Down under the feet of the common citizens of Urmlaspyr, the cavern of assassins and rogues commonly referred to as House Darkness was hissing with the energy of a long fuse just lit. In her office and private room, the sinewy dark Elf whose clear, pale red eyes normally caught every detail was scrambling to find a small scrap of paper.
"Perhaps it's...argh, ssussun. Well, he'll get it."
There's a letter in that pile that you'll want to get your hands on before you leave.
Bahlzair slowly turned his body away from the small stack of papers that the Drow woman accidentally knocked over, feigning as though he hadn't seen it fall. Instead, he turned careful attention to a sticky spot where she may have previously dropped mead or some sweet confection. In just two days, he'd learned that this female, Nedstra, kept everything she touched, had a furious sweet tooth- and was absent-mindedly filthy.
She also appeared not to have previously realized the value of having a spare male around- Bahlzair was the only one of his kind in the entire den. So even though she'd originally commanded him to be taken down to the potions master- an older Drow who squawked at having to work with a slave- he was instead scrubbing out her sticky, half-rancid office and living space with a filthy rag. When he'd first been awakened by a swift kick to the ribs, he had taken the time to braid up his hair so that it hung in one long strap- and after forcing him to strip absolutely naked, Nedstra often took the opportunity to yank it as though it were a bell pull when she wanted his attention. All in all, it was more tolerable than a snake-headed whip, which Bahlzair figured she did not have.
This was the third time she'd done it. Bahlzair sat up without any physical indication of his annoyance and turned an emotionless gaze over his shoulder at Nedstra, who had crossed her arms over her chest.
Watch the master work, Shadowfire.
"Have you seen- you know, why is this so long, anyhow? What are you, a follower of Eilistraee?" Nedstra demanded. Bahlzair couldn't tell whether she was genuinely annoyed at this possibility or simply upset that she could not find whatever scrap of paper or trinket she was really looking for.
"It was cut twice in my eighty years," Bahlzair signed back, noting with some annoyance that his hands now smelled like the moldy rag he'd been using. "But that is not because I believe in Eilistraee."
Don't worry- that's what Imylshalee is for.
"I'll have Imylshalee look to it," Nedstra spat back. "Meanwhile, tell me if you come across a statement of- ssussun, slaves don't read- nevermind, get back to work."
Bahlzair looked back down to the ground, catching a familiar presence with the edge of his peripheral vision. He didn't need to look back up to confirm what he'd seen- one remembers feet with six clawed toes relatively easily.
Is it over here? Check and see if you put it near that glass-
And predictably, down went the wine glass, shattering to the floor, its crimson contents throwing themselves across a few of the previously dropped papers. It took Bahlzair a supreme amount of self control to keep himself from sighing.
Here comes that old windbag- probably to remind you of your duty to the Il'haress. Again.
With footfalls thunderous enough to shake the platforms beneath her, the squat and hefty priestess of Lloth made her way up to the room, nearly tripping over Bahlzair in her effort to get to Nedstra, who had begun to fret with a bookcase full of clutter next to her sleeping cot. Imylshalee, who stepped with a much more athletic tread, only made her presence known with a brief vocalization of her haste. Bahlzair found himself wondering what she looked like while recovering, and grit his teeth instantly.
You don't have to destroy everything you like, Shadowfire. Watch me.
A ebony-black finger jutted itself in Bahlzair's direction at once. "Why wasn't that male brought to me when he arrived? Why did I have to find out through a hideous nightmare that his presence is displeasing to Lloth? Would you like to have us all cut off from Her guidance again?" the substantial Drow huffed. While part of her tone was really due to her anger, Bahlzair believed that most of it was probably the result of her charging up from her place near Lloth's shrine up to Nedstra's room.
Nedstra straightened up and turned to bow slightly to the priestess with thinly masked annoyance. "Is there anything I can do to help you, Yathrin?"
Look at that pitiful incline of her head- as though she were in her mother's place!
"You could start by paying proper respect," the priestess immediately retorted. Bahlzair turned his body again on purpose- for a creature that was supposed to be attuned only to the words of Lloth, the old codger did a wonderful job of picking right up on the promptings of someone who was most certainly not even the Spider Goddess's ally.
"Of course, Yathrin," Nedstra replied with a bow from her waist, mildly confused. Velryne rarely spoke up about proper etiquette, since they had been cast so far from the watchful eyes of other noble Drow that keeping it up was almost a mockery. Nedstra chalked the sudden requirement to Imylshalee's presence, since she wasn't from House Dhuurniv, and may be baffled by the apparent lack of protocol and etiquette.
"And, know that this male's presence is a disruption that must be immediately remedied," Velryne concluded. "As I said, I received a most grotesque nightmare- it would be impolite to describe it- won't he at least stand up and bow?"
"He's deaf-mute," Nedstra explained with a touch of embarrassment, as though Bahlzair's utterly false disability had somehow really been her fault. "He's a slave, but he has to look at you, or he won't know that you're even talking to him, let alone what you're saying. Let me get his attention-"
Will she want him to bring her food and drink too, as though she'd walked across the Underdark to get to you?
Nevertheless, Bahlzair received the expected yank to his braid, and sat up. When Nedstra simply nodded her head toward the priestess behind him, Bahlzair turned all the way around with a practiced stupidity that was nearly comical for him, bolted to his feet at once, then took a knee again to bow deeply.
"Much more than he did for Imylshalee, or for me, at first," Nedstra nodded. "Must have been on his own on the surface for some time. But a few good blows, and he miraculously remembered his place."
These miserable Dhuurniv bitches are getting off topic. Again.
"Oughtn't we send him on to the new Greycastle woman as soon as possible, Yathrin?" Imylshalee gently suggested, still standing some steps behind the priestess, as was respectfully required.
"Yes, thank you," Velryne replied, raising an eyebrow at the young Drow female behind her. "Greycastle's pet did send for this male specifically, and now that we have him, it's best we send him on to her. He'll do us not a bit of good, I'm sure of it."
It's a plot. Imylshalee is trying to twist Velryne around her finger, manipulating this dream of hers into a reason to override your position.
"What sort of dream was this, Yathrin? Are you quite sure it was this male you saw? Other than how he survived in the first place, slave or not, I don't see how he is an affront to Lloth's desires." Nedstra crossed over to her desk, waving her arm at Bahlzair so that he would get up out of the bow and go back to work. Bahlzair made sure to start right near to the desk, where the stack of papers had fallen before.
And above him, his arms planted in a classically self-satisfied manner on his hips, stood a deep blue-black skinned, six horned creature whose mysterious smirk could only be accurately described as demonic.
Fourth from the top, Shadowfire. Leave me a bit of blood on that glass.
"I'm certain of this- Lloth is most displeased by his presence. There was a pool of blood, and a babe brought up through it by a hand with six fingers-"
Brought on by too much mushroom wine and an overstuffed belly- as most of her 'visions' are.
Bahlzair, taking advantage of the priestess's gory description of Lloth's relatively over-dramatic warning, got about the business of drying the spilled wine off the scattered papers. No one noticed when a small sealed note was folded within the nasty rag.
"-and the knife trembled, then burst into flame. It's the very knife Imylshalee showed me, I swear it. I'd know those runes anywhere. The thing's doubly cursed, and we cannot have him in this place without drawing the Most Glorious Goddess's fiercest wrath."
Be sensible. Imylshalee is young, and the Yathrin is prone to liquor-soaked flights of spiritual fancy, but you have got to be the one with her feet on the solid ground- the one to make the tough decisions.
"I will take this under strong consideration," Nedstra nodded quietly. "Certainly your vision isn't to be ignored. Know this- the Greycastle's woman seems to have heard of a grand attack on the Stingers, and her latest letter- you should have seen the messenger, Imylshalee- now calls us to take their place. I don't know why she's acting as though the entire gang was wiped out while we slept, but the fact is that she doesn't intend to send us any more supplies- we're supposed to forage, as they did, to survive, while sending her the best of whatever we claim. If she wants this male so badly, she should have to pay for him, do you see?"
Suspicious. Nedstra may be just making this up to keep her new slave about her- her mother's fears of abomination would be allayed, but it won't do to replace that with insubordination.
"That's interesting," Velryne replied quietly, folding her hands in front of her like a patient first year wizardry student. "Esvele was a powerful wizard, and her protege is of course more than some petty mage, but it may be best to check on the Stingers. They are fierce, famously sadistic, and thus, unchallenged. There's no use making demands when our aid is worth less than we think."
Ssussun, what use is this male to anyone? Look at the glass he's bumbling around, as if he could do anything better than bleed all over the office.
Imylshalee frowned and repressed the impulse for a few moments, but eventually caved to the temptation and cut behind the two female Drow to get at the glass that Bahlzair was sweeping up with his bare hands a little less than cautiously. "Excuse me, I'm just concerned- get away from that glass near those papers, male. You'll get blood all over the mistress's correspondence if you keep this up. Oh, Nedstra- hadn't you told me that you would send me with this bill and the poison to the Phoenix last night?"
She disturbs your male and calls your name? Impertinence now, insubordination tomorrow.
"That'll be quite enough, elg'caress," Nedstra said with a polite tone that somehow rendered her curse all the more biting. "You should leave the cleaning to the male."
"What would you do, mistress," Imylshalee replied just as politely, turning her head slightly to look up at Nedstra with a smile, "if I threw these bits of glass in your eyes?"
"What would you do, dajjin'sl, if I forced you to swallow your blade?" the priestess replied with narrowed eyes. "I'm the best mage you'll ever know, and she who you just tried to scare is the assassin of assassins. Get up and let the male do his work. So long as he is here- and I do hope for our sake that it is not much longer- he had better be useful."
Imylshalee stood, allowing the glass to fall back to the floor, but took a very slight breath that indicated to Bahlzair that she had managed to cut herself.
Behold, Shadowfire. Get to work with that letter before she realizes that it's gone- and that you can read and write perfectly well.
Bahlzair finished sweeping up the glass and stood facing the three Drow women, who were busy staring polite little holes into each other. Beyond them stood Graz'zt's image, holding a gleaming web-thin silver strand that connected all three females to his six-fingered hand, which he held playfully aloft like a gleeful puppeteer.
What do you think, Shadowfire? I'll put their heads on a ring and tell Lloth to marry me. She'd refuse- I'm more beautiful than she, and there's no plot or lie she can weave that I don't pull tighter. Without shunting goo out of my ass, too- that's a definite cosmetic plus.
And Bahlzair's face at last echoed the faintest hint of that demonic smirk.
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