Drizzt would allow himself to be shackled too, even though he could kill his captors several times over. Aunrae smiled to herself as she strode down the hall with her companions. She inspected her shackles. Aunrae had experienced punishments of the drow, in the city of Menzoberranzan, in her own house. The shackles the Vaasan Guard bound her with were pleasure bracelets in comparison but she let on nothing. They turned a corner and came to a room lit with several candles. Calipheros was there. The half-orcs slouched impatiently and there was no doubt that the Halfling was watching from somewhere.
She watched Calipheros dithering in his usual way with some officer of the town guard. He was becoming tedious. He had some poorly concealed secret and probably thought he was manipulating the company into something sinister. Aunrae chuckled. Back home he would have been on the rack within minutes of his verbal slip, getting the secret stretched out of him. Or they might have put the spider cage on his face. If he were lucky he could have spilled his plans before his face swelled shut. Aunrae sighed, despite the day’s excitement. She missed the expediency of home.
Their escort was watching them intently. She had gone quietly and proudly with the guards of the Vaasan Gate. It was obvious they feared her, so she had to show them she could not only tolerate momentary captivity but even allow them all to live afterward. She could feel the awe and adoration building in them even as she stood there… the drow that showed mercy.
Mercy! The thought of it thrilled her. She had paralyzed a surface clod in the tavern with a spell, caressed his throat with her dagger, and let him live. Aunrae wondered how many had already heard the tale, straight from the tongue of the spared.
Of course, her half-orc companions had completely obliterated the other thugs that challenged them… which diminished the grandeur of her benevolence somewhat. She had never seen a battle axe wielded to such effect. The crowded Underdark usually left little room for such a dramatic swing. A virtue of the surface world, truly. She could also see now why dwarves were so short. They loved their battle axes and needed the extra room to swing them. Stunted little fools, she thought, they probably didn’t even know that themselves.
But yes! A human had been helpless at the end of her blade and still breathed. Drizzt would have undoubtedly taken the clod’s arm off at the shoulder with one of his famous scimitars. Aunrae, though, had only whispered her name and kicked him over into the bloody, steaming entrails of his hewn companions. Oh, the novel thrill of mercy!
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