Neverwinter Heat Ch. 04

"Knight, protect me," Venos said, looking up at the heavens as he considered what the affections of two ravenous drow females would mean for him.

"I doubt Master Larque will be with us long," Iliara chimed in, leaning on Cyra, her golden hair curled around a finger. "He came North seeking neophytes for his monastery or something near Baldur's Gate."

"I...sent word to them as soon as I met Hammer," he confessed. "I told them I had met the Chosen of the Red Knight, and would be at his side until charged otherwise."

"You did?" Hammer said, seeming uncomfortable. "How could you have known?"

"I just did," Venos said, shrugging.

"You need not stay at my side. I need no guardian."

"It is not guardianship I offer," Venos said, almost laughing at the absurd thought. "Comradery, a like mind, a means to share thoughts on the Red Knight."

Hammer seemed unconvinced. "I've had one interaction with your Lady Knight, and that was in a misty forest, naked, and then she was gone. I treasure the memory, but she has never been more than that."

"Then perhaps you need me to help open your heart to her," Venos countered, stepping forward. "You are not a wrathful, mindless barbarian, as you might have some believe. You are a thoughtful man, with wisdom you refuse to acknowledge, and a tactician. I can see it in your eyes, the gears turning, ever considering several moves ahead of the next. Why else would you have thought it wise to leave Neverwinter? You could have set down anywhere else in that metropolis, or you could have set for the South, for Waterdeep, Baldur's Gate, Elturgard, even as far as Calimport. Or the Moonshae Isles to the west.

"But no, you chose to move this way, to where?" Venos asked.

"Triboar," Hammer replied, "and then to Longsaddle. They are an eccentric people in Longsaddle, or so I have heard."

"You have heard enough, and know enough, and understand enough of the world to know that neither of those places will ever be the utopia your wife desires," Venos said.

"No, we must set down our own roots, we must build our own world around which those of like minds might flock!" Hammer declared, his fist clenched. "Longsaddle is our best option, but they are pre-existing, with their own laws and governance. If we are to live as we please, then it must be built up around us."

"You see," Venos said, grinning fanatically, hands out wide as the rest of their entourage looked on in surprise. "The Red Knight is a goddess of war, of combat, but also of strategy. She is a tactician, the Queen among such, the Lady of the Lanceboard, and what is life if not a grand game of strategy? Of weighing outcomes, and planning ahead for them?"

Hammer lacked a response. He stared at the half-elf with a blank face, his mouth slightly open as he considered the words. Then, a smile crawled across his face. A laugh began in his chest, but resonated from deep in his belly as he took Venos by the shoulder. "Thank you, Venos. I have had little interaction with you, but I look forward to a long time of these conversations."

"Where are we going, then?" Luriia asked, cradling Calafein and covering him with the silks of her Red Robe of Sune.

"To Longsaddle, first," Hammer said. "We will need craftsmen. We are going to build your temple, my wife, and a city around it."

Luriia stared at the man she had fallen so deeply in love with and stepped forward, her obsidian fingers weaving into his beard. "My husband, such a task would require coin and materials we simply do not have."

"The Long Road goes between Longsaddle and Triboar. Merchants make their way up and down that road on a daily basis, as do dwarven masons, architects, and such like. Anybody in the North with goods to sell will travel this road, and the North is rife with craftsmen, dwarven and otherwise. Trust me, my wife. Amethystra will rise, a great drow city, welcoming all, serving the world around is. Your utopia."

"I've never spoken of building a utopia," Luriia said.

"You needn't have. Your desires are clear to understand, even if you have not quite gotten there yet."

She smiled, kissed her husband, and then said, "to Longsaddle, my dearest friends."

*****

Twelve years later, Hammer and Luriia sat upon a quaint little bench, a tree with glittering leaves above them filtering moonlight through to dapple their flesh. He seemed his youthful, virile self, despite another decade and more passing since they'd first set off for Longsaddle. Luriia nuzzled up next to him, watching with him as a young, adolescent half-drow spun around, feet dashing to and fro, two gleaming steel blades extending form his arms, slicing the air with whispers of whistles.

They were both proud parents, the young half-elf proving as capable with a blade as his many tutors. Indeed, he had shown an affinity for the martial arts at such a young age, his parents had assumed that he had been touched by the deities that had come together to help forge him.

They could never understand what was happening within the half-drow warrior when he trained with weapons. Hammer, axe, sword, polearm, and missile weapons all came naturally to him, and he was as skilled as his tutors even now. Luriia wished a drow weapons master had been a part of her utopian community to assess the boy.

But Calafein would have ignored him as he had ignored his other weapons masters. He fought with the heart of Tempus, the wisdom of the Red Knight, the passion of Sune. His sole driving passion was learning the ways of the warriors he'd read about as a child, he'd learned of in his infantile dreams. Twin longswords were his favored weapons, but truly he could fight as well with any weapon he was given. The only thing Calafein desired more than mastery of war, was mastery of the emotions now blossoming in his heart.

It was only Sune that enchanted his dreams, her naked body enticing his youthful lusts. But in his waking hours, he had eyes only for the one woman that seemed so far out of reach to him that his young heart ached as much as it soared when she was around. Lirafey, priestess of Eilistraee, in her shimmering, gauzy white and silver gowns, stalked the streets of Torviirnar in the night hours, singing a mournful song to the night sky, only a long, light sword at her hip and a silver crescent moon symbol on her belt cinching her flimsy gowns at her waist.

Calafein pined for the much older woman, often taking his fantasies into his own hands, knowing that Lirafey would never be with him.

He held out hope, though, that in this place, this magical village created by his parents, that his love for Lirafey would grow strong enough to pull the priestess closer to him, and thus he spent as much time as he could, trying to get closer to her.

These evening shadow-sparring sessions were important to him, and a core of who he was, but they also afforded him a view of the beautiful, strong drow priestess as she walked the grounds around House Torviir, the conjoined building that was his home and the home of worship for Sunites that came from far and wide.

Calafein's dance ended, and he sheathed his blades in the scabbards hanging from his belt on a low-hanging limb. His shirtless body was sheathed in sweat as he walked over to his parents, who were both smiling approvingly at him.

"Well fought," Hammer said with his deep, resonating voice. Calafein smiled, bowing his head respectfully. "The gods fight within you."

"Or you inherited your father's skill," Luriia said, reaching out to touch Calafein's sweaty face. He smiled at her, his face not quite as angular or elven as his mother, but far from the solid, square features of his father.

"I have known this since I was an infant," Calafein said with a smile. His breathing was labored, but not overly so, and his hard abdomen heaved with each breath. He heard singing, and turned abruptly to see Lirafey walking through the moonlight again, her face a mask of happiness as her voice filled the air with joy.

"She has come far," Luriia said, nodding toward her.

"Aye," Hammer said. "She's not the priestess she once was."

"She's amazing," Calafein said breathlessly, his greyish-silver hair matted to his back and shoulders.

His parents looked at him, then to each other knowingly. They pulled each other close and thanked the gods for the ability to construct this fabulous utopia.