.

Valen deposited his load next to Deekin. "Mind keeping the spare?" he asked the little bard quietly, knowing that velox berries could mean the difference between life or death for them should they travel outside of the lost city.

Deekin nodded and carefully started counting. Valen left him to his work and returned to Binne's side at the counter, where she was trying to discern what the drink menu was. It was written in Abyssal, and he heard her muttering the language under her breath as she stared at a placard on the back wall behind the dragon with a gleam in her eye.

He looked down at the hellhound that followed Binne everywhere now and found it staring up at him to his startle. The hound whined faintly at him, so he - somewhat unsure of himself, as his instincts still told him to kill it - lowered his hand for the hound to sniff. The hound bumped his fingers with his snout, and Valen finally took the cue and pet him on the head. The short, sooty fur was unexpectedly warm and soft.

Binne was smiling at him broadly when he looked up, in a way that made it impossible for Valen not to return the gesture. The dragon gave her a complimentary drink made from some of the velox berries she'd brought him, and she took a few more from Deekin's pile that he was counting (to the kobold's consternated glare) and ordered whatever passed for food in this corner of Baator that happened to be warm. A few short minutes later, they were taking piping hot bowls of stew in their arms over to the others by the fire and Binne was attempting to balance her drink against her chest, highly conscious and anxious of dropping it. She attempted to give one of the bowls in her hands to Nathyrra and nearly dropped the beverage, had Valen not caught it.

"Thank Tymora for your battle-hardened reflexes," she blurted, "there's nothing I hate worse than wasting good alcohol!"

"Really? Nothing at all?" He raised an eyebrow and handed the drink back, with minor spillage. "After you were painfully geased by a mad arch-wizard, cursed almost to the point of death by a Talontar - then almost crushed by golems - then turned into a giant, pulsating brain - then nearly taken for a ride by a dracolich - and then recently died and have been subsequently trapped in Baator? Wasting alcohol is worse than all of that?" He hadn't wanted to remind her of it, but also felt like she had basically walked into it.

"Well, it could be worse," she reasoned with an upward glance and a sigh. "I could be here alone! Although saying it like that makes me feel bad for everyone else for being stuck here with us."

"There's no place we'd rather be," he assured her.

"Xa," agreed Nathyrra, and Solaufein nodded.

"Oh, there's a lot of places I'd rather be personally," she babbled. "Like, anywhere. Literally anywhere but Hell."

"Does that include the Demi-Plane of Ooze?" Valen asked.

Binne's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "W-what?"

"There are a lot of planes out there," he added cryptically, "and only most of them are horrible to be trapped in. A small number are hospitable. Why do you think so many powers are interested in taking over Prime? It's not called Prime for nothing. Trust me, there are a lot of worse places to be than here."

Her expression brightened. "I guess I didn't think of it that way! I'd also rather be freezing my tits off in a blizzard than be a brain again, too. That was just . . . Wrong," she shuddered.

"I thought you didn't remember that," he said.

She shrugged. "Bits and pieces. It was a chaotic way to live. You can't move obviously, beyond the odd tentacle I suppose, but you're not exactly mobile. But your mind is . . . I saw and felt so much. It was just bizarre. Like trying to remember what being on morimatra feels like. Most of the night before the battle is a blur for me too, honestly. I know it ended all right, but I'm starting to understand what Tomi was saying. It's easy to lose track of yourself."

He wasn't surprised by that - she hadn't exactly chosen to hold back on her consumption and had been the first to pass out in a sprawl on the floor next to him and Solaufein. Thankfully, she hadn't snored too loudly then, and he'd been able to actually get some fairly comfortable shut-eye, which was unusual for him. On the eves of battles, he was rarely relaxed enough to sleep. He'd been trained to only need very little sleep at a time, but as he'd said to Solaufein, it was an improvement over his other plans of pacing the battlements until the Valsharess' forces arrived. "It was . . . A good evening," he summarized lamely.

He endured her stare for a few moments before Solaufein cut in, "You dragged him into the dance," somewhat slyly. "And I got him drunk."

"Solaufein! Proud of you!" Binne cheered. Part of her smile seemed forced, as if she were attempting to return to her usual demeanor but found it difficult to do so. "Oh, and proud of me!" She added in afterthought. "I guess I put a dunch in your composure after all, General, eh?"

"Something like that," he rolled his eyes, and blew on the top of his soup in his hands. As he sipped at it, it tasted as bland as he'd been afraid of. Inwardly he cursed Deekin for selling all their spices to Gru'ul. The shade of Lady Aribeth did not partake; she cited she was not hungry, though Valen knew this to be untrue. The lost were afflicted with a state of un-living, when one experienced perpetual need. Perpetual exhaustion. Perpetual hunger. And nothing ever satisfied it but for a moment. They remained, unchanging, un-living, and though he did not pity her, he understood a little of what she was going through. It was not so different from being a battle-slave operating on two hours of sleep every forty-eight hours, after all.

"I will be meditating by the fire, should anyone have need of me," Aribeth announced, and a little of her imperious courtly manner shined through. She was so clearly a paladin in manner at times that he had to remind myself she had willingly fallen from grace and claimed to honor no divinity. Her presence still prickled at Valen's skin for reasons he couldn't explain, though having been around the deva and Solaufein he had grown fairly used to it. She stalked off aways toward an unoccupied pit and seated herself, and Valen let himself relax a bit now that she was at a distance and the tickling-prickling sensation abated.

Nathyrra finished her food quickly and stood, announcing she was going to find Rizolvir, and Solaufein stood up after eying the brooding Aribeth for a moment. He gave a significant look to Valen as he left, looking briefly at Binne with a complex expression before stalking off; Deekin was still counting velox at the bar, so Valen and Binne were left by themselves once more, if one did not count Boon who slept at Binne's side.

"Paladins," Valen found himself scoffing as he watched Solaufein and Aribeth interact at a distance.

"Like having cold leeches on your skin in . . . Places," Binne shuddered. She scratched at her cuffs and started untying the laces keeping them in place to free her hands better. "Augh! She wasn't even this bad in life! It's like death has made it worse even though she's become an atheist! How does that make sense?" she complained.

"It was like that for me in the beginning around Solaufein, but it doesn't bother me at all anymore," Valen admitted.

"Well, you should immunize yourself to her then, and offer her a good romp. That'll take the edge off both of you," Binne suggested casually, with the attitude one might have in a conversation over a cup of morning tea.

Valen was immediately confused, perturbed, and cursed with an excellent imagination. "What? No, first, she's dead. That shouldn't be physically possible."

"She's real enough to stick a sword in your gullet but not to fuck?" Binne pointed out incredulously. "How does that make sense?"

It didn't, especially when she pointed it out in that way, but Valen was actively trying not to think about it and so shook his head. "Secondly, I'd really rather not think about it. I don't think that's how it works. That would probably just make it worse."

Binne blinked. "Oh no, it works like a charm, I'm certain of it. That's why Solaufein has never bothered me."

It occurred to Valen that he'd simply never asked, because it seemed like it wasn't any of his business, so he took the opportunity. "Is that why, you and he—?"

"Make the bonnie bugger?" Binne cut in, her eyebrows waggling and moving her piercings. "Roll in the hay? I assumed everyone knew that, we're not exactly quiet about it."

"I did, but I also didn't want to presume anything," Valen said. He respected the relationship they shared - it seemed entirely positive, without any of the contentious rancor that sometimes permeated other significant relationships. She and Solaufein seemed to build upon one another and strengthen the other. Valen found he admired that, and even a small part of him envied it.

"Say, what would you call that in Sigil?" Binne wondered, randomly.

Valen stared at her, confused at the trail her mind had taken until he remembered what they had just spoken about. "Oh, sex? It's just called sex."

Binne let out a severely disappointed, "Oh."

Valen then remembered what she had said and contemplated for a moment the bastardizations of Common that emerged from her mouth on a regular basis. "I have never heard of a 'bonnie bugger' before," he said wryly.

Binne grinned widely, showcasing her fangs. "I heard my father call it hochmagandy once," she confided like this was some great secret to share. He couldn't even pronounce the word she had uttered, let alone remember it. She went on, "Legitimately, my da said to me one morn while he was taking his morning piss off the porch, with a runnin' cock in hand, and he looks me right in the eyes as I'm trying to enjoy myself some bloody tea, and he says to me lucidly, 'yer mutha an' I 'aven't 'ad a dacent hochmagandy in o'er a moon!'" She laughed uproariously at this memory for a moment. "To this day I've failed to find a way to use it in a conversation. I'm waiting for the exact right moment to try but it never fits in. It always feels forced. Maybe one day," she concluded wistfully.

Most people had aspirations of grandeur, wealth, and power. Binne's dreams were much simpler and typically pun-focused. Valen could appreciate that. "Is that a real word?" Valen wondered, thoroughly amused.

"It is to my da! But aye, when Solaufein and I first met at the Yawning Portal, I was trapped in Undermountain for longer than I could count, so one could hardly blame me for gantin' at the first attractive male to cross my path that didn't look or smell like an ogre. Luckily, the ogres thought I smelled and looked just as bad and left me alone, but I was afflicted with soul-crushing boredom in the moments where they had no use for me," she summarized. "It's a physical thing, us havin' not been with others in a might while. Seems . . . Natural, with him. Helps that I'm, well, I'm . . . I am rather very fond of him. He's probably the best friend I've ever had. I . . . suppose I love him, in my way," she finally admitted, her voice growing softer and fainter as she carried on. It was not a comfortable admission for her, as if the discussion of feelings made too many other things swim to the surface of her thoughts. She started poking at the hole in her chest armor morbidly.

Valen did his best to distract her, since it seemed to be his job now, if he was interpreting the look Solaufein had given him correctly. He back-tracked a bit. ". . . I would never have thought of using sex to immunize myself to a paladin aura. It almost makes sense, now that I'm thinking about it, although I really wish I wasn't."

Binne smiled again. "Well if she's not your type, we'd best grin and bear it."

"It's not my place," he began to wonder, "but you—"

She interrupted him again, this time leaning forward in close and stared up at him through half-lidded eyes. He abruptly noticed how long her eyelashes were by the length of the shadows the left on the tips of her cheekbones. "Don't worry, my sweet," she said, "right now, I only have eyes for you. Unless you, of course, only have eyes for our lovely ex-paladin over there."

He couldn't help the flush that warmed him from his chest to his ears - Binne knew it, saw it, and grinned. "I wasn't asking about that," he said quickly. "I actually wanted to ask about your parents."

Her grin dimmed a bit and she leaned back slightly. "That's a hard, blue, cold turn. Why'd we have to go from buggery to parents?"

"No particular reason, I just . . . Find the idea of your parents curious," he said. There was a part of him that hadn't believed her at all, at first. He'd assumed everything she said was a lie until he learned she was essentially incapable of keeping her mouth shut about anything. It at least made her moods easy to determine - she usually announced them with fanfare to anyone within earshot. Now that he knew her better, he couldn't help but wonder at the childhood that had shaped such a strange individual - and the hands that had raised her.

"Ask me anything at all!" She offered cheerily. The fact that she was happy at all to discuss the subject of family was simply foreign to him. There had been no such kindly hands to raise him.

"What are they like?" he wondered softly.

"Old and grumpy nowadays," she huffed. "I should hope they still are, whenever I next see them. Hopefully, we'll all be still alive . . ." She trailed off for a moment, then seemed to regain her thoughts. "They were spry in my youth; they're reaching the bonnie age of sixty-and-five now, and it's likely only by the grace of my mother's priesthood in Tempus' clergy that they have lived as long, with how reckless my father is. Thankfully, we all survived the Wailing, us all having an inherent distrust in Helmites. My ma's named Sorcha Ofgren. Drak of Black-Raven is my da's. They traveled and adventured a long time, before settling at the farm and deciding they'd had enough of that. We all fought in the wars, the three of us - the shadow incursion, the Luskan incursion . . . Nasty business. After that mess, my parents said they'd had enough of that nonsense and put the weapons away permanently to focus on rebuilding. House was coming along quite nicely at the time I 'left' for Waterdeep."

"You were raised on a farm?" It certainly explained her odd affinity for the scythe.

"Aye," she confirmed with a nod. "We had all manner of beasts about - horses, dogs, goats, the odd barn cat, or chicken. Does that surprise you?" She wondered.

"I've never seen a surface farm, honestly - the drow do farm, but few things grow in abundance down here. Rothe and mushrooms are the only things I've seen them cultivate."

"Well, we grew all sorts of grub - mostly hardy varieties of root vegetables that could survive the odd weather. Father and I hunted from time to time, but it was never my strength. I just can't hide my fat arse in a bush, you know? I'm not built for hunting." Valen felt this was a massive understatement and couldn't conceal a chuckle at her expense that luckily Binne found too charming to punish in any way. She went on, amused, "Anyway, we kept a few animals, mostly dogs and drafts. A few mousers that lurked about the barn. Tried cattle one year but that never panned out. Had two goats for milk. I can show you my folks' place, er, if or when we ever get out of here," she offered unexpectedly.

He would have liked that, but doubted they'd actually make it out of Cania. Then again, they had made it thus far and were still mostly intact. "You seem very fond of them," he said instead of what he wanted to say.

"Of course. We're all very close," she said, like this was normal and shrugged.

Valen didn't know how to make her understand this strange, fundamental gap that lay between them as a result of their different upbringings. He concluded that he'd have to share something personal, no matter how it irked at him. "I only knew my mother and would not like to have known my father. I'm a little ashamed to admit that I don't remember her name," he could honestly say.

Binne took this in stride. "Well, you know who my real father is, and it doesn't seem to bother you none. I shouldn't see why knowing your own father should bother you. I suspect you'd have so little in common with him that it'd make no difference."

". . . You're comparing yourself to Mephistopheles," he finally realized.

Binne winced. "A bit internally. Deep down, I know we're nothing alike, except for the way we look, I suppose. I've never met him 'til now. But he held a power over me I hadn't known . . . And I've learned much since I got here. He's the reason I am who I am, why I have my abilities. He probably formed my pact, probably when I was in my mother's womb."

"Just as my father is the reason for all of my troubles," Valen reminded her. "As you said, it makes no difference, Binne."

Binne folded her arms around her knees and brought them close to her chest, resting her chin on the top of them. Her tail curled in a likewise guarded manner, around one of her feet. "I'd like to believe you. I'd like to believe I have more in common with Drak than my true father, for he's the one who molded me."

"Your true father is not Mephistopheles," Valen gently corrected. "He did not raise you."

There was a warmth to her eyes when she smiled softly at him - it was not as wide or carefree as her other smiles, but it reached her eyes in a new way that Valen could appreciate. "What else did you want to know?" She asked of him.

"Nothing in particular, I suppose. I am a little curious about them, but I mostly just invented an excuse to get you to talk," he admitted.

Her smile grew wider. "You sly devil," she chided.

Valen, somewhat shyly, returned the smile. "A part of me envies you for being able to be a part of a family. That's a strange concept for me to wrap my head around, especially because the only other exposure I've had to a 'family' has been House Mae'vir, and the Eilistraeens, who treat one another as I think a family ought to."

"'Tis not all it is cracked up to be," she dismissed, then added, "but I rather like them. Also, they've never tried to murder me, not even once! I imagine that's going to be hard for Solaufein and Nathyrra to grasp, but humans generally don't do that unless they're nobility. Or dreadfully angry and reckless. Then again, my da is a former berserker of the Black Raven Uthgardt tribe, and they're rather known for being dreadfully reckless. His people live in the Spine of the World - the tallest mountains up top to be seen!"

"I've seen pictures of mountains, paintings only," Valen said. "When I was in the Seer's grove, I saw rivers, and lots of forest. Not much else. I did not venture out of her grove before we made the journey to the Underdark."

Binne's eyes became a little misty as she revisited a memory clear only to her. "That's nothing compared to the feeling of standing beneath one that's taller than the tallest dragon you can ever imagine, with white dustings of snow atop, encircled by clouds. It's like . . . How standing next to a god should be - sheer toe-curling awe at the majesty of nature, is what it is. I saw the Spine once, near Raven Rock. Black Raven people ride into battle on the top of giant ravens." She grinned at his surprised look. "Right? It's unreal. You'll see them one day if I have a say in it," she said quite insistently. "If we make it back to Waterdeep somehow," she qualified.

"How does a man like that meet a woman like your mother?" Valen had to wonder.

"Long story short, Da wandered down one year and wound up running with the adventuring troupe that my mother belonged to. They got married at one point, and then spent some time in a planar prison after a portal mishap. Mishaps like that seem to run in the family . . . Anyway, that's where my mother got impregnated with Brega 'n I. She never spoke of it." Binne paused for a moment, perhaps remembering what Arden Swift had said, and bit her lip. After a moment passed, she said, "Da took us in anyway like we were his own, and never made us feel like we were wrong or didn't belong with him. As far as he was concerned, we were his children no matter how we'd been fathered. I'll always love him for that. Ma was a bit harder on us with the discipline, but she was a hard woman, and it wasn't to do with our heritage. She never punished us on account of our horns and tails. Rather that I was prone to mischief and often sought out trouble. Brega was the reasonable twin, a stolid one. A bit like you, in his thoughtfulness. You have a quality my brother eminently lacked, though - in that you have a way of bringing out my better side. Brega and I just got each other into trouble. We tended to bring that out in one another. Every day was an adventure with him, a private contest between the two of us over who could out-silly the other." She sighed deeply into her knees. "I miss him terribly sometimes," she added in a miserable tone as she fiddled the smooth black stone pendant at her neck.

Valen had lost many people over the years, most of them horribly or painfully, but he had never suffered the loss of someone so vital to his being. He'd had no siblings, growing up largely on the streets with other kids around his age. He'd been the only one of them he knew of to have survived past the age of twenty. "I am sorry for your loss," he told her quietly. "I don't know if I've said that before."

"I had the privilege of knowing him only for a short time in my life," Binne said wryly. "His loss shaped me into who I am, and I am proud of the person that I am on most days. So, I don't think of him as gone. I smile at his memory more than cry."

"That's a good way to look at it," he conceded. "I experience losses . . . Differently."

Binne unfolded her legs and looked at him, a little unsure of herself. Her fingers fiddled anxiously with the bits and straps on her armor. "Might I ask you something?" She queried.

He felt it was only fair after he'd interrogated her about her parents. "Of course."

She pursed her lips. "How did you arrive to Cania? How did you and the others die?"

Valen went quiet. He instinctively looked away from her eyes, sheltering her from what, he couldn't say. He was abruptly assaulted by the memory of his most recent death, and he hadn't - nor would he ever - forget the pain, and despair he suffered through before awakening. He had, however, long grown used to such things and simply added it to his ever-growing list of nightmare-fuel. "Is it important that you know?" He asked, careful not to sound sharp.

"No," she admitted bashfully, "no, it isn't. But I, I remember how I died - quite vividly," she shuddered. "I'd very well understand if you never cared to revisit it again. I just didn't know if it was impolite to ask, and you don't have to say anything if you don't want to, I'd certainly—"

As she rambled, he mulled over what to say, and where to begin. He cut her off since she seemed determined to withdraw, and that was not what he wanted. If she wanted to know, he would tell her. "You were warm when we got to you," he told her, and this silenced her. "It was obvious you were dead, but it must have only been moments before. The Valsharess was some distance away, long dead. Solaufein had bled out and Enserric was pierced through your breastbone, with one of your hands still clenched around the hilt of it. That's how we found you."

Her eyes continued to bore into him, and he found himself still unable to meet them. He remembered the sight of her lifeless body, too many times - a surely strange image in light of what a person she normally was, so full of life and laughter. "You found us?" She sounded horrified.

Valen went on with his retelling, casual in tone but brooding in thought. "I think the doors gave in once you both were dead. They just opened, like they were welcoming us. We knew it was a trap, and we had to spring it. There was nothing else we could do. Imloth was the first to charge, and die in a storm of spell fire . . . Then, it was Deekin. A cut to the throat, and he was suddenly gone. Devils were everywhere, too many to count. I lost myself, in the haze of the battle. The arch-devil himself could have been there and I wouldn't have noticed; my memory of the battle is unclear after that. Before I knew it, everyone was dead, and Mephistopheles was there. I think I was the last one left alive. The arch-devil was laughing at me, or his victory, as he disappeared. I tried to stand, but I was weak. I bled from a thousand wounds that I didn't remember receiving. I saw you, and I saw Solaufein, and couldn't quite put together what had happened. It . . . didn't make sense. It then made a terrible sense when I woke up in the Reaper's realm and Solaufein explained to me what really happened . . . And the last thing I remembered before I died was you. I pulled Enserric out of your chest . . . Enserric's soul or voice seemed to be gone from it, since he was dull and black. I remember I pulled it and it fell from my hand. I got very tired after that, and you were the last thing I remembered seeing before hearing Solaufein call me across that void between life and death. Next, I was in the nexus with Cavallas' winged counterpart staring at me inches away from my face and welcoming me back from the land of the dead with the most rancid breath I've ever smelled outside of the Hive."

Binne was quiet for a while. The General looked up and met her gaze finally, almost flinching at the tears he saw at the corners of them that threatened to spill down her cheeks. "Thank you, Valen," she choked out with a painful smile.

"I didn't do anything you need to thank me for," he said, a little confused.

She shook her head. "Thank you for being who you are, and for . . . for treating me with dignity and respect even after death. I don't deserve it."

He didn't know how to reassure her, so he tried to simply tell her, "You know that's not true."

She trembled as she uttered, "I killed my best friend. Someone who's done nothing but understand me, joke with me, and love me unconditionally. That's what happened. Mephistopheles commanded me to do it, and I did it. He took away my agency. I took Enserric from Solaufein and killed him. I betrayed him. And now I'm here in betrayer Hell. I can't help but think that I'm exactly where I belong. Maybe the blame is with my father, but it was my hands on Enserric's hilt and I'll always remember that in my nightmares. If I even have nightmares. I haven't really slept much since then."

Binne's shoulders were weighed down by a familiar burden, to Valen. He spoke his next words carefully. "Binne . . . May I tell you something?"

She sniffled. "Anything."

He gathered himself. He had never spoken of this to anyone, save the Seer. "I fell in love once," he revealed, "at least, that I can remember. She was one of Grimash't many slaves, as was I. She cooked, cleaned, mended, and cared for everyone that crossed her way. A human girl. I don't remember her name, or her face," he confessed, feeling somewhat ashamed. "Grimash't burnt the memory out of me with hot irons when he discovered our relationship. Love, back then, was a mistake that your masters would punish you for if you should be caught in the act of it. I was arrogant and stupid, overconfident that my use was too great for anyone to risk crossing me." Her hand had found its way to his arm in a comforting gesture, but he took it in his own, preferring that quiet warmth. Her fingers clenched lightly around his.

"Grimash't sent me to kill the Seer, around four years ago," he finally told her. "When I failed to kill her - when I refused to - Grimash't took me and chained me up so I could watch him torture that girl to death. Then, he turned his attention to me. All I remember clearly is that I must have loved her, because it hurt worse than anything I thought I'd ever known. I'd never lost anyone that I truly cared about until then; I'd lost my mother when I was very young, too young to really know her or feel her loss impact me." He went on quietly, keeping himself as composed as he could. It was less painful to revisit than he thought - even comforting in a way to reveal this to Binne. She did not judge, did not interrupt, only accepted. "I lived on the streets of the Hive with every other orphan just like me and struggled to survive until I was inevitably drafted into the Blood Wars. I'd seen people I'd grown up with die all my life. But that girl, she . . ." Her hand squeezed his as he trailed off, and he felt himself heavy with emotion. Valen's eyes stung with unshed tears. He could only stare at the floor. "And I remember little things, like how she gently tended my wounds . . . the way her smile made me feel. The scent of her skin on mine, the gold of her hair, the mint-green of the ribbons she used to tie in it. It doesn't really hurt me anymore, her absence. My memory of her is too incomplete for that, I think . . . but I must go on living with the knowledge that I am the reason she is dead. I may as well have killed her myself. If I had, it would have been a quicker death. If I'd killed her, it would have been a mercy. And I think about it still sometimes - that if I had the strength to kill her the moment that I fell in love with her, then she never would have suffered. And it would've been kinder, than letting my love for her grow to one day snuff her life out."

Valen had walked into the Seer's camp with this loss and had shouldered it ever since. It felt like a relief to finally let this burden down, with someone who assuredly understood how it felt to feel guilty for the death of another dear to them. For her part, Binne had grown wide-eyed and shed a few tears, and was squeezing his hand tightly. "Valen, then she never would have gotten the chance to love you," she pointed out gently. "And what a great loss that would have been."

He did his best to remain gruff and nonchalant about the vulnerability he'd displayed. Valen wiped at his eyes with his free hand and sighed. "My story is no different than any others in my position. There are thousands of Grimash't's, thousands of mint-ribbon girls and thousands of Valens with the same story. The only difference between me and any other of his tiefling slaves was that I eventually escaped and found my way to my purpose. I escaped the cycle that thousands of others are still trapped in."

Binne withdrew her hand to put both of hers on her hips and scaled him with a determined glare. "That's just untrue," she insisted indignantly. "You're all sortsa different from those others out there!"

He was only mostly confused. "Excuse me?"

"For one, you're far better looking than all those other Valens!" She defended passionately.

He couldn't suppress the blush that crept up his neck, but managed to say, "That's not really my point," without stuttering.

"It is to me! You're a man with a handsome set of horns and you should own that," she said, tapping him on the chest. "And you can hardly blame yourself for something you didn't do, Valen. I don't think she would be happy that you guilt yourself if she could see you."

"I don't think so either, which is my overall point," Valen agreed. "She was always kind to me. But then she died . . . Horribly. And I share a part in that. So far, my life has taught me that our lives aren't about what's deserved and what isn't. It's about what we give to one another." Binne had been stunned into silence at this point, so he forged on ahead, gaining courage: "She gave me kindness in my darkest place, and time may take away my clear memory of her, but not my solace in that. Solaufein has already given you his forgiveness, Binne. He couldn't hold any grudge against you even if he wanted to - it's not in his nature any more than it is in yours. If your positions were reversed, you would not hesitate to offer your forgiveness. You are no more responsible for what happened than I am for that girl's death."

She seemed defeated, in that moment. ". . . Someone ought to blame me; why not me? Why can't I blame myself?" She mused absently.

Valen sighed. The distance that had grown between Solaufein and Binne was mainly imposed on Binne's part - he knew very well how Solaufein felt. If the awkward poetic confession that Solaufein had rambled to Gru'ul earlier wasn't proof enough, it was written all over the drow's features whenever he glanced her way. "Because he obviously loves you, wouldn't want you to blame yourself for something you had no control over," he concluded. "I know why you feel this way. Believe me, I do. I feel it too. You blame yourself, and you shouldn't. That's why I'm telling you all of this. I know that girl loved me, and that's why I don't guilt myself anymore for what happened. I placed the blame rightfully on Grimash't, and I extracted my vengeance from him a thousandfold, just as we will to Mephistopheles. I know you will make him regret ever crossing you."

Binne seemed dubious. "Pfft." She made a noise with her mouth and stuck out her tongue at him in a childish gesture. "That's if there's a way to stop him."

Valen frowned. "I'm having a hard time trying to cheer you up, milady."

Addressing her with respect seemed to be the key to her mood because she smiled brightly. "I appreciate the effort, milord. I'm just in a sour mood. Thank you for telling me about your lovely girl, though. Sharing personal details is a long ways from suspicious glares across a room," she added, nudging him in the shoulder with her own.

At one point, he'd had trouble looking past her skin, horns, and tail. He'd seen and smelled 'devil' and went into high alert. Even having his suspicions somewhat confirmed on the devil-minion front couldn't make him hate this woman, however. She was too much herself; too rare a person to simply let sulk and sink into a depression when he stood to do something about it. Plus, Solaufein seemed to have informally granted him the task without so many words as an unspoken expectation. He'd rather pointedly left them alone together to speak to Aribeth. Still, "I think we've evolved far from suspicious glares. I didn't trust you back then because I didn't know you," Valen defended.

She smiled a little slyly. "You think you know me?"

"I think . . . I could spend the rest of my life trying to know you, and you would still consistently surprise me," he said very cautiously.

Binne seemed genuinely surprised. "Is that an offer?"

He smiled at her reaction. "It's a compliment. And a maybe." He looked down at the bowls of now-cold soup they'd placed on the ground during their conversation, and his nose wrinkled up in disgust. "Our food is cold now. Ugh. What can you expect from Cania?"

Binne smiled and drank her bowl anyway, her tail swaying behind her in the warm air. "Hey. It's Hell!"

They finished their unpleasant meals in silence, with no complaint. Valen then recalled what Binne had said earlier, about nightmares and sleep. "You said you haven't slept much," he said suddenly, gaining her attention.

She turned to look at him. "Eh, sleep is for the dead," she said flippantly.

He knew how much she valued her little naps, the only bits of peace she could find while they were traveling, her quiet moments amidst the chaos of their lives, and felt inordinately angry that Mephistopheles had robbed her of this simple pleasure. "You should rest anyway," he insisted.

"Rather not deal with the creepy, arcane nightmares, thanks," she dismissed.

"I'm not even going to ask," he rolled his eyes up toward the ceiling. "You should have told the Seer about the first one."

"Don't remind me," she complained. "Besides, is it so bizarre that I would distrust a woman touting herself as a 'seer?' Though I do worry about her now that we're here and she's down in the Underdark with just the idiots for company. By which I mainly mean Tomi and Featherbutt. Sharwyn can probably hold the lot of them together herself, now that I think about it."

Valen had distrusted the Seer for the same exact reason when they'd initially met, albeit reinforced by the fact that the meeting was at flail-point, but it was also due to this meeting that he was less worried about the Seer than he perhaps could have been. He knew she could take care of herself - she had successfully fended him off, after all, and defended her men from his demonic allies. "The Seer will keep them safe, and get them back to the surface," Valen said confidently. No, he wasn't too worried about the Seer - besides, he could help her far more from Hell at his allies' sides than he could at the woman's side. It was Binne he was more worried about - she was more concerned with others than herself, despite her condition.

Though the cambion was cognizant, there were circles under her eyes, and wounds in them that Valen recognized in himself. He stood up. "Come with me," he said, and offered his hand to her. She put her bowl on the ground and took his hand after eying it for a moment and gave it a squeeze after she stood. The hellhound remained behind, snoozing.

He led her back to the dragon's bar and took a few velox from Deekin's counting pile despite the kobold's squawking objection. He put the berries on the black bar-top and cleared his throat to get the Innkeep's attention. He was back in his smaller, humanoid form, though this was still unfortunate because he was still wearing nothing but an apron and was presently bent over with his backside in the air as he got a few towels out of a cupboard.

"Hang on! Be with you in a moment!" the dragon called out. Valen pointedly looked away, while Binne just laughed. When the dragon pulled his head back up, his serpentine eyes narrowed. "Oh, it's you two," he drawled. "What is it now?"

"A room," Valen cut out. He glanced over at Solaufein, who was still engaging Aribeth in conversation some distance away. He was certain the drow had heard him, judging from the brief and intense look Solaufein shot his way. The drow's approval was silent, but discernible.

The dragon's eyes narrowed on him. "How do you feel about flesh-eating bedbugs? Or is that not your thing?"

Binne guffawed. "Wha—?"

The blue-haired humanoid dragon cackled. "Kidding. You're not bad, for a total berk. Room's on the house, you're paid up. That's more than the big M ever did for me, honestly, and you're not that bad for business if you managed to knock Swift out for an evening. Was getting sick of him mouthing off to the pilgrims, hoped that Sensei would knock sense into him when she kicked him in the head, but apparently not. Not bad at all, warmlings. It's down the big hall, third door on the left."

"We'll take that as a compliment," said Binne.

Valen led the way to what looked like the biggest hall, although his Abyssal was a bit rusty compared to Binne's. She hadn't been counting the number of doors and opened the first one that caught her fancy - only to be greeted by the sight of two succubi going at it in a frenzy, tearing the room around them to shreds in the process. She stared for a long moment before closing the door, unnoticed by its occupants, and then blinked. And blinked again. She looked over to Valen and said quietly, "It's . . . probably not that one. I think."

"You think?" He asked, dripping with sarcasm.

She paused a moment, then nodded firmly and insistently, "Yes."

He rolled his eyes at her again and opened the proper, unoccupied door. It was spartan, a wide mirror on one side but no decoration, with stone walls and two enchanted torches to ever-burn, giving it quite dim lighting. The bed was surprisingly sturdy and made of wood and creaked only a little when Valen moved across the room and sat down on it and began to remove his armor.

Binne giggled, sounding somewhat nervous. "This is all moving much more quickly than I anticipated, not that I'm objecting," she babbled.

Valen stared at her for a moment as he was in the middle of removing his pauldrons and felt amused. "Is sex really all you ever think about?" He had to wonder.

"Oh, it's at least half of what I think about, for sure," she happily agreed. "Most of my thoughts revolve around food or fornication, if we're being completely honest here."

"You need sleep," he told her, and her eyes widened in understanding. And then narrowed in disappointment. "Don't give me that look. You said yourself, you've hardly slept since you got here. We have the time now, and we might not in the future. So, take off your armor, and come lay down next to me."

She sighed. "Oh, very well, you stubborn arse. But I get to be little spoon!"

A few moments later, their armor was in various scattered states around the room - or rather Binne's was, while Valen kept his carefully separated in a neat pile. He placed his flail carefully within arm's reach of the bed and patted the space next to him with a hand as Binne stood and experimentally poked at the hole in her shirt in the front with a consternated expression. "Just take it off, you can sew it back together later or get a new one," Valen tiredly suggested, and laid back on the boxy bed with a thud, throwing the bed sheet and cover back.

Binne stared blatantly at his nudity for a few moments, unashamed. A swish of fabric later and Binne had curled up next to him under the covers, nude. While there was a part of Valen that could not deny the pleasure at seeing her in the state, a deeply exhausted part of him really just wanted to enjoy the fact that he had a warm bed to sleep in for a little while, with a warm body in it to curl up to.

Her fingers splayed across his chest and tumbled tentatively across his many scars, almost tickling him. He grasped her hand, gently, and told her, "turn around."

She grinned and did so. "Little spoon?" She queried excitedly.

Valen wrapped an arm around her middle and drew her against him, answering her question. She wiggled for a moment as he tightened his grip, silently urging her to stop and relax. Initially it was difficult to find a place to put his face without an eye full of horn, but he found a solution and nestled into the base of her neck, curled protectively around her. He'd been this close to her before, technically - while they were resting in a pile after the big celebration - but he hadn't had the time to appreciate it. He'd noticed her before, of course - she made herself known immediately wherever she went, whether she wanted to or not - and he could at least aesthetically appreciate her curves and features. It wasn't really until that panicked moment before the fight with Vix'thra that he noticed his heart palpitating in her presence - he thought at first that it was anger, or his instinct warring at him, after seeing her summon so many demons to their side. He knew better now.

He'd felt scared, for her. The mad plan to ground the dracolich had been hers, and she'd very nearly died - again. Instead, Nathyrra had died. A part of Valen felt terribly guilty for feeling glad that Binne was spared and Nathyrra was not - after all, his drow friend had seemed unaffected by resurrection. Valen knew what it meant, in the larger sense. He had grown attached to Binne. He had developed feelings for her.

"Valen, I meant to ask you something before I died, but I never got the chance," Binne spoke suddenly, pulling Valen from his thoughts.

"Hmm?" He hummed.

"Did you have sex with a marilith?" She asked pointedly, and not without amusement.

Valen flushed to his ears and was glad Binne couldn't see it and tease him about it. He decided she'd earned the story, at least - and he had intended to tell it to her earlier before she was unexpectedly teleported away with Solaufein. "When I left Grimash't," he began, "I had to escape the Abyss. I knew only a being of equal power or greater would have access to a portal that could take me to a different plane, so I sought out a marilith I knew of and had encountered before, whom I knew to be - if not reasonable, approachable."

"What does it mean if a marilith is 'approachable,'?" Binne chuckled.

"It means she wasn't likely to kill me on sight. I offered her my services as a warrior in exchange for access to a portal . . . She had other ideas. Long story short, I'm here." At the end of his tale, he cleared his throat pointedly.

He couldn't see it, but he could hear the frown in Binne's voice. "That's far more innocent a story than I was hoping it would be, and at the same time much worse," she assessed.

"Why?" He asked.

Her tail squirmed against him, causing him to unintentionally tense. She didn't seem to notice, though the tail had a mind of its own and wrapped itself comfortably around Valen's leg. She went on, "Well, on the surface I think it's more often the other way around - men taking advantage of women, especially when they're in positions of power. But really, sex of any kind has always been a bargaining tool, as I understand it. I just prefer my buggery a bit more honest and not so transactional. I take it you parted on well terms with her?"

"I haven't seen her since, but yes," he said into her neck softly, which made her shiver. "Though she did leave a few scars - but those, I don't mind. At least I remembered getting them, which is more than I can say for most of my others. Try and get some sleep," he suggested, and hushed her when she opened her mouth to object or probably try flirting with him again.

It wasn't so much that he was opposed to the idea as he felt they needed the sleep more - especially if they were unlikely to get it in the future, out in the cold where they'd have to keep moving for safety. He'd spent time on the fringes of Cania, where the Blood Wars were fought, and knew its climate well enough to hate it. Cania was a miserable plane, even by the standards of Baator.

Binne's tail poked through his legs at some point to wrap around his own, and though it startled him, he was used to her tail having a mind of its own. He'd never been with another fiendling like her - not a tailed one, anyway - and it was a surprisingly intimate moment as they twined together. She hummed contentedly into the pillows, and he nestled comfortably into the nape of her neck. The kind of peace he felt on some level he didn't deserve washed over him, and he accepted it, begrudgingly. He marveled at how quiet the demon in him had become, and basked in the warmth while he still could, knowing they'd soon be likely freezing to death.

He didn't dream, thankfully, but he was cursed to be a light sleeper and so awoke after what only felt like a few moments later when Binne began to tremble and shake against him. Her muscles fitfully tensed and relaxed, and the arm she had kept in a grip around his grasped out at air, at nothing. It was difficult to see in the light, but Valen had sensitive eyes, and he could read her expression as troubled when he sat up to look at her. He shook her gently at first, then more firmly to wake her.

Her amber eyes fluttered open and fixed on his, dilating to swallow the dim light. They glowed for a faint moment, and then returned to normal as her breathing evened. "Nightmare?" He guessed and wondered how often she had them.

"Thankfully, I don't remember much of it," she grumbled, and rolled onto her back to turn her head, to better face him. "None of my dreams seem to be pleasant," she lamented.

"Mine either," Valen admitted.

"Blood Wars?" She guessed, accurately.

"The plague?" He guessed, also accurately, having overheard Sharwyn also speak of the matter.

"We're cursed with vivid imaginations," Binne sighed, and curled up against him, wrapping her arm around his bare chest. Her tail tugged against his, bringing him closer to her. It was more than a little distracting. Just as he was deciding whether or not to do something about it, Binne asked, "May I touch you?"

"You already are," he pointed out, tapping her arm across his chest with amusement.

"No, I mean," Binne made a frustrated sound and sat up abruptly, inching closer to his head. Her hands tentatively reached up and touched his hair, most of which had fallen loose from the ponytail, and she tucked a bit of crimson locks behind one of his ears. Valen's eyes closed instinctively as her hands explored his eyebrows, eyelashes, horns, and cheekbones, trailing down to his mouth, but not touching it. Her hand brushed the side of his neck when she asked quietly, "May I kiss you?"

It was curious to Valen that between the two of them, Solaufein - the dark, quiet, and polite one - had simply seized his moment, while Binne - the bright, outspoken, bold one - sought consent. His hand reached up of its own volition to caress Binne's cheek and wrap around her neck to bring her russet red mouth down to meet his. She parted her lips with a satisfied sigh and Valen's tongue caressed hers, sending tingling sensations all the way down to his fingertips and toes. He knew he must love her, then, because he'd only known this sensation once before. An involuntary moan escaped his throat as her legs and tail became entwined with his, and pulled her against him, sliding his hands along her back. She ground her hips against him, reaching down to caress any inch of skin she could get her hands on, and her claws raked gently across his back.

The demon in him reared its head and howled, not for devil's blood this time, but all for her. The human and demon parts of him were in perfect synchronicity about their desires, for a delightful change of pace. Valen pulled away but for a moment - first to look at Binne, eyes aglow and wanting, second to flip her onto her back with a careful and quick twist. She landed with a satisfied grin that morphed into pleased surprise as his tail wound around her leg to tease at her entrance. "Figures you'd be wicked with that," she mumbled in-between moans. His tail, already hooked around her knee, brought her leg around him, bringing Valen closer to her as he leaned in and sealed his mouth around hers once more.

She squirmed eagerly as his hardness pressed into her pelvic bone, but Valen was a patient man. He hadn't always been and had to valiantly repress the urge to simply bite Binne and ravish her senseless - for one, he knew Solaufein might have words with him should he return Binne harmed, and for two, he was hardly a fumbling novice when it came to the bedchamber. When she whined, "Please, oh Valen, please," he leaned up and pressed his lips against her neck beneath her ear and hushed her, whispering, "Wait."

Valen laved attention onto her neck and shoulder as his tail unwound from her leg, and wove its way around, stopping only just barely from entering her sex. By torturous increments, he slid the tip of his pointed tail into her already-wet slit, drawing a breathless cry from her lips. His hips pulled back when her legs pulled down, and she let out a frustrated sound. "You're evil," she accused.

"Well, I am a tiefling," he said into her skin, and lowered his face to her breasts. He teased her with a few more inches of his tail as he sucked on a nipple, pushing in just a little deeper when Binne's hips bucked instinctively. Her tail thrashed against the bed and wrapped around his leg, pulling him closer to her and even deeper until just the right angle was struck, and she gasped.

"How did—you found it," Binne blurted, "I don't know how you found it but—ah!" Her thought was left unfinished as he twisted in a little deeper at the angle she'd indicated, and her gasps became even higher-pitched.

"Right there?" He murmured against her breast and switched his attention to the other one.

"Don't stop," she plead. The rest of her words became husky whispers and oaths as he twisted his tail further into her. Her hands clenched on his back, scratching him with her claws as she spasmed all around him. Both Valen and his demon internally roared in satisfaction when she came - more on instinct than on purpose. He pulled his tail out of her and threw her legs around his shoulders as she shook from pleasure, and he dove his tongue straight into her core to taste her.

In an unexpectedly fluid maneuver, Binne suddenly pushed up with all her weight and twisted him to the side, so that he rolled onto his back and she straddled his face, using the headboard behind him for support. She bit her lip and moaned, shuddering against his mouth as his tongue caressed her most sensitive parts, and told him, "I'm in charge now." He kept his arms locked around her hips for a moment, enjoying her deliciously fragrant heat and the sounds she made as he made love to her with his lips.

After a time, impatience seemed to get the best of her and she pushed herself off of him and lowered herself onto his hardness. He angled himself inside of her as she rocked her hips down onto him, mounting him, and suddenly there was completion. While he'd certainly had sex before, Valen couldn't remember ever feeling so whole, so complete in the moment. When first meeting Binne, he couldn't have predicted that they'd end up here, but he certainly didn't mind the outcome if it meant they would be able to do this whenever they wanted. The sensation overwhelmed him as he locked his hands and tail around Binne, preventing her from moving momentarily as he got used to the feeling of her all around him.

"You're bigger than I thought," Binne commented with a sly smile. Valen was only half cognizant, and all he could do was grunt in pleasure in response. He hadn't regained the ability to speak. "I have a clever idea for that tail of yours," she went on, but Valen was following her thought process and had already wrapped his tail around her. The tip of it, still wet from being inside her, slowly prodded at her back entrance until she nodded and sighed in permission.

She gasped as it entered her, rocking her hips forward and sent spikes of pleasure through Valen's entire body. He loosened his grip on her hips, and she started to gently ride him as she adjusted to the feeling. Her tail wrapped around him gradually as she did so, and he angled his hips up for a moment, allowing it to wrap behind him. "May I?" She asked with a sly grin, ever so politely. All Valen could do was desperately nod - he needed her, to be inside her, for her to be inside him - both the demon and Valen needed it all with a desperate hunger. Gently, mostly due to the lack of lubricant, she pushed her way into him - first the tip, then deeper when he nodded and gave her a throaty 'yes,' and he threw his head back and groaned in pleasure as her tail found its way to the most sensitive spot inside him.

Enveloped by and into each other, there was no awareness of the outside world or the passage of time. Cania, his most recent death, and all his worries fell away until the only thing that was left was the moment Valen was in. Her warmth, her scent, her skin on his - this was all that needed to matter. Binne began to rock against him faster and faster, her breath emerging in light gasps that he synchronized with his own. They moved and trembled together as one, but he let her set the pace as they climbed that peak together. She crested over the edge of pleasure just before him - and as Binne faltered and spasmed in the throes of her climax, he took advantage of her disarray and flipped her over onto her back, ramming into her deeper as he sought out his own edge. Her walls clenched and tightened all around him, and in moments he was raking his teeth across her neck, tasting the salt on her skin, and inhaling her scent as he finished inside of her.

As Valen slackened, her arms closed around him and her hands gently ran across the scarred ridges along his back. He remained buried inside her, finding solace in the intimacy he'd so long denied himself. They lay entwined for some time, simply caressing and enjoying one another. Binne then began to kiss her way up his neck and jaw toward his lips, grazing her canines ever so gently and drawing shivers from him. She explored his mouth with her tongue, tasting herself on his lips and let out a low moan.

He was hard again in what felt like only moments, drawing up her legs into his arms so that he could angle himself at just the right point in. He was rewarded by her loud cry - he dove deeper into her with his tail and couldn't repress a moan when he felt his own tail moving inside of her. She writhed against him, clenching her legs around his hips, and teased at him with her tail as it corded around him. He set the pace this time and could feel the demon in him taking the reins. He looked down and saw her amber eyes glowing, and knew his were getting dangerously close to flashing red. He hesitated, slowing down - to Binne's frustration, as she reached up and grasped at him with her claws.

"Faster," she demanded, and he wasn't about to refuse her. "More," she moaned.

Valen flipped her over, an easy effort with the assistance of his tail still thrust inside of her and guided her up toward the top of the bed so she could get a grip on the headboard. He drove into her again from behind, reaching up and around her with his arms to grasp her breasts both for stimulation and for grip. He was so lost in the frenzy of the moment that he didn't hear the door open and wasn't aware of Deekin's presence until the kobold was squealing in objection.

"Ah!" Binne cried out in surprise and craned her head around to look at the doorway. "Get outta here, chicken legs! Can't you see we're busy?!"

"Deekin just came to wakes goat-people up because it be times to go to Gith Temple! He not want to see goat-people without pants! Augh!" Deekin cried and ran out of the room on his little legs, shoving the door closed behind him.

Valen had paused, confused, but was still very aroused. "Um," was all he had the wherewithal to say. "Should I . . . ?"

"Don't you dare stop, General Shadowbreath," Binne threatened in a low, sultry voice. "They can all damn well wait a few bloody minutes while you finally have your way with me."

He wasn't about to question her when she was using that tone. They continued, after laughing at both themselves and Deekin's expense, and tried out quite a few different positions along the way. Valen wasn't exactly sure how Deekin was measuring the passage of time but knew they hadn't gotten as much sleep as he'd planned on - but he didn't feel particularly tired, even after their exertions.

They lay together entwined for a time, happily satisfied. However when they were finished, Binne professed a lamentation that there weren't any baths within spitting distance - Valen figured the dragon had to have at least some method of melting snow for water and threw his shirt at Binne's head for her to throw on when she complained about her own still having a hole in it as they tried to get dressed. He threw on his pants, poked his head out the door, and upon seeing no one he recognized he quickly walked down the corridor and had a look at the signs in Abyssal. It took him a few seconds, but sure enough there was one labeled 'baths' pointing in the opposite direction of his arrival. He went to fetch Binne and led the way down a dimly lit velox-torch corridor, away from the Inn's rooms, until they hit a steamy section with the right label on the door.

It was a darkly lit, uncomfortably warm conjoined public bath, not desirable but better than nothing, and thankfully sparsely populated with but a few githzerai and succubi performing their ablutions about. Everyone gave Binne quite a wide berth when they entered the water, perhaps remembering Arden's remarks in the bar fight, but that was to their advantage. It gave them more space to clean each other - more room for those small, intimate touches of hers that he was becoming so fond of - a hand down the shoulder, tucking hair behind his ear, tracing a scar down his back. She was quite forward with her affection now that they had passed that barrier of sorts, and Valen found himself subconsciously returning those small affectionate gestures without even thinking of it, as if they had always been easy for him to do - even though he couldn't recall a time when they had been.

Once clean, they donned their armor, taking their time, and finally couldn't come up with any more excuses to put off the inevitable. "I guess we should find the others," Binne said, still poking at the hole in her chest plate with a finger.

He frowned at her, and grabbed the fidgeting hand in his own, weaving his fingers in through hers. It felt so natural, he couldn't believe it. "Rizolvir can fix it," he offered.

Binne blinked. "But he—we're in Cania, Valen," she said tiredly.

"He died in the assault," Valen explained patiently, "and wound up here, working for that dragon. He has a forge and is more successful than ever, according to him."

" . . . Wh-what? Here? What?"

"That was also my reaction, when Nathyrra told me."

Nathyrra, Solaufein, and Deekin were in the main hall eating and offered a bowl of whatever excuse the dragon had around that he dared to call food to Binne and Valen when they approached. No one said anything although Deekin refused to make eye contact. The first order of business for the day was to see Rizolvir for Aribeth's armor.

As it turned out, Rizolvir had an upgraded forge thanks to the dragon and the super-heated velox that he hoarded as part of his personal treasure. Rizolvir was on good terms with the blue beast, for whatever reason, and agreed to fix Binne and Solaufein's armor in a matter of twelve hours - it would take him about six hours on each piece. Aribeth had a much more reasonable set of armor that - for whatever reason that was beyond Valen's fathoming - functionally replaced the 'ghostly' armor she had on before. Valen wasn't sure exactly how it worked, but Aribeth seemed more comfortable in her new less-spiky enchanted set that gave her a speed boost on par with Solaufein's and Nathyrra's. Additionally, the breast-plate actually covered its namesake, which she was happy enough about, for a lost and dead woman. Binne and Solaufein left their armor with the smith for the time being and traded with the dragon and Solaufein's pocket d'jinn for warmer clothes and replacement armor.

Valen felt much better about their chances in the Wastes with a furred cloak and boots on. Though there were challenges due to size differences, they were able to make do and - at least the living members of their party (Aribeth excluded herself politely) - were much warmer than they had been before.

They had gathered around one of the unoccupied velox-fire pits after their successful endeavor, to discuss their plans for the time being. The hellhound had found his way to Binne's side again and was busily sniffing at Valen's hand. He gave Boon a few pats on the head, which made his stubby tail wag appreciatively. Solaufein, their unofficial but undisputed leader, was talking to Deekin quietly some distance away while Nathyrra approached Binne with a steaming mug of tea in her hands. "Here, for you," Nathyrra indicated.

Binne was delighted. "Ooh! What is it?" she asked, sniffing at it. Then her eyes widened in understanding, though Valen was baffled. She made a noise of understanding and thanks and sipped at it.

"Nararoot, they call it on the surface, I believe," Nathyrra supplied. "I bargained for it with the d'jinn. It is female contraception."

Valen couldn't repress the flush that warmed his features, because he hadn't considered such a thing in the heat of the moment and had finished multiple times inside Binne that evening. He was glad Nathyrra was with them - to think of such matters. The very last thing they needed was to worry about a potential pregnancy while running around the iciest Hell of Baator.

"Valen," Solaufein's voice cut in from behind him, and Valen turned abruptly to face the neutral, perfect face of their drow leader. Solaufein jerked his head to the side, indicating that Valen should follow him, and the General did so without question. Once they were some distance away from the others, Valen looked at Solaufein curiously. "I would like to say something," Solaufein began slowly, "and I shall say it to you only once."

"What is it?" the tiefling wondered.

"I enjoy you," Solaufein began, generously. "You are attractive, an excellent friend, and an able warrior. We are abbin who have surpassed even death together. I want you to know this, because I will not hesitate to cut off your tail and feed it to Deekin if I find out you have hurt Binne in some way."

Part of Valen wanted to add on, 'only consensually' to the end of Solaufein's statement, as he recalled all the times he'd bruised or otherwise beaten Binne during training, but he felt that might be lost in translation to the drow. Instead he said, "On the avariel isle, you threatened to defile a man's corpse if he didn't remove his curse from her, so your protectiveness of her isn't unexpected. Also, I don't think I could hurt her if I tried - not that I want to. I mean in the sense that she's much more capable than she lets on."

Solaufein nodded, and perhaps remembering the avariel isle with no fondness whatsoever, scowled lightly. "I know you do not wish to hurt her, which is part of why I enjoy you," he said, his scowl softening. "That is all I wanted to say to you, I am finished."

Valen nodded. "I appreciate it, Solaufein," he said honestly. He'd expected Solaufein to say something to him after last night but hadn't thought it entirely through. Part of him had anticipated being scolded, but Solaufein was hardly the type - he was accepting and kind, in the Eilistraeen way. "I . . . Have never met anyone like her. Or you," he added with a smile.

Solaufein scoffed. "She is the strange one."

Valen felt a smirk creep across his features. "You're the drow paladin," he pointed out.

The drow sighed. "Why do you two keep repeating that? I am not a paladin. They belong to Torm, or Tyr. Even Aribeth agrees."

"Because Lady Aribeth is a great judge of what makes a paladin?" Valen mock-scoffed.

"You are lucky I am Eilistraeen," Solaufein half-heartedly threatened. "No self-respecting dhaerow would ever tolerate that blasphemy."

"Even Nathyrra agrees. You're the only one in denial."

Solaufein muttered, "I am not a paladin," to himself as he wandered back to the group, and Valen followed with an ever-growing smile on his face. Binne returned the broad grin with one of her own when she saw him and winked at Valen over the remnants of her tea.

Once they were gathered, Nathyrra tossed forth the idea of investigating the Temple of the Sleeping Man, and they decided to head over through the snowdrift in their new clothes, to at least kill some time while Rizolvir fixed their gear. The general consensus seemed to be that the Sleeping Man had to know something about Mephistopheles, being the oldest being in Cania - at least according to Aribeth, who had done some investigating of her own into the Sensei's religion upon her arrival into Cania. Deekin threw forth the idea of using the strange trumpet he'd pilfered from Arden's unconscious body - and the winged, mouthy tiefling was still passed out in a pool of his own drool on the floor some distance away - but Deekin was shot down immediately by a chorus of 'no' from everyone who had been forced to endure the sound of the trumpet earlier. Everyone except Nathyrra, rather, who gave the idea some careful consideration and promised Deekin that if they could find no other way to communicate with the Sleeping Man, then they might have to use that to wake him up.

She and Solaufein led the way out of the Inn after they settled up with the dragon, and Valen shivered in the abrupt assault of ice-cold wind that blew past him with a flurry of snowflakes as they opened the door to the outside and stepped forward.

Binne crept up behind him and grabbed his hand, the one that was hovering near Devil's Bane. He didn't mind it at all - and could feel her warmth, even through their new gloves. She smiled at him, he smiled back, and felt a little better about being trapped in Hell. After all, he was at least in good company.

---

Drow-to-Common Dictionary:

Dos inbal . . . Pinky-promise

Dragon Innkeeper is like, 'if I kicked everyone out who started a fight in my Hell-bar, I'd have no customers!'

Also, can someone (probably me) point out how enterprising it is that there's a functioning bar and Inn for demons and planar travelers in Cania, that Mephistopheles just lets. Stay there? Like. 'Yeah, cool, whatever. This is the only rest stop for eighteen thousand fucking miles, so you'd best fill up here.'