3. The Red Eye Chronicles

The Red Eye Chronicles


  • What follows is a first person account of Penny's true history before arriving in Narfell. These tales would be IC information to only 3 PC's (unless they went around telling the truth about Penny's past to anyone else :x ). For everyone else, I hope it offers an interesting glimpse into a side of Penny that she never shares with Narfellians. For bits of her story after arriving in Narfell, click here.

    I hope you all enjoy! 🙂


  • A New Hope

    And the spies came out of the water
    But you're feeling so good because you know
    That those spies hide out in every corner
    And they can't touch you, no
    Because they're just spies
    –from Spies, by Coldplay

    A soft whimpering beside me jolts me awake, and I find myself upright against a tree, the little half-drow girl sitting to my right, watching the moonlit ripples in the nearby lake as they recede into stillness. As I stir, the pain in my shoulder flares up, and I grit my teeth, groaning as I rise to my feet. I look around. It seems that we are safe, though the cave is nowhere in sight, and my wounds appear to have been skillfully wrapped to prevent any blood loss. Confused, I look to the girl once again, her gaze still fixed on the water.

    "Come litte one, we need to go. I need to get you someplace safe."

    Taking her by the hand, I lead her along the treeline as I begin to get my bearings, finally recognizing our location as I catch a glimpse of the northbound cartpath leaving Waterdeep. How we managed to make it here, nearly a day's walk from the mining site, I cannot fathom. Either I managed quite well in my blacked out state, or the girl and I had a quiet guardian. A cart, or even a horse, would make this journey to Maura's much easier, but I cannot risk being recognized by anyone. Compounding matters, I suspect we will be traveling exclusively by moonlight, the girl's eyes being too sensitive to sunlight to make day travel viable.

    Day will be breaking soon. We should rest up and start the journey tonight.

    With a soft smile, I lead the girl to the side of the road, ducking into the high brush under the shade of some tall elms. As I lay down in the grass, the girl, almost instinctively, lays down beside me, nuzzling her face against my chest. Within minutes, she is asleep and I close my eyes as well, my sleep fitful as I pay attention to each changing sound around us. As night falls once again, I awake to find the girl watching me, a little smile on her face. Dusting myself off, I rise and take her hand.

    "Time to go, little one."

    As we head north once again, the tall roadside grass keeping us partially concealed from any nighttime travelers, I begin to wonder about the motivations of those who wanted this girl dead. Senator Roth's advisors likely had political reasons, worrying that opponents would prey upon the prejudices of the populace by exposing the senator's "indiscretions". A sin of unadulterated greed, a drive to protect their positions of power and their livelihoods. The One believed that his role, through the Crimson Tide, was to cleanse Waterdeep of corruption with the blood of the guilty. I had spent the majority of the last two years believing in him and his burgeoning sins of pride. But this girl, she is not one of the guilty. Perhaps The One cannot see that. Pride blinds him more completely than even the thickest magical darkness ever could. This little girl, she is my hope. She is living proof that even a criminal like myself can rise above sin and reach out toward the good and the virtuous and do so out of no motivation other than a desire to do what is right.

    "Hope."

    As though it were a sign from the gods, the little girl looks up at me and smiles. I smile back to her.

    "Every little girl needs a name. I'll call you Hope."

    Knock, knock, knock

    Night has just begun to fall as I knock on the front door of Maura's house.

    She is probably settling down to dinner with her husband now. I wonder if she will even remember me. It's been at least three years since father and I were here.

    The door opens slowly and Maura peeks around it, her face illuminated by lantern light.

    "Yes, hello? Who is… um... Penny? Is that... you?"

    "Sorry to bother you Maura, but, I need a... favor."

    "Well, sure dear come right on in- is that a ... drow? Oh dear."

    "I'll explain everything Maura, I promise."

    A few seconds pass after Hope and I walk into the house before I can hear the soft click of the door shutting and the latch coming to rest in its proper place.

    "Good evening, Richard," I say to her husband who simply nods, his soup-filled spoon hovering in the air near his mouth where it had come to rest at the sight of us.

    "Maura, Richard, this is Hope. She is a half-drow, the daughter of Senator Roth of Waterdeep. We are here because Roth's advisors and a band of drow each want her dead. It isn't safe for her in Waterdeep. I had hoped that maybe you would... care for her. Give her a new life, a chance at being a normal little girl rather than prey running from a hunter."

    "You took her from Waterdeep under these pretenses?" Maura's voice gives away her nervousness. "Were you followed?"

    "No. We avoided renting a wagon, and walked here amid the high brush. The trip was quite.. long."

    "Penny dear, you know about my daughter. You know I'd love nothing more than to have the chance to raise a little girl, but... what if they find her?"

    "I can't promise you they won't, Maura. But I'm out of options. If not you, then who?"

    "Oh goodness." Maura rubs her forehead in thought as she pauses for what seems like forever. She looks to Richard, then back to me. "Well, it's a good thing we kept all of Angela's things after the accident."

    "Thank you," I whisper into Maura's ear while hugging her. "I don't know how much common she understands, but she seems to respond to her name."

    "Well, that's a start then. Come now, both of you sit and have some dinner with us. We can talk more in the morning."

    As Maura says this, I take Hope's hand and lead her over to the seat that I sat in when father and I stopped here years ago. Perhaps the soup has some magical properties, because a sense of peace like I've never experienced before washes over me while I eat.

    "You sure you have to go so soon, Penny?" Maura asks from the doorway with Hope clinging to her leg, watching me.

    "I don't want to stay in one place too long, just in case, Maura. But don't worry, I'll be back to visit."

    "Where will you go in the meantime then? Not back to Waterdeep, I'd imagine."

    "A month or so ago, I received word from my sister Lillie that she'd moved North, to a land called Narfell. I think I'll go visit her there for awhile."

    I wave to them both as I set out toward Port Llast.

    Passage to Narfell will likely be expensive, so I imagine I'll have to work for awhile in town before I'll have the money to make the journey.

    Slowly, Maura's house grows more distant, and the southern walls of Port Llast become apparent up ahead.

    I'll be back someday soon. When I do return, I know I'll find Hope happy, beautiful, and full of love.

    Afterall, happiness, beauty, and love are the qualities that grow when hope is given a chance to blossom.

    THE END


  • The Rescue

    And if we don't hide here
    They're gonna find us
    And if we don't hide now
    They're gonna catch us where we sleep
    And if we don't hide here
    They're gonna find us
    –from Spies, by Coldplay

    As my eyes frantically scanned the encampment, searching for a weakness, an opportunity, anything that would allow me to get close to the young girl's prison, my gaze came to rest on a tent opposite the cage, into which, it seemed, most or all of the drow were retreating, save for the one warrior guarding the girl. What they were saying to one another, I could not discern, as I had never experienced the drow language before, but the final one to enter the tent motioned for the guard to stay put at his post. A planning meeting, perhaps? A time to go over orders? Regardless of the gathering's purpose, I realized immediately that this was my opportunity. I took a deep breath and lobbed a small stone forward, which landed and skipped off the guard's armored boot. Almost instantly, he spun to face the rocks behind which I was hidden, his shield and bastard sword at the ready, and his armor and helm revealing no exposed flesh. Warily, the guard approached the rocks, one slow, methodical step at a time. I crouched low in the darkness between the stalagmites, peering up at him as he trudged forward. Armored like he was, I, in my light black leathers with only my shortsword for protection, had no chance in a fight.

    Dammit, dammit, dammit. Take off your helm!

    Perhaps Tymora actually smiled on me at that moment, for as the guard closed within ten or so paces, he removed his helm to get a better look, exposing his neck quite plainly. In a flash, and almost involuntarily, my arm lunged forth from the shadows with my shortsword leading, driving the blade deep into his throat. Instinctively, I released the blade and rolled backward, narrowly missing the massive bastard sword as it came crashing down between the rocks into the dirt. The telltale gurgling sound fading into silence told me once again that my special wounding blade had done its job, so I crept from the shadows quietly, pulling the blade from the dead drow's neck. A quick survey of the area told me that the deed had been quiet enough not to arouse the suspicion of the others. After assuring myself of this truth, I glided forward toward the cage. The girl watched me, wide eyed and frightened as I scaled the back of the wagon and went to work on the lock.

    "Shh," I whispered to her. "I'm here to save you."

    I had no idea how much common the girl knew, but as I worked on the lock, she sat motionless in the corner of the cage, her frightened black eyes remaining fixed on me as I released the mechanism inside and pulled open the door. Tymora had been with me up until that point, and then, as if He suddenly decided to taunt me instead, the little half-drow girl began to wail. Quickly, I snatched her up into my arms and fled, looking back to see several drow poke their heads out from the meeting tent and then emerge with their weapons. I tried my best to retrace my steps, following the pathway up the crag-face, winding around turn after turn in the darkness. Arrows rained up at me from below, one after another clanging off the rocks as the drow pursued us. They were amazingly quick, and worse yet, they could see far better than me in this environment. I needed to do something to slow them down, and quickly, lest the child and I both be captured. With that, I hoisted the girl onto my back, her arms over my shoulders and her hands clasped together so that she might hold on. Reaching into my belt pouch as I ran, I pulled out a small round object, a fragment of a thunderstone that Rix had once fashioned into a flash-bomb for me. By Tymora's grace again, I had managed to retain it until right now.

    "Cover your eyes!" I said to the girl as I spun around and lobbed the bomb down toward the pack of drow. It exploded on impact with the path, just as Rix said it would, shattering the darkness with a blinding brilliance. That will, at least, delay them I thought, as I searched for a rock formation behind which I could hide to catch my breath.

    And now here I am, wedged between two damp rocks with a gloved hand over the mouth of this young girl. I breathe shallowly, lest the drow hear the air passing from my lips and discover our hiding place. The one thing I cannot control, however, is the fear of the young girl huddled against me. I hope drow really cannot smell fear…

    "Everything's gonna be alright," I whisper softly into the girl's ear. "The drow want to hurt you, but I want to keep you safe."

    She looks up at me with dark, frightened eyes.

    "We need to hide, darlin'," I whisper. "If we don't hide for now, they'll catch us."

    No sooner do those words pass from my lips, than the footsteps on the path stop abruptly, and the lingering breathing becomes constant and unfading.

    Shit. They found us.

    Scooping up the girl, I charge out from behind the rock, running full sprint down the pathway toward the entrance.

    "Oloth plynn dos!" the drow cry, the whizzing of their arrows loud in my ears as several narrowly miss. A lull comes, as I continue to run, the stampede of my pursuers nearing a gallop as they give chase and reload their bows.

    Ssssss-thunk!

    I howl in pain as I feel one arrow lodge itself in my right shoulder blade.

    Ssssss-thunk!

    Another hits home right beside the first. The very blood within my veins feels as though it were about to boil.

    Poisoned arrows. Dammit….

    Once again I pass over that anomalous rift in the rock right before the final assent, warm air gushing from below up toward the low hanging ceiling.

    "Take… this... drow ... bastards."

    I tear a pouch from my belt, lobbing it back toward the rush of air, the pink powder billowing out in a paralyzing plume.

    I continue up the path toward the shaft of light from the outside.

    "Cover... your... eyes.. girl..."

    I have no idea if the drow still pursue or if the powder stopped them, but thank Tymora, the sun is still out.

    "Just... need... ...outside... ...sun... ...Ughh..."

    The world goes black as the poison overtakes Penny.

    ~To be continued~


  • Descent into Darkness

    And the spies came out of the water
    But you're feeling so bad because you know
    That the spies hide out in every corner
    But you can't touch them no
    Because they're all spies
    –from Spies, by Coldplay

    After learning of The One's orders to find and kill the half-drow child of Senator Roth, I could scarcely sleep. Instead, my mind raced with possibilities, alternatives, consequences. What if I killed the child? I had rationalized away any blame for my previous deeds because of the corruptness and moral reprehensibility of the victims. But a child? What had she done to deserve this apparent fate? Her only crime, no, her only misfortune, was being unable to control the parents to whom she was born. But what if I didn't kill her? Maybe The One was right. Perhaps the drow would raise her as one of their own, twisting her into a hateful symbol of the sins of the surfacers. Perhaps, though, they would kill her as well, purging themselves of a symbol of the weakness of one of their own. Regardless of what I did, no matter which option I chose, the child might die. Just when I thought my distress would rend a hole in my soul, I considered a third option. What if I rescued her and delivered her to safety, into the caring arms of a mother who could love her unconditionally? I wracked my brain to think of a woman of such insightfulness and moral clarity.

    Maura, the wife of the old cobbler near Port Llast.

    Of course, Maura! I had met her and her aging husband when I was just 15, during a trip north with father who had been seeking a certain rare magical cloak in the city of Luskan. Even then I was impressed by her hospitality and generosity when she allowed father and I to stay at their home for an evening rather than push onward through a harsh rainstorm. She told us tales of the locale by candlelight that night, including the story of how she lost her only daughter to bandits after she had already left her childbearing years. Maura would be the one to love this half-drow child as though she were her own. With that, I had made my decision. The "right way" would not be as The One had directed; it would be my way. I knew then that such an act of defiance would exclude me from the protection of the Crimson Tide, and it would likely result in my having to flee Waterdeep to avoid prosecution for my first sin that night in the Yawning Portal. Oddly enough, the notion of a self-imposed exile did not bother me as I had expected it would. Perhaps the notion of finally doing some real good by saving a true innocent had granted me some sort of peace. Then again, perhaps I was simply too ignorant to understand the gravity of my decision.

    The following day I packed up my gear from our training grounds, and headed out of the city to the northeast, toward some of the more recently excavated mining shafts. The One had said that a long, dark tunnel had been discovered in one of the mines, the workers there believing that it led straight into the depths of the underdark. If so, it would be the first new entrance to the underworld reported since the closing of the well in the Yawning Portal. I proceeded alone, dangerous though that decision was, because I could not risk having Rix or Lana discover what I was about to do. I honestly did not know whether they would've supported my decision or chastised it, despite my living with them for nearly two years. We never discussed this possibility, the prospect that one of us would defect from the group on account of a moral conflict.

    Upon reaching the tunnel within the mineshaft, I proceeded slowly, noting the contours and features of the rockface surrounding me. To my surprise, the tunnel was quite close to the entrance of the mining cave, so much so that a shaft of light from the midday sun could be seen at the start of the tunnel. Several hundred meters down, the tunnel narrowed considerably, though it remained sufficiently large to fit several half orcs side by side while still standing erect. As the constrained region began to open up again, I felt a warm rush of air from beneath my feet. It seemed to be coming from a rift in the rock below. I made note of this oddity, as well as the large stalagtites hanging from the ceiling just above the rift. Another hundred meters or so past this pocket of warm air, the tunnel opened up again into a massive cave, with outcroppings and crags jutting out from the walls of slick, black rock. I followed the contours of the cave deeper and deeper as it descended toward the depths of the underdark, making sure to stick close to the rock walls where the outcroppings could provide me some sort of protection should I come across an unfavorable encounter. After what seemed like an eternity, I noticed a clearing below me where the cave appeared to level off. In this clearing, I could discern the flickering light of a small torch. An encampment. Likely the Drow on their way to Menzoberranzan with the girl. I stalked closer and surveyed the situation. I could not tell for certain how many there were. Twenty perhaps? Thirty? In the center of the encampment stood a small wagon with a cage atop it, a small form huddled in the corner against the bars. This was the girl, I thought. I remained wedged between two stalagmites, observing the operations of the camp, in the hopes that I could discern the best opportunity to release the girl.

    They have keen senses, remember. You'll have one shot and only one. Make it count.

    There seemed to be one dedicated guard for the wagon and the girl. A seasoned warrior, no doubt, but even the greatest warrior can fall if the plan is right…

    ~To be continued~


  • The Waters Become Muddied

    I awake to see that no one is free
    We're all fugitives - look at the way we live
    Down here, I cannot sleep from fear, no
    I said which way do I turn?
    Oh I forget everything I learn
    –from Spies, by Coldplay

    Over the next year and a half, Rix, Lana, and I changed the shape of Waterdeep politics from within the shadows, washing away the city's sins with the crimson flow of corrupted blood. Our tasks were many: some as simple as facilitating truth by quietly exposing the deeds of fraudulent men, some as complex as expediting recall elections by deciding the eternal fate of the official before the people could determine his political one. Of all the jobs, however, two in particular stand out in my mind: the assassination of Senator Merryweather, and the silencing of our most trusted informant, Auron.

    Senator Merryweather's case seemed relatively straightforward when The One approached Rix and I about it. Merryweather was an aging man, and while he remained powerful and influential in the senate, some had begun to question whether senility had started to cloud his sensibilities. Recently he had taken to suggesting that the city of Waterdeep amass an army to dispatch through Undermountain into the depths of the Underdark to finish off the drow once and for all. The idea seemed absurd, as the drow had made no effort to attack the city since Halaster's time. Yet despite his total lack of rationality, Merryweather's continued prodding, The One was convinced, had several senators considering the merits of renewing the war.

    "Such foolishness will cripple this city financially and militarily," he told Rix and I in his typical eerily calm voice. "You two must silence the old man, and quickly, before we find our city marching to its death. But be certain that it appears accidental. If they suspect murder, I fear the senators will assume the drow are responsible, giving them sufficient fuel to justify the war."

    Rix and I assumed this job would be like any other: simple and direct. Not so, we discovered. Merryweather was never without a cadre of guards, typically five of the city's finest. Getting near him as he walked between his villa and the Senate building would be impossible, and far too messy. Instead, we took to observing his patterns by night from the branches of an old oak tree that overlooked the backyard of his villa. A week of observation revealed only one defect in his protection. Each night, when the moon was high overhead, Merryweather, an avid astronomer, retired to his backyard pool for fifteen minutes to observe the night sky and the stars. During these precious minutes, he would be without the protection of his guards and the villa walls. He would be vulnerable.

    "We can't just dart him from the trees," I whispered to Rix as we stalked back to the sewers under the cover of night. "If we leave any blood, it will be clear that he was murdered." After a moment of silent thought, she looked at me with a hint of excitement in her eyes:

    "We set a trap, Penny! I'll need some wire, some springs of different sizes, and a small thunderstone," she stated quite matter-of-factly.

    I had learned very quickly never to doubt Rix's ideas, as they always seemed to work. I retrieved the necessary items from our stash of supplies at the training grounds, and I helped Rix build our trap over what seemed like hours. When we finished, she explained to me how the trap would work.

    "Tomorrow night, we wait in the tree for nightfall. When the outdoor guard goes inside for his meal, we slip down into the pool and place the trap at the bottom in the middle of the pool where he likes to stand and watch the stars. If we place it just right, he'll step on this spring, and the weight of his foot will cause these wires to come together. That should cause the thunderstone to discharge, and BANG!, instant electrocution. The guards will find him in the water later and think he just died, or maybe drowned. They'll never notice wires this thin sitting on the floor of the pool."

    "Brilliant, Rix," I replied. And brilliant it turned out to be. The next night we watched as Merryweather entered the pool on cue and discharged our trap. He hardly let out a sound, though he did convulse rather violently in those moments until the stone dissolved into sediment, losing its potency.

    "Precisely what the old man deserved," I whispered to Rix and we slipped away. And it was. There never was any war.

    Auron's case required a bit less ingenuity and a bit more brazenness and braun, a perfect job for Lana and I. Auron had been our most trusted informant, and the only one to know that we were based out of the sewers beneath the city. The One said that he was a criminal as well, though his circumstances did not require him to be hidden like Rix, Lana, and I. We never did figure out just what that meant, although we never did pursue the issue. Some time after the Merryweather assassination, Lana approached me at our training grounds with a cold look on her face:

    "The bastard is selling us out, Penny. I found ashes from a torch in the room outside our secret passageway, so I watched from the shadows the next day. Sure enough, Auron came down with two other men poking around looking for our hidden entrance. We need to finish him off."

    The anger welled up inside of me. Betrayed by our best informant. Who were the men he was leading down here? City officials? Why? Money? Safety? I knew we couldn't wait to learn the answers to any of those questions. That night we left our sign for Auron outside the city metalcrafter's shop, a crimson red rag afixed to the eaves of the building, to indicate that we wanted to meet him at our usual place. The following evening, I waited for Auron in the glenn southeast of the city where it borders the adjacent forest. Lana came as well, equipped with a guardsman's spear, though she remained hidden in the trees. On cue, Auron appeared in the distance and sauntered over to me:

    "Penny m'dear, 'ave I got tha best info of tha month fer you!"

    He proceeded to tell me of a half-drow child who was rumored to be the daughter of Senator Roth, who, in our collective opinion, was the only honest man in the Senate. If word got out, Auron said, the people would demand that Roth step down, or worse.

    "Y'all might want to keep your eyes and ears open, Penny. Somethin's gonna develop right quick 'bout this, I tell ya."

    "Auron, darlin', you're a lifesaver," I replied. With that I withdrew my hand from my cloak and blew him a kiss. The stupid little man had a coy grin on his face as the pink dust lept from my palm, coating his face and sticking inside his nostrils as he inhaled. The dust works quickly, so much so that he was paralyzed before his expression could change from smugness to fear. His eyes gave away his true state of mind. As I grabbed him by the collar and shoved him up against a nearby tree, I smirked and leaned forward to whisper into his ear, "Betrayal, darlin', always ends the same way with us." I was scarcely away from his ear when Lana emerged with her spear and drove it through his chest into the tree behind him, shattering bones and deflating his lungs as it passed through him. As we stalked away through the high grass, I looked back over my shoulder at him. He still wore that coy grin, as though he were expecting an actual kiss from me. Instead, he received Lana's love.

    The most important thing that I learned over those years with the Tide was that no one ever really achieved freedom. I was locked into this life by my own actions. The citizens were controlled by the whims of the leaders that they elected. We were all shackled by fear of what is different from us and by the the insidiousness of greed and corruption. I began to wonder when freedom had become a flag that politicians waved before the people to distract them from the truth that they were being controlled, herded through their days like a flock of sheep by shepherds who based their decisions on their own whims and desires, and not those of their sheep. Perhaps freedom never did exist outside of the idyllic world of bards and the naive. If that were the case, then what use were any of our efforts? Each assassination, each murder, just a temporary inconvenience during which a different cog slipped into place, the mechination of corruption slowing briefly, but never stopping…

    I was awoken from my daydream by the steady voice of The One:

    "Penny, there is a half-drow child being held in the Underdark by the drow. Rumore has it that she is the daughter of Senator Roth. No doubt the drow, or one of their opportunistic associates, are going to use this fact to throw the Senate into chaos. You must find this child. You must kill her. We cannot afford to leave proof of Roth's sins alive, lest he be forced to step down in scandal and leave the city without an honest man in power."

    Kill a child? Proof of Roth's -sins-? She was a child, blissful, young, naive. Did no one else see that? I simply nodded to him and wandered away toward our combat dummies. How could the murder of an innocent child be the "right way to go"?

    ~To be continued~


  • The Rising Tide

    And the spies came out of the water
    But you're feeling so bad because you know
    That the spies hide out in every corner
    But you can't touch them no
    Because they're all spies
    –from Spies, by Coldplay

    To this day, I have no idea how long I was wandering through the dark grime of the sewers with that Crimson Tide shortsword clutched in my grasp. An hour? A day? Longer? More offensive than the nauseating smell and the winding tunnels were the dog sized rats that decided, with nearly each turn down a new tunnel, that I would make for a tasty treat. My saving grace, no doubt, was this short dark blade that the mysterious elf had left in my lap. One rat after another, I plunged the blade deep into the creatures' spines as they lunged, the wounds, to my amazement, seeming to open wider and deeper and ooze with increasing profuseness even after I withdrew the blade each time. Despite the odd, unnatural property of this blade, I was hardly equipped to resist the inevitable rat bites, particularly given that my only protection was the low cut performer's tunic of the Yawning Portal. Just as I thought I hadn't the strength, or remaining blood, to proceed farther, I found myself face-to-face with the largest rat I had ever seen. Clearly as large as the average hin, this monstrosity charged me, sinking its teeth into my thigh. Had anyone else been present, I am certain that my screams would have masked the grotesque sounds of snapping tendons and crunching bones as the beast bit down. While I fell backward into the rancid waters of the sewer, my vision becoming blurred, I mustered from some unknown source the strength to drive my shortsword deep into the neck of my assailant just as my world went black.

    "That lady's dead, I just know it."

    "Why didn't she dodge it? Rats aren't -that- mobile. She could've dealt a deathblow to its back with no trouble."

    "Nighthawk, Viper, silence."

    Despite the hazy static that swirled in my mind, I knew I recognized that third voice. Slowly I regained consciousness, finding myself slumped against a wall within sight of what I know now to be a Dire Rat carcass, with three dark figures observing me from a few feet away.

    "Mmmm.. What? Who? Where am I?" My voice sounded foreign to me, like the strained, weakened mutterings of a person who narrowly avoids bleeding to death. First I noticed a careful, white bandage wrapped around my leg, followed second by the three dark figures observing me. Like a frightened child, I whelped at the sight of them, pushing myself back along the cold stone floor with my hands, despite the blinding pain in my leg.

    "You must not move, Miss Lane. You suffered quite the bite, and you will need time for your leg to heal." With those words, the third of the dark figures removed his hood. It was the same elf who had paralyzed me in the streets of Waterdeep and brought me to these sewers, his haunting white eyes staring deep into my own. Gesturing toward me from beneath his midnight cloak, he spoke calmly, "I am impressed by your resiliency, even if your combat abilities are sorely inadequate. Girls, help her to her feet and guide her along." With that, the other two figures strode forward out of the sewage, the human woman lifting me up and supporting me beneath my right arm as the hin woman secured my blade and steadied my legs. They were dressed almost identically, clad in form-fitting black leather with a utility belts clasped around their waists, their facial features hidden by black masks that covered all but their eyes. Had both women been human, or half-elves, or any race for that matter, I could never have told them apart. Once they had me steadied and mobile, the elf removed an amulet from around his neck and inserted it into a crevice in the stone wall beside him. With a hollow rumble, a portion of the wall receeded,, revealing a hallway into which the four of us proceeded.

    As I was guided through the narrow passageway, my thoughts ran rampant, alternating between the excruciating pain in my leg and the painful uncertainty of where we were headed, and why we were going there. As we rounded one bend and then another, I could see a source of light emanating from an open room.

    "This, Miss Lane, is our home, the training ground of the Crimson Tide," declared the elf.

    The vastness of the room into which we proceeded seemed to dwarf the claustrophobic confinements of the sewer and the secret tunnel. In the recesses of the room were combat dummies, targets, and other training apparatuses for lockpicking and trap disarming. In the center were several small shelters which, I gathered, were the sleeping quarters.

    "Viper, Nighthawk, the two of you will be in charge of Miss Lane's training. See to it that she learns well." With those words, the elf disappeared into one of the huts, leaving me with the two women.

    "Which of you is which?" I inquired, as I sat on the stone floor and checked my bandages. The hin woman removed her mask first and approached me.

    "Hiya lady," she declared, nodding to me and offering me her hand to shake. "Real name's Rix, though around here I'm called Nighthawk. Traps are my specialty!" Her enthusiasm surpised me a bit, though I shook her hand regardless. Her most striking feature was the undeniable spark of intelligence that shone in her brown eyes. As I gradually discovered over time, what she lacked in stature or brute strength she made up for with a cleverness that surpassed that of even the most learned mage. Over the next six months, I learned a lot from Rix: how to find traps that had been laid for me, how to safely disarm the most stubborn of traps, and most importantly, how to lay a trap to cripple the target of my choice. Once I joked with her that she could probably build a lethal trap out of nothing more than a toothpick, a rat pelt, and a spool of thread. Not surprisingly, she never disagreed with me on this notion.

    The other woman was not nearly as friendly as Rix. "Lana, a.k.a., Viper," she declared in a cold monotone as she removed her mask. She seemed exceedingly tall and well built for a human, but I discovered quickly the reason for her stature. Lana was a weapons expert, which, combined with her lukewarm outlook on life, made her a particularly dangerous assassin. There was never a weapon Lana couldn't wield with deadly results. At the beginning of my training with her, she boasted that she had "eliminated" hundreds of targets, once utilizing a sharpened fishbone as a dagger to blind a man before cutting out his windpipe. If she had her way, I would have become as proficient as she with each class of weapon. Instead, I took particularly to two, my shortsword that I had been given in the sewers, and a set of darts with a similar property. Lana told me that both items were crafted with a special coating that made wounds open wider and bleed heavier until they were cured magically. If I acted quickly enough, she instructed, healing would never be an option.

    Amid my training exercises with Rix and Lana, they would be periodically sent away on missions by the elf who had brought me here. "The One" they called him. Neither Rix nor Lana knew his real name, nor was he interested in sharing it, they claimed. I would become used to it, I was told. Eventually, I did. When The One would send away one of my instructors, he would take me under his wing for that time, instructing me on the art of stealth. So adept was I at learning his art, that he nicknamed me "Red Eye":

    "You likely have never realized this, Miss Lane, but when you grow angry, your eyes swirl with a reddish hue that slowly engulfs them. You will strike fear into the hearts of many, for when your victims first realize that they are being watched, the only sign of you that they will see are those ruby red eyes watching them from the shadows."

    Nighthawk, Viper, and Red Eye. The Crimson Tide was now complete.

    One morning I awoke to find The One sitting at the foot of my cot. My first impulse, naturally, was to reach for my blade, which no longer left my side, even at night.

    "You have learned quickly, Red Eye. You will be the cornerstone of the Tide, I believe. But you have not yet been tested. Today you will receive your final exam."

    The One had made it quite clear during my training that the Crimson Tide was an organization dedicated to restoring order to the corruption that ran rampant through the Waterdeep ruling class. It was our charge to restore "the right way" to the government of the city. My mission was to follow a man named Anon, the son of a senator who was thought to be blackmailing the Minister of Trade for a percentage of the city's trade profits which could have gone to building shelters for the poor. My instructions were quite clear: follow him, extinguish him, and most importantly, never be seen.

    "Corruption is the problem, Miss Lane. You hold in your hands and your heart the solution. Prove to me that your training has not been in vain." With that, The One handed me a tight black leather one-piece suit along with a black mask, indentical garments to those worn by Rix and Lana. Along with these garments, he handed me a black cloak indentical to his own. "This cloak will aid in your concealment substantially. Now go, and may you strike fear in the hearts of your targets."

    Finding this Anon was hardly a challenge. Within several hours I found myself following him to a small sawmill on the outskirts of the city. As he waited alongside the mill, his eyes darting back and forth as if he were searching for someone, I slipped silently from the shadows of the treeline into a nearby lake where I submerged myself and waited, watching for my opportunity. As the sun set behind the hills, darkness approached quickly. Within minutes of sundown, a caravan approached from the city and stopped in front of the mill. From out of the wagon arose a tall thin man, easily identifiable to me as the Minister of Trade, Meron Whitesmith. Behind him, he pulled a small sled with coin sacks heaped one on top of another. Upon noticing Meron, Anon's attention changed focus from a careful observation of his surroundings to the Minister. In a heartbeat, I was rising from the lake several hundred meters away with a dart clutched in my hand. I suspect my eyes were glowing, for the Minister stopped dead in his approach, his eyes giving away the terror that gripped his heart. With a quick flick of my wrist, I sent the dart screaming toward Anon, who, upon turning to follow the Minister's terrified gaze, positioned himself perfectly for my strike. As the dart lodged itself in his throat, his initial scream slowly gave way to a choked gurgling as the wound expanded and bled into his lungs. He slumped to the ground with a thud and twitched briefly before going still, the Minister standing beside him frozen with terror. As soon as I observed the dart hit its mark, I was back in the shadows of the treeline, watching as the Minister knelt beside Anon to check on him. Realizing he was dead, the Minister lept to his feet and bolted back to the caravan with the coin sacks, free from his blackmailer and now able to deposit the money into its rightful place in the treasury.

    As I slunk back to the darkness of the sewers, I contemplated my "answer" to the "problem" of Anon's corruption. As it seemed, I would be untouchable, perfectly positioned to correct the defects running rampant in the government of the city. Granted, my "answer" was murder, which likely would have disappointed mother, father, and Lillie. But this murder was unlike my last. It was willfull, goal directed. It was the "right way", as The One had first described it six months ago.

    ~To be continued~


  • A New Deal

    I awake to find no peace of mind
    I said how do you live
    As a fugitive?
    Down here, where I cannot see so clear
    I said what do I know?
    Show me the right way to go
    ~~from Spies, by Coldplay

    As I crouched low to the ground amid the shadows, wedged between a fallen piece of granite and the slick, wet rockface of this underground tunnel, I held my breath and secretly hoped that, contrary to those tales that my mother had told me as a child, drow could not in fact smell fear on their prey. My concern this time was less about my own fate as it was about the future of the tiny child huddled beside me whose mouth I now covered with my glove to dull her frightened squeals. An abomination, the city officials of Waterdeep had deemed her. A half-drow deserving of death for the sin of her parents, they had claimed. The drow seemingly felt the same, holding her deep within the recesses of these tunnels while awaiting the judgment of their Ilharess on her fate. Perhaps there was something wrong with me, some deep-seeded inability to recognize heinousness, for when I looked into her eyes for the first time as I quietly freed her from her holding cell, what I saw was a scared little girl who longed for some degree of normalcy in her life. Then again, perhaps my problem was that I know all too well that overwhelming desire to be nothing but ordinary.

    Ever since I was a young girl, I have had a hole in my memory. At least that's what my parents seem to have decided is my problem. If father were less busy with the drab of politics and the other nobility, I would have asked him why I have had to suffer so. Mother says that I was attacked by a wild dog as a baby, and therefore I must have acquired some memory damage at the same time that the hound left its mark on my right wrist. I suppose that may sound superficially plausible, except that the scar on my wrist looks more to me like the original wound came from a freshly sharpened blade rather than a dog bite. What mother has never been able to explain is my recurrent night terrors of a hulking stone idol of a great dragon with glowing red ruby eyes. Even more peculiar is the angry hissing voice in my head that I have needed to suppress in order to muster the will to get out of bed every morning. Perhaps I will never know why I am affected by this burden. I find it hard to believe that the will of any god or goddess is served by my turmoil, though to a large extent, I owe the fortune of my current "life" to my waxing and waning mental stability. As mother would probably say, I should thank Tymora each day, because things should have ended up much worse for me.

    It all started two years ago, shortly after my 16th birthday. I had just gotten a job as an entertainer at the Yawning Portal Inn downtown. Father was none too pleased that his daughter "had chosen to waste her life away with the likes of the drunken commonfolk and the disillusioned adventurers". Mother, however, secretly supported me, as she saw in Lillie and I the potential to blossom into famous musicians. She had dreams of doing the same when she was younger; instead she traded
    her dream for the luxury of my father's money. I get the impression that she never quite forgave herself for that decision. Work was mostly pleasant, though there always was a hint of restlessness in the air among the patrons. Halaster's Undermountain had been closed off to the public some years before, shortly after a group of brave adventurers turned back the seige led by Mephistopheles and the drow. Save for the occassional violent criminal who was sentenced to fend for himself among the beasts that still inhabited its depths, no one had ventured into its recesses since the closing of the Yawning Portal's well. Oddly enough, naive adventurers still returned to the inn where that story began - perhaps to catch a glimpse of the now historic icon, others perhaps harboring hope that some glory might remain for them. As a result, I was subject to a certain amount of unwanted advances each eve. While I tried to force myself to shrug off each successive one, I still detested these men, the angry hissing erupting in my mind each time one attempted to grope me as I made my way to the tiny stage by the bar. Durnan used to tell me to pay no heed to them:

    "Your pay does, afterall, depend on their attendance. I'd suggest you not offend them and risk driving them away by openly rejecting them in front of the regulars."

    I used to sigh each time Durnan told me that, because, as usual, he was right. If I slapped away their hands, I would be labeled rude, ungrateful, bitchy. That would never earn me any tips, and I sure needed the money, and consequently, the renown that would naturally follow. So night after night, I would stroll to the stage with my mandolin and put on an air of coyness with every hand that contacted my rear, each time secretly cultivating a burning anger in my heart. One night, however, my self-restraint left me and I lost control of my anger. One of the regulars, a hulking human lad in his early twenties who had been harrassing me the previous two nights, decided that a pinch was no longer satisfactory. As I passed, bracing for his hand against my rear, he instead rose in front of me and grabbed me by the arms, planting a deep kiss on my lips. Before I could contain myself, I had pushed away from him and struck his face with my mandolin, splintering it into pieces and sending shards sailing across the room. My next move was for a short dagger that sat on the edge of his table with which he had been peeling an apple. With a quick burst of strength, I lunged at the reeling man, driving the iron blade hilt-deep into his chest and narrowly ducking the spray of arterial blood as it rushed from the wound. The stunned patrons simply watched as the man twitched in his death-throes and I dashed out the side door past an equally surprised half-orc bouncer. As I darted into the alley, I could barely think through all the hissing that echoed in my mind and the anger that burned in my heart. All I knew was that I had to run, run fast and far, for if I were caught, my fate would be a banishment to Undermountain for certain. As I darted from street to alley to evade any pursuers, the bloody knife still in hand, I ran smack into a slim male figure whose form was hidden by a cloak as dark as the midnight sky. The impact sent me sprawling to the ground, at which point he dusted me with a pink powder that left me paralyzed, frozen on the wet cobblestone with my murder weapon in hand.

    "You realize, young lady, that such an egregious crime as what you have just committed will no doubt result in your banishment to Undermountain and your certain death." He shook his head briefly before continuing, "Such a shame for one of your -status-."

    If I could have shuddered, I suspect I would have. I was a murderer, a disgrace to my family name. Everyone would know. Clearly this man knew who I was, else why would he be speaking to me so.

    "As I see it, you have two options now. One, I leave you here, incapacitated, to face your fate amid whatever awaits in Undermountain. Two, I take you with me to face a different fate, one in which you might find some semblance of purpose for your life."

    Lovely, I thought. Certain death inside Halaster's maze, or the uncertainty of this man's "charity". Somehow I managed to force out the word "two" through the paralyzing effects of this man's pink dust. Almost immediately, he cast a cloak over my face and I was moving, carried straight ahead, then down, down, down. As I began to regain use of my limbs, the cloak was whisked from my face, and I found myself sitting beside a stagnant stream of liquid ooze with my back to a stone wall. Next
    to me was the cloaked man, this time with his hood pulled back, revealing fine, dark elven features and white hair and eyes.

    "The sewers?" I said to him.

    In reply, he spoke with an eerie calm in his voice, "If you are to know the -right- way, Miss Lane, you must earn your opportunity. This opportunity awaits you within our home. If you are worthy of the chance, you will find it."

    With that, he dropped a short sword in my lap and vanished. I sat wide eyed and still for a moment, the smell of excrement rising from the stagnant pool before me, nearly making me vomit. When I composed myself, I looked down at the blade in my lap and noticed an emblem emblazened on the hilt. My heart nearly stopped when I realized what lay in my lap. It was the short sword of the Crimson Tide, a local thieves' guild that I had thought only existed in local lore. The emblem was
    precisely as I had heard, a breaking wave washing over two intersecting daggers. As I got to my feet, clutching the blade, the hissing in my mind ceased momentarily. I knew then that my life was about to change, that somehow I had been given another chance, an opportunity at what might very well be an "alternate way" if not the "right way".

    ~To be continued~