Chapter 10 Meeting
When Santila passed through the jagged dark spiers, for the first time, she did not marvel at the magic runes etched on them, or stop and watch for a long time.
For the first time, she did not throw a prank spell at a group of drow patrols riding underground lizards, and watch them look embarrassed when their mounts overturned them.
She even passed an elegant little shop shrouded in brilliant enchanted fire that sold perfumes, soft silk garments, magical trinkets, and other wondrous little things, without casting a longing glance.
At this moment, the dull pain coming from her forehead and back of her head seemed to remind her at all times not to forget that strange figure.
What are these compared to him? She rubbed the bruise on her forehead in confusion.
Santila occasionally saw surface humans or half-elves in the market.
A few of them are warriors, but like most drow elves of the same class, she regards these merchants as parasites and will never do business with them.
She had never been so close to a surface dweller, let alone had a long conversation with him.
There is no doubt that this battle mage from the surface world, if you ignore his eyes and just look at his appearance, he is a very young half-elf.
Even if calculated in human lifespan, he is about the same age as her, or older than her.
The half-elf towered over her. He seemed taller and stronger than most drow males.
Of course, this strong does not refer to brainless creatures like orcs and ogres, which are all big muscles.
There are many humans with strong bodies, and their muscle outlines are more exaggerated than those of battle mages, but in Santila's view, there are very few who are as uniform and strong as him.
When she lost her balance and fell on top of the other person.
She could clearly feel the small muscles in the other person's chest and abdomen that were clearly exercised, as well as the steady and powerful heartbeat.
This inevitably made her heart beat faster.
Who would have thought that what she would receive was a violent blow to her forehead, and the intense pain of the back of her head hitting the ground after she fell to the ground, which made her almost faint.
But none of this is important.
In Santila's mind, what really impressed her was those eyes, which were deep and bright, like the brightest black stones on the altar of the blood sacrifice ceremony.
The most important thing is that when she pretended to be sad and told about her experience in order to escape from trouble, she saw in those deep black eyes a kind of pity that she had almost forgotten.
Is he feeling sorry for me?
Santilla couldn't believe what she saw in her eyes, and she even wondered if she had seen it wrong.
It is hard to imagine that a cunning half-elf would make a mistake because of an emotion that is despised by the drow.
She frowned in confusion, and there was a sudden pain on her forehead that was hit by the half-elf, making the picture in her mind inexplicably become a little clearer.
She still remembered that he still had messy black hair and a slightly pale complexion that shone in the candlelight of the stone room.
Anyway, the battle mage from the Kingdom of Cormyr looks strong, intelligent, and compassionate.
The ancient city of Orens has no room for compassion. She subconsciously believes that what allows most races to coexist peacefully is not fear, but compassion.
She suddenly began to appreciate this quality that she had long forgotten and despised, even if he belonged to an inferior race.
Moreover, he is also an experienced adventurer and can definitely tell her more about Waterdeep City and Skull Port.
Perhaps it would be more pleasant to find a way to keep him with you.
Santilla absentmindedly fiddled with a strand of white hair hanging on her chest, and before she knew it, she had returned to her room.
She sat at the desk, threw away a few burned candle ends, relit a new candle, and began to look through books and scrolls.
Tomorrow is her long-awaited coming-of-age ceremony. She needs to carefully match the spells she has learned in order to quickly complete her hunting ceremony.
However, what makes her depressed is that despite her best efforts, she is still unable to focus her longed attention on spell learning as usual, and the details of her contact with the battle mage are constantly replayed in her mind. .
She recalled the first time she saw him when she sneaked into the secret room where the half-elf was being held.
He sat quietly at the desk, diligently chewing on mountains of books and scrolls like a gray dwarf mining mithril.
That serious and focused look actually attracted her a little bit.
Especially his eyes full of pity, always come back to her mind, like a continuous melody with a long aftertaste.
A long sigh.
Santila pushed aside all the scrolls she had planned to read.
She stood up from the chair and threw away the drow cloak.
Then he threw himself on the bed, intending to rest for a while.
She needed to rest to face the day that was about to begin.
She hugged the silk pillow, but sleep could not come to her.
Suddenly, she looked startled and jumped up from the bed.
A figure stood silently in front of her like a ghost.
Even after so many years, his unexpected appearance still made her feel exhausted.
He definitely did this on purpose, she thought bitterly.
Santilla quickly put on an expression that she had practiced countless times in front of the mirror.
It was a careless smile and a cynical look.
The life of a drow is full of complicated intrigues, but in Santila's view, nothing is more complicated than her feelings for her drow father.
She admired and resented, loved and feared, hated and longed for her father. It was hard to imagine that these such different emotions could exist at the same time. Moreover, what makes her even more distressed is that none of her feelings have received even a little response.
At least, the half-elf she met today, whom she had never met before, could feel pity for her, but he would never.
The chief mage of Ancient Orens City was a complete mystery to her.
Hydrof Pumour is her biological father, but the drow are a matriarchal society.
The Chief Archmage went against tradition and asked her to forcibly leave the first family, Tux, and become a homeless person like him.
Then he ridiculously left her to be raised by the first family.
For this, she paid the heaviest price in her life.
Every time I see him.
She seemed to hear the screams protesting betrayal, betrayal, murder and other evil deeds intertwined with the vicious howls of the high-ranking priests of the Spider Queen who led the drow society.
These sounds have been echoing in her mind and will always have a place, especially the screams of the dying children on the surface.
Before she died, her mother told her that there was a mysterious city hidden deep underground in Waterdeep. As long as they found the Wandering Temple, many drow elves who longed to return to the surface could be saved.
So, deep in her heart, she has always hidden a dream of venturing to the surface.
Santila quickly came to her senses and began to think about why Khadrov Pumol wanted to see her now?
She hasn't heard from him for three years.
Although his servants would pay the Tucks family's support and education from time to time, and make sure her purse was always full when she occasionally went to the market.
But in Santila's view, this kind of private meeting can only mean trouble.
But what did she do?
Or, rather, was her troublemaking discovered and reported again?
She began to think seriously about what deviant behavior she had committed recently, and which priestess of Lolth had been offended by her mischief spell, so that he had to take action personally to solve it.
Then she thought of a new possibility.
After the blood sacrifice, she will become a true drow.
Maybe he thought she was noteworthy.
So, she raised her head casually and looked at him.
He looked just like he remembered, an old drow male. The color of his eyes was so pale that it was almost impossible to describe. It looked disturbing.
In Santila's impression, his life span exceeded ten centuries.
It is said that as the chief mage, he watched the demise of his family without doing anything.
She was convinced of this.
Because he personally killed her mother in order to get her out of the Tux family.
"We meet again."
The chief mage's voice was so soft that she had to listen quietly.
"Indeed."
Santila replied playfully, "It's just that your way of meeting is still so unique. Sometimes I also wonder if you often didn't meet when you were young. Don’t worry about my mistress, so your appearance is always so unexpected.”
She stared hard into his eyes and, to her disappointment, saw nothing.
"Leave these words to seduce the guards at the door."
The Archmage said calmly, "As you imagine, I am here for your blood sacrifice. Now, I I will stay here until the festival starts, because you have too much to learn and the time to prepare is too short."
"I have been preparing, and I have plenty of time." She suppressed the resentment in her heart and said coldly.
"Innocent child, becoming a drow is far more than just participating in a barbaric massacre."
The Archmage said gloomily, "If my guess is right, Jonara Tux must be good at this."
Santilla heard these meaningful words, and she didn't want to meet her. to this reality.
She couldn't believe Aunt Jonara would betray her.
The magical godmother raised her and gave her a level of care and pampering that most young drow could only dream of receiving.
In addition to her biological mother, she not only gave her life, but also gave her ten years of warmth, safety and even love.
It was Aunt Jonara's indulgence that made her the most free and unrestrained drow in Ancient Orens City.
“You are doubting my judgment.”
A coldness appeared in the Archmage’s calm eyes, “You don’t really think that it was a great adventure, do you? . Very good, I am beginning to despair of your judgment."
"So?" Santila said almost desperately.
If it was really like what he said, then she didn't dare to think about the battle mage from the Kingdom of Cormyr anymore.
"Stupid child, I don't want you to get hurt in any way."
The Archmage raised his eyelids, carefully looked at his daughter who looked disappointed, and said gently:
"I will Giving you a magical item that allows you to easily kill your prey satisfies the literal requirements of the ritual. After all, you never paid much attention to Lolth's eighth leg, did you?"
(End of this chapter)