Post by enchilada on Apr 24, 2019 13:46:54 GMT
Oh gods — the light.
Was that it? Was that what he’d squint through for the rest of his trip? How... disgusting. And the creatures here tolerated the glare? They should have gone to the Underdark. They should turn themselves in as slaves, and live out their lives (until they were sacrificed), away from this dreadful torch.
Dhaunmyr hadn’t much, but his clothes, a backpack with his wares, and a few coins. They weren’t what he was used to, but coin was coin, after all. Oh, and a ring. It belonged to the woman who he was the consort of, Shurdiiria Lhalathlin. It was a gift, one that soothed his burned hands almost immediately. It was also a promise, that he would be taken in as a Lhalathlin, as soon as she advanced just one rank further in the priestesshood. For now, being an Aleduis would suffice. He was serving his matron, and therefore serving Lolth, when he walked the surface, oh gods it hurt. His head was already throbbing. He was so distracted, he hadn’t noticed —
Cold... spots? On his skin? No, wait.
His eyes finally focused, he squinted, he almost couldn’t get past the inescapable reflection of the light on the white. The contrast of the environment and his boots, his skin. Ebony. Some kind of white ice was falling on him. “Who goes there?” The drow snarled, whipping his head around in suspicion. He pulled his weapon from his hip, holding the morningstar in his hand with a clammy, white knuckled grip. Nothing. Nobody. Just... white ice.
He looked up, the sun staring back with a harsher glare. It shone through the clouds, which distorted it greenish and lifeless. And from the clouds, came the snow. It was soft, delicate, and fell in shavings like a sieve of magically white cinnamon. Hard to swallow.
Dhaunmyr ran the ring around his finger, looking at it intently. The stones were so carefully crafted into the shape of spiders, and it reminded him so much of his beloved Diira. He would return, and the ring would be replaced by the emblem of her new family house. Then he peeked again at the snow. He scooped some up in his hand, feeling it melt and numb his hand, he looked around himself again. Morningstar back in its loop... He poked it. The coolness was soothing for his poor hands. They still were red raw, a little flaky in places the skin was just starting to heal.
He dropped the substance, and suddenly realised he’d lost the entrance. The white stuff painted everything pale and without shape or definition. Dhaunmyr sighed. Lolth would guide him to the right direction, because he was serving his matron, and so he was serving Lolth by proxy. He was also serving Lolth because he was showing her presence beyond the Abyss. It reached far, ready to grab and grasp. To trap like a fly.
—
It took a long time, but after considerable walking... Dhaunmyr was still nowhere. He squinted, stretched, but no matter what he did, he was still absolutely lost, without any landmarks at all. Not that he had a map, or even any idea where he might have been looking for landmarks. The whiteness did a great deal to protect his mind, though, had he seen the expansive green in summer, he may well have rushed back home. The Underdark had a roof, and walls. And it was so much smaller. He hadn’t seen a single roof or wall yet. Yet.
Eventually, he had to stop. It was cold. He was tired. He found a little shelter under a tree, and bit hungrily at dried meats and tough mushrooms he’d packed. Not like there was much else in the Underdark to have packed. Not like he knew any different.
It was a short rest, but a necessary one. He was rejuvenated almost immediately. Dhaunmyr felt the energy return to his body. He felt able to move on again. Warmth spread more easily around him to fight off the damp and the cold. Dhaunmyr was shivering, after all. Before, it had seeped into his bones and rattled his core, and now, he felt warm again, ready to carry on.
And he resumed the trek.
—
Wherever he was, Lolth did not feel near.
Without the roof and the walls and the proximity of people, Dhaunmyr was cold. Super cold, actually. There wasn’t anything else he could tug around himself, his big fur cloak now dragging in the snow. He didn’t care the end would get damp and the fur would get hard and spiky and the whole thing would be ruined, he just cared that it was warmer than not having it on at all. He hadn’t been sure what to pack for the trip. Apparently it could be really hot or cold, and when he asked how he could tell what it would be, all he got were shrugs. Supposedly, it fluctuated, but no one would, or could, tell him why that happened.
Dhaunmyr had lost the road a long time ago, and with the snowfall, he didn’t think it would make things any easier to walk, anyway. It was either walk on snow or walk on snow. If he could have seen the road, maybe it would have been different, it would at least guide him somewhere. Lolth only knew where he was going now.
Time seemed endless in the white, blinding wasteland. And then, of course. It suddenly got dark.
He was almost nervous of it, he felt trembles in his hands that he thought he had medicated with pockets and wrappings and stuffing them inside the cloak. And then he finally could... see. Or see properly. Just as his eyes were beginning to adjust to the sunlight, to accept it, his darkvision kicked in. The landscape seemed less harsh and imposing, and he finally got a good look at the trees. He’d seen small trees, almost like pets, that had to be given light and water every day. It was impressive, to have a small bush or tree. But these were massive, hulking... he wasn’t really getting anywhere fast and... okay, just once.
Some instinct kicked into him. He wasn’t terribly close to the trees. So he ran to them. He’d been under one before, and that was very cool, but he wasn’t planning to go under it. He was almost glad Lolth didn’t seem present, this was a bit embarrassing. Dhaunmyr just had to try it, though. He dipped his head under branches, walking deeper and deeper into the thicket, his angry, tight face loosening just a little. Then he saw it. The perfect one.
Dhaunmyr dropped his bag at the roots, and his cloak, careful not to get it any wetter or colder. Then, he sighed, and let the last bit of his remaining dignity wash away, so he could get on with climbing up this goddamn tree! He slipped, he fell. Twice. Once, on the first attempt to get up onto the low branches, the second time from a little higher up. He cried out, the kind that he’d have cried when he was five, not fifty. But this was a rather childish thing to do. The dead leaves cushioned his fall greatly, and he found himself... laughing. Nothing was funny, and his heart was hammering in his chest, his stomach had just decided to calm the hell down. But he was laughing. He picked himself up before he got frostbite, and leaned against the tree. Finally, finally, he pulled himself together, enough to climb up the tree, at least.
Eventually, he pulled himself up to the point the branches were too thin and spindly to support him anymore. He found a decent place, and he sat there awhile, looking down at the branches below, and the leaves, and his things. His legs swung and he was almost smiling. Then he looked up, or, rather, out. Twinkling on the horizon, he just about made out lights that were not natural. Natural! He looked directly up, into the sky. The moon. He was disappointed, the clouds covered the stars for the most part, but he could make a few out in the breaks. Tilting his head, he squinted — they weren’t the shape he thought they would have been. They were... dots. He’d always seen them drawn with five points... like shapes. It was called the star shape. He must have been confused, or perhaps it was his eyes, or there was another kind of star.
Anyway, he hopped down eventually, taking a stick from the tree and shoving it in his pack. Maybe he’d come back on his way home. Dhaunmyr thought he should at least try to make it to those lights, whatever they were. Humans were stupid and were blind in the dark. So there were humans there. Humans who wanted to buy things? He hoped so. Then he could get home, away from the flaky white ice and the shapeless stars. And the sun.
The lights were further than they looked. He needed to rest again, and, while not a fan of doing this, he rested again in the wilderness. It was starting to lighten up when he closed his eyes to trance, and when they were open, he was momentarily blinded. His eyes watered, and he wiped the tears off with the back of his finger. Why was it light again? The moon was gone. Oh. Day and night, the cycle thing. How ridiculous. Imagine shutting off an entire town, just because it was a little dark! No wonder humans were so easy to enslave. Tucked up in bed at night, or wandering alone where no one could see them. Looking vulnerable, skulking, it made it easier to take them.
He dusted himself off, glad to find somewhere dry, and moved on. At least he had a destination now.
Dhaunmyr realised, with a sinking feeling, that he wasn’t going to make it to the settlement until maybe the moon after next. It was just so far. He wasn’t sure how much food he had with him, he might have to hunt for- oh wait a second. His bow. He hadn’t been allowed to bring his bow. He wasn’t sure why. Perhaps humans thought drow tipped arrows in poison and- no, that was... yeah. We do that.
He sighed. His weapon would be easy to hand over to authorities, if they required. The absolute distrust of requiring such a thing, though! Somehow, he was angry at a hypothetical situation he’d made up for himself, that humans might not like someone who was prepared to bash a rock into their heads to take them away and enslave them and swindle the rest of them, while he was there. The cheek of it! Dhaunmyr shook his head to clear it of such thoughts.
—
And he didn’t remember anything else. But he was cold now, and wet, but he felt as though he’d been dragged somewhere. Oh Lolth! Oh Demon Queen! Oh Mother of Lusts! What was — his eyes focused, and he looked around with some dismay. His clothes were damp, his bag wasn’t on his back, oh, no, okay, at least it was next to him. But most importantly, he was on a wagon, of some description. Wooden, with some kind of fabric stretched over the top. He didn’t move, he closed his eyes again. Dhaunmyr listened.
Two voices, both female. One was light, lyrical, the other was almost gruff. This was very bad. But they hadn’t tied him up or anything, at best, they’d thrown blankets over him, that smelled of a sweet, powdery flower. That was worse. They must have been massive, with strong magic and stronger muscles, if they didn’t need to tie him down. They must have hit him with some kind of drugged dart, because he knew magic wouldn’t work, and his head didn’t throb like he’d been hit particularly hard.
“So, the plan is, we drive the wagon into the village, then pull him in to our reserved inn.” The lyrical one piped up, a certain joy in her sing-song voice.
“People will see us carrying a body?” The gruff one was more practical, she saw things that the other didn’t.
“Just because you’re right doesn’t make it fair. Do you have a better plan?”
“...Guess not. Let’s just get close.”
“Of course. I am an excellent driver.”
Did they think he was dead? Or were they worried about carrying a drow around? He shuffled towards the back, it was open, just a little plank of wood to stop things sliding out, he could swing his legs over and-
“Someone’s alive.”
Dhaunmyr looked over his shoulder. The women were apparently having the conversation through the fabric between them. How hadn’t he noticed her before? She was a dwarf, but not grey, and not with any hair colour he’d ever seen on anything but a slave. And she had a beard, which was nicely kept. That reminded Dhaunmyr that he needed to sort out his sideburns as soon as he got off and out, he actually grew them very fast, if he didn’t shave daily they got too obvious, which was a weird thing to be reminded of when you were facing off someone you feared could kill you in a snap.
“I’m Brennip. What’s your name, honey?” She asked, a warm tone (that wasn’t fooling Dhaunmyr) strong in her voice. She had a plain accent. She had a plain face.
“My name is, ah, Dhaunmyr.” He didn’t try to match her accent, or her tone. He didn’t mask the fear in his trembling voice, or the fear in his eyes. His harsh expression had melted like the soft white ice against his burn. Every part of him wanted to run, except the part that saw the danger she could pose to him. If she’d taken him out-
“Well, Dhaunmyr. Good to meet you. You should probably thank the driver when we stop, she’s the one who saw you.”
“Saw me?”
“You must’ve fainted or something. You were face down in the snow. God only knows how long.”
It made sense. She was only a dwarf, specifically a dwarf from the surface. To be taken out by anything less than a drow would be a dishonour. He was far more ready to accept the cold finally took him, rather than anything else.
“She saw to your hands too. The wounds were too old for the scarring to go away, but they shouldn’t hurt anymore.”
Dhaunmyr looked at his hands. The palms weren’t pink or red, or even flaking anymore. The light purple skin now had some kind of whitish marbling, lines flickering from width to width. He... was almost angry about it. Those were from Diiria. She’d chosen to do what she did. There had to be some reason behind it, like when she burned all the clothes he had left at her house, or when she... man, this girl really liked fire, looking back on it.
He supposed he couldn’t complain if the people he was dealing with were in some way trained to do such fantastical miracles, because he definitely wasn’t. “I can see that.” Was his response. Cold, snarling. He wasn’t happy about it, but at least the scars wouldn’t go away. They’d be there always to remind Dhaunmyr of his faith to Diiria, to Lolth, to his matron and his sisters, of the services he provided for them, of how proud he was to do so, how privileged he was to be allowed in their company. Well, not Lolth’s, but...
“Where is this contraption headed?”
“Why, we’re just visiting some little villages and towns, and then we’re off to Waterdeep. I’m a trader, and my uh...” Brennip blushed. How weak. “Faerveren out there, she’s something of a minor celebrity, or at least I think she is. She’s an amazing performer, she’s on tour now!”
Dhaunmyr wasn’t terribly amused by this. He had no interest in the customs of dwarves, or of any creature that reared its head on the surface. He rolled his eyes.
Apart from that, they sat in silence, until Faerveren and Brennip began to chat again through the fabric. He still hadn’t seen her, and he figured that was a good thing. He didn’t want to. She was going to be just as ugly as any other monstrous race here, good only for sacrifice and slavery. Dhaunmyr bowed his head, into his knees and hands, creating a tent of darkness with his body. There, he prayed in whispers. If Lolth didn’t save him from this mess, he didn’t know what could possibly have a chance of doing so.
Just as he was finished, the wagon stopped abruptly, jolting him. Brennip laughed a little, ushering him out. “Come on, come on. We’ve got places to be and things to do, and you need a hot meal and a warm fire.”
Somehow, although he could not remember how exactly, he was now out and on the street. And then a woman rounded the corner. She had such voluminous, shiny blonde hair, a perfectly square face, not too short, either, but a strong jaw all the same. Her eyes sparkled like emeralds under dancing lights, and her figure was really something else. She wore tight fitting green leather, clearly measured to her every curve, and a big, white, spotted fur coat, opened at the front. She was actually wearing two coats, the other was a teal tailcoat, pulled in with a belt, fastened at the front with a golden hoop. Her skirt was almost scandalously short, but her cuffed green boots almost made that okay. Her skin, not very much of which was visible, was a nice tan, and she was covered in intriguing darker spots.
One thing that almost caught him off guard were her ears. Pointed, but lot long and thin. In some messed up universe, this perfect, stellar example of a woman at her peak was... half-caste? He wondered what possible human features showed through. And then he sort of realised that elves were skinny, usually, and she was definitely not. But in such a good way. She was... incredibly pleasing to observe. And then she rushed over, at least a foot taller than him in her heels.
“Oh! How wonderful to see you far more alive than when I found you! I treated you for everything I could so I uh, had to have a few peeks. I hope you don’t mind! May I compliment you on your tone? Or is that too much?” He was enraptured by this woman, she was far superior to her companion in every single way. Her voice was songlike, and she was too hard to ignore. Nothing would drive his attention from her wondrous appearance, and he found his eyes chasing around from feature to feature, from her somewhat heavily lined eyes, to her blue painted lips.
And, importantly, he didn’t really mind.
—
A hot meal, and a warm fire. These, he supposed were decent ideas. But the food he was brought was so incredibly foreign. And under seasoned. And he had no idea what it was. Some kind of whiteish meat. Some strange plant matter. But the other two had the same, so he supposed it had to be okay.
He wasn’t too certain about it, but he eventually succumbed to it. He was hungry, and very dizzy. And he drank a lot, too. Water, mostly. He couldn’t allow his senses to drop around people he’d been warned would kill him at a moment’s notice.
And then... room? Bed? Dhaunmyr felt awful. Maybe it was something to do with pressure? The air was different? There was nowhere near enough dust in it. Before he slept, he didn’t trance, although he tried to, he threw up. Twice. But he was suddenly so hot, so cold, and so weak, he didn’t even try to remove the bile taste in his mouth.
In the morning, he was sweating. He felt like he was in a tub of just his sweat. But it was sort of cold. That didn’t really add up. The sheets suddenly felt rough and almost painful against his skin, and the nausea hadn’t gone away since he had vomited the night before. Faerveren came in, hearing his quiet whimpers and groans. He had been poisoned, and he was going to die now. He didn’t understand why his body felt like this. Oh well, he had tried.
“Oh! We must not have gotten to you fast enough, darling. You look terrible.” Well, thanks.
“Uh huh? What does— what does that mean?” His throat was burning when he spoke, his head was pounding when he listened to her.
“You must have come down with a fever, or some other sickness. Here.” Faerveren pressed her hand to Dhaunmyr’s forehead. It was cool, and soft. He closed his eyes. “Yep, that’s definitely... that’s not good.” She took it back off. “I’ll have the barkeep bring you some hot drinks. With honey, yes, it’ll soothe you a little. One second.”
He didn’t have the energy to respond. He tried to nod but he didn’t feel like it showed. Faerveren scurried off, and returned with a wet rag. She gently placed it on Dhaunmyr’s forehead. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, alright?” She smiled, cupping his cheek before she left. He was so oddly compelled to trust her.
—
Dhaunmyr didn’t remember being sick past that, he was grateful for it. He did remember suddenly feeling something other than hatred fuelled pity for the people around him, however, and he did remember following Faerveren around as though she were his sister at a party and he didn’t know what to do. Which was fairly accurate.
They started to get ready for their next move. They’d been hopping around from town to town, but the time was coming close to tackle the city. Dhaunmyr was ready, he didn’t know if Fae and Brenn were, but he was ready. How different could it possibly be?
—
“You haven’t missed me too much, have you?” Dhaunmyr laughed. He’d been out all day, already, exploring the last town they hadn’t been to yet in the area. He flopped down next to Brennip on the bed. It already smelled like lavender, so Faerveren had probably been in it for a few hours. She was pretty exhausted after her last few nights performing.
“Didn’t notice you were gone.” Brenn replied. She had a smirk on her face. She definitely noticed, Fae had been worrying all day about how he was coping. He wasn’t usually so far, they should go and get him. He didn’t say exactly where he was going. Isn’t that dangerous? What if it’s dangerous, Brenn?
“Let her know I’m okay.”
—
Brennip helped him get to understand the economy, and after he sold what he had brought, she helped him choose what and where to invest in next. In the time that it took to fully clear out his wares, he’d had too much fun. He’d made a name for himself in the local taverns, something of a flirt, or even a heartbreaker, in some cases.
He hadn’t actually ever intended to go any further than buying drinks for people in bars. It was just a bit of fun, a weird sort of power came to him when he realised he could make women laugh, blush, he could make them interested in him.
One thing that shocked him was the amazing treatment by the people around him. They didn’t seem to care he was a drow, or if they did, they kept it to themselves. They also didn’t seem to care he was a man. A particular moment he could remember clearly was when he dropped a glass in a tavern, one he was known for visiting with vaguely known soon-to-be rockstar Fae, and that dwarf lady everyone gets on with. He dropped it. It shattered. He wasn’t sure what the barkeeper would do. Throw him into the pieces? But she didn’t. She smiled, and brought out a broom.
—
“Don’t worry, mister. Happens all the time.”
“Let me clear it up.” His palms were even sweatier than when it had slipped from his grasp. “Please.” He begged, eyes wide in terror.
“Oh! If you insist.” She chuckled. Dhaunmyr was a funny chap, eccentric and clearly still finding his footing. It was a mix of his strongly rooted manners and his genuine odd personality, or at least odder than most, that made her, and many others, so intrigued by him. And he seemed to pop out of nowhere, with odd, exotic trinkets to sell, and plenty of gold to spend on drinks, and, apparently, a longbow.
—
And then one night, he was sitting in a man’s lap, borrowed lipstick admittedly more on the stranger than him at this point, when he finally decided he’d had enough of pretending he still cared anything about the Underdark or anyone who lived there. He was Dhaunmyr Vivacity now, and, as such, he could do whatever the hell he wanted.
As such, he started reading. He sent letters, and found out incredible things. He threw out his symbol of Lolth, and, instead, paid great money to have one of his new god, Eilistraee, commissioned. He had learned so much in such a short space of time, and from the limited information he’d found scattered across multiple books, he realised that Eilistraee had in fact been there from the start. Her signs, her manifestations, they drove him towards so many things, including the woman he now realised was responsible for him even being open to admitting there was something wrong with his background. Lolth was not a big deal to him. Her followers were the ones who had hurt him, he was sure that Lolth had never even heard a single one of his desperate prayers. Perhaps Eilistraee was listening to them, though, and spinning them around in a wave of faith that allowed him to focus on life. On living. On surviving. But now he could feel alive.
And he chose to feel alive in the embrace of a man he’d never follow up with.
Everything anyone had ever done to him before was wrong. His family, his... what... what was her name? The scars didn’t speak to tell him, but they knew it. They kept the name from him, constantly on his lips. She was somehow like burned up coal, if he poked the grey, it fell into ash. But if he didn’t try too hard, he could just about remember her face. Her beautiful goddamn face.
Faerveren had sent word to her tailor, and clothes that fitted just right came to him. She seemed to just know. He didn’t remember her asking about measurements, then again, he didn’t remember a lot of things anymore. With the fever and the sudden identity shift, everything felt very strange to Dhaunmyr. So strange that his brain was struggling to keep up.
Dhaunmyr still found himself borrowing her clothes, however.
But one purchase he’d made not for any reason other than a sudden urge, were his first pair of impractical shoes. The boots he had were simple black leather. The ones he bought were super bright, almost came up to his knee. And the heel was so... pointy.
They made him happy. He couldn’t quite explain it, but when he wore them he felt confident.
“So, you didn’t want to buy any skirts like mine because they weren’t practical. But you bought those.”
“Yes. That’s pretty much it.” Dhaunmyr admitted. But he was smiling. “You wouldn’t be able to walk in them anyway.”
“Oh please.” Faerveren laughed. “I’d like to see you get to Waterdeep in those.”
(4,270)
Was that it? Was that what he’d squint through for the rest of his trip? How... disgusting. And the creatures here tolerated the glare? They should have gone to the Underdark. They should turn themselves in as slaves, and live out their lives (until they were sacrificed), away from this dreadful torch.
Dhaunmyr hadn’t much, but his clothes, a backpack with his wares, and a few coins. They weren’t what he was used to, but coin was coin, after all. Oh, and a ring. It belonged to the woman who he was the consort of, Shurdiiria Lhalathlin. It was a gift, one that soothed his burned hands almost immediately. It was also a promise, that he would be taken in as a Lhalathlin, as soon as she advanced just one rank further in the priestesshood. For now, being an Aleduis would suffice. He was serving his matron, and therefore serving Lolth, when he walked the surface, oh gods it hurt. His head was already throbbing. He was so distracted, he hadn’t noticed —
Cold... spots? On his skin? No, wait.
His eyes finally focused, he squinted, he almost couldn’t get past the inescapable reflection of the light on the white. The contrast of the environment and his boots, his skin. Ebony. Some kind of white ice was falling on him. “Who goes there?” The drow snarled, whipping his head around in suspicion. He pulled his weapon from his hip, holding the morningstar in his hand with a clammy, white knuckled grip. Nothing. Nobody. Just... white ice.
He looked up, the sun staring back with a harsher glare. It shone through the clouds, which distorted it greenish and lifeless. And from the clouds, came the snow. It was soft, delicate, and fell in shavings like a sieve of magically white cinnamon. Hard to swallow.
Dhaunmyr ran the ring around his finger, looking at it intently. The stones were so carefully crafted into the shape of spiders, and it reminded him so much of his beloved Diira. He would return, and the ring would be replaced by the emblem of her new family house. Then he peeked again at the snow. He scooped some up in his hand, feeling it melt and numb his hand, he looked around himself again. Morningstar back in its loop... He poked it. The coolness was soothing for his poor hands. They still were red raw, a little flaky in places the skin was just starting to heal.
He dropped the substance, and suddenly realised he’d lost the entrance. The white stuff painted everything pale and without shape or definition. Dhaunmyr sighed. Lolth would guide him to the right direction, because he was serving his matron, and so he was serving Lolth by proxy. He was also serving Lolth because he was showing her presence beyond the Abyss. It reached far, ready to grab and grasp. To trap like a fly.
—
It took a long time, but after considerable walking... Dhaunmyr was still nowhere. He squinted, stretched, but no matter what he did, he was still absolutely lost, without any landmarks at all. Not that he had a map, or even any idea where he might have been looking for landmarks. The whiteness did a great deal to protect his mind, though, had he seen the expansive green in summer, he may well have rushed back home. The Underdark had a roof, and walls. And it was so much smaller. He hadn’t seen a single roof or wall yet. Yet.
Eventually, he had to stop. It was cold. He was tired. He found a little shelter under a tree, and bit hungrily at dried meats and tough mushrooms he’d packed. Not like there was much else in the Underdark to have packed. Not like he knew any different.
It was a short rest, but a necessary one. He was rejuvenated almost immediately. Dhaunmyr felt the energy return to his body. He felt able to move on again. Warmth spread more easily around him to fight off the damp and the cold. Dhaunmyr was shivering, after all. Before, it had seeped into his bones and rattled his core, and now, he felt warm again, ready to carry on.
And he resumed the trek.
—
Wherever he was, Lolth did not feel near.
Without the roof and the walls and the proximity of people, Dhaunmyr was cold. Super cold, actually. There wasn’t anything else he could tug around himself, his big fur cloak now dragging in the snow. He didn’t care the end would get damp and the fur would get hard and spiky and the whole thing would be ruined, he just cared that it was warmer than not having it on at all. He hadn’t been sure what to pack for the trip. Apparently it could be really hot or cold, and when he asked how he could tell what it would be, all he got were shrugs. Supposedly, it fluctuated, but no one would, or could, tell him why that happened.
Dhaunmyr had lost the road a long time ago, and with the snowfall, he didn’t think it would make things any easier to walk, anyway. It was either walk on snow or walk on snow. If he could have seen the road, maybe it would have been different, it would at least guide him somewhere. Lolth only knew where he was going now.
Time seemed endless in the white, blinding wasteland. And then, of course. It suddenly got dark.
He was almost nervous of it, he felt trembles in his hands that he thought he had medicated with pockets and wrappings and stuffing them inside the cloak. And then he finally could... see. Or see properly. Just as his eyes were beginning to adjust to the sunlight, to accept it, his darkvision kicked in. The landscape seemed less harsh and imposing, and he finally got a good look at the trees. He’d seen small trees, almost like pets, that had to be given light and water every day. It was impressive, to have a small bush or tree. But these were massive, hulking... he wasn’t really getting anywhere fast and... okay, just once.
Some instinct kicked into him. He wasn’t terribly close to the trees. So he ran to them. He’d been under one before, and that was very cool, but he wasn’t planning to go under it. He was almost glad Lolth didn’t seem present, this was a bit embarrassing. Dhaunmyr just had to try it, though. He dipped his head under branches, walking deeper and deeper into the thicket, his angry, tight face loosening just a little. Then he saw it. The perfect one.
Dhaunmyr dropped his bag at the roots, and his cloak, careful not to get it any wetter or colder. Then, he sighed, and let the last bit of his remaining dignity wash away, so he could get on with climbing up this goddamn tree! He slipped, he fell. Twice. Once, on the first attempt to get up onto the low branches, the second time from a little higher up. He cried out, the kind that he’d have cried when he was five, not fifty. But this was a rather childish thing to do. The dead leaves cushioned his fall greatly, and he found himself... laughing. Nothing was funny, and his heart was hammering in his chest, his stomach had just decided to calm the hell down. But he was laughing. He picked himself up before he got frostbite, and leaned against the tree. Finally, finally, he pulled himself together, enough to climb up the tree, at least.
Eventually, he pulled himself up to the point the branches were too thin and spindly to support him anymore. He found a decent place, and he sat there awhile, looking down at the branches below, and the leaves, and his things. His legs swung and he was almost smiling. Then he looked up, or, rather, out. Twinkling on the horizon, he just about made out lights that were not natural. Natural! He looked directly up, into the sky. The moon. He was disappointed, the clouds covered the stars for the most part, but he could make a few out in the breaks. Tilting his head, he squinted — they weren’t the shape he thought they would have been. They were... dots. He’d always seen them drawn with five points... like shapes. It was called the star shape. He must have been confused, or perhaps it was his eyes, or there was another kind of star.
Anyway, he hopped down eventually, taking a stick from the tree and shoving it in his pack. Maybe he’d come back on his way home. Dhaunmyr thought he should at least try to make it to those lights, whatever they were. Humans were stupid and were blind in the dark. So there were humans there. Humans who wanted to buy things? He hoped so. Then he could get home, away from the flaky white ice and the shapeless stars. And the sun.
The lights were further than they looked. He needed to rest again, and, while not a fan of doing this, he rested again in the wilderness. It was starting to lighten up when he closed his eyes to trance, and when they were open, he was momentarily blinded. His eyes watered, and he wiped the tears off with the back of his finger. Why was it light again? The moon was gone. Oh. Day and night, the cycle thing. How ridiculous. Imagine shutting off an entire town, just because it was a little dark! No wonder humans were so easy to enslave. Tucked up in bed at night, or wandering alone where no one could see them. Looking vulnerable, skulking, it made it easier to take them.
He dusted himself off, glad to find somewhere dry, and moved on. At least he had a destination now.
Dhaunmyr realised, with a sinking feeling, that he wasn’t going to make it to the settlement until maybe the moon after next. It was just so far. He wasn’t sure how much food he had with him, he might have to hunt for- oh wait a second. His bow. He hadn’t been allowed to bring his bow. He wasn’t sure why. Perhaps humans thought drow tipped arrows in poison and- no, that was... yeah. We do that.
He sighed. His weapon would be easy to hand over to authorities, if they required. The absolute distrust of requiring such a thing, though! Somehow, he was angry at a hypothetical situation he’d made up for himself, that humans might not like someone who was prepared to bash a rock into their heads to take them away and enslave them and swindle the rest of them, while he was there. The cheek of it! Dhaunmyr shook his head to clear it of such thoughts.
—
And he didn’t remember anything else. But he was cold now, and wet, but he felt as though he’d been dragged somewhere. Oh Lolth! Oh Demon Queen! Oh Mother of Lusts! What was — his eyes focused, and he looked around with some dismay. His clothes were damp, his bag wasn’t on his back, oh, no, okay, at least it was next to him. But most importantly, he was on a wagon, of some description. Wooden, with some kind of fabric stretched over the top. He didn’t move, he closed his eyes again. Dhaunmyr listened.
Two voices, both female. One was light, lyrical, the other was almost gruff. This was very bad. But they hadn’t tied him up or anything, at best, they’d thrown blankets over him, that smelled of a sweet, powdery flower. That was worse. They must have been massive, with strong magic and stronger muscles, if they didn’t need to tie him down. They must have hit him with some kind of drugged dart, because he knew magic wouldn’t work, and his head didn’t throb like he’d been hit particularly hard.
“So, the plan is, we drive the wagon into the village, then pull him in to our reserved inn.” The lyrical one piped up, a certain joy in her sing-song voice.
“People will see us carrying a body?” The gruff one was more practical, she saw things that the other didn’t.
“Just because you’re right doesn’t make it fair. Do you have a better plan?”
“...Guess not. Let’s just get close.”
“Of course. I am an excellent driver.”
Did they think he was dead? Or were they worried about carrying a drow around? He shuffled towards the back, it was open, just a little plank of wood to stop things sliding out, he could swing his legs over and-
“Someone’s alive.”
Dhaunmyr looked over his shoulder. The women were apparently having the conversation through the fabric between them. How hadn’t he noticed her before? She was a dwarf, but not grey, and not with any hair colour he’d ever seen on anything but a slave. And she had a beard, which was nicely kept. That reminded Dhaunmyr that he needed to sort out his sideburns as soon as he got off and out, he actually grew them very fast, if he didn’t shave daily they got too obvious, which was a weird thing to be reminded of when you were facing off someone you feared could kill you in a snap.
“I’m Brennip. What’s your name, honey?” She asked, a warm tone (that wasn’t fooling Dhaunmyr) strong in her voice. She had a plain accent. She had a plain face.
“My name is, ah, Dhaunmyr.” He didn’t try to match her accent, or her tone. He didn’t mask the fear in his trembling voice, or the fear in his eyes. His harsh expression had melted like the soft white ice against his burn. Every part of him wanted to run, except the part that saw the danger she could pose to him. If she’d taken him out-
“Well, Dhaunmyr. Good to meet you. You should probably thank the driver when we stop, she’s the one who saw you.”
“Saw me?”
“You must’ve fainted or something. You were face down in the snow. God only knows how long.”
It made sense. She was only a dwarf, specifically a dwarf from the surface. To be taken out by anything less than a drow would be a dishonour. He was far more ready to accept the cold finally took him, rather than anything else.
“She saw to your hands too. The wounds were too old for the scarring to go away, but they shouldn’t hurt anymore.”
Dhaunmyr looked at his hands. The palms weren’t pink or red, or even flaking anymore. The light purple skin now had some kind of whitish marbling, lines flickering from width to width. He... was almost angry about it. Those were from Diiria. She’d chosen to do what she did. There had to be some reason behind it, like when she burned all the clothes he had left at her house, or when she... man, this girl really liked fire, looking back on it.
He supposed he couldn’t complain if the people he was dealing with were in some way trained to do such fantastical miracles, because he definitely wasn’t. “I can see that.” Was his response. Cold, snarling. He wasn’t happy about it, but at least the scars wouldn’t go away. They’d be there always to remind Dhaunmyr of his faith to Diiria, to Lolth, to his matron and his sisters, of the services he provided for them, of how proud he was to do so, how privileged he was to be allowed in their company. Well, not Lolth’s, but...
“Where is this contraption headed?”
“Why, we’re just visiting some little villages and towns, and then we’re off to Waterdeep. I’m a trader, and my uh...” Brennip blushed. How weak. “Faerveren out there, she’s something of a minor celebrity, or at least I think she is. She’s an amazing performer, she’s on tour now!”
Dhaunmyr wasn’t terribly amused by this. He had no interest in the customs of dwarves, or of any creature that reared its head on the surface. He rolled his eyes.
Apart from that, they sat in silence, until Faerveren and Brennip began to chat again through the fabric. He still hadn’t seen her, and he figured that was a good thing. He didn’t want to. She was going to be just as ugly as any other monstrous race here, good only for sacrifice and slavery. Dhaunmyr bowed his head, into his knees and hands, creating a tent of darkness with his body. There, he prayed in whispers. If Lolth didn’t save him from this mess, he didn’t know what could possibly have a chance of doing so.
Just as he was finished, the wagon stopped abruptly, jolting him. Brennip laughed a little, ushering him out. “Come on, come on. We’ve got places to be and things to do, and you need a hot meal and a warm fire.”
Somehow, although he could not remember how exactly, he was now out and on the street. And then a woman rounded the corner. She had such voluminous, shiny blonde hair, a perfectly square face, not too short, either, but a strong jaw all the same. Her eyes sparkled like emeralds under dancing lights, and her figure was really something else. She wore tight fitting green leather, clearly measured to her every curve, and a big, white, spotted fur coat, opened at the front. She was actually wearing two coats, the other was a teal tailcoat, pulled in with a belt, fastened at the front with a golden hoop. Her skirt was almost scandalously short, but her cuffed green boots almost made that okay. Her skin, not very much of which was visible, was a nice tan, and she was covered in intriguing darker spots.
One thing that almost caught him off guard were her ears. Pointed, but lot long and thin. In some messed up universe, this perfect, stellar example of a woman at her peak was... half-caste? He wondered what possible human features showed through. And then he sort of realised that elves were skinny, usually, and she was definitely not. But in such a good way. She was... incredibly pleasing to observe. And then she rushed over, at least a foot taller than him in her heels.
“Oh! How wonderful to see you far more alive than when I found you! I treated you for everything I could so I uh, had to have a few peeks. I hope you don’t mind! May I compliment you on your tone? Or is that too much?” He was enraptured by this woman, she was far superior to her companion in every single way. Her voice was songlike, and she was too hard to ignore. Nothing would drive his attention from her wondrous appearance, and he found his eyes chasing around from feature to feature, from her somewhat heavily lined eyes, to her blue painted lips.
And, importantly, he didn’t really mind.
—
A hot meal, and a warm fire. These, he supposed were decent ideas. But the food he was brought was so incredibly foreign. And under seasoned. And he had no idea what it was. Some kind of whiteish meat. Some strange plant matter. But the other two had the same, so he supposed it had to be okay.
He wasn’t too certain about it, but he eventually succumbed to it. He was hungry, and very dizzy. And he drank a lot, too. Water, mostly. He couldn’t allow his senses to drop around people he’d been warned would kill him at a moment’s notice.
And then... room? Bed? Dhaunmyr felt awful. Maybe it was something to do with pressure? The air was different? There was nowhere near enough dust in it. Before he slept, he didn’t trance, although he tried to, he threw up. Twice. But he was suddenly so hot, so cold, and so weak, he didn’t even try to remove the bile taste in his mouth.
In the morning, he was sweating. He felt like he was in a tub of just his sweat. But it was sort of cold. That didn’t really add up. The sheets suddenly felt rough and almost painful against his skin, and the nausea hadn’t gone away since he had vomited the night before. Faerveren came in, hearing his quiet whimpers and groans. He had been poisoned, and he was going to die now. He didn’t understand why his body felt like this. Oh well, he had tried.
“Oh! We must not have gotten to you fast enough, darling. You look terrible.” Well, thanks.
“Uh huh? What does— what does that mean?” His throat was burning when he spoke, his head was pounding when he listened to her.
“You must have come down with a fever, or some other sickness. Here.” Faerveren pressed her hand to Dhaunmyr’s forehead. It was cool, and soft. He closed his eyes. “Yep, that’s definitely... that’s not good.” She took it back off. “I’ll have the barkeep bring you some hot drinks. With honey, yes, it’ll soothe you a little. One second.”
He didn’t have the energy to respond. He tried to nod but he didn’t feel like it showed. Faerveren scurried off, and returned with a wet rag. She gently placed it on Dhaunmyr’s forehead. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, alright?” She smiled, cupping his cheek before she left. He was so oddly compelled to trust her.
—
Dhaunmyr didn’t remember being sick past that, he was grateful for it. He did remember suddenly feeling something other than hatred fuelled pity for the people around him, however, and he did remember following Faerveren around as though she were his sister at a party and he didn’t know what to do. Which was fairly accurate.
They started to get ready for their next move. They’d been hopping around from town to town, but the time was coming close to tackle the city. Dhaunmyr was ready, he didn’t know if Fae and Brenn were, but he was ready. How different could it possibly be?
—
“You haven’t missed me too much, have you?” Dhaunmyr laughed. He’d been out all day, already, exploring the last town they hadn’t been to yet in the area. He flopped down next to Brennip on the bed. It already smelled like lavender, so Faerveren had probably been in it for a few hours. She was pretty exhausted after her last few nights performing.
“Didn’t notice you were gone.” Brenn replied. She had a smirk on her face. She definitely noticed, Fae had been worrying all day about how he was coping. He wasn’t usually so far, they should go and get him. He didn’t say exactly where he was going. Isn’t that dangerous? What if it’s dangerous, Brenn?
“Let her know I’m okay.”
—
Brennip helped him get to understand the economy, and after he sold what he had brought, she helped him choose what and where to invest in next. In the time that it took to fully clear out his wares, he’d had too much fun. He’d made a name for himself in the local taverns, something of a flirt, or even a heartbreaker, in some cases.
He hadn’t actually ever intended to go any further than buying drinks for people in bars. It was just a bit of fun, a weird sort of power came to him when he realised he could make women laugh, blush, he could make them interested in him.
One thing that shocked him was the amazing treatment by the people around him. They didn’t seem to care he was a drow, or if they did, they kept it to themselves. They also didn’t seem to care he was a man. A particular moment he could remember clearly was when he dropped a glass in a tavern, one he was known for visiting with vaguely known soon-to-be rockstar Fae, and that dwarf lady everyone gets on with. He dropped it. It shattered. He wasn’t sure what the barkeeper would do. Throw him into the pieces? But she didn’t. She smiled, and brought out a broom.
—
“Don’t worry, mister. Happens all the time.”
“Let me clear it up.” His palms were even sweatier than when it had slipped from his grasp. “Please.” He begged, eyes wide in terror.
“Oh! If you insist.” She chuckled. Dhaunmyr was a funny chap, eccentric and clearly still finding his footing. It was a mix of his strongly rooted manners and his genuine odd personality, or at least odder than most, that made her, and many others, so intrigued by him. And he seemed to pop out of nowhere, with odd, exotic trinkets to sell, and plenty of gold to spend on drinks, and, apparently, a longbow.
—
And then one night, he was sitting in a man’s lap, borrowed lipstick admittedly more on the stranger than him at this point, when he finally decided he’d had enough of pretending he still cared anything about the Underdark or anyone who lived there. He was Dhaunmyr Vivacity now, and, as such, he could do whatever the hell he wanted.
As such, he started reading. He sent letters, and found out incredible things. He threw out his symbol of Lolth, and, instead, paid great money to have one of his new god, Eilistraee, commissioned. He had learned so much in such a short space of time, and from the limited information he’d found scattered across multiple books, he realised that Eilistraee had in fact been there from the start. Her signs, her manifestations, they drove him towards so many things, including the woman he now realised was responsible for him even being open to admitting there was something wrong with his background. Lolth was not a big deal to him. Her followers were the ones who had hurt him, he was sure that Lolth had never even heard a single one of his desperate prayers. Perhaps Eilistraee was listening to them, though, and spinning them around in a wave of faith that allowed him to focus on life. On living. On surviving. But now he could feel alive.
And he chose to feel alive in the embrace of a man he’d never follow up with.
Everything anyone had ever done to him before was wrong. His family, his... what... what was her name? The scars didn’t speak to tell him, but they knew it. They kept the name from him, constantly on his lips. She was somehow like burned up coal, if he poked the grey, it fell into ash. But if he didn’t try too hard, he could just about remember her face. Her beautiful goddamn face.
Faerveren had sent word to her tailor, and clothes that fitted just right came to him. She seemed to just know. He didn’t remember her asking about measurements, then again, he didn’t remember a lot of things anymore. With the fever and the sudden identity shift, everything felt very strange to Dhaunmyr. So strange that his brain was struggling to keep up.
Dhaunmyr still found himself borrowing her clothes, however.
But one purchase he’d made not for any reason other than a sudden urge, were his first pair of impractical shoes. The boots he had were simple black leather. The ones he bought were super bright, almost came up to his knee. And the heel was so... pointy.
They made him happy. He couldn’t quite explain it, but when he wore them he felt confident.
“So, you didn’t want to buy any skirts like mine because they weren’t practical. But you bought those.”
“Yes. That’s pretty much it.” Dhaunmyr admitted. But he was smiling. “You wouldn’t be able to walk in them anyway.”
“Oh please.” Faerveren laughed. “I’d like to see you get to Waterdeep in those.”
(4,270)
