The Halfling Necromancer...
"By all that dances," Jhelnae said. "Why do I have to go tomb delving tonight? Why? When all this body wants is a hot bath."
Not surprisingly, no one responded to her complaint as they all ran to the bronze door of the tomb, the half-drow's muscles twinging from all her earlier efforts of this seemingly never ending day-night. Nevercott and Sir Ambrose seized the big brass ring mounted on the door and hauled backward, which left only grips at the door edge for Jhelnae and Aleina.
The haberdasher's wedged fabric shears clattered to the stone porch as a sign they were winning the tug of war against the two workmen who had escaped back inside the tomb, but the half-drow's hold kept slipping. Her nails scraped against the aged green bronze as her hands slid free.
"So glad we got those manicures," she hissed as she grabbed at the door edge once more and kept pulling.
"Now we have an excuse to go again," the aasimar grunted.
"Yes now," Jhelnae said through gritted teeth. "Because monk training today didn't shred our nails already."
Despite her whining, the half-drow strained for all she was worth and the door inched backward from her group's efforts. But the two workmen inside were strong, and the progress was slow and painstaking.
"By. All. That. Dances!" Jhelnae growled.
She released a grip and the coldness of the Demonweb flowed through her. She sent it forth in a blast of crackling energy through the open gap in the door, aiming high and not hitting anyone. But it had the desired effect. Her group abruptly won the tug-of-war on the door as the two inside let go. With nothing resisting them, those on the outside stumbled back as the door suddenly ground open. Sir Ambrose and Nevercott had the brass ring to keep them upright, but Jhelnae and Aleina tripped each other up and fell, backsides landing on the stone porch of the tomb.
Hard.
"Ow," the aasimar said.
The thudding footsteps of two runners came from inside the tomb.
"If we're going to catch and question those two," the haberdasher said, dusting his hands. "Best for both of you to not take a languid rest."
The half-drow gave him a glare as she and her friend climbed to their feet. As usual, Nevercott wasn't cowed in the least.
"I can't believe I am saying this," Aleina said. "But you should pick up your shears. You throw them really well."
"Already retrieved," the haberdasher said, brandishing a pair of the cutting devices in each hand.
Jhelnae's brow wrinkled in confusion. When had he done that? She looked to where the thrown shears would have fallen, but there was nothing there.
"Shall we?" Nevercott said, with a motion inviting them all to proceed him into the tomb.
He wore a smile as if he was giving up his chair on a crowded dray carriage instead of asking them to take the point positions into potential danger.
"Surely you aren't suggesting these two ladies go in front of us?" Sir Ambrose asked, his tone scolding.
"You, since you have armor," the haberdasher said, shrugging. "Or them, since they cast magical wards on themselves earlier. But I should clearly be in the back since I have neither and, as has already been observed, am a good throw with these shears."
"Fine," the aasimar said, moving forward. "What we really could use is a certain paladin of Sehanine Moonbow. But where is he when you need him? Nowhere in sight."
She muttered the last part in an under her breath complaining tone they could all hear.
Jhelnae held out an arm to stop her friend.
"Sir Ambrose and I will go in front," she said.
With her outstretched hand she called her abyssal blade. It misted into existence into her grip.
"Neat trick," Nevercott said, cocking his head in examination of her conjured sword. "Interesting armbands as well. Although I think the magical protections they provide are not additive to your warding spell due to interference. It's probably the same cumulatively. Best to either wear them or cast the other. Not both."
What was he talking about? Then the half-drow glanced down at the green and gold wrist and forearm protectors she wore. Aleina had dropped off the sword they'd retrieved from Blackstaff Tower back at the Trollskull, but the armbands were so comfortable Jhelnae forgot she even wore them. What had Vajra called them? The Vambraces of Whinonas? Could the haberdasher really see what sort of protective spells they provided?
The half-drow shook her head and gave a slight snort. Of course not. For Eilistraee's sake, he wielded fabric shears after all and wore a golden half-cape in a graveyard along with an impractical maroon feather topped hat. The man was an idiot. Annoying as well. All smug smiles, winks, and altogether acting like he was the gift of the gods to the feminine gender.
"Their presence might be suspicious," Sir Ambrose said, eyeing the still misting sword in the half-drow's hand. "But we want to question them, not kill them."
"I know that," Jhelnae said, unable to keep from sounding offended. "Why do you think I aimed high with my blast earlier? But I also don't want to be defenseless if a shovel is being swung at my head when I round a corner in there."
"She has a point, Everdawn," Nevercott said.
"And you're the one who told us of the dark history of the Shadowdusk family," the aasimar added.
The old knight pursed his lips in thought, then answered by drawing his great sword with an audible rasp. He nodded to the half-drow and, side by side, they entered the tomb.
Flickering torches in wall brackets dimly lit the entry chamber. Jhelnae found their presence confusing at first, but then again how otherwise would the humans who retreated in here see.
"There are more than two of them," Aleina whispered. "And they've been here for a while."
She pointed at the torches on the walls and to how a multitude of footsteps had worn a polished track through the dust on the floor from the corridor ahead to the door.
"Agreed," Sir Ambrose said, adjusting the grip on his sword hilt. "Suspicious."
"Could be worse," the half-drow said. "Could be a bunch of gnoll tracks in the dust that went in and never came out."
She caught the aasimar's gaze and received a slight smile and nod in response. The shared look brought a measure of confidence to Jhelnae. She and her friend had survived many dangers together since the Tomb of Brysis of Khaem.
A polished slab of granite lay in the middle of the room with the carved symbol of a lit torch with three embers rising from the flame - the Shadowdusk crest the half-drow guessed - along with the words 'No secrets without truth'. During a funeral the coffin was probably positioned on the slab with mourners sitting in the stone benches arrayed before it. Other than a corridor leading deeper into the tomb, the far wall held smashed open burial vaults with stone coffins dragged out and lids opened or broken.
"Desecration," the knight of Kelemvor mumbled, seemingly speaking to himself. "But there have been no members of the Shadowdusk family in Waterdeep in over a century. This could have happened a long time ago."
"Tomb robbery is the intrinsic cycle of wealth back into the economy," the haberdasher said, shrugging. "Particularly after a house falls. But the absence of bones does concern me."
Pale illumination, brighter than the torchlight, flared as Aleina cast a light spell into her moonstone orb and shifted it this way and that so it lit the interior of the wrecked vaults and the open coffins. There was rubble from broken stone and scraps of rotted and tattered fabric, but no signs of any of the remains of those interred.
"That can't be good," the aasimar said.
"Well," Nevercott said. "We have evidence of misdeeds and are eyewitnesses to the likely suspects. Our choices are to go spend the remainder of the evening in pleasant leisure at the base of Ahghairon's Statue so we can inform the authorities at dawn or..."
He trailed off as Sir Ambrose and Aleina crossed the room to peer down the corridor deeper into the tomb.
"…foolishly investigate further," the haberdasher finished.
But Jhelnae was barely listening, having joined the other companions at the entrance to the corridor. It went a distance then stairs dropped to a lower level. The burial vaults on either side of the hall here as well were smashed open with the stone coffins pulled out and lids slid off or broken. Again there was a disturbing lack of bones and also lit torches in wall sconces.
The musty smell of earth, dust, and decay increased as they picked their way through the rubble and fallen coffins towards the stairs. Pairs of narrow hallways, just wide enough to deliver the deceased and their coffin to their internment, spread out off the main corridor and glances down these showed the burial vaults down them similarly ransacked. Ignoring these side passages, the group descended the stairs, following the many footprints through the dust. More dust and cobwebs on the catacombs level below told the same tale of long abandonment as in the mausoleum above. Jhelnae halted the group at the turn of the stairs as something strange came into view.
A large shrub clipped into the shape of a snaking dragon faced away from them in the middle of a large central passageway. On this topiary dragon rode a small warrior - a green skinned and brown haired little fey, clad in dark leaves which overlapped like scales of armor. He wore brambles curled around his waist and wrists for further protection and held a sword resembling a large thorn high over his head ready to swing. The shaped bush and rider were preternaturally still and seemed to be surrounded by an obscuring globe of fog.
"It's dust," Aleina said after a moment of staring.
It was dust. A layer of it hanging in midair. But instead of swirling or falling it was as unnaturally unmoving as the topiary dragon and rider in its midst.
"I have heard of this," Sir Ambrose said. "A time stop field. A trap for tomb raiders. Thieves are caught in a field of stopped or extremely slowed time and would be turned over to the authorities when found during the next visit by the family."
"The dust that falls into the field?" Jhelnae asked.
"It gets caught and stopped in time," the old knight answered. "Like anything else."
Nevercott raised his hand and threw a pair of fabric shears. It spun through the air then halted mid flight as it entered the dust defined globe surrounding the topiary dragon and rider.
"What are you doing?" the aasimar said. "We're supposed to be finding those two, I think that is them anyway, not attacking them."
"Testing a theory," the haberdasher said.
Another pair of shears went flying, these aimed just to the left of the sphere. Nothing interfered with its flight until it skittered across the stone floor.
"We can edge around the trap," Nevercott said. "But probably not advisable."
"Nevercott is probably right," Aleina said. "This has gone beyond chasing a couple of workmen. We don't want to get trapped like that. We wait for dawn and report on what we've seen."
Before Jhelnae could agree, a deep sigh came from one of the side passageways of the catacombs.
"I suppose it was too much to hope they would come down the stairs and let us shove them in the time stop trap," a dark haired halfling said, peeking around a corner.
Four more faces also appeared around corners, all human males, two of them belonging to the workmen they had seen leaving the tomb and two others dressed in dusty robes similar in style to the halfling.
"Losser," one of the workmen said. "We were hired to gather bones. Not fight. And definitely not to fight a drow!"
"They are extremely dangerous," the haberdasher called out. "Deadly adversaries. Particularly the females. But in the end if you cut them, they bleed like anything else. Or bash in their skulls with shovels as the case may be."
"Nevercott…" the half-drow groaned, but found herself at a loss for more words.
"Do they make good zombies?" the halfling named Losser asked.
"I'd imagine as good as any others," Nevercott offered.
"Well, in that case…"
The halfling gestured and a horde of skeletons streamed in from the side passages, bony feet clicking on the stone floor and empty eye sockets staring up the stairway. They skirted the sphere holding the trapped topiary dragon and its green rider as they rushed forward to attack, all manner of rusty grave weapons raised.
"I'd advise a hasty retreat," the haberdasher said, taking his own advice by running back up the stairs.
Everyone else agreed by a consensus of feet - Jhelnae's legs protesting as she sprinted back up the stairs.
"Stop them!" Losser screamed.
Bolts of fire flared on stone stairs and walls around the runners until they reached relative safety from these magical attacks by rounding the corner. But as they reached the top steps they found more skeletons surging out of the narrow burial vault passages on either side of the main corridor on the upper floor.
"By all that dances!" the half-drow cried out in dismay.
These undead must have been hiding deep in the internment chambers the group couldn't see as they had passed. With an impressive display of agility, Nevercott danced through the narrowing space between grasping skeletal hands. Jhelnae, only a step behind, parried a swing of a rusty mace with her abyssal blade, the force of the blow jarring through her arm, then, twisting and spinning, she was through.
"Wait!" Aleina yelled.
She had one hand under an arm of Sir Ambrose, helping the older knight along as he huffed with deep breaths from his run up the stairs. The half-drow skidded to a stop to head back, but Ambrose took a deep breath, set his expression in a mask of resolve, and barreled ahead. The momentum of his armored form sent skeletons reeling back creating a gap for the aasimar to follow.
But just when it seemed they were going to make it through, a skeleton seized one of the aasimar's wrists and yanked her off balance, raising a sword with a broken blade to strike.
"Aleina!" Jhelnae screamed.
A fear-induced vision of the aasimar falling and skeletons piling on top of her played in the half-drow's mind. She started back to her friend's side, but her body seemed slow to react and she instinctively knew she'd arrive too late.
But Aleina did not fall.
She took a stumbling step, righted herself, then flowed with her attacker, moving her caught wrist in the circular motion she'd practiced up on the mountaintop with the monk earlier that day. The tripped up skeleton lost its grip, missed the slash with its broken blade, then clattered into several of its fellows bringing them all down in a rattle of bones.
"Go! Go! Go!" the aasimar yelled.
Together Aleina and Jhelnae caught up to Sir Ambrose and dashed out the tomb entrance. Nevercott was already there. Bronze ground against the stone floor of the porch area as he started pushing the door closed.
"Did you see that!" the aasimar panted as she joined her shoulder to the haberdasher's efforts. "I did that thing Hlam showed me!"
"I saw!" the half-drow gasped back, dropping her abyssal blade to mist out of existence so she could push with both hands. "See! I told you that you were getting better!"
"Less congratulating each other," Nevercott grunted. "More pushing."
They almost had the door closed when bony hands reached through the narrowing opening and a skull thrust through. A gauntleted fist from Sir Ambrose sent the skeleton back inside and, throwing his armored weight against the door, it thumped it closed.
"Now then," the haberdasher said. "If one of you spellcasters would kindly cast an arcane lock on the door."
"Ahhh," Aleina said. "Neither of us knows that spell."
She paused as Nevercott gave them an incredulous look as they all leaned against the door.
"But our friend Aravae can," she said.
"Can you perchance summon this Aravae?" the haberdasher asked. "Or otherwise get her here in a hurry?"
"She is in the High Forest," the aasimar said.
"Then I applaud your friend for her ability," Nevercott said, miming brief clapping while still shouldering the door. "I imagine that skill is very useful to her there, what with all the doors in need of locking in a forest. But I don't see how it helps us at the moment."
"You'd think I'd be able to web things," Jhelnae mumbled to herself. "Why can't I cast web?"
With the source of her magic being the demon-queen of spiders, how could a web not be among the powers granted?
"Ah, yes," the haberdasher grunted. "The eternal questions. Who am I? What is my purpose? And why oh why can't I cast web?"
"You really are annoying," the half-drow huffed. "You know that?"
The door inched open before Nevercott responded. Their boots scrabbled against the stone as they all slid back. It was all too apparent they would not be able to hold the door against the collective strength of all the skeletons inside the tomb combined with the living muscles of the five with them.
"Remember that big winged statue we passed?" the haberdasher asked. After receiving collective nods, he continued. "We need to lead the skeletons into the plaza in front of it."
"What then?" Jhelnae asked.
"Mayhem and destruction," Nevercott said through a smile of gritted teeth.
They lost more ground as the door opened further. A couple of skeletal arms reached through the gap and scratched at Sir Ambrose's armor.
"I'm not very fast anymore I'm afraid," the old knight said. "I'll never outrun them to the statue. I'll hold them off as long as I can."
"No!" Aleina said. "We're not leaving you behind! Just run, as fast as you can. I'll get them to follow me."
"Aleina…" Jhelna began.
But the aasimar cut her off.
"Selune's tears!" she growled. "Just run! I'll be fine. And don't look back!"
Her eyes glowed with pale radiance and her wings of light formed on her back and unfolded.
"Go!" she said.
"She knows what she is doing," the half-drow said.
Heart in her throat with worry, she let go of the door, turned and ran. Nevercott followed her lead and, after a moment's hesitation, so did Sir Ambrose. Feet crunching along the gravel path, the half-drow resisted the urge to glance back until a burst of radiance briefly illuminated the nearby grave markers and mausoleums. Then she looked.
Skeletons were stumbling out the door over the piles of bones that remained of those that had fallen to Aleina's attack of light. Celestial radiance expended, the aasimar flew low enough to be a tempting target in the opposite direction of Jhelnae and the others.
"Catch me if you can, you bony bastards!" she yelled.
The moonstone orb in her hand blinked on and off from brilliant to dark as she flew.
"Bony bastards?" the haberdasher asked between breaths, one hand holding his hat in place as he ran.
"She's improvising," the half-drow panted back.
"Well they… are all… following her…," Sir Ambrose huffed from further back, losing ground with every step. "So… she is… improvising… fairly well."
She was. But the Jhelnae's stomach still knotted with worry for her friend even as her lungs burned from running. Aleina could only fly for so long. And then there were the spell-casters who had apparently now also managed to leave the tomb. Bolts of fire hissed through the air at the aasimar as she flew just high enough to be visible over the headstones. One flaming missile flared into her, winking her spectral warding armor briefly into sight and sending her flinching to the side. But the half-drow couldn't run to catch up and help her friend. Events were unfolding too rapidly. She could only trust Aleina would make it to the rendezvous at the winged statue.
And that statue was now just ahead.
Jhelnae slowed to a stop in a plaza where many paths converged, neck craning to look up at the featureless, time-worn face of the tall, looming statue.
"We're here," she said, still breathing heavily. "What is this plan?"
She couldn't even believe what she was saying. How had they been convinced to follow the plan of a fabric shear wielding haberdasher in a short cape and a ridiculous hat?
"Is that summoned blade as sharp as it looks?" Nevercott asked.
"Sharper," the half-drow said.
"Then summon it and start hacking there," he said, pointing at one of the legs statue.
"It's not sharp enough to cut through that much stone," she said, throwing up her hands.
The statue stood almost three times her height and the legs looked very sturdy.
"Maybe not in one blow," the haberdasher said. "But it can weaken it and I'll wager the blade doesn't lose its edge. Also, the statue is old by human standards, cracked there already, and off balance."
"By all that dances," Jhelnae said, putting fingers to temples. "I knew it! I knew we shouldn't have trusted you."
Their argument was interrupted by the arrival of an out of breath Sir Ambrose, who put his hands on knees as he tried to recover.
"Get cutting," Nevercott said. "Your friend is relying on us and we need to get the timing just right."
He switched his attention to the old knight.
"Sir Ambrose, you should stand right over here. Your part is crucial…"
Cursing under her breath, the half-drow held out her hand as she jogged towards the base of the statue, her abyssal blade again misting into her grip. She imagined Nevercott's features in the stone as she swung the first blow and rock chips flew. There was evidence of cracks at the right knee of the statue, but they'd been expertly sealed with mortar. How had the haberdasher seen them just walking past?
"What is she doing?" Sir Ambrose wheezed. "That statue…"
Whatever else he would have said in protest was lost as Nevercott quieted him with assurances. Jhelnae's sword whistled through the night air and bit into stone as she continued cutting, hacking again and again. Not feeling she made much progress at first, but her blade not losing its razor edge.
"Good, good," Nevercott said in an exaggerated whisper as he approached. "They're almost here. She is leading them this way. Keep cutting."
He leapt up and climbed the statue's back, as agile as anyone the half-drow had ever seen, and she'd been raised among the priestesses of Eilistraee.
"What does keep cutting mean?" he asked from where he perched up on the statue's shoulders.
The half-drow had stopped swinging, watching him instead. His hands secured around the statue's head, he started shifting his weight back and forth. Now she understood what he intended. The statue loomed over the plaza, wings swept forward in dramatic fashion and if it fell, anyone, anything there, would be crushed by its weight. Including a small army of skeletons.
But could they possibly get the timing right?
Only one way to find out. She renewed her assault in the leg, abyssal blade biting deep with every stroke from her added strength from greater conviction.
"Yes!" he said. "I can feel it from up here. You almost have it. How does it look from down there?"
A loud crack answered him as the stone knee of the statue fissured.
"Stop!" Nevercott hissed, holding himself completely still, expressioned panicked.
His order had been unnecessary as the half-drow had halted mid swing, afraid she had gone too far and the statue would fall prematurely. They both held their poses, Jhelnae expecting the statue to tumble down with each passing moment.
"Good, good," the haberdasher whispered in a hesitant manner, as if he expected his voice could be the thing to bring the statue down. "Hide and get ready to strike the final blow. They are almost here."
The half-drow almost tiptoed with her cautious steps behind the broken legged statue, watching it with each step. Once hidden, she found 'almost here' to be a relative term as time stretched as it always did while waiting in anticipation.
The old knight stood in plain view at one end of the plaza, great sword planted tip first in the ground before him. His purpose was clear, to serve as the target of the skeletons. This would mass them in front of the falling statue. Just as Jhelnae started worrying over Aleina not knowing the plan, and wondering if she would veer off when seeing the knight of Kelemvor alone, Ambrose hefted his sword to ready position and Nevercott called out.
"Lead them to Sir Ambrose! Everything is ready!"
The aasimar sailed into sight on her wings of light, just ahead and out of reach of a horde of grasping skeletons.
"Now!" the haberdasher yelled, jumping up and down on the shoulders of the statue at the same time.
The half-drow stepped from behind the statue and swung, two handed, and her abyssal blade carved into the already cracked stone knee, biting deep.
And nothing else happened.
"Again! Again!" Nevercott screamed, leaping up and down as much as he was able without losing his balance.
Yanking her sword free, Jhelnae hacked. Then hacked again. But the statue did not fall. Meanwhile, she heard the clash of steel and saw the flash of bolts of fire out of the corner of her eye as Aleina sent flaming missiles into the mass of skeletons from her moonstone orb.
"Whatever you are going to do, hurry!" she called out, voice desperate.
"I am hurrying!" the half-drow wailed back, at the same time swinging in a frenzy. "It won't fall!"
A cry of pain came from above her and she looked up in time to see a flaring burst striking the haberdasher in the chest and knocking him off his perch. He went tumbling down, hands grasping and failing to find any purchase on the weather-beaten smoothness of the stone as he part fell, part slid off the statue to land in a heap at the base.
"Nevercott!" Jhelnae yelled.
"Keep swinging," came the weak reply from the ground.
The half-drow did, channeling all of her rage and frustration at the resilient stone into her next strike. A resounding crack, much louder than the one before, rewarded her efforts and the previously defiant knee crumbled. Jhelnae danced back out of the way of the falling winged statue, watched it topple its crushing weight onto the skeletons trying to get at the embattled Sir Ambrose and Aleina. When the dust settled, the plaza was littered with broken bones and rubble and only the few skeletons directly engaged with the old knight and the aasimar remained.
"No! A voice called out.
It would have been a roar if it didn't come from a halfling throat, but the rage in the tone was unmistakable.
"No, no, no, no! Do you know how many months of work you just destroyed!"
There was a moment of pregnant silence and then the fury of the speaker manifested itself in a ball of exploding fire that landed in the center of the plaza. The half-drow just had time to dive behind the remaining base of the winged statue. A wave of heat washed overhead from the explosion.
"I will kill you all for this!"
Heart pounding, Jhelnae rose to a crouch then, using grave markers to hide her movements from where she thought the halfling might be from the sound of his voice and the toss of the fireball, she moved. The smell of scorched earth, stone, and bone lingered in the air and she also smelled the cut grass underneath her, felt it the one hand that pawed her along in her scramble while the other clutched her abyssal blade in readiness. At the edge of her vision, she saw Nevercott curled into a ball near the statue base, but moving, reaching for something in a belt pouch. He would only have been partially protected from the blast, but she couldn't worry about that now. Couldn't even worry about Aleina and had to fight down the desire to go and find her. The half-drow had no healing magic and, if the aasimar was down, Jhelnae might draw another fireball right on top of her friend.
No, she had to take out the threats, and do it fast so she could then see if any in her group needed help.
She'd moved a good distance now, and by her estimation silently, so she risked a peek from around the side of the headstone she hid behind. It occurred to her that with her ebony skin and dark hair, she was perfectly suited for night time stealth against humans and a halfling. But it was potentially five against one.
There they were and all grouped together. If only she possessed a spell similar to fireball she could take them all out at once. Even as she watched the two workmen with the shovels started backpedaling, physically distancing themselves from unfolding events. She remembered they had protested any involvement in fighting in the tomb, claiming to be there for bone finding pay and nothing more. So, maybe three against one.
Still not the best odds.
But she had the element of surprise. Jhelnae stood and leveled her sword, aiming for the largest target first. The cold power of the Demonweb pulsed within her and emerged from her sword as a burst of eldritch energy that crackled into one of the robed men. He fell with a cry and his human companion turned towards her, pointed wand leading the way.
Too slow.
Coldness flowed in the half-drow's veins and her second target fell with a scream. Which left only the halfling, but Jhelnae's luck had run its course. Her warding armor flared, a cocoon of luminous webbing that failed to fully protect her. The bolt of fire seared into her ribs, burning clothes and flesh and knocking her from her feet. She gasped in pain and some instinct told her to roll on the ground to smother any flames. The half-drow lost the grip on her sword and it misted out of existence. By the time she looked up, panting, the halfling was giving her a murderous stare from across debris strewn plaza.
"Burn, drow bitch," he said, a fireball forming in his hand.
"No, you burn," another voice said, familiar, but with a cold tone that made it barely recognizable.
Aleina, one hand holding a grave marker for support, lifted her moonstone orb and three rays of scorching brightness streaked into the halfling in rapid succession.
"And the only one that gets to call her a bitch," the aasimar said. "Is me."
Another volley of eye searing radiance followed the first and the halfling fell to the ground, smoke rising from his smoldering robes and the forming fireball in his hand shrinking, then snuffing out.
A pair of clatters sounded as the two workmen dropped their shovels onto the gravel path to where they'd retreated and raised their hands in surrender. Heartbeats passed as Jhelnae and Aleina watched the three robed bodies at the edge of the plaza. When none of them moved, the strength seemed to go out of the aasimar and she leaned heavily on the gravemarker in front of her.
"Are you okay?" she asked, wearily.
"I'll live," the half-drow said, crawling to her feet. "You?"
"The same."
"You should heal yourself," Jhelnae said.
"I did," Aleina sighed. "This is the result of every last bit of my healing magic after stabilizing Ambrose."
She gave a gesture to indicate her barely standing state.
"And do you want to know something really sad," she asked.
"What?"
"Even with as much pain as I'm in," the aasimar said. "My butt is still sore from all those cursed exercises we did."
The half-drow gave a wincing laugh.
"Ow, that hurts," she said. "Don't make me laugh. Now that you mention it, I'm still sore too."
"If you are going to do this sort of thing regularly," Nevercott said, emerging from behind the base of the broken statue. "You ladies need to be better prepared. Always have a supply of healing potions."
He went to kneel next to Sir Ambrose, lifting his head and tilting the contents of a vial past the old man's lips.
"Who are you?" Jhelnae asked. "Who are you really?"
"Amnesia," the haberdasher said. "A sign of blunt force trauma. Maybe part of the statue struck her on the way down. We've already been introduced. J… B… Nevercott. Pleased to meet you."
"No," the half-drow said, shaking her head. "You act the fool, but don't freeze up in the least when in danger and can climb and dodge as nimble as my mother. And she is really nimble. So tell me who you are."
Nevercott lowered Ambrose's head carefully to the ground and looked up, his deep blue eyes, almost purple, twinkling with amusement.
"Let's see to your needs first," he said. "I happen to have two more vials."
With a flourish of his hand, he proffered two more stoppered vials as he stood. Aleina, who was already close to Ambrose, limped towards the haberdasher. Jhelnae joined them, clutching her burned side as she walked. Each took one of the vials, unstoppered it, and drank.
"Or were those the philters of love?" the haberdasher asked himself, then shrugged. "Oh, well, that little mistake will at least make for an interesting end to tonight."
Both the drinkers spewed out the last bit of their vials in a cough and looked at each other in worry. Then the familiar burning pain of healing and knitting flesh cut into the half-drow's awareness and she knew for certain which type of potion she just swallowed.
"You're a real bastard," she said when she'd recovered. "You know that?"
But she felt so much better that she couldn't keep some gratitude out of her voice.
"I am," Nevercott agreed. "Sorry, bad joke, but the look on your faces made it worth it."
"So," the aasimar said. "About who you really are…"
"I'll give you a hint," the haberdasher said, with a smirk. "And all it will cost is a kiss from each of you."
"Why am I not surprised," Jhelnae snorted.
"Fine, whatever," Aleina said, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. "But on the cheek."
Nevercott offered his cheek in answer and the aasimar gave him a quick peck. The process was repeated with the half-drow.
"The kiss of a celestial," the haberdasher sighed. "I can now take that off the list."
"By all that dances!" Jhelnae said, throwing up her hands. "What about me? You just got kissed by a drow. That has to be worthy of whatever list your sick mind has come up with."
"Oh, it is worthy," Nevercott said. "Very worthy. But here is the thing, I've been kissed by many drow. Speaking of which, here is your hint. I'm about to get kissed by another one."
He brought his hand to his lips, and kissed it, then winked and turned a ring on a finger and his form started to shimmer, grow bright, then fade. The half-drow had been around enough teleportation magic to realize what just occurred.
"A drow?" Jhelnae said to herself, confused.
But after a moment of thought, she figured it out.
"Jarlaxle!" she yelled, voice reverberating around the graveyard. "Get back here so I can punch you right in your smug, smirking mouth!"
"What is with the yelling?" Sir Ambrose asked, sitting up and clutching a hand to his head. "And where is Nevercott? I wanted to thank him for saving my life."
"Actually I am the one who…" Aleina began, then sighed. "Nevercott had to leave. Sorry."
"And he is really…" but the half-drow also decided to give up mid-sentence. "Oh, nevermind."
"There is no way the Watch didn't hear and see that battle," the aasimar said. "Will they investigate?"
"They will," the old knight said, standing. "At dawn, when the gates open. Then all we will have to do is explain three bodies, two prisoners, and why a landmark statue of the City of the Dead is a pile of rubble."
Jhelnae cringed a bit at that thought, then got angry. Jarlaxle, with his fancy teleport ring, would face none of those headaches. She had forgotten about the prisoners, she glanced their way and found them still with their hands in the air. Sir Ambrose moved towards them, pulling lengths of binding leather out of a belt pouch. It made sense, she supposed, that someone who patrolled the City of the Dead would have a means of securing captured grave robbers.
"So, we're stuck here until then," Aleina sighed. "Well, what do you think? Want to watch the sunrise at the top of the monument to Ahghairon? Celebrate one last bit of freedom before we're dragged off to prison for the statue?"
The half-drow gave a resigned laugh.
"Might as well," she said. "And wouldn't you know it, Nevercott, whatever his name, promised to leave us his cape as a blanket and conveniently forgot. Bastard."
Once again I have to apologize for this being rough. I get to a certain point and then I obsess over how it is all going to play out. I'm always curious, because I'm often surprised by little twists and turns. Especially with a chapter like this, where I didn't really have a plan. But here is the deal...work, family duties, etc. all creep up when I get in these obsessed states and I just have to vomit it out and get it out of my head so I can focus. Why no, I haven't sought counseling. Why do you ask? But this is the reason I can't take more time to polish things up at the moment. I desperately need to get other stuff done.
Oh, and it is a pain to write a beloved character like Jarlaxle. I don't know if I'm doing him any justice. Let me know.
