Interlude: Joachim Vernes & The Darkness Over Ironwood pt. 1: The Elfmaid

The three of them sat staring at each other from across a round table. Joachim was bored. The girl was quite pretty, with long brown hair in simple plaits, and violet eyes that shimmered in a way that told him she wasn’t as young as she looked. The surer sign of her age, or rather her agelessness was a pair of long, pointed ears set low on her head. The elves aged slowly by the measure of mankind. She was probably old enough to have delivered his great grandfather, and not aged a day since. In any case, the symbol etched into her torn and muddy blouse took any thoughts of her out of his head. Embroidered on the green fabric was a golden oak beneath a single silver star. A symbol of the Elvish clergy. She would not be wooed by him.
Glory was likewise examining her closely, out of suspicion more than admiration. She was cautious, and didn’t like the look of the Elven refugee. She sat on a stool with her legs tucked under her, so that despite her slight Halfling frame, she seemed to tower over the other woman.
“Please begin again,” she said, “What happened to your patrol, Miss…”
“Please call me Sister Rose, if it please you.” The words came haltingly. She was unfamiliar with common speech. “I am a chaplain to a logging camp on the edge of the Ironwood Forest, less than a day’s travel from here.
“Why come to us? Why come here, to the lands outside the Forrest? Why didn’t you seek out Elves to aid you?”
“I… I escaped, and I couldn’t find my way. When I emerged, I was too far from my people to go to them for help. Taking the long way around the forest would have taken too much time, and I feared I would have been too late!” There was pain in her face, as though saying the words brought the horror of her experiences back to vivid life.
“I don’t understand. The Sylvan tribe is well known for their affinity with the woods. However an elf become lost in her own woodlands?”
“The invaders brought something with them. A magic that harms my people, and made me lost.”
“Who is it?”
“I don’t know your word for them. In my language they are the Cursed Ones, the Drow.” She pronounced the word as though curse was what it was. It came haltingly, with disgust. The color drained from Glory’s face. Joachim looked from the one woman to the other, confused.
“Eh? Am I missing something? Who are these crow guys?”
“Not crow, you lummox,” Glory said. “DROW, the Dark Elves.”
“I’m still lost.”
“I’ve never seen one myself, but the oldest texts in the Academy mention them. They were said to be the strongest and wisest of the elves, once.” Rose said nothing at this. Her face was a mask of hatred. “They were led by the Matriarch, a woman whose magical power was said to rival that of the Great Archanist himself, in the first age of the world.” Glory paused and took a sip of mulled wine.
“But as is so often the way, their power was only matched by their pride, and they sought more and more power, making pacts with the worst of fiends for greater and greater secrets. The elder gods, particularly the creator of the elves, became so wroth at their deeds that they cursed the entire tribe, down to the smallest child. Their hearts had turned so far from the light that the gods deemed that they would never again be able to tolerate the light of sun, nor moon, nor even starlight. They fled deep under the earth, and from the Underdark they subjugated the other evil races that wait under the mountains, to one day take revenge on the surface dwellers. That is the version of the tale I have heard, in any case.”
“It is close enough in detail,” said Rose. “The Drow can stand no light, and thus we supposed that they could neither revenge themsevles upon nor conquer their former brothers and sisters. We of the younger generations considered them a fable at best, or locked within the earth. Although around campfires we would tell tales of dark, winter nights when they would rise from their hidden caves and stalk the woods, looking for Elves to murder. I know better than to scoff at the old stories, which are the best lessons, but I never worried they would find a way to break free of their prison!”
“How were they able to accomplish such a feat?” Glory asked. Joachim suspected her curiosity had less to do with finding a solution to the problem than it did the acquisition of some hidden knowledge.
“I am not sure of how,” Rose said, examining the glass of wine like a crystal ball. “But they have summoned a night that engulfs the wood.”
“Magical darkness wouldn’t be practical. They would be unable to see themselves, even with special senses.”
“It is not magical darkness, but eternal night, as I have said. We feared that they snuffed out the sun, but beyond the wood it still shines. Perhaps It is beyond my ability with your language to explain. They struck quickly, and without warning. They came from under the earth. One moment it was day, the next night, and then they were upon us in our confusion. They have creatures of the deep earth with them, and they have killed or captured many of us. I alone escaped to find rescue. That is how I came seeking mercenaries. Are you strong of steel and spell?”
“We are.” Joachim said, before Glory could deny it. They had lost good work before because she wasn’t interested in it.
“If you assist me in freeing my people, we may be able to drive the Drow out, and bring peace to my land.”
“We are expensive.” Joachim said.
“I cannot speak for my, I am not sure of the common word for it, King, Perhaps? But I am certain you would would be well rewarded. Probably with a cutting of ironwood each, for a start.”
“I’m sorry, a cutting?”
“The amount one elf might harvest in one period of work. A pile ten feet on each side, perhaps?” Joachim’s eyes lit up. He resisted breaking into a grin.
“That might be enough to procure our services. Allow me to confer privately with my associate.” He stood, and Glory hopped down from her stool. They moved off to a dark corner of the room.
“A pile of ironwood ten feet high!” He tried to whisper. “That’ll be more than we need for certain, with enough to buy a knighthood left over!”
“I don’t know. It seems too easy. I think she’s hiding something.”
“Too easy? You worry too much. You’re traveling with the man who slayed the dragon Hailtooth, you know.”
“As I recall, you were only able to slay him once he was bound by my magics, and Bindle put a bolt in each of his eyes.” Glory said contemptuously.
Glory, ironwood is worth more than its weight in gold! We can have Bindle raised for sure with that much.”
“That is true,” She conceded.
“Keep your eye on what is important. We need our tracker back. You need your fiance back, might I add. Unless you’d rather be a widow than a bride.”
“I know, I know,” She said. “But I just don’t trust her. I can’t put my finger on it. If only I had prepared scrying.”
“This isn’t like you, Glory. What’s wrong?”
“There is something I haven’t mentioned about the Drow. They are not… Behind you!” There was the sharp retort of a slow heavy knock at the door. The door shook on its hinges, sending flakes of peeling green paint to the floor. The knock came again, cracking the frame from top to bottom. A third hit shattered the door, sending splinters flying in every direction. Rose screamed, and cowered. A looming shadow of a man stood in the doorway, a wickedly barbed mace in his mail gloved hands.
He was wearing a fine black robe, and his face was lost in the darkness of the hood. He took three heavy steps into the room, and bowed low to the woman behind him. She wore the same robe, pulled just as close over her features. However, while his covered the shapeless bulk of heavy armor, hers hugged the curves of her body, hinting at the fine and shapely form beneath it. Her hands were empty, and wrapped in soft leather gloves. A pair of long, wicked curved daggers hung from her belt.
“You gave us quite the chase, surface-trash. Your paltry goddess won’t save you this time,” the woman said. Her words were in an elven tongue, but where Rose’s accent was musical and graceful, her’s was harsh and brutish. Joachim didn’t understand the words, but the threat was clear, particularly when the figure began casting a spell, gesturing with her hands and chanting lost words.
Joachim didn’t wait for it to finish, but instead used every ounce of his speed and strength to kick over the heavy table and pull his companions behind it. He felt the sudden, searing heat of a fireball even through three inches of oak. He cursed.
“Glory, can you occupy these two for a while? I have need of my spear.”
“Maybe the mage, but not her bodyguard. Why don’t you simply call the thing to you?” She asked, gesturing in the air. Glory was preparing her counter.
“The spear will only do so once until its powers are recharged. I shouldn’t like to waste the chance. I suppose I’ll do this the old fashioned way, then. Cover me!” He dove out from behind cover and towards the far corner of the room, where their equipment was piled.
“Alright, stay behind me until the spell is done.” Glory leapt with surprising grace onto the charred edge of their makeshift barrier. The first inch of it was now nothing but ashes which crunched beneath her bare feet. “Oh, that’s hot!” She exclaimed. “Let’s cool it down a bit, shall we?” With that, she intoned the draconic words of power that finished the spell.
“North Wind, Lord of ice and snow, grant me your power to freeze those who dare to stand before me! CONE OF COLD!” A sudden, swirling blast of icy wind spread from her outstretched fingers, rushing through the robed figures and ripping at their clothing. Their hoods fell back to reveal skin their jet black skin, not bronzed or darkened by the sun in millenia, and long white hair that hung limp and dirty. They had a feral appearance, hard and sharp, from their pointed teeth to their blood red eyes. Though the room around them was suddenly covered in frost, the pair were unharmed. The woman laughed. Glory jumped back down quickly, narrowly avoiding a bolt of lightning from her opponent that slammed into the wall behind them and left a scorched blossom in the wall.
“Damnation,” she whispered. “The legend was truthful at that.” Glory gave Rose a hard look. “It would have been nice to have known that before hand.” The priestess shivered against the table and said nothing. She was stricken with fear.
Joachim reached his spear just as the warrior caught up with him. The dark elf swung a blow at the back of his head with his mace, but as quick as a snake, Joachim spun and blocked with the haft of his spear. The spear was bone white ash, five feet long and tipped with a pale, rune engraved head that was stronger than steel. It was called Incisor, and it had a long and colorful history. The Drow warrior fought with silent, mechanical strength. Joachim was barely keeping him at bay.
“What happened?” Joachim asked Glory through grit teeth. “It didn’t look like your spell did anything.”
“It should have froze them both in their tracks. But there was a scrap of information I remember reading once in the Academy. They say that the Drow went so far as to worship devils in exchange for power. Though the High Elves have always denied it. But it’s the truth, isn’t it?” Glory peaked out from behind the overturned table. The other Drow, the woman, was was watching her bodyguard fight the human. Her hands rested on her hips, and her lips were twirled in a cruel, thin smile.
“I didn’t get a good look at it,” Rose said, trembling, “but they have erected some kind of altar on the green. They summoned… horrible things with it.” She shivered again.
“Great. My magic can’t touch them, they have unholy protection,” Glory shouted. She reached into one of the many pockets of her coat and pulled out a pair of tiny objects. “We’ll have to do things your way, Joachim.”
“Let’s go then! Hard and fast!” Joachim suddenly shifted his position, breaking the weapon lock and pivoting on his heel. The warrior roared in triumph, but it quickly turned to a yelp of surprise as he realized that the mace’s momentum was pulling him down, and Joachim wasn’t where he had been when the swing started. The mace embedded itself in the hardwood floor. Whip-crack fast, Joachim spun and struck the otherwise heavily armored fighter in the back of the head with the butt of his spear. He was knocked to the floor. Joachim readied the spear to strike again, this time with the blade.
Behind him, the witch began casting a spell. She was nearly finished when a wooden bolt slammed into her shoulder. She screamed like a banshee and the spell was lost. Beside the flipped table, Glory held a tiny crossbow gingerly.
“This weapon isn’t mine,” Glory said to her in Elven. “I’m not very good with it. But from here, I doubt I’ll need to be.”
“You had a weapon hidden on you, hmm? Very well. I will lower myself to your base physical combat.” The witch laughed. “Fangs, your mistress has need of you. RISE AND BITE!” There was the high, slow song of a pair of blades sliding slowly free from their sheathes. Seemingly of their own will, the long knives on her belt pulled themselves free, hung impossibly through the air, and sped blade first towards Glory, diving like birds of prey. Glory dived back behind the table. The flying knives turned in the air to follow her and slammed into the surface of the table. Their tips bit right through and out the other side, not inches from the two women. Rose shrieked. The blades began to vibrate as they watched, attempting to wrench themselves free and strike again. Desperately, as fast as she could, Glory tried to reload the crossbow.
Joachim readied his final strike with the spear. He raised it high with both hands, when the warrior rose suddenly, catching him in the stomach with both of his armored elbows. Joachim fought for breath, but the wind was gone from him. his opponent reached his feet, turned, and pulled a sharply curved black scimitar from a hidden scabbard on his belt.
He lunged forward with the sword, and the shadows seemed to cling like a film to it. They hung in the air like contrails where the blade passed. Still breathless, Joachim brought Incisor down to block barely in time. The elf pressed the advantage with a series of deft swings, and Joachim was pushed back.
Glory finally managed to winch back the trigger of the bolt, confounded by the great torc of so small and delicate an object. She ducked out from behind the cover of the table, but the witch was waiting for her. She reached out one gloved hand and gripped her by the hair, roughly pulling her forward. The crossbow spun free from Glory’s grip and landed somewhere by the door. The elf intoned a single word, and Glory’s whole body was engulfed in burning pain. Livid streak of lightning stretched from the witch’s hand to Glory’s boots. She screamed in pain.
“Glory!” Joachim called to his stricken teammate, but his own opponent took advantage of his distraction, delivering a cut to his legs that buckled him. Joachim hit the floor, and his head struck harder. Everything swam in his vision. The Drow warrior stood over him, a smug smile of triumph on his sharp features. The sword was raised. Elsewhere, Glory screamed again as another blast of electricity coursed through her. Joachim was sure, though not for the first time, that they were going to die.
And then the miracle happened.
The light began as the tiniest twinkle, like a single star in the corner of his vision, then blossomed, grew to a mighty sun, and shone through the room. The Drow hissed and screamed. They recoiled in the sudden brightness. The mage dropped Glory without so much as a glance to her. She ran to her partner, who had lost his scimitar, and was trying to shield himself beneath his cloak. It didn’t seem to be working. She grabbed his arm, spoke a word of power so loud that it may as well have been a scream, and they both vanished.
The light faded, and Rose stood trembling where it had been. She explained, “The Drow cannot stand the light of the sun. Our goddess grants us the power to make daylight, on occasion.” She breathed deeply. She seemed exhausted by the effort. Joachim rose shakily to his feet. He legs would need seeing to, but he could walk. He managed to get to the priestess just as she fainted. Glory pulled herself up next to them. She held a handful of black ashes in her hands.
“This is all that remains of those knives. It seems their weapons burned in the daylight as well. Interesting. Well, put her to bed. I’ve got healing salve and bandages in my pack. I’ll heal you if you take first watch.”
“Alright. It looks like we’re in this now, whether we will it or not. We’ll leave as near as first light as you can be ready. I mean to see this forest, now that I’ve bled for it.” He found his spear and leaned on it. The Drow were as strong as legend. He couldn’t ask for anything better than that.

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