Mysteries Far Below (11/11) - Jaezred
Nov 14, 2021 7:52:47 GMT
Anthony, Delilah Daybreaker, and 1 more like this
Post by Jaezred Vandree on Nov 14, 2021 7:52:47 GMT
Imryll’s chambers, when they were empty, were dark and cold. The fire pit was unlit and the fine mist of moonlight that usually hung 10 feet in the air was absent. Jaezred closed the double doors quietly behind him. He hobbled with his cane into the sitting area, passing the full-body mirror by the door to the balcony as he did and catching a glimpse of his own reflection. A haggard dark elven man with bags under his eyes and partially ripped-up clothes stared back at him.
Why have you come back here?
He dropped his cane and began to slowly take off his frock coat, then waistcoat, and finally peeling the blood-stained shirt off his skin. He turned around. In the mirror, he saw eight wounds, each slightly larger than a fist, marred with dried blood, on either side of his spine that had closed up and were already building scar tissue. They had healed at an unnaturally fast rate, faster than if someone had casted the cure wounds spell on him.
He left the ruined clothes there and walked behind the ivy screens.
The large crystalline sheet behind the bed was not displaying some grand natural vista as it normally did, which made the room feel even more lifeless. Jaezred stripped down to his underwear and laid down on his side on top of the covers, not even bothering to slip under them to warm his body as his heavy eyelids gradually shut themselves.
So cold.
His sleep was not restful. When he woke up, he was every bit as fatigued as he was before. His body felt heavy and his head light as a feather. He suspected he had dreams, unpleasant ones — images of war and death and blood and screams of horror — but he could not remember anything else about them.
He had stirred awake to the sounds of crackling fire and soft clinking of glass from the other side of the ivy screens. A tiny, chilled glass containing a vibrant, sky-blue liquid sat on the nightstand next to him. He looked up and saw that the crystalline sheet was on again, showing a bird’s eye view of the Witching Woods covered in snow.
Jaezred pulled back his silk-white hair and tied it into a ponytail once more, slipped on his trousers and a pair of slippers, then lumbered (for his body felt like a burden) towards the sitting area with the glass in hand. Imryll was lounging on one of the sofas by the fire pit, reading a book and sipping some dubious drink — probably just returned from doing field work. He looked at her apologetically from where he stood.
“Lady Imryll. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come in here when you weren’t in. I was…tired,” he said. His voice sounded dreadfully hoarse.
“Oh, it’s fine! It’s almost like playing house!” she giggled and motioned to the pile of clothes by the mirror. “Busy day?”
“Yes.”
“It certainly looks it. I prepared you a little pick-me-up.” She nodded at the drink in his hand. “Non-alcoholic though, I’m afraid.”
Jaezred shuffled over to sit down on the seat nearest to her and took a hesitant sip from the glass. Almost immediately, he recognised it as one of the Witching Court’s emotion cocktails — feelings magically distilled into drinkable liquid — as he tasted sweet elation infused with a dash of excitement and a faint hint of lemon. His face brightened up, but the effect wore off quickly, the former gloom overtaking his features again after a few moments.
Imryll looked concerned. “Well, it really must have been a bad day. Not many people come down that quickly. Need something stronger, or…dare I say, want to talk about it?”
He put the glass away and stared down at the floor in forlorn silence. The room seemed to be spinning slightly and it was difficult to get his thoughts in order. So many thoughts. Talking about it — would talking about it be good? He felt as if his feet were barely touching the ground.
Something in his back twitched, causing him to wince a little.
“When I was younger, I volunteered to join the Army of the Black Spider, just before the Siege of Menzoberranzan,” he muttered. “Part of the training was torture resistance techniques. They expose you to various forms of torture so you would not break and yield information to the enemy; maiming, humiliation, deprivation, and so on. The issue is, no other peoples on Toril share our creativity in torture methods, so we completely overprepared. But I cannot say that it was a waste of time. I learned how to endure pain. If I had not, I would have been effectively crippled just now…”
He reached a hand over his shoulder to touch a wound with the tip of his fingers. Something under his skin wriggled in response.
“Yes, I’m aware of just how creative some of the methods are…but what happened?” Imryll asked.
“There exists a fate worse than death,” he continued to mutter, seeming like he was a thousand miles away. “Reserved for those who displease the Spider Queen. Pain so agonising it drives one mad. You surface-dwellers call it a ‘drider’. This was a warning — a taste of what’s to come should I continue down this path.”
She nodded slowly and took another sip from her glass. “I’ve seen them, and heard enough, of course. Most of the drow who move here come with the instilled fear of retribution. Nasty way to live, really…” The eladrin leaned forward. “Jaezred, you can tell me what happened…”
She tried to take his hand in hers, but he flinched at her touch and recoiled away. She quickly withdrew her hand and, seeing him in this state, a look of sadness crossed her face. “It’s okay…You’re safe here, Jaezred. I want to push you, but you can tell me when you’re ready…”
He withdrew deeper into himself. His eyes remained glued to the floor and his voice shook as he spoke again. “From the very beginning, I’ve felt so ashamed. I don’t want my kinswoman to know. I don’t want my acquaintances to know, even though they aren’t dark elves themselves. I-I know what we’re doing is wrong. I know what I need to do, but I don’t…I don’t have the strength to do it…”
An eyebrow was raised. “Lord Jaezred, I assure you, you have done many a thing that would be construed as wrong but what we have done together falls far from that. And as for what you need to do, let me be clear when I say you need only do what you want to do, not what you think you must do.”
Imryll’s eyes drift towards the pile of torn clothes on the floor and they lingered there as she thought.
“Okay.” The tone of her voice had settled into something soothing and compassionate, most of the roguish charm now gone as she brought her gaze back to him. “I can piece together the ‘what’, you don't have to say it. But I do need you to talk to me…”
“Whuh-What do you want me to say,” he mumbled.
“Why don’t you start taking a deep breath, look at me, see where you are…then tell me what you were doing?”
Jaezred swallowed the lump in his throat, inhaled through his nose, and tried to steady his voice. “There was a job notice from a Summer Court. Something about people going into the Feydark and never coming back. The four of us answered the call. Delilah…she was there. She’d been running from something, I don’t know what.
“We went down into the Feydark. It was obvious from the start that it was an elder brain and a mind flayer colony doing it. They came through a crossing from the Material Plane Underdark. I think they were using people to grow psychically-linked mushrooms, some kind of experiment, maybe. The elder brain…it-it managed to dominate me for a short time. Tried to lure me towards them. My companions stopped me. That’s when I first felt the pain, when I felt that I should just move forward. But someone casted a spell and I snapped out of the charm.”
“Nasty things,” she remarked. “But you first felt the pain?”
The drow nodded. “In my back.”
“Okay. And what do you mean by you ‘should just move forward’? Was that the charm or something else?”
“The elder brain was telling me to go to it. I was…trying to obey as best I can…”
“Okay.” There was a fleeting look of relief on her face before she carried on. “Then what happened?”
“We found the colony. We fought it. I knew I had to put some distance between myself and them. That’s the safest way to fight a mind flayer colony — their attacking range is not far. But…there was a ravine between me and where I needed to go. So…so…” He choked on his words. “…So she gave me the legs of her sacred creature. Legs that tore out of my flesh and allowed me to crawl along the walls. It was a blessing. It was a curse.”
“I see…” Imryll sat back. “That explains the shirt. And your fragility. Forcing change onto someone is rarely painless.”
“I’m going to be turned into a monster.”
“Oh Jaezred…” She reached over to take his hand again, slower this time, and in a gentler grip. Yet still, the hand felt like it was going to take off at any moment. “You are an egotistical oaf with poor taste and even worse judgement, but you are not a monster. And you don’t have to be either. Literally, I mean. You could afford a few more manners but you are not a monster by any means.”
There was a soft knock on the doors. Imryll summoned a mage hand to open one door to reveal a well-dressed tabaxi standing behind it, holding a parcel. She nodded to him as the mage hand plucked the parcel from his paws and nudged the door shut.
“I took the liberty of having you a new shirt and coat made to replace those rags. Not quite as fine as my garments but it should be close to the original,” she explained.
The spectral hand drifted over to Jaezred and placed the parcel in the free hand resting on his lap. He stared at it whilst she watched him in a moment that seemed to stretch on forever.
“I know there is a lot being processed right now, Jaezred, so tell me, would you like to keep talking about this?”
A long pause. “There is nothing anyone can do to stop this. No one but me,” he murmured eventually.
She nodded. “Well yes, you are right there. However, I am concerned. You’re not the first drow who has come to the court with such an experience. Sometimes the fear clouds your vision, though, and stops you seeing all possible roads. You may have some work to do but you are not alone in doing so…”
“What are you saying?” His voice came out as almost a whisper.
“That there are other options, my lord, only what I have told you before. There is always a choice…but the key thing is it is your choice. I know you have your reservations, but I wonder if it’s about time you tried speaking to Margotin again?”
There was a moment of perfect stillness as her words sank into him, before Jaezred suddenly and roughly yanked his hand out of her grasp. His gaze met hers for the first time, and it was filled with anger.
“Damn you, surface elf, damn you to Hell,” he snarled.
She sighed and sat back with her arms folded, as if she had anticipated this reaction as a possible outcome. “I’ve been to Hell, wasn’t my cup of tea. I’ve told you before, Jaezred, there is no ulterior motive here, so do stop acting like a petulant child and calm down.”
“Does it delight you to see me brought so low? That you were brave enough to suggest apostasy to me? You have always loved seeing me humiliated. No doubt you would simply relish in me suffering eternal exile from my homelands!”
“I have done no such thing,” she retorted, her voice cool and crisp. “I merely state that there are options, and most of those in your position act as brattish as you are right now. Too scared to actually consider what they want and acting like small creatures running from the cunning hunter. I merely suggested you speak to Margotin as he has been through this very situation himself and, if nothing else, can offer a sympathetic perspective. Not a crash course in abandoning your faith.”
Her lofty attitude only served to add fuel to the fires of his red-hot rage. “Stop pretending,” he growled as pushed himself to his feet, the parcel in his lap toppling unceremoniously onto the ground. Her eyes narrowed at him. “Stop acting like you care about me and what I want! I’m not a fool. I’ve always known. Why the Hells would someone like you care about their plaything?”
That last sentence seemed to have struck a nerve.
Imryll rose from her seat, the playful air about her dissipating completely as a palpable aura of anger took its place. Her eyes flashed yellow, her greenish-blonde hair shifted to a brilliant gold, and her skin now glowed a bright yellow like the sun on a blazing summer day. Even her robes shimmered and a pattern of orange-gold layered leaves burned through the mossy green. A summer eladrin now stood before Jaezred, much to his surprise.
“You know NOTHING! You cower and hide from a sadistic bitch who does nothing but toy and torture you, yet you are so beaten down by her you can’t seem to trust probably the first person who actually cares for you. And really, as if I would suffer this level of inane dancing around and secrecy from someone if I didn’t care!”
Once he had recovered from the shock, he went right back to glowering at her. “No, you’re right. I know nothing about you — but not for lack of trying. You never tell me a single fucking thing, and you just expect me to trust you like a naïve child?” Sorrow seeped into his expression and his arms slumped down to his sides. “Sometimes, I look over at you and wonder, who is this stranger whose bed I’m sharing? And now”—he scoffed drily—“I don’t even recognise you.”
Her face formed a deep scowl. “Perhaps if you’d stop with your games, that wouldn’t be a problem then. I have told you, shown you who I am. It’s not my fault you’re so paralysed with fear you choose to hide us like some dirty secret. Moreover, are you really so clouded by your own delusions that you can’t see what has happened here?” She pointed at the bedroom. “You came here! You were hurt, and scared and YOU. CAME. HERE. Why the in Hells are you still pretending that you don’t just want to be here? And despite this, I’m still here telling you to do what you want to do…”
Jaezred was gritting his teeth so hard they might just break, fists clenched into a paler colour. “I see now that this was a mistake,” he answered, voice dripping with scorn.
He walked over to pick up the torn shirt and coat and shrugged them on without buttoning up, then strode towards the doors. “This was all a mistake,” he said as he pulled them open, head half-turned to regard her disdainfully. “We should have never been anything but enemies.”
And with that, he stormed out, slamming the doors shut behind him.
The Witching Court was the only major fey court Jaezred knew of that was affected by the changing of the seasons like the Material Plane. There was a light flurry of snow over the landscape, made ominous by the pervasive mist. The dark elf paced about at the edge of the Witching Woods; he’d gone out in thin clothes and slippers, which meant that he was shivering from head to toe, the latter of which were starting to go numb as his feet sank deeper and deeper into the snow with every step he took.
The piercing cold, however, had a sobering effect on his mind. A few minutes outside, and he had snapped out of the state of delirium he was in, even though he still felt the exhaustion in his bones. His thoughts cleared up, and he thought about how every word Imryll said about him was right, how much he’d missed her after not seeing her for two weeks, only to get into a row with her as soon as she had come back to him.
What an idiot he was.
He stopped pacing, standing still with the full moon above his head, and rolled up the sleeve covering his left arm. His fingers traced the Mark of the Spider Queen branded upon his skin as he slipped into deeper thought.
His moment of contemplation was interrupted by sounds of snow being crunched under boot from behind him, growing increasingly louder. Jaezred pulled his sleeve down and turned around — the tabaxi servant from earlier was approaching him, this time carrying a bundle in his arms. Without saying a word, he stopped to put a small basket down and unfurl a thick blanket on the ground between them. He set down a red crystalline stone in the centre of the blanket and gave it a tap, causing the stone to glow and stand on its own. Warmth began to emanate from it, much like a campfire. The servant bowed to Jaezred, then turned around and walked back to the Mountain Palace.
He peered into the basket. It contained the parcel from the room, a neatly-folded, fur-lined coat, and two sealed paper bags. He pursed his cracked lips.
Jaezred put on the fur coat and picked up the bags. He ripped them both open at the same time, and corn kernels started flying everywhere. He gaped in utter bafflement.
“Well, if I knew you were that hungry, I’d have asked for more.”
Imryll had appeared out of nowhere, still in her summer form, wearing a large red coat, and holding a glass of fizzy pink liquid in each hand. The golden radiance of her skin and hair gave the impression that she was softly glowing in the wintry gloom. She sat down on the blanket by the red crystal, planted one glass on the other side of it, then took a long sip from hers.
“My lady,” Jaezred greeted her frostily. “What do you want of me?”
“To shut up, sit down, and drink the damn drink…and to not freeze.”
He huffed with an air of spite but did as he was told, sitting down and holding a palm out at the crystal. The pink liquid was yet another emotion cocktail, quite alcoholic this time…and extremely good. The slightest sip gave him a wave of intense relief and internal happiness, the feeling of being proven right and justified after previously being accused of something awful. He recognised it as vindication.
He tried not to show his appreciation of both the drink and the ingenuity of this peacemaking tactic as he sipped some more.
Imryll was quiet for a long time, watching the falling snow and the mist floating among the trees. When she finished her drink, she shook the glass at Jaezred. “Really is a shame this one is hard to come by. Not everyone is so willing to give up the feeling of being right in order to make it.”
Recalling the time she told him about the main source for most of the emotions in the cocktails and why they agreed to do it, he replied, “I hope the satyr finds their folded pie worth it.”
She actually chuckled at that.
There was another short silence between them before Imryll spoke up again. “I know today must have been hard, Jaezred, but I do mean what I said. I only want you to do what you want to do… Choose to stay with the Spider Queen, look for a different way, become a chef or spy or writer — I don’t actually care. But I do care that you are alright.”
The cool, stoic expression on his face melted away to reveal the regret and melancholy underneath.
“Why?” he asked. “Why do you care about me? I give you nothing — no political advantage, no great fortune. The most I can do for you is be your informant. So why?”
“Please, if it were just information or an advantage, you know as well as I do I could take it—” She caught herself, and a look flashed across her face as she appeared to chide herself internally for the tone of her voice. It had changed somewhat with her transformation and she seemed to be trying to keep it in check. “I care because I care…”
“That doesn’t answer my question,” he sighed. “But…this whole time, I truly didn’t think you did. I am not so arrogant to think that I am irreplaceable. That’s why I…”
He looked away, as if saying the next words would physically hurt him.
“That’s why I worked so hard to find out everything I can about Jack and Farstep. I keep telling myself that it was for the money, but that was only true at the beginning. I was just hoping you would love me.”
“You stupid, stupid man… To think you could buy my affection like that. I have countless people selling me information, Jaezred. If it were really that simple, I’d have lovers all over the place. I love you because you’re an idiot. An idiot who buys me flowers, who gives me gifts of affection despite trying to disguise them as barbs.”
A warmth bloomed across his chest when she said that. He cracked a smile at her. It was making him feel unreasonably happy. How stupid. How wonderful.
“Well, you keep a number of rooms within the palace, I don’t know how many other lovers you could be hiding in them,” he joked.
“No. Far too messy. I mostly use those to hide the bodies… Now get up.”
She stood up and started making for the palace again. Likewise, he rose to his feet to follow, but tarried for a moment.
“I love you, Imryll,” he said. “I know I don’t deserve it, but please forgive me. For everything.”
Imryll stopped and looked back at him. Despite the sternness of her face as a summer eladrin, there was a familiar warmth in her eyes. “I love you too. That’s why I don’t need to forgive you.”
Jaezred let out a soft chuckle. Relief and joy washed over him at once, as if a crushing burden had just been lifted off his chest.
He caught up with her and took her hand in his, squeezing it gently as they walked home together.
(Continued in Entr'acte 8.)
Thank you to Anthony for his incredible roleplay of Imryll.
Why have you come back here?
He dropped his cane and began to slowly take off his frock coat, then waistcoat, and finally peeling the blood-stained shirt off his skin. He turned around. In the mirror, he saw eight wounds, each slightly larger than a fist, marred with dried blood, on either side of his spine that had closed up and were already building scar tissue. They had healed at an unnaturally fast rate, faster than if someone had casted the cure wounds spell on him.
He left the ruined clothes there and walked behind the ivy screens.
The large crystalline sheet behind the bed was not displaying some grand natural vista as it normally did, which made the room feel even more lifeless. Jaezred stripped down to his underwear and laid down on his side on top of the covers, not even bothering to slip under them to warm his body as his heavy eyelids gradually shut themselves.
So cold.
His sleep was not restful. When he woke up, he was every bit as fatigued as he was before. His body felt heavy and his head light as a feather. He suspected he had dreams, unpleasant ones — images of war and death and blood and screams of horror — but he could not remember anything else about them.
He had stirred awake to the sounds of crackling fire and soft clinking of glass from the other side of the ivy screens. A tiny, chilled glass containing a vibrant, sky-blue liquid sat on the nightstand next to him. He looked up and saw that the crystalline sheet was on again, showing a bird’s eye view of the Witching Woods covered in snow.
Jaezred pulled back his silk-white hair and tied it into a ponytail once more, slipped on his trousers and a pair of slippers, then lumbered (for his body felt like a burden) towards the sitting area with the glass in hand. Imryll was lounging on one of the sofas by the fire pit, reading a book and sipping some dubious drink — probably just returned from doing field work. He looked at her apologetically from where he stood.
“Lady Imryll. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come in here when you weren’t in. I was…tired,” he said. His voice sounded dreadfully hoarse.
“Oh, it’s fine! It’s almost like playing house!” she giggled and motioned to the pile of clothes by the mirror. “Busy day?”
“Yes.”
“It certainly looks it. I prepared you a little pick-me-up.” She nodded at the drink in his hand. “Non-alcoholic though, I’m afraid.”
Jaezred shuffled over to sit down on the seat nearest to her and took a hesitant sip from the glass. Almost immediately, he recognised it as one of the Witching Court’s emotion cocktails — feelings magically distilled into drinkable liquid — as he tasted sweet elation infused with a dash of excitement and a faint hint of lemon. His face brightened up, but the effect wore off quickly, the former gloom overtaking his features again after a few moments.
Imryll looked concerned. “Well, it really must have been a bad day. Not many people come down that quickly. Need something stronger, or…dare I say, want to talk about it?”
He put the glass away and stared down at the floor in forlorn silence. The room seemed to be spinning slightly and it was difficult to get his thoughts in order. So many thoughts. Talking about it — would talking about it be good? He felt as if his feet were barely touching the ground.
Something in his back twitched, causing him to wince a little.
“When I was younger, I volunteered to join the Army of the Black Spider, just before the Siege of Menzoberranzan,” he muttered. “Part of the training was torture resistance techniques. They expose you to various forms of torture so you would not break and yield information to the enemy; maiming, humiliation, deprivation, and so on. The issue is, no other peoples on Toril share our creativity in torture methods, so we completely overprepared. But I cannot say that it was a waste of time. I learned how to endure pain. If I had not, I would have been effectively crippled just now…”
He reached a hand over his shoulder to touch a wound with the tip of his fingers. Something under his skin wriggled in response.
“Yes, I’m aware of just how creative some of the methods are…but what happened?” Imryll asked.
“There exists a fate worse than death,” he continued to mutter, seeming like he was a thousand miles away. “Reserved for those who displease the Spider Queen. Pain so agonising it drives one mad. You surface-dwellers call it a ‘drider’. This was a warning — a taste of what’s to come should I continue down this path.”
She nodded slowly and took another sip from her glass. “I’ve seen them, and heard enough, of course. Most of the drow who move here come with the instilled fear of retribution. Nasty way to live, really…” The eladrin leaned forward. “Jaezred, you can tell me what happened…”
She tried to take his hand in hers, but he flinched at her touch and recoiled away. She quickly withdrew her hand and, seeing him in this state, a look of sadness crossed her face. “It’s okay…You’re safe here, Jaezred. I want to push you, but you can tell me when you’re ready…”
He withdrew deeper into himself. His eyes remained glued to the floor and his voice shook as he spoke again. “From the very beginning, I’ve felt so ashamed. I don’t want my kinswoman to know. I don’t want my acquaintances to know, even though they aren’t dark elves themselves. I-I know what we’re doing is wrong. I know what I need to do, but I don’t…I don’t have the strength to do it…”
An eyebrow was raised. “Lord Jaezred, I assure you, you have done many a thing that would be construed as wrong but what we have done together falls far from that. And as for what you need to do, let me be clear when I say you need only do what you want to do, not what you think you must do.”
Imryll’s eyes drift towards the pile of torn clothes on the floor and they lingered there as she thought.
“Okay.” The tone of her voice had settled into something soothing and compassionate, most of the roguish charm now gone as she brought her gaze back to him. “I can piece together the ‘what’, you don't have to say it. But I do need you to talk to me…”
“Whuh-What do you want me to say,” he mumbled.
“Why don’t you start taking a deep breath, look at me, see where you are…then tell me what you were doing?”
Jaezred swallowed the lump in his throat, inhaled through his nose, and tried to steady his voice. “There was a job notice from a Summer Court. Something about people going into the Feydark and never coming back. The four of us answered the call. Delilah…she was there. She’d been running from something, I don’t know what.
“We went down into the Feydark. It was obvious from the start that it was an elder brain and a mind flayer colony doing it. They came through a crossing from the Material Plane Underdark. I think they were using people to grow psychically-linked mushrooms, some kind of experiment, maybe. The elder brain…it-it managed to dominate me for a short time. Tried to lure me towards them. My companions stopped me. That’s when I first felt the pain, when I felt that I should just move forward. But someone casted a spell and I snapped out of the charm.”
“Nasty things,” she remarked. “But you first felt the pain?”
The drow nodded. “In my back.”
“Okay. And what do you mean by you ‘should just move forward’? Was that the charm or something else?”
“The elder brain was telling me to go to it. I was…trying to obey as best I can…”
“Okay.” There was a fleeting look of relief on her face before she carried on. “Then what happened?”
“We found the colony. We fought it. I knew I had to put some distance between myself and them. That’s the safest way to fight a mind flayer colony — their attacking range is not far. But…there was a ravine between me and where I needed to go. So…so…” He choked on his words. “…So she gave me the legs of her sacred creature. Legs that tore out of my flesh and allowed me to crawl along the walls. It was a blessing. It was a curse.”
“I see…” Imryll sat back. “That explains the shirt. And your fragility. Forcing change onto someone is rarely painless.”
“I’m going to be turned into a monster.”
“Oh Jaezred…” She reached over to take his hand again, slower this time, and in a gentler grip. Yet still, the hand felt like it was going to take off at any moment. “You are an egotistical oaf with poor taste and even worse judgement, but you are not a monster. And you don’t have to be either. Literally, I mean. You could afford a few more manners but you are not a monster by any means.”
There was a soft knock on the doors. Imryll summoned a mage hand to open one door to reveal a well-dressed tabaxi standing behind it, holding a parcel. She nodded to him as the mage hand plucked the parcel from his paws and nudged the door shut.
“I took the liberty of having you a new shirt and coat made to replace those rags. Not quite as fine as my garments but it should be close to the original,” she explained.
The spectral hand drifted over to Jaezred and placed the parcel in the free hand resting on his lap. He stared at it whilst she watched him in a moment that seemed to stretch on forever.
“I know there is a lot being processed right now, Jaezred, so tell me, would you like to keep talking about this?”
A long pause. “There is nothing anyone can do to stop this. No one but me,” he murmured eventually.
She nodded. “Well yes, you are right there. However, I am concerned. You’re not the first drow who has come to the court with such an experience. Sometimes the fear clouds your vision, though, and stops you seeing all possible roads. You may have some work to do but you are not alone in doing so…”
“What are you saying?” His voice came out as almost a whisper.
“That there are other options, my lord, only what I have told you before. There is always a choice…but the key thing is it is your choice. I know you have your reservations, but I wonder if it’s about time you tried speaking to Margotin again?”
There was a moment of perfect stillness as her words sank into him, before Jaezred suddenly and roughly yanked his hand out of her grasp. His gaze met hers for the first time, and it was filled with anger.
“Damn you, surface elf, damn you to Hell,” he snarled.
She sighed and sat back with her arms folded, as if she had anticipated this reaction as a possible outcome. “I’ve been to Hell, wasn’t my cup of tea. I’ve told you before, Jaezred, there is no ulterior motive here, so do stop acting like a petulant child and calm down.”
“Does it delight you to see me brought so low? That you were brave enough to suggest apostasy to me? You have always loved seeing me humiliated. No doubt you would simply relish in me suffering eternal exile from my homelands!”
“I have done no such thing,” she retorted, her voice cool and crisp. “I merely state that there are options, and most of those in your position act as brattish as you are right now. Too scared to actually consider what they want and acting like small creatures running from the cunning hunter. I merely suggested you speak to Margotin as he has been through this very situation himself and, if nothing else, can offer a sympathetic perspective. Not a crash course in abandoning your faith.”
Her lofty attitude only served to add fuel to the fires of his red-hot rage. “Stop pretending,” he growled as pushed himself to his feet, the parcel in his lap toppling unceremoniously onto the ground. Her eyes narrowed at him. “Stop acting like you care about me and what I want! I’m not a fool. I’ve always known. Why the Hells would someone like you care about their plaything?”
That last sentence seemed to have struck a nerve.
Imryll rose from her seat, the playful air about her dissipating completely as a palpable aura of anger took its place. Her eyes flashed yellow, her greenish-blonde hair shifted to a brilliant gold, and her skin now glowed a bright yellow like the sun on a blazing summer day. Even her robes shimmered and a pattern of orange-gold layered leaves burned through the mossy green. A summer eladrin now stood before Jaezred, much to his surprise.
“You know NOTHING! You cower and hide from a sadistic bitch who does nothing but toy and torture you, yet you are so beaten down by her you can’t seem to trust probably the first person who actually cares for you. And really, as if I would suffer this level of inane dancing around and secrecy from someone if I didn’t care!”
Once he had recovered from the shock, he went right back to glowering at her. “No, you’re right. I know nothing about you — but not for lack of trying. You never tell me a single fucking thing, and you just expect me to trust you like a naïve child?” Sorrow seeped into his expression and his arms slumped down to his sides. “Sometimes, I look over at you and wonder, who is this stranger whose bed I’m sharing? And now”—he scoffed drily—“I don’t even recognise you.”
Her face formed a deep scowl. “Perhaps if you’d stop with your games, that wouldn’t be a problem then. I have told you, shown you who I am. It’s not my fault you’re so paralysed with fear you choose to hide us like some dirty secret. Moreover, are you really so clouded by your own delusions that you can’t see what has happened here?” She pointed at the bedroom. “You came here! You were hurt, and scared and YOU. CAME. HERE. Why the in Hells are you still pretending that you don’t just want to be here? And despite this, I’m still here telling you to do what you want to do…”
Jaezred was gritting his teeth so hard they might just break, fists clenched into a paler colour. “I see now that this was a mistake,” he answered, voice dripping with scorn.
He walked over to pick up the torn shirt and coat and shrugged them on without buttoning up, then strode towards the doors. “This was all a mistake,” he said as he pulled them open, head half-turned to regard her disdainfully. “We should have never been anything but enemies.”
And with that, he stormed out, slamming the doors shut behind him.
The Witching Court was the only major fey court Jaezred knew of that was affected by the changing of the seasons like the Material Plane. There was a light flurry of snow over the landscape, made ominous by the pervasive mist. The dark elf paced about at the edge of the Witching Woods; he’d gone out in thin clothes and slippers, which meant that he was shivering from head to toe, the latter of which were starting to go numb as his feet sank deeper and deeper into the snow with every step he took.
The piercing cold, however, had a sobering effect on his mind. A few minutes outside, and he had snapped out of the state of delirium he was in, even though he still felt the exhaustion in his bones. His thoughts cleared up, and he thought about how every word Imryll said about him was right, how much he’d missed her after not seeing her for two weeks, only to get into a row with her as soon as she had come back to him.
What an idiot he was.
He stopped pacing, standing still with the full moon above his head, and rolled up the sleeve covering his left arm. His fingers traced the Mark of the Spider Queen branded upon his skin as he slipped into deeper thought.
His moment of contemplation was interrupted by sounds of snow being crunched under boot from behind him, growing increasingly louder. Jaezred pulled his sleeve down and turned around — the tabaxi servant from earlier was approaching him, this time carrying a bundle in his arms. Without saying a word, he stopped to put a small basket down and unfurl a thick blanket on the ground between them. He set down a red crystalline stone in the centre of the blanket and gave it a tap, causing the stone to glow and stand on its own. Warmth began to emanate from it, much like a campfire. The servant bowed to Jaezred, then turned around and walked back to the Mountain Palace.
He peered into the basket. It contained the parcel from the room, a neatly-folded, fur-lined coat, and two sealed paper bags. He pursed his cracked lips.
Jaezred put on the fur coat and picked up the bags. He ripped them both open at the same time, and corn kernels started flying everywhere. He gaped in utter bafflement.
“Well, if I knew you were that hungry, I’d have asked for more.”
Imryll had appeared out of nowhere, still in her summer form, wearing a large red coat, and holding a glass of fizzy pink liquid in each hand. The golden radiance of her skin and hair gave the impression that she was softly glowing in the wintry gloom. She sat down on the blanket by the red crystal, planted one glass on the other side of it, then took a long sip from hers.
“My lady,” Jaezred greeted her frostily. “What do you want of me?”
“To shut up, sit down, and drink the damn drink…and to not freeze.”
He huffed with an air of spite but did as he was told, sitting down and holding a palm out at the crystal. The pink liquid was yet another emotion cocktail, quite alcoholic this time…and extremely good. The slightest sip gave him a wave of intense relief and internal happiness, the feeling of being proven right and justified after previously being accused of something awful. He recognised it as vindication.
He tried not to show his appreciation of both the drink and the ingenuity of this peacemaking tactic as he sipped some more.
Imryll was quiet for a long time, watching the falling snow and the mist floating among the trees. When she finished her drink, she shook the glass at Jaezred. “Really is a shame this one is hard to come by. Not everyone is so willing to give up the feeling of being right in order to make it.”
Recalling the time she told him about the main source for most of the emotions in the cocktails and why they agreed to do it, he replied, “I hope the satyr finds their folded pie worth it.”
She actually chuckled at that.
There was another short silence between them before Imryll spoke up again. “I know today must have been hard, Jaezred, but I do mean what I said. I only want you to do what you want to do… Choose to stay with the Spider Queen, look for a different way, become a chef or spy or writer — I don’t actually care. But I do care that you are alright.”
The cool, stoic expression on his face melted away to reveal the regret and melancholy underneath.
“Why?” he asked. “Why do you care about me? I give you nothing — no political advantage, no great fortune. The most I can do for you is be your informant. So why?”
“Please, if it were just information or an advantage, you know as well as I do I could take it—” She caught herself, and a look flashed across her face as she appeared to chide herself internally for the tone of her voice. It had changed somewhat with her transformation and she seemed to be trying to keep it in check. “I care because I care…”
“That doesn’t answer my question,” he sighed. “But…this whole time, I truly didn’t think you did. I am not so arrogant to think that I am irreplaceable. That’s why I…”
He looked away, as if saying the next words would physically hurt him.
“That’s why I worked so hard to find out everything I can about Jack and Farstep. I keep telling myself that it was for the money, but that was only true at the beginning. I was just hoping you would love me.”
“You stupid, stupid man… To think you could buy my affection like that. I have countless people selling me information, Jaezred. If it were really that simple, I’d have lovers all over the place. I love you because you’re an idiot. An idiot who buys me flowers, who gives me gifts of affection despite trying to disguise them as barbs.”
A warmth bloomed across his chest when she said that. He cracked a smile at her. It was making him feel unreasonably happy. How stupid. How wonderful.
“Well, you keep a number of rooms within the palace, I don’t know how many other lovers you could be hiding in them,” he joked.
“No. Far too messy. I mostly use those to hide the bodies… Now get up.”
She stood up and started making for the palace again. Likewise, he rose to his feet to follow, but tarried for a moment.
“I love you, Imryll,” he said. “I know I don’t deserve it, but please forgive me. For everything.”
Imryll stopped and looked back at him. Despite the sternness of her face as a summer eladrin, there was a familiar warmth in her eyes. “I love you too. That’s why I don’t need to forgive you.”
Jaezred let out a soft chuckle. Relief and joy washed over him at once, as if a crushing burden had just been lifted off his chest.
He caught up with her and took her hand in his, squeezing it gently as they walked home together.
(Continued in Entr'acte 8.)
Thank you to Anthony for his incredible roleplay of Imryll.