The Test

Tel’ack ran, his stolen dagger clutched tightly in the palm of his left hand. This was easy! The others had no chance. He could still hear An’zen’s yell of surprise as he burst out and eagerly throttled the poor sod, he could still feel Tn’rai’s breath on his face as he twisted the dagger up to the hilt, and Ga’lin’s bubbling last gasp after the brutal little knife had slit his jugular. An’zen had never needed it – the weakling had never even taken it out of the sheath, but in Tel’ack’s hand… it had tasted blood twice already.

He knew the route off by heart – he’d come prepared, studied the tunnels weeks in advance. Unlike the others, Tel’ack knew where he was going. Unlike the others, he didn’t waste any time gawping at his surroundings. Unlike the others, Tel’ack would soon be leaving the warrens, a true child of Gith.

He felt almost insulted now, indignant that he had been made to undergo the same tests and trials as the rest of them – his inferiors, weaklings deserving of no greater fate than to be food for Dhour-scum. Not that it mattered anymore; in minutes he would have climbed the steps up into the Hall, to take his rightful place – his birthright – in Githmir, the jewel of the Astral.

He rounded the corner, and saw the pool: the last part of the challenge. All he had to do was dive in, hold his breath, and swim to the other side. Pathetically easy. He stepped forward and placed his hands on the warm stone rim, and felt something slimy under his hand. Some sort of ichor?

As he paused, he heard a sound: a slithering, rasping noise, organic and hungry. Tel’ack span round, dagger at the ready. What was this? Some sort of final test? A scavenger in the tunnels? He half-crouched, adopting the common defensive position. Nothing he couldn’t handle. If he could just see into the dark…

As he focused on the shadows, a shape moved and then suddenly lunged forward into the pale blue light of glowing fungus; his immediate impression was of a vaguely humanoid figure, all claws and distorted pink flesh. He lashed out savagely, cutting it across the arm, and it howled with pain and frustration.

Then he really saw it: saw the claws of the thing, saw the veins standing out across its translucent skin, and saw the face – or what it had instead of a face. Two unblinking, alien eyes glared out from beneath a high, domed head; its mouth was non-existent, but instead a drooling beak was just visible behind a fleshy beard of waving, bloody tentacles.

Illithid. Tyrant. Enslaver. The sworn enemy of the children of Gith. Mindflayer.

A wave of nauseating hatred and revulsion overcame him. Tel’ack dropped the dagger in shock, and stepped back: this was beyond the test. Courage was irrelevant now – he had to escape, flee the thing. He stumbled back and threw himself into the pool, just remembering to grab one last breath before he began to thrash through the waters.

Cold green liquid snapped around him and stung his eyes. Fear drove him on, pushing him upwards towards the light even when his breath ran out. He made for the opening above with desperation, calling upon what little strength of will he had left to reach for the air, to pull himself up into the hall, to breathe…

He hauled himself up onto the tiles and gasped for air, barely noticing the sombre welcoming committee. He spluttered his defiance towards the water, towards death, towards the Illithid he had left behind.

‘I… made it. I got out. I did it!’

‘No.’ It was Kul’reen, the varsh – Tel’ack’s teacher, his guide. His superior.

‘What? I survived! I got out!’

‘You failed. You ran from the mindflayer. Githyanki do not run. You are not Githyanki.’

He pushed Tel’ack down, beneath the surface of the water. The young initiate struggled and thrashed, but he had exhausted his strength and willpower.

The body sank down and slowly vanished into the murky tunnel, the last of its batch. Of the entire group – all hatched from the same clutch of eggs, all trained together in the same Prime fortress – none had survived the rites of passage. Such are acceptable losses in the defence of freedom.

 - Nursery tale told to young Githyanki