It was thirty five years, and Alvassun still wasn’t used to the brightness of the sun. The sheer warmth of it on her skin felt like a gentle hug, like everything she was missing in the Underdark. Thirty five years free of the constant betrayal and death that was ever so consistent there. For over a hundred years of her life, she had served Lolth with the same vigor and loyalty as was expected as a daughter of the Queen of Spiders. The ritualistic slaughter of the Mistress of Lies enemies, it had one day taken hold of her brother, and to prove her loyalty, she had to drive the dagger into his chest herself. So vividly she recalled the warm spurts of blood on her hands, how the sickly crimson splashed across her cheek. A dedication so vivid, so personal to her that no one would dare question her loyalty to the Queen of the Demonweb. A sin so egregious she felt as if no matter how much she bathed, she would never be clean of the blood that stained her hands.
As the light from the brothers eyes, the one who taught her how to take her first steps in place of their ever so busy mother, faded from this plane. Did he forgive her for her fear? For the cowardice she felt course through her veins when it was found out be dared to take part in a plot to kill a matron mother? She wouldn’t deserve it. Not after tossing his lifeless corpse into the spider pits herself.
So what did she even do to deserve Karlach?
The darkness of the Shadow Curse nibbled at the edges of the tents every time they had set up camp, blackish-green tendrils threading any place to snuff out the little hints of light that kept them at bay. It was unsurprising then, that Alvassun was found near the bonfire, her gaze stuck on the flames as a million thoughts rung through her head. Good company for the tadpole in her brain.
A certain tieflings voice was what drew her out of her melancholy, her smiles brighter then the blaze that licked her skin. “Heya, soldier.”
“Karlach.”
The other woman took a seat next to Alvassun, taking measures not to sit too close to her. Damn those flames, and damn Zariel. Given her experience, devils were never to be trusted. As much as she tried to have an open heart on par with her Broken Gods own, someone who ripped out Karlach's wasn’t worthy of it.
“Cold out here, yeah? That’s not easy for me to feel, flames and all that.”
“Good thing you came over here, then. I…missed you.” Alvassun’s head tilted at the laugh she heard, Karlach's slitted eyes as bright as ever. “You’re laughing. Why?”
“Because you make the simplest things…so damn sweet to hear. Hits the ear just right. Deep voice of yours helps, too. I swear, I could hear you read from one of your holy books and I’d be over the moon, and totally not pass out and drool like I did in secondary school.” It was out of the corner of her eye, but Alvassun took note of the hand that almost touched hers. That she so, so desperately wanted to make contact with.
“Do you mind if I step away for a moment? I'll rejoin you, and fast. I need to ask Gale a favor.”
It made her whole being hurt, to see this wonderful, so exuberant woman in front of her be unable to enjoy something as simple as touch. Something she herself took for granted, no doubt. The simple brush of a hand against that of the itinerant who only wanted a meal at the Open Hand Temple she served in Baldur’s Gate, in the same position she once was. The hand on the chest of a woman who chose a warriors death, healing her wounds just enough to grant her the ability to die fighting. The holding in her arms of a babe who was left at the temple doors. A few of those same children, she helped raise.
Karlach blinked at the sudden excuse, giving a short, if disappointed nod as she moved herself to lay close to the flames, right next to the drows bed. Alvassun willed herself to look away, mumbling a prayer of ‘Maimed Father, blessed are we with sight so that we may witness the miracles of this world’ as she caught a glimpse of the rolling muscle of her abdominals when she stretched. Taking a breath, she stopped at Gale’s tent, the mage looking up from his tome.
“Oh, greetings! Finally finished with your prayers?”
Chuckling, Alvassun nodded, “Ah, yes. I finished them about an hour ago. But I have a favor to ask you.”
“Anything. After the other night, I owe you something. Not everyone would listen to a sad wizard, you know. Maybe Tara, but that’s neither here nor there.”
“Even if it wasn’t in my faith to aid those feeling emotional distress, I would always help a friend in pain.” A gentle smile crossed her features, curling the scar on her cheek. Smiles came so much easier since she left Menzoberranzan.
“That’s very kind of you, really. But your favor?” Gale intoned, setting his book aside.
“Do you have a scroll for mage hand?” The drow asked softly, her eyes flicking to Karlach. Gale only offered a smile, catching the glance as he turned his back, reaching for an oddly…blue, luminous scroll.
“Of course. It’s for her, isn’t it? Young love, so beautiful!” the wizard put a hand over his heart, handing the scroll to Alvassun with a gentle, if teasing grin. Even the paper itself felt chilled.
“Gale. Karlach is thirty. I’m one hundred and seventy five. Isnt that about five times your age?”
“Semantics!”
With a wave to Gale, Alvassun made her way back to Karlach, who seemed to be watching her with a lazy grin as she laid on her chest. Her chin was resting on those strong arms, her tail wagging slowly, back and forth. A signal she was paying attention to the cleric herself, even if she looked tired. It was a sweet gesture, and more then she deserved.
“Whatcha got there, Alva?”
“A scroll. A mage hand one, to be specific. But I think Gale tampered with it somehow, I think. Not in the malicious way, mind you.”
Karlach perked up at the mention, her eyes hopeful as she held it in her left hand.
“Is it…well, me proof?”
“Maybe. He is rather smart, and looked to expect it would be used for you, its glowing, after all. I know I can’t kiss you without…”
“Turning to charcoal?” the tiefling asked, pierced eyebrow quirked.
“My ashy complexion would lean well to the jump to charcoal, I think.” The cleric laughed, her deep tone holding warmth. “But yes. It should last a few minutes.”
Breaking the seal off the scroll, Alvassun spoke the incantation, an incandescent hand floating in between the two. It matched the drow's hand perfectly, even down to the trimmed nails and scars. The excitement in Karlach’s eyes could barely be contained, her hands patting the hard packed ground next to her.
“Okay. I…want to hold your face. Can I do that?” Alvassun motioned her hand about, thumb pressing about the palm of the ghostly limb. She could barely feel it, but it was something.
“Yes! Hells, you could pinch me and I’d call it a love bite given circ*mstance.”
“Soon enough, if we can find Dammon.” The cleric chuckled, the hand close by reaching to touch the barbarians face. Her brows creased, she concentrated, as if she wanted to take hold of the memory of touching her. A cool palm made contact with a warm cheek, almost too warm, yet there was no pain.
After a few seconds of tense silence, a choked sound, almost a sob, passed Karlach's lips as she leaned into the touch, closing her eyes as she nuzzled her nose into the ghost-like palm. Alvassun’s heart ached, as it so often did since she left her home. The true empathy she felt for others always struck her like a lightning bolt now. But this, this was different.
Taking on the suffering of different people was nothing new. There were a few times where Alvassun had taken a lashing meant for a man who stole something as inconsequential as an apple, yet this was alien. She wanted Karlach free of this pain. The pain of loneliness, of a forced solitude. There were members of the church who did as much, few as they were. Yet this was against her will. Remaining silent, Alvassun let the pad of the ghostly thumb brush over the skin of her cheek, relishing in what little she could give to Karlach in the moment.
“Ten years. I know this isn’t...you. But gods, it’s so close.” The tiefling whimpered, trying to bite back another embarrassing sound. Alvassun simply smiled, allowing the hand to pull back and fix the hairs that were falling in her eyes. Slowly, the apparition drifted to her full horn, brushing past the small spines to the gentle ridges, just barely felt under the tepid ‘skin’ of the hand.
“You’re stunning, you know. When we kissed, even though it was just for a moment, it felt as though all the world was concentrated on your lips.” A reverent tone, one of utter softness was all that seeped through, it was almost on par with a prayer. “The Rack Broken Lord himself has nothing so sweet a balm.”
Karlach herself blushed at the attention, the affirming words that she was more then her fire. That she was more then what she was forced to be.
“You know, you never talk of home. Im from the Outer City, but all you ever said was that you were from Men…”
“Menzoberranzan.” Alvassun replied gently, yet her voice seemed oddly guarded. She closed her wine red eyes, taking a deep breath. “I’m ashamed of it all, really. Deeply.”
“Ah, hells. Look, you don’t gotta-“
“I wish to tell you.” The drow promised, the ghost-like hand brushing the notched scar of her brow. “I serve my penitence by sharing my story as well. To prove that even…even the undeserving such as myself can turn to good. To healing. But only those close to me. You’re the first, outside of the temple.”
Karlach slowly reached to set her hand overtop the false one, the barest hint of heat echoing onto the back of Alvassun's own. As if she were serving as an anchor for the other woman.
“I was born into nobility, but just barely. A lesser branch of the tree that was House Duskryn, I guess that would be the best way to put it. We had some of the best armies in the Underdark. But I was the second born daughter. I had one elder sister, three younger sisters a sibling, an elder brother, and a younger brother as well.” A frown marred her features as she brought up her houses name, yet it seemed to relax when she spoke about her family. Karlach whistled, catching her attention.
“I was an only child. Insane, to think of that many siblings.” The cleric smiled, the ghostly fingers brushing over her lip. Partially to silence Karalch, but mostly to just feel her.
“But I was indeed the third child, a second daughter. If you know Drow culture, you know we’re matriarchal. There’s a saying, something about being as useful as a third born son, unneeded even for breeding.”
“Damn. I should know something about burns, but that’s a mean one.” The tiefling blinked, yet the concern melted away as Alvassun allowed the fingers to brush over her collarbone. Alvassun took a breath, knowing she shouldn’t push too far, lest the both of them be left disappointed.
“I chose to become a cleric to Lolth. And if you know one thing about the Spider Bitch…she’s a vindictive one. Nothing but infighting, a thirst for power, inherent superiority. And I drank it like the sweetest wine. For over a hundred years I served her, I took part in rituals, I killed in her name.” Her tone grew low, almost pained as she recounted memories best repressed. “And then, one day at the alter, my brothers blood soaked my dagger.”
Realization crossed Karlachs face, her fiery eyes almost heartbroken at what Alvassun had confessed. At best, Minthara would understand what she had went through. But killing ones own blood? What would she think of Alvassun and the sins she still carried? The barbarians palm covered the mage hand, in the best attempt she could manage to comfort her “Oh, sweets. I’m so sorry…”
She didn’t deserve the kindness. She never deserved the kindness of others, the empathy. Least of all from someone so good as Karlach. The best she could do was take the pain of others.
Taking an even breath, Alvassun blinked away a tear, worrying her lip between her teeth. Thirty years later, and it still stung horribly to speak about. “I broke down that night, and ended up cutting my hair. I ended up leaving not even a day later. I wasn’t given permission to leave the grounds, so the guard chasing me whipped…something at my head. I don’t even remember, but that’s how I got this scar.”
Motioning to the Y shaped injury, she managed the smallest of smiles. “My elder sister always called me obstinate and hard headed. Hard faced would have fit. I kept running until my legs felt like they were going to snap. I fainted, actually.”
“Exhaustion, or blood loss?” Karlach asked softly. Her tail was thudding against the ground, the remnants of joy still thrumming through her veins. She always seemed so full of energy. Maybe one day, Alvassun thought, she’ll find out just how much. If they could find Dammon first. Then- no. No, she needed to stay focused. The hand probably only had a few minutes left, and the simple touches were for Karlach's enjoyment. Thinking of being pinned down by those strong arms of hers like she promised after the party could be saved for when everyone had returned to their tents, and a silence spell.
“A bit of both, probably. Yet…this old gnome, he found me and dragged me to his home. He didn’t have to show me such kindness. I benefited from the slavery in the Underdark, like most houses. A sin I am still washing from my hands. Yet he and his family, they aided me. Fed me. Made sure my wound was alright. To this day, I still visit them.”
Karlach clicked her tongue, a wide grin on her face as she interrupted the story. “Aw, look at you! Even then you were nice! If a little bit.”
“Oh, I wasn’t. I was quiet then, a real bastard. But I wouldn’t reject aid. I still had that sickening sense of superiority I was born into. They sent me on my way, aiding me to reach aboveground, but I had no where to go. So I went to Baldur’s Gate. I was robbed two days into walking the Risen Road. I had my mace still, but…little else. Call it luck or divine retribution for how I used to be, but I feel as though I deserved it.”
An uncomfortable silence settled over the two of them. Karlach knew that Alvassun had a few self worth issues, but never knew, or understood the root or the reason of it all. Yet now she did.
“You know, fighting in the hells, you see some sh*t. And keeping your morals doesn’t really keep you alive, or uninjured. Sometimes, you do what you do to survive.” Unconsciously, the fingertips settled over the cuts that settled next to Karlach’s right eye. Was she trying to reassure her?
“Where are these from?” A soft tone, the same kind Alvassun often held when she touched and healed Karlach's wounds. Ones that she could only heal from a distance, unless she wanted to get burned.
Karlach scoffed, closing her eyes with a small grin. Her eyes met the drows own red ones, as bright as rubies in the flames of the fire. “Some green Abishai that got lucky. You don’t see them much, but there was a full leigon of ‘em one of my first few months there. Same one that snapped my horn off, too. f*cker. Got them right under the jaw with a knife, though. Those nails are something you don’t want to screw around with.”
She seemed almost proud, if her smile was anything to go by. Yet Alvassun knew first hand how to make the best of a bad situation. Jokes could help, yet they were so often loose bandages. It could staunch the blood loss, but little else. The tiefling nudged the hand with her cheek, those slitted eyes gentle.
More then what this cleric had ever deserved.
“After days, I came across the temple. The one just outside of the city.”
“The Open Hand?” Karlach intoned, almost surprised. “Damn. There could have been a chance my mum and dad crossed paths with you! Me too, but I stuck mostly to the city.”
“I am rather old, dear, comparatively at least. I came arrived the temple a few years before you were born.”
“Elderly, that’s what you are.” She snickered.
“And what does that say to your taste? I’m young for a drow!”
Attempting to keep eye contact, the both of them broke out in a laughing fit, laying back as they tried to catch their breath. Karlach was rubbing her eyes like she was blinded, that grin of hers never leaving her features, while Alvassun tried to fix her hair back with her free hand.
The mage hand, blissfully, was still active, the apparition hovering between them. Quietly, she settled her hand over Karlachs, threading each finger in between hers. She couldn’t feel the callouses. Warmth, above all else was what gained traction. But her hands were larger then her own. She couldn’t wait until the moment she could hold them properly. Kiss every fingertip with the reverence she deserves. Giving her so, so much more then what Zariel inflicted her with.
“…I was starving by then. I hadn’t eaten in days. I didn’t know most surface fruits, so I had to see what squirrels were eating and go from there. I was sitting by the steps for only a few minutes when Father Lorgan saw the state I was in.” The flicker, a barest hint of a smile crossed her lips “Back then, he told me, he was only the head of the temple for all of a month. Yet he saw me, sunken cheeks, angry eyes, and a rusted mace on my hip, and helped me. He showed me kindness befitting Our Martyred Father himself and walked me inside.”
The barbarian remained silent, the back of her thumb brushing over Alvassun's ‘hand’ as she spoke.
“I could barely speak. Yet he pushed a bowl of broth in my hands, and a cup of water next to me. I cried when I drank it. Sweeter then nectar, for something so savory. He took me to the graveyard and…we talked. I talked, mostly. He listened, and it just felt so, so easy to get it out, Karlach. I wanted so badly to make right, but if nothing else, die.”
Karlach began to open her mouth, the worried expression writ across her face as plain as day, but the spectral hand moved to cover her lips with a finger, a teasing grin on Alvassun’s own. “I was wasn’t able to, however. He said he could feel the remains of clerical power on me, however faint, and simply asked if I would like to join the temple. I asked why he would accept me into the temple. I was a drow, and a killer at that. He just told me ‘A long road to redemption starts somewhere’.”
Karlach listened, her tail still swaying back and forth as she did so. It amused Alvassun, that she often had to keep a part of her body moving. She was much the same, Alvassun was often playing with her own fingers. “So, were you just tossed in, then? Given robes and a new mace? See you like them blunt and spiky.”
“Not at all, actually. They gave me a wine spiked with something that induces a small trance. I was told about the entire thing, and consented to it. It’s used to help see if someone is joining out of true faith, or ulterior motives. According to Lorgan, it happened early in their history. But I passed. And here we are.”
Karlach gave a low whistle, as if she were impressed at the story. It was almost like a fairy tale, if one could believe. Someone in the dark turning to the light through personal loss. Yet her story wasn’t unique, it never was. She was simply a pebble on the street of an old dirt road, one of several hundreds, thousands even. Yet Karlach, to her, was worth more then all the gems in the Underdark.
“And you’ve been there ever since, huh.” The tieflings voice was gentle, as opposed to the bold ways she always held. The hands magic was fading, given how the light of it was beginning to gutter out. Slowly, Karlach brought the hand to her lips, a fierce warmth enveloping Alvassun's real hand before it faded completely. She should have looked disappointed, the drow thought. Yet she looked at peace.
“No. Here I am. With you next to me. I could hardly find myself worth the company. But you’re so kind, you almost make me believe it.” Karlach looked to be holding back the urge to kiss her, if biting her lip was anything to go by. Her sharp teeth didn’t help bite back any idle fantasies the drow had in the back of her head, yet her company served perfectly.
“Here we are…do you mind if I sleep a bit closer to you, given it's your turn to skeep around the fire? You'll be kept warm on both sides, like an oven!” Chuckling, the cleric stood without answer, walking off and grabbing Karlach’s lightly scorched bedding from her tent with a hum. She always smelled of burnt wood, a hint of blood, and sweat, but it was oddly intoxicating, sometimes causing Alvassun’s blood to rush through her veins.
She couldn’t sleep with her, hold her, but the least she could do is wake up close to her.
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