1 – 2
Deep in the hard lightless veins of the World Below, Tadgh arrives at the gates of a drow city. Thin on muscle and means and other options, and he begs for sanctuary.
The cult of Lolth is a Traitor faith, but its clerics and templars are known for never harming children. He surrenders custody of his son to the city matriarch and binds himself to the traitor goddess’s Web.
3 - 4 - 5
He learns of another human in the city.
An unlucky ratcatcher fished out of the river by men-at-arms some years prior. Married and living among the citizenry out in the labor district. A leatherworker, they say.
Tadgh considers his armor and how much he believes in pure coincidence.
4 - 5 – 6 – 7 – 8 - 9
More than a contact and a point of trust in an unfamiliar city, Tadgh finds something at Jo residence he has not had since he was a much younger man: True camaraderie.
Many times over the years he watched his wife draw a circle on the ground, and he knew that he was safe as long as he stood in it. To his family, the home of Merrick and Hwan became that magic circle.
Each time he stepped through the door he would trace his eyes along the corners of the ceiling, east-to-west, the way Clairvoya did it. Sometimes fast, at the tempo of his paranoia. Sometimes slow, as Merrick took his coat and Hwan fussed with Blithe at the door.
It was a real home, that house. A place to share laughter and meals and old stories. A place where his son could prosper when he had to leave (and he had to leave).
At times, it frightened him. That house, those people. All the trust and love he felt burning for them. There came nights on the road he would ask himself, is it Clairvoya I am chasing, or the Jos that I run from?
There comes a night he meant to leave. Another expedition, another cold trail to follow. Blithe would not remember it with any significance. Just a meal and the old familiar quiet that came over the magic house whenever he was set to depart.
They knew better than to argue in front of the boy, but the arguments had come too many and too fast in the preceding days. Too unresolved. And though he needed the strength, Tadgh could not bring himself to eat.
He tucked his son into bed and traded the usual promises. When he would return, how Blithe would accord himself while he was gone. In the morning, Blithe would remember being surprised to find his father sipping tea at the kitchen table. He would not have been awake to hear Hwan throw open the door after him, telling him not to go. He would not have seen his father stop and acquiesce.
So began the long death rattle of Tadgh’s hope that he would ever find his wife. And slowly, Lirith—a dark zealot city in the ground—became his home.
10
He watches his son grow into his daughter.
A roof over her head, a warm meal at her table every night. He watches horns come in, sees what she does with the first silver coin that comes into her hand babysitting for the fletcher.
11 – 12 - 13
He hates Clairvoya for missing it.
Hates and longs for her.
Word comes in from a man of varied trades, sign of your goddess. Not much, but something like a real opportunity.
He goes. Returns with nothing to show for his efforts but the beginning fevers of an infernal disease.
Somewhere in the phage he laughs.
I knew that woman would be the death of me...
