Private Tales Sharp blades and Sharper wills.

[Feyrith]

They would be nearing the port soon. Tar could hear the thumping and shuffling of feet and cargo on the deck above. To buy himself passage aboard the long journey they had been working at each dock or port the ship had stopped at on its convoluted path to the far flung shores of Malakath.
They had hoped that Lilia a Tiefling adventurer would be his guide in Malakath. Unfortunately due to shaking off several attempts from the hounds he had ended up late to their pre-decided meeting spot. She had ended up boarding another ship a few days before with a much more direct charter.
She had left a note and a map with the Inn keeper. These two scraps of parchment were now Tar's only guide that and this uncanny sword.

Tar had been sitting in the hold with the sword resting against the wall beside him. They had spent much of the journey like this. At the very least being at sea had been a welcome reprieve. The hounds might be able to track him to the ends of Arethil but even they couldn't easily chase or board a boat like this.
He stood and took up the sword with it's makeshift scabbard to fasten it to his back.

He emerged blinking into the blinding sun and watched as the wild landscape of Malakath came into view.

Thronesplitter

 

[Thronesplitter]

Spoiler: Music

This was not Alliria. The sword had gathered as much by now, even if it remained ignorant of the layout of Arethil's capitals in this age.

It had watched the drow for some time now. Kept its invisible tongue in check. And so far, it hadn't been left by the wayside. An improvement, to be sure.

But the dam of its patience was breaking, bulging before the river of words that craved release. It had tasted neither blood or wit for days. Weeks.

It had made the conclusion that this one sought to escape pursuers, first and foremost. Perhaps at the ultimate sacrifice of reaching the greatest city this world had to offer.

Waves crashed against the bow of the ship, sprays catching gold in the sunlight. Sailors milled to and fro, shouting in an ordered chaos of ropes, masts and bulging sails. It had not seen the seas for an untold time. Mighty waters, always impressive, but terrifying in their hidden depths. It dared not imagine plunging below the gluttenous ocean . . .

Perhaps to distract itself from this unnerving vision, the blade decided to speak. Its voice crept into the drow's mind, like hidden frostbite burning and making itself known to tortured skin.

"You surprise me, under-elf. I did not realise your kind might yearn for the high seas or the squalling of gulls." The cold fire and bite of its voice took on an added fervour, having grappled too long with silence. "But I see the teeth of foreign lands. Where have you taken us, oh wielder of mine?"

Feyrith

 

[Feyrith]

Tar faltered a moment, glancing about this way and that. Yet no matter where they looked they found no source for it. All of the sailors were rushing about the ship readying to dock.
Had their mind in lack of a physical enemy these long days of the voyage turned on itself? Or perhaps throwing their rations over board with seasickness one too many times had caused hallucinations. They didn't feel dehydrated enough for that. He was accustomed to the signs of extreme hunger of thirst.

Then the tail end of the words caught up with them. 'wielder'? They had almost forgotten the uncanny enchantment of their found blade.
His brow furrowed and he drew toward the railing so as not to be a nuisance blocking the flow of cargo.
They spoke just above a whisper into the sea.
"Have you always been able to talk?"
He grimaced thinking now of the number of conversations they had had talking to themself aloud now.
Every so often they'd had a thought that didn't quite feel like one of their own. It was luck such a thing hadn't derailed their travel or he would have been very cross with the bit of metal for deceiving him.

"I hadn't thought of the sea before.....Now I can say for certain it is....unpleasant." He had developed an immunity to a large number of poisons over the years. So little turned their stomach these days. Only find that the rolling wave tested their balance and their fortitude more than the harshest of venoms.
Tar turned slightly leaning on the rail to watch some of the barrels and crates be rolled down onto the dock.
"It's called Malakath...."
They weren't sure of the name of this little port. All they knew was that they needed to head roughly east and seek a church.


Thronesplitter

 

[Thronesplitter]

"Malakath . . ."

It tasted the name. A name which seemed vaguely familiar to it . . . harsh, as no doubt its lands were as well. The drow's brief tension was cause for some amusement. Indeed, it had witnessed many a muttered soliloquy, as well as paid audience to the tracking and tracing of this contact.

"I have been able to speak," it whispered, finally attending his question. "Though I chose to observe, in silence. I find you a curious creature. Fleet of foot, yet haunted by relentless pursuers, who seem as undeterred by the miles you put between yourself and them as you are by the scorching sun. I wonder if this unpleasant voyage," it went on, seeming to emphasise a shared animosity to the sea, though not suffering the same physical ailment as him, "will lead you to safe harbour. Wordplay intended."

It luxuriated in its own stringing of words, at last free to dance to the music of conversation.

Feyrith

 

[Feyrith]

Tar's brow furrowed. A conflicted feeling rising up at the notion. They had considered themself alone. Truly so. Out of fear of dragging anyone into this prolonged cat and mouse of constantly being hunted. They had hardly spoken to anyone let alone considered laying their circumstances out to some stranger. Yet this hunk of metal had become an accomplice well aware of his predicament.
Perhaps he should have been more disturbed. Yet it had already been useful several times over.

They wanted to believe there was a safety somewhere on that shore. Hope was fragile thing in their hands.
"First we find the church. If there truly is a means to throw off their pursuit more permanently, I want to do it before they realize I am within reach again."
Malakath was far, but the Underdark had entrances all manner of places. It would only deter them for so long now that He wasn't in the open ocean.
He turned and made his way threw the sailors onto the hustle and bustle of the port. Tar only very briefly stopped to speak with the crew master and receive their remaining payment. It was a paltry sum but Tar was so glad be standing on dry land that felt not even a hint of disappointment.

He left the docks in immediate search. He caught enough weary looks that he wasn't certain simply asking would lead to the fastest route. He was used to it by this point. Even amongst the company of other Dark Elves He was missing pieces and so heavily scarred that he could see the assumptions on their faces.
Well.....then again some of the assumptions were true, He hadn't been above murder, or crime, when he was a hound.

Thronesplitter

 

[Thronesplitter]

Spoiler: Music

As Tar went about the practicals of disembarking and merging with the populace of this port-town, Thronesplitter privately nursed a dark feeling, like grey clouds overtaking the clear blue sky of its previous joy. A creeping apprehension for the future, now that the immediate danger of dropping into a bottomless ocean had receded, crawling in through the improvised scabbard to blemish its blade with invisible and greedy tendrils.

What would this wielder do, once achieving a means of protection at this church? Take the route of caution and leave behind its glorious steel?

No. It could not allow this to happen.

Sibilant and sultry, it snaked its way through the straggling streets of rhetorics, much like Tar currently swerved and swum through the throngs of this town:

"Such certainty. But say, should this means of yours sink . . . there might by another assay." If Thronesplitter could lick any lips, it would have. Instead, a hollow breath not borne of lungs preceded its solution. "I shall tell you another lay. The most secure way of countering any enemy retaliation, is to obliterate them entirely. Nothing like pre-emptive destruction to safeguard your own existence."

It near quivered in anticipation of such epic carnage. The destruction of a whole drow House, perhaps even more, would be worthy of tales indeed. The mere thought of it caused its steel to warm and flicker with weak sparks through the musty scabbard.

Feyrith

 

[Feyrith]

Tar paused a step at the bold suggestion laid forth by the blade.
Such a notion hadn't occurred to them. Contrary to the charges which led to their initial imprisonment, it had not been in their nature to bite the hand that feeds. Even after the stroke of luck of being freed, it was the only revenge in their power to escape and live.
A conflicted yearning did rise, tempting them with the notion they would put this very blade into the chest of that woman. That one who had taken everything, and then slice down the pliant snakes who yielded to her.
He shook away the thought. Then resumed walking.

"You are an ambitious blade......but you must know little of the UnderDark. Even with your might it would not be enough. There your risk is as great as mine. The masters of magic there delight in picking spellwork apart strand by strand. No matter the manner of your enchantment it is possible to unmake. "
His lips set in a tight frown at the thought of the only plan in their grasp failing.
"If the church proves fruitless.....then I will need to search out another another way. Perhaps with allies.....no....taking that house is a fools errand. Even should I taste the sweetness of the Matrons anguish......what then?....if I am very lucky some rival house sees it as a boon? In the best possible victory, I only end up where I was. A servant, A hound, A ....well"
His voice petered off mournfully.
"I don't wish to return there."

Suddenly as if a beacon calling to Tar's mournful and yearning thoughts, light peaked through the clouds to shine on a building of dark wood and white marble. It's design peaking out gaudily atop a cliff. It was adorned with gold leaf so prominent as to gleam in ones peripheral even when looking away. It was small on the horizon so it was hard to make out exactly what type of building it was. yet everything in his bones told him that was it. Lilia had said that he wouldn't be able to miss it if came close enough to see it.
Even at this distance this seemed to meet the description.
He pushed forward through the crowds with a quicker step. The crowds fading to less and less as He followed the path out of the city and toward the glint on the horizon.

Thronesplitter

 

[Thronesplitter]

"You are an ambitious blade......but you must know little of the UnderDark. Even with your might it would not be enough. There your risk is as great as mine. The masters of magic there delight in picking spellwork apart strand by strand. No matter the manner of your enchantment it is possible to unmake. "

This gave the blade pause. It had never been to that deep place of the earth before . . . had it?

"If the church proves fruitless.....then I will need to search out another another way. Perhaps with allies.....no....taking that house is a fools errand. Even should I taste the sweetness of the Matrons anguish......what then?....if I am very lucky some rival house sees it as a boon? In the best possible victory, I only end up where I was. A servant, A hound, A ....well"
His voice petered off mournfully.
"I don't wish to return there."

The sword retained its silence for some time, listening with intent. Drinking in his anguished tones, his long pauses of hesitation. It had seen him fight and flight with deadly efficiency and little hesitation. But the memories of his home gave this warrior more pause than any amount of arrows or assassins.

Indeed, the worse foe could sometimes be one's own mind.

When Tar diverted from the cityscape to this more outbound temple, Thronesplitter felt his pulse quicken, even through scabbard, cloak and leather. It clattered against his back gently, his rhythm of walking speeding up, almost frenetically so. This, the blade noted, was dearly important to the drow.

And even with time past, the sword had not forgotten his timely rescue of it from the claws of obscurity. Its voice lowered, sincere and solemn:

"So long as you carry me, my wielder, you shall be no one's servant but your own. This I can promise you." Its voice regained strength, returning to its more customary haughty speech, inviting him to share in its sense of superiority. "You must tell me more of these former masters of yours, when the time is ripe. I do like to know the ones I burn."

Feyrith

 

[Feyrith]

Tar supposed that any item enchanted to speak would do with all the might of persuasion they could manage.
Which is to say, he found that a very convenient promise coming from a sword. He nearly laughed.
A short huff of air blowing out his nose in approximation.
"Luckily for you I doubt I will come by a more suitable weapon anytime soon."
Still they appreciated the sentiment, it was nice to seemingly have someone confident on their side. Albeit even if that someone was a bit of odd metal.
"Another time perhaps."

He trudged along, the path forward snaked about the outskirts of the city, As if the very streets were giving him time to reconsider entering the church. Yet as they approached the cliff there was a very clearly cut staircase winding up. It was well maintained and clean as if swept regularly.
Tar took the steps much slower than they had the path, they had the ominous feeling that once they reached the top there would be no turning around.
He lifted his head as he took the final step and saw a courtyard as carefully tended to as the steps. However that was heavily outshone by the church itself. Now only a few yards away the full force of it's adornments were blinding in an audacious way. At the very least it wasn't what one normally imagined of a pious shelter of worship. In the pyramid face below the point of it's roof was a heavily bejeweled emblem.

Tar dug about in his pouch and pulled out the bit of parchment Lilia had left with him. It was a striking choice so there was no chance of it being a coincidence. The image of a what represented a heart pierced with a knife, bleeding. Incidentally Tar had seen what a human heart looked like and it wasn't at all like this image, it was more oval and meaty. Well at least he knew he was in the right place.
"That must be it. "

Yet they hesitated briefly to step into the courtyard. The symbol of the church was apt. They had been told that these worshippers prized sacrifice above all else and this was why they would lend aid with open arms.
Sacrifice in the name of a potentially cruel goddess was familiar territory.
Perhaps that was why it had become such an easy goal to push themself forward. Just a direction to move in.
Now they had arrived.
Yet part of them feared trading one leash for another above all else.
No.
They couldn't run forever. They needed only to hear out what this church could do for them. They owed Lilia at least that much after coming so far.

Thronesplitter

 

[Thronesplitter]

The verdure of greenery in this stone temple seemed more lush than anywhere else in this 'Malakath.' A pleasing aesthetic of ritualistically cut stone and hemmed-in willows, beds of red- and white roses, along with a scattering of purple ones, bespoke of the care and attendance to these grounds.

Yet so far, not a soul to be seen.

The blade smelled magic. Deep and old, like gnarled roots. One of its few senses afforded to it was tingling, and it felt the stir of ancient, malevolent powers. Perhaps something too powerful for it to consume, even. Perhaps not.

"We are not alone . . ." the blade whispered, feeling rather than seeing the presence of someone nearby.

Feyrith

 

[Feyrith]

Tar hesitated a moment longer as if heeding the swords warning.
With a deep breath they reminded themself they had driven steel through many a heart. Why should the notion of a stranger in a bit of colorful foliage cause them such dread.
They crossed that final boundary and into the garden. At first there was merely the serene chirp of birds, then slowly the sound of conversation became clear. Two voices speaking lightly in calm tones. He followed the sound of the voices till their owners came into view. A golden haired maiden in a long black dress, and a plump balding man, so old as to be bent over a cane.

Tar awkwardly approached the two, he usually went about conversation with efficiency. Direct questions without much regard for introduction. Something about the bright air of this place and the sickly sweet smell of the roses put him on edge. Luckily, before he could reconsider or even clear his throat they both looked up.
They met his approach with smiles as though they had been expecting him.
" Are you here to make a confession?" The maiden asked her tone warm and welcoming.
Tar frowned and shook his head. "No....I'm here to make a deal...."
She seemed unphased by this clarification and laughed lightly. "all the same. come this way."
As she led him toward the inner courtyard of the church he couldn't help but think it was all a little too convenient. Her face a little too familiar. He knew almost no surface dwellers enough to feel such a way. As if perhaps her name was on the back of his tongue somewhere. Yet he was certain they had never met.

She led him into a small room off the courtyard. It was well decorated, with a few upholstered, well carved chairs, a sort of low table with a decanter of some unknown liquid, and to one side a small ornate altar. Light drifted over the room from two tall stained glass windows of rose colored hues. It seemed that he had been told to wait nicely. The maiden had already turned and left him alone in the waiting room before he could ask any questions.

Thronesplitter

 

[Thronesplitter]

Such a pristine temple. Beautiful stained glass, tasteful columns and neat furniture.

It would be an awful shame if it were all lit aflame.

The sword could sense power here. It could smell it, as close to an imitation of that sense that mortals carried as it could ever mimic. The humble figures, all smiles and gentle welcome, belied their appearance in power. It would love nothing more than to quench its thirst for rich blood in their bosoms. They might not be royalty or other rulers in the sway of their own authority, but they would be a close-enough meal.

"Should this deal fall through . . ." the sword whispered in Tar's ear. "I may have another sort of negotiation in mind. A rather sanguine payment, perhaps."

Feyrith

 

[Feyrith]

The Drow ignored the eager sword with a frown. They too felt quiet whispers of authority. Though not in some fifth sense but in the obvious displays of grandeur, the type that takes many hands to build an procure.
He resisted telling the sword to shut its maw, partially because it didn't have one and secondarily because he would prefer it to speak than to scheme in silence.
At least for no it seemed to be firmly obeying his wishes, he couldn't deny that his own inclinations also tended to violence. He simply knew that he couldn't bargain for what he wanted by force. Or at least it appeared that way at the moment.
Tar wasn't opposed to such leverage if an opportunity arose. It just didn't seem a fire was going to do the job.

He stood around awkwardly feeling to on edge to relax in the furnishings, and too apprehensive to inspect any of the decor with care. It wasn't, but it felt an eternity before there was a little knock at the door. Despite the gentle warning the emergence of a bright pink Tiefling surprised Tar all the same.
Lillia's appearance had been striking he thought. This Tiefling was many times more so, there was nothing subtle about her appearance. Tar instinctively motioned to retrieve the map as if he might have made a wrong turn and found himself at a brothel instead of a church.
She had glossy hair and was...curvy, but really it was the curling horns and tail that caught the eye. The amount of warm reds and pinks peaking from a suggestion of a dress was bold by any standard.

His brow furrowed and he briefly found it difficult form his confusion into a question.
The Tiefling giggled her eyes appraising him with a hazy saccharine gaze.
" Oh? When I heard it was a drow I had thought I might have to deal with an upturned nose but you look like the wind might blow you over any second."
She casually sauntered in past him and settled into one of the chairs.
"Incidentally, the one that sent you here, who was it?"

Tar felt a tiny flicker of relief. They would be able to sort this misunderstanding out soon enough.
"A Tiefling called Lillia told me to seek out the Sisters. of the Triune....."

An amused grin spread wide across the Tieflings face. Tar wasn't so sure he liked the way her eyes swept up and down measuring him. If she had been a merchant he would have assumed a very hefty bill was coming.
She giggled.
"Well, now that is a surprise. How did she find one down there of all places...."
She waved dismissively "No, No I meant the one that guided you over here to the waiting room."

Tar glanced at the door then back at the Tiefling with a raised eyebrow.
Her recognition meant he was in the right place....he hoped.
"I....don't think they gave a name..."

She rolled her eyes
"What did they look like?"

Thronesplitter

 

[Thronesplitter]

Demon blood. A curious vintage it had never had the chance to taste before. It did not know whether demonic influence thinned by generations of mortal child-rearing would render such a taste poorer or richer. Perhaps it would get to find out.

The tiefling danced in circles around its wielder with her speech, teasing him in more senses of the word. It could feel his blood quicken, his stance turning more rigid and uncomfortable.

It resisted speaking, for now, partially because it wanted to hear what this scantily clad priestess might have to say.

It did, however, infuse its psychic connection to Tar with courage and glorious thrill. Stirring his blood with invisible fires of strength and vigor. Egging him to take decisive action, either in word or motion. Weakness and uncertainty could not be afforded in this situation.

Feyrith

 

[Feyrith]

Tar felt the courage and thrill pour into him in way that both steadied him and made his skin crawl. It was a strange feeling, as if forming a reminder of his own convictions with emotions that were not entirely his own.
While he wasn't entirely aware it was the effect of the swords efforts he was spurred on all the same.

"She looked like any other human maiden." He replied dismissively adding
"I came to make a deal of magicks. Or did I come to the wrong church?"

The Tiefling giggled undeterred by Tar''s new found confidence and drive. She crossed one leg over the other with a smile.
"yes, yes, I'm sure that you are. I shouldn't get ahead of myself. Go on then, what do you desire?"

It felt an eternity since ha had discussed it. Something he had only timidly voiced before. With the conviction stirring in him the words seemed to come so easily now.
"I want to become someone new. Someone else."

The Tiefling seemed remarkably unphased by this assertion.
"Turning over a new leaf? So I thought, Lillia has a nose for customers of.....a particular need. Which is it you wish to birth anew, your face? your memories?"

Without hesitation Tar replied "all of it."
The Tiefling's smile widened into a grin. "Then you have come to just the right place. Our Resilient Lady, our sister of rebirth can afford you an opportunity like no other. With rebirth comes sacrifice." Her eyes passed over the missing chunks of Tar, his many scars, and his dark circled hard gaze. "She can make you whole, She can make you new."
So the deal had been proposed, Tar could tell that they had entered bargaining. Though he wasn't even sure what it was she desired to take. He only knew for certain that he would not make the same mistakes as before.
Emboldened he declared frankly his resistance to dealing with yet another Deity who make ask much and return little.
"I will not give myself to your goddess. I will not hold faith in Deities, I will not make this deal should it require me to walk her path or server whatever her creed is. hereafter"

The Tiefling shook her head "A shame, it seems you are much beloved by adversity, I am sure she would welcome someone so forged in sacrifice as you. Though perhaps that is in your favor. You are not of our Tief kindred so I won't push such a matter. Our Sister is of the patient variety. Perhaps your desires will change in time.
Very well, I will need you to turn over what you have brought with you."

Tar's brow furrowed. It really wasn't much. They would normally gladly part with all of it but there were two things which could not so easily be handed over.
"The sword is not mine to give."
For Tar on the short walk the sword had proven to have it's own motives, albeit violent ones. He wouldn't use it as payment, even to a deity, or perhaps especially to a deity.

Thronesplitter

 

[Thronesplitter]

Spoiler: Music

To become someone new . . . was that truly possible? Could one shed the form they had in favour of altered flesh from a mere bargain, just like that? The tiefling spoke of rebirth, of gaining new memories and faces as easily as one might change cloaks or dresses.

It left the blade wondering. Wondering what it was like to have hands to clench and grasp, legs to carry one forth, a mouth with which to breathe and sing, skin that could touch the world beyond. All it had was steel, incessant thoughts and burning hunger.

It was almost as if it could remember having those mortal attributes . . . that was how strong its imagination towards them bent its thoughts. It could imagine running through grass brazenly, letting hands bask against each errant straw, shouting in gleeful abandon at being alive.

"The sword is not mine to give."

A spark of green flittered up the blade, eliciting little more than a wink from the scabbard. A spark that hinted at the simmering indignation beneath. It approved of Tar's stance towards this demand. And yet . . . there was also that curiosity to explore what strange offerings this priestess held in store.

"Let us toy with them in turn, my wielder. You can let her touch my hilt," the sword whispered. "I wish to interrogate her mind."

Feyrith

 

[Feyrith]

The Tiefling seemed very amused by Tar's declaration that the sword was off the table for bargaining.
She hummed thoughtfully as she watched him untie the makeshift harness holding the scabbard.
"Hmmm, well...that might pose a little snag. You see, for the best results I must take that which might be tied to your previous self. If it is something of emotional import all the more. Elsewise you risk.........well let us just say that anything holding you back might lead to less than an ideal outcome."
The Tiefling warned in a sort of sing song that gave the nonchalant attitude of buyer beware rather than concern.

Tar lowered the sword from his back and held it out to her.
"Then it should be of no consequence. It is neither old, nor dear......it is, something else."
The Tiefling gave him a somewhat confused expression unsure of why the hilt was being offered to her.
With a curious gaze she gently and suggestively wrapped her hands around the hilt.
It was the sort of hold that implied the hands belonged to someone who was very unused to holding a weapon.
Her mind was a welcoming warmth of fire, whispered confessions, and the sweetness of temptation.

Thronesplitter

 

[Thronesplitter]

The sword ignited upon the warmth of her psyche, like coal and lamp-oil added to an already existing fire.

"Tell me. Is this Lady truly able to spawn flesh anew? To transport a soul into a new vessel?" A dangerous green flare flittered up the blade, igniting each rune in turn, like a spirit traveling up through its long, smoke-coloured steel; all the way up to the hilt held by dainty, pink fingers. "Because if you lie, my wielder is not the only one you shall have to contend with . . ."

Feyrith