 |
| House DarkStar... The drow fortress where the following story takes place. By: Dominick Tuchscherer |
Nemesis let out a groan as he opened his eyes, or attempted to, because one was still swollen shut, then let out another groan as he remembered that he was still in the same cell he’d occupied for the last few days. Or has it been weeks? Nemesis wondered to himself as he looked at the shackles binding his wrists to the wall.
All of it had happened so fast - the pursuit and eventual ambush by the drow, his battle with the yochlol, and the cave-in that dropped him into the waiting arms of the dark-elves who had apparently laid claim to the region.
While examining the wounds on his wrists caused by the shackles, as well as the multiple snake bites inflicted by the viper-headed whip of the priestess of Lolth who came to torture him regularly, he looked up as he heard two clicks out in the hallway followed by the sound of bodies slumping to the floor. A moment later, the locks released, and the door opened.
A single, drow female entered the room. Nemesis quickly averted his eyes because he thought his tormentor had returned to flog some more answers out of him. But instead he heard a soft, melodic voice whisper in the drow tongue, “So he is alive. How very interesting.”
She seductively walked up to Nemesis, even though he didn’t see it because he refused to even glance up at her for fear of being beaten to near death only to be healed and beaten again. Releasing the shackles with a wave of her hand, she regarded the snake bites covering his chest, arms, and legs. Shaking her head she noted, “My mother has no imagination.”
Hearing that, Nemesis dared sneak a glance with his one good eye as the dark-elf, who was by far the most beautiful elf that he’d ever seen, be it drow, or one of his own surface kin, stood and walked to the door. She paused at the entrance, and waving a hand while muttering arcane syllables under her breath, dispelled the invisibility on a travel pack that lay just inside the door.
Turning to Nemesis, who was by now in a crouched position, expecting betrayal any second, she tossed the pack in his direction. It landed without a sound. After hitting the ground, the top flap of the pack slid open, revealing an all-too familiar sight for Nemesis: the jawbone-hilt of his vampiric sword.
It was all of his gear!
With a quick glance back down the hall, the female turned a mischievous smile on Nemesis and playfully asked, “Well? Are you going to join me?”
ï " ð
Not quite sure what to make of the situation, and not about to pass up an opportunity when he found it, Nemesis donned as much of his gear as he quietly could. All he had time for were his boots, his magical bracers, his cloak, and his sword belt. The armor would have to wait. Leaving the rest in the magical pack, he left the cell and stepped into the hall noticing that the walls, ceiling, and floor were at least twenty paces wide in all directions and were made of smooth, polished stone. The walls were covered in what Nemesis figured to be a massive spider web design, until closer inspection showed it to be no mural or carving, but an actual, massive, web that went along the walls and ceiling for as far as he could see. Not wanting to see the spider that could’ve spun that web, Nemesis scanned the hallway for the dark-elf who had freed him.
Nothing.
His half-elven heritage allowed him limited darkvision, but after about ten or so yards, pitch-black. Nemesis glanced back to his cell and didn’t like the thought of leaving an open cell door with two dead orc guards slumped on either side of it. Instead, deciding it would be worse to stand here and be recaptured, or worse, Nemesis wrapped his hand around the familiar handle of his jawbone-hilted sword and felt a little better.
He turned around to start moving and froze when he saw the beautiful drow who rescued him wearing the same, mischievous, yet predatory smile as before.
Her movement was so fast Nemesis never knew what happened, until the tip of her sword had pierced the underside of his chin, pinning his mouth shut.
ï " ð
The cave they were using as a campsite had been quiet for a while. After being separated during the drow ambush, Terkum quickly managed to find his missing companions, all but one.
Nameless grumbled, “Shouldn’t we keep looking? He could still be out there.” The red-haired, elf barbarian didn’t want to give up on his friend anymore than the rest, but it had been nearly a week.
“I’m not wantin’ to give up either,” replied Terkum, his red, with hints of gray, beard wagged as he shook his head: “But we may have to accept the worst. We can’t just be stayin’ in this cave forever waitin’ fer him or some stinkin’ drow patrol to drop in.”
With a heavy sigh he added, “We’ll give it three more days. After that we have to get movin’.” Terkum looked around, and his eyes settled on Shine, the tattooed half-drow, half-duergar, being the Underdark expert of their group. “Shine, take the elf and do some scoutin’. We ain’t far from where them damned drow ambushed us, figure that’d be as good a place as any to start. And stay out o’ sight! We don’t need any attention.” Terkum’s gaze slowly drifted back to Nameless, who nodded his agreement.
“I can make much quicker progress alone,” Shine argued. “Besides, you said to avoid attention, and from what I’ve seen of that one,” nodding towards Nameless, “he seems to crave it.”
Nameless narrowed his eyes at Shine, then broke into a wide grin and said, “Normally, yes. But I crave less sitting in this cave waiting for someone or something to come say hello while my friend could be in trouble out there. And I’m also not convinced it wasn’t you who led us into that trap.”
With something that could’ve almost passed for a smile Shine replied, “Know this, faerie-child, if I had arranged it, you’d all be dead.” The two glared at each other for a moment before Shine broke the tension: “Fine… but the first time you put us at risk, I will make sure no one ever finds your body.” Both knew that he meant it.
With an exaggerated bow, Nameless motioned to the cave entrance and said, “Lead on, Survivor.”
Ignoring the exchange, Terkum glanced up as the two eyed each other, preparing to leave and said to both of them, “If ye find me boy and he’s…” Terkum paused, not wanting to finish the sentence, “Make sure ye bring him back. He deserves a better restin’ place than on the floor of some Underdark hole.” Shine only nodded and left the cave without the slightest whisper of sound; Nameless stood there looking at his dwarven mentor for a moment longer before leaving.
ï " ð
Terkum looked to his other companions. Sir Ponch, a Knight of the Rose, was asleep against the far wall. His sentient greatsword, Porthos, sat on the floor next to him within easy reach. Luckily, his enchanted plate mail made not a sound, even if he was at a full sprint, or rolling in his sleep in a cave. Porthos also granted him limited darkvision to see in such lightless places.
Sitting near Terkum with his back to the wall, John Sunder, a former pirate, kept looking around as if waiting for something to emerge from the shadows around him. During the ambush, Sunder had lost the ring that helped him to see in the dark. Terkum could hear the occasional mumble from Sunder scolding himself, “Should’ve found a ship in Tillek and left this rock.”
Justauf, the half-drow Herbalist, knelt in the cave entrance, which was barley high or wide enough for Terkum to slip through. After looking in both directions a few more times, he re-entered and gave Terkum the all-clear sign.
Taking a seat next to his friend, Justauf pulled a small pouch and his hand-carved pipe from a pocket in his robes and began to fill the bowl: “Care to join me? We don’t need to worry about anything being drawn to the scent; my pipe won’t even give off smoke if I don’t want it to. Besides, you need some sleep. I’ll take the watch for a few hours and wake Ponch if I need him.”
Terkum took the offered pipe with a nod and cleared its contents in a single, deep, hit. He tapped the ash loose, exhaled, and no smoke came out. He nodded at another unique property of Justauf’s pipe: “Might as well take it as I can get it, not likely to rest peacefully fer quite a while once we’re on the move.” Terkum handed back Justauf his pipe, and settled in for, hopefully, some sleep.
After Justauf reloaded the bowl for himself, he gave his friend and king a comforting hand on the shoulder, “If anyone can find Nemesis, it’s Shine.”
When he stood up to go begin his watch, he glanced over his shoulder as Terkum propped his helmet into a more comfortable position over his head, set his mithril shield and battleaxe on each side of him, and muttered something that Justauf hoped he wasn’t meant to hear: “We’re in trouble.”
ï " ð
Silently cursing himself for having let his guard slip so badly, Nemesis only hoped the end would be fast. Trying to stare defiantly into her eyes proved difficult. The days (at least he hoped it was only days) of constant torture and lashings with those viper-headed whips had clearly made him fear a drow priestess. But he tried his hardest.
Finally getting a better look at her, he was amazed at how beautiful she was. Her silvery-white hair was tied above the shoulders into two separate bands, creating a pair of ponytails that hung down just past her knees. But where her hair went into the bands in one piece, it came out in four smaller tails, and for some strange reason, they looked alive somehow.
Her armor was a short, black leather skirt that hugged her curvaceous form all the way up to her neck, with a hardened, leather vest around it that covered her from her breasts to the waist where it went down into a “V” shape that covered part of her legs; a mithril engraved spider symbol covered her midsection. Bracers bearing a spider web design sat just below her shoulders, while long, black leather sleeves covered her arms down to the wrist, and black leather boots, lined in mithril, came up to her thighs. Her black skin was flawless and matched her armor in color so well, it seemed to be nothing more than an extension of her own body.
And those eyes!
Blood-red orbs that almost seemed to glow stared at him. She was still wearing a smile that Nemesis had no doubt was the last thing many had seen just before she drove the tip of her vicious sword into…
Her sword!
“That’s twice!” Nemesis scolded himself silently, and didn’t realize he let his disappointment show on his bruised and battered face - but she did.
Not moving the point of the sword away from his neck or breaking the smile that, for some reason, reminded him of a predator who wanted her prey to realize they were hers before devouring them, the drow raised her left hand and asked him in the silent hand code of the dark-elves: Can you understand this?
He would have nodded if he didn’t think the movement would have pushed her blade the rest of the way through, so he slowly raised his own hand and quickly replied: Yes.
Good. Now listen closely and you might live to make it out of here. You are going to come with me. She motioned towards the passage ahead with her sword, much to Nemesis’ relief, and continued: Stay one pace in front and one to the left, so I can give you directions. Go only where I say, and do only what I say, try anything, and I will kill you. Now move.
It was then that Nemesis realized his other hand was still gripping his sword so tightly that when he let go, a rush of blood went into his fingers and made them go numb for a second before feeling returned. Shaking the sensation away, he looked at his would-be rescuer and could only think of one thing out the dozens that, even though it might mean his death, he dared to ask: Who are you?
Again, she gave him that smile that seemed to promise ultimate pleasure and at the same time, ultimate agony. He didn’t know if he should be excited or terrified when she signed: I… am Arachnia DarkStar, and I have plans for you, Nemesis.
As she pointed her sword down the hallway, Nemesis stood where she asked and felt her fingers on his lower back like a spider at rest, before the fatal bite. After a short walk, they came to a four-way crossing. She used her fingers to tap out a short message against his bare skin: Left.
He felt her sword against his ribs, and turned left.
ï " ð
No comments:
Post a Comment