Issin’adarar

         Issin’adarar woke with a start, the bed sheets wound tight around his legs and wet from his perspirations. He had had another nightmare that he could not recall. It only left him with a vague feeling of unease and ill omen. He sighed for he knew there would be no more sleep this night. To make matters worse, his head felt like it had been split in two.
         The elf deftly untangled his body from the encumbering fabric and with almost neglectful ease he managed to rise from the bed without waking his sleeping companion. He then bent to gather his discarded garments and silently dressed himself.
         With some disappointment he rested his gaze upon the human female who remained asleep her dark curls and nearly elven features set in a state of contended bliss. He envied her peacefulness. He envied her rest. For those where only two things he had not experienced in nearly a decade; or had it been two?
         He shrugged as he walked, barefooted, across the room. He slowly lifted the latch holding the two windows closed and gently, lest he make a sound, pushed the glass panes outwards into the cool night air. The evening breeze swirled around him cooling the sweat on his forehead.
         The clear air did much to clear his pounding head. If only it would help his churning stomach also. But that was a small price to pay for the lack of recollection on his escapades with the human. Then again perhaps it was an after effect of mixing with humans; he wasn’t quite sure. And all for naught, as his experiment had proven a complete failure. He hadn’t been able to keep the nightmares at bay. Nor had the brief sexual encounter done anything to alleviate the weariness and loneliness that permeated his soul.
         With another heavy sigh, he turned from the landscape of sleeping Stelgaunt to gather the rest of his belongings. As silently as he could, he equipped his belt and weapons and then sought out his bag and instrument, which remained safely hidden in its protective leather case.
         Only when giving the room a final glance, to be certain he had not forgotten anything, did he spot a small bag partially hidden underneath the female’s discarded dress. The bag’s simple design and somber colors had nearly succeeded in keeping the bag hidden in the near darkness of the room. It would have remained hidden if not for Issin’adarar’s keen eye sight.
         But what the elf found curious was the fact that he had not noticed the bag back in the tavern when he first saw the human. He knew he had not been so drunk at that moment so as not to notice something a bag when he had visually searched her for weapons.
         His curiosity peaked; the elf began to cast a simple cantrip that would enable him to detect magical auras. He kept his voice low as the somber tones wove the enchantment over his eyes. Several long seconds later, his vision cleared to reveal the still sleeping human, who apparently would sleep through a battle, and faint residual magical traces on the bag.
         Seeing no traces of hostile magic, he kneeled down beside the bag and with a sneer of contempt at how horrible human clothing could be, he gingerly lifted the garment and cast it aside. It was only natural that he exact payment for the horrible evening that he happily could not clearly recall. With deft fingers, he then undid the lacings at the front of the bag and lifted the flap to display the contents of the bag.
         A brush, which the female would obviously need whenever she managed to wake; several coins, one of them gold; and lastly a medallion of sorts; were all that he found in the bag. His red eyes were drawn to the medallion, a simple black disc with a purple border. Almost without his consent his fingers closed around the metal surface.
         The disc felt cold to the touch, almost painful, yet he could not let it go. Gently he lifted it from the bag and brought it before his eyes. The cold crept from his hand slowly expanding from the medal surface throughout his body, turning into an almost pleasant refreshing coolness, like a spring rain. The emptiness inside of him no longer worried him. It was not as if the amulet melted, or purified his being of all the sadness and loneliness he felt. But it somehow made him accept it. Helped him realize that the loss he felt from abandoning his family and community was not only bearable, but it was something he should embrace. It was as much an integral part of him as his eyes or his wings.
         For the first time in decades Issin’adarar was at peace. And then the moment was gone. The clarity, the state of mind that allowed him to feel and come to terms with his loss was gone. Only the faint memory of that moment lingered in his mind, teasing him with the promise of a complete self, thus expanding the loneness and loss in his soul.
         He stared at the medallion but didn’t see it. His vision blurred as tears blurred his sight to a point where he could not even make out his hands. He wanted it back. He needed that clarity back.
         With a heavy sigh he made to set the amulet back into the bag, but then hesitated. He wanted nothing with the medallion, which had given a moment of happiness in his dismal existent only to snatch right back. He felt the loss of this moment almost as keenly as the lost of his community.
He wanted nothing with it!
         But even as his mind raged he clutched the medallion to his chest. He realized he could not be rid of it, like he could not be rid of the memory of what he had lost. It was part of him, for good or for naught. He just wished he could detach the pain that accompanied the feeling of loss, just like he had a few moments ago.
“You can keep it,” the woman said in her smoky voice from the bed. Issin’adarar lifted his head and gazed at the woman in wonder. He felt disdain rise in him as he looked at her bulky form, her oversized breasts, and her far too muscular shape, wishing yet again that he had managed to find at least an elf in this dismal city. Yet a part of him had to admire that for a human she was a striking woman. He supposed that spoke volumes on human beauty, if there was even such a thing.
         He studied her and realized that there was no trace of sleepiness in her eyes. Either she was extremely fast in waking up, or she had been awake for some time. It was best to assume that she had been pretending to be asleep. But for what reasons, and why would she want him to have the medallion, he could only speculate.
         “What is this?” He asked holding up the medallion. But instead of answering him she simply rose and slowly bent to pick up her discarded clothing. Once dressed, she walked to the fireplace and reached into the dying embers and pulled on a hidden mechanism. Issin’adarar watched as with a gentle push of her hand the entire fireplace rotated into the wall.
         “Come,” was all she said and then she headed into the dark passage behind the secret door. Seeing no harm in following her and with his natural curiosity pulling at him, he took the remainder of his gear and headed off after her.
         They walked some distance in the dark passage before it suddenly opened into a spiraling staircase. Without a word he followed her down into deeper and deeper darkness. Despite his low light vision he was finding it harder and harder to see the steps as they headed deeper into the bowels of the city. To his surprise the human seemed to have no such problem with the darkness. By what he knew their eye sight tended to be much poorer in the darkness than that of elves, and yet he was the one fumbling like a buffoon. The more it spiraled down the more he was convinced that magic was at play, despite the fact that he had not seen her cast a spell, nor could he see any magical aura around her from his still active magic detection spell.
         Eventually they reached the bottom of the staircase where a large metal door awaited them. The female put her hand on the door and whispered a word too low for his ears to pick up. Slowly the large door opened up into large dark hallway. Large pillars reaching high into the darkness, where he presumed they met with some sort of ceiling, lined the expansive area. Torches burning with somber blue and black flames hung from sconces on the pillars. There boots clicked softly on marble tiles of black and white alternating pattern.
         The hallway eventually opened up into a large worshipping place where a large black disk surrounded by purple stood affixed to the back wall. Despite the hour of the night hundreds of knelt forms where paying their respects to the symbol. His mind raced as he sought through his rather extensive knowledge to find which god or goddess had for symbol a black disk surrounded by a purple border. Not for the first time in his life he cursed himself for not knowing more about the gods and goddesses that were ever present in Faerun.
         A man, judging from his attired Issin’adarar assumed he was some sort of high priest, stepped out of the shadows near the raised dais under the large symbol. With stately pose he mounted the few steps and reach to top of the dais. He then waved his hand to the shadows and two hooded acolytes half carried half dragged a shivering naked elven female between them. Her pale flesh shone like a too bright light in a cavern, forcing him to squint his eyes or be momentarily blinded. Her beauty was un-mistakable even from his distance to her, yet even as they shackled her to what appeared to be a sacrificial altar, he could only feel hatred for his elven cousin. He disliked moon elves almost as much as he hated humans. Actually considering all the wrong that race had done to him, he realized he hated them more than humans.
         The priest then took a dagger from a plush pillow held by a third acolyte and raised it high above his head. Without a single word, without even a call to whatever divine being the priest worshipped he drove the dagger into the elven maiden’s breast. He left the dagger there and raised his hands above his head as blood slowly trickled out of the wound to form a puddle at the bottom of the altar.
“Who was she?” he asked as he watched acolytes and priests alike bend their heads in silent prayer.
         “A Selunite. Now come,” the woman headed off towards a side corridor, leaving him with the choice to follow or stay with the praying clergy. Having made his decision back in the inn’s room, he took off after the taller woman.
         They passed several dark passages and corridors to eventually enter a luxurious room. Purple draperies, lush carpets, and impressive divans seemed to fit right into the dark and forbidding place he had entered. He wondered about that as he took a seat in one of the more comfortable looking seats across from his now seated guide.
         “Now what?” he asked while looking around the room at the numerous bookshelves and unlit golden chandeliers. He realized that this room would be fit for a king. Never in his long life had he such wealth in one place. He only wished there was more than a single chandelier to illuminate the room. Yet somehow the darkness seemed to fit.
         His mind was racing now. That he had fallen into a secret society was evident. It was also evident that this was no minor clergy but that of a greater deity. Also by the venom in the woman’s tone when she named the selunite, it was somewhat apparent that no love was lost between Selune’s followers and his dark hosts.
         They were followers of Shar! He did not know much of about the Mistress of the Night, except her strong connection with shadows, loss, and secrets. He realized it was somewhat fitting that he should happen upon this dark society.
         “So you are no fool,” an elven voice vibrated throughout the room. Judging by the echoes and the pitch, Issin’adarar turned his head to the left and was rewarded by seeing a shadowy form, which looked somewhat like an elf, step out of the shadows. As the elf stepped closer to the light given off by the chandelier, the shadows seemed to reluctantly let go his cloak as if they were some lover he was leaving behind.
         “You must be wondering why you are here,” the elf continued as he came to sit next to the human woman who looked upon him with a mix of fear and longing. It was quite apparent where the balance of power lay between these two.
         Trying to appear relaxed, Issin’adarar leaned into his couch and studied the other elf. It was obvious to the bard that he was not dealing with a normal gray elf. There was something, peculiar something more elusive about the gray than couldn’t be explained by the characteristics of the race. He had to admit though that he knew very little about his gray cousins. All he knew was that they preferred to remain isolated in their citadels and rarely spoke to other races, even elven. They also were much more noble and powerful than any sun elf; to Issin’adarar they represented the perfection of the elven race. He envied them and had a grudging respect for them; unlike most of their primitive cousins.
         “I have heard you play the flute quite beautifully,” the elf continued keeping his very blue eyes staring right at Issin’adarar.
         “I doubt that’s why you had me brought here,” Issin’adarar said with a confidence he lacked. That he had been duped into coming here was evident. It was also no mere accident that he had been seduced by the human woman. Nor that he had found the bag and the medallion. He was even beginning to suspect that magical compulsion might have been used on him. And that was more alarming, since that would indicate he was in the company of some rather powerful magic users.
         On the bright side, if they wanted him dead, it would already have been done. So he felt little fear for his own life at the present moment. He just needed to trend carefully so as not to change their intentions with him.
         With a flick of his hand, the gray elf dismissed the human woman, who without a word rose and left the room, closing the wooden door behind her. During that the time the gray elf continued to study him with an intensity that did little to comfort Issin’adarar.
         “I will oblige you by being blunt then, if it is what you desire. I want you to go to Eshpurta in Amn and find the local Shar chapter there. From then on I will contact you to give you further instructions,” the gray said before leaning back in his seat, completely at ease.
         “What’s in it for me?” Issin’adarar demanded, feeling himself more comfortable in the situation. If the gray elf had sought him out, it was because there was something only he could do. That gave him not a small margin of power.
         “If you do as I ask, I will help you find what you have been seeking for the last few decades. I will help you learn to accept your unusual talents. But mostly I will help you wrestle away power from house Dlardrageth.”
         Issin’adarar tried in vain to hide the shock from his face. The gray elf had seen through his magic alteration. Issin’adarar’s first instinct was to attack the gray and kill him before he could spread news of Issin’adarar identity to others. But after a few moments that emotion passed. It was clear that the gray had wished to keep it a secret, or else he would not have dismissed the human. Also Issin’adarar was not certain he could even hope to defeat the gray. It was obvious that he would have planned for Issin’adarar’s to attempt such a thing.
         Eventually Issin’adarar nodded. He had very little choice in the matter, and what was more important, was the gray’s promises were too enticing for him to ignore.
         “I’ll do it, but if this is some elaborate trap, I will find you and kill you,” Issin’adarar declared, but he knew it to be a lie. If this was a trap, he’d be dead.
But if it wasn’t a trap, he could perhaps save his people from their worship of Ghaunadaur. And perhaps he could save himself in the process.