Drew ~ 1995 ~ Neurodivergent ♡ Art Blog ♡ Card ♡ Art Fight ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ One Romantic Ace TransMasc Individual ♡ ♡ ♡ • I love otome games and I make art sometimes • Currently obsessed with Baldur's Gate 3
It is somewhat important for the full understanding, but you can skip it if you wish, but make sure to read the content warnings.
The character is referred to as both Eshra and Eshar throughout the story.
Eshra is a Dark Urge character, but has later developed a CompanionAU. This is the said companion backstory.
Both are technically canon. The Dark Urge life variation has most of the same events, except for the involvement of Bhaal.
You can never be too careful with the WotC, so for clarification, obviously, this whole thing is only an unofficial fan writing. It’s not created for the sake of gaining any profits (not that anyone would be interested). It is all just for fun, and available completely for free on my social media accounts.
Because I am yet to read all the Forgotten Realms novels and drow related literature I’ve been planning to, the drow clan mentioned in this backstory is not one of the canon or major houses. It is purely created for the sake of Eshra’s background and to avoid clashing with the canon events of drow political history. Menzoberranzan was not chosen for this story to take place in for the same reason.
Luihaulen’tar, however, is a real Underdark city, mentioned in “The Drow of the Underdark” 2E book, but doesn’t have any written lore or location (I have searched for it deliberately to check and there was none). I felt comfortable choosing it to be Eshra's birthplace and taking liberties in descriptions because of that.
I decided to place Luihaulen'tar in Middledark. About 20-25km down, located not far away from Daggerford (For context, Daggerford is located between Waterdeep and Baldur's Gate, about 420km from the latter).
While I tried to not mention anything specific that would clash with established canons and do research before making decisions on important things, I am but a human, who is not an expert in DND. Just keep in mind to not treat this too seriously.
This is something between a summarisation and detailed story. Consider it something like a draft for an actual story. Did my best to make it palatable and not go too deep into details as to write a full blown novel here. I am well aware very few people would want to read a backstory of an original character that predates the events of BG3, when they can go read a fic about actual companions from the game. So the more expanded version that I'm writing will be kept in the vault.
I tried to crop the story, while still giving the good clues on Eshra’s personality and giving her some ties to the plot of the game. There are, however, some more or less entertaining snippets of action and dialogues added here and there.
Should also mention that I am not by any means an experienced writer, not even as a hobby (especially in english). So keep in mind that the quality of this “work” might be subpar and don’t beat me too hard for it, please, lol.
No beta either, we die like the third sons.
Warnings: Pregnancy horror; descriptions of violence, blood and gore; SA, child abuse and abuse in general; transphobia kinda (these are Lolth worshipping drow we’re talking about like c’mon)
Word count: 13500
House Noqsatt — one of the smaller clans in Luihaulen’tar — was struggling for a long time, trying to keep themselves afloat in a society that does not tolerate weakness. With each year passing their meager influence was rapidly dwindling as well as any resemblance of respect for their noble status. Noqsatt was surviving so far only via espionage and preventive sabotages. But they knew that soon enough they wouldn't be able to keep thwarting attacks from other houses anymore.
The external threats were not the only thing for the new Matron of House Noqsatt to worry about. As it is often the case for drow politics, inner conflicts were brewing just as quickly, foretelling the betrayals and backstabbings soon to come. In such a plot S'Atelsh, one of the young priestesses of Lolth, and a sister to the Matron, has sealed a pact with a long forgotten eldritch entity to obtain a weapon. A weapon with immense power. A weapon loyal only to her. A weapon that will help dethrone the current Matron Mother and bring glory to the new mistress of the House Noqsatt during her reign.
So, hidden deep within Underdark ruins, a makeshift temple was crafted by the priestess. Further desecrating the ruined structure that was there before, S’Altesh has prepared the grounds for the ritual. Blood of multiple drow men and dozens of slaves of different species has been spilled that night, soaking the ground of the old ruins, and have sealed the unholy pact that allowed the future of the House Noqsatt to be conceived. Alas, as most dealings with beings beyond mortal's comprehension go, there was an unfortunate devil in the details. Despite being instructed by the entity itself to choose a vessel for the incubation, the woman, in her pride and desire for secrecy, had chosen her own body for the task of bearing the spawn. She planned to secure unquestionable ownership of it by being its birth mother, but she had not anticipated how exactly the process would go.
Pregnancy — if one could call it that — was immediate, rapid and agonizing. Mother-to-be didn't even have a chance to step a foot outside the ritual circle, let alone leave the temple and carry her pregnancy like any other within the walls of Noqsatt. No, this was no childbearing, this was a conjuring. Surrounded by corpses of her sacrificial lambs, S’Altesh has fallen down in agony, desperately gasping for air, digging her fingers into the blood soaked soil in attempts to ground herself as her body twisted and spasmed. Her belly grew fast, unbearably fast, torturously fast. The skin of her stomach ripped with sickening tearing sounds, not being able to stretch along with the growing womb. The salt of the cold sweat stung the open wounds, it dripped off her body with every quick and shallow breath she took. She vomited once, twice, by the third it was nothing but bile. Her teeth felt loose in her mouth, gums bleeding and coating her tongue with the nauseating taste of copper. She felt the life being sapped from her body, saw how the skin sunk on her hands, bones now protruding prominently on her limbs in a sickly gaunt, full extent of which she could not see, but felt too vividly. Her head was spinning, vision blurry, heart beating rapidly; her limbs long gave out, body stressed to the extreme in feeble attempts to keep the young priestess alive. But to no avail. S’Altesh writhed helplessly on the ground, covered in blood, gore and puke. All she could do was scream — and scream she did. The shrieking sound echoed throughout the ruins for long hours of the woman's torment.
The time would be close to dawn for those on the surface, when the whaling of the tortured priestess had died down, seizing to exhausted, pained moans. The bloated torso of hers ripped again — from the inside this time. S’Altesh saw her stomach move and undulate and blood gushed out of the open wounds with each kick delivered by the creature inside her. She felt herself being scraped and teared from within, as if someone was slicing through her guts with many scalpels. But she has no strength left to react to the agony — S’Alesh just lies there, barely alive.
The second wave of agony has passed much quicker. With the last hoarse whine S’Altesh’s belly bursted open, and from the spilled guts of the young woman the ruin of the House Noqsatt was born, claiming its first kill before its first breath. The life of the woman has ended with the infant's scream. And by gods the infant was abominable: A crown of five horns grew upon its head; small beady eyes on its face, glowing with unnatural yellow in the middle of the black sclera; It had long and gangly limbs with pointed claws, surely used by the spawn to carve its way out to the world; The creature’s mouth was wide, starting at one ear and ending at the other, jaw unhinged and filled with sharp, fully grown teeth. The babe let out a bubbled screech, gargling on the blood and meat of its mother’s insides. Covered in fresh gore, screeching like an imp from the nine hells, little critter only distantly resembled a drow, with its pointy ears and gray skin.
Xysmar — a male drow and a seasoned spy — had been hiding not far away. He sat crouched at the entrance of the temple, staying out of sight, observing the bloody ritual with bated breath. Xysmar was anticipating some sort of a scheme from S'Atelsh for a long time and had been stalking her for weeks prior. He hoped to use this opportunity to get in the good graces of the new Matron. Perhaps by giving her what he discovers here or to use whatever the mentioned weapon was for himself. But he did not expect this. It wasn’t unheard of for the drow to couple with devilish beings to get strong offspring, but this was different. Even for the centuries old Xysmar it was a horrifying scene. He never heard such tormented screams for so long, not even when he tortured his captives. Hells, not even when he witnessed first hand his brother’s transformation into a drider. But as mortified as he was, the man had no intention of intervening and attempting to stop the results of the ritual — not that it was ever in his power.
When the last of the priestess’ life had left her body and the scene fell to silence, Xysmar began to approach. Slowly and carefully, trying to assess if it was safe enough to get closer to the little spawn. The babe has wriggled out of the woman’s body, but hasn't attempted to move from the spot yet. Xysmar noted the squelching sounds as he got closer. Disturbed, but not deterred, his curiosity moved him further. When he closed the distance the scene revealed to him a child — an unnerving and ugly child — far too big for a newborn. It sat near S’Altesh’s open carcass and was enthusiastically chewing on the dead priestess’ spilled innards. The man recoiled at the sight, covering his mouth. Suddenly the stench of blood and vomit became too vivid and for a moment he felt the contents of his stomach move up his esophagus, which he managed to keep inside with great effort. Still, pushing through his disgust, he stepped closer, questioning his sanity for the second time, when the child finally acknowledged his presence and turned its head to him. There was no sight of infant-ly blindness in it, and two yellow eyes bored into him with curiosity and anticipation. It was as if the babe was assessing him back. The hairs prickled on the back of the drow’s neck under such intense gaze, and he shook his head, brushing away the feeling of unease. He squatted down, one hand on the dagger at his thigh, the other — one that was already missing a finger — cautiously reaching out to the beastly thing. Fortunately, it hadn’t made any move to bite his remaining fingers off, nor did it attempt to get away from him. The child seemed perfectly content and eerily still. Coming to the conclusion that it’s safe enough, Xysmar took the red cloak off S’Altesh's dead body and picked the babe up. He wrapped it fully out of sight, not bothering to wipe the grime off the creature. Xysmar looked around one more time to scan the scene for anything else of value. His eyes stopped on a blood soaked page laying on the ground, which he picked up immediately. It was clearly ripped from a book, and in a bad state after laying on blood covered soil for so long, but he hoped something about this ritual could be deciphered from it.
With that, the drow hastily left the temple and went back to the Noqsatt territory. He has presented the infant to Mazzji — the Matron Mother of the house — along with some lies to make himself be seen in a more favourable light. To Xysmar’s surprise, when the Matron uncovered the unexpected gift, it had taken a much more recognisable shape. While still gangly and eerie to look at, with its long clawed limbs and full mouth of teeth, some of the unsettling features seemed to have receded: the horns have disappeared, replaced by a wisp of dark hair; the eyes got slightly bigger and didn’t look as beady and sunken; the mouth closed shut, only reminder of its wideness were the two barely visible lines from the corners of its lips to the ears. “Could this be why it looked so intently at me?” Xysmar thought, “Was it trying to look more like a drow?”. He then noticed that the child was a boy. The man could have sworn he found the infant to be a girl initially. He hadn't voiced that to the Matron, but she discovered it herself soon enough, when the babe, now looking at the woman, changed its shape again.
Rumours say that S'Atelsh's agonizing death was a result of Lolth’s retribution. Many believe the goddess was furious at the priestess for daring to sacrifice so many to another entity or, perhaps, for the peculiar ability of the newborn creature, that surely reminded the Spider Queen too much of the loathed Corellon.
Being born neither (or both?) male or female, Eshra — referred to only as Eshar at that time — was forced into a male body and societal role by the priestesses and the Matron of the house; and was severely punished for ever attempting to take on feminine form without permission of the Matron. Permission that never came, of course. That restriction was enforced to ensure their new pet stays obedient and subdued to their will by the sheer social status, and to not provoke fury of Lolth for the nature of the child. Surely the Spider Queen would be pleased enough, if the creature is denied the privilege of being a woman and is used to kill in the name of Lolth.
As it could be expected, Eshar’s childhood was miserable and harsh. Growing up he was a silent and strange child, he had a habit of observing others, which earned him regular beatings. He was also reprimanded for staying quiet, for wandering off, for having the gall to stare at his betters for too long, for the eavesdropping. The latter he actually did do intentionally, being quite the nosey kid, so he supposed punishments for that transgression weren't unjustified. But how else could he learn about the people around him? It's not like anyone talked to him about anything but his training, so he had to analyse the smaller details by himself. Eshar was also growing at unnatural rates and was an unnervingly fast learner, for which he was beaten yet again, to “prevent the brat from getting too ambitious with his successes” as his mistresses used to say. It confused him greatly, but Eshar never voiced any complaints, always the silent observer.
Eshar turned into a considerable threat at quite the young age, claiming his first kill at the Matron’s command at the age equivalent of a ten year old. But then again, he was no regular drow, if he ever was to be called one. Even while resembling a drow, in the eyes of his ‘kin’, he was a monstrosity. Useful, with his insane durability and regeneration abilities, but an abomination nonetheless. Eshar regularly mutilated himself amidst the battle, not only as an intimidation tactic, but to use parts of his own body against his opponents. He then promptly regenerated his injuries, brushing the pain off with terrifying ease, which made him even less of a person in the eyes of his foes or his clan. This resulted in him being vastly feared, but never accepted, not only as a woman, but as a drow in general. Only occasionally was he praised for strength and fighting abilities, but always degraded for the inferiority of his very being — Eshar was treated little better than a drider. He was less than a soldier, only a tool, a weapon, sometimes traded between different high ranking drow of the clan, but ultimately belonging to the Mother Mazzji.
Another glaring proof that Eshar was never seen as anything more than a thing to be used is that he was barely an adult — even by drow standards — when he fathered his first children. Much like drow sometimes coupled with demonic creatures for the useful offspring, Eshar was seen as somewhat of a source for creating more soldiers to be exploited. It was successful sometimes, but the results weren't as good as they hoped, because without a pact with the entity that created Eshar, his children could never compare to the raw power of their father. Eshar himself was never allowed to interact with his offspring and he never saw most of his children no was he aware of their actual number. He was, however, forced to kill some of them. Those who were deemed too abominable to even be used as sacrifices were sent to the slaughter at their father's hands. These were the only instances when Eahar had ever knowingly seen any of his descendants, which had left a feeling of an unbearably heavy weight upon his chest that he couldn't quite grasp. Sometimes Eshar wondered if there were children that were “normal” enough. He thought about how they were treated, even contemplated asking Xysmar about it, but soon brushed away the thought. It was better not to know.
For many years Eshar has served Mazzji — obedient and silent, he brought a lot of success to the House Noqsatt, stabilizing its once fragile footing among Luihaulen’tar's noble clans. Combining the House's mastery for espionage with the formidable killing force that was Eshar brought many victories to Noqsatt. It allowed them to decimate rivaling houses with relative ease, claiming their territories and slaves in a short span of time and climbing higher in the hierarchy. House Noqsatt entered its age of prosperity, and with its rising success Mazzji had come to favour her loyal pet. As much as she denied it with words — it was obvious when she started to keep Eshar close to her and didn't allow the other drow to use him as often as before.
Seemingly subdued and "aware of his place”, Eshar was doing his mistresses' bidding without question. He reveled in slaughter, getting lost in momentary freedom, away from the tight leash Matron has put on him. It also silenced the murmurs he began to hear at the back of his mind ever since he was a teen. Eshar was having some meager imitation of the feeling of liberty, when he was unleashed on rivaling houses in countless battles during power grabs. Or when made to fight for the entertainment of her betters. What his "betters" were unaware of is that his quiet obedience and stoic demeanor weren't going to last forever — Eshar was a ticking bomb. If the intended mistress was alive, he would have actually been bound to her and not capable of disobedience. Alas, with S'Atelsh's death the chain that should have ensured her creation’s subjugation was never placed. Esh was a rabid dog with no leash to yank with.
Eshar, being unaware of his origins, had no knowledge why it was so, but with the lack of pact bond he was tormented with the need of purpose. He tried seeking for answers within his own consciousness, but the whispers eluded him and he was never able to make any sense of them. He tried to find fulfillment in obedience, pushing the pestering voices down, but to no avail. As time passed, the confusion regarding his existence, frustration with being denied the other part of himself and seething, blood soaked hatred was silently brewing in the young drow. He was growing more and more restless each year.
At some point in Eshar's youth the truth was revealed to him. Xysmar, in his frustration of being underappreciated, told Esh all he knew of his conception and birth. The treachery of S’Altesh, the ritual, the gory death of Eshar's birth-mother. The younger drow realized then — nothing was holding him back. The inner restrictions and confusions he battled with all his life were superficial at best. Everything he had to endure up until this point was all the more infuriating now. Esh was conflicted, still figuring what exactly to do with the newfound knowledge. He knows now that he will have his revenge, but what will be next? Claim the rule of the House for himself? Nonsense. He would be struck down immediately by Lolth herself. As strong as he is — he's no match for an actual goddess. A simple escape would be relatively easy. He could spy on a scouting group and figure out a more discreet way out of the Luihaulen’tar. No one would be able to physically stop him, so long as he slips away from the Matron and evades Xysmar... But what's the fun in that? No, that is a coward's way out, and it would leave his kin with a chance to strategize and pursue him afterwards. Not to mention, they didn't deserve to get off the hook that easily. Eshar's soul called for blood, but he had to think this through. So Eshra bided her time, subconsciously waiting for the line to be crossed by those who deemed themselves above her to finally make a decision regarding her own fate at the right moment.
Eshra's escape was bloody and drawn out. She was doing what she did best — merciless slaughter. Starting with the Matron Mother herself, whom she caught by surprise during their coupling.
Leaning close, lips almost touching but still not quite, Mazzji’s hands roamed upon his torso. The movement of her hands made the buckles of his many belts clink softly. She whispered some words that ringed in Eshar’s ears as unintelligible noise. Backhanded praises no doubt. He had developed a habit of dissociating just enough for everything to pass like blur, but stay aware enough to catch onto actual command. His eyes moved according to the habit: count the crystals on the pattern of the ceiling; compare how many items are scattered on the floor as opposed to the last time; watch the flames of the braziers for exactly fifteen seconds; the spidersilk tapestries along the walls… The tapestries caught his gaze for longer than they should. He noticed it a fortnight ago — a single silver thread sticking out on the intricately weaved artwork. It protruded in an amusingly ugly way right under one of the spider’s lower pair of eyes; making one of them droopy and not at all as menacing as intended. It was such a small thing, but ever since it was noticed, Eshar couldn’t unsee it. No matter how many times he shifted his attention to other things in the room in the habitual order of looking — his gaze shifted right back to that thread. He wondered for how long it stuck out like that. Has anyone else noticed? Was it this way because someone ruined it, or was it always like that? Was it imperfect from the day a weaver who made it finished their work? We're there any others that he just hasn't noticed yet?
It seems Eshar was just a little more distracted than usual this evening because the Matron noticed his aloofness. She halted for a moment, before digging cruelly into his skin with her long polished nails, demanding attention. The man did not flinch nor recoil in pain, he stood still like a freshly risen flesh golem. He only had lifted his gaze to Mazzji's eyes for which immediately received a slap on the face. There was never a way to win this game she played, and it reminded Eshar of what he is supposed to do today.
Satisfied with her moment of “disciplining the unruly”, Mazzji traced her hands down. Lower now, her fingers brushed over the belts that still held the man’s weapons affixed to his sides and grabbed onto them. She harshly yanked Eshar by the hips and the blades clincked against the metal buckles — Mazzji smiled. The Matron was relatively young, her position was shaky and unstable before, but ever since her faithful slave learned how to kill in her name, she grew ever prideful with each passing day. She was so sure of her power over Eshar that it blinded her. The Matron felt no threat from her plaything, despite him being armed in such an intimate setting; this wasn't the first time. It seemed to thrill her, that he could have his weapons, his strength, but still be a slave to her every whim. She made the one mistake the Underdark does not tolerate — she let her guard down. Mazzji was choking on her own blood before she realised what happened. She stumbled clumsily and fell flat on her bottom, hitting the floor with an undignified thud as she clutched at her neck. Meanwhile, Eshar’s form shifted, getting more lean and slender, but no less imposing. Eshra stood before the choking woman now, and her blade glistened with Matron's blood. The jagged blade of Eshar’s falx has torn Mazzji’s throat out in one fell swoop, and now the abomination dared to stand before his better and look down on her while she writhed there on the floor. The treachery! The gall! With a bubbled wheeze Mazzji manages to blast a single spell, hitting the unleashed monstrosity in the shoulder. Necrotic magic sizzled on Eshra’s flesh, withering the area into a blackened patch, but that did little to hinder her. Not hesitating for a second longer, she unsheathed the second blade and slashed at Matron’s body again and again, tearing her flesh with rabid frenzy.
By the time Eshra came to, Mazzji’s body was little more than a pulp of flesh and blood on the cold stone floor: Chunks of meat were splattered in different directions along with the shards of crushed bones; Intestines and their containments mixed with the shreds of clothing created a nauseating picture that smelled even worse than it looked; The beautiful face with striking sharp features that Mazzji prided herself with was now a bloody mush. And if it was even a little more intact, Eshra would surely have ripped it off the woman's skull with her bare hands. The only thing that could identify this pile of mincemeat was the Matron's amulet, which got ripped from its chain with the very first strike Eshra delivered. She inhaled deeply, taking in the stench of blood and gore, and her form shifted back to Eshar with an exhale. He opened his eyes and took a long silent look at what had been left of the Matron. He then affixed one of his blades back to his belt and submerged his hand into the flesh pile with a wet squelching noise. Eshar kept it there for a moment, squeezing the warm chunks of meat between his fingers, before taking the hand out and smearing the blood and bits of flesh on his face with a feeling of gaping emptiness in him. Eshar got up then, and started walking, unhurriedly, with a slight buckle in his step, towards the hidden back door out of the Matron’s bedchambers. He looked at his blood-covered hand as he walked and licked it, immediately spitting after. “Rotten.” He thought, “I knew it would be rotten.”
The Slaughter of House Noqsatt began discreetly at first, but escalated fast and the number of victims was growing rapidly. Eshra knew that initiating a battle head on would be foolish. As strong as she was, the sheer numbers of her clan against her would create unbeatable odds. So she went into hiding, taking advantage of the fact that everyone was yet to notice the betrayal and begin a hunt of their own. Eshra started taking out the major chain links and bigger threats one by one to hinder her clan at the very start of her one-person rebellion. She was actively changing her form from kill to kill, and when the others finally noticed what was happening they started wasting precious time trying to figure out who exactly was attacking, as they assumed multiple infiltrators.
Xysmar entered Matron’s chambers in haste, but halted the second he saw the aftermath scene of recently occurred events. Frozen in place, he was stunned by the gory display in front of him. It wasn’t the fact that Mazzji was dead that mortified him — he had lived through an overthrow of a Matron before. It was the state of her corpse. The mangled pile of flesh and bones confirmed everything he feared to assume. He has seen this savagery before, and the situation seemed suddenly way more grim. That very moment he understood who was behind the ongoing slaughter. Xysmar needed time to prepare, to figure out how to deal with the situation. The time he did not have. He decided to slip into the shadows and bide his time, much like the day of the ritual. Perhaps he could ambush and catch the rebel by surprise. Xysmar had not survived this long by being pretty after all — he was an expert spy. Unfortunately, he had underestimated how much Eshar had learned from observing Xysmar all those years — the older drow got confronted face to face within the tunnels of the city. The rogue was stunned for the second time that day, and this fraction of a moment would have been enough time for Eshra to deal a fatal blow. But it never came. Eshar stood still before Xysmar, blocking his path. Unmoving, covered in blood and gore, his gaze was firmly affixed on the older drow, as if contemplating. Assessing him. Xysmar couldn’t help but be reminded of that ill-fated night in the ruined temple. Eshar looked at him with the same curious eyes he did that day. Xysmar knew better than to try and to fight the abomination in melee in closed quarters such as this, but perhaps this moment of inaction from the other was his chance to survive the encounter. Just a second of distraction was needed. And he got it — for a fraction of a second, Eshar's eyes shifted to the side and he tilted his head, as if listening to something. In that moment the older drow dealt a desperate blow to Esh’s head, shoving him out of the way with a force that made his body hit and bounce off the tunnel’s wall. Xysmar couldn’t help but think that it was too easy. It felt as if Eshar allowed himself to be hit, allowed himself to be moved. The man still ran. Hoping and praying that the little headstart would help him outrun the younger blood; and he failed to notice that Eshar did not pursue. Old Xysmar was not seen again for the rest of the Slaughter of Noqsatt
In her quest for retribution and freedom, Eshra had eradicated such a considerable chunk of the coan that the survivors would surely not be able to recover. Switching from stealthy assassinations to mindless frenzy, she paved her path to the surface with blood of hundreds of her so-called kin. Years and years spent in this hellhole Eshar had analysed and remembered much more than the members of the noble house ever assumed of him. Thinking him a silent dumb brute, they made a mistake of underestimating just how cunning the monster really was.
For nine days and nights Eshra had haunted her former House, fueled by the bloodlust and the maddening whispers. Stalking and ambushing, she hid within the walls and tunnels of the districts, only to spring back out at most unexpected moment and spill the blood once more. Slash. Rip. Tear. Murdering and brutalising, she made a spectacle of her cruelty. Mutilating the unfortunate prey for hours on end, cannibalising their flesh while they were still alive. Eshra instilled a primal fear into the members of her former clan with the atrocities she committed and she didn't plan to stop. Torture. Maim. Kill. The drow left them scrambling and paranoid each time she retreated back into the shadows. Left them with the fear of the unknown and the piles of gutted corpses on the streets.
Priestesses and oldest surviving daughters of the House were scrambling in attempts to gain upper hand. They lost a hefty part of their numbers in sacrifices to Lolth, praying for help that never came, after which they turned to blaming and attacking each other. Surely Lolth was angry with them for ever allowing the form changing abomination — created by another entity at that — to live and serve them in the first place. Their inner conflicts made it all the easier for Eshra to carve through their numbers, until finally, at the dawn of the tenth day, she slipped into one of many tunnels of Luihaulen’tar and left, never to be seen by the dwellers of the night city. Her former kin did not pursue. Not that day, nor the days after. Too busy gathering the pieces of their broken legacy perhaps. Or perhaps some other clan had finished the job and the house Noqsatt was decimated completely. Eshar didn’t know. Eshra didn’t care.
A vast cavernous space has presented itself to Eshra once she reached the exit of the tunnels. It was silent. So silent that it felt oppressive. But oh, it was so beautiful: The rocky walls of the underground were glowing with a dim light of the crystals growing amongst stone, illuminating the path; Purple and blue plants sprouted tall from the soil, swaying gently with the occasional gust of wind blowing from the depths of the Underdark; Various shimmering mushrooms clustered amongst them, adding more color to the light of the crystals. Alas, Eshra couldn’t fully process her surroundings. No time for sight seeing. Now that she was away from the battle and the blood was no longer pumping in a frenzy, the fatigue of multiple restless nights was catching up to her. She walked and walked, shambling forward like a risen corpse, barely looking around. Her bones ached and her muscles were spasming, wanting desperately to relax, but forced into rigidness by continuous movement. The ringing noise in her ears got louder with each step she took, overwhelming her tired mind further. The wounds scattered upon her body were closing up much slower and were still bleeding, making her lightheaded. Yet Eshra kept moving her feet — she had to go farther. Farther away from the cursed city. As far as her wretched body could be pushed to move. She did not know how long she walked, but at some point her knees finally buckled and her legs gave out. She crumpled to the ground, unconscious, just a few steps away from the mouth of a small cave.
Wilds of the Underdark were not as perilous as the miserable life in the city now left behind. Well, at least to Eshra’s taste. She was nothing if not adaptable, after all, survival was something that came easy to the escapee. It was something simple and natural, ironically enough requiring much less vigilance than it had with the dealings with her former, “civilised” kin.
Newly freed drow was curious about everything and everyone around her. The sense of wonder she had within her has surfaced with great inquisitiveness and led Eshra to many welcomed troubles. Former life consisted of “go where you're told to go, kill who you’re ordered to and come back to heel”. It left no opportunity for such frivolousness as exploration, sight seeing or, Lolth forbid, communication with other species. The latter was hard, still. Eshar hadn't left Luihaulen’tar often, so Underdark dwellers couldn’t have widely known of him and all the misdeeds committed by his hands. No one could have recognized him, especially now, with the changed form, but the resemblance of the drow was enough for most to steer clear. Eshra did not blame them for it — it seemed fair to her. Doesn’t mean she ever left the targets of her curiosity alone, of course, but she understood the hatred, and treated it as an obstacle to overcome rather than rejection. A limitation that makes a game more interesting.
She was used to figuring people out. It was a skill vital to any drow who wished to live more than a century among their kin. She found long ago that silence and lack of judgment was a sure way to make people say much more than they intended to let you know, whether with words or subtle changes in body language. It was a honed tactic and it helped find ways to weasel her way into people’s trust. A touch manipulative, perhaps, but it worked well and let her make many interesting acquaintances. The only person to elude Eshra was, ironically, the very first person she met after the escape. It was a mage woman named Rivis.
The Green Witch — as they called her — lived in a small cave, hidden behind the blackened current of the waterfall. Eshra had formed somewhat of a companionship with the eccentric woman, despite their first meeting being, mildly put, awkward. The witch's face was the very first thing Eshra saw once she regained consciousness, and the second thing was a sharp object in the said witch’s hand. The drow found herself affixed to a table, surrounded by multitudes of strange objects: jars with questionable contents and overfilled potion bottles; dried vegetation hanging in bunches on the walls and from the ceiling; bits and pieces chopped from various creatures were scattered around, dirtying the shelves, countertops and the stone floor of the small abode. Not a very suitable environment for an unexpected surgery, or any other kind of surgery for that matter.
To this day Eshra is still unsure if the witch was merely helping her with the injuries or was preparing her for dissection. Rivis never confirmed nor denied either assumption, but she did seem just a tad disappointed to see the drow wake up that day, so Eshra suspected the latter one to be the case.
They had a short altercation, and even though the odds were on the green woman’s side with Eshra being in no shape to fight, the witch was first to extend an olive branch. They eventually came to a truce and, although begrudgingly, Rivis allowed the drow to reside within her hut for a few favours in exchange. Some favors more questionable than others. Eshra learned much about magic, curses, hexes and hags from the woman, but could never fully grasp her as a person. Esh felt like Rivis knew far more about the drow’s nature than she let on, but the witch refused to give her any direct explanations, insisting that she must find answers for herself by herself.
Despite the obvious distance Rivis kept from the drow, Eshra considered the time she spent with the green witch to be quite lovely. And although Esh still felt that she hadn't figured out the mage entirely, she could not live there much longer. She still felt restless when staying in one place. Eshra longed to move on and see what else her freedom had to offer. She struggled deeply to accept herself even now, freed from the oppression of her former life. With all the pent up loathing the drow had for the way she was suppressed in one form, she failed to notice that it was happening again, by her own hand this time. She resented her masculine form — it felt like a symbol of her humiliation and life under the heel of the Matron Mother. It kept Eshra in a state of anxiety she could not figure out yet. It took much time during her adventures to come to peace with herself and accept her other half. The main catalyst for it were the Giltaxe siblings — Hazel and Pete.
A human, a dwarf, and a half-elf. The unfortunate adventurers were being attacked by a drow scouting party on their way deeper into Underdark’s depths. Outnumbered in an unfamiliar territory, they were in considerable disadvantage. The fight was going on for a few minutes yet, but the group seemed to buckle already. Eshra was contemplating whether she should intervene. They were certainly none of her concern, but should she really pass on an opportunity to spill some drow blood? She was resting on the high branch of an old tree when the current events unfolded. And now she is thinking about her next move. Eshra decided to let them have an opportunity to try and overcome the foul odds and come victorious by themselves. She observed them with curiosity: The human man seemed to be the muscle of the group — clad in shiny golden armor — he seemed to be taking on the role of both a shield and a sword, while the half-elf provided support. But Esh was most intrigued by the dwarf. The short figure scuttled on the battlefield with surprising agility. She jumped around gracefully, effectively keeping constant distance from the enemy to be able to deal the shots with her bow. Their small team fought with great synergy, but the odds still did not look good. It was obvious that the wanderers were tired before the fight began. Most likely they already had some encounters and were planning to put up a camp to rest. Their strength was running dry quickly. Eshra decided to jump into action when the dwarf girl got hit once again. A thunderwave from an enemy mage had launched her a few meters away. With a heavy thud her body had hit the trunk of the tree Eshra was hiding in.
The girl groaned and rubbed the back of her head. The sound of rustling leaves made her look up and she saw another drow above her, hiding among the branches. Dumbfounded for but a second, the dwarf scrambled to grab her bow and was stunned again when the dark elf above winked at her, before jumping down. With a sly smile Eshra leaped into the heat of the battle, swinging her falx sword mid dive. The jagged blade embedded itself in the neck of the drow mage, and with a quick sawing motion Eshra ripped it out, along with a chunk of his flesh. Before the head of the man could hit the ground, she was already moving on to her next target — the pair pinning down the human. They were forcing him to stay in place with his shield up, preventing him from moving to his companions’ aid. With a heavy kick Eshra shoved one of the opponents from the paladin, immediately slashing at the staggering elf. That allowed the man to thwart the other attacker with a swing of his shield and finally get back into the attacking position. The battle had picked up the pace, now that there was an additional fighter at the scene. The group made quick work of the remaining drow, leaving only Eshra standing before the adventurers.
Unlike her companions, Hazel was thrilled to meet a “friendly” drow. She excitedly introduced herself and her comrades — Lyon Lionclaw and Delilah Orsoth. And — after receiving Eshra’s name — without a hint of hesitation, had asked the drow to help them find her brother. It wasn’t often Eshra was in a stupor, but the immediate friendliness left her in a state of momentary surprise. A pleasant surprise, however. Even the untrusting grimaces on the faces of Hazel’s comrades couldn’t sour the moment for her. She agreed.
Calling Hazel talkative would be an understatement. The stocky dwarf was chattering Eshra’s ear off with great enthusiasm, completely ignoring the worried looks her friends gave her or their tag-along. It was refreshing. Even when acquainted, people tended to still be on the edge around Eshra. Usually she had to maneuver the conversation with carefulness, to catch the interlocutor on subtle demeanor shifts to get the truthful information from them. But the dwarf was an open book. Eshra didn’t sense any unease from her, it seemed she was completely unfazed by the drow. Esh liked that.
Hazel talked about her adventures, about the surface, but for the most part she talked about her brother. Pete, Eshra had learned, had ventured into the Underdark two weeks prior, and, apparently, just disappeared. With all the fondness the dwarf had for her sibling one could think the man was a saint. Esh noticed Hazel’s comrades rolling their eyes in pretend annoyance each time she spoke of Pete, but the drow enjoyed listening. Genuine connection like that was an unfamiliar concept, and she felt a strange sense of longing every time Hazel told her stories. She was excited to meet Pete.
Eshra had been traveling with the group for a week, helping them navigate the treacherous terrain and steer clear of the dangers. But tensions were rising. Lyon had clearly taken a dislike of the drow and was very loud in voicing his displeasure. It also didn’t help that Eshra had taken to calling him Lion in a tongue-in-the-cheek manner. She was actually fond of the man herself. He was disciplined, ambitious, bold and a formidable warrior. She did find his strifefulness for fairness and justice to be naive, but admired his conviction to his beliefs. Eshra even asked him about his oath and tenants, but alas, the man was as cold as the breath of a white dragon. So much for the follower of the sun god. More than once she had caught Lyon staring daggers into her, but like it always happened, the subtle shifts in the way of speaking gave away everything which direct words didn’t. His issue with Esh seemed to be more personal. The dislike was not just a simple hate for the drow race — there was something deeper. The paladin seemed to have sensed something in her. Perhaps something she herself hadn’t quite grasped yet. It was intriguing. And as much as the man seemed to loathe her, he now had the drow’s attention on him. She planned to figure him out sooner or later, and perhaps gain some answers for herself.
After ten days more, the party was close to finally figuring out Pete’s location as they moved deeper and into the Middledark. Eshra’s thoughts turned grim. If the man was lost in the depths where most of the drow cities were located — it was a high possibility that Hazel’s brother was captured by the drow or the slave traders. Or the drow slave traders. “Most likely dead” Eshra thought, but decided to keep it to herself. Even if that was the case, they could still find those who abducted him. Revenge is always an option if things go poorly, after all.
The party managed to track down and ambush a group of drow raiders. Eshra had interrogated the surviving captives, killing them afterwards. She learned about all the instances of new slaves acquired for the past month: some were kept in the city, some sacrificed, some traded. The scouts could not tell to which category Pete belonged. Someone had to infiltrate the city to find Hazel’s brother, or at least some clues on what happened to him. No matter how much Lyon protested — entering the city in a group, a non-drow group at that, was a death sentence. Eshra had to go in alone.
Some time had passed since the drow left and the party was growing anxious. Lyon more so than the others. His companions shared his restlessness, but Delilah kept insisting that their disadvantage was too severe. They had to trust Eshra to come back to them either with Pete or the news of his fate — Lion had no such trust in her. On the second night, the paladin waited for everyone to fall asleep and followed Eshra’s path into the city.
Making use of her past life’s skills, Eshra kept to the dark and maneuvered from alleyway to alleyway, blending with the shadows, keeping out of sight. She had to find the slave pits, or the quarters of the drow who oversees them to find documents with the information. She wasn’t familiar with this metropolis and it took her longer than she planned to find the right person. The very first night she almost got caught and had to kill the witness. And it must have been someone of importance, because the guards patrolling the streets became more vigilant after that night, further hindering her search. But despite the mishaps, she managed to finally find the man — Zaefar. Eshra stalked the red headed drow for half the day, enduring the slave master’s unbearably boring routines and petty schemes the drow plotted when he thought no one was watching. Finally, by the end of the midday, Esh followed him into the dungeons, where she ambushed the man the moment he unlocked the door to his office. She dragged Zaefar’s bleeding body inside, while he was still gasping for his last breaths. Eshra took his keys and locked the door again. Finally, a momentary respite from caution — she can snoop around in peace. Scrupulous hands riffled through the paperwork, searching for a journal, a list, anything that mentions captives. Yellow eyes caught several entries that corresponded with the time Pete went missing, but no detailed descriptions. Admittedly, it was naive of Esh to hope there would be anything but the numbers, races and purposes mentioned. At least there weren’t any of the short folk written in for sacrifices. Small mercies. But there were notes about transfers and slave trade. She had to go into the pits and see if Pete was there, and if not, search for any captives who could narrow down the search for the city the boy could’ve been sold to. Esh took the journal and the maps, and was about to leave when she heard a knock.
The guards were standing just outside the office. She shifted into Eshar to better emulate the speech of the man she killed and called out in a scratchy voice,
“What is it? I am awfully busy without your interruptions” Eshar dragged the slaver’s body to the wall with the mirror and looked at his reflection — an idea.
“An intruder was caught,” a voice called back. Falx blade carved a chunk of flesh from the corpse. “Human. Most likely the one who killed Gisax last night.” Jaw moves with force, biting once, twice. The piece of meat slips down, coating his throat with the taste of iron. “Was snooping around the temple. Got rabid once we surrounded him.” Hands hastily put the slaver’s robes onto the new body. “Put up quite a fight before we got him with a sleep poison arrow.” The mirror was now reflecting Zaefar’s face.
“What does he look like?” The door swung open, almost hitting the guard in the face. Eshar then closed it promptly, not letting them catch a glimpse of the dead body, and locked it.
The other two drow glanced at each other with slight confusion. Showing interest in appearances of the captives was not something Zaefar did, it seems.
“Looked young. Yellow hair, eyes. Golden armor. Had a sigil of Lathander on it.” The older soldier described, patting himself on the chest plate, demonstrating the exact location. “Doesn’t seem to understand drowic.”
‘Lion’ Esh thought, ‘Why would he be here? Did the little one and the half-elf also follow?’
If they did — they weren’t caught yet. Still, now there was a paladin in need of rescue. Troublesome, but the path led to the cells of slave pits all the same.
The walk to the cells was far too long for Eshar’s patience. He felt moisture appearing on his skin, droplets sliding down his face that he wiped off time to time. He knew he wouldn't be able to hold this disguise for long — it was already melting. He needed to be rid of the other drow before the time was up.
They reached the cell that held Lyon and Eshar finally dismissed the soldiers, claiming that he wanted to interrogate the prisoner himself.
“Whatever you hope to gain by torturing me — forget about it.” Ever the proud one, Lion immediatly stood up with a defiant look. “You won’t be able to keep me caged for long either. I promise you that, under-elf.”
Zaefar’s visage melted like wax, sliding down the drow’s face in ugly raindrop shaped globes of flesh. Eshar dug his hands into the mess, squeezing and pushing the mass about his head as he started to mold it. A gasp was heard from the cell. Esh couldn’t see the paladin’s face, but imagined the man had the familiar look of disgust on it. He opened his eyes once the flesh was out of the field of vision, and yes, indeed, Lion had the most offended grimace uglying his otherwise handsome features. Well, handsome, if you ignore the many bruises and gashes that currently were also doing little to flatter the man’s appearance.
Eshar looked him up and down: Lion was stripped of his weapons and shining armor. Much less regal-looking now, left only in his simple white shirt and brown breeches. There was also a peculiar collar clasped around his neck. Sussur shackles?
“Didn’t think I’d see you out of full plate in this kind of circumstances.” Esh ignored the man's previous words, still kneading his own face like a lump of dough, “Amusing.”
“What in the nine hells are you?” Lion sneered, voice lined with disdain.
“Patience, feline.” The hands finally finished sculpting the flesh, forming Eshar’s features after which he reverted to Eshra. “Is this face more recognizable?" She flashed a sardonic smile to which the paladin let out a long and tired groan.
“Morninglord– So it will be torture after all.”
Eshra rolled her eyes at that and looked around. Not many people, but hopefully someone will know something.
“Why did you follow me?” She muttered before she could stop herself.
She couldn’t help but be irritated by another instance of Lion’s suspiciousness towards her. Any other day she would have found it amusing, but this time he was endangering both of them. Hazel and Delilah too, if they followed in after him. Eshra hoped Delilah deterred the dwarf from doing so, she did seem to be the more sensible one of the trio.
“Why?” Lion barked, quickly getting more agitated. “Because Hazel should not rely on some unholy, bloodthirsty, fiendish creature to go in alone and trust that it will bring her brother back.” He got closer then, hands now grasping the bars of his cell.
Fiendish, huh? Eshra supposed it made sense, given the circumstances of her birth. But the human's distrust was getting out of hand, regardless.
“Refusing to have any faith in a fiendish creature, I understand,” Yellow eyes met the pair of amber, challenging. “But the half-elf your friend, is she not? Surely you trust her divinations. Delilah warned it will turn out badly if you are to go in with me.”
“She said it’s a bad idea for all of us to go in. Only I followed you.” The man mumbled halfheartedly. His fierceness was dying down, and he averted his gaze.
“Hm…”
Heavy silence fell between them. Lion shifted uncomfortably, eyes darting from the papers in Esh’s hand back to the ground, then to the wall, to the ceiling, back to the papers. There was resignation in his posture now. He knows he made himself a liability and was frustrated with himself, Eshra figured. It's just easier for him to lash out on her instead of admitting that he made a mistake.
“I'm not letting you out—”
“Of course you won’t.” Lion interrupted with renewed agitation, “Will tell Hazel that the guards killed me before you could help it, huh?”
“Yet.” She finishes. “Won't let you out yet. It will be less complicated to seek the information without a loud zealot breathing down the neck. And the lion is not exactly useful without his claws and fangs, yes?” Eshra pocketed the keys. “You shall see your freedom again once I find the boy and get your armor. Stay put this time.”
Pete was not there. Esh found out from one of the slaves that the only person resembling the description was recently taken away to Orlytlar along with a few others. Bad news. Such bad news. Eshra had been to the Black Jewel and she knew what kind of dealings occurred there. Hazel and her companions needed to make haste if they wished to see the boy intact and not sorted in the bags.
Getting out of the city was a disaster. Not only Hazel and Delilah had followed in after their companion; said companion was hellbent on freeing the slaves. Eshra argued that their objective is to save Pete and any additional tag-along will be a burden, especially since their new destination is Orlytlar. “Can't save them all.” She said, “Can't save any in this case. Not if the little one wishes to get to her brother before something horrible befalls him.”
While Hazel and Delilah were conflicted about the choice, Lyon butted heads with the drow on this matter with great fervor. Going against her advice once again, the paladin had freed as many as he could.
Unfortunately, in their escape the party was not able to properly defend the captives Lion let out. In the ruckus they all were either recaptured or killed. The group of four had left the city with no additional survivors, and it led to a rift within the adventuring group and deeper resentment from Lion towards Eshra. Just as Delilah predicted — it went terribly once they all went into the city.
The road to the Black Jewel was difficult. Despite the fact that Eshra was familiar with the path, it was still very well hidden and located in quite the treacherous terrain, harder to get in from the depths than from the surface. Once they reached the city, Lyon had to be left behind. A princely paladin, all shiny and golden, would stick out like a sore thumb in the den of crime, not that he would be allowed in at all. Delilah decided to stay behind along with Lionclaw.
Hazel and Eshra scouted through the districts of the vast market. Well, Eshra scouted, Hazel followed, as the drow warned to not wander off too far from her side. The dwarf was getting more anxious with the grim sightings and shady dealings going on around. No doubt her hope was dwindling with each unsuccessful search. But eventually they have found Pete in Eldoir, as where the drow have assumed him to be.
The boy was alive, if a bit worse for wear — very clearly beaten down and scruffed all around. He was being sold as a “song bird”. The seller claimed that Pete is a remarkably talented bard with great magic potential. And too cowardly to put up any fight with an owner — what a deal they’d get! Esh had to calm her shorter friend from doing anything rash, after which she bargained Pete’s freedom in exchange for favour, the favour being an assassination of a rivaling merchant. Hazel was conflicted about this, but her tall friend argued that no one in Orlytlar was anyone she should bleed her heart for. She wasn’t comforted by that, but had no other choice but to allow Eshra to “pay” for her brother’s freedom. The drow bid Hazel to stay with the trader and make sure Pete won't be sold to anyone while she's away.
Eshra came back to a missing dwarf. The merchant informed her that Hazel had chased after a man carrying a caged pixie. Slightly irritated, Esh passed a bag with a proof of finished job to the trader and practically dragged panicked Pete by the ridiculous scarf he wore.
“Ple-please m-ma'm, please, slow down, ma'am! I can barely keep up!” mewled the redhead, interrupting Eshra's flow of thoughts.
She stopped abruptly, suddenly realising that the object of her long-lasting curiosity was right there, failing to keep up with her strides, stumbling and tripping over his own feet as she dragged him like a sack of potatoes. She released her grip, making him stumble again and catch himself awkwardly. Eshra lifted an eyebrow, looking at the stammering boy with curiosity. He spoke quickly, with occasional stutter, clearly trying to muster out all his very convincing arguments before he could be interrupted. Despite the sense of urgency tapping its foot somewhere at the back of her mind, Esh took a second to actually assess Hazel's brother. He looked soft for a dwarf: Full head of fluffy short red hair with a streak of creme-white at the left side of his face; Pale pink eyes that moved around frantically as he spoke, never for a second meeting Eshra’s gaze; Round freckled face with few bruises on it, but no beard in sight, just a slight visible fuzz; A scarf with a plaid pattern hung from his neck and he wore a dull red shirt with a green sleeveless jacket over it. His trembling hands were clutching a flute like his life depended on it, and for a second the drow was sure he'd snap it in half.
“Please ma'am, whatever you paid for me, I promise I'm not worth it!”
Eshra blinked in surprise and then snorted in a short chortle. In her frustration with the search for Hazel she completely neglected to inform Pete that she was no slave owner and had come here with his sister.
“Please, if you could just return me back— M-my sist—”
“I have paid for you with another man's life. How do you suppose I should return what I spent?” Eshra couldn't help but be a tad cruel in her teasing. The boy was squirming under her gaze so deliciously and it urged her to poke and prod at him, akin to a cat toying with the captured mouse. He squeaked like one too. “Should one more person die then, as a repayment, so the little one could be a thing for sale again?”
Pete's eyes widened and his breath hitched. The drow had crouched before him yet still was taller. Her yellow eyes bore into him — unblinking, gauging his reaction. And the redhead couldn't muster out anything coherent, only letting out awkward noises in his panic. So skittish one could take him for a gnome. “A mouse indeed.” Esh thought, amused.
“Calm yourself. ‘Twas a jest.” She decided to finally grant some mercy to the trembling man. “I am here with your sister, and she is who we are searching for now.”
“Hazel with– With a drow?” Pete’s voice sounded unsure and anxious. He had a hard time believing the tall figure, but was hesitant to challenge, fearing the violence that could possibly follow. Eshra noticed that, but did nothing to reassure. She was ever so curious if his affection for his sister would overcome the cowardice. Delightfully, it did.
“Hazel is adventurous, but she would not have come here without our friends — you are not one of them!” Pete puffed out his chest in a show of feign bravery. The smile on Eshra’s face grew wider — it was so entertaining! Courageous little mouse. Perhaps Hazel was justified in her boastery regarding her brother. Hazel. They were getting off track. No time to play any more, they needed to move. She grabbed Pete again — by the wrist this time — and dragged him with her. They could speak whilst walking.
Eshra had silenced her urge for further teasing in favour of actually explaining the situation. Pete was still wary of her, but seemed to believe her at least a little bit more than before. Once he found out why Hazel went off by herself, instead of waiting for her companion, Pete jumped to self blaming. The pixie was a friend he made during his capture and, in the moment when he was able to talk with his sister, he mentioned to Hazel that they got separated at some point. Hazel must have run after the man to free the pixie. These rescue games are starting to get tiresome…
The newly formed duo had found Hazel some time after, caught in a magic trap and with no pixie in sight. The dwarf relayed that the mage she was pursuing for the pixie had trapped her and escaped. Eshra suggested reuniting with the rest of the party and going after the wizard. She didn't want her adventure with this group to end just yet.
The party went back to Delilah and Lyon. With the help of the half-elf, they managed to track down the mage, who they have discovered to be Thayan wizard. They went through the hideout full of hidden dangers and even got caught in a banishment trap, locking them away in a dimension none of them could recognize. It took them almost two days to get out. In the end they have freed a number of feywild creatures from the laboratory, but most importantly the pixie named Tilly Tilly Twinkle. The wizard himself, however, had managed to escape, abandoning his hideout and the magic artifacts inside.
Tilly decided to stay at Pete’s side as she got attached to the man during their shared imprisonment in Orlytlar. That pleased Lyon most of all, perhaps even more than it did Pete, because the pixie also did not like Eshra and the paladin found comradery in shared distaste for the drow. Said distaste, however, has subsided just a little, Eshra noticed. She caught Lion biting his tongue in some moments when he clearly wanted to voice some sort of remark towards her. Curious. Eshra wondered what had transpired between Delilah and him to make the zealot’s hatred just a tad quieter.
Despite accomplishing their rescue mission, there was still a long way to get back to the surface. In their pursuit for the wizard, the party had moved quite the distance from the Black Jewel and had to find another way out of the Underdark (not that Eshra was aware of the path through the Orlytlar anyway). Hazel suggested they just go to the same entrance they used to get in.
The party moved again through the depths, relying on Eshra to steer them clear of the dangers. It took them longer to travel back as the path was not without more mishaps and detours. They encountered their fair share of obstacles on the way out, and Eshra had surprisingly bonded with Pete on the basis of them both not getting along with their supposed kin.
“You seem troubled” Pete sat down before the campfire and next to the drow — little pixie left behind, sleeping on the folded scarf.
“And you are awake.” Eshra responded with a second of pause. “Why? ‘Tis not the Mouse’s turn for the watch.”
“Ah— Well, just one of those sleepless nights, you know...”
They sat in each other’s presence; the silence interrupted only by the sounds of the insects and the crackling of the firewood. It was somewhat serene at first, but quickly began to feel eerie, as the drow simply refused to make any movements. Eshra was motionless, watching the flames; Pete could not even catch her blink. He shifted in place, fidgeting with the hem of his tunic anxiously — it was unnerving how still Esh was. The bard was used to the endless chatter of his sister, while he was the one bestowed with the role of the quiet and introverted. The drow spoke very little in general, he noticed, opting to listen to what others talk about and only occasionally putting in a few words of her own. At some point Pete realized that no one knows anything of substance about Eshra; except that she had left her home and had no intention of going back. Meanwhile it felt like the drow had figured out everything about them all, down to the skeletons in each of their respective closets. There was something weirdly comforting in her presence, it was alarming how easy it was to stop paying attention to those scrutinizing eyes of hers and lower your guard. On multiple occasions Pete caught himself saying way too much to her. She had a knack for making people forget themselves and give out much more than they intended. The bard did not believe himself to have the same talent. He didn’t know how to start a conversation with the drow, let alone try and make her open up to him. But it wouldn’t hurt to try, right? He just had to muster up some courage—
“If the Mouse puffs his cheeks any larger — they are sure to burst.” Pete jumped in place, startled by Eshra's voice. “Are you certain it is not you who is troubled?”
“Well… Maybe I am.” He shrugs, not really knowing how to explain that it is she who troubles him without sounding rude.
“Mm.” The drow was still looking at the flames.
“It's just— Well… You looked a tad bothered after that last fight we had with those drow. But you didn't say anything. It made me realize you don't talk much…” Pete's voice was growing softer and more unsure with each word he spoke.
“If it is the worry about my feelings for the felled scouts — rest easy; I do not have any kinship with any of them.”
“But would you want to?” Eshra finally turned her head to him, raising an eyebrow, waiting for the man to elaborate. “I just mean— You know... Everyone wants to belong somewhere, right?”
“Ah. That was why the Mouse went on his little adventure in the depths, yes?” She asked in turn, making Pete look to the side awkwardly.
“Hazel told you, huh…” He scratched the back of his neck with a resigned chortle. “It's true, I suppose, I wanted to prove myself— L-like in a fable, you know? The hero is insignificant at first, but then he goes on an adventure and does something meaningful. And then everyone wants to be his friend— It's stupid. And I am stupid for trying.” The bard huffed, suddenly ashamed of what he said he felt his ears burn with embarrassment. All this childish nonsense — no wonder the clan mocks him.
“I assumed the others were your friends, no? They have come here to your rescue.” There was a hint of genuine confusion in the drow’s voice.
“They're Hazel's friends.” Pete shrugged dismissively with a hint of resentment in his voice. “And they would not even know who I am if it wasn't for her.”
“You are quite harsh. It doesn't suit your soft stature, I think.” Eshra huffs, turning back to the flames.
“If I was actually harsh I would have fit in with Giltaxes just fine.”
“Hazel is strong, capable and brave.” Pete retorted, “I am a failure and a craven. Quite obvious differences.”
“Hmm… You feel like an outsider then?”
“I suppose…” He mumbled, uncomfortable, “But hey. Y-you’re out here too. Feeling out of place, even though you are a drow.” Pete tried to joke. Whether it would lighten the mood or make her angry, he wanted to shift this conversation off of him onto her.
“Am I?” Eshra cocked her head to the side, like a curious bird. She caught her companion off guard again.
“A— Aren't you? I mean… You're not? I just thought— You never said a-anything when—” The redhead was dumbstruck and his words became jumbled. His cheeks burned with embarrassment at the realization that he might have assessed Eshra completely wrong. “S—so you're not?”
Yellow eyes bore into Pete's pink ones with piercing emptiness, and he wished the woman was looking at anything else but him. The bard could not read in her gaze if she was serious or not, offended or not. It drove him insane with anxiety, making his palms clammy with sweat. But just as the nerves got close to making him run, she finally looked away without gracing him with an answer.
Another period of silence stretched between them and now the bard was completely lost. It was all confusing and frustrating, and he felt like yelling. Somehow Eshra managed to lure out the most unsavoury sides of his personality without even saying all that much. Is that how Lyon feels all the time? He sure fights a lot with her.
Pete stayed seated near her anyway, huffing and puffing with frustration, but refusing to go away to his sleeping bag. He wiped his palms on his breeches and hugged his knees to his chest with a tired sigh. The bard did not expect her to speak to him any more — maybe he’ll have better luck next time…
“I know not what I am.” Eshra made him flinch from surprise yet again. The red head of his whipped to her immediately, and Pete saw her still looking at the fire. No, through the fire. She seemed deep in thought and her voice sounded ghost-ly. It was as if she was speaking to the void, without expecting an answer. The bard waited for her to continue, frozen in place, barely daring to take a breath, lest he shatter the fragile moment. But she did not elaborate, and he took it as an invitation to take a step of his own.
“You left to find yourself, then?” Pete tried to nudge her to continue, voice lined with both caution and curiosity.
“Perhaps. Although my affliction is not of the spirit. Not entirely.” She spoke slowly, as if thinking over each word before uttering it, “‘Tis not easy to explain, I suppose.”
“But it wouldn't hurt to try, right?” Pete sheepishly scooted a little closer, readying himself for a possible long story. “Whole night is ahead and all that.”
“My watch is not for the whole night.”
“R-right. Well, still, there’s some time. You know what I meant!” He exclaimed louder than intended, struck with sudden excitement. Embarrassed with the outburst, the bard immediately covered his mouth with both hands.
Eshra chuckled at that. A low and pleasant sound Pete heard often from Eshra in response to Lyon’s remarks. It sounded not at all as insidious as it felt to him before.
“Very well. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt. To try, that is.”
It took longer than a month for the party to finally reach the surface. They were pursued by the drow from the city they had rushed through just before moving to Orlytlar; and attacked many times. Eshra suspected that some of the pursuers may have been after her head specifically. Suspicions that were confirmed once she was seen by the attackers in the form of Eshar. Besides that and the regular dangers of the Underdark, they also at some point had to deal with a cursed item Tilly had stolen from the wizard’s lair. It turned the pixie into a hostile abomination, which led the group onto yet another detour to the Green Witch and then to chase for a cure for Tilly. Dealt with the local creatures and on one occasion disrupted some old when they were resting, waking up quite a few skeletons.
The group went through a lot for what was supposed to be a quick rescue mission, but they have found the exit of the treacherous depths at last.
The party had split up soon after they reached Daggerford. Lyon left first — somber and quiet, he ventured forth without saying anything to his companions. The Giltaxe siblings went their own way as well. And, although they have invited Eshra to come with them and stay in Daggerford for a while, the drow didn't feel very welcome in the broad daylight of the city of surface dwellers. Not to mention, she did not really want to stay in one place. Eshra left them soon after they showed her around and said their goodbyes. She joined Delilah and had chaperoned her to Berdusk, where the mage rejoined some Harpers. The drow enjoyed the secretive bunch and their secrets, but the feeling was not mutual. She could not stay with mage for long anyway, so the drow soon slipped away from the half-elf as well.
Starting a new life on her own on the surface was no easy feat, but surprisingly not as tremendously difficult as she expected, for Eshra is nothing if not adaptable. For all the unnerving and unsettling features of hers, the drow was quite charismatic, when given the freedom to actually speak. And — even with the feeling of unease when near her — no one without divine senses could pinpoint what exactly could be “wrong” with her.
Soon Eshra found herself as an independent mercenary, a soldier for hire, a precise hitman. Any job that got her hands dirty in a familiar way, but on her own terms. She made many connections with people of different levels of shadyness over the years spent on the surface. Some she could even call friends.
Alas, few things were plaguing Eshra’s mind for ages still. She resented her male form for a long time after gaining her freedom, associating it with the past and humiliating submission. It took her decades of self discovery and inner turmoil during her adventures to come to peace with her halves. She realised that suppressing her masculine form was just the same restriction as the one placed upon her during the years in Underdark. It is still hard for the drow to come to peace with herself fully, but at the very least she did not hesitate to change her form. She did not treat it as something humiliating.
But there also were other thoughts. Haunting thoughts that were even less easy to thwart, no matter how many years have passed. From time to time, Eshar’s mind goes back to the days of the slaughter. It kept him awake some nights. While the drow knows he couldn’t have possibly killed all of the former clan members, he did not know how many of his own offspring have fallen during the massacre. How many of those who shared his blood had fallen at his hands. Eshar hoped none. Eshra wished all.
***
Eshra was returning for a short break from Delimbiyr Vale when the mindflayer ship took her. The dangers of the savage frontier was calling to her ever since she heard of the secrets and ancient ruins hidden deep in the Shining Valley. She vent and came back many a times; some times alone, some times accompanied by temporary companions. The drow vent there for the relics she could sell to the Zhentarim, or on a mission from some interested merchant who's too scared to risk his own hide. But those were secondary reasons. Just something to gain some coin to survive. The main objective for her travels were the mysteries and the secrets she could discover. Perhaps she could even find something about the entity that had created her. The possibilities were intriguing. Eshra ventured deeper and deeper each time — she hadn't found anything to explain her existence yet, but it had never deterred her.
The drow was setting up a resting spot in the High Forest. Her venture to the Laughing Hollow was quite exhausting. She did not come out unscathed, but Eshra was thrilled to go back again another time. But now a different, a most intriguing journey was ahead of her — the ruins of Karse. The city had been overgrown a long time ago, and probably was already explored countless times by the daring adventures, but you could never know what you might notice where someone else was careless. Eshra was ready to slip into her sleeping bag and get a much needed rest when the sky ripped open and the nautiloid ship emerged from the clouds. The drow could only take a few hasty steps towards the thicket of the tall trees before a tentacle struck at her and everything went dark.
Notes:
I am much grateful, if you have reached this far. Thank you for reading all of this. Please feel free to ask questions if you have any after reading, I would be delighted to answer!
Now I want to divulge some details that have to do with the Baldur’s Gate 3 itself.
As you might have noticed. It is obvious that Eshra is somewhat of a high level character in her background. Before you beat my ass for making her “too op”, remember that companions in BG3 basically got nerfed by the tadpole.
It is implied that most of them were high level before the abduction.
Evidently, the banter between Wyll and Gale:
Wyll: Was a time I tussled with hill giants without breaking a sweat.
Wyll: Now, a mere werebear could swat me halfway to Amn.
Gale: Strange things are happening to us. What festers in our minds may well impel our bodies.
Fun Facts
Eshra is neutral evil during this story and chaotic neutral during the events of Baldur's Gate 3
Esha is a rogue/barbarian in her backstory. After going through some adventures, inspired by Lyon and Pete, she changes to paladin/bard.
Eshra wishes she could see Evereska one day, but is very much aware how unwelcome she'd be there.
Eshra's main inspirations were Morticia Addams (Addams Family 1991), Jaquen H'gar (aSoIaF/GoT), Havik (MK1); Her cannibalistic side is inspired by the elves of DoS2
Eshra has situs inversus (internal organs are mirrored)
AS A DARK URGE
DU Eshra has the same background up until her escape to Underdark.
The difference is that the entity with whom S'Altesh had forged the pact in this case is Bhaal.
The God indulged her fully intending on causing havoc when Eshra grows up, perhaps even taking over the city and turning it into his murder cult.
Esh was conceived either some time before the Time of Troubles or during/after the events of BG2. Will not confirm specific age yet but she could be anywhere around 130-160, and was called upon by Bhaal when the triad of gods started scheming again.
In DU version it is Skeletaris who tells Eshra of her origins and urges her to “come back home”, the Slaughter of Noqsatt being somewhat of an initiation trial, by which she proved worthy to be his Chosen.
Regarding the backstory
All the places and side characters mentioned are a way to connect Eshra to BG3.
As a result, Eshra has knowledge on hags and fey, drow, some cults, Underdark, Zentarim, black markets, and has connections to mercenaries.
Mentioned side characters also have potential to appear in the game, if Eshra was a companion.
Namely Pete would 100% have been in Baldur’s Gate, helping the refugees and would give the player one of Eshra's old falx swords, If she's in the party. He would also ask the party to help Hazel, who is investigating the rising rate of people who went missing in the city and disappeared herself.
Lyon, now one of the esteemed lords and champions of his homeland, would’ve been mentioned investigating the strange behaviour of the nobility and the steel watch.
(I thought of him being in the Mountain Pass area, but considering the player can destroy the monastery, decided against that. Eshra would have a few comments on the monastery and Lathander tho.)
Delilah the party could meet in act 2, where she reads the player's fortune (mechanically giving an advantage in some rolls until the long rest). Then she will move to act 3 and will have a magic shop, not far away from Lorroakan. She will help you against him if you go to her after meeting the wizard.
The entity that created Eshra would have also played a role in her companion storyline and potentially helping the party on their quest.
I know BG3 has your focus, but I gotta ask: How is the candy squad doing? What are they up to?
Funny you asked - they actually had a redesign long time ago as a part of my "redesign old OCs" venture. But I never really had an opportunity to post them lol. They also have a more coherent lore, but still needs some work.
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