Any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. I do not consent to this work being summarized or fed to generative AI, and anyone who does so is a big dweeb.
July is Flash Fiction Month! I’ll be sharing short short stories here through the month of July. More notes at the end of the story.
Leif had tranced badly for two nights straight. His trance state was rarely pleasant, walking through memories that he’d rather forget. Sometimes he was fortunate enough to have what he suspected his non-elven companions referred to as “dreams” — peaceful moments that should strange but beautiful things. Sometimes they even showed himself as he wished to be, not as he was.
For the past two nights, his trances had brought him back to Doerin Oloth, the Autumnal Equinox. The nightmare of Lolth invading his mind, leaving Her venom in his soul. A great honor. A blessing.
A curse.
When Leif had awoken with a gasp in the cellar of Trollskull Manner, far from the drow city Menzoberranzan, spiders were gathered around them. His wrists, his throat, clustered together on the spider brand on his neck. He didn’t dare brush them away.
On the third night, after another trance full of spiders and old rituals, the bundle appeared. It sat on the end of Leif’s cot, wrapped in a pouch of spider silk, an oversized egg sac.
The moment he touched it, the strands dissolved into darkness. Inside was a thin book, its cover woven with black silk.
Leif opened it. It was a list of spells that he had never used before, some he had never heard of. The instructions for each were precise.
They were all written in his own script.
“Nau,” Leif hissed in the drow language. He let the book drop from his hands. “Nau, nau, nau.“
She had seen him.
Lolth had so many clerics, warlocks, worshippers. Leif had thought that was enough to keep the Spider Queen’s many eyes away from him. If he lived a small life in Waterdeep, if he didn’t displease Her, if he stayed far away from anything resembling life in the Underdark…that should have been enough to make Her forget him.
But Lolth did not forget.
Leif hurled the book far from himself, trying not to retch or scream or crawl out from his skin. He wanted to do all three.
But it wouldn’t remove the filth already in his soul.
It wasn’t unusual for Leif to be up earlier than the rest of the party. He needed half as much rest as they did, and sometimes refused to trance at all. What was unusual was that he’d ventured upstairs to the first floor of the pub they owned together. Leif tried to avoid the summer light as much as he could. The kettle was boiled, museli heating on the stove, and Leif was scrubbing his hands. For the sixth time.
It made no difference.
Yahg, always an early riser, was the first in the kitchen. The half-orc’s face was always hidden behind an iron mask, the mark of his order. Leif sometimes thought he should do the same, but thought it might draw more attention to him.
“You’re up early,” Yahg remarked.
“Yes.” Leif dried his hands on a dish towel. His fingertips had gone wrinkly.
“And dressed for winter.”
It was true. Leif had given into the summer heat and neglected his usual layers of clothing, at least in the tavern. Now he was back in the cloak, gloves, and scarf that he normally wore in public. “So I am.”
“Is something wrong?”
No one had ever sincerely asked him that question until two years ago, when Leif had first left the Underdark. He still didn’t know how to answer.
But he knew that Yahg would actually care about the answer, and try to fix it. Or offer him compassion and wisdom. And, worse, he would look at Leif through the narrow slots in his mask and actually see him.
“No,” Leif said after a too-long pause.
Yahg accepted the answer, and ladled out two bowls of museli. One for himself, and one for Leif. “Eat,” the monk instructed. “Everything’s a little easier on a full stomach.”
It’s DnD night, what do you want from me? Leif is my drow warlock PC, who really did not want to be a warlock. In-game, he got Pact of the Tome when he hit level 3, which he would’ve been incredibly freaked out about. But his party members are learning that Leif is kind of like a stray cat. Try to approach him and he’ll run; it’s best to let him come to you. I had originally planned a more hopeful ending, but it didn’t flow well, so you’re stuck with drow angst.
I have two other Leif stories! One from last year’s FFM, and one from this year’s.
Overlooked Books 