Disclaimer: What's the point in writing something after 'Disclaimer'? I mean, if I owned this, why would I put a disclaimer before my work?

A/N: After two months of inactivity and writer's block, I've edited this fic and added another chapter (or so, I don't know how many more there will be after I finish writing this)! Thanks to my four reviewers, especially Ashthebrave and Mordecay, for their continued presence in the review sections of my works! Enjoy!

-LFK

The once mighty city of Neverwinter is a hive of panic and terror. Thousands have died from a mysterious plague called the Wailing Death, and thousands more are infected. With the risk of an epidemic spreading across the face of Faerûn, the Lords of Neverwinter declared a quarantine and shut the gates to all travel, trapping sick and healthy alike inside the city walls.

Lady Aribeth de Tylmarande has issued a call to all adventurers within the city, asking them to keep order and help her find a cure. Promises of honor and riches have drawn many to Aribeth's side, but all for naught. The plague spreads with every passing day, and sweeps through the poorer quarters of the city like a flash fire. Many would-be heroes have fallen, and no cure is in sight when a strange woman enters through means other than the great gates.

This is the story of a woman unused to finding kindness at the hands of others, becoming a deliverer of a greater kindness than any could imagine; a tale of might and magic, and the prices one must pay to succeed. This is the tale of Majandra Damar, the Silver Shadow.

It was a dark, gloomy night on the streets of Neverwinter, though especially more so in the winding maze of buildings and alleyways that was the Beggars Nest district. The despairing screams of the dead and dying echoed through the crisp air, drowning out the song of the stars to those that could hear their sorrow. There was tension in the air, almost as if daring one to answer the question: what do men do when not under the eyes of others? One woman was about to find out just how crudely desperate men could act outside of the eyes of the law.

"Not a-bloody-gain!" Majandra Damar growled to herself as she fled from alley to dark alley, long cape streaming out behind her as she sought to avoid the mob of drunkards trailing her with bare steel in her hands. A small alcove created by two tilted buildings caught her eye, and she ducked inside without a moment's hesitation. In normal times, no young woman would have to fear for her life on the streets of the Gem of the North, but these were not normal times, and Majandra was far from a normal woman.

At first glance, her features were those of a young moon elven woman, not more than a century or two old, with long, raven black hair with delicate blue highlights and fine elven features. It wasn't until one got closer did they see how the luscious fall of hair hid two silvery horns curving back from her head, or the red-flecked amber eyes that caught the light, even in the darkest night. When the slight breeze shifted her cape, a lithe, pointed tail peaked out under the hem.

"There she is!" Angry voices echoed down the empty street, followed by heavy bootsteps heading in her direction. One of the hunters, a big brute of a man with a scraggly beard and a badly stained tunic, slid his sword mockingly on the chipped cobblestones near Majandra's hideaway. "Come out, come out, wherever you are!" he said in a singsong voice. "I know you're hiding, pretty daemonfae! The priests of Cyric say that one of those horns of yours, when boiled in demonic blood will provide a cure for the plague, and we mean to have it!"

Majandra stiffened as she heard his words, struggling hard to contain the anger that had surged into her blood at the mention of her demonic heritage. Just as beings with both human and infernal blood in their veins were called tieflings, so people with the blood of elves and demons were called daemonfae. Though a different race than teiflings, daemonfae had in full the terrifying blood rage of their demonic blood, as well as the physical features taken from the infernal parent such as wings or tails.

Majandra's hands settled on the hilts of her weapons, and trusted companions, the twin wakizashi Rekkei-maru and Tekkei-maru. At first glance, the long eastern daggers seemed plain and unassuming. It wasn't until the heat of battle when the blades given her by her elven father glowed with the telltale signs of enchantment and magical power. Are we ready for this? She silently asked the sentient blades along their telepathic link.

Bathing in the blood of these fools will be enjoyable. Rekkei-maru's voice was like Majandra's own; soft, confident, melodious, but with a twisted edge to it that was soaked in the suppressed anger the daemonfae held inside. We have not killed in many days.

I'd rather keep it like that! Majandra replied as she crouched down and began to inch carefully out of the tight hole.

Only kill if you have to, Tekkei-maru advised in a gentle tone like her master's yet untouched by the countless sorrows visited upon their lives. We have only been in this city for barely a week. Killing citizens, even in self-defense, is something we cannot afford if we wish for a hope of acceptance. Majandra just shook her head and rolled her eyes. Sometimes she wondered if it were a wonderful joke her father had played on her by giving her sentient weapons who's personalities rested on complete opposite ends of the spectrum where her own lay in the middle.

The communication only took a split second, but it was one second too many as her streak of good fortune finally ran out.

"Gotcha!" the brutish man snarled as he grabbed her by the arm roughly, beefy hands and long, yellowing nails cutting into the fabric of her silk shirt and bruising the skin below it. He dragged her out of the alcove and then threw her onto the ground, where she found herself surrounded by a group of men. "Well, boys," he continued as he slowly circled her, black beady eyes fixed greedily on her body. "I told you'd I'd bag us a demon, and I just did!"

Majandra lost focus the instant the word 'demon' came out of the big man's mouth, rage surging to a fore. She had spent years denying her heritage, sacrificing herself willingly for the greater good in an attempt to redeem the actions caused by her people and her own sins. Hearing the slight coming out of a stranger's mouth set her demonic blood afire and howling for the slaughter. "I am not a demon." She whispered quietly as she got to her feet slowly. The man closest to her stepped back a pace as her now glowing red eyes rested on his for a moment before moving on.

"What'd you say?" the ringleader jeered. "I didn't hear that, demon bitch!"

"I am NOT a demon!" Majandra snarled as she launched herself at the beefy man, using a flying roundhouse kick to strike him in the gut and then the next eight men in a series of blows that cracked bones and bruised muscles.

"Kill her!" the leader rasped as he drew a longsword from the sheath at his side and charged at her. "We can get the cure out of her dead body as easily as alive!" another man leapt at her with bare steel in his hands, sword whistling towards her neck. In that split second, as she watched the technique in which the tallow haired man used his blade, and the group tactics that the others were using to keep her attention divided, that she realized that she wasn't fighting drunk commoners. These were guardsmen, and they definitely knew their way around their weapons.

Only her cat-like agility saved Majandra from a free beheading, but as she twisted to avoid the blade, the man changed his cut in mid-swing, landing a deep blow beneath her ribs. She stumbled back, cursing as she clamped her left hand to the wound that had already soaked the front of her tunic with blood.

Apologizing to Tekkei-maru, Majandra drew Rekkei-maru and settled down into an offensive stance. "I am NOT a demon!" her voice was soft and almost pleading as she let the blood rage take over and threw herself at the men. They gasped in fear as a pair of ethereal, blazing wings appeared from her shoulder blades, but by then it was too late to run. Their fate had been sealed the moment the girl had drawn her blades.

Their screams cut into the air to mingle with those dying of the Wailing Death, but, if one listened, one could hear the demonic laughter echoing in the background.

When the veil of red rage left Majandra's eyes, she was lying in a pool of blood, some hers and some theirs, amongst a pile of mangled corpses. She tasted a coppery liquid in her mouth and then began retching violently as she realized what it was; blood, and most certainly not her own. A strange half sob escaped her red lips as she staggered away from the slaughtered guards to lean against the cold brick wall of the alley.

Monster… the word echoed mockingly in her head as she trembled from the effort of staying on her feet. Rekkei and Tekkei-maru had magically sheathed themselves at the end of the battle, one over her right shoulder, and the other at her left hip. "Yes," she mumbled as she stared sadly at her blood stained hands. "I am a monster. I deserve to be feared, to be hated, to die."

Decades ago, after the accident that had led to her exile from her home, Majandra had vowed upon her father's memory that she would never allow herself to kill in the blood rage that so defined her sub-race. This was the second time in the two weeks she had been in the Neverwinter region that she had broken her vow. There was a dark aura around the city, blackening the hearts of all that felt it, and it affected her more than wished to admit.

A sharp spike of pain in her side brought her out of her musings as a pained moan slipped through her tightly clenched teeth. Maggie, Tekkei-maru said concernedly in her head. The sentient sword used the pet name that Majandra's father had called the girl to get through the pain that clouded her mind. That wound is bad, very bad. We need to find a cleric. Head to the City Core; there are bound to be temples to all deities there.

And just what are the chances that there will be a deity willing to treat one such as a daemonfae? Rekkei-maru asked as Majandra pushed herself off the wall, leaving a red stain, and swayed weakly on her feet. Blood leaked through the fingers of her left hand as she held it tight against the deep gash that ran from her navel to just below her ribs. She took a careful step, ignoring the jolt of agony as she shifted her weight, and then broke into a limping jog as she headed towards the great iron gates that marked the border between the Beggar's Nest and the City Core.

Unbeknownst to our erstwhile adventurer, another set of eyes watched her passage from the shadows; two acid green eyes, held aloft by a lizard-like form relayed a message to their master before fluttering off into the night with leathery, scaled wings.

Blood loss, lack of sleep, and emotional drain began taking their toll on the young daemonfae as she stumbled blindly through the spotless streets of the Core, trailing blood with each step. The endless bickering of her two blades, coupled with the high-pitched ringing in her ears, made her head want to explode.

"There…" she whispered through cracked lips as a large white building appeared in her diminishing field of vision. "I either die…or not…" she shivered, wracked both by fever chills and fear. Death on the prime material plane would send her back to the Abyss, where she would be welcomed with open arms back into the endless Blood Wars.

She brought her wandering thoughts back to heel and found herself staring into the gold paneling of the wide temple doors. She raised a hand to push the doors open, but her strength chose to fail her before she could touch the handle.

Get up, demon child! Half-breed, tainted one, child of evil! Majandra flailed at herself with the cruel words she'd heard all too often during her travels and childhood, but her body refused to respond. Move, damn Tanari'i! Pain crashed down on her, and she curled into the fetal position with a choked cry, blood pooling beneath her.

Her last words, before the tantalizing lull of darkness swept her away, were the whispered denial, "I am not a demon…"