IT'S NOT A CRY THAT YOU HEAR AT NIGHT,
IT'S NOT SOMEBODY WHO'S SEEN THE LIGHT,
IT'S A COLD AND IT'S A BROKEN HALLELUJAH.
The mage opened the door and held it for her. “Please.”
As she entered before him her silver gaze swept the room. It had changed a great deal since she had been here last. It was messy. There were piles of parchment and open tomes scattered on every surface; on every available expanse of floor; piles of books that had either been discarded, or were yet to be searched; even miscellaneous vials and bottles rolled here and there.
The male approached the largest table in the room. An open book rested near its edge. Draconic text was written upon the pages. “I wish I had your Mother’s notes, Idil. Though it is possible that she did not have that many notes left from the process since she did it mostly herself...” He was silent for a few moments as he flipped through pages in the tome. “I have, however, managed quite well to locate some parts of the ritual
probably needed for the process…” His hand darted to catch a vial filled with blood that lay next to the book, and he tossed it toward her. “Drink this one first, please.”
The vial was thin. The blood inside it had a slightly different hue than what was normal for a drow or other humanoid. Idil’vas removed the stopper and the extra acidity of the substance hit her in a wave. It burned her nostrils, and… it called to her.
Her voice had become husky. “What sort of dragon is this from?”
“It is from a young black dragon from the surface. I would have preferred Shadow dragon blood directly… but as you know… they are much more difficult to find.”
She watched the vial as though it were a relic to be studied. To be conquered. Her voice still held that lower timber as she tried to keep her thoughts in order against the pull of what she held. “Mother said that from… later experiments of sorts, she learned that all dragons are connected. That supposedly… one’s ‘type’ can be changed…” Was the drowess imparting information to the mage? Was she asking if he knew this to be true? Was she stalling? Was she simply assessing all of the possible outcomes that would follow in The Game after this move? Very likely-all those things and more. “Still, you believe it is wise to proceed in this fashion rather than hunt one of actual shadow?”
The male continued to wander around the room pushing piles of parchments out of his way, organizing something with both of his hands. “I do believe that… this blood will just act as a catalyst to stir up your own. It will not directly affect the process you have already awakened.”
She held the vial for several more heartbeats. Then she merely turned it up and downed the contents as if it were cool fresh water, or a shot of blood whiskey. The blood did not taste much different than any other. It had the same metallic twang of prey that had not been finely distilled.
Meanwhile the mage had been carefully clearing away scraps of paper, leather and metal from a section of the stone floor. “And now… I’d rather have you naked when you enter this circle.” He motioned to his ritual circle as he continued to clean up debris.
She licked a remaining drop of blood from her lips with the tip of her tongue. She never had a second thought as she began to remove the scaled plating and cloak she wore. She continued to watch him; curious, as she piled her belongings to the side.
Once the circle was clear he moved back to the table and picked up a device; a pile of metal cuffs and short chains that were clearly meant for binding. She gave the apparatus a dubious look.
“Ah… then… on your knees,” The wizard stammered. “…hands behind your back so I can bind them. Just for my own safety, I will assure you.” He moved towards her with the shackles in his hands.
“You are expecting a great deal of… confidence on my part, Elenghar.”
He nodded his head some. “Well, power does not come from nothing after all… and… I would rather keep all my limbs intact when trying to stir the power within you.” He paused and continued in a scholarly tone. “You know your mother’s strength… one that no-humanoid possesses… awoken from the blood. Very dangerous business.”
Idil’vas’s upper lip curled in a derisive expression. The mage was right to be afraid. That he showed it to her so willingly; well that was a bit more troubling. She knelt then; directly in the center of the ritual circle. Her expression was defiant. Her silver gaze held his in a silent warning.
To his credit, the male returned her gaze. He did not cower. He waited until she knelt and then
carefully made his way toward her with the bindings. He took a knee behind her and then attached the first shackle to her ankle. The cold metal was wrapped in rothe leather that made it slightly more pleasant against the bare skin. Idil’vas took a moment to wonder just why the mage had such things on hand. The thought brought her a touch of amusement.
Soon both ankles were joined. Her feet were neatly bound together. She shifted her shoulders in discomfort. Not discomfort from the position, or the metal; discomfort from being immobilized… out of control and… at this male’s mercy.
He caught her hands one at a time and gently moved them towards her ankles. A metal cuff soon wrapped each. The short chains that ran from the cuffs to a central, large loop kept her hands behind her back and within inches of her feet. He rose and moved out of the circle. He moved farther away than was strictly necessary – out of reach of teeth and claws.
“Alright… You might feel some pain during the process… but do not try to break the circle or try to remove the shackles. It is for your own safety; and mine…” He gave her the instruction and then took a deep breath. After a heartbeat he began to conjure.
The drowess took her own deep breath and let it out heavily. The sound was more irritation than any sort of dread.
The mage began with murmuring, something not much louder than a whisper. Some of the words were familiar to her. Others were unclear, and she couldn’t make out the meaning. Hackles rose on Idil’vas’s neck, and then ran down her back. The smooth skin of her forearms pimpled as she waited. She continued to watch Elenghar; her gaze never wavering from his form.
He spoke in Draconic. The energy in the room changed. The energy within her blood… changed. She could feel it. Slithering. Coiling. Now clawing.
The room became darker; more than even the caverns of the underdark. It was uncomfortably dark. Empty. The deeper darkness came from elsewhere. It had a malicious hue to it. It was not just an absence of light, but it… devoured the light. Something left her. Something she had not known existed, yet she felt its loss acutely.
The vacancy was suddenly filled with something far different. A low moan escaped her parted lips. Her back arched causing her shoulders to lean further back. She kept her gaze on the mage stubbornly, though her eyelids drooped. The sound was almost one of… pleasure.
Things before her began to shift. Waves of exchanging energy. Some directed by the mage. Some draining him. Her vision became cloudy. The mage continued to chant in draconic. Idil’vas moved against the shackles showing her unease as her vision clouded.
Sounds became distorted. An occasional word was clear. Others came garbled. Some were high pitched, and she … she would have sworn she heard… the mage screaming.
She struggled against the wavering vision and the sounds that she could not understand. Elenghar was completely lost from sight now. The room was in darkness so complete… With all the force of will she could manage she turned her mind to her anchor… her one purpose fulfilled.
An understanding crystalized within her. “Yes… I see now…” The words fell from her lips of their own accord.
Then she was falling. No. She was floating.
And then she choked. A strangled moan was pulled from her.
A hook buried itself into her left shoulder. A metal-tipped whip lash landed across her back. Another hook buried itself into her right hip, and the two pulled in opposite directions.
She ripped. Her spirit shredded along the fault line caused by the whip lash. Whatever she was made of – whatever /was/ Idil’vas leaked out in tendrils; like black oil poured into darker water.
Her physical body folded farther backward, almost double. She fought to choke back any sound; any vocal sign of weakness. The darkness wrenched it from her. The scream was piercing and primal. Just as it waned so that one might think it were over, it crescendoed again. Rising and falling with pain. Pain that came from something all-together
other.
The mage entered the next stage of his ritual. His energy had found what it sought within her; that slithering shadow that was now clawing to find its own way out. He whipped at the leftover tendrils of ancestry. His magic lit a fire under the claws until they did not just look for freedom; but now enraged, they sought a victim. He was now become the fiend. The tormenter. The –other thing- that sought to be her undoing.
Her screams transformed into the vicious, enraged roars of a beast on the cusp of madness. She dug her long nails into the palms of her own hands as she tried to hold onto that thread of mortality that said ‘don’t break the chains’.
Her fingers had slid from the steeled-focus she had tried to hold. As her soul wept all that it was within some other realm, her breathing faltered.
The mage snapped his fingers. The conjuring simply winked out. A breath exploded from her. Without the magical energy that had been supporting her, Idil’vas simply fell over.
The wizard swayed some on his feet, catching his breath before slowly moving to release the drowess from her bindings. The floor beneath her was cold; as though she lay on a sheet of ice, but it did not register in her mind. Her breath came in ragged gasps. Her eyes remained closed. Rivulets of sweat trailed down her obsidian face and neck.
“Are you alright?” The mage asked after removing the bindings. Only her arms moved in the slow drift of one well-beyond exhaustion, finding something slightly more suitable than being behind her back.
The mage slapped her features lightly to see if she was conscious.
Idil’vas’s right hand shot forward like a striking cobra to grab his throat. Her eyes flew open.
Elenghar froze like some small prey animal. All he could see before him was a pair of eyes as black as the room had been moments before. Only a needle’s width of silver ringed the depthless pools. “Idil… vas… is it… you?” His words were barely a whisper.
Her breathing was heavy, like a warrior in mid-battle. Her grip began to tighten.
The male moved his hands up to hers; his fingers grasping against her strength in futility. His voice was nearly inaudible from the lack of air. “Idil… it is me… Elenghar…”
A low rumble came from her chest as she fought to clear her thoughts. After several tense moments the fingers loosened. Her hand hovered in the air for a moment, as if she had to remember how to tell it to move. At last it lowered to her side leaving the mage’s throat covered in Idil’s own blood from where she had sliced open her hands with her nails.
She placed her left hand on the floor in an effort of pushing herself to her feet, and then gave up; falling on her stomach to rest on the very cold stone floor.
Elenghar fell down when she released him and then slowly, cautiously moved himself to a sitting position. His hand flew to his throat checking his neck for damage or leaking arteries while he took in shallow breaths. “I… ah… believe… that the experiment was… somewhat… successful.” He phrased out slowly.
She opened her eyes to look at him with the quiet exchange. The black at the center of her eyes was receding; their normal silver slowly regaining ground.
“I think we will refrain from… further stirring the blood for some time… and let your body rest…” he then reached forward and placed his hand upon her back, caressing it gently.
The drowess took a slow inhale, followed by a long exhale. The mage could feel the rigidity of her muscles melt under his hand. “I was not… strong enough.” The words were clear, though she had trouble saying them. Truthfully if she had been completely in her right mind, she would never have uttered them at all.
Elenghar continued to caress her back. “You know well how strong the blood is… you know your mother too well…”
“I was losing.” She murmured. No. In truth she had already lost. She could not hold her connection to this realm.
There was a loud knocking on the door.
The mage grumbled as the moment was shattered. He then grasped her shoulder briefly before releasing it. “I will get it.”
Alone now in the room, Idil turned over. She brought her right hand up and touched the place just over her left breast. She had not imagined it. It was not some delusion of pain, or dream. The place there was darker than the rest of her skin. Now permanently blacked like a brand. Even the thin translucent scales that had once covered it were gone.
It was as if someone or something had touched her there with enough force to drive her soul out of the undertow that it had been lost in.
Voices traveled to her from the entry way. She recognized the warlock. Elenghar sounded impatient as he asked, “How can I help you?”
She finally stirred, and carefully she stepped out of the ritual circle.
“Enchanting, unless one came at a bad hour…”
“Well, not the best time, no. Perhaps slightly later… hmm?”
The sound of light metal accompanied her voice as she called toward the conversation. “It is fine, Elenghar. I am… fine.”
The male glanced over his shoulder towards the other room. “Ah... you still should rest now.”
There was a loud snap of cloth as she shook out her cloak sharply before twirling it around her shoulders. “Does my resting require your presence?” There was a hint of humor to her tone.
The mage nodded some before offering to Idil, “Well, not exactly… but…”
By the time the mage returned from the door, the drowess was once again dressed in her scaled mail. “Is everything okay now? You could stay at my place for a while longer if you'd prefer that.” He offered.
She looked at him for a long, long moment. There was something more sensual about the movement of her head as it tilted; the coldness of her gaze was muted by cunning. “One might think you wanted me to stay.”
“Perhaps... it has been long... since we have stayed together.” He offered softly “And I would also prefer to check on you... but...” He made his way towards her. “You have grown up to be a strong lady... so... maybe I am worrying for nothing... hmm?”
Her eyes had returned to their glistening, silver pools. She merely stood and watched him. Waiting.
His steps were measured as he closed the distance. Soon he was very close to her, perhaps a bit too close. He raised his hand slowly from his side towards her face, placing his hand against her cheek. She remained rooted to her position. She was not tense. She kept her gaze on the mage’s face.
He moved his thumb along the side of her nostrils, keeping his hand there. “You have grown up to be a pretty female... cunning and dangerous.” Her nostrils flared at his touch. “Quite different than the times... we played together at the house, isn't it?”
Her lips curled at the question. “Fond memories, Elenghar?”
“Sure...” His voice grew husky. “It has been quite a long time… but they are memories than I will not forget.” She reached up with her right hand and took his that rested on her cheek. As his hand was moved, the tip of his thumb touched the side of her upper lip. “So... as I offered... you may stay here if you like... Anytime... you feel like it.” After a moment he added, “There has always been more between us than just ties of a house.”
Her hand was covered in a fair amount of dried blood. The slices in her palm had sealed themselves with the dry browning substance, but were still visible. Likewise the traces she had left upon the mage’s throat. She brought his hand to her lips. In a slow motion she pressed their fullness against the mound of his thumb. The tip of her tongue slid forwards and traced his palm, up to the tip of his ring finger which she briefly drew into her mouth.
The male froze for a moment. He let out a pleased sigh.
Then she released him. “As you said. I should rest.” Once again her lips curled. “We shall save... exertions for another cycle.”
“Of course... of course...” He stammered.
Idil’vas turned toward the door without another word. The brand on her chest burned anew, and the dragonkin knew exactly what she had to do.