Chapter Text
Being on the run became natural to Xalena over the years. As the product of a union that was forsaken by Lolth herself, she and her parents always were running. Up until the point where they couldn’t anymore and home became wherever she went. She had a home for a time, with them. Those friends she had saved Faerun with from the Mind Flayers.
If those friends could see her now, how ashamed they would be. Because there she was, on the brink of death, magic drained, strength sapped from the poison she was forced to consume, and worst of all, captured by flesh traders. The hero of Faerun, captured by the scum of the earth.
When she traveled with her companions, she was always the careful one. The one who made sure everyone was rested and that they had an ear to listen to when they needed it. Traveling alone though, she never looked out for herself. Over the years, she couldn’t come to care what would happen to her.
Xalena was a strong Druid. Hells, maybe one of the strongest of her generation. Alas, even the strongest Druids needed to rest. She had eliminated an entire Mind Flayer colony by herself today not far from Baldur’s Gate of all places. In the past two years, there was some resurgence in small Mind Flayer colonies across Faerun. They've been diminishing in numbers across the continent thanks to her vow to root them out. As strong as she was, taking on five adult Mind Flayers and their minions by her lonesome was no easy feat to accomplish.
She was so exhausted and drained that a team of ten flesh traders easily took her out while she was trying to sleep. As horrible as they were, she didn’t realize how crafty they could be with capturing their victims. They first injected her with some potion to eliminate all her magical abilities and paralyze her. Her weapons were the next to go along with anything useful she could throw at them.
When they tied and gagged her, they found out how valuable their prey was, the hero of Faerun, the savior of Baldur's Gate. Xalena was unfortunately a very recognizable half-elf. When the bards sing heroic ballads of her pale blue icy skin, red and blue heterochromatic eyes, and two-toned gray hair, Xalena’s identity was hard to conceal. Which was one of the many reasons going to the city was avoided at all costs.
And that wasn't even to mention a certain bloodthirsty politician who she couldn’t bear to see again.
It’s been thirty years since they defeated the Elder Brain and he hasn’t left her mind. It was hard not to when that connection between them initially created by the tadpoles somehow still lingered between her friends. Making use of that connection would be useful right now, but it wasn’t a power she could control. She only got to see occasional flashes of their lives or strong emotions. She had no idea how much they all saw of her life or how often.
As much as some help would be useful right now, she knew nobody would come for her. Her companions were either separated by too much distance or held too much contempt for her.
The flesh traders that captured her were too occupied to pay any attention to her when she regained some semblance of consciousness. Based on all the noises of twisted merriment and the smell of alcohol she gathered they were celebrating their most recent catch. Until now it seemed.
“Can’t we break her in before she gets sold off?” Xalena had just enough awareness to hear the flesh trader’s vile words. “We can just heal her when we’re done. I want to know just how sweet the hero of Faerun’s screams are when I ruin her.”
“It’s your neck you're risking if you do any permanent damage. The boss won’t want damaged goods, especially this one.”
This is how she dies. At the hands of a horrid human man who finds some twisted pleasure in all of this. She wished she could tear him apart and shred him until he was nothing but bloody ribbons. It would be so easy given any other circumstance. Who knows how many innocent beings have fallen into their hands. How many lives they’ve ruined. But she could do nothing as one of the flesh traders sauntered over to her.
“So so pretty. I thought the bards over-exaggerated, but perhaps that’s not the case.” The human unsheathed his dagger and dragged it across her neck. It felt numb against her skin, a small mercy perhaps. “Looks like someone else has marked your pretty neck already, what a shame.”
He was referring to the bite mark on her neck that was left by him. Despite everything that happened she couldn’t bring herself to get rid of it and she didn’t want to think about why.
“Fuck you!” Xalena tried to say but the words came out muffled and unintimidating.
Her struggle and anger seemed to amuse the man as he laughed. “No matter. You may be someone else’s leftovers but you'll still bleed just the same.”
She felt the warmth of her blood but not the cut he made at the side of her neck by her scar. It was followed by a swift punch to the gut and a hand around her throat. Xalena’s eyes started to water and it made him laugh even more. The pain she was trying to ignore came rushing back again. It was hard to hold on anymore. She wasn’t needed anywhere or by anybody. Wanted the death gods she had come to hate to claim her soul already.
“Oi! What was that noise?!”
The hand around her throat disappeared and she could breathe again. Xalena was on the verge of passing out but her eyes remained open just long enough to see the scum before her getting his throat slit with inhuman speed. The man went down and the camp erupted into chaos.
She heard guttural noises and metal clashing against metal. Her body couldn’t hold herself up anymore, everything was too heavy. It was getting dark as the screams died down more and more. And then there was silence. There was also a sudden sense of not being bound to her own gravity as if she was lifted up from the ground.
She thought she was hallucinating but she could’ve sworn she heard a gentle voice reach her ears. “What did you get yourself into this time, darling?”
The warm darkness enveloped her and she let go.