menzoberra

[menzoberra]

“I’m scared, Sceleritas.”

“Nonsense! Do not degrade yourself so. The devil should be scared of you, milady, not the other way around!”

Three weeks, five days, twenty one hours, and thirty nine seconds.

Three weeks, five days, twenty one hours, and thirty nine seconds since young Blythe’s quiet life was upended.

Three weeks, five days, twenty one hours, and thirty nine seconds since young Blythe awoke from her sleep to find her parents dead in front of her. The people that raised her from the day they found her as an infant, alone and abandoned in a putrid alley in Baldur’s Gate. The humans that could have left the baby tiefling, child of none, to die without consequence—instead choosing to love the girl as their own. The parents that gave the girl a life in Daggerford few children from the Sword Coast could ever hope to live.

Three weeks, five days, twenty one hours, and thirty nine seconds since young Blythe committed her first cold-blooded murders.

A double murder, even! Sceleritas praised. My sweet girl, you have an excitingly dark future ahead of you!

Three weeks, five days, twenty one hours, and thirty nine seconds since Sceleritas—the so-called murderer’s murderer—whisked her away from her home forever. She must lay claim to her birthright bestowed upon her so graciously by her adoring Father, he said to her that gruesome night. The father she had just killed? Oh, no, no. Why, our unholy Lord of Murder, of course!

It was all so ridiculous young Blythe could scarcely believe it at times. The tremors in her hands, the bile in her throat that constantly threatened to spill, the forgiveness she begged from Lord Kelemvor every night grounded her in this bloody reality. Symptoms of her guilt laid bare for all to witness. And witness Sceleritas has—taking upon himself a sort of parental role for the young Blythe to replace the father whose blood she spilt three weeks, five days, twenty one hours, and thirty nine seconds ago. She was not adjusting well to her new life, much to the displeasure of Father. And to the ever-doting Sceleritas’s great sorrow.

Perhaps the young master needs to resume her academics, Sceleritas would suggest to Father. She was quite the bookworm, always doing so well in catechism—albeit in the name of that dreaded usurper Kelemvor. We are giving her none of the comforts of her old “home.” It is no wonder she is resistant to the change.

And thus, that is how at three weeks, five days, twenty one hours, and thirty nine seconds since the day her world ended, young Blythe stood on the doorstep of a devil with her dreaded butler. So young that she barely had any height on the Bhaalist fiend.

“I don’t want to go.” Her tail found home between her legs as she stared in horror at the Hellish portal open in front of them. The rainbow of infernal colors swirling before her eyes made it all the easier for her to become lost in her fears.

He just barely craned his neck to gaze upon his young master. “Your Father sculpted you in the image of a Mephistophelean tiefling. A beautiful reflection of your unholy heritage, I must say! It is fitting then that you will continue your studies under the heir of the Archduke of Cania himself, my unholy angel.” Sceleritas placed a reassuring hand on the young Blythe’s back. “This is an exciting opportunity other young Bhaalspawn have only been able to dream of!”

The young Blythe said barely above a whisper, “He’s a devil.”

Sceleritas replied, aghast at the thinly veiled horror in his young master’s statement, “As are you, milady!” The Bhaalist fiend turned his body to face the young tiefling. She could hardly tear her eyes away from the dancing lights of the portal to face her butler. He put his hands on her shoulders—like dad used to—as she turned to stare at her sweaty, wringing hands. “The heir of Bhaal under the tutelage of the heir of Mephistopheles—my, how lucky is my sweet girl. Father wants only the best for his favorite daughter!” Sceleritas gently willed her wringing hands apart to place one in his. “Come along now, young master. We don’t want to be late to your first day!” He said a bit too enthusiastically for young Blythe’s liking.

Sceleritas lead Blythe through the mesmerizing colors of the Hellish portal. The two appeared on the other side at the top of a set of stairs in an octagonal, amber-hued room. It was filled with many mirrors that almost resembled the reflecting pools Blythe had once seen in a Selûnite monastery’s garden back home, shimmering with swirling sparkles of light. These mirrors, however, did not belong to a such a sacred, holy place like Selûne’s monastery.

Blythe’s escapist musings were interrupted by a blustering, masculine voice. “Welcome to the House of Hope, little devil.”

[menzoberra]

the edict of bane, the lash of bhaal

[menzoberra]

i want to live (don’t let me die)

[menzoberra]

the herald of andraste

[menzoberra]

Something is rotten in the valley of Barovia. The days are long, and the nights longer. This sentiment was felt especially tonight. There was no moon in the sky–not that there ever is in Barovia, anyway. The pitch black sky and the equally pitch black treeline did nothing to soothe the damned souls of Barovia. One of those very damned souls sat at the fire that was doing nothing to help the cold, keeping a weary but vigilant watch for any sort of creature from Hell that may have decided to pay the party a visit that night. He absentmindedly ran his hand along the hilt of his shortsword. The nights were indeed longer.

At the very edge of the fire’s light sat another one of the damned souls of Barovia. She meditated in a lotus pose as if directly confronting the dark, evil forest of the valley; as if saying, I’m not afraid of you. For a drow in the dark, what is there even to be afraid of?

Darvin turned his vigilant watch over to the meditating drow, her position in direct view from his–almost as if on purpose... He wondered how she was able to sleep (did she even sleep?) every night facing the unknown dangers that lurked in the forest. She was pretty strong. Was that why? Did she believe she could face anything that may come out of that forest and come out alive? Or was she just too scared to turn her back to the dark, preferring to keep her own vigilant watch even while asleep? There’s no way a person with muscles that big…Err, a mind that strong could be scared of the dark, he reasoned, it can’t be anything but the former, obviously.

Menzoberra’s shoulder blades tensed at that moment, as if she was able to hear everything that just went through Darvin’s mind. That would make things easier though, wouldn’t it? The tall, drow woman stirred in her meditative position, seemingly waking up for the night. She went through stretching the muscles in her upper body–Pretty as you please, Menzo–before standing up and doing the same to her lower body. After much too short of a time (for Darvin, at least), Menzoberra rejoined the main camp having been rejuvenated by her nightly meditation–of course, not having made even a single peep.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Darvin said quietly so as not to disturb the others.

Menzoberra gave him her usual deadpan she gives everyone, speaking in the same, serious voice she always did, “It is not morning, nor was I sleeping.” At least she admits to one of those things. “Good morning to you too, Darvin.”

She went about her daily morning–or rather, nightly–rituals, moving quietly with purpose as she always did. No brush of the hair nor word spoken was a waste when dealing with Menzoberra of Daggerford. Quite the opposite of the flamboyant, outspoken rogue. He sat on the cold, dewy grass, still fiddling with the hilt of his shortsword, paying more attention to the quiet monk than the watch he was supposed to be keeping. It’s Ismark’s turn soon, anyway.

The air felt heavy tonight–uncharacteristically heavy for the cursed valley of Barovia. Perhaps it was the way that the shadows seemingly fell differently tonight, despite the fact that there is no moon to cast a shadow and there is nothing special about tonight’s fire. Perhaps Strahd is watching from the trees, waiting for the perfect moment to strike to take back his precious Tatyana. Or maybe it was just the excitement of the previous day still wearing off–getting so close to Krezk, only to be turned away at the gates and being told to fetch some damn wine.

Whatever to rationalize the current conundrum at hand: Menzoberra deciding to take a seat not on the other side of the fire from Darvin like she normally does. On this dark, dark night, she opted to sit on his side of the fire instead. The nights are longer, and they are no better for a drow. She pulled down the black cloth over her face to take a bite of her dried jerky, staring into the fire with tired eyes.

Darvin straightened somewhat, and he stopped fiddling with his hilt. He looked at her eating quietly, You manage to captivate in even the most mundane of situations. “What’s the special occasion?”

Menzoberra took another bite of her breakfast. “How do you mean?”

You are such a puzzle. “How lucky am I to have the mysterious Menzo accompany me,” he said, looking at her scarred lips and her striking eyes and her soft ha—

“Funny.”

“Now, why would I jest about being in the presence of such a lovely lady?” Darvin quipped.

Menzoberra rolled her shoulders back, swallowing her bite of jerky. Her white eyebrow raised ever so slightly. She spoke with a hint of incredulity in her voice and let out much more of a hint of a sneer, “Lovely?” She turned her stare to the man next to her. “I will tell Adonis to add ‘contemptible liar’ to the list of things that you are, Darvin, right next to ‘comely blabbermouth.’”

So you do admit I’m attractive, eh?

The human accidentally snorted a bit too loud for the others, which made Ismark reflexively throw his shoe at Darvin in Ismark’s sleep. The shoe didn’t help the matter any bit, though Darvin did try to make an effort to be more quiet. “Pray tell, dear Menzo, what would I gain by lying?”

“You consistently attempt to flatter me in the darkest hours of the night in hopes of bedding me, no? I know your type.”

Bruh.

Darvin looked away from the drow, sighing. He turned his gaze toward the fire in front of him. “I think you have the wrong impression of me, Menzoberra,” he started. “I have spent most of my life on the run, yes, but that does not mean I go around ‘bedding’ any eligible bachelorette that crosses my path. Up until recently, I’ve just been trying to survive.” The human blinked hard and turned his head back over to look upon the drow. “Though perilous this journey may be, it has shown me that there is good and beauty in this life that I would have missed otherwise. You, you have shown me that.”

Menzoberra furrowed her brows and squinted her eyes into her characteristic frown. What can I say? That is a classic. She didn’t say anything in response, though her grip on her breakfast tightened. She seemed to retreat into herself somewhat, bringing her limbs closer together, drawing her scarf back up over her nose and scarred lips.

Darvin continued with softened eyes, “Despite the sibylline demeanor you may think draws people away, I think quite the opposite. I find you enthralling. Remarkable even, to be blunt—“

Menzoberra stood up from the ground in a speed so utterly characteristic of her, crushing her breakfast in her inked fist. She interrupted the human man before her, “Darvin Hemmingway, you have no idea what you speak of,” she scolded in a whisper. “I am an abomination. A freak of nature. I should not exist.”

“Menzoberra, how could you say that about yourself–” Darvin was interrupted again. He placed his sword on the ground and stood up to face her, though she still towered over him.

“Seeing as though I am a drow should be reason enough for you to understand,” Menzoberra retorted.

“The drow having a bad reputation doesn’t make you bad.” He tried taking a step closer to her. She took her own step back.

“Darvin Hemmingway, do you recall what happened three hundred eighty four years ago in this valley?” Menzoberra asked with cynicism dripping from her whispers. Her ears were tinged magenta.

“That’s when Strahd took over, but what the hell does that have to do with our current discussion?”

The drow woman took a breath before starting, “I was born here three hundred eighty four years ago. Strahd has dark, unnatural powers. I have dark, unnatural powers. Has it gotten through your brain yet, Darvin Hemmingway?” Her scarf started falling from her head. She was too distracted to notice. “I am an abomination.”

“And yet, that has nothing to do with your character. In case you haven’t noticed, not everything from Barovia has been a monster,” Darvin declared. He attempted taking yet another step closer to her. She didn’t move, only glaring down at him as he got closer. “Flowers grow, as well as toads. That doesn’t mean you’re a toad.” He averted his eyes from her glare. “...So to speak, of course.”

She kept up her glare. Menzoberra opted not to respond. Perhaps hoping to intimidate Darvin by her stature enough that he would drop the subject and leave her alone.

“Ireena is your friend. Are you saying that because she too has been cursed by the powers that be in this valley that she is also an abomination?” He looked back at Menzoberra’s piercing gaze. “You never seem to treat her that way. You’re one of the only ones in this party besides her brother that has actually bothered to treat her as her own person.” Another step, and he was even closer to her. An emotion Darvin could not exactly catch flashed over her face in a quick second–blink and you would’ve missed it. “Whatever your curse may be, you have proven time and again that you are a good person at heart. And that, to me, matters more than whatever you think happened that day, three hundred eighty four years ago.”

Menzoberra’s face flushed a dark magenta, accentuated by the light of the fire. It was an expression Darvin had never seen color her face before. She looked almost…ashamed? Embarrassed? She wanted to argue, but the words wouldn’t leave her mouth.

Seeing this, Darvin gently took her hand in his. “Sit down,” he whispered softly.

She did not protest and took a seat on the cold, damp grass next to him. She turned away from him. Her gaze moved to the dying fire in front of them that provided little warmth or light at this time of night. I should add more wood soon, she thought. Though, the fire did little to help herself specifically, being a drow woman.

My chest feels tight. My arms feel weak. My legs feel unsteady. My palms are sweaty. 

[menzoberra]

after dark

[menzoberra]

It has already been a few days since we killed Strahd and Inej. Inej that one — her betrayal was not a shock. I would have killed her myself long, long ago if it were up to me. Adonis has gone back to Daggerford already. I tried to protect him. However, Strahd and Inej’s grasp on him grew too strong for him to see reason. Now that he is heading home, free from their influence, maybe one day he will see reason. There are many back home that understand and recognize the danger of Strahd and his minions. What he had done that day though is unforgivable… And I know we will be slow to forgive — that is, if we forgive at all.

The Holy Symbol of Ravenkind is better off in my hands.

We are making swift work of securing Ravenloft. Ireena and Ismark left to secure the village of Barovia. It is their home after all, and Ismark is to be the next burgomaster. Ireena looks brighter already. Ismark still has worry on his face — no doubt, his worries did not end with the death of Strahd. Nevertheless, I have never seen him so light. He has a pep in his step that was never there before. At least, not that I have been around to witness.

The danger is not over yet — it has only transformed. Once things are more stable, we will be tracking down the Amber Temple and Tome of Strahd. Whatever it is that gave Strahd his power will not rest until it has found a successor. I have heard tales in my years of demiplanes of dread ridding themselves of these dark powers for good — we can certainly do the same for Barovia. Ismark already has a lead from his time in the captivity of the traitor’s brother.

After we are done here, we will be heading to Vallaki to clean up the mess there. Now that Strahd is gone, there will surely be a power vacuum. After Vallaki is all said and done, it will be off to Krezk for us. I feel Darvin is getting lonely up there all by himself. He would fare well to hear of our recent achievement. And rest easy knowing that Strahd and Inej are dead. His sword rests in a hilt on my hip. He would be happy hearing that it was used to kill the traitor. I know Rex and Tarell have their own things to say to him as well.

Argynvostholt is on the list next. With Strahd’s death, I am certain the restless spirits of the order haunting the keep have already moved on — and with that, my parents. We will scour Argynvostholt for anything useful in our upcoming quest.

Until then, I am tired and I must sleep. Resting without being on guard is not something I am used to yet again.

—Menzoberra the Barovian