Chronicle of Wayward Roads

Tharz Dosha

Epilogue: Cold Dawn

Winter gripped the land with a cold fist. The road from Septemilia's tower to the capital city of Khalkedon was frosted slick with a thick rhyme of ice from the cold moist air. The gravel and frozen mud crunched beneath the old elf's boots, but he made no attempt to diminish the sound as the road was empty save for a thick bank of mists that lay before him. The old rogue's lifeblood dribbled out with every step and the pain from the undead sorcerer's claws and those unseen injuries inflicted through her dark sorcery was fading. None of that mattered anymore he reflected, his beloved friends, the survivors of the White Company had passed through the Bone-Gate to Shadowdale and from there they could piece together the remnants of their lives. He and a band of inexperienced adventurers, the Hounds of Tyros, little more than children really had held the gate open while battling Septemilia. Now the old lich was truly dead and her tower and keep served as her funeral pyre on her way to hell. Sadly she had taken members of the Hounds with her to the grave and soon he would join them. Behind him the sun began to rise warming his back as he stepped into the cold gray mists and knew no more.

Prelude: Dark City

Ched Nasad - City of Shimmering Webs - Uktar 3, 1372 DR - The City's final day.

Yes there was considerable irony in that statement: "The City's final day." For one thing there is no word in the Drow language for the concept of day as the Drow Elves are born into, live their entire lives. and die in a nocturnal world never having seen the sun.

Yet still they understood the passage of time.

Tharz of House Zauvirr understood the passage of time as he looked up from the floor of the Grand Bazaar to study the passage of Faerie fire as it raced its way along select groupings of threads that were woven into the ceiling and walls. It was the first hour of the daily cycle, commonly called the red-hour for the crimson glow of the magical lighting. The daily cycle contained seven hours, the first or red-hour, the second or orange-hour, the third or yellow-hour, the fourth - middle hour called green, the fifth hour called blue, the sixth or purple-hour, and the seventh and final hour called black.

This last point was very much on Tharz's mind as he followed his cadre and their captain. The black-hour was sacred to Lolth - Demon Queen of Spiders. It was a period of prayer and sacrifice for the clergy and faithful of Lolth. And it was a time when the faithful would engage in strenuous rites to please their dark goddess, especially now. For many tens of cycles the Goddess of Spiders had been silent. During this time no prayers had been answered, no divine spells granted to the clerisy, and no dark miracles had manifested regardless of the size and brutality of the sacrifices offered. Initially few save for the priestesses were aware of this extraordinary and frightful situation. It was ordained by a council of the matron-mothers that the rank and file of Chez Nasad could not and should not know of this Silence of Lolth lest the civil order break down.

All this Tharz knew because his captain had briefed the cadre in preparation for their final fight. With the black-hour over and the red-hour begun, the faithful of Lolth and especially her priestesses would be resting. That made the red-hour the ideal time to strike at the clerisy and word had gone out at the end of yesterday's purple-hour to assemble for the push against the followers of the Spider Queen.

A Race Through Dark Places

City At the Edge of Eternity

Yellow Snake Pass

The steady creak of the wagons, the roll of the wheels was settling for Dosha, as he rested under the canvas of the wagon. Michoslin had quickly grasped the terror that the sun held for Dosha, and had been very persuasive to the other members of the White Company that Dosha's night vision was worth more to the them than a day time watcher. There were also advantages to keeping his being secret from those passing the other way. No matter the assurances of the group he traveled with, most surface dwellers defaulted to trying to kill any drow they meet. The dark elves were just too feared and known for their penchant for death and mayhem. So Mochoslin had bartered and cajoled until Dosha was allowed to ride in the wagon with the chests.

The road out of the gorge wasn't terribly busy, and most of the traffic seemed to be going west toward the coast. When other groups went by Dosha stayed down and out of sight. As evening came and the sun dipped out on the plains, Dosha got down and ran or walked along with the wagons until the group stopped for the night at the bottom of the pass. Dosha worked alongside his team, helping with the horses and the wagons. To begin with Dosha was unsure of these big animals, but soon took pleasure brushing them and caring for them. Though very different they reminded him of his time caring for the cavern oxen from Ched Nasad. While more than willing to be cruel to other sentient beings, Dosha liked their gentle bumps with their heads and grunts of pleasure from his touch.

Caring for them allowed him to ground himself in their sides and not be overwhelmed by the wide open sky above him. Mostly through the day Dosha kept his head down, avoiding the huge screaming vistas before him. While the bright blue of the gorgeous mountain sides was terrifying, the night was almost worse. The darkness pinpricked with stars, a great roof that always seemed to be only moments from crashing into him. The moon would come and bring some perspective, giving him something to show the sky was held in place.

Land of Mists

The Cat's Paws

The dreams of Elves are not like the dreams of Men. Reverie it is called and in quality it is more like a malleable hallucination than the hazy musings of the human mind. I make this rather academic point for one reason only, the Elven races control and manipulate their dreams at will. This ability improves with time and practice, but Elven children are born doing what human wizards and Psions must spend years or even decades to accomplish. We of the Elven peoples control our dreams rather than our dreams controlling us. But this time it was different.