The Gallimaufry District of Rosohna, 

The Eleventh of Thunsheer, 838 PD

It was a night of celebration in the city of Rosohna. At least for most it was. Tonight was the eve of Harvest’s Rise, a time in spring to celebrate the coming crops and the foodstores they would provide in the coming months. Even more, here in the capital city of the Kryn Dynasty, home to the Bright Queen, tonight also marked a temporary end to the perpetual darkness that shrouded the sky over the drow city. 

The dunamancers, who maintained darkness for much of the month, would temporarily release the magic that blocked out the sun, allowing its cleansing light to flood the city streets and through the windows of homes and shops alike. Though many of the drow and druegar who called Rosohna home were averse to the effects of sunlight, they had, centuries ago, embraced the Luxon, the deity of light and life in the universe. Rosohna, which in the drow tongue meant “rebirth” was a surface city guided by the principles of The Luxon. It was far removed from the underdark and the influence of the Spider Queen, whom the drow of Rosohna rejected centuries ago. The followers of The Luxon would spend the coming days in worship and celebration until the dunamancers once again blanketed the city in magical darkness for weeks to come. 

Not all were celebrating the new dawn. The young woman Whisper, born Dawa Chöga, was the adopted human daughter of the drow proprietress Madam Mez’Balin and was hastily preparing to leave the city at first light. The twenty-six year old former Aurora Watch scout had found work as a sword for hire with a caravan that would be traveling nearly four hundred miles east to the outpost city of Asarius, a city more commonly known as “the city of beasts.” Asarius was reputed to be a rough and tumble city in the middle of the Xhorasian wasteland composed of hobgoblins, bugbears, orcs, gnolls, and other goblinkin. It was no place for a human, at least not in the opinion of Mez’Balin who was pleading with her daughter to change her mind.

“You could stay here, you know. This life of thrill seeking, it’s… it’s dangerous. Hasn’t eight years in the Aurora Watch been enough? You are lucky to have survived,” she begged as she motioned to the ragged scar that ran from below Whisper’s left ear and along her neck, across her throat. 

The wound was six months old, but had only now fully healed. However, it’s lasting effects would serve as a permanent reminder of how quickly death can come in the wastelands surrounding Rosohna. As a result of the near fatal wound, Whisper could no longer speak except in a quiet rasp. Her nickname may have been given as the result of her stealth and effectiveness in the shadows, but now it had new meaning. 

Whisper did not respond. She knew there was no point in arguing. She was stubborn, but so was her mother. 

Mez’Balin continued, hoping that her argument would find some way of cutting through Whisper’s adamant stance. “And you have someone who needs you here, who wants you here.”

Whisper ignored her last remark. “It’s not thrill seeking. It’s how I earn my way,” Whisper replied quietly, her voice little more than a frail rasp. “It’s what I’ve been trained for. It’s what I do best. And Neusha…” she paused, “Neusha will be fine. She will understand…” Whisper trailed off. 

Mez’Balin could see the truth in Whisper’s eyes. “Oh child, have you even told her yet?”

Whisper paused and lowered her eyes. “No. Tonight I will.” 

“Her heart will break.”

Mez’Balin was laying the guilt on as thick as any mother could. But Whisper was resolute, and would not be swayed. Rosohna had been her home since birth but it never felt like her city. In her twenty-six years Whisper had met another human only a few times, fewer times than the fingers on her hand. She had been raised by drow, and had been raised by the city streets. She’d felt the love of an adopted family. And she’d felt the cruelty of a race who looked down upon humankind as though it were a race of incessant annoyance and inconvenience, little more than a blight on the landscape of time. 

Mez’Balin was different. Perhaps it was a sense of pity for an orphaned human. Perhaps it was her own curiosity. Whatever the reason, the drow madam had nonetheless adopted the young human baby, raising her as if she were her own. However, raising a human in a city of dark elves presented more challenges than one could expect, especially given Whisper’s natural curiosity and adventurous spirit. And as the child grew, so did her curiosity. The sprightly young girl would sneak out of the house and slip away into the streets, first to chase a stray cat, then to test her ability to steal a fresh fruit, or when she summoned enough courage, to play with other drow children, children for whom their play would eventually turn to bullying against the strange human child with pale skin. 

Nevertheless, the Gallimaufry district of Rosohna was Whisper’s home. More specifically, she was raised within a few square blocks on the eastern edge of the city, boarding the Corona slums, and further out, the Ghostlands. While the Gallimaufry district was arguably the rowdiest of the districts within the city walls, the neighborhood Whisper hailed from carried an especially vibrant energy thanks to the variety of taverns, brothels, and eateries that not only drew visitors into the district, but kept them up at all hours of the night. 

Her neighborhood was a vibrant crossroads of cultures that fueled the many small businesses across the district. The main road from the outside passed through her streets creating a plethora of multicultural shops, and food stores that lined the streets and were continuously bathed in light from green and pink lanterns that flowed back and forth on wires. Amongst the crooked alleyways, and crowded streets that truly never slept there was seemingly no end to the trouble a curious young girl could find.

Complicating the issue of raising a child in such an environment was that Mez’Balin was the Madam of the Moonlight Lily, a speakeasy and brothel situated conveniently behind a butcher shop simply known as Butcher Brother’s Fine Cuts. The brothel attracted customers and clients from across the Kryn Dynasty. Situated in the midst of the Gallimaufry district, just off the main thoroughfare, it served as one of the more upscale speakeasies. On rare occasions it had even been known to entertain guests from the Dwendalian Empire who came to the city on peaceful diplomatic errands. During these visits Mez’Balin would bring young Dawa Choga, as she was then known, to entertain with song. But she hated singing and she hated being a puppet in someone else’s side show. And worst of all, Whisper hated the way the strange men would look at the women, and how they would eventually come to look at her.

What Whisper enjoyed most was the moments when she could escape her home and explore the city streets. She would creep through the shadows spying on neighbors, listening to conversations, picking up on news and local gossip. Now and again she would get caught, and with that would come a customary beating. She eventually grew so used to the beatings that they didn’t phase her. She learned to take them silently, and without tears.

Whisper had learned to fight here on these neighborhood streets. She stole and she conned, almost always for the thrill of it. Ultimately, she ran away, joining the Aurora Watch in an attempt to remove herself as far from the city as possible. At the age of sixteen she disguised herself as a boy in order to enlist and fight on the front lines against the Dwendalian Empire, mildly curious of these foreigners and the lands beyond the fabled Ashkeeper Mountains. She managed to keep her secret for years. In that time she was able to prove her aptitude with forward operations, advanced scouting, and reporting of enemy movements. She trained extensively in martial warfare, and learned how to use the shadows to her advantage. She fought fiercely with a katana and learned to study her enemies, striking when she had advantage, then disappearing into the darkness. It took the army four years before they discovered her truth about her. The young man who impressed so many officers was not a man at all. 

The revelation sparked vigorous debate amongst the drow officers, who were anything but united in their opinions. 

“We’ve never had a better, more capable forward scout.” 

“It’s an outrage. The Aurora Watch is no place for a woman, especially not a human one.”

“She’s proven her loyalty time and again. She is a patriot of both Rosohna and The Luxon.”

“Her lie reveals her deceit. Humans can never be trusted.”

In the end it was a high ranking officer who alone decided she would be allowed to continue to serve. Her talents and her training could not be wasted, he reasoned. He assigned her to a special forward scouting unit that was on strict orders to simply observe and report. In the mind of the commanding officer this was the best way to utilize Whisper’s talents while not suffering the inevitable bad publicity he would endure for having a woman killed in action.

Highly trained, this unit worked covertly to seek out threats to the city that roamed the Barbed Fields, the desolate wastelands that sat beyond the Ghostlands and the place that served as ground zero to the Calamity, an ancient war of the gods and the betrayer gods. While the war of the gods was near a millennium in the past, twisted magic still resonated across the expanse. Monstrous creatures and corrupt adventure seekers sought to harness and channel the residual magic, and perhaps even uncover magical artifacts lost in the many battles that raged. Dangerous pit fiends, gloomstalkers, and other monstrosities were not at all uncommon, and were all seen as threats to the city, and moreso, as threats to the efforts to unify the Kyrn Dynasty. 

 It was during this time that Whisper repaired her relationship with her mother, who would write her long letters of deep concern, and occasional hints of regret. Whisper was regretful as well. She realized her mother’s cruelty was a lesson. In addition to teaching her to read and write, and to represent herself with dignity as a woman first and human second, she had taught Whisper a lesson she would learn again and again. In Xhorhas, if you were human, very little else mattered. It didn’t matter what home you were raised in, what den would have your back, or even what person of power and influence you might know. If she were to find herself in certain situations, the only thing that mattered was that she was human. And she would have to learn to fight, run, or accept whatever cruel injustice was to occur. 

It would be only a few years later that Whisper would return home for good. Her unit wiped out, her life nearly lost from that vicious neck wound, and her military career over. Six months of healing and rehabilitation had passed and Whisper’s wanderlust had returned. But this time it was fueled again by that natural childlike curiosity, and without the resentment from being raised by a cruel mother.

Mez’Balin turned to Whisper with finality. “Then go if you must. I don’t like it or agree with it. You always can find ways to earn your way here in Roshona, ways that don’t include the activities within these walls. I could say a word and you’d be a senior butcher for the brothers!”

“Me? A butcher? Mother, you know me by now. This place… it’s not for me.”

“Ungh…” Mez’Balin sighed in defeat “You’re so much like your mother.” She only said this when she wanted to get a rise out of Whisper, when she felt she could dig a finger into a wound that would never heal. 

“So you’ve told me a thousand times,” Whisper ignored her remark, deflecting it with a cool tone of indifference. 

“I will pray to the Luxon for you every morning and each night,” Mez’Balin spoke softly, kissing Whisper’s forehead.

Whisper understood the drow’s worship of the Luxon even if she herself did not believe in it. In fact, she had never believed in it. The war between gods and betrayer gods felt as familiar and foriegn to her as this city. Without them the city would likely not exist, but where was the evidence of their influence or presence in a city of so much inequity, where only a few blocks away in the Corona’s the drow fought over scraps like animals? 

Whisper’s scar was indirectly the result of that very war over eight hundred years ago. And even now, though her scar was healed she suffered from sleepless nights riddled with nightmares, where again and again in an endless cycle she watched her friends, her squadmates, being slaughtered at the hands of a bloodthirsty pit fiend that craved power, feeding off whatever remnants of arcane magic still existed on the Barbed Fields. As far as she was concerned, to believe in the gods was to believe in the demise of all surface dwellers. Drow and humans alike were incapable of resisting the corruption that comes with power. Some things were better left alone.

As members of Whisper’s family gathered in excited anticipation for the release of the magical darkness surrounding the city, Whisper left her mother and retreated to her room. Neusha lay sleeping peacefully in their bed. Like Whisper, she had little interest in tonight’s celebration. Whisper watched the half-drow sleep, unaware of her presence. She was jealous of the way Neusha slept so soundly, her dreams free of the demons that plagued hers. How was she going to tell her that she needed to leave? Would she even have the strength to do so?

Whisper slipped into an evening gown, and gently slid into bed next to Neusha, softly stroking her long black hair watching her breathe. A single tear slid down her cheek. Feeling Whisper’s touch Neusha woke slightly, rolled over, and opened her eyes catching a glimpse of Whisper’s tear before it disappeared into the sheets.

Neusha knew this look and she knew what it meant. She’d seen it before. She was there when Whisper’s half-dead body was brought back to the Moonlight Lily, carried upstairs, and laid in bed, her neck torn, bloodied, and horribly stitched. She suffered through Whisper’s nightmares. She watched her fight for life for two weeks, as she relearned to eat, and to speak. And she, nor anyone else, could fully understand what compelled her to pick up the sword and go again and again into a world that cared nothing for her. It wasn’t as though Whisper lacked the intelligence to find another way to earn coin. 

Neusha looked away from Whisper and to the corner of the room where Whisper’s katana was propped up. She hated that blade so much. She thought to herself if she could just throw it away, make it disappear, that Whisper would never leave again. She knew in her heart it just wasn’t true. Some things would never change. There was a compulsion inside of Whisper that could not be denied, like an outdoor cat that only comes home for its meals before disappearing again. But like an outdoor cat, Neusha worried that one day Whisper wouldn’t return, and that there would be no reason why, and that no one would need to explain, because they would all somehow just know.  

Sleep eventually came to both Neusha and Whisper with no words spoken. They both knew what the morning would bring and there was no need to speak of it. Outside, the city streets were still alive with celebration, fireworks, and drunken revelry. Whisper knew it would be two days of non-stop debauchery for many citizens of Rosohna. For Neusha there would be no celebration, only sadness. She knew this, too. 

The morning sun had barely risen, its faint rays streamed through the bedroom window. The orange glow felt welcoming and distinct from the ever present green and pinks of the street lanterns that radiated up to their third story room. Whisper slid out of bed as Neusha slept, her bare feet touching the smooth wood floor, finding the light. 

She stood for a moment and felt the warmth of the sun on her feet. It was the thing she missed most when she was in the city. Outside the city, and outside the sphere of magical darkness, was open air, sprawling landscapes, the sun in her face, her katana on her side, and always a steady breeze. It was freedom and excitement. Even when things were quiet for days on end, the vast wilderness felt like home. Though she loved Neusha more than words could describe, Whisper knew she would lose herself and grow slowly resentful if she stayed. 

“It’s only a month and a half to Asarius and back,” Whisper reassured herself. Neusha would be okay. She would have Mez’Balin and the others. Five-hundred gold pieces would go a long way. It was a generous two years’ wages for anyone in the Gallimaufry District. It might even be enough to get them out of this city. She’d heard stories of the Menagerie Coast from various travelers. A tropical paradise on the ocean. It didn’t seem real, but if it was she was certain she would go there. Neusha and she would leave and never return. 

Whisper thought about the days to come. She had been hand selected for this job, partly because she was human and suffered no disadvantage to sunlight, unlike the drow. But also partly because she knew the job broker, a former member of the Aurora Guard who found a knack for connecting other former members with mercenary work. He didn’t owe her any favors, but he knew that she was dependable and professional, Two essential qualities for this job. 

The task was unique in that there were no monsters to kill, no espionage to carry out, or secret information to carry. It was, in fact, deceptively simple: five hundred gold pieces to escort a wagon of valuables from Rosohna to Asiarus. The journey would cross the Ghostlands, skirt the edge of the Barbed Fields, along the Vermaloc Forest, and make its way across the wasteland following the Hollowed Path to Asarius. Once there she would receive payment upon delivery. All she needed to do was to keep the goods safe, avoid bandits, and other threats. Along with the two wagons and four drivers there would be five other armed guards. They were to work under strict instruction to stop only to rest the horses, at which time they would rest, eat, and sleep.

Asarius was the furthest west Whisper had ever been. In fact, she hadn’t even ventured far into the Barbed Fields, which were said to extend over two-hundred miles from north to south. She’d barely stepped foot into the Vermaloc Wildwood. This journey was unchartered territory for her and the prospect of seeing a new country, a wild county, was as exciting as the prospect of a hefty payout. 

As Whisper looked out the window, she knew she needed to finish her preparations and depart. The caravan was to leave within two-hours. Though she had readied herself the night before, she also prided herself on being early, and looking the part. She washed her face in the water basin, pulled her long black hair into a ponytail, filed her nails, and applied some black eye liner. She wrapped her chest, before pulling over a thin shirt and her standard black jacket that bore the insignia of her old unit. She donned her customary black shorts with thigh high boots. They always seemed to garner looks, but Whisper cared less. On a long journey she wanted to be comfortable, and for a close range combat warrior, mobility was everything. She picked up her katana, drawing it half way from its sheath to hear the sound of the blade and see the glimmer of its razor sharp edge. Satisfied she clipped it to her belt, along with some potions of healing, and picked up her pack slinging it over one shoulder. 

Whisper was nothing if not silent in her movements and Neusha lay asleep. Whisper approached her, and felt a nervous ball of acid form in her stomach. She suppressed any emotion, and looked down one last time at the one person who meant more to her than any other living person. 

“You are my everything,” she mouthed silently as she bent over and gently kissed Neusha on her forehead. “I will see you soon. Dream of me every night, as I will you.” 

And with that she disappeared.