Misery had been sent to stop a future raid of vengeful Vhaeraunites from succeeding in their onslaught over the unsuspecting Eilistraeens. There had been another vision since his first one where he had visited Eilistraee's glade, giving him information as to the time of the raid which showed him how little time he had to reach the location. It was the night of one of their hunts when many would leave to enjoy the wild sport under the cold winter's moonlight. Despite the winter's wind that blew through the air and the snow crunching under his light, buckled boots, Misery knew the cold would mean nothing to them. However with the small conclave that he had remembered which served primarily as the outpost for the larger gathering of the goodly drow elsewhere, the duelist knew well enough that they would be taken by surprise and slaughtered to the last one. He still had a hard time trying to convince himself that this was his problem in any sense. Was this his way of repenting? Hardly that, for he was not ready for such a thing, and as far as he we concerned would never be. It was perhaps a last wish coming true, or perhaps a long lasting favor in the making. Whatever it was, he had given his word, which would indeed be followed through this time.
And this was the sole reason he was dashing through the thick, rich forest so quickly, long white locks streaked with purple flowing behind him as he make urgent haste. This was the night it would all be happening, and he could not know if he was already too late. No ... he couldn't be! He refused to let her down again, even if it was a request from the afterlife. Misery's expression turned grave, pushing himself to his limit, dodging and ducking through the dense tree lines, weaving in between the snow covered brush and low hanging branches without missing a step. The drow knew that somewhere behind him stalked the deadly ninja-assassin, Azaelyn Velrose, his companion and lover. She had insisted on coming along this time after hearing what exactly she was fighting. Azaelyn's soul was far from holy and righteous, but she took great pleasure in making most of the wicked drow in the world suffer from everything they had put her through in her youth, even if it was actually the Crinti in the Dambreth region, the half-drow from the Shining South. In any case, she always felt it was a way to strike back more and more at her once captors. She believed fully that no matter what the case, those who practiced slavery should be punished and killed for their acts of caging anyone. It was an odd belief for the assassin for sure, but her reasonings were justified in her own mind, leaving the concept of good or evil out of it all together.
The duelist had feared Azaelyn coming along, not wishing for her to hear or see anything more about his past than he was ready to explain. As it stood, Azaelyn knew more about who and what he was than and now than anyone else, save for the moon elf dervish, Myth, who he had grown up with from child hood. Was he going to let fear stop him again? He narrowed his gaze defiantly. No matter what anyone was to learn about him, no matter what the gods or goddesses would try to do ...
“ ... I am what I am.” he declared in a low whisper.
******************
Dilay wake up from her gentle rest with a shout of alarm. Her head snapped up from reverie, rolling over to claim the bastard sword which hung on her wall, the blade itself a smooth white substance that seemed to be crafted entirely of moonlight. She moved over to find her breeches after dancing within her tent before retiring to sleep, a prayer that usually took place in the nude. Her soft light blue eyes found her clothing and fixed them quickly about her form. She slid on her furred, white boots, the magical items keeping her warm despite the cold. Her long, silver hair hung down over her slender ebony shoulders, her top a simple sleeveless white tunic with matching leggings. She gave a quick prayer to the Dark Mother, praying for protection for all of those in this outpost, not yet knowing what it would be she would facing herself against.
She moved gracefully from her tent through their small settlement consisting of houses within tents, small caves, and underground burrows carved in a homely fashion. This small outpost was made to look as if only a few settled here, hiding their true numbers within the lay of the land. The battle priestess found the lookout tree, the scout already leaping from limb to limb back down to the soft snow ground below.
“Report. Why was the alarm called!” she demanded, seeing others beginning to filter out of their hidings as well. The scout looked grim indeed, the look on her face marred with worry and fear.
“The animals have spoken and given us what warning they could. A group of drow are on their way here, bearing the mark of Vhaeraun upon their person. Their intent seems clear enough.” she paused for a long moment as others gathered around, listening intently to the report. “ ... they mean to march against us.” she said grimly.
Worried whispers took over their small enclave. Dilay knew that whatever fears that might be welling up within them were valid ones. Most of their fellows had reported back to the main encampment for the hunt, leaving only a few dozen in their place, with most save for the scout and Dilay herself being still novices in the teachings they were receiving. “How many are we matching blades with?” she asked, trying to get a better estimate on how best to proceed with this attack.
The scout, a female drowess by the name of Favune, looked grimly out into the distance as if expecting them to sweep over them this very instant. “ ... fifty or so from the report, with wizards among them. They all look ready for battle with most, given their appearance and the way they move, have seen battle a few times.”
Dilay nodded, her face ominous as she looked back to the others and then to the scout. She moved closer to Favune, walking with her so that they could speak out of ear shot of the others.
“These novices are not ready or trained for this kind of battle. How did we not see this coming ahead of time? Our network is keen and should have reported any plans against us.”
The scout continued looking off into the depths of the forest. “I would say it was because this was not planned. They are a group who have just lost their guiding beacon of faith. If I had to wager a guess and if the winds tell me correctly from the auras swimming around their bodies, this was an impulse run. There was no planning to this, just action.”
Her words did not settle well with the battle priestess as she mulled them over. The scout was often right when it came to these things, her closeness with nature giving her an insight far greater than anything the mortal eye could see alone. In any case, this would not bode well for their sect and retreat itself seemed like the correct course. As much as Dilay would hate to report their outpost was razed, the last thing she wanted were for these new followers to embrace Eilistraee's glade so soon. “Make preparations then. We shall leave the outpost before they reach our ranks.”
“If that was your wish, we would have had to declare that action a few minutes ago.” came the austere voice of the scout. Confused, the battle-priestess looked out into the distance where Favune's eyes seemed to be locked. She too now saw the distant figures raging across the snowy, future battlefield.
“ ... may Eilistraee send us a miracle.” she whispered, pulling her moonlit bastard sword from its leather wrapped home. Favune retrieved her longbow from her back and fixed an arrow onto it's string.
“ ... amen.” the scout finished gravely as she locked onto her first target and let the shaft fly through the air and into the forehead of an unsuspecting drow who had foolishly thought himself out of range from the ranger's bow. Dilay was simply grateful she had one skilled warrior amidst her ranks.
“Everyone back to the barracks! Find a weapon and hole yourselves up inside! Should the enemy come to your doorstep, remember the guidance Eilistraee gives, and use her strength as your own to dispatch your oppressors!” As the battle-priestess finished her command and the novices fled to barricade themselves up within the designated place, she looked grimly to her long time companion and gave melancholy smile. The ranger and scout just nodded her understanding. They were going to see Eilistraee's glade together.
***************
A green haired drow male wizard (having dyed his hair to match one of the moods of Vhaeraun) by the name of Sanzus stood in the back of the ranks as he commanded them onwards, giving mental orders to all through his arcane means, commanding them to finish this fight swiftly. This would not be a fight to savor in the future. This was a boiling hatred that demanded a swift death so that they might continue their morbid tasks and do what they could to eradicate all the Eilistraeens in this area. It was an impossible goal, they all knew, but one they had dedicated themselves to since the fall of Vhaeraun.
He would watch this with sick and twisted enjoyment as he stayed within the back ranks and continued to fortify his allies with his spell power, having prepared mostly enhancing spells for the day for this very reason. Each of these warriors would fight like warriors of greater skill then they already were and he would wage in with his few powerful offensive spells if needed to finish off large masses. He did not yet know that the majority of the Eilistraee's bulk were not in attendance this evening at this outpost, a fact that would have made the green haired drow grin all the more widely.
No matter the case, their revenge would be had this evening.
***************
Dilay called her heavenly powers down onto a group of enemies that had begun their charge against them. The spell that should have burned at their skin with its white moonlit fire instead had very little effect on their front ranks, leaving her to surmise that either their drow resistance to magic was surprisingly powerful, or more likely, they were being protected by arcane spells from the wizards Favune had mentioned. If that was the case, she would have to move to her blades instead while the ranger's arrows continued to kill a mark with every fire of her bow string. She would have to buy her friend the time she needed to strike down what she could from the range. And so, she charged into battle with her brilliant energy weapon, forged from the very moonlight itself, and began her onslaught against the attackers.
No matter what they tried, Dilay knew, that they would only serve to limit the number of drow that would find the novices. There was nothing that she could have done to keep this outpost safe, not with the limited supplies and lack of fighters she had, but she still felt guilty that this would happen while the post was in her care. Thus was Eilistraee's will, it would seem.
She discarded the guilt from her slender shoulders as she lifted her sword high, calling upon the might of her dark goddess to help her slay as many of these evil beasts as she could. She watched as her blade cleaved through the first pair only to have a larger group begin to encircle her, trapping her with their deadly dance of blades as she meshed spell and blade in as much of a defense as she could manage. Favune was beginning to find the throng coming after her as well was too much, causing her to abandon the bow and draw her twin short swords in an effort to take as many of these bastards to Kelemvor's judgment as she could.
They would die making Faerun a better place.
*********************
“I will not fail you again!” came the battle cry that broke through the sound of the clashing blades and the casting of both divine and arcane spell chanting. Finishing her spell to heal her many wounds to their full, Dilay looked in the direction of the voice. She saw a ghost charging their way ... it had to be a ghost. “ ... Shandra?” she mouthed in disbelief. No, she thought as the figure closed in on them and dashed headlong into a giant throng of the enemies. This was a male. But the purple waist cloak had been something Shandra had worn as well as the matching colored streaks that meshed with the thick white strands of their drow aid. Her mind reeled at the possibilities and she could only mouth the word in open awe.
Xytres.
******************
Misery found himself hard pressed at first. He growled in defiance once again, forcing all thoughts away so he could perform this dark task. This was what he did best, after all. The first trio of opposing drow wielded their weapons with that of a skilled fighter, each seeming to have trained together given their even, fluid movements. All three were armed with twin short swords, six blades maneuvering amongst one another against the duelist. Even with the number of swords against him, within his hands, his rapier began to perform the impossible. Shooting back and forth between the attacking blades, far more quick than would be thought possible, he began to parry the six blades, and dodging or flipping this way and that against those he could not afford to counter. If it wasn't the constant ringing of steel the opposing drow heard, it was the deafening silence as their blades connected with only air.
They exchanged concerned glances, each taking a moment to look around for others like this one. They were relieved to find no such help on its way. That still didn't help them with their current situation. They called another fight over into the fray, though before the fourth could join this deadly circle, Misery had used his free left hand to snap a dagger from an opponents belt after a counter, shooting it hard into the throat of the would-be help.
Misery continued on the move, never allowing them to tighten the circle in around him as they so desperately tried to do, watching his footing in the snowy blanket beneath him. The duelist glanced around to see that others were on their way to the aid of the three. “Guess playtimes over. Thanks for the warm-up guys,” he smirked. He then fell deep within his own movements and blade, as well as his very surroundings. He found the warrior within, Shandra having long ago teaching him to unlock the mortal potential. His cold silver eyes narrowed dangerously as everything seemed to slow down around him. This was no magic or supernatural ability, but the true skill obtained by his sword's path. The attacks around him seemed like those launched by a mere child as the duelist began to dodge left, right, left again, and than spinning around one of his attackers completely, breaking free of the loose circle. To him, these were his usual movements, but to those not plucking at the strands of potential Misery was bringing forth, he was moving ungodly fast, the purple waist cloak spinning smooth and steady circuits in the air as the duelist moved. No attack seemed capable of getting anywhere close to his person. Now behind his first target, Darkriver exploded through the chest of the Vhaeraunite, his leather armor, even though magically fortified, provided no means of protection against the powerfully enchanted sword.
Removing the blade as quickly as it went in, he pushed the body away from him, dancing around it to square off against the other two. Their joined four blades tried rigorously to connect, to at least buy them the few more seconds it would take for aid to reach them. In the eyes of the duelist, a few seconds was an age too long. He worked his rapier hard and fast against the four blades, forcing them into a defense of confusion to match the strikes. Unlike some rapiers, Darkriver was a thick and fortified enough blade to include slashing maneuvers into its attack routines with deadly effect, and so was it true now as their blades became disheveled in the torrent of attacks only to have his sword split through the air to slash at the throats of both opponents in one smooth strike. The night air became showered in crimson as the sword did it's deadly work, cutting their throats to leave them to clutch at mortal wounds, vainly trying to stem their lifeblood with their hands as they fell to the snow.
The blood would not touch the duelist, for he was already gone into the fray with the next group who would suffer the wrath and promise of death from the duelist ...
******************
As Misery worked the swarming throng of fighters focusing around him, trying to trap the agile beast somehow and failing, Azaelyn darted through the shadows, no one around suspecting that such an agent of death was now moving quietly to her targets, the arcane casters in the back of the ranks who focused their energy on fortifying the warriors. She saw what seemed to be the leader, a drow who had dyed his hair two different colors, red on one half and green on the other. That would normally have been her first target, but with the other casters appearing the current cause of the increased skill of warriors on the battlefield, Azaelyn marked them as her first kills.
Twin ninja-to broke free of their scabbards in an easy, fluid movement as she came out from the shadows and struck from behind at one of the mages. The wizard was confident with his stoneskin spell protecting him from physical harm. What the wizard couldn't have known was that Azaelyn's weapons were shadowstriking weapons, forged from the darkness and able to take on the property of any metal in order to overcome resistances against their persons. In this case, it was adamantine, and in the wizard's case, he was now quite dead. The green haired wizard along with the third caster saw the image of this exotic rogue. The wind blew hard against her person, causing her long dark hair to blow beautifully in the night air, contrasting greatly with the pale skin that was shown off readily given the sparse lavender clothing she wore against her form. If she was cold from the lack of clothes covering her up, she did not show it. Her clothes were fashioned from Kara Tur, designed to give her all the movement and agility necessary for her ghostly skills and had, like Misery, been granted the property of magical warming to keep her body always at a comfortable temperature.
It seemed quiet and still for an age, the two wizards deciding what best step to take. The third wizard acted first, moving through a quick incantation against the girl. Only, when he was finishing the short spell, the surface elf had vanished from sight, right in front of them! He looked quickly to their leader, knowing full well that he could see invisible creatures. The green/red haired Vhaeraunite growled in frustration. However she had performed the action, it was not through a spell of invisibility. In a moment, Azaelyn jumped back out from the shadows, directly in front of the third wizard, chopping the fingers off his hand smoothly with her dark, black blade. In the same movement with her second sword, the blade dug deep into the drow's neck, cleaving through the stoneskin spell and his neck as if it were the snow beneath their feet. The caster fell dead before her feet as she squared off against this stranger leader before her.
A scowl graced his usually handsome features which were now marred with hatred. This was his decided destiny, to die fulfilling the will of Vhaeraun and destroy as many as he could! But as it stood, with a small army of drow warriors in his control, he only saw the bodies of his brethren on the cold earth and still none of their enemies! He was being mocked on this, his very first endeavor!
“Who are you?” the wizard asked, his hand steady near his spell component pouch.
“The last disappointment you will have to suffer,” the ninja spy assured him.
********************
With the warriors on the field fighting between the skill of the battle-priestess whose spells were finally working against the enemies as well as the ranger who had taken back up her bow, both behind the melee barrier that was Misery, the trio worked in tight unison and was causing the once wave of enemies filtering down to nothing more than a shallow puddle.
The fight had turned quickly to the favor of the surprised Eilistraeens, forcing the remaining Vhaeraunites to try and mount a retreat. The shadow known as Azaelyn, having finished her own task, continued to pop in and out of the shadows in order to herd them into place. The warning was correct and Misery had indeed showed up in time to prevent the slaughter of this outpost, but that didn't seem to ease his restless dark soul in the least. None of this settled well with the drow duelist. Eventually the remaining enemies were rounded up, a little less than a dozen, forced to disarm their weapons by the spells of the priestess who used her priestly spells to force them into performing the task while the ranger proceeded to subdue them within tight bindings of rope, chaining them all together and leading them away to the only place they had to serve as a jail.
Misery knew how it went. They would explain to them the words and teachings of Eilistraee and give them a chance to repent. If they chose not to, which was usually the case and would be so once again,he was sure, they were swiftly executed for their crimes of trying to murder their sect. As far as Misery was concerned, the attack in general would have been reason enough to skip the first step and move straight on to the second. However he was not here to argue procedures with these drowesses. His task was done and if he could help it he would charge into night before having to speak to anyone else. The duelist had followed through with his word to Eilistraee and to his former teacher. As far as he was concerned, he was done here.
“Xytres?” came the voice from behind him again, just like the vision in his reverie when Eilistraee had called on him, only this time the name was spoken in question. At the same time, the same feeling of distant remembrance flitted through his thoughts. He knew that voice from a lifetime ago ...
“I'm done here, Dilay,” the duelist declared simply, not even bothering to turn around to look upon the drowess. “ ... and the name Xytres no longer carries its weight within me.” he finished, reminding the female once again of their last words spoken together those many winters back. In fact, as he thought on it, this was the same time of year with the same winter land atmosphere as the first time when he had left the outpost, for what he thought, forever to venture into the world to find his revenge and his place, for he did not find it within the order when Shandra left his life.
“I see. You still use the common language name of Misery than? Why do you run from who you are, Xy” she said, referring to an old nickname she had for him. Misery spun around on her than, his cold silver eyes narrowed defiantly at the priestess. She had grown so powerful since the last time he was here, but none of that made any difference in his eyes.
“And how the bloody hell would you know what I am, or anyone else for that matter. YOUR goddess spoke to me in a vision to come here in an attempt to stave off a slaughter. I have fulfilled my task and by doing so, acted for the last time in the place of your past protector.” he said evenly through bitter words.
“If that is still your stance, you are right. I have no room to tell you who you are, only the beautiful drow I once knew. But in any case, my heart strings were pulled when I saw you charging into battle. I first thought it was indeed the ghost of Shandra given her defining hair style chosen.” she said with a slight, merry chuckle.
The purple streaks in Misery's hair had been passed down from Shandra through a magical permanency, marking him clearly as one of her students, her only student. It was an odd ritual that the female duelist had come up with to mark her sword style and her teachings. There were those that had a symbol or a rune to mark whatever style they passed on to their students, while Shandra chose a more ... showy approach. In any case, even if Misery were to shave his head bald, when the hair grew back, so would the purple streaks within his hair. For some people it might prove a burden when trying to hide your identity, but Misery had shared the same soul with his teacher and neither was a huge fan of hiding behind disguises in the first place when a problem should be tackled head on in an effort to break their limits and learn what they were capable of.
That was how one unlocked their potential.
Misery took his thick white strands into his delicate ebony fingers and stared at them for a long moment, unable to help but smile fondly back to it all. He shook his head in the end and looked to Dilay. “You know you could always come back, when you are ready. Your sins weigh heavy on your shoulders, I can see. You do not need to carry around such darkness within your soul.”
Misery's eyes stared dead into her soft blue orbs, his expression serious though not angry or threatening. “To everyone's contradiction, I do need these sins. I do need the darkness inside. With these things I can shed compassion and do what must be done because you all try too hard to change everyone when they cannot be changed with words. When I throw myself into a fight, I go for the kill. There is no room in a fight for compassion and mercy. There is only room for a victor and a loser. The victor is allowed to walk away. The loser is carried away. I have dedicated my very existence to the sword and to what I believe is true freedom. I neither go out of my way for wicked deeds nor goodly ones. In whatever battle you people believe in, from now on, you can leave me out of it. You people believe in black and white, but what I have found the world based upon is the gray. But, I have come to see the drow pantheon do not believe in such a thing. So apparently I am to rot in the fugue plane, to waste away in an endless wall just because I refuse to take up the cause of a deity. If I have to choose between selling my soul for something I don't believe in or it being lost all together, than I'll become lost.”
As Misery finished his words with his once close friend, he turned about and walked away, as simple as that. There were no words called out to him from the priestess and no thank you's exchanged. This was simply Misery keeping a promise.
*************************
Not so far away, within ear shot of the conversation, Azaelyn heard the two speaking their minds, as well as Misery's own thoughts coming to surface. Religion was not something that passed from either of their lips, and now the ninja spy knew more why that was. The moon elf had known recently his falling out with Eilistraee. She had also known that he had not spoken of another deity he had aligned with. Now she knew why that was. The duelist had no other deity. She herself had aligned with the goddess of Shar, one of the dark deities of Faerun but one that suited her needs and her own whims, making it more a coupling out of mutual benefits than anything else. Had Misery not found such a bond? The thought of the duelist's afterlife wasting away in mindless wall didn't sit well with the ninja spy, but it was also none of her business. This was the male she had given herself too and there was nothing about him she wished to see changed, and so was happy to see that the goodly clutches of this Dark Mother did not entrap him back into her grasp. Azaelyn did not wish to see such a fine fighter and killer burdened down by the ways of the heart.
And now she was able to keep her lover for who and what he was, a drow that she would never see changed.
***********************
The duelist woke up from his reverie after a long night with his lover. She still lay within the bedroll as he stood up quietly, not disturbing her rest. Moving off from their camp with his leggings and boots upon his person, his waist cloak back at the camp, the drow wandered the snowy fields as if expecting to find something. There was no vision given to him since his departure a week back from the outpost. He had performed the task set before him and was done with it all. Eilistraee would never again be his goddess. Perhaps she now saw that too. And so he stood alone under the night sky and canopy of trees above, the light from the stars and moon above pouring over the snow to form an angelic scene before him where he stood alone in this quiet place of perfection. He loved the fight of a battle more than anything ... or so he thought. Being out here in something so simple and yet so beautiful gave his restless soul a bit of piece. This was the truth of the world. This was neither evil nor good. This was the impassive way of the world, where it simply existed and did not care about those that passed over it's ground. This was a moment he had hoped deep down would not have to end.
The sound from behind him told him that the moment was indeed over and he was back to where he seemed to belong, amidst a fight as Darkriver was pulled from his scabbard and slashed out across as the intruder that stood behind him. He knew Azaelyn's ways and also knew this was not her. His silver eyes grew a bit wide in surprise as his attack was deflected off a large steel shield with the emblem of a teardrop carved into it's cover. The blue eyes stared out at him behind the thick strands of blue hair that fell down over his handsome elven face.
“Rain?” Misery questioned a bit perplexed in seeing him out here. He retracted his blade, sheathing his weapon and folding his arms comfortably over his chest. “What are you doing here?”
Rain rested his shield arm back down to his side as the wind picked up once again and billowed his tattered, dark green cloak. The ghostwalker stared hard into Misery, his very presence something that had to be admired. “I need your help, drow. What do you say to a hunt?” he asked with a stern, grave tone in his voice. It was his usual tone, Misery knew and he couldn't help but grin and give a feint shrug of his shoulders.
“Sure, why not.”