She'd lost the trail. A steady stream of softly-spoken curses issued from Sharalae's mouth as she crouched on the river bank in the dark. Full night was upon her and a shroud of blackness lay heavily on the surrounding woods, otherwise she would never have dared to approach the river before her.
Gazing across, she stared at the woods of the Siavaedi homeland of Kyonin. She dared not trespass there. She was taking a great risk being on this side of the bank as it was, but she wanted to be sure her quarry had crossed, and they had.
Sighing, she melted back into the woods on the near side of the river and made her way along its bank downstream, pondering the situation. The strange group that she followed was beyond her reach, but did they still have the item? So far to her knowledge they had escaped two botched attempts by her former people to deprive them of it. She smirked, not displeased. For lesser beings, they were proving to be quite capable and resourceful. She fervently hoped both Sinafae and Raelona were both pulling their beautifully long and luxurious hair out in frustration.
But what to do? How to pick up the trail again? If they had the item and left it in Kyonin, there was little she could do, but that also meant there was little Raelona or her elder sister could do. She started to smile, then stopped. Or did it? Sharalae shook her head. Sinafae Sha'nul's power and influence did not stretch so far she would dare invade the Siavaedi's home ground.
She would have to try to pick up the trail again. Slipping a slender ebon hand into a leather pouch at her waist, Sharalae withdrew one of the many coins within with delicate fingers, staring at the scarab stamp on one side and the pyramid stamp on the other. Wherever you came from, she thought, is where I need to go.
To be continued...
Showing posts with label Sharalae. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sharalae. Show all posts
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Friday, May 13, 2011
Cursed - Part 3
Sharalae gingerly pressed a dampened bit of cloth to her side, low along her right flank, wincing with a soft hiss at the sting. After a moment, she pulled the cloth away, pleased when she saw it was not overly stained with blood. The Siavaedi arrow had just grazed her then, and as far as she could tell, it did not appeared to have been poisoned. She breathed a sigh of relief.
She took stock of her provisions, wondering if she should risk doubling back to see if there was anything she could scavenge from the scene of the recent fracas in which she had inadvertently found herself. Whatever House Sha'nul was up to, they were really in over their heads now! Sharalae didn't know what in the Seven Hells the creature she had seen with the drow raiding party had been, but she suspected it was some sort of outsider, one she was not familiar with. Whatever it was, it, and several others like it, had made short work of the contingent of Siavaedi the raid group had encountered, despite the mages the elves had had with them. One elven wizard, her arcane auras almost blinding Sharalae's magic sight, had abruptly toppled over during the battle mid-cast, apparently struck dead by some tremendous unseen power.
The drider snorted, shaking her head. The drow raiders had been overkill, following behind their strange fearsome allies, taking what scraps were left. She had been following her former people, but lost their trail, and had instead picked up the track of the Siavaedi, only to be caught in the middle when the drow attacked. She was fortunate to have escaped relatively intact, the drow soldiers thinking her to be on their side as they had driders with them, giving her time to scuttle away through their ranks relatively unopposed. But of course, the fool Siavaedi had shot at her as she retreated. A wry smile flickered across Sharalae's lips. She supposed she couldn't blame them.
Resettling her quiver across her slim obsidian shoulders and arranging her cloak comfortably, she picked up her bow. Sharalae decided it would be worthwhile to revisit the battlefield. Raelona would be in a hurry whether she found what she was searching for or not, she reasoned. There was the off chance something of use might have been overlooked and left behind.
*****
A light rain fell as Sharalae prowled about the battleground, deepening the already dark night. She was grateful for the additional cover as well as the cover of sound. However, she knew that particular sword cut both ways and remained alert and watchful for any others who may have for whatever reason chosen to return.
Oddly enough, it was from one of her own people that she acquired something useful. Noticing an unusual glint in the mud, she pressed the tip of one pointed black leg in the trampled muck and uncovered what turned out to be a drow hand apparently severed during the vicious combat. One of its fingers bore a ring, a rather plain band of silver adorned by a single cabochon of hematite. Removing it, Sharalae examined it closely, allowing the rain to wash away the last bits of grit on it as it lay upon her palm.
She slipped the band onto a finger of her left hand and a short phrase whispered through her mind. Startled, she looked down at the ring in amazement, then concentrating a moment, uttered the phrase. Feeling a strange sense of vertigo for one brief second, she realized her perspective had changed. She no longer stood as tall. Looking down, she saw a pair of shapely dark legs descending from her rounded hips, ending in dainty feet standing barefoot in a muddy puddle.
Lifting her hand before her face, she eyed the ring now adorning her slender finger. She smiled. "How interesting," she murmured. "Now all I need is to find some pants and boots that fit."
To be continued...
She took stock of her provisions, wondering if she should risk doubling back to see if there was anything she could scavenge from the scene of the recent fracas in which she had inadvertently found herself. Whatever House Sha'nul was up to, they were really in over their heads now! Sharalae didn't know what in the Seven Hells the creature she had seen with the drow raiding party had been, but she suspected it was some sort of outsider, one she was not familiar with. Whatever it was, it, and several others like it, had made short work of the contingent of Siavaedi the raid group had encountered, despite the mages the elves had had with them. One elven wizard, her arcane auras almost blinding Sharalae's magic sight, had abruptly toppled over during the battle mid-cast, apparently struck dead by some tremendous unseen power.
The drider snorted, shaking her head. The drow raiders had been overkill, following behind their strange fearsome allies, taking what scraps were left. She had been following her former people, but lost their trail, and had instead picked up the track of the Siavaedi, only to be caught in the middle when the drow attacked. She was fortunate to have escaped relatively intact, the drow soldiers thinking her to be on their side as they had driders with them, giving her time to scuttle away through their ranks relatively unopposed. But of course, the fool Siavaedi had shot at her as she retreated. A wry smile flickered across Sharalae's lips. She supposed she couldn't blame them.
Resettling her quiver across her slim obsidian shoulders and arranging her cloak comfortably, she picked up her bow. Sharalae decided it would be worthwhile to revisit the battlefield. Raelona would be in a hurry whether she found what she was searching for or not, she reasoned. There was the off chance something of use might have been overlooked and left behind.
*****
A light rain fell as Sharalae prowled about the battleground, deepening the already dark night. She was grateful for the additional cover as well as the cover of sound. However, she knew that particular sword cut both ways and remained alert and watchful for any others who may have for whatever reason chosen to return.
Oddly enough, it was from one of her own people that she acquired something useful. Noticing an unusual glint in the mud, she pressed the tip of one pointed black leg in the trampled muck and uncovered what turned out to be a drow hand apparently severed during the vicious combat. One of its fingers bore a ring, a rather plain band of silver adorned by a single cabochon of hematite. Removing it, Sharalae examined it closely, allowing the rain to wash away the last bits of grit on it as it lay upon her palm.
She slipped the band onto a finger of her left hand and a short phrase whispered through her mind. Startled, she looked down at the ring in amazement, then concentrating a moment, uttered the phrase. Feeling a strange sense of vertigo for one brief second, she realized her perspective had changed. She no longer stood as tall. Looking down, she saw a pair of shapely dark legs descending from her rounded hips, ending in dainty feet standing barefoot in a muddy puddle.
Lifting her hand before her face, she eyed the ring now adorning her slender finger. She smiled. "How interesting," she murmured. "Now all I need is to find some pants and boots that fit."
To be continued...
Monday, May 9, 2011
Cursed - Part 2
The smell of elven blood came to Sharalae's nostrils, warning her to caution, yet exhilarating her at the same time. Despite the large form of her lower body, her eight legs picked their way nimbly through the undergrowth. Skittering swiftly along, she reached a clearing and paused, hesitant to leave the comforting shadow of the surrounding trees. She had only found her way to the surface earlier in the afternoon and had not dared to brave the blistering light of day. Only when the sun had set and night had fallen had she gathered her courage to venture out.
Fearful of the brilliance of a pale moon or the sharp, bright glint of stars she had heard so many frightening stories of, she held a slender, exquisite dusky arm before her face. Tentatively, she peered up at the night sky, but no moonlight or starlight seared her vision. Above her was only a blanket of darkness.
She smiled, comforted. Perhaps the stories she had heard had been only that--stories. And that was fine with her--the daystar was terrifying enough. Looking about she noticed several dark forms scattered about the clearing in a haphazard manner. She watched them for some time, but seeing no movement, she approached the nearest warily. Using two of her arachnid limbs, she turned the body over, revealing one of the sources of the blood smell.
An elf male lay before her, his glazed eyes still wide in shock, pale skin even paler in death. A crossbow bolt protruding from the gap between his leather chest armor and his shoulder guards and the dark slash across his throat bespoke of the manner of his demise. Sharalae did not need to examine the bolt to recognize the work of her people.
A strange symbol, a roughly rectangular shape containing an abstract flame within, bedecked the circular clasp of his cloak. A leather pouch lay open on the ground nearby, apparently tossed there after being emptied by the elf's killer. A plain, but serviceable dagger was still belted about his waist. Removing it and slipping it about her own hips with a sigh, Sharalae moved on to examine another Siavaedi corpse.
By the time she was finished, Sharalae had found some leather armor, a belt, a cloak, a water skin and even a little food. She found a bow and quiver as well, with enough arrows to last a bit if she was careful. She had never been particularly skilled with either weapon, but grimly told herself she would learn, and learn quickly. It was either that, or die.
She cast about, looking for the trail of her brethren, noticing how the packs tied to several strange four legged creatures, also slain, were all open, their contents strewn about the site. Had Raelona found what she was looking for? Or had they gone away empty-handed? Did the elves know about the books? Did they know what had been put into motion and what was coming?
Picking up the trail, Sharalae scuttled once more into the trees, feeling better now that she was armed and armored. It made little sense she knew, her current form was capable of considerable defense, but Sharalae was used to wearing armor and carrying weapons, and old habits died hard.
She shivered, not entirely from cold, pulling the cloak tighter about her. She would give anything to be able to speak with the traitorous Siavaedi if only to learn what they knew, so she could warn them of House Sha'nul's plans and betray her betrayers. But there were centuries of hatred and war between the Siavaedi and her people.
And old habits died hard.
To be continued...
Fearful of the brilliance of a pale moon or the sharp, bright glint of stars she had heard so many frightening stories of, she held a slender, exquisite dusky arm before her face. Tentatively, she peered up at the night sky, but no moonlight or starlight seared her vision. Above her was only a blanket of darkness.
She smiled, comforted. Perhaps the stories she had heard had been only that--stories. And that was fine with her--the daystar was terrifying enough. Looking about she noticed several dark forms scattered about the clearing in a haphazard manner. She watched them for some time, but seeing no movement, she approached the nearest warily. Using two of her arachnid limbs, she turned the body over, revealing one of the sources of the blood smell.
An elf male lay before her, his glazed eyes still wide in shock, pale skin even paler in death. A crossbow bolt protruding from the gap between his leather chest armor and his shoulder guards and the dark slash across his throat bespoke of the manner of his demise. Sharalae did not need to examine the bolt to recognize the work of her people.
A strange symbol, a roughly rectangular shape containing an abstract flame within, bedecked the circular clasp of his cloak. A leather pouch lay open on the ground nearby, apparently tossed there after being emptied by the elf's killer. A plain, but serviceable dagger was still belted about his waist. Removing it and slipping it about her own hips with a sigh, Sharalae moved on to examine another Siavaedi corpse.
By the time she was finished, Sharalae had found some leather armor, a belt, a cloak, a water skin and even a little food. She found a bow and quiver as well, with enough arrows to last a bit if she was careful. She had never been particularly skilled with either weapon, but grimly told herself she would learn, and learn quickly. It was either that, or die.
She cast about, looking for the trail of her brethren, noticing how the packs tied to several strange four legged creatures, also slain, were all open, their contents strewn about the site. Had Raelona found what she was looking for? Or had they gone away empty-handed? Did the elves know about the books? Did they know what had been put into motion and what was coming?
Picking up the trail, Sharalae scuttled once more into the trees, feeling better now that she was armed and armored. It made little sense she knew, her current form was capable of considerable defense, but Sharalae was used to wearing armor and carrying weapons, and old habits died hard.
She shivered, not entirely from cold, pulling the cloak tighter about her. She would give anything to be able to speak with the traitorous Siavaedi if only to learn what they knew, so she could warn them of House Sha'nul's plans and betray her betrayers. But there were centuries of hatred and war between the Siavaedi and her people.
And old habits died hard.
To be continued...
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Cursed - Part 1
Sharalae stared in shock at Zirvaliel Sha'nul. "I thought we were allies!" she cried. "Do not be deceived, Akorbreena (First Matriarch)!" She pointed an accusing finger at the dark skinned elf standing beside the drow matron. "Sinafae seeks your downfall and the destruction of your goddess with the aid of your other daughter, Raelona!"
Zirvaliel laughed. "As befits a strong daughter, fool! And besides, I hate you," she smiled, "more than I hate her."
She turned to Sinafae. "I have other business. See to this Micararra (lost queen)," she ordered, gesturing to Sharalae with contempt as she strode away.
Sinafae turned her crimson eyes to gaze upon a stricken Sharalae. "You know what happens to failures," she purred. A wicked smile parted the priestess's face and she gestured, murmuring words of power to her demon goddess.
Sharalae's body warped and twisted. She screamed in agony.
Waking with a gasp, sweat coating her black skin with an ebony sheen, Sharalae looked about wildly, for a moment forgetting where she was. Regaining her wits, she allowed her torso to sag against the wall of the small cave in which she hid. The cool stone chilled her bare flesh and she cursed Sinafae to the Seven Hells for not sparing her at least some clothes, but mercy and compassion were not in her people's makeup.
As she considered her plight, Sharalae felt tears of bitterness and rage fill her eyes, but she gritted her teeth, refusing to let them fall. That is, until she reached up to touch her roughly shorn hair. She had always prided herself in that particular physical feature, her long, luxuriant locks white as an albino cave rat's fur and softer than...what was that material used to stuff pillows and mattresses that came from the World Above? Oh, yes, down, they had called it.
She narrowed her scarlet eyes, brushing the tears from her face. Fool! she cursed herself. Get your wits about you! If you're going to sit about in this pathetic state, you deserve what has been done to you!
She considered what to do, deciding she would be a fool to remain in the Underworld. She didn't trust Zirvaliel to leave her punishment to this. Sinafae certainly wouldn't! That traitorous little bitch would try to kill her if she could find her. It would be most unwise to stay.
Yet, Sharalae hesitated. She had never been to the World Above, but she had heard many stories about it--and the terrors it held in store for those foolish enough to trespass in it! Blinding light that would burn your eyes from their very sockets, a multitude of dangerous creatures, and enemies abounding everywhere, not the least of which were the drow's distant kin, the Siavaedi. She would not be welcome in that world to be sure, but she was no longer welcome here either. And if she was doomed to die, then she would make her death count for something against those who had betrayed her, if nothing else.
She smiled grimly. She may be cursed, exiled, forsaken by her people and the demon goddess she had worshipped, but she was far from helpless. And she knew of House Sha'nul's plans. Perhaps she would just have to see what she could do to disrupt them.
First things first, though, she cautioned herself. She would have to find her way to the surface. Then she would have to somehow find the books Sinafae and her little sister Raelona Sha'nul so desperately sought.
Feeling more confident now that she had decided upon a plan of action, Sharalae crept cautiously toward the entrance to her hiding place and peered out before scuttling into the tunnel, still awkward moving the eight slim black legs of her arachnid lower body.
To be continued...
Zirvaliel laughed. "As befits a strong daughter, fool! And besides, I hate you," she smiled, "more than I hate her."
She turned to Sinafae. "I have other business. See to this Micararra (lost queen)," she ordered, gesturing to Sharalae with contempt as she strode away.
Sinafae turned her crimson eyes to gaze upon a stricken Sharalae. "You know what happens to failures," she purred. A wicked smile parted the priestess's face and she gestured, murmuring words of power to her demon goddess.
Sharalae's body warped and twisted. She screamed in agony.
Waking with a gasp, sweat coating her black skin with an ebony sheen, Sharalae looked about wildly, for a moment forgetting where she was. Regaining her wits, she allowed her torso to sag against the wall of the small cave in which she hid. The cool stone chilled her bare flesh and she cursed Sinafae to the Seven Hells for not sparing her at least some clothes, but mercy and compassion were not in her people's makeup.
As she considered her plight, Sharalae felt tears of bitterness and rage fill her eyes, but she gritted her teeth, refusing to let them fall. That is, until she reached up to touch her roughly shorn hair. She had always prided herself in that particular physical feature, her long, luxuriant locks white as an albino cave rat's fur and softer than...what was that material used to stuff pillows and mattresses that came from the World Above? Oh, yes, down, they had called it.
She narrowed her scarlet eyes, brushing the tears from her face. Fool! she cursed herself. Get your wits about you! If you're going to sit about in this pathetic state, you deserve what has been done to you!
She considered what to do, deciding she would be a fool to remain in the Underworld. She didn't trust Zirvaliel to leave her punishment to this. Sinafae certainly wouldn't! That traitorous little bitch would try to kill her if she could find her. It would be most unwise to stay.
Yet, Sharalae hesitated. She had never been to the World Above, but she had heard many stories about it--and the terrors it held in store for those foolish enough to trespass in it! Blinding light that would burn your eyes from their very sockets, a multitude of dangerous creatures, and enemies abounding everywhere, not the least of which were the drow's distant kin, the Siavaedi. She would not be welcome in that world to be sure, but she was no longer welcome here either. And if she was doomed to die, then she would make her death count for something against those who had betrayed her, if nothing else.
She smiled grimly. She may be cursed, exiled, forsaken by her people and the demon goddess she had worshipped, but she was far from helpless. And she knew of House Sha'nul's plans. Perhaps she would just have to see what she could do to disrupt them.
First things first, though, she cautioned herself. She would have to find her way to the surface. Then she would have to somehow find the books Sinafae and her little sister Raelona Sha'nul so desperately sought.
Feeling more confident now that she had decided upon a plan of action, Sharalae crept cautiously toward the entrance to her hiding place and peered out before scuttling into the tunnel, still awkward moving the eight slim black legs of her arachnid lower body.
To be continued...
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