Memory is a funny thing. It can bend and twist until what you remember is not at all what actually happened. When memory is all you have, and memory is fallible, do you, in the end, have anything?
I've never had anything.
Ulano utterly lacked anything even vaguely resembling a personality. All the Thayan knights were like that, in my limited experience.
It was what made being stuck with her so incredibly dull.
After Skullport was rebuilt, the Red Wizards wanted to reestablish the embassy there. My master needed some contractors, ways to smuggle in supplies, and establish trade routes with the Xanathar and the other local gangs in the area. It would be lucrative. My master did nothing that was not prosperous.
I wasn't certain if he were in the building discussing his state-funded reasoning for being here, though, or researching his path to undeath. It could be both.
Szass Tam only granted lichdom to his most loyal Red Wizards. My master was favored and loyal, but I didn't know if he had actually earned such favor yet. But there was no restriction upon attaining it through your own means. For all I knew, he had gone through the proper channels and been granted permission to pursue the matter formally and this was just a step in the rung.
That time was drawing near—and it terrified me.
What was so wrong with being mortal, with being a person? He had once told me, his thumb rubbing against the tattoo of his name across my cheekbones, that the two paths to undeath—vampirism and lichdom—were in effect polar opposites; liches are entirely logical and dispassionate, and vampires are entirely ruled by desire. He saw benefit to both. They both frightened me, but lichdom wasn't contagious.
It shouldn't matter. Either way, he was eventually going to kill me. I didn't know that through some oracle vision, for my visions were never more than a minute into the future as I saw more of the present and past, and no spirit had whispered that to me; I knew it by the context of my life, by the undead working in fields and mines. The undead slaves had been living slaves.
Shut out of the building, I wasn't likely to have visions. If I strained, I could just hear voices within the cobbled together building, but it was too muffled through the wooden wall to hear it well.
Skullport swayed and creaked like the dozens of wrecked ships it was built from out at sea despite the utter lack of wind. Some roofs were made of clay tile, others were thatched out of some kind of strange Underdark mushroom. Narrow walkways bridged the pieces of the city together. It made me dizzy to stand where we were, at the third level called the Crown, looking down on the others below through small gaps in the wooden floor.
My master had wined and dined his potential business partners at the Worm's Gullet—a restaurant built into the horrifying body of a petrified purple worm. He paid for the entire luncheon in Thayan minted gold and silver coins. They had moved on to discuss business in a more private setting within, near the docks.
It had been a long day. If it was day. I couldn't rightly tell.
The building across lacked a door, a patchy piece of a sail was nailed in place to serve as a curtain. A woman with dark rings under her eyes and a broken smile sat in the window, advertising what was for sale with one bare leg draped out of it.
She eyed Ulano and myself on occasion, and I wondered what I looked like to her. Some weird red tiefling man, swathed in a swirl of white, pink, and black tattoos, each one my master's choice, never mine.
Ulano and I were perfect opposites. She, freeborn with most of her head and body hair shaved smooth in the customs of our homeland, me with my long dreadlocks. I envied her the lack of weight on her neck from hair, how it looked almost aristocratic. Dignified. Where everything about me told anyone at a glance everything about me, and all I would ever be. Thayan slaves are not permitted to cut, wash, or comb their hair. The only thing for it was to braid it when you were young and rinse it with water when you were able.
She was quietly confident in her utter superiority over nearly everyone around her. I just wanted to fade into the background.
Ulano was tall and her bearing was that of a warrior. I barely came up to her shoulder, and while I could probably give her a run for her money as far as brute strength, I utterly lacked her strict training and knowledge of the art. She was a proud Mulani-descended Thayan in her prime, and I was some tiefling of dubious Rashemi origin whose true age was really anyone's guess; my age certainly had never been tracked or accounted for, though I thought something like upper twenties.
Her armor was pristinely polished and immaculate. You could use it as a mirror. I tried not to shiver with the ambient chill from the water and the dampness of the air in my sleeveless leathers, meant to expose more of the tattoos without becoming impractical to wear.
I imagined Ulano had never been uncertain about her future. She knew her place in the world, and she rejoiced in serving the Red Wizards. It was her calling. I wondered what it was like to pursue your own dreams, to achieve what you wanted. I never had a choice, so my wants and dreams never mattered.
We must be quite a curious sight.
I couldn't hear what was going on inside. I closed my eyes, trying to will a vision, but it never came. I didn't have any stimuli to inspire one. Sometimes, if I focused on something else, I could get a more passive vision.
How could I be useful as an oracle if I were stuck out here?
That was exactly why they hadn't wanted me in the room though.
My eyes slid to the drow guards, just opposite of Ulano and myself. My hand twitched, thumbnail rubbing against the rapier hilt on my hip. Acting as my master's bodyguard often meant he could bring me places I would otherwise not be allowed, and so I was not half as frail as a typical oracle, and I had been put through a training regime of a fencer and a thief. My abilities were also useful for planting evidence or spying.
I was jumpy, and nothing was bringing on a vision.
I pulled my hand away from the weapon. My fingers idly twisted one of the many steel rings in my ear. It was an indulgence I was allowed. I couldn't pick my clothes, hair, get any tattoos that I wanted to have or even ritualistic scarring, but I was granted the piercings. My master allowed it so he could sometimes have the steel swapped out for silver or gold and decorate me at parties or formal outings.
The whore was eying Ulano. The knight probably couldn't even drop decorum enough to settle even a base urge. If she even had any base urges—I really couldn't tell.
Ulano watched me with disapproval, but that was her normal expression so I thought little of it. With my thumb, I pushed the iron ring off of my finger and idly walked it over my knuckles, twisted it, let it dance past my fingertips.
She said, "Stop fidgeting, Valac."
She spoke so suddenly I jumped and almost dropped the ring. I slid the ring back on, tried to still. I took a deep breath of the damp air. The scent of rotting wood and damp earth. Bodies rotting two floors below us, bloated and washed ashore. Sometimes, a spirit would flit by me. I could only speak to them the same way I could speak to a rock; without expecting it to respond or even notice. In turn, they rarely said anything I cared about either. But an affinity for the dead was nearly commonplace in Thay.
My muscles locked. Knife. Blood. Drip. The sound of steel. Shaking.
I jerked back, the blood drained from my face. I didn't waste time trying to convince Ulano. I ran toward the door. If I were not panicking, I might have known to try to more casually pace near it, then spring toward it. As it was, I started too far from it; the drow had plenty of time to react.
The drow was shorter than me, lither, but with centuries of practice. I tensed to feint to one side, but he anticipated the move and knocked me backwards with a well-timed kick to my stomach. I crashed against Ulano. She remained upright, one arm snatching at my shoulder to spin me to the side while I reeled, winded.
Nothing was going to stop Ulano. She was as solid as a bed of limestone—but even stone was breakable. The other drow drew steel. Ulano slung her shield off her back as she lunged.
The whore across the street ducked in the window and locked the shutter.
An arrow thudded into the wall, where Ulano had been a moment earlier. May the gods help anyone attempting to keep her from the Red Wizard we served.
The sniper was on one of the rooftops, had ducked back behind a slanted roof, but the trajectory told me where they were. There might be more, or they might have thought that a couple poisoned blades would put us to sleep and that would be the end of our resistance.
Slavery to drow couldn't be that much different. I wouldn't say that I didn't think parts of the Underdark were beautiful—but if I never felt the sun on my skin again, I'd rather be dead.
I had to get to my master. If he fell, I was as good as dead or lost forever to the Underdark, and I did not think that would be long.
Ulano intended to carve her way past and break the door down.
With the three fighting at the front of the door, I couldn't get past to test if it were barred or not anyway. There might be a back door. I didn't see a window large enough, even for my short stature.
My ribs aching from the kick, I shook myself and wove around the combatants, ducked a stray scimitar.
Something crashed within. My insides twisted and I dashed down the narrow space between the building and a sheer drop three stories down into the water. It was inconsistently thin.
This whole place felt ready to collapse. The fighting had to be done quickly, before the Skulls of Skullport took notice, and took exception to it. They protected Skullport, not the people of it. They did not like anything that could damage their city.
I grabbed the corner to propel myself around it. My boots skidded on the damp floor.
Neither Ulano or the drow shouted as they fought. A clash of weapons against armor echoing off the cavern walls over the water. The sniper had not felled her yet.
Within, my master shouted a spell. I was not versed in magic—I know not what he cast or if he summoned something, or if the spell failed for that matter.
Something inside shattered. Wood cracked. Voices, exclamations of surprise. And fear.
The entire building—the entire floor—shook. I did not know if it was my master or another wizard, or something even entirely unrelated to the arcane. If an earthquake could trigger a volcano, could one spell make another flare to life? Could it break something and unleash something worse?
I snatched at the wall, but lost my grip. I teetered for a moment.
Fall. Water. Crash. Blood.
I really didn't need that vision just now. I was quite capable of guessing my future on my own.
I fell, sideways, tumbling. I reached for anything. My fingers found a rough hewn wooden support pillar. Nails scratched along it. Splinters broke off in my hand and I couldn't hold it. I fell.
Hitting the water was surprisingly loud. The sound of my body crashing against the waves completely drowned the sounds of fighting from above.
The rumble had woken the Skulls of Skullport.
The entire city would be rushing inside for cover. And I was drowning.
I tried to find which way was up. My back hit something wooden and I was yanked along by the current. My lungs burned.
I struggled to grab on to something, but I was trapped in the tide. The current flung me upward. My hands barely prevented my face from crashing against the underside of the docks. I gulped precious air before I was yanked back down again. I was thrown downward, tangled in the seaweed. Panic would get me killed.
I kicked, but my boot was caught fast. I struggled with one of my boot knives, blindly searching with one hand for the seaweed. The current threatened to yank the knife out of my hand. I sliced along the seaweed. As soon as I was free, the current threw me backwards, tumbling, lungs burning. I was dragged along the rocky bottom, then propelled up at the boards. Spinning in the current. Then pushed out into the open. The water rushed around me. I couldn't fight it, couldn't get the breath to think clearly. The current kept pulling me down, throwing me against rocks and sand.
Somewhere amidst it, I lost the knife.
It was too difficult even trying to fight to the surface, let alone think of trying to get out of the water. My hands clawed along the slick surface of stone. Which way was the surface?
I couldn't tell.
I badly needed air. I choked on the water, inhaling it as I thrashed. I flailed. Then I was expelled upward as the current took a turn. My shoulder slammed against a rock wall, but the bend in the current had wedged me into a corner. I clung to it, coughing up water and desperate for air. With nowhere else to go, I cringed, and threw myself back to the mercy of the water. It was that or die of exhaustion clinging to the wall. Drowning was faster, and I might find a shore.
I thought I was going to die.
I stayed alive through sheer coincidence, and with just enough strength to struggle for breath before I was plunged back under again.
My flailing arms grabbed something as it floated past—what looked like a broken board. I clung to it, desperately trying to keep my head above water. Twice I almost lost it, but at that moment, it was the most precious thing in the world to me.
I have no idea how long I clung to that board, drinking river water and being sucked along by the current, thrown against rock. In places, it was shallow enough that I was dragged over the rocks, nearly got my footing, only to be knocked back down. I judged hours but all time bled together in a meaningless montage of pain and cold, blind terror, punctuated by intermittent suffocation and drowning.
I was hungry, and the pain kept getting worse. I could feel myself getting weaker. The pain of hunger seemed such a minor thing, given what I now faced.
Ahead, the ceiling dropped low, too low for me to even try to hold my breath and cling to the underside of my board. I had to let go of it or risk breaking a finger on the rock.
At the last possible moment, I made my frozen fingers let go. I was yanked under the water at once and buffeted by the current, under the lip of the cave.
A part of me thought, if I died, at least it was an end. But I so badly did not want to die.
The water dulled all sound, and with my eyes closed, I couldn't tell what was happening, but something about the current seemed different.
Panic gripped me. It was emptying out into a lake or something larger. I would be trapped and drowning if it emptied out far below its surface. I struggled back, to grab something—anything.
I assumed it was Darklake—I had heard my master mention goods being moved back and forth around Darklake from Gauntlgrym and the cavern network that made the lake was the largest in the region. How had I come so far?
Maybe I had clung to that board longer than I realized. The pain in my stomach implied a day, likely more. I was so tired.
I nearly clipped my head when the ceiling dropped low and I tumbled and fell through—then all was still.
I couldn't get my bearings. I couldn't tell which way to swim.
Flinching, I forced my eyes open, and thought I saw a light, so I swam toward it.
I broke the surface gasping, then my own weight dragged me back under. I should have abandoned the weapons long ago. I hadn't been thinking, then I had been shivering too much to undo the buckles.
I floated in the water, trying to breathe. It was calmer here, in the lake. Though I barely had the energy to swim, I found that a part of me stubbornly refused to die after surviving that for so long.
I struggled up the rocky shore of the lake, then flopped down. It hurt to breathe.
This was not Darklake. I had thought that maybe the cavern was vast, that I was hallucinating from either hunger or pain or pure exhaustion.
I stared upward, at the dim light of early evening, as grateful as I ever had been that it was not nightfall.
Where had I washed up? I had no idea how to even get back to Skullport, let alone Thay.
I pulled myself to a sitting position, rubbing my temples as I tried to think. Where could I go? I pulled my legs up to my chest and dropped my head down. I badly needed rest.
I sat there shuddering and shivering for entirely too long, before I removed my blades from their sheaths. I didn't really have the means to dry them, so tried to flick water off of them and turn the sheaths upside down to let the water drip out. It was awful for the blades.
Taking some inventory of myself, I had bruises, a couple splinters in one hand, but when I had hit my head on rock or wood, my horns took the brunt of the blow. I was a bit surprised they hadn't broken.
I must have spent a whole minute staring at the dark treeline. I had never in my life seen so many trees outside of my master's groves. I had known the word "forest" like a foreign concept, some idea that existed far away from anywhere I would ever even glimpse. I don't think I had really understood what they were—any description of them just made them seem mythological. It felt so bizarre to actually see one.
I dug the splinters out with one of the daggers, sucking on the wound absently. It was incredibly dark out all of the sudden. A cloudy sky veiled Selune's light.
I squeezed water out of my long hair, which was a time-consuming process. I had nothing else to do while I waited for the sheaths to dry.