Yuan-ti find out some things?

(In collaboration with Skylerian Morningdew)

“Ah, Jabress* Blackriver!” a soft voice says as Igrainne hands over a folded piece of parchment to Jedd. “What a dumoas**, indeed, to run into you again.”

Igrainne turns from her quiet conversation with The Cavernous Seashank’s owner to see Sky lounging at ease against the polished darkwood of the bar, a gentle smile playing about their lips and a half-drunk glass of ruby-coloured wine at their elbow. “When your business with the inestimable Goodman Jedd is concluded, perhaps you might join me for a drink and a chat?”

The half-drow’s muscles seem to tense at the sight of the other elf. Her blue eyes scan the figure cautiously, as if searching for possible hidden weapons, or a hand ready to draw a clandestine blade. “Sky…” she begins. “Do you need something from me?”

“Not at all,” they say genially. “I was just enjoying a quiet drink when you entered; I’m staying here at the moment. I wanted to ask how the trip to the Vorsthold went? I was due to go along, but couldn’t make it in the end - as I’m sure you noticed.”

“Vorsthold went well. Turned out to be a false alarm from the mayor. It was...unfortunate that you couldn’t come along,” she replies, still maintaining the distance between them. Her fingers tap nervously on Jedd’s bar.

“I’m glad to hear it went well. From what I can tell: it seems important to maintain good relations with them; keeping at bay, as they do, the things that threaten us from beneath. Talking of threats from below, do we know anymore about the conflict between Aeschira and Xarribia? I’ve heard rumours of” Sky’s slender fingers flicker and sign Zhents “Drow butting heads in town and am trying to see if they’re linked.” Sky gestures to an empty table. “Would you mind if we sat? I’ve been on my feet all day and would welcome the rest!”

Igrainne’s eyes widen. She recognises the gestures, even though she herself hasn’t used it in years — Drowic sign language. “How do you—” She sighs wearily and shakes her head, then signs at Sky with one hand in rapid, practiced motions, so fast that they would have missed it if they blinked: We should find somewhere more private.

The ranger turns abruptly towards the door, grabs the eladrin longbow leaning against the bar at her left-hand side, and briskly walks out of the small tavern.

Glancing around the taproom to see if anyone is taking too much of an interest in this interaction, Sky finishes their wine and ambles out of The Shank, about 30 seconds behind Igrainne.

After a few minutes of walking, Igrainne ducks into a small alleyway by the edge of Old Town. She shoos away a pair of urchins playing marbles in a chalk-drawn circle on the ground, who scream playfully as they run off from the “scary drow lady”. She peeks around the corner of the other end of the alley and, after being satisfied that no unwelcome parties are present to eavesdrop, turns back to Sky. “We can speak freely here,” she says.

Sky turns a crate over on its side and daintily perches on the edge, one long leg languidly crossed over the other, and punctiliously reorganises the hem of their robes. “You worry about being overheard? By whom?”

Ignoring them, she continues, “I don’t know how you heard about this, but rest assured, the Black Network never came in contact with the Kantasian drow, at least as far as I‘m aware. I don’t know where the agents are now. My guess is, they’ve left the continent. What is your concern with the Zhents and the drow?”

“Like I said when we first met, Jabress Blackriver, information is my business. And, quite frankly, this land is awash with it. I merely had to dip my littlest toe in the rivers of knowledge flooding Kantas to hear about the Black Network. My problem is that there is too much detritus washing up on shore alongside true salvageable gems. I was wondering if you could help me sort through it all.”

“Information for whom? Who do you work for?”

“My, my - such ne'kales*** in one so young. Very wise. Information for myself, as I currently have no employer. I think I mentioned before that I’m new to Kantas; I want to understand the lay of the land - the power dynamics; who to trust and who not to trust - before I dive in too deep.”

“Ne-KA-les,” she corrected. Her brows are deeply furrowed now, and her grip on the longbow noticeably tightens.

Not reacting to Igrainne’s movements, Sky nods and studiously repeats, “Ne-KA-les, thank you. My Drowic is a little rusty. I haven’t had the opportunity to speak it for a while.”

“And whom did you speak with in this tongue? How did you learn the sign language?” she asks in Drowic. “Are you a drow or not? Answer me truthfully.”

“Some things I was born knowing; others I was taught; and yet more I have picked up on my own.” Sky replies with a shrug, switching from Drowic to Abyssal to Deep Speech and returning to Common as they speak. “As for whether I am truly Drow or not; are you? With a foot in each of two different worlds?”

In the dim evening light, Sky can see Igrainne’s cheeks turning flush at the last statement, a faint pink hue against her obsidian skin. Taking two steps forward, the young woman says through gritted teeth, “You’re not answering my questions.”

Sky keeps their voice level and, folding their arms into wide-cuffed sleeves, leans forward eagerly - almost intently - seemingly oblivious to Igrainne’s menacing actions. “Why do you need to know so pressingly? I am like you: someone caught between cultures. I mean you no harm. We of common elven stock should not strive to dwell on what separates us but focus on that which strengthen our ties, no?”

While talking, Sky shifts in their seat and Igrainne is sure she catches the faint, muffled sound of metal clinking against cloth. She tenses again but, glancing down, she sees Sky’s sandled foot has merely brushed against some of the refuse in the alley. “Is that what you believe?” She lets out a mirthless laugh. “That’s funny. Because I was attacked by elves — elves who look a bloody lot like you.”

“Elves attack elves, humans attack humans, dwarves attack dwarves, elves attack humans, dwarves attack elves, humans attack kobolds...” Sky spreads their arms wide, hands still concealed in voluminous sleeves. “Everyone attacks everyone, unfortunately. Would you mistrust Jedd if you were attacked by another human male on the street? While I am sorry to hear you were assaulted, you should not blame me for something I had no part in...merely for my appearance.” With this last phrase, Sky looks meaningfully at Igrainne’s half-Drow features. “Who were these elves?”

She scoffs dismissively. “See, the thing is, I don’t know if you had no part in this or if you did. I don’t know anything about you, Sky, except that you have the appearance of a shadar-kai. It’s a strange coincidence that you approached me a little after the kidnapping of the birdfolk in New Hillborrow, where we saw one of these Shadowfell elves. For all I know, you might be in league with them and Merrshaulk!”

“A strange coincidence it most surely is - as it was Andariel who first alerted me to your existence. And as for my appearance: that associate of yours - Mr Mace, I believe? - does not have a look that inspires confidence and yet I would not treat him this way without proof. I say again, I had nothing to do with your confrontation in New Hillborrow. And as for your preposterous suggestion concerning the god of the Yuan-Ti…” Sky pauses. “Unless you have reason or rationale - and please do not substitute indignation for rightness - I would appreciate it if you could desist with these accusations.”

Sky’s tone has turned somewhat frosty at this point and they stand up, shaping to leave the alley. “If you must know,” they say, brushing an infinitesimal speck of dirt from their sleeve. “I am no denizen of the Shadowlands. Not that it is any business of yours.”

The anger on Igrainne’s face melts into shock as Sky begins to leave. That is not the reaction she expected, and she feels a coil forming in her stomach. “Wait,” she calls out, surprised by the doubt and hesitation that have suddenly coloured her voice. “I have given you all the information you sought, and never once have you been forthright with me. How can I trust anything you say?”

Sky pauses, looking affronted at this. “I have not uttered one word of a lie to you during this entire change. And may I remind you: I also know next to nothing about you - and yet here I am in a back alley to which you lead me, choosing to trust you; trying to share information… and without casting severely defamatory aspersions on you or your motives.” They start to head out of the alley, their form becoming more and more indistinct, seeming to draw the shadows in around them as they go. Sky calls back over their shoulder. “This is an unseemly way to comport yourself, I must say. It is a shame we could not have had a more produc-“

Igrainne suddenly mutters an incantation in Abyssal. Silvery mists conjure and coalesce around her body — and she reappears five feet in front of Sky, who cocks an eyebrow at her, seemingly unsurprised at her arrival. Embarrassment and frustration melding into irritation — at herself and at Sky alike — the half-drow scowls at them bitterly. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe who or what you are has nothing to do with the Snake Stones, and therefore is none of my business. So perhaps we should keep our affairs separate from now on.”

Before Sky can reply, she chants the incantation once more, and disappears in an envelope of mist.

As she vanishes, Sky sniffs once, dismissively. “How uncouth.” Their hands, which had tensed as soon as they’d heard and understood the first spell being cast, relax: matching daggers embossed with snarling snakeheads retract into sleeves from where, unseen by the Igrainne, they had appeared at her apparition. Fastidiously unfastening and refastening the top button of their robe, Sky folds their arms back into their sleeves and heads out into the night.



* Mistress (Respectful way to address an unknown female)

** Blessing, piece of good fortune

*** Caution (particularly mistrust)