[Writing] Meany's short failstories. First installment.

[Meany]

Hello blood thirsty sharks of the internet.  It is me again, the Meanyowl.  I am here to inflict this great travesty of a rough draft on you all.  It's a little snippet of a larger short story series which I hope to eventually mess together into one piece.  Pretty much everything in it is copyright to Liatai, though.  One character isn't, he's mine.  Trying to use him without permission will result in owlswooping of your facial tissues.

Enjoy.

Safe Passage:
Down the Highway, a rough draft
By Meany

   ...The southern gate of Ezzebeck closed with a dull thud which would echo down the tunnel for hours, and already Sszeyl felt the longing for the great sights of the capitol.  But the longing was pushed aside, as training demanded.  Duty before self.  He turned from the city gates and stepped quickly to catch up with the horse-drawn cart already well into the Highway.

   It was well past the twenty-third hour, and so the Southern Highway was all but abandoned, save for Sszeyl, Zairith, and a group of Duergar repairing some damage in the road.  Sszeyl had never been outside Ezzebeck, or the monastery for that matter.  Sszeyl found the outside to be...entertaining if nothing else.  For five miles Sszeyl was occupied examining the Highway, reading the maps inscribed into the cavern walls, and the signs of closed stores.  After that, however, he started stealing glances at Zairith and his cart.  Sszeyl's companion was a half-Drow, having much of the same traits as Sszeyl himself:  black skin, white hair, long and pointed ears, green eyes which would reflect as red in little light.  However, the half of Zairith that was human made him rather obviously different; his skin was a paler black, like ink that had been mixed well in water, and Zairith was taller and broader in the shoulders than Sszeyl would be when he was an adult, at the cost of several hundred years of life-expectancy.

   Half-Drow were rare at the best of times, because the borders of the Drow nation were kept secure, and there weren't many human slaves left in circulation to interbreed with.  That, and the Orgolloyss would force the free parents to treat the children resulting from it as if they were legitimate.    No one liked having their illusions of power crushed, and so most abstained from the practice.

   "Is there something you need, young Terror?"  Zairith spake, annoyed eyes glinting behind pince-nez spectacles.  Sszeyl hadn't realized he'd been staring so obviously.
   
   "Why are we heading south?  Isn't the closest gate to the surface north of Ezzebeck?"  Sszeyl wasn't sure of that, he just knew that the Girn mountains under which the Drow nation was built ended north of the capitol, while to the south they grew out to house the Dwarves as well.

   "Correct,"  Zairith confirmed.  "But we are not going to the surface immediately in the first place.  And in the second place, there's nothing worth seeing north, aside from wandering tribes of Catfolk and Halfling caravans."

   "So...we go to the Dwarf lands first?"

   "Heaven's no!  They would kill us on sight.  No, we're just going south a few week's travel, then starting east and out to the surface.  We should be in Human controlled territory before the onset of Autumn."

   "Autumn?"

   "It's one of the four seasons; Autumn is where it starts to grow colder, causing tree leaves to die, change colour and fall."

   "Tree leaves?"

   "They grow from the limbs of trees, helping the tree to catch sunlight."

   "...The Sun, I think I read about that, it's supposed to be a disk of fire which make us blind, yes?"  Zairith rubbed his forehead and sighed, giving Sszeyl the impression that his companion was losing patience with him, so he stopped talking and moved to walk behind the cart.  Zairith looked up from his expression of irritation, and looked around for the young Drow who was no longer standing next to the cart.

   "Sszeyl?  Where did you head off to?"

   "Back here."  Zairith turned to look over his shoulder for a moment, but couldn't stay in that position, the cart was still in motion, and so he had to watch the Highway.
   
   "Why are you back there?  Don't you have more questions for the upper world?"
   
   "I do, but you seemed to be straining to answer my present questions, so I thought I would give you some time to articulate an explanation without letting anger make you snap something incorrect."

   "...For someone so young, you seem very mature.  I can't tell if that's a good mark or bad on the part of the Order."

   "Some would argue both points."  Another five miles, and another bought of silence.  By now, it was approaching the sixth hour, and people were beginning to appear on the road.  Brightly coloured merchants, with laborers already working up a sweat.  Commoner children running hither and thither happily.  Sszeyl wanted to walk some more, build up his ability to walk distances, but...an elderly woman spotting him, dropping her glass of water, and fleeing made him reconsider.  Being dressed as an agent of the tyrannical government did not go well with the locals, even if one had no authority to act.

   The younger male jumped up into the cart, quickly laying down out of direct sight of the steadily growing crowd, and removed his backpack.  In a moment, he had his thick, snuggibly warm winter blanket out, and cocooned himself in it, leaving just a small area around his mouth free to breathe with.  "Good call, Sszeyl.  Drawing attention to ourselves would probably not be best.  We'll have to get you a disguise; unless you plan to stay under that blanket for the next month."
   
   Sszeyl laughed a bit, the first time in months.  It hurt, like stretching muscles that had long been asleep.  Reality soon cut it off however, as it always did.  "I don't have a lot of money on me; nine gold...and I'd like to keep them as long as I can."

   "I'll lend you some coins, then.  And once you have a wardrobe to work with, you'll pay me back by working along the Highway as we go."  That seemed fair.  "The horse is getting tired, so while you wait back there with LiNeer and guard my wares, I'll go find a stable, and a tailor."  Sszeyl gave his agreement, and listened to the sounds of Zairith changing the cart's course, felt the various turns, and slowly slipped into Trance.

   Drow Trance was not the same as Elven Trance.  While Elves dealt with profound issues in their  daily lives, growing as people each time they came out of it, Drow negotiated with their id.  A savage, selfish beast; incorrigible and demanding.  The natural harshness of the Girn mountains, and the Drow lifestyle fed the fires of the id, making it a predominant mental force in the psyche. So much that many of the older Drow, from before the time of Orgolloyss had simply given up fighting it, finding what the force wanted, and seeking it themselves.

   Sszeyl's Trance went as expected.  His id demanding that he get up and move, stop trying to subdue it so he could return home all the quicker.  This of course he outright refused, stonewalling the id until it just gave up; for the time being.  Trance ended after four hours, rejuvenating Sszeyl as it always did.  And like he always did, Sszeyl stretched out any muscles which felt tingly from inactivity, in this case, legs.

   The sound and smell of horses hit him, prompting the Drow to sit up and see that he was outside a stable, still in the cart and parked among other carts.  Zairith's magical wares were gone, and so was the evil little cat he carried with him.  But there was a pile of neatly folded clothes close to the driver's seat, which were far too small to fit Zairith,  Sszeyl discovered on inspection.  The most noticeable item was a long simple black tunic...possibly a robe, in a style Sszeyl had not seen before;  exactly thirty-three shining black buttons along the front, with two at the sleeve cuffs.  Another two were beneath it, along with a few changes of pants, and a pair of black boots. 
   
   "How chromatic," he commented, looking around for anyone coming by and quickly removing the long woolen wrap he had been previously wearing, and his sandals.  Trading them for the robe and the boots.  The robe fit surprisingly snug around his upper body, though it didn't hamper his movement beyond some stiffness.  Unfortunately, it left no room for his zai, his weapons of choice.  They would have to be placed inside his backpack, along with his wrap, sandals, and other odds and ends he'd been carrying with him in the folds.  While he was loading the backpack, he came across a torus of curious stiff white material, and lacking any knowledge of its use, simply threw it in too.

   Now that he had a disguise, Sszeyl left the cart, and wandered around, looking for some place Zairith might elect to spend the night.  A local tavern and inn proved to be the spot, with the half-Drow chatting and drinking with a group of other men in brightly coloured robes indicating a profession in the mystical arts.  Likely the half-Drow was discussing some magical mechanics Sszeyl wouldn't understand.  And he did not want to pester him, but...he remembered Zairith telling him about working the money for the tailor off, and decided he couldn't well do that without a solid figure to work with.  He strode up behind the Wizard, and tapped him on the shoulder.

   Zairith whipped around, though his compatriots continued to chat without him.  "Ah, you found the good tailor's gift.  Best he could do without your measurements.  How do they fit?"

   "Snug," Sszeyl answered.  "Before your friends finish discovering the cure for ice measles,  could you tell me what exactly these cost, so I could get to work?"  The half-Drow scrunched up his face, trying to remember through the alcohol, and finally snapped his fingers.

   "Ten gold from my reckoning.  You said you had nine right-"

   "Ten?  Ten you say?  Well, then I best be off to find myself some work.  See you in a few hours Zairith."  Sszeyl hastily cut the elder male off, surprising his compatriots out of their chat, and left the tavern at a brisk walk, leaving Zairith looking quite befuddled.

   Sszeyl had no problems finding work.  All he needed to do when asked for his skills was to lift something immensely heavy.  Like a cart, or a small horse, or on one occasion a very fat man.  Being the strongest Drow in his generation back at the monastery had its perks.  He was put to work hauling, lifting, and pulling for a merchantman, putting such a zeal into it, that he had earned half of his owed gold after ten hours.  But by then, he was tired.  Very tired, and nearly stumbled into several walls and people on his way back to the tavern.  Just as he was about to round the last corner to the tavern, however, a foot lashed out, trying to trip him.  Even fatigued as he was, pure reflex stopped him a step shy of being felled, and glaring at the owner of the leg.

   It was a Drow girl, about as old as Sszeyl, his late eighties, dressed in the rich garb of a merchant's daughter.  She glared right back, with a malicious grin, and Sszeyl grinned right back.  His was twice her size, heightened by incisor teeth and canines sharpened to fine points, and his almost bald head giving probably setting off alarm bells in her head.  She was taken aback for a moment, which gave Sszeyl just the room he needed to duck out of the way of another, much larger girl who tried to tackle him from behind. Hit the ground and roll back to his feet.  Several merchants and commoners stopped to watch, as more girls, and several meek looking boys emerged from the shadows.  The merchant's daughter stepped forward.

   "You're a new face around here, so let me be a nice girl here.  You boys have to pay a tax on all the money you make to us.  Now I saw a few coins in your hand there earlier, so hand them over and I'll let you go without setting my friend here on you."  The large girl smiled, and cracked her knuckles. 

   Sszeyl was being robbed.  He, a monk of Orgolloyss, a Terror, being robbed in the streets like he was nothing.  It infuritated him, and he took a step forward, intending to show the girl with whom she was dealing.

   

I ask just one thing, Terror, that you leave your rashness behind.

   He paused.  Sszeyl had promised to behave himself while traveling with Zairith, and getting into a street brawl...no matter how justified he would be in escalating it, was quite clearly against that deal.  Shaking in rage, the Drow boy threw down his hard-earned coins into the street before the girl, and left without looking back.

   Even so, he could practically smell  the future merchant's smirk.

-*-*-0-*-*-

   "You were surprisingly mature yet again, young Terror."  Zairith lay on the inn-provided bed, while Sszeyl practiced the Weaving the Web kata.  The half-Drow was currently dealing with a hangover, having drunk a wee bit too much.  "If you can keep this trend going, I can see us working swimmingly together."
   
   "Swimmingly?"
   
   "Ah yes, the phrase doesn't translate to Undercommon-speakers well.  It means very, very well."

   "Oh, very well.  Thanks."

   "Now, do you want to get your coins back?  And if so, how do you intend to retrieve them?"

   "I don't.  As a Terror, I have no authority to arrest, or interrogate her or her family, let alone scour a rich merchant's house for five coins out of many.  I've alerted the Highway patrols to her activity, and now she'll be directly under the gaze of Orgolloyss until she proves herself innocent."

   "Now you're starting to make me wonder if you're a coward, boy."  Sszeyl stalled in his kata, and glared at the older half-Drow, the practiced 'You are dangerously close to being stabbed' glare all monks of Orgolloyss were taught.  It at least gave the Wizard pause, seeing it from someone so young.  "...Okay, fine.  Not a coward.  You still owe me ten gold, plus another five for the inn rental."

   "...If we can move further down the Highway, I could probably find work without bothering with that girl again."  Zairith agreed to this, and Sszeyl continued to practice his forms while the Wizard slept off his alcohol, his one eyed cat guarding him fiercely from the full-blooded Drow.

   The concept of needing eight hours for sleep, a less active form of Trance, and then needing to spend another eight in front of a book to memorize magicks was alien to Sszeyl.  With two thirds of the day gone away, how did Zairith find time to do anything else?

   Somehow, the time was found to pay for the inn room, the stabling of the horse, and start off down the Highway.  Days turned into weeks, and Sszeyl worked them each to find a means to pay back the steadily mounting debt he owed to Zairith.  He tried many different odd jobs, eventually finding he could sing, paint, and cook well in addition to his natural strength.  Hard labour was still his main money-maker though.

   By the time a month had passed, and the two were approaching the end of the Southern Highway, and moving East, through long abandoned tunnels mined out by the Duergar.  It led the way to a naturally formed opening to the surface, which neither the Order, nor the nearby Dwarves had lain claim to.  However, given that dangerous animals typically roamed the border between the two nations,  like half-spider half-Drow Driders, Cave Bears, and other horrors; this wasn't entirely a surprise.

   The caves here were heavily damaged.  Cracks in the road, tunnels caved in, corpses of dead monsters, and explorers alike appearing every know and again as bones.  Zairith insisted on Sszeyl sticking with him inside the cart, and keeping his zai ready for use.

   Since there were no travelers, it fell down to hesitant conversations between the two, to pass the time.  "Say, you still have those nine gold coins you started out with?"  Zairith asked, engaging one of those discussions.

   "Yes, why?"  Sszeyl had been teasing LiNeer by poking her with the blunt handle of a sai every time she got nice and ready to sleep, annoying the cat into swatting at the weapon.

   "Well, you've worked so hard to earn money, and you refuse to part with those few coins.  It seems...well, confusing."  Sszeyl didn't immediately reply with a smart remark, which of course would set off warning bells in the Wizard's head.  "Something the matter, young Terror?"  Sszeyl kept his face completely blank, refusing to let any emotion show, to let so much as a single cell of his face betray his will.  Zairith was about to ask again, when the horse suddenly stopped moving.

   The Wizard, looking mightily confused, tried to stir it into motion again, but the mare simply snorted and refused.  Sszeyl opened his mouth to comment, when something caught the attention of his long ears.  A subtle clicking noise, and a faint hiss.  Not having time to speak, he dropped his zai, snatched up the cat and wizard by their scruffs, and hauled them out of the cart in a flash with his strength, and shoved the protesting creatures under the cart.

   "What are you doing-" Zairith started, but stopped when Sszeyl told him, in the furious hand motions of Drow Sign Language, that:  Something is hunting us, stay here and prepare a spell, while I draw it as close as I can.

   Sszeyl looked around the cave, noticing how cramped it was, compared to the spacious Highway, barely large enough for him to walk on either side of the cart.  He stood still, trying to determine where the creature was by hearing.  The echos made this difficult, if not impossible.

   

One of the most prevalent, and exploitable weaknesses you will find, is that people very rarely look directly up.

   This random line of information, learned in a lesson long forgotten, snapped Sszeyl's head up, seeing the eight-legged monstrosity of a giant cave spider a juvenile in a web, chirring peacefully to itself.  Asleep.  Sszeyl crouched down, and held his finger up, and gestured to move silently further down the cave.  Quickly, while Zairith scrambled out from under the cart, Sszeyl tried to pull the horse down the cave, by sheer force of strength if nothing else.  He'd started dragging the horse, carriage and all, when Zairith gestured wildly to stop, coming up to the horse himself.  However, when Sszeyl let go of the reigns, the horse reared up, neighing in anger, causing the spider above to twitch in alertness.

   The young Drow's vision went black when one of the horse's flailing forelegs struck him in the temple, and he went dead to the world.