The Dark Elf

Future Chapter (Arrynmar Introduction)

Lymerra lay half submerged in the pebbled riverbank. The steady flow of the water lapped onto her face, asking her to move, but she did not stir. Instead, she watched as her wounds streamed blood, it turned the water a swirling red that quickly disappeared as the water swept downsteam.

She was transfixed by her bleeding, by her pain. She wished she would bleed until she could no more. She wished could disintegrate into the river and become one with the water. Then she would mindlessly flow, on and on forever.

The sun went down, the air chilled, and still Lymerra did not rise. Only when the birds of early morning began to sing, and her stomach began to burn with acid did she admit she could not remain here until her death.

"This is my story," she thought. "I want to sit down. I want to disappear, but the world will not let me. It drags me from pain to pain but it will not let me lose."

So Lymerra pushed herself out of the rocks on the bank of the Iontheir River. She braced herself against her aching body and her aching heart. She shut Lysander out of her mind, and she made a silent vow to Dia'raxys.

It was a beautiful morning in the Aerioan Valley as the sun began to rise. The water reflected the sun's golden light back in a bloody orange. The Absterrites Mountains loomed ever present on the horizon but cast in their current lavender shade, they seemed almost sleepy. Evergreens dotted the golden prairie, and through the trees, a two-wheel horse path weaved.

Lymerra found herself set out on another path to only gods-knew where. She knew that whatever waited at the end of this path would certainly involve a test of some sort, and try how she might, she would not fail.

It had been two moon cycles since Lymerra had paid for the boarding room above the barn with a ruby she found in her pocket. Two moon cycles of laying spread eagle on the straw bed and waking whenever she pleased. She ate when she pleased as well. In fact, Lymerra was doing everything just as she pleased for the first time in her life.

She was also drinking as she pleased. It took her only a day to recover from her wounds, and it didn't take long until she woke in the middle of the night with a stirring to explore. The city she had found herself was known as Aerioa, and it sprawled farther than Lymerra could have ever imagined.

She did not have to wander far from her room to find a city street still buzzing with life. The alleys Lymerra found herself in were illuminated by the light of a thousand neglected candles. Their light was reflected in weapons and coin, and the eyes of wanting men. The bricks of the street were sticky with spilled drink, vomit, and whatever sort of other fetid liquids a human body gives off.

Lymerra was mesmerized by the rotting people who still seemed to drink as if they had something to celebrate. She too, felt rotted and tired. Rotted from the inside out, before she even had a chance.

She hated herself for drinking while Dia was somewhere burning in the hells, so she drank some more.

The humans of Aerioa weren't used to seeing Drow often, but most had encountered the soldiers when they visited the city to negotiate. A lone, female Drow, however, was quite the rarity. Before Lymerra had even thought to wash her hair, the men who regularly inhabited the taverns and brothels of Lower Aerioa swarmed her with their attentions.

Quickly, the Drow fell into a route. As the night began, Lymerra would draw her knife to the throat of any human man who got too close or too mouthy. But as the late hours became early hours, and she finished her third or fourth pint, Lymerra found the attention to be invigorating. No wonder the High Council kept all of the drink for themselves, why would they ever let their slaves enjoy something so transformative?