Dig Up Her Bones

She gathered her things together, a small gleam of excitement in her eyes. There was a hop in her step as she all but danced about the cavern, grabbing items from dust and cobweb covered shelves. Most of the strange bottles, plants, and stones were placed on a worn table in the center of the stoney floor.

Directly before the wooden table was a strange symbol painted or drawn on the floor in sharp white lines. The area around the symbol was splattered with dark red stains, and small dried husks of leather looking bits. As she moved about the room, her spider silk dress swirling about her ankles, she spun and hopped and kicked out her feet. The dance seemed familiar to her, and when she spun it was almost as though she drew a sparkling magic from the air around her.

The lady drow seemed to hum with energy as she moved, her dark skin gleaming with a radiant heath beneath her thin robes. She gathered the items with more grace than a wisp of wind twirls fallen leaves in the air. Her bare feet made not a sound across the floor, and her almost entirely see-through outfit did not so much as cause a whisper. Save for a silver and silk bodice wrapped half-way about her top that was open down her center and a silvery skirt resting on her voluptuous hips, she shone in all her natural glory beneath the silky gown. She lifted from a nearby shelf a large spider and let the hair thing crawl across her bald scalp while she rustled a bit of parchment from the pile it had been resting on. Back to the table, and she lit two black candles, and in the small circle of light provided by the little flames, the white of bone glowed on her left hand. In the middle of her fore-arm the drow's ebony skin stopped, peeling away to muscle, then to pure bone. From her wrist to her fingertips was nothing but bone; magically held together and operating as would any normal hand. But altogether a haunting addition to the appearance of the petite drowess.

The only way in or out of the spacious cavern was a stone door with smooth sides carved down from centuries of use. Beneath the door a wide but shallow pocket carved from the door being slid open and closed. As it did it now open slowly.

In walked a curiously dressed drow, his red eye glowing ever so faintly in the darkness. He boasted a bald head capped by a large purple hat with a green feather resting in its rim. He wore a tight vest cut off above his navel and assorted dangly jewelry and trinkets. By contrast with his outlandish outfit, the simple gossamer gown the lady drow wore was hardly a fashion statement at all.

"Jarlaxle, my daaarlin'" crooned the drowess, dancing the few steps from the table to her exotic guest. "What took you ever so long?"

The flamboyant drow accepted the lady into his arms, where she draped her hands about his shoulders. He let his own hands rest on her hips, ignoring the skittering spider that crawled down her face to leap to the floor and back into the darkness.

"You look as lovely as ever, my lady." Jarlaxle replied, cupping one hand under her chin to push her small, slender face towards his. "We ran into some.... unexpected complications." He gestured to the slaves, who the lady had not taken so much as a breath to look at. "Where shall we place..."

"In the center of the glyph," she replied impatiently, waving the guards to that spot. They placed the long gold box on the ground, and quickly left the room.

The drowess returned her attention to her remaining guest. "It has been so long since you visited last." she purred softly, lifting her skinless left hand to caress his cheek.

Jarlaxle resisted the urge to shiver. Instead, he reached up and clasped the boney hand in his own. "Indeed, my lady, far too long." And he brought the white fingers to his lips and laid upon them a gentle kiss. "I have missed your lovely presence."

This caused a dark smile to creep across the lady's lips, revealing pearly white teeth beneath. "Oh, Jarlaxle, you do know how to flaatter a laady." She replied in her slow, steady drawl. Her voice sounded like bells on the wind. She glanced beyond the face of her vivacious partner to the doorway, and her smile shot away. "Daarlin', who is this?" Her bell like voice was tight, like a rubber cord about to snap.

Jarlaxle released her boney hand to pivot on one foot, careful to keep one arm about her waist as he extended his free hand to beckon the shadowy figure from the doorway.

"My lieutenant, Kimmuriel, a psionicist." The dark clad figure stepped further into the room, a stoney look set upon his hard feature.

"Psionicist?" echoed the lady drow, interrupting Jarlaxle before he could continue. A small laugh, both eerie and beautiful, slipped from her lips. "How cute."

If this statement upset the drow, he did not show it. When his leader gestured him to approach, he did so slowly, like a large cat making sure that what he approached truly was friend rather than foe.

"He was curious to see you in action, my lady." Jarlaxle whispered conspiratorially to the drowess.

In truth, Kimmuriel had not cared about the spells or workings of a necromancer. But bringing him assured that Jarlaxle would not be left alone with the beautiful but deadly drowess. He had danced down that road with her before, and was not quite recovered yet from their last interaction.

The drowes looked up at him knowingly, her glowing red eyes fierce looking in the dark light. She nodded in a conceding manner, and turned her attention back to the drow.

"Kimmuriel, may I present her lady grace, Nileethrae." Said Jarlaxle in a attention calling and demanding voice, as if he were introducing a goddess or queen. The over-action did not go unnoticed by Nileethrae, but she allowed it to pass. Let him flatter and posture for now. She knew she had him wrapped tightly around her thumb.

Excitement welled up in her chest as she turned her attention to the box on the glyph where the slaves had left it. The golden box was about 6feet long, 4feet deep, and 3feet wide. It was filled to the brim (and over in some places) with a soft, dark soil that crumbled when the drowess gathered some between her ebony fingers.

"And whom else have you brought me, daaarlin'?" She cooed softly, almost as if to soothe a sleeping child. "The promised old friend of mine?"

Jarlaxle nodded, neatly folding his hands behind his back and striding a few steps forward. Kimmuriel lingered in his shadow. "Yes, as promised. We could have brought another easier target who knew the information as well, but I recalled you saying how fond you were of the lady Molcice."

Nileethrae laughed. "Ah yes, she planned a few attempted attacks on me that I was not very happy to receive." She purred, caressing the dirt with her right hand. Another smile danced across her full lips. "How rude of her to leave without saying goodbye"

Without another word, the sorceress moved to the head of the golden casket, where a broken rock tombstone read out "final resting place..." How ironic.

Nileethrae closed her eyes and skimmed her bone gauntlet hand over the loose packed soil. The hand stopped suddenly, and slowly the boney fingers curled down, reaching into the soil. The hand began to glow green, and a sizzle of electricity buzzed in the air. Green smoke-like wisps slid into the soil like live snakes, worming their way deep into the soil. Suddenly, the loose wisps became taut like string. Slowly, the sorceress pulled upward, and the dirt began to shift and fall away.

"Come back, lady Molcice." Nileethrae whispered, in a voice entirely estranged from her previous melodic tone. Her voice, like the whisper of death itself, sending shivers down the spines of her audience. The dirt began to fall away from a central point, just below the drowess' gauntlet, and rapidly a white haired head began to emerge.

As it did, the bone claw glowed stronger, but not brighter. Instead the dark magic seeped like water, giving light but weighing down upon the room like a heavy, smothering blanket. It seemed alive, like worms or magots, crawling slowly over every inch of the small cavern. Engulfing the three drow. At its center, the green magic glowed its most powerful from Nileethrae's bone hand, illuminating her face with such darkness that for a moment the drow audience swore they saw the nine hells dancing across her skin.

"We are not finished yet."

OOOHHWEEE! So this piece took a bit outta me. The drawing was originally amazing, if incredibly slow in progress and very difficult to execute. But though it looked better as far as skill of drawing in black and white, you couldn't quite grasp the feeling of it without color. So I ruined it trying to color it. I may be able to fix it later when I did out my tablet, but for now, I'm pretty happy with how it turned out.

Inspired by the song "Dig Up Her Bones", which I listened to almost non-stop during the initial drawing. Thought it would be nice to see the dark magic at work. And the above is an excerpt from Nileethrae's own novel I'm writing. She was just far too much of a character to not be a main character. Course, she's the villain, but she wouldn't do well as the heroine anyway.