When the Nightingale Sings
Jan 7, 2022 21:37:08 GMT
Jacinta Montajay, Jaezred Vandree, and 4 more like this
Post by Toothy on Jan 7, 2022 21:37:08 GMT
Co-Written with the wonderous Varga stephena and Jaezred Vandree
“Sure, might as well invite the other half of the town,” Lucan grumbled half-heartedly, failing to hide his delight at yet another visitor.
The back room of the shop already contained, apart from its usual toothy occupant, another barbarian who just dropped in on account of the holidays, bringing a couple of hats crudely knitted from chinchilla fur. Upstairs the rattling of metal and irregular twangs of traps, bowstrings and tendons told Jaezred’s keen ears that Sorrel was moving back in.
“Lucan!” Sorrel’s voice was getting louder as she slid downstairs. “Do you happen to have Lord Jaezred’s address because I owe him… oh.” Sorrel’s face appeared in the doorway, mouth and eyes wide open in surprise. A handful of daggers fell from her nerveless fingers. “I owe him money. My Lord…” she bowed her head and placed her right hand over her heart in the House salute. “At your service and your family’s.”
The drow mage nodded to her and his gaze wandered from person to person. “I beg your pardon. I was told by the clerics at the temple that you are here, Miss Darkfire,” he said, taking off his top hat and dusting the snow off of it. “And just as well, for I need to speak to you also, Toothy.”
“Oh, hi, Jaezred, great to see you too!” Varga beamed, boasting not only the constitution of a fine oak wardrobe, but also the social awareness of one. He did not deign to glance in her direction.
“My Lord, I was just about to try and find you,” Sorrel’s words tumbled over each other. “I have the first 50 gold of the money I owe you. It may take a little time to repay the full 300 but it’s a start.”
“Thank you, Miss Darkfire.”
Toothy looked to his friends with his classic toothy grin, glad to see so many faces gathered, but then also looked around the cramped space of the back room.
“Should we perhaps go upstairs? Been a while since we had many visitors but I can fix some drinks and stuff, it’s a bit cramped and there’s only the crates to really sit on down here…”
Sorrel nodded and bent to gather her daggers, her head just dipping below the friendly right hook Varga threw in her direction. She’d forgotten how much ducking was involved in greeting her favourite half orc.
“No need for drinks, I will not be long,” said Jaezred as he took up his cane, and followed his gracious host upstairs. He hoped to talk to the other drow more privately, and was disappointed to hear Varga’s unmistakable heavy steps behind him. Luckily for both of them, Sorrel followed suit, or the day would have been marred by a barbarian being disintegrated for trying to put a knit hat on a drow lord.
Hearing the loud mis-matched rattle of the footsteps on the stairs, Lucan sighed and shook his head fondly. The leatherworker gave his hammer a swirl, and fished out a half-made boot back from the ‘work-in-progress’ chest. As he plopped down on a small stool to continue his work, the only thing the situation was missing was for him to add “kids these days,” but he knew better.
The four adventurers made it upstairs, ending up in the kitchen just over the shop where Toothy gestured, for those who want to, to sit at the sturdy kitchen table. Even with Jaezred’s decline of a drink he still put the kettle on, mumbling something about the old man being grumpy if he didn’t get his cuppa soon, before leaning against the counter to look as attentive to the conversation as he could.
The two women sat down on a couch, one barely visible in the shade, another - right where the setting winter sun was glimpsing through the window.
Lord Jaezred sat down at the table, the elegant nobleman appearing rather out of place in this humble shop-come-residence. “I have been given a task by certain parties in the Witching Court. A dangerous but rewarding task,” he began, looking between Sorrel and Toothy. “I shall need to assemble a party to go down into the Underdark with me. Now, Miss Darkfire, for this I shall cash in what you have given me”—he procured a dark stone token with a rune carved into its face from his pocket, the second House token Sorrel had given him, and offered it to her—“but as for you, boy, since you owe me nothing, I must ask this of you as a favour.”
Toothy shifted a bit from his position at the mention of the Underdark, “That does sound pretty serious, but you don’t need to ask me as a favour. Friends help friends even if they don’t owe each other anything. But… mentioning the Underdark has reminded me that I got this weird mirror recently, and now that we’re gathered like this perhaps you could help me to use and understand it if that’s alright with you all? It’s… Ah, just wait here?”
He darted through the door leading to the rest of the house. Varga observed him running across the room with mild interest.
“You know, if you’re looking for a muscle in the Underdark, I’d be happy to go back there,” she said in a tone that people usually adopt when pretending to have just come up with a conveniently beneficial idea. But a single cursory glance at her told Jaezred that no, the thought had really just occurred to her. “We’ve recently gone on a raid down under. And blew up a train!” She beamed, caught up in pleasant memories. “Well, it more or less blew itself up… but we helped. Also, Igrainne stole a drow lady from mind flayers-”
“Absolutely not,” he cut in.
Varga stared at him, genuinely perplexed. “Why though?”
“Just…no.”
The half-orc gave his tired form a brief glance and shrugged. “Sure, have it your way. It’s your ass going down there, mate.”
As Toothy crashed around in the depths of Lucan’s house, Sorrel turned to Jaezred and closed his hand around the Summoning Stone. “My Lord, the debt I owe you after the night of the drow spirit extends beyond the highest concept of House and Duty,” she said in a tone that suggested she would accept no debate. “The Stone, once used, is spent. But you helped me financially in my hour of greatest need and then helped rescue my very soul. For this, there is no single act of repayment possible. It is a bond of gratitude that extends to death and beyond. Command me, and I will serve. This will never change. Although,” she paused, “like so many things in life it’s always more pleasant if you deliver the request with style.”
Jaezred’s face twitched at the mention of the “drow spirit”. His mouth opened a little, his brow furrowed as if internally debating whether to say something. He decided against it.
Sorrel, watching his face carefully, noted the struggle — an echo of the confusion she’d seen on the night of her… she shivered… exorcism. She considered mentioning Zola, the mysterious drow friend of Sarin and comrade in the Harnash Affair. Not now, she concluded. There would be time ahead of the Underdark. She was a professional. She was being briefed. That was all that mattered.
“Thank you,” he said to her, a rare sincerity in his voice and eyes, and slipped the stone back into his coat. “However, there may come a time when…I ask you to obey me without question.”
Sorrel nodded carefully. “There are certain… occult tattoos that act as a guarantee if you doubt my word, my Lord,” she was hesitant. “I don’t know if Kantas has that kind of artisan, but I’m certain we will find one in the Underdark. All we need is a vial of your blood, a vial of my blood, something precious that you always carry with you and some ground glass. And some hair, I think.”
Varga turned her gaze to Sorrel and crossed her arms on her chest, expression half skeptical, and half concerned. “You know, if you need to go to such lengths to prove you’re gonna do what you said you’re gonna do, either your word is worth nothing and you’ll find a way not to do it,” she raised one finger. “Or, the person you’re trying to convince can’t be convinced,” she raised another. “Either way, tattooing a contract on yourself seems a step too far. You’re an honest girl, surely he knows that,” she nodded to Jaezred without looking at him.
“Varga, if anyone but Lord Jaezred requested additional security beyond my sworn word I would tattoo my promise on their eyelids with a hunting knife,” Sorrel said conversationally, getting a hearty chuckle from the half-orc. “You know how it goes. But Lord Jaezred is special. He gets what he wants. Technically, that doesn’t include divorce work, but if Lady Imryll is unfaithful, I’d be happy to kill her suitor.”
Throughout this exchange, Jaezred was studying Sorrel with an appraising look. He had heard, long ago, his father speak of some clever Mizzrymir wizard coming up with something similar to keep their “goods” in line. He had never expected to hear of such a thing from human lips. Then again, this House of hers did appear to have at least one dark elf assassin in their employ; perhaps the influence of the drow, that special touch of theirs, had permeated it. “I appreciate it, Miss Darkfire, but this measure would not be necessary. I have faith my requests shall not be…too painful to fulfill. And, well, her ladyship would never do that to me, but if she does, I can garrotte any rivals on my own.”
“Painful is nothing, my Lord, try having a hunger spirit constantly raking your soul with venomous fangs,” Sorrel shrugged, then a slow smile of respect spread across her face. “Garrotte… I love working with drow. My Lord, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship. What’s the job? Close quarters protection? Assassination? Hostage rescue? Something more elaborate? And where’s Toothy? He’s usually quicker than…” she tailed off lamely. “Something quick that’s an animal.”
“A goat falling off a cliff,” Varga supplied with an eye-witness conviction.
“What Varga says…” Sorrel nodded. “Dear god, some things you can never unsee.”
The half-orc shifted on the couch, twisting her body to look at the door behind which the drow barbarian had disappeared.
“Toothy, mate, you’re alright?” She bellowed after him. “Shout twice if the mirror is trying to eat you!”
There was the sound of feet padding across the corridor as Toothy seemed to have moved into a different room, “I’m fine! Just can’t remember where I put it, I think Dad tidied it away into the bathroom.” There were more sounds of cupboard doors being opened until a sudden triumphant shout.
“How apt,” murmured Jaezred.
Toothy emerged back into the kitchen, now holding a platinum hand mirror. “Sorry about the wait, but this is it, the mirror of the past. I’ve been avoiding looking into it if I’m honest because I’m worried I’ll do it wrong and what I’ll see.”
The older drow blinked and turned in his seat to look at the mirror better, his curiosity piqued. Whatever that was looming large in his mind had been momentarily forgotten. “Is that so?” he mused out loud. Toothy nodded a little anxiously.
He muttered a few words and traced an arcane sigil in the air in one hand as he casted the detect magic spell. The elaborately decorated mirror flared up with an aura of divination, the swirls of its rim darkening like small but deep wells.
Sorrel stirred uncomfortably. The temple or the spirit seemed to have sensitised her to the arcane. She watched Jaezred and Toothy carefully. Varga took out her flail in almost inappropriate anticipation.
“Give it here, boy,” Jaezred told Toothy in Drowic, extending a palm out to him. Toothy obliged, and while the sorcerer inspected the mirror, went to take the kettle off the stove before its whistle disturbed his guests. Jaezred angled himself such that no one was behind him, then slowly turned the mirror to face him, and gazed into it.
A scene swam into view, way too clear for the mirror’s dim surface: it was Imryll unpacking the dress he ordered for her in D’Avalon. Immediately, the rim swirls started fading, as if the pools were running shallower by the moment. Jaezred’s brows shot up his forehead and he handed the mirror back to Toothy. “Well… It seems to do what it says on the tin.”
Toothy slowly took it, his nervousness palpable as he realised he was out of reasons to not reveal his shrouded past through the mirror. “So I just look? It’s that simple?”
“I believe so. But do you want to?”
“Yeah I do, it’s just a little scary taking a step into the unknown. Especially something that has been unknown to me for so long.” He tried to give a quick reassuring smile to Jaezred, as well as Sorrel and Varga. Sorrel smiled back, but there was something that worried her in Toothy’s expression. She found words of guidance coming into her heart from somewhere infinite and yet within, and she reached out to briefly lay a hand on Toothy that he might benefit from this new magic that seemed to be hers. She fumbled for the crystal queen’s gift in case he needed it. Varga just nodded at her flail with an encouraging grin - she got him covered in the worst case scenario (at least the one she could imagine). “Gods favour the bold,” she stated.
Jaezred was quiet for a moment. “Scary as it might be, you have the courage to face it, and the thirst to find out too, I bet. Well, it might show you nothing important. I saw a random vision of something innocuous from the recent past. But you won’t know until you try it.”
The drow barbarian looked obviously moved by everyone’s encouragement. “Thank you, all of you. But Jaezred, as you said, I won’t know until I try.” And so he looked into the mirror.
The fog enveloped its surface for what felt like an eternity, but in reality was barely a couple of seconds. It started to clear, revealing a body of water filled with stars. Toothy had never seen it before, or at least couldn’t remember seeing it, but everyone knew there was only one such place anywhere in the Underdark. The Sea of the Starry Night. The reflected light on its calm surface glowed in the purest shade of silver, and the dark spots in between bloomed in the deepest blue, like large violets. One ripple touched the calm water, then another. The source wasn’t clear, but the small waves looked almost like they were reacting to sound. The water, as if moved by a song, touched the shore, and the white foam turned into a small bird. The bird flew through dark and bright areas in circles, appearing to be a silver nightingale in the shade and a young bluebird in the light. Then, suddenly, it darted away and up, in a wide spiral. The surface of the water, now murky and disturbed, broke as if it was made of glass, pierced by nine dark tendrils that extended after the small bird, like whip tails. The little creature flew as fast as it could, its tiny breast heaving, but the tendrils seemed to be catching up at a sickening pace. They were closing in on the bird, nearer and nearer, just a little more and the bird could maybe make it, just another couple of flaps of the minute wings—
The mirror went dim, its charge spent.
Toothy let out the breath he had been holding, then blinked himself out of the slight trance the mirror had him in. “It definitely worked, definitely showed me something. I just don’t know what it means.” There was a pause as his mental gears tried turning. “It’s weird, I know this mirror is meant to show the past but what it showed me felt more like a prophecy.”
“Why? What did you see?” Jaezred asked.
The barbarian described the scene he’d just witnessed to the best of his abilities, nervousness still evident in his tone. At the end of his description he paused before adding, “Am I meant to be the bird or the dark tendrils? Did I run or did I chase?”
Varga, puzzled, looked from one of her intellectual and silent friends to another. Why would anyone be upset by a dangerous omen? Didn’t it make you feel special to receive one? Still surprised by their stunned silence, she gave Toothy’s shoulder a friendly shove to get him out of his reverie. “Well, I’m no shaman to decipher vague visions… but aren’t those usually sent as a sign by gods?” She grinned. “Either way it sounds like the trip to the Underdark is gonna be eventful!”
“Eventful perhaps in the wrong way though…” Toothy added quietly.
Jaezred rubbed his chin, deep in thought and staring at him with widened eyes. “Well… That is strange. And yet, it cannot be a coincidence…”
“Yeah, but who benefits from this coincidence? I’m worried this is a warning of something that’s happened before, I don’t want to put anyone at risk here.”
“That’s not what I meant, my dear boy. A silver nightingale… That was the symbol and moniker of a famous — or infamous, depends on who you ask — minstrel from my childhood. Her life was a mystery, and it is said she walked into the Glimmersea in the Underdark and was never seen again. According to legend, she turned into sea foam, or something like that. Obviously, birds are not native to the Underdark, and combined with this sea of stars you saw… The mirror had to be referring to the Silver Nightingale.”
“Lord Jaezred,” Sorrel spoke respectfully. “Forgive my cultural insensitivity, but in the House we had drow tutors and a detachment of drow warriors who were,” she shivered. “Skillful. They seemed to scorn…. Perhaps that’s too strong a word. Music was not respected in the Dark Chambers. Unless it had certain properties and I would not personally describe that as music. A minstrel?”
“I don’t believe any culture has an exclusive monopoly on joyless assassins, Miss Darkfire, but I grant you that the drow and the duergar have the lion’s share of them,” he said with a small chuckle. “But rest assured, the rest of us are normal and capable of enjoying the arts.”
“I don’t doubt that, and forgive me — I have enjoyed high and low art, as well as exceptional killing techniques with almost all cultures. But I have never met nor even heard of a drow minstrel before. What was she like?” Toothy also turned to Jaezred for his answer with a renewed interest.
Jaezred’s crimson eyes glazed over into a dreamy burgundy colour as he reminisced. “She was…beautiful and mysterious. Always performed in a magical bird mask. She’d do these trills with her throat that sounded like the exotic birds my kin would bring from the surface world, and her voice could shatter glass, melt metal, and shape water. I sneaked into one of her shows once when I was a young lad. That was the only time I saw her perform, but it’s burned into my mind ever since.”
Toothy shared an impressed look with Sorrel, mouthing a silent “Wow”. Varga looked over all three of them and gave an immature snicker.
“But nothing has been heard from her since, and she definitely sounds like someone who you would notice is back,” Toothy said in an attempt to break Jaezred out of his dreamy stupor.
“How long ago was your first memory of living in the forest?”
“About 60 years go.”
“Hm. The Nightingale went missing some 50 years ago.”
“So that kinda matches up? And the mirror suggests it has something to do with nine whip-like tendrils.” Toothy rests his head on his hand in some attempt to think it through.
“I mean, I’m no expert,” Sorrel mused, “but I’ve never heard anyone say ‘nine whip-like tendrils’ in a good way. It’s not like ‘oh, I could really do with nine whip-like tendrils’, or ‘I haven’t had this much fun since those nine whip-like tendrils’. Tends to be more ‘that gaping maw was surrounded by nine whip-like tendrils’. I don’t mean to be negative…”
“Ehm, Sorrel,” Varga whispers in her ear, hand on the archer’s shoulder, tone uncharacteristically awkward. “You might want to talk to Oziah or Igrainne before saying that… they might have a different opinion. Just sayin’…”
Sorrel flushed a little. “Oz… well… I’ve been meaning to find an excu… I’ve been meaning to find her thinking on things for a while, so… but look, the point is, Toothy consults the mirror about the Underdark,” it was all Sorrel could do to not ruffle his head as she spoke, “and whilst they are admittedly intriguing, the images don’t seem to suggest a kids party is waiting for him. I’m just saying maybe… I don’t know. Maybe seek out someone like Glint before charging off down there.” Toothy stopped his headache inducing thinking to acknowledge Sorrel’s words.
“Well, this is unexpectedly juicy,” said Jaezred, his deep voice suddenly taking on a salacious tone. “Do tell me more about what you think of Lady Oziah and let’s hope Miss Silvia doesn’t get jeal— Ah, pardon me, I’m getting carried away by gossip.”
“Lord Jaezred, there is only one thing that unites the women I’ve shown any romantic interest in,” Sorrel sighed. “They’ve all been dead within a year. I’m like a horny grim reaper with exquisite muscle toning.”
“Oh but you’ve only made it sound all the more delicious! Now, I command you to tell me more about it later.”
“This vow is not as simple as I thought,” Sorrel muttered. “I thought it would mainly involve killing people, not messy stuff like relationships.”
“No take-backs, I’m afraid. But back to the matter at hand — yes, boy, it seems the mirror is saying you’ve got a connection to the Silver Nightingale, and that her demise wasn’t as poetically beautiful as the bards tell it. An ill premonition, to be sure…”
"Yeah I… It’s a lot to think about, which is not my strongest skill, I’ll admit." He let out a sheepish chuckle, "But what I do think is that Sorrel is right, maybe I should avoid the Underdark for now, until I have some more answers. Which I know prevents me from helping you in your mission Jaezred, sorry, especially after you’ve helped me here."
Jaezred sighed. “Very well. I do not think this vision certainly means that something horrid would happen if you were to return to the Underdark, but I understand. Until then, I would encourage you to use the mirror at least once every day, see what more you can glean from it.”
“Just out of interest, what actually is this job?” Sorrel leaned forward. “I mean if it’s completely danger free, maybe it’d be a nice day trip for Toothy. Get to know the place.”
“Day trips with Jaezred are usually pretty dangerous,” Varga remarked thoughtfully. “So you might be onto something, Sorrel! Nothing clears the mind like a good fight!”
“No. We shall be searching for someone. Our employer will give more details during the briefing the day of.”
Varga turned to Jaezred, eyebrow quirked. “That sounds like Imryll! Are you working for her?”
“No, not Imryll,” was all he replied with.
“So, light on equipment, blackened blades, iron rations, move fast, hit hard,” Sorrel was packing in her head. “Probably short swords rather than rapier. Silvered arrows. Maybe manacles and black rope. Standard protocols. Fortunately my drow tutors taught me the old remain-invisible-to-darkvision tricks so you couldn’t have offered me a better debut, my Lord. And I have the new bow to try out. This is very exciting…” She wandered towards the door, her mind already debating the appropriate thickness of boot soles.
“Well,” a strong hand clasped Toothy’s shoulder. He turned to see the half-orc smiling at him with encouragement. “If you feel down ‘cause of this silly mirror, you can always come over to Chaos. Cleaver and the gang will be happy to see you again, even if you aren’t a bear anymore!” Varga chuckled and made a sloppy attempt to put a knitted hat on his head, it just about fit over the bone talismans woven into his hair. She frowned at the result. “I suppose I should head there myself though. The little buggers have broken the bookcase. Again. Gotta get to fixin’, I suppose…” she trailed off with a careless sigh, and nodded a goodbye to Jaezred. With another encouraging clap on Toothy’s back, she dragged her feet downstairs.
Toothy watched both Sorrel and Varga leave the room with a fond smile before turning towards his remaining friend. “I didn’t have a chance to say it before, but good luck down there, and hopefully I can make it up to you another time?”
Jaezred nodded. “Another time, sargtlin*. Remember what I told you about the Witching Court. Farewell.”
He picked up his overcoat and top hat and walked towards the stairs, but he paused on the landing, turning back to face Toothy with a thoughtful expression. “Maybe you should give singing a try,” he suggested, before heading down.
*Drowic Elvish word meaning “drow warrior”.
“Sure, might as well invite the other half of the town,” Lucan grumbled half-heartedly, failing to hide his delight at yet another visitor.
The back room of the shop already contained, apart from its usual toothy occupant, another barbarian who just dropped in on account of the holidays, bringing a couple of hats crudely knitted from chinchilla fur. Upstairs the rattling of metal and irregular twangs of traps, bowstrings and tendons told Jaezred’s keen ears that Sorrel was moving back in.
“Lucan!” Sorrel’s voice was getting louder as she slid downstairs. “Do you happen to have Lord Jaezred’s address because I owe him… oh.” Sorrel’s face appeared in the doorway, mouth and eyes wide open in surprise. A handful of daggers fell from her nerveless fingers. “I owe him money. My Lord…” she bowed her head and placed her right hand over her heart in the House salute. “At your service and your family’s.”
The drow mage nodded to her and his gaze wandered from person to person. “I beg your pardon. I was told by the clerics at the temple that you are here, Miss Darkfire,” he said, taking off his top hat and dusting the snow off of it. “And just as well, for I need to speak to you also, Toothy.”
“Oh, hi, Jaezred, great to see you too!” Varga beamed, boasting not only the constitution of a fine oak wardrobe, but also the social awareness of one. He did not deign to glance in her direction.
“My Lord, I was just about to try and find you,” Sorrel’s words tumbled over each other. “I have the first 50 gold of the money I owe you. It may take a little time to repay the full 300 but it’s a start.”
“Thank you, Miss Darkfire.”
Toothy looked to his friends with his classic toothy grin, glad to see so many faces gathered, but then also looked around the cramped space of the back room.
“Should we perhaps go upstairs? Been a while since we had many visitors but I can fix some drinks and stuff, it’s a bit cramped and there’s only the crates to really sit on down here…”
Sorrel nodded and bent to gather her daggers, her head just dipping below the friendly right hook Varga threw in her direction. She’d forgotten how much ducking was involved in greeting her favourite half orc.
“No need for drinks, I will not be long,” said Jaezred as he took up his cane, and followed his gracious host upstairs. He hoped to talk to the other drow more privately, and was disappointed to hear Varga’s unmistakable heavy steps behind him. Luckily for both of them, Sorrel followed suit, or the day would have been marred by a barbarian being disintegrated for trying to put a knit hat on a drow lord.
Hearing the loud mis-matched rattle of the footsteps on the stairs, Lucan sighed and shook his head fondly. The leatherworker gave his hammer a swirl, and fished out a half-made boot back from the ‘work-in-progress’ chest. As he plopped down on a small stool to continue his work, the only thing the situation was missing was for him to add “kids these days,” but he knew better.
The four adventurers made it upstairs, ending up in the kitchen just over the shop where Toothy gestured, for those who want to, to sit at the sturdy kitchen table. Even with Jaezred’s decline of a drink he still put the kettle on, mumbling something about the old man being grumpy if he didn’t get his cuppa soon, before leaning against the counter to look as attentive to the conversation as he could.
The two women sat down on a couch, one barely visible in the shade, another - right where the setting winter sun was glimpsing through the window.
Lord Jaezred sat down at the table, the elegant nobleman appearing rather out of place in this humble shop-come-residence. “I have been given a task by certain parties in the Witching Court. A dangerous but rewarding task,” he began, looking between Sorrel and Toothy. “I shall need to assemble a party to go down into the Underdark with me. Now, Miss Darkfire, for this I shall cash in what you have given me”—he procured a dark stone token with a rune carved into its face from his pocket, the second House token Sorrel had given him, and offered it to her—“but as for you, boy, since you owe me nothing, I must ask this of you as a favour.”
Toothy shifted a bit from his position at the mention of the Underdark, “That does sound pretty serious, but you don’t need to ask me as a favour. Friends help friends even if they don’t owe each other anything. But… mentioning the Underdark has reminded me that I got this weird mirror recently, and now that we’re gathered like this perhaps you could help me to use and understand it if that’s alright with you all? It’s… Ah, just wait here?”
He darted through the door leading to the rest of the house. Varga observed him running across the room with mild interest.
“You know, if you’re looking for a muscle in the Underdark, I’d be happy to go back there,” she said in a tone that people usually adopt when pretending to have just come up with a conveniently beneficial idea. But a single cursory glance at her told Jaezred that no, the thought had really just occurred to her. “We’ve recently gone on a raid down under. And blew up a train!” She beamed, caught up in pleasant memories. “Well, it more or less blew itself up… but we helped. Also, Igrainne stole a drow lady from mind flayers-”
“Absolutely not,” he cut in.
Varga stared at him, genuinely perplexed. “Why though?”
“Just…no.”
The half-orc gave his tired form a brief glance and shrugged. “Sure, have it your way. It’s your ass going down there, mate.”
As Toothy crashed around in the depths of Lucan’s house, Sorrel turned to Jaezred and closed his hand around the Summoning Stone. “My Lord, the debt I owe you after the night of the drow spirit extends beyond the highest concept of House and Duty,” she said in a tone that suggested she would accept no debate. “The Stone, once used, is spent. But you helped me financially in my hour of greatest need and then helped rescue my very soul. For this, there is no single act of repayment possible. It is a bond of gratitude that extends to death and beyond. Command me, and I will serve. This will never change. Although,” she paused, “like so many things in life it’s always more pleasant if you deliver the request with style.”
Jaezred’s face twitched at the mention of the “drow spirit”. His mouth opened a little, his brow furrowed as if internally debating whether to say something. He decided against it.
Sorrel, watching his face carefully, noted the struggle — an echo of the confusion she’d seen on the night of her… she shivered… exorcism. She considered mentioning Zola, the mysterious drow friend of Sarin and comrade in the Harnash Affair. Not now, she concluded. There would be time ahead of the Underdark. She was a professional. She was being briefed. That was all that mattered.
“Thank you,” he said to her, a rare sincerity in his voice and eyes, and slipped the stone back into his coat. “However, there may come a time when…I ask you to obey me without question.”
Sorrel nodded carefully. “There are certain… occult tattoos that act as a guarantee if you doubt my word, my Lord,” she was hesitant. “I don’t know if Kantas has that kind of artisan, but I’m certain we will find one in the Underdark. All we need is a vial of your blood, a vial of my blood, something precious that you always carry with you and some ground glass. And some hair, I think.”
Varga turned her gaze to Sorrel and crossed her arms on her chest, expression half skeptical, and half concerned. “You know, if you need to go to such lengths to prove you’re gonna do what you said you’re gonna do, either your word is worth nothing and you’ll find a way not to do it,” she raised one finger. “Or, the person you’re trying to convince can’t be convinced,” she raised another. “Either way, tattooing a contract on yourself seems a step too far. You’re an honest girl, surely he knows that,” she nodded to Jaezred without looking at him.
“Varga, if anyone but Lord Jaezred requested additional security beyond my sworn word I would tattoo my promise on their eyelids with a hunting knife,” Sorrel said conversationally, getting a hearty chuckle from the half-orc. “You know how it goes. But Lord Jaezred is special. He gets what he wants. Technically, that doesn’t include divorce work, but if Lady Imryll is unfaithful, I’d be happy to kill her suitor.”
Throughout this exchange, Jaezred was studying Sorrel with an appraising look. He had heard, long ago, his father speak of some clever Mizzrymir wizard coming up with something similar to keep their “goods” in line. He had never expected to hear of such a thing from human lips. Then again, this House of hers did appear to have at least one dark elf assassin in their employ; perhaps the influence of the drow, that special touch of theirs, had permeated it. “I appreciate it, Miss Darkfire, but this measure would not be necessary. I have faith my requests shall not be…too painful to fulfill. And, well, her ladyship would never do that to me, but if she does, I can garrotte any rivals on my own.”
“Painful is nothing, my Lord, try having a hunger spirit constantly raking your soul with venomous fangs,” Sorrel shrugged, then a slow smile of respect spread across her face. “Garrotte… I love working with drow. My Lord, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship. What’s the job? Close quarters protection? Assassination? Hostage rescue? Something more elaborate? And where’s Toothy? He’s usually quicker than…” she tailed off lamely. “Something quick that’s an animal.”
“A goat falling off a cliff,” Varga supplied with an eye-witness conviction.
“What Varga says…” Sorrel nodded. “Dear god, some things you can never unsee.”
The half-orc shifted on the couch, twisting her body to look at the door behind which the drow barbarian had disappeared.
“Toothy, mate, you’re alright?” She bellowed after him. “Shout twice if the mirror is trying to eat you!”
There was the sound of feet padding across the corridor as Toothy seemed to have moved into a different room, “I’m fine! Just can’t remember where I put it, I think Dad tidied it away into the bathroom.” There were more sounds of cupboard doors being opened until a sudden triumphant shout.
“How apt,” murmured Jaezred.
Toothy emerged back into the kitchen, now holding a platinum hand mirror. “Sorry about the wait, but this is it, the mirror of the past. I’ve been avoiding looking into it if I’m honest because I’m worried I’ll do it wrong and what I’ll see.”
The older drow blinked and turned in his seat to look at the mirror better, his curiosity piqued. Whatever that was looming large in his mind had been momentarily forgotten. “Is that so?” he mused out loud. Toothy nodded a little anxiously.
He muttered a few words and traced an arcane sigil in the air in one hand as he casted the detect magic spell. The elaborately decorated mirror flared up with an aura of divination, the swirls of its rim darkening like small but deep wells.
Sorrel stirred uncomfortably. The temple or the spirit seemed to have sensitised her to the arcane. She watched Jaezred and Toothy carefully. Varga took out her flail in almost inappropriate anticipation.
“Give it here, boy,” Jaezred told Toothy in Drowic, extending a palm out to him. Toothy obliged, and while the sorcerer inspected the mirror, went to take the kettle off the stove before its whistle disturbed his guests. Jaezred angled himself such that no one was behind him, then slowly turned the mirror to face him, and gazed into it.
A scene swam into view, way too clear for the mirror’s dim surface: it was Imryll unpacking the dress he ordered for her in D’Avalon. Immediately, the rim swirls started fading, as if the pools were running shallower by the moment. Jaezred’s brows shot up his forehead and he handed the mirror back to Toothy. “Well… It seems to do what it says on the tin.”
Toothy slowly took it, his nervousness palpable as he realised he was out of reasons to not reveal his shrouded past through the mirror. “So I just look? It’s that simple?”
“I believe so. But do you want to?”
“Yeah I do, it’s just a little scary taking a step into the unknown. Especially something that has been unknown to me for so long.” He tried to give a quick reassuring smile to Jaezred, as well as Sorrel and Varga. Sorrel smiled back, but there was something that worried her in Toothy’s expression. She found words of guidance coming into her heart from somewhere infinite and yet within, and she reached out to briefly lay a hand on Toothy that he might benefit from this new magic that seemed to be hers. She fumbled for the crystal queen’s gift in case he needed it. Varga just nodded at her flail with an encouraging grin - she got him covered in the worst case scenario (at least the one she could imagine). “Gods favour the bold,” she stated.
Jaezred was quiet for a moment. “Scary as it might be, you have the courage to face it, and the thirst to find out too, I bet. Well, it might show you nothing important. I saw a random vision of something innocuous from the recent past. But you won’t know until you try it.”
The drow barbarian looked obviously moved by everyone’s encouragement. “Thank you, all of you. But Jaezred, as you said, I won’t know until I try.” And so he looked into the mirror.
The fog enveloped its surface for what felt like an eternity, but in reality was barely a couple of seconds. It started to clear, revealing a body of water filled with stars. Toothy had never seen it before, or at least couldn’t remember seeing it, but everyone knew there was only one such place anywhere in the Underdark. The Sea of the Starry Night. The reflected light on its calm surface glowed in the purest shade of silver, and the dark spots in between bloomed in the deepest blue, like large violets. One ripple touched the calm water, then another. The source wasn’t clear, but the small waves looked almost like they were reacting to sound. The water, as if moved by a song, touched the shore, and the white foam turned into a small bird. The bird flew through dark and bright areas in circles, appearing to be a silver nightingale in the shade and a young bluebird in the light. Then, suddenly, it darted away and up, in a wide spiral. The surface of the water, now murky and disturbed, broke as if it was made of glass, pierced by nine dark tendrils that extended after the small bird, like whip tails. The little creature flew as fast as it could, its tiny breast heaving, but the tendrils seemed to be catching up at a sickening pace. They were closing in on the bird, nearer and nearer, just a little more and the bird could maybe make it, just another couple of flaps of the minute wings—
The mirror went dim, its charge spent.
Toothy let out the breath he had been holding, then blinked himself out of the slight trance the mirror had him in. “It definitely worked, definitely showed me something. I just don’t know what it means.” There was a pause as his mental gears tried turning. “It’s weird, I know this mirror is meant to show the past but what it showed me felt more like a prophecy.”
“Why? What did you see?” Jaezred asked.
The barbarian described the scene he’d just witnessed to the best of his abilities, nervousness still evident in his tone. At the end of his description he paused before adding, “Am I meant to be the bird or the dark tendrils? Did I run or did I chase?”
Varga, puzzled, looked from one of her intellectual and silent friends to another. Why would anyone be upset by a dangerous omen? Didn’t it make you feel special to receive one? Still surprised by their stunned silence, she gave Toothy’s shoulder a friendly shove to get him out of his reverie. “Well, I’m no shaman to decipher vague visions… but aren’t those usually sent as a sign by gods?” She grinned. “Either way it sounds like the trip to the Underdark is gonna be eventful!”
“Eventful perhaps in the wrong way though…” Toothy added quietly.
Jaezred rubbed his chin, deep in thought and staring at him with widened eyes. “Well… That is strange. And yet, it cannot be a coincidence…”
“Yeah, but who benefits from this coincidence? I’m worried this is a warning of something that’s happened before, I don’t want to put anyone at risk here.”
“That’s not what I meant, my dear boy. A silver nightingale… That was the symbol and moniker of a famous — or infamous, depends on who you ask — minstrel from my childhood. Her life was a mystery, and it is said she walked into the Glimmersea in the Underdark and was never seen again. According to legend, she turned into sea foam, or something like that. Obviously, birds are not native to the Underdark, and combined with this sea of stars you saw… The mirror had to be referring to the Silver Nightingale.”
“Lord Jaezred,” Sorrel spoke respectfully. “Forgive my cultural insensitivity, but in the House we had drow tutors and a detachment of drow warriors who were,” she shivered. “Skillful. They seemed to scorn…. Perhaps that’s too strong a word. Music was not respected in the Dark Chambers. Unless it had certain properties and I would not personally describe that as music. A minstrel?”
“I don’t believe any culture has an exclusive monopoly on joyless assassins, Miss Darkfire, but I grant you that the drow and the duergar have the lion’s share of them,” he said with a small chuckle. “But rest assured, the rest of us are normal and capable of enjoying the arts.”
“I don’t doubt that, and forgive me — I have enjoyed high and low art, as well as exceptional killing techniques with almost all cultures. But I have never met nor even heard of a drow minstrel before. What was she like?” Toothy also turned to Jaezred for his answer with a renewed interest.
Jaezred’s crimson eyes glazed over into a dreamy burgundy colour as he reminisced. “She was…beautiful and mysterious. Always performed in a magical bird mask. She’d do these trills with her throat that sounded like the exotic birds my kin would bring from the surface world, and her voice could shatter glass, melt metal, and shape water. I sneaked into one of her shows once when I was a young lad. That was the only time I saw her perform, but it’s burned into my mind ever since.”
Toothy shared an impressed look with Sorrel, mouthing a silent “Wow”. Varga looked over all three of them and gave an immature snicker.
“But nothing has been heard from her since, and she definitely sounds like someone who you would notice is back,” Toothy said in an attempt to break Jaezred out of his dreamy stupor.
“How long ago was your first memory of living in the forest?”
“About 60 years go.”
“Hm. The Nightingale went missing some 50 years ago.”
“So that kinda matches up? And the mirror suggests it has something to do with nine whip-like tendrils.” Toothy rests his head on his hand in some attempt to think it through.
“I mean, I’m no expert,” Sorrel mused, “but I’ve never heard anyone say ‘nine whip-like tendrils’ in a good way. It’s not like ‘oh, I could really do with nine whip-like tendrils’, or ‘I haven’t had this much fun since those nine whip-like tendrils’. Tends to be more ‘that gaping maw was surrounded by nine whip-like tendrils’. I don’t mean to be negative…”
“Ehm, Sorrel,” Varga whispers in her ear, hand on the archer’s shoulder, tone uncharacteristically awkward. “You might want to talk to Oziah or Igrainne before saying that… they might have a different opinion. Just sayin’…”
Sorrel flushed a little. “Oz… well… I’ve been meaning to find an excu… I’ve been meaning to find her thinking on things for a while, so… but look, the point is, Toothy consults the mirror about the Underdark,” it was all Sorrel could do to not ruffle his head as she spoke, “and whilst they are admittedly intriguing, the images don’t seem to suggest a kids party is waiting for him. I’m just saying maybe… I don’t know. Maybe seek out someone like Glint before charging off down there.” Toothy stopped his headache inducing thinking to acknowledge Sorrel’s words.
“Well, this is unexpectedly juicy,” said Jaezred, his deep voice suddenly taking on a salacious tone. “Do tell me more about what you think of Lady Oziah and let’s hope Miss Silvia doesn’t get jeal— Ah, pardon me, I’m getting carried away by gossip.”
“Lord Jaezred, there is only one thing that unites the women I’ve shown any romantic interest in,” Sorrel sighed. “They’ve all been dead within a year. I’m like a horny grim reaper with exquisite muscle toning.”
“Oh but you’ve only made it sound all the more delicious! Now, I command you to tell me more about it later.”
“This vow is not as simple as I thought,” Sorrel muttered. “I thought it would mainly involve killing people, not messy stuff like relationships.”
“No take-backs, I’m afraid. But back to the matter at hand — yes, boy, it seems the mirror is saying you’ve got a connection to the Silver Nightingale, and that her demise wasn’t as poetically beautiful as the bards tell it. An ill premonition, to be sure…”
"Yeah I… It’s a lot to think about, which is not my strongest skill, I’ll admit." He let out a sheepish chuckle, "But what I do think is that Sorrel is right, maybe I should avoid the Underdark for now, until I have some more answers. Which I know prevents me from helping you in your mission Jaezred, sorry, especially after you’ve helped me here."
Jaezred sighed. “Very well. I do not think this vision certainly means that something horrid would happen if you were to return to the Underdark, but I understand. Until then, I would encourage you to use the mirror at least once every day, see what more you can glean from it.”
“Just out of interest, what actually is this job?” Sorrel leaned forward. “I mean if it’s completely danger free, maybe it’d be a nice day trip for Toothy. Get to know the place.”
“Day trips with Jaezred are usually pretty dangerous,” Varga remarked thoughtfully. “So you might be onto something, Sorrel! Nothing clears the mind like a good fight!”
“No. We shall be searching for someone. Our employer will give more details during the briefing the day of.”
Varga turned to Jaezred, eyebrow quirked. “That sounds like Imryll! Are you working for her?”
“No, not Imryll,” was all he replied with.
“So, light on equipment, blackened blades, iron rations, move fast, hit hard,” Sorrel was packing in her head. “Probably short swords rather than rapier. Silvered arrows. Maybe manacles and black rope. Standard protocols. Fortunately my drow tutors taught me the old remain-invisible-to-darkvision tricks so you couldn’t have offered me a better debut, my Lord. And I have the new bow to try out. This is very exciting…” She wandered towards the door, her mind already debating the appropriate thickness of boot soles.
“Well,” a strong hand clasped Toothy’s shoulder. He turned to see the half-orc smiling at him with encouragement. “If you feel down ‘cause of this silly mirror, you can always come over to Chaos. Cleaver and the gang will be happy to see you again, even if you aren’t a bear anymore!” Varga chuckled and made a sloppy attempt to put a knitted hat on his head, it just about fit over the bone talismans woven into his hair. She frowned at the result. “I suppose I should head there myself though. The little buggers have broken the bookcase. Again. Gotta get to fixin’, I suppose…” she trailed off with a careless sigh, and nodded a goodbye to Jaezred. With another encouraging clap on Toothy’s back, she dragged her feet downstairs.
Toothy watched both Sorrel and Varga leave the room with a fond smile before turning towards his remaining friend. “I didn’t have a chance to say it before, but good luck down there, and hopefully I can make it up to you another time?”
Jaezred nodded. “Another time, sargtlin*. Remember what I told you about the Witching Court. Farewell.”
He picked up his overcoat and top hat and walked towards the stairs, but he paused on the landing, turning back to face Toothy with a thoughtful expression. “Maybe you should give singing a try,” he suggested, before heading down.
*Drowic Elvish word meaning “drow warrior”.