The Dark Elf

Chapter 1

Lymerra lay awake on her stone bed, eyes gazing up into an eternal darkness. Her cell had no ceiling, only smooth and high stone walls, impossible to climb. Above her was an expanse of darkness, and Lymerra often wondered how long it continued for.

At first, she had truly attempted to fall asleep, she knew she needed her rest. But stillness seemed to suffocate the room and the air hummed with anticipation. She did not know what time it was, or exactly how many hours had passed. Sooner or later though, the guards would come, the day would start, and she would have to face the decisions that had already been made.

After an empty eternity, the rap on the metal door sent a jolt of panic through Lymerra's spine.

"Control yourself," she thought. "You can end up a shredded corpse, or a free woman."

"Get up, child. His Highness, King Callimar, Lord of the Underdark and Sovereign Mouth of Iymril has requested your presence in the inner chambers."

Lymerra took a breath to steady herself.

"I serve his Lordship," she replied to the guard. Three long strides and she was at the door of her tiny room. The hall echoed with the sound of rattling keys, and then a sharp click as the iron lock of the cell door snapped open.

The passage outside Lymerra's cell was dimly lit with torchlight, and the guard, Gul'dor as she had come to know him, filled the doorway with his hulking form.

"Incredible how one can fit their position as a hand to a glove when plucked by birth and raised for the task," Lymerra thought. "Just like me."

Gul'dor stepped aside to allow Lymerra to pass. She had the mind to sleep in her boots just in case she was called from slumber in haste. Of course, that was back when she had hoped for slumber at all.

As she crossed the threshold, Lymerra glanced up at Gul'dor's marred face. He was at least three hands taller than her, if not four. His head and neck were splattered with thick scars, the kind of wounds one can survive only with the help of a healer. His skin was a blue stone, the same as hers, and he carried a silver halberd in his right hand.

No chains were necessary for her escort to the King's chambers. Lymerra was a pet, raised to tuck her tail between her legs when called upon. However, teaching a docile pup how to ravage like a mad dog was one of the countless mistakes King Callimar had made.

The Drow walked one behind the other down the long corridor of the west-wing dormitories. The walls were lined with iron doors, and behind each door, a Drow youth cowered in their stone bed. They were thankful the guards did not come for them.

At the end of the hall, there was a great spiral staircase made of stone that seemed to ascend into the heavens.

Oh, how Lymerra hated this staircase. The stone bed and the poorly cleaned chamber pots were bad enough, but the pain one felt limping down all those stairs after they had been freshly beaten to a pulp in a training session was unmatched. There were 346 stairs in all, Lymerra had counted.

At the top of the stairs stood yet another iron door, the keys to which were only carried by Callimar's closet circle. Lymerra wondered who had loaned Gul'dor their key before he was sent on a servant's errand.

Gul'dor opened the iron door into the training hall. A torture chamber of sorts, commonly known as the Great Hall of Iymril, named for the Drow god of power.

They made haste across the great

The doors of the King's inner chambers were built to withstand the arcane attacks of wars fought 2,000 years ago. Their insides were forged with pure iron, three hands thick at the least. The outer layer of the doors was lined with cedarwood, a bark known for its ability to hold onto wards and spells.