Storm of Zehir

STORM OF ZEHIR
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A FORGOTTEN REALMS TALE
Illyra stirred upon the pile of furs that comprised her bed and rolled over to regard the male she’d had the fortune of spending the night with.  He was a little wan, perhaps, and more slightly built than most women would find appealing, but he had wonderful cheekbones and Illyra had dearly loved the feeling of his ribs digging into her while they’d made love.  She looked about the room, taking in the hastily discarded clothes, the overturned lectern, and the handful of candles that had been knocked onto a fur rug and there sputtered and died.  “Made love” was perhaps too delicate a term for what had transpired last night.  In truth, they’d fucked like beasts.  Or, rather, they’d fucked in such a way that even beasts would be ashamed, should they feel shame.  She stroked a finger down the young man’s arm as he slept, and smiled to herself as she recalled parts of the night before.  Poor thing, he’d been utterly exhausted after the first couple of hours.  Fortunately, Illyra had in her possession a number of balms, ointments, and potions to help keep her lovers envigored for as long as she needed them.  It seemed she needed them for longer and longer, these days.  The Illyra of just a few years ago would have been content with a few minutes of passionate rutting.  Content, if not overly-impressed.  But now, she expected her lovers to continue till the break of day, and still she found herself wanting more.  Sadly, all the potions in the world would only help so much, unless she actually wanted to make love to a corpse.  Not that the idea didn’t have a certain appeal to it, but that sort of thing was bound to get noticed and result in people asking the wrong sort of questions.
Illyra Payne, affectionately known as Illyra the Pale by her elder half-brother, Ilrym, had arrived at the Sword Coast earlier that year, shortly after the start of what passed for spring in the frozen north that they had left behind.  In Icewind Dale, Illyra had established a reputation as being gifted at the re-setting of bones, a skill that kept her busy in a region consisting primarily of ice, rocks, and icy rocks, and which was nearly as in-demand in the treacherous lands around Neverwinter.   Ilrym had also found gainful employment in the area, primarily as a caravan guard for the many merchants who travelled through the area.  In the less cosmopolitan north, his questionable heritage – for he had pale, almost white hair, dark skin, and quite obviously elven features – had seen him struggle to find work, with only the less reputable employers prepared to hire him.  In Neverwinter, however, it seemed most people were prepared to overlook the suggestion of Drow ancestry in favour of someone with excellent night vision and skill with a blade.  Between the two trades – healer and swordarm – they made enough to get by, and enough that Illyra could keep her other, more arcane, talents hidden from the general populace. 
Ilrym knew only half of his family – while his half-sister’s father was a tailor, his had been a Drow raider.  Illyra had always had an interest in the macabre, and seemed utterly fascinated by the taboo that surrounded her brother’s ancestry.  She had sworn that they would, one day, travel into the Underdark to find out more about that side of his family, though they did not imagine for a moment that Ilrym’s father, assuming they could even find him, would accept his bastard offspring with open arms.  What little knowledge they had been able to glean about his subterranean kin pointed towards a people who were cruel and unforgiving, and who absolutely did not tolerate weakness.  Beyond that, they had found depressingly little, as all the scholars they had spoken to on the subject had been frustratingly tight-lipped about the matter of Drow society, especially after taking notice of Ilrym’s appearance.  While Illyra had tried to find information out on her own, she had not had much more success than when accompanied by her brother as, in a cruel twist of fate, it was Ilrym who was by far the more charismatic of the two siblings, with Illyra having as much warmth as the grave.  Her successes in more carnal relations owed little to her charm, and almost everything to her looks, frank approach to the matter, and the fact that most men were reliably shallow.  Ilrym, meanwhile, could charm even the most ardent virgin out of her maidenhood, and would probably have made a very successful bard if he’d possessed even the smallest amount of musical ability.
Rolling over in her bed, Illyra tried to ignore the snoring of her most recent partner.  Though he may have been utterly spent, she still had plenty of both energy and intent, and opted to take matters into her own hands. 
It was a few minutes later, and just as she was sinking into the warm, blissful glow that followed the crescendo, that she was disturbed by a polite cough from the other side of her bedroom.  Illyra didn’t look up, knowing full well who the cougher was, and simply sighed before asking, in mildly aggrieved tones, what her brother wanted.
“Good morning to you too, dear kin!” replied Ilrym, unreasonably chipper despite the early hour, “Did you sleep well?”
“You know I don’t sleep, Ilrym,” she glanced across to where last night’s lover was doing just that, quite audibly.  For a moment, she almost remembered his name.  “Now what is it?”
“An opportunity!”
“Stop being so infuriatingly cryptic and vague.”  Glaring at Ilrym, she sat up in bed, rolling her eyes as his gaze predictably dropped to her bare breasts.
“You need to relax, Illyra.  Perhaps take a lover or five!”  He grinned, neatly ducking the bolster that was thrown at him, before continuing, “There is an explorer in town, a man by the name of Volo...thamp… something,” Ilrym waved a hand dismissively, “Regardless of his name, he’s apparently an adventurer and a writer, and he’s looking to make an expedition to Samargol, in Samarach.  It’s a city a long way south of here,” he added, noticing his sister’s blank look.  “And he needs a bodyguard.  Apparently the area’s quite dangerous, and the people of Samargol are exceptionally mistrusting of outsiders and foreigners, believing them all to be Yuan-ti spies.”
“You’re not selling it to me so far, Ilrym,” muttered Illyra as she climbed over the unconscious youth that lay next to her, and started to gather her clothes up.
“Well, they hate everyone equally, so my heritage really shouldn’t be a hindrance.  And I hear that Samargol is a city practically overflowing with lies, deceit, and intrigue.  Your tunic’s over there, by the by,” he added helpfully, pointing towards the item of clothing.
“Hmm, when you put it like that, it does sound rather more interesting than Neverwinter,” Illyra pulled on the last of her clothes and fastened her belt about her waist.  “When is this Volo person planning on leaving?  And what’s the pay like?”
“At first light; and a hundred gold a day, plus relevant expenses.  I understand there have been relatively few takers.  Something to do with the jungles of Samarach being infested with giant, carnivorous lizards,” He shrugged indifferently.  Illyra pulled aside the curtain of the single small window in her bedroom and peered out into the early morning gloom.
“First light today?”
“Yes.  Sorry, I meant to tell you last night but you were,” he gestured to the still-snoring man on his sister’s bedding, “otherwise occupied.  And I know how much you hate to be interrupted.”  Illyra ignored her brother’s jibe as she looked about her rented dwelling.  The few possessions she had of value were small and could be readily packed for travel – her scrolls and tomes, and a few minor artifacts – and most everything else could be easily and cheaply replaced.  Ilrym continued, knowing he had his sister’s interest, “The ship’s called The Vigilant.  The captain’s a Halfling but you can’t have everything.”
“I hate Halflings,” commented Illyra, practically spitting the word out.
“I know, I know.  Like I said, you can’t have everything.  Come on, it’s the chance to see the world, explore new places, kill exotic creatures, and get paid a not unreasonable amount of money in the process!”  Illyra hesitated, drumming her fingers on her hips while her brother continued to try to persuade her, “Loooots of crypts down that way, I’m given to understand.”  Illyra stopped her drumming and turned to look at her brother, one eyebrow raised,
“Hmm.  Well, I suppose we could do with a change of scenery.  And the money.”
“That’s the spirit!  I’m already packed, so I’ll see you down there.”
“Right.  Leaving at first light, you say?” her brother nodded, and Illyra again looked out of the window, “Suits me.  I’ll be there shortly.”  As her brother grinned and left her small home, Illyra took a carved obsidian dagger from her desk, and walked back to her bed.


Leaning against the railings of the Vigilant, Ilrym smiled as he spotted his sister making her way down the pier to the gangplank, a pack slung over one shoulder and a porter following behind with her travelling trunk.  Behind her, the taller buildings of the city of Neverwinter were just starting to catch the rays of the early morning sun, their grimy and smoke-covered brickwork briefly looking glorious.
“So glad you could make it!” he hollered from the ship’s deck, waving down at the younger of the two Payne siblings.  Illyra gave a thin smile in return as she walked up the gangplank to join her brother.
“You know me, always ready for adventure,” she said drily, while the porter set her trunk down on the deck behind her and then held his hand out for payment.  A couple of coins changed hands and the porter gave a brief nod before walking back in search of further customers
“Quite.  By the by, you missed a spot,” Ilrym gestured towards the corner of his sister’s mouth; she hastily licked a fingertip and wiped at the small smear of blood there.
“That’s the problem with not having a mirror.  Too easy to miss things like that.  Hmm.  Probably explains why the porter kept giving me strange looks.”
“Ah well, no harm done!  Well, not to us, anyway.  Might I say you’re looking much invigorated?  Practically glowing, dear kin.”  Upon the aft deck, the ship’s captain was bellowing orders out to her crew.
“Ugh.  I just remembered that I hate sailing nearly as much as I hate Halflings.”  Looking beyond her brother, she spotted a well-dressed man with a tidily kempt beard walking over to them, a cheesy grin on his face and his arms spread wide in greeting.  “Who’s this idiot?” Illyra muttered to her brother.
“Friends, welcome!  I am Volothamp Geddarm!” announced the bearded fellow, unintentionally answering Illyra’s question.  By her side, Ilrym grinned and gave his sister a wink before reaching out to give the bard’s hand a hearty shake.
“Volo, so good to see you again!  This is my lovely sister, Illyra.”  He stood to one side as he introduced their new employer to his sibling.
“Ah, Illyra!  Wonderful!  I have heard so much about you, though I do hope your healing skills will never be called into use during our little voyage!”  Illyra feigned a smile as best as she was able, before likewise shaking Volo’s hand in greeting.
“I would be equally pleased were our voyage to be that uneventful, Volo.”  She paused, looking around, “Is this it?  Is it just the two of us accompanying you?”  Volo grinned and shook his head,
“Fear not, no!  We have a fourth member to our little group, who is already aboard and settled.  And the sponsor of this journey, Lady Sa’Sani, has sent two of her representatives.”  Volo waved his hand in the direction of two men leaning against the railings on the other side of the ship, both of them in studded leather armour and with short swords hanging from their belts.
“They look a little… underwhelming,” said Illyra, her brow furrowed as she regarded the pair, neither of whom gave the impression of being seasoned warriors.
“Oh they are primarily here as envoys, to ease our arrival in Samargol.  But between your spellcasting powers and your brother’s legendary falchion,” Illyra turned to her brother, one eyebrow quirked as Volo spoke, “I do not envision us having any difficulties!  Now, I shall leave you to get settled and meet the rest of the party, while I discuss our course with Captain Kassireh.”
Illyra waited until the bard was out of earshot before turning to her sibling and hissing at him,
“Legendary falchion?  And my spellcasting powers?!”  Ilrym raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture, backing away from his sister’s anger.
“I… may have overstated our capabilities but it was only in order to guarantee employment.  Besides, you can cast spells and while my falchion may not be legendary it is at least enchanted.”
“I know exactly one spell that isn’t a cantrip, Ilrym, and the enchantment on your sword is to stop it rusting or breaking!”
“Ah well,” replied Ilrym, shrugging his shoulders and offering a broad smile, “There’s always the other guard that Volo hired.  If things turn out nasty we’ll just make sure he’s at the front!  Or whichever direction it is that we’re being attacked from.”  Illyra let out an exasperated sigh at her brother’s blasé attitude, and stalked off towards the stairs down to the lower level, dragging her travelling trunk behind her.


The accommodation belowdecks was basic, to say the least.  They were, at least, not expected to sleep in hammocks, like the crew, but Illyra and her fellow guards had a single room to share, with the beds little more than straw-stuffed mattresses on the floor.  Not that she was used to much better, and not that she really needed a bed anyway, but the lack of privacy was not something she relished.  Four beds, Illyra noted, and just the three of them hired for Volo’s voyage; clearly he had hoped for a better response to his offer of employment.
Already having claimed one of the beds was a man dressed in lightweight combat leathers, his back to the ship’s hull as he lounged on the mattress, apparently reading one of Volo’s guide books.  He looked to be not much older than Illyra and her brother, though his head was bald of hair and instead had a single scaly ridge that ran the length of his scalp.  That, however, was not the most unusual thing that Illyra noticed about her new roommate – besides the ridge, his skin had a vaguely reptilian look about it, and was a soft shade of greyish blue.  Well, at least her brother would receive less attention about his own non-standard looks.  Placing a leather thong to mark his page, the blue-skinned man closed the guidebook and looked up at Illyra with eyes the colour of sapphire, offering her a broad smile.
“Ah, you must be one of my fellow hired swords.”  He stood gracefully from his bedding, laying the book down and walking over to offer his hand to Illyra, “I am Draca, and it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”  As he got closer, Illyra found herself unable to avoid staring at her eyes.  His pupils were vertical slits in his eyes, and the blue of his irises was iridescent, like the wings of a butterfly.  The irises seemed too large, as well, with the whites of his eyes only visible at the edges.  She stammered an apology as she realised that he was still standing there, politely smiling and with his hand out, while she gawked at his eyes.  “It’s quite alright,” he replied, “I’m used to people being caught off guard by my eyes.  One of my ancestors was seduced by a dragon and, well, that sort of thing tends to linger in bloodlines.”  Illyra nodded as she gave his hand a distracted shake, noticing that there was a hint of scale on pretty much all of the bonier areas of Draca’s facial features – his cheekbones, around his eyes and along his jawline, and, most prominently, on his chin, where the scales were evidently thicker and protruded almost like a short beard .
“Illyra,” she managed at last, releasing Draca’s hand, “and my brother, Ilrym, is currently topside.”
“Ah, yes, the Half-Drow with the falchion.  We met a little earlier; I think he will add good balance to our little group.  My preference is to avoid face-to-face fights where possible, so his strength and more aggressive style should come in handy.


They had been at sea for three days when Ilrym found himself awoken by a noise that took him some moments to identify, in his half-asleep state.  Looking across the unlit cabin, he nonetheless saw in total clarity the sight of his half-sister on all fours, her small breasts jiggling as she was ploughed from behind by the other member of their little mercenary bodyguard.  He was mildly surprised – Illyra tended to prefer slender, boyish looking men, something that this Draca fellow was very much not.  Maybe it was the eyes, he mused to himself, certainly blue was her favourite colour.
He made a pillow of his hands as he lay there to watch the pair going at it, smirking at the sound of Illyra’s moans of ecstasy and the grunts of exertion from her newest lover.  All in all, he considered, it was just as well that Illyra was a gifted healer, else she’d have by now spread the clap or some pox or other to half the Sword Coast.  Ilrym considered making a humorous remark, but in all honesty he was rather enjoying the show and had no desire to interrupt it.  Besides, for some reason or other his sister didn’t particularly like being watched during the act.