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dnd_drow

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"I see" he stated. Nika could feel him studying her face from beside her.
"What?" she said irritably.
"Well, I find myself rather intrigued. You are a Drow from the Underdark, but your eyes aren’t red."
They aren’t? I... I don’t know what I look like she realised.
Astarion continued, "And you haven’t killed me yet for being a dirty surface elf."
"Well, there is still time for that" she retorted.
Astarion threw back his head and laughed. "You are simply delightful, darling. But you didn’t answer the question."
"You didn’t ask a question" she said.
Now it was Astarion’s turn to roll his eyes. "Come on darling, just give me something."
Eventually they were all going to realise that her brain was full of holes, and not just the the tadpole. She sighed.
"I can’t... I can’t give you anything really. There is something ...wrong with me... my memories are gone... I don’t know who I am... and I think something has cursed me... I keep thinking about... violence," She hugged her arms around herself as she felt her breathed quicken in panic, giving voice to her inner urges no matter how vague, made them all the more disturbing.
He considered her in silence for a moment, head tilted. "Well, it seems you have been dealt a vile hand my dear..." then he grinned, "I say, play it! Play it for all it’s worth!" he exclaimed dramatically, flourishing a hand.
She stared at him as though he had lost his wits. His teeth looked long when he smiled so widely, slightly pointed... she leaned in slightly.
Before she could get a closer look, he dropped his chin, the grin fading to a coy smirk, his voice was velvet sin as he murmured for her ears alone, "After all... no one should deny themselves their true nature."
Shafts of moonlight filtered through the canopy, casting an eerie light on the surrounding forest. In the dimness branches extended like thin claws, casting long shadows. It was a quiet night, only the occasional cricket’s chirp or hoot of an owl disturbed the silence as Astarion stalked through the undergrowth. The anticipation of the hunt thrummed in his blood, a frenetic chord, he pushed it down to a low buzzing hum. The hunt was about focus, subtlety. At least until the moment to strike, then the bloodlust could run free and rampant.
He crept forward silently, raising his face into the slight breeze that lifted and rustled his hair. There. The faint trace of the smell of an animal, an even fainter trace of the sweet blood it carried within. He stalked towards the source; his throat parched as the anticipation of fresh blood tingled on his tongue. How long had it been since he’d last fed? A day at least. He could feel the familiar weakness in his very bones. A state of starvation that Cazador had kept all his spawns in. Always weak, always compliant. He had already done more fighting in a day than he would in a month in Cazador’s service. He was exhausted. Not having a consistent source of blood was going to become problematic the more fighting their little group encountered. Maintaining secrecy had to win out over hunger. He was sure his companions wouldn’t stop to ask questions before ramming a stake through his heart if they saw him gorging on an animal with his fangs.
That gith would cleave him in two! A gith, he couldn’t recall ever meeting one in the flesh before. Her demeanour was as blunt as the force she wielded her weapon with. Her cat-like yellow eyes were sharp and penetrating, her mouth curled in a perpetual sneer of contempt. He had been careful not to stare too openly and draw her ire. But that green skin, that strange little nose, it was hard not to look. Especially when dark veins stood out so prominently against the paler green of her inner arms, and neck. He couldn’t help but imagine what his companions might taste like, what in the hells would a gith taste like? His mind drifted to his other companions, the cleric Shadowheart had an air of mystery about her, surely she would taste like a full-bodied red, rich and dark. Her penchant for radiant magic would certainly keep him from trying to find out, however. The Drow. Now there was something to stare at. From her inky skin to her shock of white hair, she was certainly striking. But it was her eyes and yes okay... her throat, that had transfixed him earlier that day when they had grappled in the dirt. By all accounts of Drow, her eyes should have looked like his. Not so. Rather than white, the sclera was pure black, like a void. Silvery-grey irises were the only clue as to where she was looking or give a hint as to how she might be feeling. Nika was as mysterious as the subterranean empire she must call home. However, her condition made her a mystery even to herself. On the one hand, he couldn’t help but feel some pity for someone who’d had their very identity unwillingly stripped from them. He knew how that felt. But on the other hand, that violent urge she had confessed was problematic. Not only in terms of keeping his head firmly attached to his body, but it also made him wary of what the future could hold for them all. Was her condition an effect of the parasite that the others simply hadn’t encountered yet? That, of course, wasn’t even the half of his problems. Cazador would come for him. He needed to ingratiate himself within the group, be liked, even better loved. The outcome? Protection, or at least more bodies to throw between himself and his former master.
All of his companions so far were downright prickly and distrustful; but every now and then throughout the day he had managed to coax a small smile out of Nika, or a witty retort. Those moments gave him hope that she had the potential to be a vaguely interesting companion. He would of course, abandon these people as soon as he no longer had use for them; but there was no need to die of boredom between now and then.
A twig snapped up ahead. A small deer wandered out into the clearing, moonlight playing on the dappled coat. Astarion didn’t hesitate. He surged forward with inhuman speed and tackled the creature, his iron grip finding its throat, lest it tried to escape. It struggled, keening into the night and he toppled to the ground, still gripping onto his meal for dear life. His fangs sank into its neck and warm, thick blood poured down his throat. He groaned quietly in relief. The deer’s struggles became weaker and weaker, until it fell still. Astarion carried on drinking, he couldn’t afford to waste a drop with the uncertainty of when his next meal would be.
Thou shalt not drink the blood of thinking creatures.
Cazador’s words rang in his head. The rules had changed so much already thanks to the tadpole, he had walked in the sun. Would other rules be powerless now too? As he continued to drink, he found his mind wandering back to his companions. Dare he risk it? Deer was a marked improvement on rats and bugs. What would a thinking creature taste like? As more blood flowed into his mouth, he imagined sinking fangs into dusky blue skin. He imagined her yielding to him. What her soft gasp of pain might sound like. How she might taste. He was too far gone in his bloodlust to even feel ashamed of the shiver of arousal at the idea. A very near sounding splash, however, did pull him from his fantasies with jarring immediacy.
His head snapped up. He wasn’t far from the river; something must be in the water. He dragged the deer carcass into the underbrush and carefully wiped the blood from his chin with a handkerchief that he discarded with the deer. Once he was certain he was beyond reproach he stalked towards the river.
Bright-white hair reflecting the moonlight alerted him to the source of the noise long before he reached the bank of the Chionthar. Nika was submerged in the dark water, only her head visible, which was tilted back, eyes closed, her face a serene mask. Astarion couldn’t help himself, he revelled in the feeling of being able to sneak up on someone. Something that had been impossible with his former master.
"So, what kind of sorcerer are you?" Astarion called out loudly, grinning at her yelp of surprise and the frantic splash as she made sure she wasn't exposed.
Nika’s head snapped to him, her unnerving eyes finding his with a glare of annoyance. He leaned nonchalantly against a tree, and tilted his head to the side, adopting what he knew to be a maddening smirk.
"I’ve never seen shadowy-looking flames like that from a magic-wielder before" he continued.
"I’m a draconic sorcerer" she replied, sliding forwards in the water towards the shore. "Obviously, I don’t know the specifics of my draconic ancestry what with my... condition," she shrugged her shoulders.
"A draconic sorcerer... How delightful..." Astarion purred, "but I thought draconic sorcerers had dragon scales?"
She surprised him by giving a lazy smirk of her own. "Perhaps they aren’t on my face."
She raised herself up in the water slightly. Enough to give him a glance at the iridescent black scales that started mid-way down her dark blue chest fanning out into a triangle that disappeared between her breasts beneath the water.
Astarion’s eyes trailed hungrily down her chest to the place where the water met scales.
"Delicious darling... I don’t suppose I can persuade you to show me the rest?" he smiled wickedly, showing a good bit of teeth.
She smiled with an almost sultry expression. Was she responding to his blatant flirting? This is going to be even easier than I thought. Why are the pretty ones always so stupid? He was almost disappointed at how easy. He was just beginning to open his mouth to suggest he join her in the water, when he saw her whisper a cantrip. He winced as his vision was blinded with flashing, coloured lights. He heard the slosh of her leaving the water.
"Ung! Well, that’s not playing fair at all" he said petulantly.
The frustration of knowing she was naked just feet away was maddening. Suddenly her breath caressed the soft shell of his ear, he couldn't help but shiver.
"Perhaps I will" she breathed, "But I need to be a lot less sober than I am now, darling" she said with a chuckle before he heard the rustle of fabric and her footsteps receding back towards camp.
Games of seduction had been his life for last two hundred years. The game came to him as naturally as breathing, the seductive noble was the most impenetrable of all his masks he wore. He smiled to himself.
You, my darling, however unwittingly, have become prey.
And there was nothing like the thrill of the hunt.
Nika’s eyes opened slowly as she awoke from her trance. The pale light of dawn stretched over their camp, painting everything pale pink. Lae’zel was already crouched over the campfire preparing food for their breakfast. Nika hoped it wasn’t going to be some awful Githyanki food the woman had brought with her. Astarion materialised out of the tree line soundlessly and joined them as they packed up the camp. A small smirk in her direction his only acknowledgement of their interaction by the river.
Lae’zel handed her what was thankfully some warmed bread for breakfast for them to eat on the move. Astarion, she noticed, refused the offer of food. Nika shrugged inwardly, if the foolish darthir wanted to keel over from exhaustion later, that was his problem. She had no doubt that Lae’zel would have no qualms about leaving him behind either.
She hadn’t intended to entertain his blatant advances last night. But the way he had smiled so wickedly. It made him look predatory, and strangely she had felt her body respond with a hunger of its own. She forced that feeling down before it could arise again as she felt her gaze drifting to where he stood. It must have been too long since you’ve bedded someone, she told herself sternly. And it had been a long day... she had just been exhausted.
They were making their way along a narrow dirt road that hugged the sea cliff when a sudden flash of light from her left caused Nika to hiss in surprise, she dived sideways to put space between herself and whatever it was. The rest of the party had also stumbled backwards a few steps. A glowing purple vortex began to swirl out of the cliff wall, growing larger and larger. They approached cautiously. It crackled and hissed, warping and spitting angrily. Nika breathed deeply and raised her hand towards it, attuning her magic to it and channelling a soothing aura towards it.
Suddenly an arm thrust itself towards them out of the portal. Nika only just managed to supress an undignified squeak.
"A hand? Anyone?" a disembodied voice accompanied the groping arm.
Nika tilted her head, examining the hand. Her vision clouded, a red mist bleeding in from the edges. The other’s voices faded to a low ringing. She watched as the hand flailed and groped around blindly. This limb was just begging to be pruned and the sap supped from. She took a step forward, hand outstretched. Her vision was nothing but red fog now. The pounding of her head a war drum demanding blood.
Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood.
Cool hands encircled her upper arms, pulling her from the red tinted void just enough to clear her vision. She found herself staring into the ruby eyes of Astarion.
"Easy darling. I’ve got you," he said in a low voice.
She took a shuddering breath as she realised what she had been about to do. Gods in front of them all. She felt a sudden wave of gratitude for Astarion’s intervention. No doubt Lae’zel wouldn't have hesitated to put her down like the dangerous madwoman she was.
She swallowed and set her jaw, a small nod wordlessly letting Astarion know that she was in command of herself again. He gave a subtle nod in reply and released her gently.
The hand's accompanying body was talking emphatically to the others, and turned to include Nika and Astarion as they approached.
"I presume you all recall the insertion of the parasite? The ocular penetration by an illithid tadpole which will end with our souls being snuffed like strands of Weave caught in Dead Magic. Not to mention –" He cut off abruptly, "You’re all staring at me like a Rashemi at a blackboard. You’re not wizards are you?"
Nika raised an eyebrow. "I’m a sorcerer" she retorted with just a hint of venom. She had followed every damn thing he had said, but she been unable to hide her expression of disbelief, as he gestured enthusiastically with a ludicrously cheery tone, as though the insertion of an Illithid tadpole was some great academic project and not a literal death sentence. 
"There’s a gust of weave about you" making a pinching motion with his fingers, "But it’s a mere breeze. I need a tempest. It’ll have to wait. The primary need is a healer."
She narrowed her eyes at him. Her abilities to remain peaceful were stretched to their limits as he went on to explain ceremorphosis to her in the tone one would use to talk to a particularly dim-witted child.
"Well, a wizard and a sorcerer won’t help. Perhaps if we could find a powerful cleric?" he mused.
"Shadowheart here is a cleric, but she has already assured us that she cannot heal something this grave." Nika sighed, gesturing to the woman behind her. Maybe it’s Shadowheart’s turn to be demoted to a village witchdoctor she thought to herself, unable to contain her amusement at the thought of Shadowheart’s reaction to that.
Gale looked over Shadowheart appreciatively. "A pleasure, madam"
Nika looked over her shoulder at the other woman, the grin she was unable to suppress spreading across her face. She almost laughed out loud when she saw the withering look Shadowheart gave him in return.
Nika turned back when he addressed them again. "We are in a whole lot of trouble. We need help and I’m not sure where we will find it in this wilderness. What say we embark on a quest for a healer together?" he had again, resumed his patronising tone. She resisted the urge to thank him for pointing out the "trouble" they were in and simply started walking on ahead in the direction of the Grove.
As they made their way up a winding path leading inland, she reflected on her unintentional companions she had picked up. Lae’zel was a ferocious fighter, she had seen that on the nautoiloid, there was no doubt that she would be useful. However, trusting the mysterious Gith to place an object on her head to cure her filled her with unease.
Shadowheart seemed pragmatic from the short bits of conversation she had listened to. She wasn’t sure what to make of her yet beyond that.
The wizard’s name was Gale, she had instantly found infuriating of course. Arrogance oozed from him but without the self-awareness of it that Astarion possessed. She supposed he was considered attractive – at least by human standards. He had a handsome face with well-groomed dark brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard. The rest of this features were hidden under his long wizard’s robe. But it ran deeper than that, his air of superiority extended to his perceived expertise in magic. She seemed to receive the full brunt of his condescension as a sorcerer. It's not my fault you have to learn all your spells from a stupid book Gale. Typical, as soon as we encounter a wandering wizard, I get a lecture befitting an apprentice wizard learning their first spell and Shadowheart gets his full "milady’ routine she mused to herself.
A pleasure, madam she mouthed at his back, rolling her eyes.
Astarion she realised had seen her, and he smirked at her knowingly.
Astarion certainly intrigued her the most. He moved with a feline grace; she was looking forward to seeing what he could do in a real fight. Luckily, he seemed to have more daggers on his person than the one she had melted upon their meeting. He also had a long bow slung across his back. She knew that Drow were considered to be a brutal, cruel people. His downright cut-throat attitude when it came to his survival was a trait she could appreciate, although she would watch him carefully. He likely considered her just as expendable as she considered him.
A while later, half-ruined walls rose in the distance. They walked into a stone courtyard with broken walls encircling it, steps led up to stone walkways above and ivy climbed up weathered, cracked stone. Steps lead down to a set of large wooden double doors. As they crossed the courtyard, a voice called down from one of the walkways above.
"Oi! What’s your business here? These are our ruins!" the voice belonged to a halfling who was descending the steps to approach them. Others emerged from behind pillars and walls, none of them looked particularly impressive, armed with crude weapons and dressed in ragged clothing and leathers. However, Nika did sense magical powers from one of the women.
"Please excuse us, we meant no harm" Gale said, "we are simply wandering travellers seeking the aid of a healer, perhaps one of you could –"
Gale cut off with a yelp as ice burst forth from the ground, throwing the halfling from his feet. Nika grinned and winked at Astarion, who chuckled darkly before she finished the halfling off with an orb of black flame to the chest. The rest of the party had reacted quickly, fanning out to choose their opponent. As expected, the ragtag group of looters had little skill, and the fight was over in just a few minutes.
"Why did you attack them?!" Gale spun on Nika angrily. "They would have let us leave; we could have persuaded them we weren’t a threat. They didn’t need to die!" his distress clear.
Nika shrugged. "This was faster than talk. There could be something useful in the ruins. Now we get it not them."
Gale’s lip curled in disgust "Ah yes, the Drow philosophy on the ways of the world, why was I even surprised you attacked without a second thought. I disagree with what we have wrought here this day."
"Good for you." Replied Nika, before walking past him to the wooden doors. "Astarion, could you pick this lock do you think?"
Astarion smirked and gave her a sarcastic salute, before pulling out a lockpicking kit and crouching in the doorway to work.
"So that’s it? You aren’t even going to listen to our opinions on the matter?" Gale continued, much to Nika’s annoyance.
Nika sighed. "I don’t much care for your opinions. We have Illithid tadpoles in our heads. We need to get rid of them. A healer is unlikely to work for free. So, unless you wizards have a multitude of well concealed pockets full of gold in those stuffy robes of yours... then we need stuff to sell. The kind of stuff that might be found in an old ruin."
As if to punctuate her point, the lock clicked. She didn’t wait for any more of his inane responses and simply pushed the doors open, Astarion following close behind.
Inside the ruins appeared deserted. The group spread out and began to search chests and barrels for anything of value. Nika could hear Gale muttering angrily under his breath. No doubt prattling on about his inane morality. Whatever Nika’s upbringing was, it appeared it had left her unburdened by trifles like morals and petty sentiment. She could only assume that she had grown up in the Underdark. Life there was harsh and unforgiving; going out of one’s way to help others for no personal gain was unheard of, and a quick way to die. That made her pause and consider; which god or goddess did she worship? Surely it must be Lolth? The spider-queen’s matriarchal society might explain why she had been so quick to bristle at Gale’s tone earlier. Well, she wouldn’t know for sure until she retrieved her memories - if that was even possible. Lolth seemed the best guess until then. She realised praying hadn't even occurred to her since she had awoken on that beach. She felt a strange detachment when she imagined praying to the Queen of Spiders. She supposed it was hard to offer up prayer in the name of a doctrine you can't remember.
Rummaging in a barrel her hand closed around a coin purse. She smiled triumphantly, throwing it onto the pile of other trinkets the group had found. It was then that she noticed a hand mirror sat upon a nearby table. She approached slowly, taking the object in unsteady hands, and holding up to her face. It was a curious sensation to suddenly know oneself after having no concept of her appearance at all. She was certainly striking. Dusky grey-blue skin contrasted with her white hair that fell around high cheekbones. A pitch-black tattoo covered her entire neck in darkness which formed into flames that licked up the edges of her jaw, one black flame even bisected her lower lip. But her eyes were what captured her, silver irises formed a solitary halo between black sclera and pupil. She frowned at a long, angry-looking scar that ran from the edge of her mouth up along her cheek, along her temple and disappeared into her hairline - was that injury the cause of her memory loss?
She sensed the others making ready to move on and hurriedly tucked the mirror into her pack, not wanting to be caught preening in the looking glass. They divided up the coins, silver cups, petty jewellery, and food they had found amongst themselves to spread the weight and continued into the next room. There were a large set of double doors, she caught Astarion’s gaze and jerked her head towards the door.
"Such a hard task master aren’t you?" he murmured quietly as he brushed past her, just slightly too close to be considered proper. She frowned, pushing down the small thrill of excitement it elicited from her.
A short while later, the lock clicked, and they entered the room. The air was thick with dust, and a musty smell permeated the air. It was clear this room had not been disturbed in many years. The only light source were narrow shafts of light passing through cracks in the ceiling, making it impossible for the human in their group to see. As they progressed further into the room Gale stumbled and bumped into things, cursing quietly under his breath. Nika grinned to herself in the darkness. Any source of frustration to the irritating wizard was a source of amusement to her.
"Right, that’s it I’m making light" Gale huffed, casting dancing lights nearby.
The spell illuminated sarcophagi lining the edges of the room, weathered stones cracked with ivy made up the walls. Suddenly there was a yelp from the wizard.
"Sorry..." he whispered sheepishly, "it’s just a skeleton."
Nika rolled her eyes and began to descend some steps into the centre of the room. A sinister statue rose from the darkness.
"That’s Jergal, the scribe of the dead. I didn’t think anyone still worshipped him" Shadowheart sounded surprised as she eyed the statue looming over them.
"There is another smaller room behind the statue, but I cannot see any door," said Gale.
"There must be a switch or lever somewhere," Shadowheart replied.
Slowly she and Gale made their way around the walls of the hidden chamber lighting their way and inspecting the stones. Gale hesitantly pushed a button that had been disguised to look like one of the stones in the chamber wall. Ancient stones rumbled and screeched as part of the wall rolled aside. Before they could take so much as a step, a screech rang out across the room.
"Well, shit," muttered Gale.
The previously inert skeleton that had startled Gale earlier was now shambling toward them, sword raised; along with five others. Lae’zel leapt forward to meet the first, her battle cry echoing off the walls of the chamber. Nika called forth the shadows, they swirled around her as she teleported to the upper walkway to gain a better view. Her eyes narrowed as she surveyed the unfolding fight. She saw Gale stood hands crackling with lightning, but with no idea where to cast it in the darkness, all their previous light spells had expired. Nika cast faerie fire and purple light flooded the room. Gale called out a cheery thank you before unleashing the witch bolt at a second skeleton that was shuffling across the room. Astarion, Nika noted, had climbed up beside her to the upper walkway. He knocked his bow and began to fire rapidly, occasionally knocking bony limbs off their undead adversaries. Nika summoned ice, freezing one of the undead solid, giving Shadowheart an opening to shatter it to pieces with a heavy blow from her mace. Lae’zel had made quick work of the first skeleton and was in the process of dismembering a second with clinical efficiency. The remaining two skeletons had closed in on Shadowheart and she was fending them off with her shield. Unfortunately, Shadowheart’s body was in between Nika and Astarion and their foes.
"Drat. No clean shot" Astarion muttered.
"Here, take my hand," Nika replied, extending a hand partially concealed with twisting shadows. Astarion took it without hesitation. Shadows travelled up his wrist as she teleported them both across the room, behind the skeletons.
"My, my, now that is handy" Astarion exclaimed, he smirked at her, walking backwards as he unsheathed his daggers. With otherworldly grace, he spun around and decapitated the first skeleton, before spinning low and sweeping the legs out from the second. A moment later Shadowheart’s mace descended on its skull with a crunch.
They sighed collectively in relief, sheathing their weapons. Cautiously, they entered through the opening in the wall that they had revealed; to find themselves in a pitch-black room. Nika cast faerie fire again, and the room was lit in a soft violet glow. A larger, more ornate sarcophagus sat on a platform. Lae’zel strode forward and heaved the lid off with a grunt of effort.
The sense of immensely powerful magic washed over Nika, she knew that Gale could feel it too. A figure rose into the air from within the sarcophagus. It floated forward into the light, revealing itself to be a wizened skeletal like man dressed in robes and golden ornaments. Gnarled pale skin stretched over its skull, and it regarded them calmly with two blue eyes. Unlike the undead in the main room, this skeleton seemed to have no plan to attack them.
"So, he has spoken, and so thou standest before me. Right as always." The creature spoke in a surprisingly normal voice, "What a curious way to awaken." He continued, peering around. He eyed Nika, who was standing at the front of the group.