Chapter One

The cave was cold, cold enough to pierce an outsider to the very core, and fill them up with the slow creep of chill. It had been a long time since Drielanor had felt the cold, though, a long time since Drielanor had really felt anything. The stale air and darkness was all he knew now, all he could remember. He knew he had been something else once, a snow elf, but that didn't matter now. Drielanor didn't really know, Drielanor didn't really care, because Drielanor had his cave. Drielanor had his hollow, cold, damp cave, a place he could call home, a place where no one ever bothered him.

There was once a time when Drielanor was bothered by people, where he had to actually communicate with them. Throughout his life, he had been treated poorly by the small folk, the race of vermin that tortured his existence. Years of slavery they had put him through, separating him from his family, and forcing him to drink that disgusting liquid which helped him to survive in the deep dark. Years had passed, and slowly, the others, the ones like Drielanor, twisted and cursed to the same existence, died off, leaving only Drielanor. Drielanor didn't know why he was left, and they weren't, but he didn't really care, because Drielanor, he had his cave.

Drielanor spent his days sitting, listening to the steady drip of water that served as his main source of entertainment, and killing unlucky creatures that happened to stumble into his domain. Some of them were his own kind, but Drielanor didn't care, Drielanor was hungry. He was stronger than his brethren, and smarter, retaining more of his old qualities than the rest, and living centuries past the average lifetime. Truthfully, though, Drielanor didn't know how long he had lived, and the time seemed to drag past deep under the earth, days blending together, the light of the sun no longer providing a way of keeping time.

This served as the majority of Drielanor's existence, and since he didn't see dying as a future possibility, he was content exactly as he was. That is, until the day something new stumbled across his cave. This something awoke Drielanor from one of his frequent naps under a large rock in the corner of his cave, and sleepily, he hobbled across the floor of the cave, his appetite coming to him at the prospect of a fresh kill. He began to hobble faster, his mouth watering, guttural growls emitting from the back of his throat, and he rounded a corner to face the noisy creature directly,

As he stepped into view of the creature, it spoke, spewing a hasty swear, before jerking forward and kneeing Drielanor in the face. His vision going black, Drielanor gave a small, surprised grunt, before tumbling backwards and smashing into a wall.

"Falmer, such ugly, little creatures." Said a new voice, haughty and dripping with condescension.

"Not so quick there, Sasere, I'll have you know you're talking about one of my distant cousins," replied the original voice, jokingly. "You okay, little guy? Come now, get up."

Drielanor pulled his face from the wall, leaving a streak of drool across the stone, and dazed, turned to face the person who had sent him flying. He gave a shriek of anger at the sight of the person, a short, pale elf, with white hair, and an impish face, and scurried towards him, leaping, claws outstretched for his face.

The second kick landed squarely in his face again, and he flew back with a squeak, resuming his beloved position splayed across the wall.

"On second thought, you're right, those damn things are annoying."

"See? You're not too different."

"Funny, Sasere. Very funny."

Sasere, a human woman with black hair and studded armor akin to bandits, crossed her arms and looked at him. "So? What exactly do we need him for, Alaas?"

Alaas, the impish snow elf, turned to look at the crumpled form of Drielanor, hugging the wall. "If we're to carry this through, we need all the help we can get, and he has hope."

"You really think you can bring him back?"
"I hope."

Sasere smirked, and drew a net from the pack on her back. "Want me to do the honors?"

"Go right ahead."
She walked up to Drielanor, who was peeling himself off of the wall, and crouched down to his level. When he noticed her, he snarled violently. She snarled back at him, and promptly embedded her fist into the pale, soft flesh of his face.

For the third time that day, Drielanor hit the wall, but this time, he was out. Seeing this, Sasere drew the net across him and tied it, in a way that she could easily drag him along behind her, on the way back to the encampment.

"Ready to plan a war?" She asked.

Alaas looked at her, a new seriousness burning in his eyes. "I have been for awhile now."