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Ordinarily Iliira Thought of Herself As a Rather Graceful Individual

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Ordinarily Iliira Thought of Herself As a Rather Graceful Individual Ordinarily Iliira thought of herself as a rather graceful individual, even by the standards of elves, but at the moment her every stumbling step brought agony as she ran. She was, at least, able to turn as she did so, running sidewise as she drew up her shortbow and pointed her arrow, its poison- tipped head aimed straight for the blue dragon from where he stood atop the burning building. The smoke didn’t bother the dragon, and if the flames hurt, the dragon didn’t show it. Instead it’s head swiveled around, looking for the drow elf. Eyes, she thought. I need to hit the eyes…really, any hit would likely do. Wyvern poison was nothing to laugh at, even by a dragon, surely. And Iliira had slain dragons before, as impossible a thought as that still was to her on most days. Her leather armor integrated the scales of a white dragon and a green dragon as proof. Now it was time to add blue… She paused in her run for just a moment, and loosed her arrow. The blue dragon hadn’t seen her run from cover, didn’t know, if she could just take out its eyes… The arrow flew straight, crossing the dozens of feet between her and the dragon as if in slow motion…and in the same slow motion, the dragon turned its head. Not much. Just a few inches, or what seemed like a few inches. But it was enough. The arrow missed. It sailed past the dragon, never getting close, its green-glistening head not even making contact with the dragon’s scales. Iliira was already running again, but she heard a roar and laughter and the sound of a hurricane as the dragon took to the air once more. She rounded the corner of a burning building and dropped to her side, tucking up against the building, a part that wasn’t burning, as her shaking hands grabbed another of her poisoned arrows. Iliira could do this. She could distract the dragon. She could be a target, she could draw the dragon away from the village, no one else would have to die… The dragon soared in a lazy arc around the building, and its eyes instantly locked onto Iliira’s, head turning to face her as it drew in breath and its horn sparked with electricity. Iliira let out a shout, raising her bow and trying to nock another arrow – The dragon exhaled, and very suddenly Iliira’s world was nothing but pain, imperceptibly starting in her outstretched arm holding her bow but traveling throughout her entire body. She couldn’t think, couldn’t even scream, as everything was just white-hot agony… And then the agony – most of it – was gone, and Iliira rolled and stood, and then stumbled and fell, dropping her bow. The world around her was suddenly all in gray and black, and her every movement felt at once sluggish and too quick. She felt lighter…she felt like she had no weight at all, and yet in spite of that it felt like she was trying to move through molasses. She struggled into a standing position, or started to, but the dragon was suddenly there, overhead. She hadn’t heard its approach, somehow, and it looked down at her…No, it looked past her. It looked at something else, something small and crumpled on the ground with smoke coming off it. The dragon spoke, but Iliira heard no words. It reached out and picked up the small, smoking thing… Iliira saw black skin, and white hair, and red eyes open wide in shock. She saw the thing limply drop a bow, and an arrow left behind… Iliira screamed, the only sound in this gray world, as she watched the dragon lift up her own body and fly upwards, into the sky. She stumbled and fell backwards in horror. “No!” she shrieked. “No! No! I’m not – that’s not – no! No!” YES, a voice from everywhere countered, a voice that echoed like an empty tomb. And suddenly Iliira wasn’t alone anymore. There was no magical effect, no flash of light, no sound. There was simply a brown-robed figure, wearing a silver, expressionless mask, hands folded into his robes and staring down at Iliira. Iliira knew him. Everyone in the Realms knew him. And his presence…and what she had seen…confirmed the worst. “I…I’m dead,” she choked out. YOU ARE INDEED, answered Kelemvor, the God of Death. One hand came from his robe then, stretching out towards Iliira as the god of death knelt slightly. The hand was clad in a silver gauntlet that matched his mask. TAKE MY HAND. Iliira stared at the hand, then turned away. She felt tears in her eyes as she closed them tightly…even though she knew she didn’t have eyes anymore. Not really. Or tears. Or… ALL ACROSS THE REALMS, BEINGS DIE EVEN AS YOU SIT HERE, Kelemvor said. I HAVE A DUTY TO EACH ONE. YOU ARE ALL WORTH MY TIME, BUT MY TIME WITH EACH OF YOU IS LIMITED. TAKE MY HAND, ILIIRA II’ILMERIAS. ILIIRA, DAUGHTER OF KORBIN OF ULGOTH’S BEARD. ILIIRA QUICK-STEP, HERO OF GREENEST, DRAGON-SLAYER, FAITHFUL OF LADY TYMORA THE GODDESS OF GOOD LUCK. YOU FEAR DEATH, BUT THAT FEAR IS FOR NAUGHT, NOR SHOULD YOU FEAR ME. Iliira looked out to the village. “The people here – ” THE FATE OF THOSE HERE IS NO LONGER YOUR CONCERN, FOR YOU CAN NO LONGER AFFECT THEM. YOU HAVE DIED, ILIIRA. YOUR LIFE HAS ENDED. THIS WORLD IS NO LONGER YOUR PLACE. TAKE MY HAND, AND KNOW THAT I HAVE OFFERED IT THREE TIMES. THERE WILL NOT BE A FOURTH. Iliira stared at the outstretched hand a moment more, before doing as Kelemvor asked, reaching out and taking his hand. She didn’t resist as he pulled her up, then turned around, pointing with his other hand. Before them, reality seemed to simply peel away, opening a tear in the very fabric of the universe. Then Kelemvor began striding forward, still holding Iliira’s hand. She followed him. She should have felt her heart racing, her skin crawling…but she felt none of those things as she trudged onwards, through the portal. Beyond, she found a city – a city of gray stone and simple architecture, a gray sky with no sun or moon overhead, and standing in its center a tower of transparent, dull crystal. Once she was through, Kelemvor let go of her hand, and stepped backwards. Iliira turned to look as the God of Death again folded his hands into his robes, remaining behind in the world of the living as the portal closed. Somehow, Iliira knew why: he was still needed in that town. After all, the dragon was still there. More people were going to die. The God of Death was going to be very busy there indeed. The dark elf felt her legs weaken, whatever strength they’d had giving out as she fell to her hands and knees. She realized she was sobbing, and did nothing to fight back the tears or her cries. She had failed, failed utterly and completely. Everyone in the town that lay at the foot of Xonthal’s tower was going to die. Every man and woman and child, their lives snuffed out, all because Iliira couldn’t stop the dragon, couldn’t even draw the beast away from it, give them any time at all. It was her fault – her fault – and Iliira could do nothing, nothing but stay here and wait for them to come through, one by one, and beg their forgiveness… She felt a presence beside her. Someone knelt down and put a hand on her shoulder. “There’s no use crying,” a feminine voice said. “Whatever happened, it’s over now.” “No it isn’t!” Iliira exclaimed hysterically, pounding her fist into the stone beneath her. It should have hurt, but it didn’t. The dead didn’t feel pain. “There’s…there’s a town…a dragon…all those people…” “You won’t even be able to see them,” the person beside her told Iliira, reaching down and putting a hand on one of Iliira’s own, stopping her from hitting the ground again. Iliira realized that the skin on that hand was as night-black as her own. “Tens of thousands of people die every day. The wards of the City of Judgement prevent most from ever interacting with each other in any way, unless Lord Kelemvor wills it. He doesn’t, usually. But he makes some exceptions, for neighbors, for close friends…or for family.” Iliira blinked a few times at that. She looked to her side, wanting to see who was taking such an interest in her. She found herself looking at another drow, clad in simple brown robes with a hood, though it was down at the moment. The other dark elf’s hair was thick and worn long and loose, so that her pointed ears only barely poked out from their tresses. She had a somewhat sharper nose and thinner chin than Iliira…but the eyes. The eyes were red, the same dull red with flecks of pink as Iliira’s own, and shaped just like Iliira’s own, and in all ways looked like Iliira’s. The drow looking at her smiled softly. “Hello, Iliira,” said Avaunya Ii’ilmerias, former Matron Mother of the House Ii’ilmerias, Third House of Sschindylryn. Iliira’s mother.
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