The overwhelming odor pushes itself upon me.  The combined odor of urine, blood, feces, fleshly decay, and mold assaulting me as I sit and wait within my chains, attached to a wall and forced to suffer through it.  Its only been half a day, but already I feel it growing inside of me:  Hatred!  When Rain approached me for aid in a task, I took him up on the offer, never actually minding working alongside the ghostwalker.  There are many things about the blue haired elf that I can admire in a person, the top of this list being the demand for revenge.  Rain is a faithful follower of Shevarash, a deity whom is the epitome of Rain's very persona.  Shevarash encourages vengeance and understands loss, pain, and above all else, the destruction of the drow.  If not for this last bit, I would almost consider taking his name upon my own travels.  The elven god has no qualms with those who have found the light of Eilistraee and should all drow eventually fall down that path, then so be it.  Those wicked drow are the ones he sought to destroy through his followers who most have lost so much to the evil hearts of the dark elves.  These same dark elves I now see likewise chained to the wall around the same cell in which I now occupy.  

The reason for this is because everything went wrong in just the right way.  I was to be used as bait to lure out another near-mad sect of drow who had recently lost their masked god, Vhaeraun.  I infiltrated their ranks (a method I usually detest but was curious enough to get over) and eventually found my way within the  highest rank of their sect.  This also allowed me to find out every point they used as bases of operation against the others.  I was setup, however, by a cleric of Shevarash I had seen a time or two before taking on the mission and becoming briefed by the council.  

Most of them hated me.  Actually, the only two that could tolerate me well enough was a young elven lass by the name of Doelure, or just Doe as I had come to call her, and Rain himself.  The girl was pleasant enough with a bit of twisted curiosity in my being as how I was detected under spells as neither evil nor holy.  I believe she even went so far as to flirt with me at times when others were not looking, not wishing to bring down the scrutiny of their council and the questioning of her own loyalty.  Whatever the case, most wanted to see me fail and prove that I was indeed something worthy of being destroyed along with the vile drow I would be aiding to annihilate from the face of Faeurun.  

But the ignorant had judged me before I had even started, and by doing so one had even set me up to take an open fall, something I had suspected but hadn't seen as clearly as I should.  Even if I had unraveled all the details in time, I doubt I would have done anything different.  And so, through some false messengers and well placed words in council ears, I now hang in the same chains as those I sought to see dead.  I hold nothing against the drow around me.  This was not some sort of vendetta but instead just another challenge.  As they often stare at me in loath and seething hatred, I doubt they understand that but life shall go on.

... though not for much longer by the sentence.

I cannot do this any longer!  You foolish surfacers are too ignorant in your faiths and your gods, or even your own damned senses that you cannot see more than what there is!  I was once the very wicked and vile drow these people sought to destroy, having fallen far after the death of my teacher.  Since that time when I was indeed wicked, I found myself wrapped into the plots of Myth and Dahlia, the first being an old friend from my earlier years when I still walked with Eilistraee, and the latter being a kind hearted star elf bladesinger who wishes to honestly see the realms a better place.  Traveling with them for so long made me stay my hatred and my wickedness entirely.  

I know now that this was foolish.  I cannot tolerate this worlds inhabitants any longer as they stand.  Before when I was judged for my evil deeds, I gave them a chance and stayed my blade.  This was the last wrong I can accept against me!  And so, I look at the drow around me and almost feel as though I have wronged them.  If they were still out in the world, perhaps they could perform a few more bits of wickedness to help in my decision.  I regret helping the Eilistraeens back in the forest of the Old Elven Court.  I regret not switching sides and putting my past where it belongs:  Dead within the cold winter.  I have not lived up to my name in too long!

Faerun, you and your people have called me a monster for the last time without it being true.  

I will fix it

I will give you that reason.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>.

The sound of keys ringing reached the ears of all in the broken and mold infested cell that housed the sealed drow.  The room was very simple and plain, a giant 3 walled room with the fourth being the reinforced mithral bars that locked the captured from the world of freedom.  Misery heard the ringing clearly as it echoed down the hall that lead to an old spiral staircase that the guard was now approaching from, and noticed too that the sounds were that of 2 sets of footsteps and not just the usual one he had seen several times.  Misery had been allowed to keep all his magical belongings save the weapons he carried for a simple enough reason.  This cell was kept within the area of a Dead Zone amidst the world of Toril, a place where magic did not function.  Misery had seen it before, this group, as they never bothered taking the occupants elsewhere.  No, the executioner would come down here with his wickedly edged sword, and perform the grizzly duties in front of the others, letting them know what awaited them.  The duelist had wondered why they did not simply end all the lives of the captured drow at once, but their methods were their own to choose.  Misery had witness two separate instances of such a beheading and fought with the rage that was welling up within him.  

He had worked with these stupid foolish elves upon Rain's own request and here he stood within their cell just because their whole group was filled with bigots and closed minded fops that could not bother to look past the color of one's skin.  Sure, Misery was far from a paladin, but at the same time he did not have the sick twisted joy of evilness the others did.  The duelist had once walked the darker road, directly after Shandra's death, where he had succumbed to all manners of villainy.  He had slowly grown back to a ground of neutrality and hardly went out of his way to perform his former vile acts.  Perhaps he should consider this his judgment from before, though even then the drow loathed them for the setup.  As the key-bearer came into view, so too did the cleric that Misery had known to be the chief cause of his current situation, a haughty and self-righteous zealot known as Sliver amongst the ranks.  The guard opened the magic-sealed room, allowing the priest to walk inside.  He looked at the other score of drow on the wall for only a moment before his gaze became fixated upon the purple-streaked duelist in front of him.  Approaching with a smug expression of triumph, the cleric knelt down beside  the shackled captive, his hand forcing Misery to look up, matching gazes.

“I cannot allow your evil race to continue to live on, no matter what the spells say or don't say about you.  You are nothing more than another pest to be blown from this world and left to rot, and this I will see happen with my own eyes, drow.  You should know that your acquaintance Rain fights hard to see you released, but the council has already heard the case and have judged in favor of your execution.  You will die tomorrow at sunrise, the light of day becoming your end.”  The priest released Misery's face, but had also misjudged Misery's current state of positioning.  He had coiled himself up much like a snake, and as the hand released Misery snapped forward, his mouth snapped around the bottom earlobe of the cleric, snapping tight around the tender flesh and ripping through it, biting the bottom half of Sliver's left ear off completely.  The cleric recoiled from the assault, grabbing his ear in pain and howling in rage, pulling forth his heavy flail while out of range of the drow, smashing the barbed head down upon the duelist, feeling bone crunch beneath the heavy blow against the side of his face.  

Misery slipped easily into unconsciousness from the sound blow, leaving Sliver to grab at the wound and down at the dark elf in unbridled hatred.  He wanted to kill him right than with his own hands but would not act out of line of the council's guidelines.  Besides, he wanted the drow to sit and rot in his prison knowing he would die tomorrow.  Leaving quickly from the cell, Sliver enacted a spell that not only ceased his pain, but mended the wounded ear wholly.    The guard had come to check up on the priest but was quickly waved aside by the cleric.  “Lock the door and make sure no one gets in or out of this cell until that one is killed tomorrow.”

The guard gave a curt nod as the priest left the dungeon, looking in on the now swollen-faced drow only knowing darkness and soon to know only death.

“Death is far less than the punishment you all deserve ... but it will do.”

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Deep  within Misery's subconscious, he found his head swimming into another vision.  As he felt his feet touch the ground of shadow around him, however, he realized this was not the same glade in which he had met Eilistraee.

The drow looked around and as far as he could see, only shadow stuff existed.  The grass beneath his feet were crafted of the substance as well as the trees that dotted the landscape, everything seeming substantial but in truth only the shadow of its true self.  The one thing that stood through the test of reality were the stars and moon in the sky.  He walked over to one of the trees, a bit bewildered.  He touched the shadowy trunk and felt the solidity of it, even if he could see his hand through the other side of the shadow-tree.  Before he was unsure when he was in Eilistraee's glade, but now as he remembered the last scene before his turn to darkness of a crashing flail into the side of his face, he had to honestly question if he was indeed dead this time.  If so, this did not exactly feel like the Fugue Plane and an endless wall of nothingness.

“You're not dead this time either, Misery the drow,” came a very alluring and seductive purr that came, once again, from behind the duelist.  This time though, the drow did not recognize the voice but could feel the power of it's owner, an even greater power than that of Eilistraee.

The drow spun hard on the voice, his silver eyes steeled and ready for whatever surprise he was to be subject to this time.  The owner of the voice matched the allure of the words spoken, of that he could not doubt.  Flawless pale skin lay beneath the dark garbed female before him, with her long dark hair flowing smoothly over her round, abundant breasts that stayed confined within the black corset top, her entire attire that of something a rogue might take up.  The duelist had not realized he was staring until the female gave a slight alluring chuckle.  “Now I know I'm not the first goddess you have seen.”

“It does not mean that I should be any less surprised by the fact,” the duelist responded with a slight smirk on his lips.  “I'm beginning to think the higher powers that be are growing rather bored in their lofty chairs of rulership if your kind continue to bother me.”

The goddess grinned devilishly.  “Oh I assure you, the others have not taken notice of you yet, my beautiful drow.  Indeed I myself would have had no part in you and let you slip through my sights if not for the one you travel with.”

“Azaelyn?”  came the answer from Misery's soft ebony lips, his brow arched to match the perplexed tone in his words.

“The same.  She is not one to usually pray to me though she still serves me through her actions.  However, she saw it fit enough to pray to me about you.  She wanted me to look inside of you and if able, take you into my ranks.  Apparently she does not wish for you to vanish amidst the Fugue Plane ... or perhaps its because she sees how far you have fallen from your former glory.”  The goddess folded her arms comfortably across her chest, watching and weighing the drow before him.  “ ... and I do not mean the glory of your false days when you followed the weakling goddess of Eilistraee.  I refer to your time when you first fell from her sect and you allowed your true self and potential to come free.  You were a demon amongst men, destroying anything that stood in your way from achieving your goals and your own wicked ways cutting there own path away from the rules the world tried to make you live by.  You were glorious!  But you have spent too much time with the others, and now your darker side has been suppressed yet again.”

Misery looked skeptically at this dark goddess, trying to understand a bit better as to what was going on.  Despite his slight confusion, the drow felt her words ringing a bit more true than he would have liked.  Since his forced alliance with his former comrade Myth and also with the ghostwalker, Rain, Misery had come to find that his once feared wickedness had been calmed and though he was far from a righteous heart, he was still a far cry from the creature he used to be.  Eilistraee had seen this too, something Misery figured was the reason she came to him in his vision then.  She was trying to slowly help him back into her light.  

And Azaelyn did not want this.  She had even prayed that this would not happen.  He thought back to the days when he had first helped Azaelyn out of her own situation and realized that he had indeed been the former wicked creature this goddess spoke of.  There was one bit of final confusion within the drow's thoughts.  Religion was not something that the pairing had discussed so who was Azaelyn's patron?

“Who are you?”  the drow asked, folding his own arms over his chest, almost mimicking the female in front of him, not out of spite but just out of what was comfortable.  

The goddess smiled coyly.  “... the only goddess that would ever understand what you really are.  I am Shar.”

Shar!?  Azaelyn worshiped the goddess of darkness and shadow magic?  After thinking on it for some time the duelist found it fit perfectly with Azaelyn's own desires and needs.  Still, he scowled at the beautiful and powerful goddess.  “Strike me dead if you want, but I want nothing to do with worshiping anyone.  Like I told Eilistraee, you have no understanding of the world below and I do not care what my ending fate may be, I shall not bow to you or anyone else!”  he growled in defiance.

What Misery was sure to be a look of anger only surprised him more as her coy smile stayed upon her black lips.  “Just the fire I found so enticing in you my beautiful Misery.  I would not have you any other way.  You are mistaken in your thoughts at my attempt here.  You think I want you on your knees?”  she laughed smoothly at the thought.  “Despite the wonderful things that you could do in such a position, I assure you this is not my plan.  I wish only to use you as you yourself may use me.  Its an alliance, dark elf.  You are a powerful warrior and one that would bring great power to my ranks against my enemies.  I may call on you from time to time to perform a more ... special task, but I promise you that it would be nothing the TRUE you would not jump at in the first place.  And in return, you, my Misery, will have a patron to save you from the Wall.  You are above such a thing.  You owe nothing to those in your past.  You are now your own warrior, and have been so ever since you have taken up the name you have chosen for yourself.  Unlike the others, I do not wish to change you but keep you as you are!  You do not realize it yet, but your former glorious self worshiped me without knowing it.”

The drow was reeling with everything being thrown at him at once.  Misery had found all her words ringing against his dark soul with such clarity!  She was speaking the dark truth of his own soul and of his life.  And what of this possibility of avoiding the Fugue Plane?   He had resigned himself to the fate and thought nothing more about it.  But if he could avoid it ... ?  And what if she was speaking was truth?  Everything he had done was already down her own chosen path ...

“Why should you have to change who you are?  Carve your own dark path and we shall both benefit from it.  Bring your chosen name to our enemies!  Become who you truly are!  Even now you have succumbed to the suffocating laxness of your confined self and are chained to the wall to be executed.  You soul is shrouded in darkness, so let it guide you down your OWN path!”  As she said this all, she shot out her arms, twin short-swords appearing within her steady grasp.  “... become the monster again, and give the world a reason to hate you.”

Misery's eyes narrowed for a long moment as he turned his head away.  “... I shall think on your words.  I feel my consciousness crying out for me and I must go deal with my current situation.”  He paused after his words, staring back at her for a long moment, a sense of belonging and truth coming from her very presence.  Why did this feel so right?  This felt as if ... as if this is where his dark path that he himself had carved, was now leading him.

The dark goddess did not seem angry at his words or his pause.  “Do what you must.  But I assure you that the dark champion you can become is the very path you have chosen.  When you are ready ... simply embrace the darkness within you, and take up your sword for that cause once again.”

Before Misery could respond, the images faded from his head as the glimpse of light became ever more apparent, washing away the darkness within his head.  He found himself back within the cell, the side of his face shattered and broken with his left eye swollen shut.  There were no guards on post at the moment, the elf posted was likely making his rounds up and down the long corridor that would lead back to him.  He listened keenly to the echoing sounds of the keys, the sound so distant that most of the drow that lay shackled with him against the wall unable to make out the near indistinguishable sound.  Weighing the sounds with the echoes that flowed to his trained hearing, the duelist grinned through the pain as he shoved his tongue down his throat, forcing himself to throw up a bit.  He spat the bitterness out of his mouth, though kept the chunk of ear within his mouth.  He grinned wickedly at the feeling of the ear and his dark work ahead if he were to get out of this place.  He also looked to the other drow and realized he would be needing their aid to take on this entire hidden temple and have any chance of escape.  His hands were shackled but his fingers worked freely as he began his act of diplomacy to see who wished an alternative to death.  Despite their contempt for this purple-streaked traitor, if his signed words were true, how could they resist?

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

The following morning the entire council came down below to witness the duelist's death.  They saw his actions before as an act of high treason against their trust and against Shevarash, now waiting for his divine justice to be shattered down upon the drow.  The executioner moved forward, Misery's own weapon with his hand, Darkriver.  At the thought of anyone else daring to touch his most personal weapon, Misery had to fight back the urge to try and leap upon this surface elf.  He stayed his anger for now as the elf approached.

“By order of the council and request of one of our champions, Rain, you will suffer death by your own sword.  Prepare yourself for your final journey, vile drow.”  the executioner proclaimed as he stalked closer to Misery who was still shackled to his knees, forced to look up upon his death sentence.  

Rain had apparently petitioned for Darkriver to be the very sword to strike Misery dead.  Rain knew him well enough for that, it seemed.  What better blade to die upon this day than his very own.  The thought was a bit touching actually ... and convenient.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Outside the cell, not bothering to join the council inside the magic-less room, Sliver watched with twisted and wicked joy at the sight of another dark elf about ready to be purged from this world.  There were no good drow.  Even those of Eilistraee would have to be washed away in time, wiped away like the plague they were upon the surface and beneath the surface.  He might not see it in his lifetime, but he would do his best to destroy all of the evil dark elves.  They all deserved death, and he would see to his vision of a better world without their taint.

His thoughts were interrupted by the voice of the young female, Doe, standing next to him with her longbow casually thrown over his back.  “What happened to piercing of Shevarash?”  came the curious question as she cocked her head to the side, examining his ear.

“The duelist proved his animal-like heart when I went to try and speak the words of Shevarash to him, in hopes that he might change his ways,” he lied.  “He bit the bottom half of my ear off when I moved a bit too close.  I did what I could, but he is beyond saving.”  

The girl shook her head a bit sadly, having grown fond of the duelist and his time here.  She would regret to see him killed now but knew her words of protest would only claim her a traitor as well.  She steeled her emotions though, for if this was the will of Shevarash, she would not get in the way.  She had given herself to his holy path and would follow through, not matter what it meant.

And so Sliver listened as the charges were laid out against the duelist and his sentence spoken as well.  The elf holding Darkriver brought the blade up high, meaning to cleave Misery's head from his shoulders.  Even as the blade was raised, Misery's grin was still distinguishable despite his broken face, staring straight at Sliver with a deathly promise in his eyes.  The cleric scowled at the expression.  Keep smiling, he thought.  When the drow was killed he would gut him and find his earing, not allowing the drow to keep such a holy symbol inside his person.  He would ...

... his earring had been bitten off.  The drow had his earring!  Thats why he was smiling like that!  Thats why he was looking so confident!  

“The drow picked the lock!”  he shouted as the sword swung down.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

“For your traitorous acts against the clergy and the council, you, Misery the drow, will be sentenced to death.  You may ready your spirit for the travel.”

My life is my own, and yet I have been made an offer:  To continue living my life as I was born to do.  I have taken on the mantle of Misery long ago, and have recently laxed in the duties demanded of me from claiming such an act.  The world will not change.

“If you have any last words, speak them now as we and Shevarash shall hear them out now.”

They will never change.  The world has deemed you a monster after all, and now wishes to end your life.  I have been far too tolerant.  I have been far too forgiving.  All of them ... all of them before me will be given.  Yes ... they will be given in her name.  

“As no words have been spoken, your end is nigh.  Remove yourself from this world of kindness, dark one.”

I am done with such kindness.  I am done.  I will enter into this alliance and show the world the truth of what comes from their ignorance.  You cannot condemn me to death.

... since you're already dead.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

The sword came down as the words cleared Sliver's throat.  The council turned back to look at him even as the blade continued down.  Misery shot out of his shackles than, confirming that he had indeed picked the locks with the earing.  He grabbed the hand of the executioner before performing a smooth and steady kick into the elf's jaw from below, kicking up high.  The elf soared through the air and landed with the clattering of Darkriver near him.  The council looked at the duelist with a mixture of horror and hatred as the guards in the room brought forth their polearms, meaning to skewer the drow with their spears.  The drow had one more surprise up his sleeve for these elves.  Back in his travels with Myth, the drow had learned some martial-art prowess, finding to turn his body into a weapon even when a weapon was not present.  This was not the time to hold back in the least.  He had already fallen into his most dangerous of warrior states, the attackers finding him impossible to land a blow on, his body flipping and dodging, reading their movements and attacks before they were even launched.  As he bent backwards to dodge one of the spears, he reached up, grabbing the shaft firmly in one hand before bringing the other across, splintering the wood in two and not holding the spear end.  He hurled the spear head into one of the council members as they turned to flee, and then grabbed the other end of the spear shaft that was still held by the guard and jerked him forward, pulling him off balance.  Misery jerked the shaft from the guard's hands and  shoved the splintered end into the chest of another oncoming attacker before snapping the neck of the one he had acquired it from.  

The duelist skittered across the floor to Darkriver, finding its familiar grasp within his hand.  He didn't need the magical properties of his weapon yet.  Misery would do well enough without the enchantments.  He moved forward against a new pair of guards, his rapier snapping this way and that, impossibly fast, until both now clutched at the mortal wounds against their throats, falling into the darkness of death.

Removing a key ring from one of the guards, he tossed it over to one of the Vhaeraunites.  He quickly used them to unlock himself and then moved over to the others to free them as well.  Misery noticed Doe, however, taking up her bow at a shot against the Vhaeraunite who moved to free the others.  Misery kicked hard against one of the remaining council members who had yet to remove himself from the cell, forcing him into the fired shafts path which met the council member between the eyes, his magical protections serving him no good in this room.  Misery heard Doe cry out in horror at what she had done.  The duelist simply grinned at the girl.  “Thanks for the help, beautiful.”  Drawing a dagger quickly from the dead council members belt, he hurled it at the girl, missing her for now but cutting the string on her bow.   “But lets not risk you actually hitting someone else, alright?”

The council fled from the scene, up the winding corridor, and Sliver along with the shaken Doe likewise followed for now, moving to regroup elsewhere so not to allow these creatures to escape.  Misery looked to the unshackled Vhaeraunites, giving them a curt nod.  “Grab whatever weapons and armor you can find and use.”  The duelist looked into the robes of the fallen council members, finding a scroll upon both of healing.  He moved out of the cell and recited the words, the duelist actually skilled when using wands and things of this nature.  The shattered side of his face repaired itself, healing until there was no sign of the attack made against him.  He walked over to a steel shield of one of the guards, checking on his image.  “Good as new ... but hardly forgotten.”  he grinned wickedly as he moved up the spiral stair case to move against the others.

One of the Vhaeraunites intervened however, stepping in his path.  “They have already killed our wizard so we cannot teleport out of here.  Even if we could, that kind of magic is probably nullified in this place.  We need to work on escaping.”

Misery glared coldly.  “No.  I will leave only after I kill them all.”

The Vhaerunites looked a bit confused at the duelist, not expecting such blood lust from one who had betrayed him.  The leader known as Velus who has stopped his way in the first place rose a slender brow.  “ ... who are you.”

Misery couldn't help the devilish grin that came across his ebony lips.  “I am Misery, aligned with the dark goddess Shar.  And if I remember correctly, I have an act of wickedness that needs to be preformed.”

Velus nodded in understanding.  “As a sacrifice.”

Misery shrugged.  “If that is what she sees as a sacrifice, than she was correct.  I really DON'T have to do anything special in this alliance.  How pleasant.”  And so the duelist stalked off with the rogue drow behind him, determined to break in his new goddess with a bloody celebration.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Azaelyn had seen it all from the safety of the shadows, allowing Misery the time he needed to deal with this himself.  If there was one thing the beautiful assassin had come to know it was that the duelist liked to deal with these situations on his own if able.  She had seen Misery's bite against the cleric for what it was, and after that point (and making sure the duelist still breathed after the devastating blow from the flail) she let him deal with this himself.  She would be watching and waiting for her own chance to aid the drow in whatever action he chose to take once freed.

As soon as the duelist moved up the spiraling stone staircase with the Vhaerunites in tow, she saw it was indeed time for her skills to be called upon to aid in the path Misery had decided to dance upon.  The path that would define who he was.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

As the dark elves went about their attacks, the council and the other guards in this small clergy were being overthrown.  Misery saw more in these outcast drow than he had ever seen before.  The worked as a close and well organized unit, as a whole instead of each acting as a single. When the opening came from one dark elf's opponent, they were willing to lend a sailing dagger to break them free of their combat so that they could move onto the next.  Perhaps Misery had judged these Vhaeraunites too harshly ... something he would not do again.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sight of Sliver trying to flee the scene across the room and out the door.  The duelist knew his type.  It was not out of cowardice in which he fled, but out of understanding of who would win this battle and that nothing could change that.  The cleric would leave and bring back any nearby ally he could find in the neighboring territories.  

Yea, like that would happen he thought.  The duelist pulled out a silver dagger from a fallen surface elf, hurling it end over end at the cleric's forehead.  Regardless, the dagger bounced harmlessly off the cleric's skin, causing him to turn and narrow hate filled eyes at the drow.

“You fool.  Did you think I would not cover myself in protective spells!  I shall return with an army from another church and we will stamp you out to the last evil hearted one!” he barked across the clashing of blades in this main chamber room.

Misery gave a devilish wink and grin in return.  “It was not meant to hurt you, sunshine.  Just to point you out to her,” he stated as he pointed behind the cleric which caused Sliver's gaze to follow.  What Sliver saw were twin black blades coming across his neck, cutting through his protective spells and beheading the surface elf effortlessly.  His last image he would take with him was not a dark elf, but the surface elf asssassin, Azaelyn.  Misery thought of the irony as his head fell to the ground.  Too much of his time watching out for dark elves left him blind-sighted against other enemies.  

Azaelyn pointed behind the duelist, causing him to quickly spin about to see Doe looking at the purple-streaked drow with painful confusion.  She began walking towards him, a pair of marvelously crafted elven daggers in hand, her innocent eyes glancing over Misery in some hope of understanding.  

“Why?”  was all she could ask, all she could suffer.

“Because the world continues to tell me that it is black and white.  I still believe in the gray, but if I have to choose a side, than here it is.”  

She shook her head in disbelief.  “I don't believe it!  You're not evil!”

Her eyes went wide in horror.  Fast ... he was so fast!  He was in front of her, so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath upon her pale face.  A chilling cold began to fill her body, staring down at a sudden pain in her stomach.  Doe saw Darkriver embedded deep within her, could even feel that it had pierced through the other side of her body.

“... its a shame your such a bad judge of character,” the drow whispered into her ear.

She wanted to curse him, to shout out her continuing disbelief despite the growing darkness around her, but her words would not come.  Misery slipped his sword out of her body, the blade now charged with her life-force as she fell down to her knees and to the floor.  Her only comfort was the soothing voice of something greater on the other side, a voice she knew to be her mother that had been lost to her at an early age.  It was alright, she thought.  She would be so happy with her again, along with her other family waiting for her ...

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
The massacre was a complete one.  Misery did not stop until they had killed this small sect down to the last elf ... save for one.

As the other drow began looting the bodies and temple of anything of magical potency and value, Misery could see the lone figure outside, standing in the snow under the moonlight, green tattered cloak billowing in the wind.  Misery's expression turned serious before turning to the others.  “I have one last thing to take care of.  Take what you wish and begone from this place.”

Though these drow were not exactly eager to take orders from this once traitor, they agreed to his words since it was because of him they still lived.  Azaelyn walked up behind Misery, reaching around to roam her hands suggestively up and down his bare, toned chest, slowly moving to the edge of his pants in quiet suggestion.  She was infatuated with what he had done, and could only guess that her prayer had actually been answered!  This was the Misery she knew, where no one was safe from his wrath and he would take place in a massacre if he was so wronged.  It took all her control not to climb on top of him and ravage him now!
However, she too saw the silhouette in the darkness and recognized the figure for who it was.  “Are you going to him?”

The drow nodded.

She was a bit concerned at that thought, knowing well enough that the ghostwalker was no one to be trifled with.  He was a powerful warrior, perhaps as powerful as Misery himself.  Perhaps even more so ...

Misery removed himself from Azaelyn's grasp and made his way to the battle below.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>.

In the moonlight on the snowy field,  the pair stood hard at each other, no words spoken for a long time.  Rain held in his hand his ancient sword, Eleria Itura, a bastard sword that had been recently crafted with the Tear of Shevarash, a blue, tear shaped gem that lay in the cross-guard to his mighty weapon.  The sword was powerful by all means, perhaps even more so than Darkriver.  The swords almost seemed to communicate with each other as Eleria came to life as crackling lightning began to lick up and down its blade, Darkriver responding in kind by igniting in its dark bloodied aura flowing up and down its blade as well.  

Rain brought his shield off his shoulder, a symbol of a rain drop with elvish inscriptions written upon its steel.  “I cannot say you were wrong in your actions.”  the ghostwalker started, beginning to circle the drow, Misery taking up the dance in kind by also moving in a circle to keep the ghostwalker always in front of him.  “I believe you were set up.  I also believed you would escape.”  he said, glancing to Darkriver.  

So that was the underlying reason Rain had suggested Misery die by how own sword.  No surprise, really.  

“But what has taken place this night was more than just revenge.  You killed them all, even those who were too weak to defend themselves and had nothing to do with your capture.  Doe, the council ... they all lie dead.  I will not claim to know which ones of those that should have died, but I do know the innocents should have been spared.  You have committed a dark act this night, Misery.  And as such, I must respond to this.”

Misery's eyes narrowed as a scowl crossed his face.  “Because your god demands it?”  

Rain shook his head.  “ ... because I demand it.”

A night owl fluttered from it's branch, bursting off into the distance.  This shattered their dance as both parties launched themselves forward at each other, both wearing their own convictions out in the open as their blades clashed in this epic sword struggle.

Rain fought for vengeance and for what was right and wrong, not what was good or evil since they were often different.

Misery fought for himself, to cut his path the way he saw fit and encourage his darkness instead of suppressing it.

As their feet slid and skidded into positions, the snow flowed into the cool night air, the wind picked up enough to dust the snow into the breeze.  The flowing cloth of green and purple meshed together in a tight dance as both sides gave everything they had against their foe.  Rain's sword was powerful and his sword arm one of the most skilled Misery had ever squared off against, but as the fight progressed Rain found himself hard pressed to land a blow while Misery had scored a few.  

The ghostwalker understood the way this fight would end.  He tossed his shield to the winter's ground, holding Eleria in both hands as he charged.  He tried a desperate last resort attack which the duelist parried easily enough to the side and drove Darkriver home into Rain's heart, pushing past the chain links of the magical chain-shirt he wore.  Blood began pouring from the corner of his pale elven lips, his blue eyes surprisingly calm as he stared out past the locks of azure that fell over his face.  Rain's left hand reached out and held Darkriver's blade in his iron grip, not letting Misery pull his sword away as Eleria came across fast and strong in his true last attack.  Misery's eyes went wide as he leapt back quickly, releasing his grasp on Darkriver but not before the sword came down in a diagonal slash from top left to bottom right, slicing into Misery's bare chest and drawing a thick line of blood to shower the chill night air.  Misery fell back into the snow, vision cloudy from the powerful blow the ghostwalker had dealt. The surge of electricity from Eleria spasmed through the duelist's body, trying to usher him to his death.  The wound however was not deep enough for such a calling and despite the powerful attack made against him, Misery knew he would live.  Through his blurred vision he saw the ghostwalker pull Darkriver from his chest and toss it casually to the duelist's side.

And than he fell face down in the snow as his lifeblood left him.  Misery worked his way slowly to his feet.  Lurching over to Rain's side, he checked his pulse and found that it had stopped.  Rain was dead.

Coming forth from the shadows after watching the match, Azaelyn held out one of Misery's lost wands, a wand of healing.  Using the wand, she discharged its magic into the duelist's wound.  It healed the gash along with the scar, but Misery still felt weak from the blow.  He would need rest after that encounter.  Misery glanced down to the fallen ghostwalker once more before nodding to Azaelyn as the pair walked away.  Azaelyn likewise held no grudge against the ghostwalker and never wished to see him killed, but knew that there was no way around the deadly task set before the drow.  Still, as she looked to Misery in his weakened state, she couldn't help but grin and plot.  He would be too weak to fight off her advances, and her boiling blood would have him this evening as soon as they made camp.  She had her dark warrior back!  She had her Misery!  After this evening, she thought, the duelist would not be able to stand straight for quite some time ...

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

The sun came up on the bloodied battlefield,  the light covering Rain's body.  At the sensation, the ghostwalker stood up, albeit slowly, checking the wound against his heart as he found his footing.  The wound was still healing from the magical power of his ring, and his ability to feign death to the state he actually looked and felt dead having bought him the opportunity he needed.  The duelist's mark was now against him, and the ghostwalker felt a surge of impossible power rush through his body as he thought on the purple-streaked drow.  

“... pray I never find you, drow.  For if I do, it shall be the last mistake you ever know.”