Dajala Silverleaf

[Dajala Silverleaf]

The reader should consider any contradictions bearing these things in mind.
Each story is told from a deferent viewpoint and deferent people see and hear things differently. Even readily observable facts are influenced by individual perceptions and opinions. Thus a minstrel narrating a conversation with a magician would give a different account then would a thief witnessing the same conversation.

[Dajala Silverleaf]

A fresh wind carried the weather through the cloakwood ,an almost silent storm of thin clouds passing swiftly before the moon. It was midnight perhaps, or somewhat later when a moon-cast shadow broke free and came to rest on a lone figure . Dajala bowed her head as her eyes glazed over and the air around her became still and timeless.

A silent chant from a long dead language reverted though her mind . As static changes arced between the runes of her circle of protection. Her fingers grasped the amulet ,she felt the resistance of is protective spells ,pushing against her brain. Her fingers moved to pull the strands of the weave like a web unraveling .Decades of skill and learning severed her well as she channeled the strings of the weave into the spell to feed it's power. She felt the resistance of the Drows wards, but like a diver she plunged into the veil of time on the wings of a bird. Bursting the walls within the wards down like a mighty river.



She opened her minds eye to be confronted with a dimly lit octagonal room, she can feel the miles of rock above her head pressing upon her awareness like the sword of Damoclese paused to crush her into oblivion. The chamber was decorated in the Drow fashion with elaborate lines of purple faerie fire lining the walls in strange and pleasing designs, the furniture seems all to have been crafted by skilled hands to the highest standard possible.


A large round table occupied the center of the room surrounded by four high backed chairs covered in some unidentifiable smooth silken substance. Around them she sees beds, some with chains some with fastenings . At one end of the room the proud malicious figure of a Drow male squats oiling his hair, he's stripped to the waist. His back a patchwork of old scars. He seems large for his kind, she notices a small pile of equipment to one side of him. A huge curving great sword of purest silver that seems to shine with an oddly calming and wholesome radiance in this dark and malicious place, alongside it a suit of blackened plate armor lies discarded.

After the figure has spent a few moments at his work he stands and carefully hides his arms and armor beneath one of the beds. He spends some time tieing his hair back and limbering up. A movement to one side catches your eye and you turn your focus to the door, it opens smoothly and another male Drow enters, small and more slender than the other he carries about him an air of authority, he wears fine silk robes and dajala notices the amulet about his neck, she knows instinctively that the amulet she has is the very same. Slightly behind him another figure pauses in the doorway, she sees a scowl on his face, she know without needing to be told that this one is the brother of the amulet's owner.




The two brothers talk although the words seem lost to her ears and the second leaves abruptly closing the door behind him, the robed figure staring at the larger male with hunger etched into the lines of his face, he crosses the distance to him and once more words are exchanged, the large male strokes the robed figures face in a manner of affection and crosses to one of the beds. Quicker than her eyes can follow he rolls to one side and slides the sword from beneath it making one quick arcing cut into the robed male, the vision shatters and Dajala falls to her knees in sympathetic pain.
She screams out as she feels the blade slice into her body like a razor.She pulls back closing off the wards but not before the damage is done.

She is left with the bitter taste of betrayal stuck in her throat, the memories of the Drow slowly receding from her mind as the spell fades and even as she struggles to grasp the strands of what happened, they escape her. She is left wondering at the scene just witnessed. A tiny fresh stream of blood spatters the ground, spraying her books as she collapses to the forest floor in pain.

brother of the amulet's owner

Story by Jinx , edited/art by me.

[Dajala Silverleaf]

Night closes in around Dajala with a cold, malicious embrace she has scarcely felt before. Dark clouds billowing overhead in a riot of dark splendor as the light dies slowly and she shivers despite herself, there is a feeling, deep down in her subconscious that she is beening watched. The amulet is heavy in her pack. Dajala feels herself drawn to it, curiosity overriding an unshakable sense of dread. It's cold against her skin, it's detail and craftsmanship magnificent, the runes crafted with consummate skill hatred and aesthetic beauty combined to perfection in the sharply curving lines of every letter and edge. A faint scent of ash fills her nostrils and she finds herself overcome with images flashing before her eyes, visions of long dark tunnels, the sharp cut black rocks splattered with bright hot blood. Elves their faces lost to shadows duelling with blades in forgotten caverns at the foot of the world while around them the souls of dead ten thousand years old howl in hatred and anguish.

Runes on the amulet form a B in drow,with the spiders legs

Dajala turns from the unbearable horror of the escalating battle, but as she does, more fights play out, in every direction she looks scenes blood and war unfold in all their horrifying majesty. She shuts her eyes in despair and at once, everything is silent. Cautiously opening them she looks up, and in front of her is the ghostly figure of a Drow, he smiles at her and before she can so much as blink, white hot pain explodes across her body as a black sword explodes from her chest. dajala opens your mouth to scream but all she can do is choke on the blood welling in her throat. The Drow leans close to her and whispers in her ear, even as the light fades from her eyes, one last venomous whisper.

“Vengeance!”

Dajala wakes with a start and at once her breath returns in a sharp gasp, the amulet falls from her hand and overhead a faint rain has begun to fall and she hears the distant sound of thunder. A single drop of blood falls from her nose and she feels her head cloud with a dull pain. The promise of a headache.

Clutching her chest she feels the wound from the other night has reopened , blood soaks her sheets as she watches the lighting play across the heavens.





Story by Jinx , edited/art by me.

[Dajala Silverleaf]

sketchs in her book