The Long Road Home

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Nilan
Sojourner
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Joined: Fri Feb 02, 2001 6:01 am

The Long Road Home

Postby Nilan » Sun Apr 26, 2020 11:40 pm

Hi Guys,

This tale takes place after the story entitled "A Matter of Honor".

Enjoy guys,

Nilan

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Nilan pulled his shadowed cloak tightly around his lithe form to shield himself from the bitter cold winds that were ever present north of Waterdeep this time of the year. The drow had left the darkened cave close to fifteen nights ago, carefully making his way past the ferry guardsmen and the Harper patrols. Uncertain, if news would have reached the Harpers of the multiple deaths of the elves of Shevarash or of the dark elf they pursued, Nilan called upon the shadows of Vhaeraun for his protection to keep him safe. Though the assassin had recovered from most of the grievous wounds inflicted upon him by the cruel surface elves hunting him, he had no desire for an encounter with a Harper patrol in his weakened state.

A growing pain in his chest caused the drow to wince suddenly, his free hand instinctively covering his heart. Grimacing, Nilan quickened his pace, he knew he had to find shelter soon. “Shadow” vibrated eerily in his right hand, its humming resembling a soft whisper that only its master could understand. “I know,” Nilan stoically responded, “I sense it too, like we are being watched….I can’t explain it.” Pulling his cloak once again tightly around him, Nilan cautiously made his way towards the fog enshrouded forest he was all to familiar with.

An old abandoned hunter’s cabin set deep within the shadows was a place the drow had used on several occasions. The only denizens of this place were the packs of wolves that roamed freely. No humans or elves ever ventured here anymore. The assassin felt safe and it was a place he could wait out the coming daylight hours that were fast approaching. Nilan’s crimson eyes narrowed slightly focusing on the run down wooden structure in the distance. The drow approached cautiously, careful to notice any dangers before making his way toward the ruined cabin. “Shadow” suddenly flashed a warning and the drow dropped to his knees gasping in muffled groan of pain, his hand clutching at his skin covering his heart. Slowly, the assassin allowed his breathing to steady and as the pain began to subside he removed his hand from his chest. Blood flecked the tips of his gloved fingers, and Nilan gently peeled back his leather armor.

The wicked brand that the Lolth priestess Itasha had burned into his flesh was the source of his pain. In demanding his vow of servitude to her and her House, the priestess had tortured him mercilessly for Lolth’s delight as much as her own. The Vhaeraunite, in excruciating agony, had uttered the words the Lolthite had desired that day. Priestess Itasha, so filled with the Spider Queen’s favor, called upon her cruel goddess, to seal the vow in binding magic. Wincing, Nilan recalled the words the priestess had spoken as she straddled his bound form just before tearing the branding iron from his chest. “I ask you my Queen to bear witness to the words of he who makes this vow. May She witness your vow, and curse you if you do not follow it,” Itasha had whispered in chilling tones before gracefully climbing off the altar to finally allow him the mercy of unconsciousness.

Nilan raised his gaze and slowly rose to his feet. Grimacing, he made his way toward the dilapidated entrance of the hunting cabin. The rotten wooden door barely hung in place by its rusted hinges. Nilan cautiously entered the structure and leaned heavily against the wooden wall gathering his strength. Removing his dark cloak, the drow spread it out before him and reverently fell to his knees softly murmuring the word of a prayer to his god, Vhaeraun. Closing his eyes, he raised “Shadow” to the Night Sky whispering in the shadows before lowering the sentient blade as the shadows swirled about him. Faster and faster, shadows engulfed him until a blanket of darkness descended and coalesced before him.

“Shadow” pulsed in his hand sending a tingling sensation coursing through his right wrist. Nilan respectfully held his kneeling position and reverently lowered his gaze as the darkened shadows took form before him. “Velg’larn….my Chosen….you grow reckless…”, boomed a voice that seemed to resonate from the shadows surrounding him. “Entangled in the webs of Menzoberranzan, hunted by surface elves of Shevarash,” the dark shadows coldly paused to allow each word to sink in before continuing. “You may thank the dwarven paladin for more than your life, but for what is left of your dark soul,” growled the disembodied voice.

Nilan, eyes downcast, merely remained on his knees. “Arise, assassin,” Vhaeraun coldly commanded and watched as his Chosen slowly but confidently rose to his feet, his crimson eyes flashing suddenly daring to meet his God’s piercing gaze. “My Lord,” Nilan whispered, “I bring ne…”

Shadows swirled around him suddenly and though he never saw the blow he felt the wicked backhand tear into the side of his face sending him sprawling heavily into the wooden wall, the air driven from his lungs. Struggling for breath, Nilan gasped as a shadowed hand grabbed his shoulder hoisting him to his feet. “You have allowed, my bitch of a mother to sully what is mine.” Blood flecked his lips and Nilan dared to look upon his God, as the cold voice continued to berate him. “Do you not recall my words to you, my Chosen?”

Nilan nodded as the shadows surrounding him eerily whispered, once again, the words spoken to him in the temple after his torture at the hands of Lolth’s priestess. “Do not give Her a reason to look into your soul, Hand of Vhaeraun. For if She does, She will know who and what you are, and death will seem like a blessing compared to the agonies She will inflict upon you. You will not like serving as a drider in Her army. You will beg for death, but it will not come!”

Nilan shuddered in the grasp of the Shadowed God, “I…I remember the words, my Lord.”

“Do not forget them,” the cold voice whispered. Suddenly, Vhaeraun, released his grip and the drow sank to his knees before him. A horde of living shadows immediately engulfed him. Writhing in agony, Nilan clutched at his chest as shadows bore into the burnt flesh infusing him with searing pain. As the shadows slowly diminished, so too did his screams and Nilan lay gasping painfully on the dusty wooden floor of the abandoned cabin. “Shadow” pulsed in his hand and Nilan felt his strength gradually returning. A cold voice whispered, “You are mine, Velg’larn, do not let Her touch you again. Walk my path, cleanse your people.”

Gingerly returning to his knees, Nilan gripped “Shadow” tightly raising the blade to the Night Sky whispering, “Vhaeraun, Usstan tlun dossta, kyorl ussta quortek, mrigg ussta velve.” Wiping the blood from his lips, Nilan continued his meditations in silence, the pain in his chest was gone and for the moment the drow realized that he was free from Lolth’s touch. Finishing his prayer, the assassin gathered his cloak and leaned against the wall of the old cabin. Closing his eyes, he allowed his weary body the much needed rest it so craved.


*********************

The brisk wind blew against the rotten cabin door cause the hinges to creek. Nilan stirred lightly and rolled onto his back slowly opening his eyes gazing up at the dilapidated ceiling. Unsure of how long he had slept, the assassin slowly rose to a seated position and gazed about the room. His right hand lightly touched the scarred and burnt flesh surrounding the horrid brand above his heart. Though his chest no longer bled, the bruises that had formed caused him to wince at his touch. Nilan pulled his tunic over his head and quickly fastened his armor. Rising to his feet the drow gathered his belongings in preparation of continuing his journey southward, to his homeland of Dobluth Kyor. “Shadow” whispered softly as his fingers lightly caressed the pommel of the sentient blade.

Nilan pushed open the door and stepped out into the cool brisk air. Though darkness enveloped the forest, the light of the moon pierced though the tree branches. The drow smiled inwardly pulling the dark cloak over his lean shoulders before heading southward. Wolves howled in the distance but were of little threat to the assassin, who silently made his way through the shadowed tree cover. The vast human City of Waterdeep lay several miles to the south and though Nilan was not welcome there, he knew the city as well as any human, having had several shady dealings with the darker inhabitants who dwelled within. Still the drow pressed onward, careful to keep to the shadows hoping to avoid any encounters along the way.

Several hours into the night passed and Nilan caught a glimpse of the flicker of flame and the smell of food coming from a small campsite up ahead. Nilan cautiously crept closer, his right hand closing tightly over the pommel of the sentient blade sheathed at his waist. The hoot of an owl pierced the silence of the night but otherwise the forest was quiet. The drow crept closer and stopped suddenly in his tracks as a raccoon scurried across the path directly in front of him. Sighing in relief he scanned the area slowly pulling “Shadow” from its sheathe. The sound of the blade scraping against leather was the only sound heard aside from the woodland creatures in the immediately area. Slowly the drow crept toward the flickering flame ahead. As he silently approached, Nilan made out a bed roll and some backpacks strewn about a huge wooden log. His keen eyes fell upon a figure seated upon the log. The drow gazed about the area, confident that the person, whoever or whatever, it was, was in fact quite alone. Nilan crept closer, dagger in hand, keeping to the shadows the drow was within some fifty paces of the cloaked figure. The creature remained seated, with his back toward the drow, seemingly unaware that death silently approached.

Nilan cautiously dared to move closer, keeping himself as concealed as he could in the forest brush surrounding the campfire. “Shadow” vibrated eerily in his grasp, eager for its master to make the kill. The blade was hungry, it had not tasted blood since the incident with the hunters of Shevarash. Nilan whispered softly to the blade momentarily silencing it and took a step closer to his quarry.

“You can step out of the shadows and into the light of campfire,” came a sudden voice, startling the assassin and stopping him dead in his tracks. The voice was stern and spoke the common tongue. Nilan held his position scanning the area for any movement of other men nearby.

The cloaked figure slowly rose to his feet and turned in the direction of the assassin. “You can step out of the shadows, we are….quite alone here I assure you.” Nilan remained motionless gazing at the cloaked figure, who stood but twenty paces in front of him. The man was tall, towering over the drow, strong hands gripping a wooden staff. Nilan watched as an owl gracefully landed upon the wooden log next to the imposing figure. Slowly the man lowered his hood revealing shaggy brown shoulder length hair and a bearded face. Nilan remained in the shadows focusing on the human before him. The man made no threats toward him, but the assassin was wary and held his ground making no attempts to move toward the figure. “We are alone,” the man spoke again, this time resting both hands upon the wooden staff and peering intently in the area where the drow stood. “Come out of the shadows, my friends assure me that you are also….quite alone.” With that the human nodded at the owl, who ruffled its feathers and gave a soft hoot.

Nilan pulled his hood forward concealing his heritage and cautiously took a step out of the shadows and into the soft flickering light of the campfire. Squinting, the drow allowed his eyes eyes to adjust to the flames illuminating the area. Nilan’s cold gaze fell once again upon the towering human before him, confident that he could silence the man before he ever finished an incantation of a spell if such was his intent. “You are a druid,” the drow whispered in accented common.

“You are correct,” the man replied. “But your accent, I have not heard before. Tell me, where are you from?” The druid held his position and gazed at the darkened dagger, held defensively in the grasp of the hooded figure. Nilan slowly lowered his hood revealing his ebon skin and stark white hair. His crimson eyes bore into the man who suddenly took a step back but made no attempts to attack.

“Drow,” the human stammered yet seemed to gather his courage before speaking further. Taking a step back toward the wooden log, the human took a seat holding the staff in his right hand before continuing, “I can’t say I have ever seen a drow before, but you…you have seen a druid before, or so it would seem.”

Nilan cautiously watched the druid, pulling his dark cloak around his lithe form as a cold gust of wind blew through the area. Nilan said nothing but continued to listen to the man as he continued. “Sit…. the night is cold, warm yourself by my fire, I mean you no harm…in fact I am at your mercy, for I know you can kill me should you so desire….but I think if you wanted to do so, I would have been dead the moment we faced each other, no?”

Narrowing his eyes, Nilan took a step toward the druid and the campfire, dagger in hand nervously scanning the area for any signs of deception or trickery. The human merely watched him but gave no indication of any attack. Gazing at the drow’s blood stained armor, the man nodded adding, “You have seen recent combat?”

Nilan only ran his fingers over the dried blood that flecked his chainmail and tunic, the blood was his own, but he nodded in the man’s direction, taking another step closer to the warmth of the fire. “Sit,” the druid said again.

Cautiously the assassin took a seat opposite the human on a large stone rock. The druid lowered his staff and shook his head, brown locks falling about his shoulders. “The name is Darwellyn, and you are?”

The drow slowly sheathed “Shadow” and whispered softly, “Nilan.” He held the druid’s gaze intently at first and then slowly focused on the metal pot hanging over the campfire. The druid suddenly chuckled and said, “Its a stew of my own making, take some if you are hungry. There is plenty.”

Nilan looked up at the druid and then back toward the fire. In truth, he couldn’t recall the last time he ate anything of sustenance. “Take some,” the human urged once again. Nilan cautiously approached the campfire, retrieving a metal cup from a log next to it. Keeping an eye on the human, the drow scooped a cup of the stew from the cooking pot. Stepping backward, he returned once again to the large stone rock and took a seat. The smell of the stew was enticing and the drow cautiously dipped a finger into the bowl and lightly took a small but cautious taste. The human chuckled once again, “I might have added too many spices but it is not poison, I assure you.” The assassin took a sip and then gazed back up at the druid. The stew tasted particularly good and Nilan quickly ate what was left in the metal cup before dropping it on the ground at his feet.

“Well Nilan, what brings you this far north and on the surface no less.” the druid paused suddenly as the drow’s crimson eyes flashed and bore into him. “Meaning no offense, of course, but the tales I have heard tell me you are far from your homeland of Menzoberranzan and the Underdark.”

Nilan glared at the human, “I am not from Menzoberranzan,” he spat in obvious disgust.”Nor am I from the Underdark. My home is on the surface, drow lands are on the surface” He looked away, not wanting to say more.

The druid only watched him in silence. After some time Nilan gazed back at the human. “I … I am just trying to get home.”

Darwellyn nodded looking once again at the assassin’s bloodstained armor. Dried blood smeared the drow’s side above his hip and the leather of his leggings was ripped and torn at the thigh resembling several arrow punctures. “Looks like you ran into some trouble on the way,” the druid paused and Nilan lowed his gaze momentarily. “The leather pouch on the ground next to you contains some healing salves of my own making. You are welcome to take them. It would seem that you might have need of them on your journey home.”

Nilan eyed the druid suspiciously but reached down to take the pouch. Gingerly he opened it and pulled out one of the small metal containers. Unscrewing the cap the dark elf saw that the jar contained a milky white ointment that smelled of herbs. Thoughts flooded the drow’s mind as he recalled his beautiful moonelf wife Deshana. They had married in secret due to the war and hatred between the two races. A druidess, herself, Deshana often tended to his wounds and supplied him with healing salves of her own making. It had been years since the drow had seen his beautiful wife. His infiltration as a spy in Menzoberranzan had demanded it. Not only for his own safety, but for hers as well.

The human watched the drow closely as he continued to rummage through the small leather pouch. “Take them,” he said again, and Nilan looked up suddenly and nodded toward him before tying the pouch to his waist belt. “So…the trouble you ran into on the road,” the druid continued, “was it bandits? I heard tale that there has been increased bandit activity, north of the City of Splendors.”

Several moments passed before the drow replied stoically, “Surface elves.” Nilan’s crimson eyes slowly met the druid’s concerned look but he said nothing more. Slowly the assassin rose to his feet and backed away from the fire. Pulling the hood of his cloak over his stark white hair the assassin slowly retreated into the shadows.

Darwellyn watched the drow intently, the dark elf’s lithe form expertly blending into the shadows that clustered about the forest floor. The druid leaned heavily on his staff, breathing a sigh of relief as he watched the drow disappear into the darkness altogether.

**********************

Several hours had passed uneventfully before Nilan found himself crouching in a thick copse of trees before the great human city of Waterdeep. It was a place the drow knew well, having infiltrated Kang’s guild of cutthroats for the glory of what was once House Al’Shadrazaar. But that was a long time ago. Years had passed, his once proud house destroyed and was now nothing more than a pile of rubble in Menzoberranzan. Nilan had escaped with his life that day, fleeing Lolth’s City of Spiders and making his way to the surface. Casting aside the chaos of the Spider Queen, Nilan embraced the shadows and bound himself to Vhaeraun.

A strong gust of wind blew through the trees, and Nilan pulled his cloak tightly around him in an effort to shield himself from the cold. Shivering involuntarily, the drow rose to his feet padded softly toward the west gate of the city. Of all the gates, the assassin recalled that the west gate was the least guarded and bordered along the docks and seaport. Nilan grimaced, hoping that was still the case as he moved in quickly pressing his back against the cold rough stone. Silently, the drow crept along the rocky wall expertly flitting in and out of the flickering torch light coming from sconces set high on the upper catwalk.

Nilan could see the huge metal gates in the distance. Ultravision allowed the drow to make out the heat outlines of several figures. Sighing heavily, the dark elf noted that the gate appeared to be more heavily guarded than from the days of his past. Gazing upward, he squinted at the flickering light cast from the torches, and was relieved to note there was no movement coming from the catwalk above him. Patiently he waited, his gaze shifting from the catwalk to the huge western gate. Though the gate guards appeared to come and go, the catwalk above him appeared to remain free of traffic from the guards patrolling the city. Nilan gazed up into the night sky. From the position of the moon, he estimated he had a few hours before daybreak. Enough time, he reasoned, to make it through the city, assuming he was able to avoid any trouble.

Pulling the hood over his head, Nilan whispered softly touching the insignia fastened to his cloak. Slowly and silently, the drow levitated upward along the high stone wall before lightly dropping onto the catwalk inside the gates of Waterdeep. Crimson eyes scanned the area for signs of movement. Seeing none, Nilan deftly ran along the metal catwalk seeking the poorer and more seedier parts of the City of Splendors.

As the drow neared a junction in his path, he heard voices up ahead. From what little he was able to discern, the dark elf detected the harsh hardened sounding accents revealing them as humans. Nilan crept closer watching the pair as they appeared deep in conversation. Patiently he waited, hoping the two would leave the area so he could continue southward. Eventually the humans sauntered down the metal stairs onto the roadways below. Nilan pulled his hood and cloak tightly around him to conceal his heritage before once again making his way along the catwalk above the bustling city.

Making his way further along the catwalk toward the center of the city, the assassin spotted two figures up ahead. Both wore tattered leathers and one brandished a stiletto in his right hand. Nilan stopped suddenly, his hood pulled over his head low enough to conceal his features. The two men took a step towards him blocking the pathway. The man with the stiletto grinned, eyeing the hooded figure with amusement. “Ya’d do well, ta toss that coin pouch ‘ere and we might not rough ya up to bad…..aint that right?” he sneered at his companion who snickered in agreement.

Nilan held his position and made no movement to dislodge the leather pouch tied to his waist belt. “Kill them, kill them both,” whispered the sentient blade as it vibrated in its sheathe. The drow felt the power of the dagger and its insatiable desire to feed on fresh blood.

“Are ya deaf or just stupid,” mocked the thug brandishing the stiletto. The other rogue pulled out a long metal chain and sneered as he twirled it twice over in this hand before whipping it out to crack against the metal walkway. Nilan eyed the chain noting the various barbs embedded in the metal rungs ending in what resembled a vicious looking meat hook. Both men advanced toward him and Nilan, slowly pulled “Shadow” from its sheathe. The sentient blade sent a sharp tingling sensation coursing through the drow’s right arm, infusing him with the desire to make the kill.

The rogues simultaneously moved toward him, but Nilan closed the distance twice as fast as the thug brandishing the stiletto and before the slash had even come close to striking him, the drow mercilessly drove “Shadow” through the man throat. Blood spurted from the gruesome wound and Nilan pushed the dying man aside as his companion lashed out at him, the chain barely missing his twisting body. Nilan staggered back, but off balance he was unable to avoid the second lash. The wicked hook wrapped around bitting painfully into his left ankle, and a quick jerk of the chain sent the drow sprawling heavily on his back. Nilan groaned trying to regain his footing, but the rogue pulled back on the chain causing the barbed spikes to tear into his leg. Gasping in pain, the drow reached toward his ankle trying desperately to dislodge the hook from his boot, but the thug instinctively again pulled back forcefully on the chain, dragging the ensnared drow toward him along the metal catwalk.

Nilan managed to grab hold of the chain with his left hand. Grimacing painfully as the barbed spikes bit deeper into his leg he shook the hood of his cloak free revealing ebon skin, stark white hair and crimson eyes that bore into the thug’s very soul. Gasping, the human froze in fear, coming face to face with the drow. The bold move served its purpose and with lightening speed, Nilan hurled the sentient blade toward its stunned target. “Shadow” thudded into the thug’s chest, piercing his heart, killing him instantly. The man was dead before he hit the ground.

Nilan pulled the vicious hook from his boot and slowly peeled the barbed spikes free of his torn leg. Wincing painfully, the drow staggered to his feet, pulling the hood over his head to once again hide his heritage. The spiked barbs left painful lacerations and Nilan gingerly limped toward the dead body of the human. Grimacing he tore “Shadow” from the dead man’s chest and staggered slowly along the empty catwalk trying to distance himself from the bodies that would soon be discovered.

Nilan made his way along the catwalk as quietly as he could. His hood pulled over his head and his cloak wrapped tightly about him, he cautiously gazed over the edge trying to gauge where he was in the city. From the looks of the dilapidated buildings below, the assassin realized that he was in the southern and poorer section. Grimacing, Nilan moved closer to the edge of the catwalk and whispered softly as he slowly levitated up and over the metal railing before lightly touching his boots to the ground below. The dank alleyways below the catwalk were devoid of any activity and the drow winced painfully as he quickened his pace to find shelter. Warm blood trickled down his lower left leg from the lacerations caused by the barbed chain whip the rogue had wielded. Nilan rounded a corner deeper into the heart of southern Waterdeep and came upon several abandoned cabins in ill repair. The assassin cautiously approached a rotten wooden door hanging somewhat open and peered inside. Seeing no signs of any inhabitants, Nilan entered, closing the door behind him. The room was dark, but the drow’s ultravision allowed him to see without much difficulty. Once he was assured that he was alone, the drow lowered his hood and removed his cloak. Taking a seat on the dusty floor, Nilan gently loosened the leather ties on his left boot and grimaced suddenly as he pulled the boot free. Unfastening his leggings, Nilan peeled them away from the multiple cuts covering his ankle and shin. Inspecting the wounds, the drow noted that only a few of them were deep while most were superficial. Rummaging through the pouch the druid had given him, Nilan retrieved the small metal jar and some wraps. The assassin unscrewed the cap and dipped his ebon fingers into the ointment. The salve felt cool to the touch and after smearing a good amount on the more serious lacerations, the drow tightly wrapped a bandage around his lower leg. Wincing slightly, Nilan refastened the straps to his leggings and gingerly slipped his foot into the boot.

Nilan let out a sigh of relief and leaned back against the wall. It would be daylight soon and the assassin thought it best to travel at night. He had hoped that this destroyed abandoned building in Waterdeep would go unnoticed as he rested throughout the day. The healing salve tingled as it worked its way into the open wounds, but with it came a soothing relief. The assassin thought about his journey home. He reasoned that once he was safely out of view of the Waterdeep gates his journey further southward would be uneventful. His contact in the City of Balder’s gate could get him passage on the ferry southward with little questions asked provided he was able to pay him in platinum or gold. Groaning Nilan realized that his coin pouch as taken from him in his battle with the elves of Shevarash while he was pinned beneath them and securely bound in ropes. Though the dwarf paladin who had freed him from a brutal execution had retrieved his weapons for him, his coin pouch was no where to be found. Muttering a curse, Nilan realized that without coins to pay his contact, ferry passage to the south would prove a difficult challenge. Leaning back against the wall, the drow closed his eyes and surrendered himself to a much needed rest his body craved. His last thoughts before drifting off were focused on the task of obtaining the necessary funds to secure his safe passage south

It was past midday before Nilan stirred and rolled over onto his back gazing up at the rotten wooden ceiling. He felt well rested and though his lower legged throbbed, the assassin knew that the salve had helped somewhat. Slowly Nilan rose to a seated position with his back against the wall. Unfastening his leggings he unwrapped the bandages and inspected the myriad lacerations. The cuts appeared to be healing quite well and there was no indication that infection had set in. Nilan gently applied more of the ointment to the wounds, wrapping the bandages tightly, before securing the ties of his leggings and slipping his boots on.

Rising to his feet, the drow pulled his cloak tightly about him making sure that his stark white hair was well concealed within his hood. Pulling the hood down low to his his ebon skin, Nilan took a deep breath before walking out of the ruined cabin and into the alleys of southern Waterdeep. The assassin recalled the winding roadways that twisted throughout lower Waterdeep. Moving as quickly as his leg could bear him, the drow made his way further toward the southern gates of the city careful to avoid crossing into Kang’s territory.

The assassin had little trouble traveling through the alleys of southern Waterdeep and his presence went unnoticed by the inhabitants of this part of the city. He could see the southern gates as he approached. Nilan took note of three gate guards and was careful to lower his hood to hide his heritage. Picking up some rotten hand crates, the assassin hoisted them upon his shoulders, hoping the guards would consider him a mere worker and pay him no heed. Nilan flitted in along with several other laborers exiting the south gate and breathed a sigh of relief when he was out of sight of the Waterdeep guards. Discarding the rotten crates, Nilan quickened his pace heading toward the City of Balders Gate, where he hoped to secure ferry passage to the southern region of Toril where Vhaeraun’s City of Dobluth Kyor resided.

************************

The drow had traveled for hours passing through the undead fields with little difficulty. Several undead fell to his blades and the assassin entered the darkened forest that lay before the farming fields surrounding Balder’s Gate. Darkness had fallen and Nilan paused briefly gazing upward to the Night Sky. The moon light painted and almost serene picture and the drow whispered a brief prayer to his god. He longed for the sanctity of Vhaeraun’s temple, a place where he could find a brief respite before returning to the sinister webs of Menzoberranzan. Nilan was conscious of his shaking hand that tightly gripped the pommel of “Shadow”. The sentient blade could sense its wielder’s discomfort and whispered eerily in response. Nilan knew he would have much to answer for upon his return to Menzoberranzan. The priestess he “served” would not be pleased with his long absence from Lloth’s City and in truth he had no explanation to provide to her. When he had left the priestess’s compound, House Faen Tlabbar, Fourth Ruling House of Menzoberranzan, had become involved with the DarkLake Consortium, an organization he had infiltrated in his service to Priestess Itasha. The 4th House and the priestess he”served” had formed an alliance and he was slowly become caught in an ever entangling web of lies and deceit. She had already suspected that he was not who he had claimed to be and now the Vhaeraunite was beginning to feel the webs tightening around him. He shuddered involuntarily knowing full well his fate should he be revealed as a Vhaeraunite spy.

The soft voices rising in the distance drew him from his dark thought. Nilan crept silently along the forest tree line in the direction of the sounds. The flicker of a campfire up ahead, told the drow he was close. Nilan concealed himself amongst a thick copse of brush scanning the campsite. He could see two figures. One was seated on a log, his back to the assassin. He wore leather armor. A bow and quiver of arrows rested again the long along side the man. The other man chuckled in response to the man seated on the log, picking up a hand axe he sauntered off into the forest opposite from where the assassin hid. Nilan suspected the man was off in search of firewood or small game. The drow needed coin to secure ferry passage and Nilan was not about to squander the opportunity that had presented itself.

Nilan whispered an arcane word as his fingers lightly touched the magical amulet hanging loosely from the chain around his neck. A cloak of invisibility surrounded the assassin and he silently approached the man seated upon the log. As he neared his target he noted the slightly pointed ears peeking out from the man’s shoulder length hair. The man’s build was heavier and Nilan recognized him as half-elven, a mix of blood been a surface elf and human. The drow could hear the man’s breath as he positioned himself directly behind his target. With a quick motion, the assassin reached his left arm around the man’s neck and thrust “shadow” deeply into his back. His illusion of invisibility faded and Nilan plunged the blade to its hilt into the man’s flesh. Hot blood bathed the drow’s hand and he felt the man shudder as a gurgled final gasp escaped his lips. Nilan let the body fall lifelessly to the ground.

He heard the rustling of leaves and a scream as the man’s companion had returned from the forest. Nilan whirled around in the direction of his newest target coming face to face with an elf wielding a hand axe bearing down upon him at considerable speed. “Shadow” vibrated excitedly in his grasp willing its wielder to make the kill. Nilan groaned and let the blade fly from his blood stained hand. The sentient blade took flight on its own, seeking its target. The drow watched as the blade plunged into the man’s chest with a sickening thud, staggering the elven warrior, who somehow maintained his balance. As quickly as the blade had embedded itself in the unfortunate elf’s flesh it tore itself free in a spray of blood. Over and over the blade pierced flesh and cracked into bone. The warrior fell to his knees and was dead before he hit the ground. Nilan raised his hand, whispering to the godly blade which returned to the drow’s grip almost as quickly as it had left.

Quickly the drow rummaged through the packs of the two dead elves locating two coin purses. Thrusting them into the pouch at his waist belt Nilan rose to his feet. A lone female figure approached the campsite and stood but ten paces from the deadly drow frozen in fear and horror at the sight of her dead companions. Nilan prepared to hurl the sentient blade at the figure but stopped suddenly as his gaze fell upon the woman. She was a moon elf with long wavy silver hair sporting several feathers and jewels interwoven in among the strands. The lyre that she carried fell to the ground and Nilan recognized her as a bard. “Shadow” hummed angrily, its taste for blood intensified by the elven target before it. It could sense the hesitation and whispered in the mind of its wielder. “Kill her, Kill her now.” Nilan resisted the urge, struggling against the sentient’s blade commands, he ever so slowly lowered the blade. The elf watched the drow in frozen fear unable to will herself to flee. Nilan took a step back, slowly he moved toward the forest, keeping the elven female in his sight. Visions of his wife, Deshana, assaulted him and the drow felt his emotions torn asunder. Groaning he fought to retreat into the darken forest before his resolve unraveled. When he was within the tree line, he saw the moon elf flee northward in the direction of Waterdeep. Hands shaking, Nilan sunk back against the trunk of a tree, gasping for breath, weakened by the ordeal.

The road to Balder’s Gate was uneventful and the drow had booked passage on the ferry heading to the southern lands with little trouble at all. His hood pulled over his head to conceal his heritage, the assassin stood alone at the bow of the ship in a trance-like state watching the waves. His thoughts were elsewhere. The drow longed for home. He had been away far too long. His mission given to him by Vhaeraun himself had taken him into the heart of Menzoberranzan as a spy within Lloth’s foul city. His servitude to a priestess he despised and the agonies inflicted upon him were all for the glory of his god. Nilan gazed up as the southern dock came into view, his heart beating faster in anticipation of returning to his homeland of Dobluth Kyor. Had it not been for the elves of Shevarash that had so ruthlessly hunted him, the assassin’s absence from the City of Spiders would have gone unnoticed. Wincing inwardly, the Hand of Vhaeraun understood all too well that he would face punishment for his disappearance upon his eventual return to Menzoberranzan. He only hoped that the cost of his transgressions did not come at a price that he was unable to pay. Pushing the dark thoughts from his mind, the drow exited the ship and silently padded south across the dock toward his homeland and Vhaeraun’s temple.

It was dusk by the time the assassin padded through the forest of Mir towards Vhaeraun’s City. The gates of Dobluth Kyor loomed before him. His hand gripped tighter around “Shadow” and the blade whispered to him in an almost soothing tone. Nilan felt a sense of comfort and relief as he entered the City, nodding toward the two gate guards as he stalked passed them. The weapons master of Dobluth Kyor took note of him and approached. “You have been gone for some time, Hand of Vhaeraun, we had feared the worst”. Nilan merely nodded and stoically replied, “Ran into some trouble up north, took some time to return home.” The weapons master looked him over, his gaze falling over the assassin’s torn armor. Dried blood stained his leggings and tunic. The weapons master grimaced and nodded. “Looks like some bad wounds….you are lucky to be alive, assassin.” Nilan snickered, “As it is Vhaeraun’s will.” Bowing low, the assassin sauntered toward Vhaeraun’s temple.

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