Just finished the D&D novel “Spellfire,” and it had the coolest bard, Storm Silverhand and I had to draw her! I’ll get to drawing Shandril (the main character) soon as I love her too, but Storm stood out to me and now I have to get all the books she’s in! This was drawn with pencil in my Stillman and Birn Epsilon sketchbook.
Trona Quicksilver flashback to her youth for my sub-blog @the-science-of-stories.
Headcanon for this story:
-Trona severely despises Necromancers because she dabbled in Necromancy when she lost her village in a disillusional plight to bring them back. She discovered that this magic does not return loved ones, but rather is a tool for manipulating the dead; an act she considers the highest disrespect for the deceased.
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“How many did we lose?”
“Couple dozen, ma’am. There wasn’t much left for identification.” a male voice responded.
“What about Trona?”
“In the other room, my lady.” a female voice answered.
Echoing off the stone walls of a stronghold were the voices of three figures. Two clad in armor and uniforms synonymous to the group known as the Harpers, a semi-secret organization intent on the balance between humanity and nature as well as the promotion of good and safety in Faerun. There was a burley male Dwarf and a toned female Elf.
Before the two guards stood a human woman, towering just above 6 feet with long silver hair. Her gaze was firm and demanding, but her voice was gentle yet commanding. A comforting tone that made whoever spoke to her feel cared for and protected.
She was astonishingly beautiful, her lean figure clad in leather armor with a sword on one hip and a flute on the other. Anyone who knew the Harpers would recognize her as Storm Silverhand, also known as ‘The Bard of Shadowdale’ and one of the Seven immortal Sisters who were chosen by the goddess Mystra.
“I will speak with her, secure the perimeter. No one else comes into the holding cells without my clearance.”
“Yes, my lady!” the guards said in unison with a firm salute before they trotted down the hallway to complete their orders.
For a moment Storm stood in silence, only the crackling of the torches lining the walls offering sound over her thoughts.
She raised her head and breathed deep through her nose before she stepped forward to a wooden door and pushed it open.
Immediately the sound of footsteps approached the door as she opened it and was met with the long beak of a Plague Doctor mask just inches from her own.
Inside was a high set window, a bed in the corner, papers strewn across a desk with an oil lamp as well as across the walls, an Alchemy station and the figure before Storm. It was a woman, clad in tattered Plague Doctor robes and bandages across her wrists and ankles.
“Lady Silverhand!” the woman greeted quickly in surprise, taking a step back and bowing low in apology. “I... Never expected to see you here.”
Storm watched the woman she referred to as Trona for a moment, clearly able to distinguish the fatigue and fear in the young girl’s voice despite how hard she tried to hide it. Judging by her figure, to an outsider she couldn’t have been older than 16.
“Hello, Trona. It’s good to see you, dear.” the Sister responded with a gentle smile as she shut the door before placing a tender hand on Trona’s shoulder, causing her to raise her mask and hood clad head a couple inches.
“You... Came because you heard what I had done.” Trona observed sheepishly, her ability to observe clear despite having no details on Silver’s arrival.
She was a woman renowned for her compassion for her subjects, and it was always likely she’d appear in times like this.
“Are you here to punish me?” Trona asked, more curiosity in her voice than fear.
“No I-... No, Trona.” Storm stammered, clearly nervous she was perceived as a threat by the young girl. “I am just here to get all the details and make sure you’re alright. Your outburst, from what the others said, it was unlike you. You are a young Alchemist who has always had a knack for professionalism, but according to the healer that saw to you you had something akin to a panic attack”
Trona raised her head to look her superior in the eye, but did not answer.
“Come,” Storm beckoned, slipping passed Trona as she gently took her hand and led her to the bed to sit before she took a seat across from the concealed girl in the desk chair, “Sit with me for a moment, and tell me everything you remember.”
It took Trona a moment of silence before she answered, her thoughts and memories hanging in the air like a thick smoke.
-1 Hour Earlier-
“WHERE IS HE!?” A voice yelled, a small female voice that boomed with desperation.
In the stone halls of the stronghold a small silhouette akin to a bird sped through the halls with boots thunking against the floor at a rapid pace as she ran. The clattering of armor as guards pursued not far behind her.
Her lungs burned as they struggled for air in the tight quarters of the castle, feeling as if the very stone was absorbing the oxygen out of the air. But her head buzzed with thoughts like an itch that she could not sate without answers.
Eventually she reached a barred metal door, instinct taking control of her limbs as she pushed with almost inhuman strength for her size to push the door open.
“Trona, no! Don’t go in there!” A female guard called.
But she did not listen, and within moments she had the door open and stood in awed silence as she stared at what she found inside.
Across from her, in a single chair in the center of the room, was a lone figure of a male Drow slumped over in a chair.
Then her mind went silent, a signal that she found who she was looking for.
Dashing forward with reckless abandon, Trona’s gloved hands took hold of the mans collar and began shaking him violently.
“How did you do it!? Answer me!” she demanded, her voice almost at the level of screaming as it cracked under the stress.
The Drow lifted his head, his eyes closed and jaw slack as if he were asleep. Then suddenly his eyes creaked open and stared at the Alchemist with two piercing green irises. His lips twitched with very faint gasps that almost sounded like laughter before they stretched unnaturally wide with a grim smile; his teeth cracking as they formed into sharp fangs and a feral growl rose from his throat.
Trona gasped and stumbled backwards just as the teeth snapped at where her neck had been just a moment before.
The sound of a bowstring snapped as an arrow whistled as it was loosed through the air and burrowed into the eye socket of the Drow prisoner. His head slacked forward, face frozen in a look of feral anger and shock as black blood dripped from his maw.
Trona had stumbled to the floor as the arrow flew, her hands shaking in fear as a desperate ‘No!’ escaped her mouth.
Suddenly a pair of burly and strong hands were holding her shoulders as a Dwarven male, standing at even height with Trona from where she sat.
“Trona, Trona! Look at me, gal, look at me!” he demanded, trying to quell her panic.
Small and quick gasps left Trona’s mouth beneath her covered face as her entire body shook as the Dwarf demanded her attention. Her gaze slid upwards as she saw a Half-Elf woman with a fresh arrow in her crossbow that she now had aimed at the body of the Drow.
“Say somethin’, Trona.” The Dwarf requested, his tone softer as Trona scrambled to her feet and bolted out the door. “’Ey, wait!” he called after her.
“Let her go.” the half-elf said with a sigh as she lowered her crossbow, “she’s headed right for the medical bay. She’s living over there right now, she’s bound to run into Keerla.”
The Dwarf huffed with a shake of his head as his eyes looked back to the now deceased prisoner.
“Dammit, gal...” he muttered.
-Present Time-
“That’s when I was found in the hallway by Keerla, and then... I woke up here in my quarters.” Trona finished, her hands sheepishly placed in her lap as she struggled to meet Silver’s eyes.
The human Bard nodded understandingly, her hands elegantly layered in her lap as she listened to the girl’s story.
“Keerla had to sedate you, she said you were frantic.” the immortal explained. Keerla was the Elvish healer in the stronghold that had taken Trona in as an apprentice. “What happened in there, Trona? What made you go in there knowing the danger?”
Trona was quiet again, her gaze fixed on the floor as if she’d find her answer among the floor tiles.
“He... He was a Necromancer.” Trona eventually answered, shame in her voice.
“Yes, yes he was.” Storm affirmed, prompting her to go on.
“I thought-” Trona’s voice caught in her throat as her head shot up and she forced the reply from her mind. “- I thought he could show me how! How to use it differently!”
Silverhand’s expression turned to that of sorrow, already understanding what Trona meant by the words.
Just hours ago, the Drow had launched an attack with Necrotic magic on a nearby settlement. Trona was told to remain behind due to the danger, but when they returned with the Necromancer in custody she demanded to get to speak to him. Instead she was met with the transformed, primal nature of the prisoner as she attempted to shape-shift and break out; nearly costing the Alchemist her life.
“Trona... You saw what Necromancy can do, what it is created for. It is a dark magic that consumes your very being-” Storm began.
“But that can’t be all there is!” Trona interjected, “There is a good and evil side to every magic!” she argued.
“Yes,” Storm replied, her patience as resilient as iron, “But that other side to Necromancy comes at a cost as well.”
“I-I... I had to try.” Trona whimpered, her voice wavering.
“I know, dear... I know.” Storm said in a comforting tone as she wrapped her arms around the girl, pressing her head to her chest. “I know what it’s like to lose family. When Syluné perished to that red dragon and then having seen her spirit destroyed I had many similar thoughts. Wanted to barter with Mystra to bring her back, but...” Her eyes closed for a moment, “... But I knew she was gone, and that was the way it had to be.
“Necromancy is a dangerous magic, and even the most adept cannot return a soul back to a body without severe consequence, and even then they will never be what they were. To challenge death after it has claimed a life is to risk it taking you, as well.”
For what felt like hours there was no answer from Trona, her shattered heart taking any words from her. Eventually, she seemed to have finally drifted off in Silver’s embrace and she left the girl to rest and recover from her injuries.
However, the peace did not last.
Just a few hours after the exchange, Storm arrived back in the medical wing when she was informed by an alert sent out to the guards that a book that was confiscated from the Necromancer had vanished.
What could only be intuition told Storm to find Keerla.
When she entered the potion maker’s lab she found the dark-haired Elvish woman working frantically with two Cleric’s as a bright light shined from a bed hidden by their bodies.
“What happened-?” Storm asked as she approached, panic in her voice before she stopped with a gasp as a hand shot to her mouth.
On the bed before them, laid out with eyes wide open in shock was Trona. Her white hair spilled out over her features and shoulders as her right arm rested in Keerla’s palms as the two Clerics performed a ritual that Silver recognized as Dispel Magic.
Trona’s bare arm radiated with Necrotic energy as black tendrils snaked over her skin, barely held at bay by the full force of the two Clerics.
“Lady Silverhand.” Keerla said, her voice somber.
“What happened?” The Sister asked, her voice that of a heartbroken spectator.
Keerla wore an expression of sorrow on her thin face as she turned her head to look back to her apprentice.
“She has been in this state for a few minutes now. She sneaked out of her room passed the guards and raided the confiscated materials from the attack. As soon as she grabbed the Necromancer’s spellbook some sort of spell initiated as a defense-mechanism and...” she trailed off, the condition of the young Alchemist clear as the consequences.
“L-L-Lady S-S-Silverhand...” Trona stammered as Keerla gently shushed her.
“Save your strength, Trona.” her mentor requested gingerly, but she disobeyed.
“I-I-I’m... S-S-Sorry...”
What Storm had been afraid of from the beginning had become truth. Trona had sought Necromancy after having been exposed to its power believing it would answer her prayers to bring her village back.
She had not only suffered the agony of the consequences, but the crushing reality that she had no options left to see her home returned.
I colored that Storm Silverhand sketch, because even as I’m reading the Cleric Quintet (which I’m enjoying), I still miss the amazing Storm Silverhand! I decided this bard would wear purple armor and a blue coat, because Bards are teh coolest.
Colored with Copic Markers, inked with a Deleter G-pen in my Stillman and Birn Epsilon sketchbook.
