Escape From the Drow

This novella about a dysfunctional society of fictional dark elves includes descriptions of their sex habits, which are sometimes brutal, sometimes tender and often explicit. Sex is a part of any society, and is one of the themes of this story. But be warned it is not the only theme. Sex and romance are certainly present, but they do not pervade the entire narrative. This is not wall to wall sex.

So if continuous titillation is what you are looking for, I would much rather you stopped reading now, rather than reading to the end then giving a bad review because the story did not give you what it never promised.

Chapter 1 -- Jade's story

Two unpleasant sensations hit Jade's consciousness as she woke up on the cold stone floor. The first was the pain. An orchestrated symphony of pain. A melodic line of irregular shooting pains, against a steady throbbing beat of agony. But Jade was used to pain, and used to being beaten senseless. With an effort of will born from long practice, Jade put the pain from her mind to concentrate on the other repulsive stimulus clamouring to be noticed.

It was a face. Hairy and ugly, attached to a stumpy body. The body was naked from the waist up, allowing Jade to see the chest, shoulders and arms in all their furry splendour; sprouting hair like a forest of mould. She saw the vague outlines of two other stocky creatures. They were smaller and stouter than the standard human form, a great deal hairier, and had a sour body smell that was repugnant to the fastidiously clean dark elves. Dwarfs, thought Jade, and shuddered.

Unlike most of her race, Jade did not have an inbuilt loathing of all things male and hairy. Her mother had told her about the man who fathered her; a man she had spoken of with respect, and even affection. But the crass hairiness of this misshapen dwarf was too extreme. Then she realised that the dwarf was a woman, and her revulsion doubled. She suddenly had the urge to pummel this revolting creature into a sticky pulp, as she had enjoyed doing to the half-orc during her captivity. Her pain-racked muscles tensed. Her hands clenched, and a lump of vomit rose in her throat.

With another effort, and remembering her predicament, Jade relaxed her hands, swallowed her vomit and forced herself to smile. Careful, she thought. I am totally out of favour with the temple, and these creatures may be the only allies I have. If I want to stay alive, I'd better not antagonise them.

"The half-caste is awake." The hairy female dwarf spoke in the lowland tongue, the lingua franca of the overland, not her own language. As Jade's heat vision adjusted to the darkness, she realised why.

There were five creatures in the cavern. A male dwarf kept silent and motionless watch. He had a drow short sword drawn, ready to rush and skewer anything that stepped through either of the two wooden doors situated at each end. A wounded dwarf was slumped against the opposite wall, also bearing up under his pain, and no sound escaped him. Unusual for a male, thought Jade. The two other occupants were of a race Jade had never seen; human-like in stature but smaller than the dwarfs.

One of these strange half creatures spoke up, also in the overland tongue, a language Jade knew well, again thanks to her mother. "It's a drow. Kill the blond bitch and be done with it."

"No," said the hairy dwarf. "She has the dark skin and slim body of a drow, but no dark elf has that strawberry blonde hair. Her eyes are not cold and hard like the drow, but softer like ours. She has another race in her make-up, maybe less irredeemably evil than the dark elves."

"Speak lady," said the dwarf to Jade. "Who are you, and what is your lineage?"

"Help me up," Jade held up her arms. Allowing her new companions to touch her may create some sort of bond; maybe after they performed a small act of service they would be less inclined to cut her throat. Nevertheless, Jade gave a shudder as the dwarf and the halfling grasped hold of her and moved her to a sitting position against the wall.

Fortunately it was misinterpreted. "You are hurt?" asked the dwarf, looking at Jade with what appeared like concern.

"Very much so," Jade replied, "but it will pass, it always does."

The halfling examined Jade's injuries and whistled. "The temple scum have really done you over," he said. "What did you do to deserve it?"

"Long story" said Jade.

"None of us are going anywhere," replied the halfling. "We have to rest so our healer can regain her powers, then we can tend to Bill over there -- and maybe to you if we think you worth it."

Jade realised that this group of dwarfs and half men, unarmed and bound, had bested the drow guards who had dragged her to this place. She strained her eyes and could just make out a pile in one corner of the cavern, giving out the residual heat glow of the recently deceased. Jade held up her hand, the three fingers extended in the drow gesture for respect, and began her story.

"My mother was a drow warrior," she began. Then stopped. Jade's mother Trieste had led more than her fair share of raiding parties against the pit dwarfs in her youth. Her present audience may not be as appreciative of Trieste's obvious talents as her daughter.

"My mother fought the lowland settlements to the north," she said instead. "She was a ferocious fighter, one of the best. And she was also a cunning strategist. Her skills in battle gave her certain privileges. One of these was to keep her own children, and not have to hand them to the priestesses for indoctrination. Fortunately for me, or I would have been strangled at birth as a half caste."

"It appears family values are not a high priority for the drow," muttered one of the halflings.

Jade flushed. Though she had often questioned many of the norms of her culture, it irked her to hear these half-humans sneering at her race.

"Our values have served us well for over one thousand years of conquest," she said. "Our race occupies the underworld, a barren, hostile place, and we are hated by everyone. We cannot afford to get soft." The halfling had drawn a dagger, taken from the drow guard, and Jade continued in a more conciliatory tone. "Our ways may be strange to you, but things were improving as you will understand if you let me continue."

"Go on," said the halfling.

"I learned a great deal from my mother Trieste about the world outside, and especially my father, who Trieste had met on a raid. He was a warrior like my mother, hard, tough and ruthless, but with a streak of tenderness towards those weaker than himself."

Jade looked around at her audience. They were all attention now, even the injured dwarf slumped against the wall. Only the watchman in the middle of the room kept his concentration firmly on the job at hand.

Jade was pleased with the response. She knew how to keep an audience enthralled, to tell a good story. It had kept her alive during her years in slavery, and it should serve well in her present situation.

"I was still hated for being part human, and some whispered tales about my mother. That she was not a true drow, but a throwback to the overground elves, and one with an unhealthy desire for sex. Because my mother spoke of sexual encounters not with loathing or resignation, but with pleasure. Almost with the same rapture she spoke about her battles, the smell of fresh blood and the mountain of heads she piled up in her conquests.

"Add to this her obvious affair with a human, part of the hated race that took over land from us in the original separation, and you can see why my mother was not popular in certain segments of drow society. If it was not for her obvious prowess in battle, she would have been fed to the Spider long ago.

"One day after a particularly bloodthirsty ceremony at the temple, three members of the Secretariat, the elite temple guard, broke into my mother's quarters with the express purpose of removing me from this earth. My mother surprised them. The guards were in full armour with swords and shields. My mother was armed only with dagger and fists, but she dispatched two of them with slashes to the throat that spattered blood across all four walls of the room. The third she knifed in the leg but then allowed to escape, so the story could be spread -- that Trieste was not one to mess with, and her kid was out of bounds.

"As I grew up I showed an aptitude for the cross bow, rather than the sword, as well as for music, acting and story-telling. I learned to weave magic into my performances. My mother found a captive slave to teach me the bardic arts. Trieste had dreams for me that I could ride to battle as a bardic enchantress, a favoured profession that requires a great deal of skill and is rewarded accordingly." Jade neglected to mention the other lessons her mother had arranged for her. She was almost as proficient with a garotte as with a crossbow.

"My mother died five years ago when I was fourteen. She was killed in a petty skirmish, and with her died my ambitions. Without Trieste to protect me I was seized by the jealous temple guards and forced into slavery.

"The average life expectancy of a house slave in a drow household is twelve weeks, and there was no reason why my own existence would break the tradition. I was beaten unconscious regularly for minor, or no misdemeanours, and kept permanently on starvation rations. But I managed to survive through my art when a visiting priestess came to see my owner, and I contrived to sing for her. She was impressed enough to take me away and keep me as a temple entertainer, serving the Secretariat and the High Priestess.

"The life of a temple slave is marginally better than that of a house slave, especially if you keep your wits about you. The work was less onerous, I had time off to practice my music, and the beatings were less frequent and severe. As time went on, I believe the priestesses tired of cruelty, and only beat us for form's sake, or because they were bored, and not because of their blind hatred towards us. As a result, life became bearable, if not particularly pleasant, and I was able to survive through five years of slavery. As my skill at enchantments increased through secret practices, I began to think about ways to escape.

"That was until a few days ago. I was called to the temple as usual to sing and entertain during a ritual disembowelling of a prisoner. When I got there I found that the High Priestess had been deposed, and a new woman was in her place, her hand wielding the sacrificial knife. It was her predecessor who was tied to the altar.

"The old High Priestess was a cold, proud woman, but one who had seen a lot of years and had grown sated with cruelty. She liked my style of music, which was militaristic in drow fashion, but with a subtle interplay of underlying discord that whispered the futility of endless bloodshed, and a faint hope that perhaps a better world was possible.

"This new woman was young and hard. Almost as young as me, and I knew that she would disapprove. Nevertheless, I plied my lyre with as much skill as I could muster and tried as far as possible to suppress the more experimental side of my music. But art has its own will, and I found I could not play with any voice but my own. The priestess only heard the first verse of my piece before ordering me to be seized, stripped, beaten and thrown to the mines, where my remaining time would be nasty, brutish, and shorter than a house slave. And so I end up in this strange company, and the need to join my skill to yours against a dangerous common enemy".

Chapter 2 -- Maxi's story

Maxi the military commander swaggered into the operations room. The priestess acolytes made his skin crawl, and the only way he knew to cover his anxiety was exaggerated bravado. This particular acolyte was a cute 18 year old with a fine body but cruel eyes, who had come to the mine garrison after the coup, less than a week ago. She looked up from the spying ball and smiled at him. It was not a pleasant smile, and Maxi's fist tightened.

"Someone you know, I think, commander," said the girl, her voice between a whisper and a gloat. She beckoned him over. Maxi, as form demanded, touched the girl's thigh as he peered over her shoulder, concealing his revulsion. The girl, as form demanded, slapped him hard on the side of the face, concealing her pleasure. Maxi suppressed a sneer. That blow wouldn't break the skin of a half-orc baby, he thought. What spoiled brats these priestesses are.

Nevertheless, Maxi pretended to be hurt, rubbed his cheek and blubbered a bit, before re-approaching the spying ball and peering into its dark interior. He saw six figures. Three of these were dwarfs, two belonged to the strange half-humans. They were tied up and guarded by three drow warriors, armed with short swords and daggers. Then his eyes focused on the sixth, an unconscious form in the corner, and he did a double-take. It was definitely Trieste's brat. Immediately his memory went back to that fateful day seven years ago, when he was a newly promoted lieutenant, and appointed commander of the platoon of swordsmen in that memorable raid upon the northern human settlement.

It was Trieste who was leading the army. A legendary warrior by this time, second only in status to the High Priestess and her Secretariat. Clad in the tight leather armour of the drow, she made an impressive yet erotic impression on the young officer. With her marched a regiment of similarly tight clad female warriors. Archers, swordswomen, and sorcerers. They were accompanied by a platoon of priestess acolytes, who everybody knew would be reporting everything back to the senior secretariat priestess in charge of spying, one of Trieste's sworn enemies. Then there was Maxi's platoon. Stout swordsmen with thick thuggish faces and little piggy eyes, picked for their physical strength but not their stamina, and certainly not their brains.

Things went badly at first on that raid. Before the army had even made its way above ground, they were attacked by a group of rogue kobold archers with poisoned arrows. Trieste ordered her well protected swordswomen in front to charge down the main contingent, which had appeared in front of them. Maxi's men guarded the rear, and protected the drow archers and sorcerers, who fired crossbow bolts and spells at any kobolds in range.

Maxi thought at the time that Trieste had made a tactical error in exposing her lightly armoured priestesses on the flank, where most of them were picked off by kobold snipers that had split off from the main contingent and were shooting from the shadows on either side. But it did not seem to bother Trieste, who ordered a quick march out of the cavern before they had even killed all the kobolds, or gathered their own wounded. One of Trieste's company commanders grumbled at this, wanting to go back and slaughter every last kobold. Trieste's response was to slap her hard on the side of the head, and to remind her that kobolds were minor nuisances and they were supposed to be slaughtering humans.

The drow made heavy weather above the surface. With the exception of the archers, whose training included stints above ground, most were totally unfamiliar with the continuous heat and glare. They travelled at night. During the day, they burrowed as deeply as they could into any caves or holes they could find -- anything to get out of that relentless light. However, soon they came to swampy ground, where there would be no shelter at all.

Trieste ordered the army to march day and night. In terms of pure military strategy it was a wise move, as it meant as little time as possible in the glare and foetid environment of the swamp. But the order dismayed the agoraphobic warriors, and discipline, never easy to maintain at the best of times, collapsed completely.

Trieste dealt with insubordination in her usual manner; swift retribution against the ring leaders, until the others backed off. Maxi played his own part in maintaining discipline, and by the time order was restored, one man and three women lay dead in the swamp.

The forced march through the swamp lasted two days, and was hell on earth. Apart from the glare and the thirst there were the insects. Horse flies and mosquitoes that bit through even the tough hide of the drow, and gave them no peace all the time they were marching. Maxi was preoccupied with maintaining order among his men, who he noticed were less able to endure hardships than the female warriors. In spite of his best efforts, when they got out of the swamp and into hilly ground, three men had deserted by morning roll call.

Trieste was furious. Desertion is considered a worse crime than insubordination, which at least takes some guts. Since the men could not be found to be punished, Trieste vented her rage on their commander. Trieste charged at Maxi, bellowing in berserk fury, and aimed a vicious swipe with her sword -- downwards and inwards to get inside his shield and tear out his guts. The blow penetrated Maxi's shield as planned, but Maxi deflected the blow with his sword. The shield had already taken some of the force from the blow, but it was still sufficient for his sword to fly out of his hand.

Trieste looked astonished to see that her adversary was not only alive but uninjured, and this advantage of surprise gave Maxi just enough time to draw his dagger, before Trieste's second blow came down on him. This time Maxi was ready, and he positioned his shield in such a way that the sword glanced off it, and only grazed his arm, drawing blood but not cutting very deep.

Maxi had never felt such pain. He was not unused to injuries, and once had been knifed right through the arm, but none of his other injuries smarted like this light graze. It felt as if red hot pokers were being applied from inside his arm. Then Maxi remembered that as leader of an army, Trieste would have access to the deadly contact poisons brewed by the priestesses in their secret laboratories, and her blade was dripping with it.

The pain caused spots to appear in front of Maxi's eyes and he feared he would pass out. He was in no position to aim a blow with any precision, so instead he let himself fall down the slope and land in a heap at the bottom. He saw the leer on Trieste's face as she climbed down slowly, her sword above her head, waiting to inflict the final, fatal blow. The rest of the army watched impassively. A fight among their leaders was no concern of theirs; they would support whoever turned out the victor with sullen obedience but would not interfere.

Maxi let his body go limp. The pain had almost gone now, but Trieste did not seem to realise this as she suddenly lunged downward with her sword. Maxi kicked out as hard as he could, landing both feet in Trieste's unprotected crotch. Trieste fell back and grunted, but more with surprise than pain, Maxi thought.

Maxi leapt up again and faced his adversary. Dagger and shield against sword and shield. It was an uneven contest between two otherwise evenly matched warriors, which could only end one way. Trieste did not penetrate Maxi's defences with any more blows, but slowly, skilfully and inexorably wore him down with her longer reach. After an hour's combat, when Maxi could barely lift his shield, she struck. A ringing blow across his helm, that knocked him senseless. When he came to, Trieste was standing above him, her sword point above his neck. Maxi closed his eyes and silently waited for the end. When he opened them he saw that Trieste had sheathed her sword, and was holding her hand out to him, the three fingers extended.

"No man has lasted this long against me," she said as she helped Maxi up. "Especially against such odds". She promoted Maxi to second in command then ordered him to report to her that evening so they could plan the coming battle. "You fight like a woman," was her last remark as she walked off.