Walk Into the Darkness Aftermath – The Gloaming

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Lord Jaezred is the first to arrive. He shuts the door behind him and immediately goes through the motions of casting detect magic. Their opponent is likely a mage of high calibre, and he would not be doing his due diligence if he did not check for the presence of scrying sensors in the room first.

Delilah sits at a round table, the loot taken out of her bag of holding and laid out on the table. Shadow Beastie lays coiled around her shoulders, their tail swishing back and forth. There is a drink next to her, it’s dark reddish amber liquid matching the bottle next to it. More fine glasses are on the table, along with other drinks. It appears, despite pouring herself one, she has not touched it yet.

“Vandree,” she says with a nod, noticing his glance around. “How’s the decor? To your taste?”

“Distinct lack of Luskani curtains.”

There’s the barest hint of a chuckle. “Apologies for yesterday, I was… taken off guard. I appreciate your patience in waiting to do this. All of you, really.”

There’s a knock on the door. The first one is thunderously loud, followed by much quieter ones, as if a person knocking suddenly remembered they only meant to knock on the door, not knock it down. Varga enters, much less confident than usual, turning over an envelope in her hand.

“Hi… ah… how’re you doing?” She looks up at Delilah with a somewhat apologetic expression. “Any better?”

The pale woman shrugs. “Better isn’t how I would put it. Determined.” Despite her words, her eyes aren’t full of the steel they normally are. She bows her head. “I thank you for asking though, Varga. Do come in. Have a drink, if you’d like.”

The half-orc nods, visibly more confident. “I do need a drink,” she sighs. Sitting down at a table, she downs half a glass in one go. “Some jobs just leave a bad taste in your mouth, don’t they?” She sighs. “But determined’s good. Gets shit done.” She says, taking another large gulp of alcohol.

The door announces another arrival: two sharp, precise knocks in quick succession. Jaezred opens the door to a jovial Heret, dressed in velvet of carmine and myrtle embroidered in gold. “Good business, good business!” he says, stepping inside.

He’lylbreia has taken to playing a game of catch with Beastie as a moving shadow on the floor; inky tendrils can occasionally be seen rising from the shade for the cat to swat at with their paws. Jaezred sits down and takes a drink, watching the two shadow beings cavort around the room.

“You seem well recovered, Delilah?” says Heret, taking a seat at the table across from her. His eyes sweep across the various coin-purses, cloak, polished obsidian ring, two tarnished spoons, and one badly decayed book laid out between them.

“Yes,” she confirms. “I do not wish to take up any more of your time as there are things I need to do, preparations for a return trip, topics I would research…” Delilah trails off, covering it by gesturing at the items. “How shall we divide these amongst us?”

“Well,” answers Heret, “the coin we have counted already: one hundred and seventy-five pearls, that is platinum pieces. The spoons, let us say one gold the pair. The books… your lordship has the other? I made a few enquiries and they have some rarity but the condition is very poor, I would not reckon them above four gold pieces each. The cloak is a curiosity but not a peerless treasure, there are several even in the Dawnlands that I know of – I believe Lady Oziah has one, in fact.” He looks around. “Is her ladyship not joining us?”

The two shadows, having come back to their owners, stop their game of shadow tag between the chairs of the drow lord and half-elf woman. The cat-shaped one looks up at Delilah with its not-eyes, tilting its head.

“She will not,” Delilah says smoothly after a beat. “Lady Oziah sends her regards.”

“Ah, well, I hope she is well. Yes, the cloak – I have seen these sold for eight platinum and six gold. The ring is the most unusual and the most valuable; I have heard of something similar but without this unusual feature of being powerless in bright light, which of course reduces the value. I should say four hundred and fifty platinum.” Heret flashes a look around at the others in the room without really making eye-contact with anyone, and smiles a slightly forced smile. “So the whole comes to six hundred and thirty-five pearls, two little pearls, and a taran. One hundred and twenty-seven platinum, four silver, and two copper coins for each person. The ring is perhaps the best place to start – we could sell, of course, or one of us could exchange it for—” he calculates rapidly “—three hundred and twenty-three, no, twenty-two platinum, nine gold, five silver, eight copper to be divided among the rest.”

“I have no interest in any of the items. Gold is fine,” says Jaezred, and he puts the half-rotted book on shadow magic on the table. “I have finished reading that one. There isn’t that much text left, unfortunately, but I’m happy to discuss its contents.” His crimson eyes flit over to Delilah and there is a slight nod of the head.

Delilah catches the look before turning to Varga. “What about you?”

The half-orc stares at Heret for a moment, and downs the rest of her drink.

“You, sir, can defeat an entire orc clan on your own,” she says, completely in awe. “Just offer to help divide their loot. I’m glad you’re on our side,” she nods with reverence, and turns to Delilah. “I… uh… I’d like the spoons, CHAOS always needs cutlery. And stoneware. And furniture. The little buggers break everything,” Varga sighs. “But mostly I’d like the cape, if that’s alright. You see, my… uh…” she glances at her envelope momentarily, and then raises her eyes again. “My parents are visiting. And I think this cape will go very well with my helmet,” she points to a twig tiara on her head. “I kinda want to impress them,” she shrugs. “I mean, they’ve always believed in me, and I just wanna show it wasn’t all for nothing…” She trails off, giving Delilah another apologetic look.

She is rigid as stone, but Delilah gives a small nod. “The cloak should be yours then. May it do more for you than it did it’s previous owner.” She meet’s Varga’s eyes, holding the half-orc’s gaze for a moment before looking somewhere, anywhere other than the grateful gaze of the strong warrior.

“I want the books and my share of gold. The Scholars in the library here are no less expensive to ply for help than they are at the Academy, but they don’t hold one’s findings hostage for their own gain.”

Heret is jotting notes on a narrow strip of paper, speaking mostly to himself. "Lord Jaezred… one hundred and twenty-seven platinum, four silver, two copper only… Varga… one hundred and eighteen platinum, three gold, four silver, two copper, cloak, two spoons… Delilah… two books, one hundred and twenty-six platinum, two, four, two… You had trouble at the Academy?"

Delilah picks up her drink, swirling it. “I did a few months back. The scholar was insistent on going to Gaddenthor and so I took him.” She chuckles. “He was very out of his depth and nearly got more than he bargained for.”

“I imagine so!” laughs Heret. “Now – does either of you know Lady Oziah’s wishes in this matter?” He gestures at the table. “The ring perhaps, in exchange for the three hundred roldons and so on?”

“Why would Oziah need to pay for the ring?” Delilah asks rather sharply out of the blue.

A look of puzzlement crosses Heret’s face. “She would not be ‘paying’ for it. The ring is worth more than her share, so she would contribute the balance.” He locks eyes with Delilah. “Else we others would receive less than our due. You see?”

She turns to face him properly, leaning forward, her dark eyes becoming hard like the obsidian they saw in the Shadowfell. “And what, pray tell, are you owed then? Is gold not enough for a merchant like you? Do you have designs on the ring? Is that why you make a fuss about it’s monetary value?”

Heret visibly tenses and seems about to reply when another voice speaks. “If Mr. Velnnarul desires the ring, I’m sure he would have said so,” Jaezred says in a calming voice, looking mildly surprised by this sudden outburst. “On that matter, is anyone interested in the ring?”

“As your lordship rightly says, I am not,” answers Heret, his words clipped and hard.

“Nah, I’ve got one,” Varga thumbs a ring with two foxes on it she’s wearing on her left hand, barely paying attention to the conversation.

Delilah takes a breath and sits back, but her eyes stay on Heret. “Oziah would like the ring, but there is not a snowballs chance in the Hells she is going to pay for it.”

“What is your proposal, then?” snaps the human. “That her ladyship take a share worth ten times anyone else’s? Is that how little you esteem the service that we three rendered you yesterday?”

The pale half-elf marks the tense muscles in Heret’s neck and shoulders, a slight physical manifestation of holding himself back from expressing even more. Delilah lets his little outburst ring in the air a beat longer than necessary before she responds.

“You mistake monetary value for the worth of a person, Velnnarul. But please do tell us what you think you’re worth,” she says, raising an eyebrow mockingly. Picking up the ring she holds it up, looking at him through the dark band. “Are you worth — how much did you say? — four hundred and fifty platinum?”

Varga flinches, and raises an eyebrow at Delilah.

“Listen, I agree he’s making a complete mess of loot division. But you kinda sound a bit like your dad when you’re saying stuff like this. Come on, you’re better than that,” she says, looking distinctly uncomfortable, and glances to Heret. “Heret, really. I hope you never go kill a dragon, with a mindset like this, its hoard will set you with a life-long debt!”

There is a sudden and loud THUD as Jaezred stomps his cane on the wooden floor.

“Enough, all of you!” he exclaims, his voice taking on a stern and commanding tone. He lets out a sigh as he turns to Heret. “Mr. Velnnarul. Perhaps, seeing as this ring once belonged to Miss Delilah’s brother, it should go to her, and she is free to give it to Lady Oziah if she wants. Then we can divide the rest of the loot evenly among us. I’m sure Varga”—he shoots a look at the half-orc woman—“would be happy to pay for the cloak and silverware she is taking.”

Heret, recovering from his confusion at Varga’s last remark, turns his eyes back to Delilah to see her seemingly pupiless eyes studying him again, waiting for him to either answer the question she asked before or to purposefully ignore it. The ring spins on the table like a coin, the dark band creating the illusion of an obsidian marble as it world around. She absentmindedly flutters her fingers, summoning shadows to spin up off it in spirals, like a miniature shadow fountain.

“I have never asked for a single fandar more than anyone else,” he says, directing his words carefully and precisely to those black eyes. “But if I am asked to accept less than others, I wish to know why. Now, if this is some sort of family heirloom as his lordship suggests…?”

There is a protracted pause as Delilah looks down at the spinning ring. On one hand she wants to press a point but on another she doesn’t feel like beating her head against the brick wall that is this human’s misconception of value and worth. The ring begins to slow down, the shadows dispersing from it as she stops summoning them and then, finally it falls to one side.

“An heirloom that I would see kept close, yes,” she says softly. Her short hair ruffles as Beastie manifests on her shoulder once more, nuzzling into her neck. “Lady Oziah will forgo her share of gold. Will that satisfy?” Delilah asks, eyes finding Heret’s once more with cold, sharp precision. She sees him pass a slow, appraising look up and down her before his eyes return to meet hers.

“May the Coinmaiden bless us all with such fine heirlooms to pass down our families,” he says at last. “Well, then. The princely sum of forty-six pearls, three little ones, two spots of red ink and an uncountable half for each of us. Meaning three hundred and seventy-six gold coins and two or three copper for Varga, in addition to the cloak and cutlery; four hundred and fifty-five gold and two or three copper and two volumes of erudition for Delilah, and coins for his lordship and me. Are we resolved?”

“Thank Shargaas, I thought I wouldn’t survive this one,” Varga sighes, relieved. She gets up from the table, and picks up the cloak and spoons. She carefully takes a handful of coins as well, feeling the quantity rather than counting each coin, her eyes never once leaving Heret. The half-orc walks towards the exit, giving the businessman a wide berth, using Delilah’s and Jaezred’s chairs as cover as she makes her way to the door.

“I’ve got to be going. Need to clean up the place to prepare for the guests,’ she hesitates before adding: ‘And if you all need to unwind after that Obsidian City shit, well… I’m pretty sure we’ll be going on a hunt for something big and scary, kind of a clan tradition for family gatherings… Good to unwind, is what I’m saying. Maybe you wanna join,’ she shrugs and gives Delilah a much calmer look than before. ‘I’ll tell Oziah on my way out, too. Need to say hi to Deimos, after all,’ she chuckles. ‘And yeah, call me if you ever want to kill anything big and scary. You can do it on your own, sure. But… what I’m saying you’re not the only one looking forward to it!’ She winks and waves her goodbye to the party.

In a few moments, her hurried footsteps disappear down the long corridor leading to a staircase.

“Three hundred and seventy-six gold and two copper exactly,” says Heret, who had carefully watched Varga scooping the coins off the table. “Remarkable.”

“I’m satisfied with my share,” says Jaezred. A female black widow materialises on the table and begins pushing gold coins towards his side of the table with her small body. He glances at Delilah. She remains silent as she gathers her share of coin, tomes and the map. Then she turns to Jaezred.

“I’d be interested in discussing other things with you, Vandree.” He nods in response.

Delilah turns her attention to Heret as Beastie walks off her shoulder to the table, heading towards the spider, a telltale slinking walking that suggests mischief is on their mind. She stands and raises her glass to him. “Velnnarul, ever a pleasure. I hope the coin you’re taking satisfies the value for the work you did.”

He raises his own glass in acknowledgement and drinks, then neatly replaces the glass in its place on the table – still a quarter full. “Please, do not mind me, I shall not be long,” he says, beginning to pick coins from the table and drop them into a purse.

Delilah rolls her eyes, casting her lower face in shadow as she removes her mask to kick back her entire drink. When she’s done, she puts the glass down next to Heret’s with a pointed thunk and pours herself another one. Beastie, tired of playing with the Jaezred’s spider familiar, begins to paw at the coins Heret is trying to count, pushing a few of them out of easy reach. A couple slip off the table to clink on the floor. Delilah shares an amused look with her new shadow cat, holding back a laugh.

“Children,” Jaezred says, “play nice.”

Beastie looks at Jaezred, gives a soft growl, then jumps off the table. Going over to the fireplace, the shadow cat lays down, tummy up, soaking in the warmth from the flames in front of it. Delilah picks up her refilled glass, joining her shadow familiar by the fire. With her back to Heret she points a finger at Jaezred, casting Message. “Shall we go somewhere else to discuss what you found in the book?”

The drow turns his head away from Heret, as if to gaze out the window, whilst his lips move to whisper back, “Do you feel uncomfortable with this being discussed in his presence?”

“I trust him less than you, someone I once threatened to stay out of my personal affairs.”

Despite everything that is happening, Jaezred seems to be stifling laughter at that.

Just then the clinking of coins stops, replaced by the slight scraping of Heret’s chair as he stands up. “Well, I see that you two are deep in thought, so I shall take my leave. Good business to you, and to her ladyship as well.” He raises his glass in a brief salute and then drains its remaining contents.

Jaezred turns back to face Heret and rises to see him out the door. “Good day, Mr. Velnnarul.”

Delilah stays turned towards the fire. “Until next time Velnnarul.”

After Jaezred closes the door behind Heret, he sighs and turns to walk back towards the table. “He’s a clever fellow, but it’s like as soon as the subject of money comes up, he loses all tact.”

Delilah gives a humourless chuckle as she comes back to the table. Setting her glass down, she places her hands on the table and leans in. “Speaking of cleverness, what have you discovered? You seem keen to speak and I am interested in hearing.”

“It is a fascinating book.” He gently flips the crumbling tome open, lifting pages with the tips of his fingers. “According to the author, gods like the Raven Queen are not the only ones who can grant shadow magic to mortals. Powerful Shadowfell creatures such as shadow demons, aberrations, and older shadow dragons are capable of it as well. However, there is a way to attain power over shadows independently: shadow corruption.

“The entire plane of the Shadowfell is permeated by a substance called shadow matter, and significant exposure to shadow matter — that is, spending over a month in the Shadowfell or in close proximity to shadow magic or Shadowfell creatures — leads to shadow corruption. Not all shadow-corrupted creatures manifest magical abilities though, most of them just become cold-hearted versions of themselves. It’s a rare occurrence. Shadow dragons are themselves dramatic examples of what could happen to a creature undergoing corruption. The author had some ideas on how to identify the source of a shadow sorcerer’s power, but well…” He turns the pages to the latter half of the book where the ink has largely faded, rendering the text illegible.

“Of course the answers aren’t there, that would be too easy,” Delilah grumbles. She stands up, resting her hands on her hips as she thinks. “From what we observed of The Benefactor it’s safe to assume he falls into the category of being corrupted to the point of having magical abilities. They have clearly been honed to the point that he is now a powerful mage.” Her brow furrows. “My questions then are, has he figured a way to pass on his corruption to his children? Is that why he wishes to gather their souls? What is he wanting to have our souls for? Why does he need them? How many other children did he beget?” As she gives voice to these questions she slowly begins to pace, her voice dropping to an intense whisper.

“It is not unheard of for people to develop magical abilities due to their lineage. Dragonblood sorcerers, like our Miss Jenna, are the most famous, and those of celestial bloodlines are also known to be able to naturally use divine magic, similar to my own erstwhile talents. But if this is the Benefactor’s plan from the beginning, why did he not harvest your souls when you were younger and more vulnerable? Perhaps he did not intend to pass his gifts onto you. However, that, along with the rest of your questions, could only be answered with certainty by returning to the Obsidian City.”

The Pale Daughter stops her pacing and looks at the drow lord. In the darkness of her eyes he sees the determination she claimed to have before but it’s tinged with the uncertainty he had seen when they were there.

“I know.” There is a weighted pause. “Will you come with me when I do, Jaezred? You have been through your own ordeal recently and, well… I did once promise you’d regret meddling in my affairs.” She gives a humourless laugh. “This might fulfil those words, but certainly not in the way I intended them.”

“When have I ever regretted getting the juiciest gossip?” He shoots a grin at her but his expression quickly returns to seriousness once more. “I told you after returning from the Underdark that you have my aid should you ever want or need it, and I intend on keeping my word. On that matter though, have you learned about what we could expect if we descend into the city proper?” he asks, tapping on the book about the Obsidian City.

“It’s more of a journal,” she says, coming over to stand beside Jaezred. “The city started out as a mine, though nothing is mentioned about where the obsidian was being sent to or mined for. The workers just suddenly abandoned the place rather mysteriously. Seems to be a lot of those tied to this place. Then those six buildings arose, or were built, on the surface, again, for reasons unknown.”

Delilah carefully opens the soft cover book and flips to a page in about a third of the way through.

“There are notes, theories, and speculations.” She points. “The author thinks that the miners awoke or unleashed some form of shadow spirits or creatures that resided in the obsidian, but they don’t seem to have been able to prove it. However, this is where it gets interesting.” She begins flipping the pages. “This person descended into the city, yet they failed to describe anything of value about the location, any places of note, rooms, treasures, signs of the workers having been there at all, nothing.” The writing on the pages starts to become hard to read, as the words written down are not recognisable, instead becoming scribblings and drawings done by the hand of someone who is clearly losing their hold on reality. “They write about the shapes they see in the darkness, the moving and shifting shadows that always dance just in the corner of their vision – just like we experienced on the surface – and the whispers they hear. But no matter how hard they try they are never quite able to understand what they are saying.”

It is the last few pages and Jaezred, blinking, sees that any form of writing is gone. All of it is nonsensical, the ravings of a mind that has succumbed to insanity. It almost hurts their eyes to look upon it. Delilah closes the book with a firm hand.

“Interesting then that the Benefactor was able to give us this,” she says, drawing the map towards them on the table.

He bends down over the map, and his eyes scan the parchment but his brow furrows deeper and deeper with each passing moment. “This is more accurately described as a mine that is being lived in than a city,” he remarks. “Much of it is natural caverns rather than planned work tunnels, it seems. Immensely difficult to navigate without a map. I don’t like that we’d have to get out of there first before we could leave the plane. I’d prefer to teleport us out myself, but I’d need a scroll for that…”

He straightens up and looks at Delilah again. “I could attempt to scry on the Benefactor, if it will make things easier. Since we have a possession of his”—he indicates to the map—“it would be harder for him to resist the spell. Just need Miss Jenna or Pentaghast to pop us into the Shadowfell, anywhere on the plane, for the duration.”

Delilah nods. “A good idea. Something we should do when we return to the Planes, just outside of the Obsidian City’s gate perhaps?”

“Very well.”

Seeing the shade on the floor chasing Shadow Beastie around again, Jaezred takes out a small quartz gemstone out of his pocket. He mutters an incantation and a darkness seeps within the gem, like ink spreading across water, colouring it black save for what appears to be a single teardrop suspended inside the gemstone. He’lylbreia rises out of the shade as a panther, rolling on their back for Beastie to hop on their exposed belly.

“So what is your next step?” he asks Delilah.

Her brow sets and her shoulders hunch a little, the body language of someone bracing themselves against an onslaught. “I’m going to do some research. There was one lead I didn’t get a chance to pursue before but now I feel I must.” Her eyes lift up to his. “Ever heard of a shadow demon called Fraz-Urb'luu?”

An elegant eyebrow is arched. “The Demon Prince Fraz-Urb’luu?”

“I believe that’s the one,” she confirms. “Apparently a team of thieves had allied themselves to a cult of shadow demons belonging to the Demon Prince. I’m not sure if it will lead to anything helpful but the fact that it came up along with the Obsidian City in my initial search is not a coincidence.”

Beside them, Beastie, crouches down, wiggling their butt a little, preparing. Then suddenly they pounce, landing on He’lylbreia in a puff of dark smoke. Their playful growls and yowls continue as the two discuss more serious matters.

“Well, that is curious,” says Jaezred. A looming thought crosses his mind, but he pushes it out for now. “Alright, let us know if you find anything of interest. I shall go check on our favourite angelborn lady now.”

He picks up his cane leaning against a chair and turns to walk towards the door, leaving He’lylbreia to play with Beastie. But he suddenly pauses, standing by the door with his back to Delilah.

“You’re not like your father.”

The comment takes the pale half-elf by surprise. Beastie stops their playing with He’lyblreia, looking with their not-eyes from the drow lord to the girl of shadows. Delilah runs a finger along the rim of her glass, a sardonic smile twisting her lips underneath her mask.

“We will see how true that is soon enough,” she says, a slight quaver to her voice. Delilah clears her throat and adds, “Thank you, Jaezred.”

Feeling surreptitiously awkward, Jaezred opens the door and slips out without another word.


Continued in ‘A Dark Paradise [Research DTA]’ 🗡️