The Shadow of Elventree

Part 3

The path to The Dancing Stone wound through a quiet stretch of the forest, shrouded by the thick canopies of ancient trees. Moonlight filtered through the leaves, casting dappled shadows on the ground, as if Eilistraee herself illuminated the way to her shrine. Thalion treaded silently, blending into the shadows as he followed Larae and Erelda. He listened intently, his ears attuned to every word. Larae walked with serene grace, her white robes catching the moonlight, almost seeming to halo her. In sharp contrast, Erelda moved with a tense, wary posture, her dark cloak hugging her body tightly, her steps cautious as though every shadow might conceal a threat. While Thalion wouldn't really call himself a threat, he did observe them from these shadows.

"You have known only the way of Lolth, Erelda. But there is another path," Larae's words flowed with careful deliberation, each syllable measured to soothe and persuade. "Eilistraee offers us redemption, a chance to live without hatred, without the endless bloodshed."

Erelda's steps faltered, a flash of confusion shadowing her sharp gaze—a fleeting vulnerability Thalion could almost empathize with. "Redemption? Of what, priestess? The strength that keeps me alive, or the cunning that has brought me this far?"

"From the isolation that accompanies them. Eilistraee's followers find power in community, in shared joy and mutual suffering—"

"A community that waits for a knife in the dark?" Erelda's hand unconsciously drifting towards her belt. Thalion's grip on his own dagger tightened reflexively. "You speak of community as if it were a shield, but in my experience, it is often that knife."

"The rites at The Dancing Stone will illuminate what words cannot," Larae continued, undeterred. "There, you'll witness the true joy and community Eilistraee offers. Far removed from the solitude enforced by Lolth."

Erelda's laugh was tinged with bitterness. "You invite me to embrace weakness, Larae."

Larae paused, turning to face Erelda with an earnestness that resonated in the cool night air. "When I lost my daughter to Lolth's cruelty, I too thought her too weak. It took time to see that it was the doctrine that was flawed, not her. Eilistraee opened my eyes to that truth." The moonlight cast Erelda's angular features into sharp relief as she absorbed Larae's words, her expression unreadable. "It was a... revelation. Beyond the constant strife and sacrifices for a deity that cares not, there is a life filled with potential joy and peace. This is what I wish to share with you."

As they resumed their walk, Larae's voice softened further, spinning visions of Eilistraeean rituals under the moonlit sky. "Imagine a circle of our kin, united not by blood but by the simple joys of song and dance. Under the open sky, we share both burdens and triumphs, finding solace in our collective strength." The forest pathway seemed to absorb their conversation, the whispering leaves stirring with the weight of their discourse. She painted the picture with hopeful words. "It's here, among others who have also stepped away from the shadows of Lolth, where true healing begins. This healing isn't born from fear or suppression, but from the freedom to express oneself fully and be embraced for whom you truly are."

Erelda's stride synced momentarily with the rhythm of Larae's descriptions, yet her expression remained cloaked in scepticism. "And you believe these dances and songs can supplant the power and order that Lolth provides?" her tone rising with a mix of incredulity and a simmering rage.

"They replace nothing but open a door to something else. Perhaps something you too have been unknowingly seeking. Peace, a real connection."

"Connection?" Erelda stopped abruptly, her voice steeped in derision. "Or a new form of bondage, masked in freedom and light? You've truly forsaken our ways, Larae, our people's heritage."

The atmosphere around them became heavy with the tension of their untold pasts, each passing moment bringing a greater weight to the decisions that stood in front of them.
"It is not betrayal, but evolution," Larae countered firmly, her voice unwavering as she sought to bridge the growing divide. "To evolve beyond the bloodshed and find a—"

Erelda's hand darted to her belt, her fingers closing around the hilt of a crudely forged shiv—hidden from Larae until this moment. As she drew it with practised ease, the blade caught the moonlight, sending a cold glint that flickered in Thalion's eyes. Rooted in the shadows, his body tensed for action, yet he remained frozen. The chill of the night air bit at his skin, overwhelmed by a potent mix of shock and fear. Erelda's movements were fluid, a dance of shadows she had performed countless times before.

Larae's expression softened into one of profound sadness. This dance was far from the ritual she had hoped for. She stepped forward, her arms open in a final plea for peace. "Laying down your weapon doesn't mean surrendering your strength. It's a step towards healing, towards—"
"Healing?" Erelda's eyes, reflecting decades of survival and deep-seated betrayal, only narrowed further. Her voice was a venomous hiss as she rejected the offer. "You ask me to disarm, to expose my vulnerabilities to a world that preys on the weak?"

Larae reached out, her arms extending in a futile gesture of reconciliation. "Let me show you, Erelda."

For a brief, heart-stopping moment, Erelda hesitated. The shiv wavered in her grip as Larae's arms encircled her in an embrace. The warmth of the contact, the genuine affection offered without reservation, seemed to falter Erelda's resolve. Thalion felt relief. But years of survival in the ruthless courts of the Underdark could not be undone with a single kind gesture. The ingrained instincts, the deep-seated fear of betrayal, surged back. With a guttural cry that seemed to tear from the very depths of her conflicted soul, Erelda's resolve shattered. Her hands, driven by instinctual survival, tightened around the shiv, and she drove it mercilessly into Larae's back.

Thalion's instinct screamed for him to step forward, to shout, to break the dreadful tableau unfolding before him. Yet, his body betrayed him, rooted to the spot. His throat tightened, words choked off before they could emerge.

Larae's eyes widened in realization a moment too late. Collapsing into Erelda's arms, her voice barely a whisper, tinged with pain and disbelief. Erelda looked her in the eyes, her arms still encircling the dying Larae, her face a mask of anguish and regret.

Shrouded in shadows, Thalion's hands clenched involuntarily, his whole body coiled like a spring. Yet, still no movement came. His breath stalled in his lungs, his heart hammered against his ribcage. Inside, a storm raged. Yet, he stood motionless. As Larae's body crumpled, a part of Thalion crumbled with her. He had been too far, too late, too scared. At that moment, he was nothing more than a shadow, a spectator once again—unseen, ineffective, unworthy.

Erelda's eyes widened abruptly. She stared at the shiv in her hand for a split second, as if seeing it for the first time. With a sharp exhalation, she hurled the bloodied blade away. It clattered against the stones. She cast a quick, paranoid glance around, before turning to flee into the forest. Her form quickly vanished among the dense leaves and trees.

Thalion finally forced his legs to move. Each step toward Larae felt heavier than the last, his boots sinking slightly into the moist undergrowth. The silvery moonlight bathed the clearing, casting an ethereal pall over Larae, who lay crumpled against a tree. Kneeling beside her, Thalion's hands hovered hesitantly before gently cradling her head. Larae's breaths were shallow, her once vibrant eyes now clouded with pain but underscored by a steadfast resolve. Her fingers, cold and trembling, grasped at his arm with surprising strength. Thalion leaned closer, his ear near her lips, as the urgency in her eyes pierced his heart.

"Erelda... I tried..." A cough wracked her body, specks of blood staining her lips. Thalion's throat tightened, the weight of impending loss and the gravity of her revelations pressing down on him. "Erevan..." she gasped, her gaze locking onto Thalion's with a fierce intensity, as her life ebbed away, her head resting gently back against his arm. He lowered himself onto the ground, the damp grass tickling his exposed skin. The crisp night air carried the familiar scent of heartache.

Thalion lingered a moment by Larae's lifeless body. He couldn't help but let out a heavy sigh as he gazed up at the forest canopy. A plume of smoke curling into the night sky caught his attention. Distant clashes of steel and cries of panic cut through the forest's tranquillity, pulling him from his shock. Elventree. Grief had to wait—there was no time for hesitation.