Let me start by saying I do not own Eberron, that is a creation of Mr. Baker and the people at Wizards of the Coast. (Thanks for the games, guys.) Second, these are my character. If by any chance they resemble anyone, famous or not, this is by accident and was not intended. Third, I write in my spare time, so updates will be slow, unless I have some time off from work then expect them a little faster. Finally, please read and review.

******** used for time-skips/flashbacks

-End Section- states end of story section

Italics are used for all speach and wrapped: "Like this."

Inner thoughts are Italiced and wrapped: ~Like so.~

As per the rules, this is rated M. I know that there isn't much at this point to warrant such labeling, but there will be in later chapters.

The Shard's of Destiny

Prologue

The light of three moons spill upon the blue-black waters. The soft slosh and splash of water could not muffle the sounds of the ship bumping into the wooden dock as it swayed with the tidal currents. Every now and then a wave crashes onto the nearby beach sending a salty spray into the air.

In a dock-side tavern, voices can be heard as they sing a bawdy sailing song about beautiful naked women and the forgotten treasures of the deep. After each pause in the chorus, they erupt in a cheer for another round. The lights of the building cast shadows onto the nearby warehouses.

A large cloud passes overhead casting the docks into complete darkness. As it passes by, a lone figure can be seen staggering out of a nearby alleyway to crash into a stack of crates. Groaning in pain, the figure rises and continues on it's way into the next alley. Passing through the light coming from a window, the figure can be seen briefly.

He wears worn and faded clothing. One gloved hand clutches his side in an attempt to staunch the ever widening reddish stain at his side. Pausing to lean on a nearby barrel, he looks behind him for any signs of pursuit by his attackers. The light of the moons brighten slightly, causing his stark white hair to glow eerily. A small goatee frames the outline of his mouth. His dusky hued skin is coated in perspiration. His azure colored eyes wince in pain with each breath he takes.

I think I killed one of them, but there are three more.

Looking at his side he quickly examines his wounds. A slight purplish pucker around the wound worries him.

I need help. The blood won't stop. Bastard must have poisoned his blade. Gods above, it feels as though fire is burning through my veins and my vision is fading.

A scrape of a foot against wood alerts him to their presence. Lurching back to his feet, he staggers down the alley into the deeper shadows. Looking back he sees three figures detach from the shadows and come running across the wooden planks. The moon light glistens off of drawn blades, as a voice in his head tells him that he will not escape. A small grin urges it way across his face. It's not the first time he has had those thoughts and probably not the last, he hopes.

Hissing in pain, he staggers into a run down the alley. Each breath is labored and painful. His vision begins to darken more as a memory of better times comes back to him.

**********Flashback**********

A fine mist hangs in the air, barely dulling the natural beauty of the mountains. The smell of pine gives the air a clean sent. The dawn light shines down gently kissing the dew covered plants. The sound of a small creek flowing down the hill-side and the chirping of early birds break the stillness of the scene.

Near the side of a large out-cropping of stones is a small cabin. The little shack is made of fitted stones and sits cozily near the stream. The thatched roof is covered in green moss and small tendrils of smoke climb from the chimney to disappear into the misty blanket.

As the door slowly opens, a young woman can be seen coming out. Her fine blonde hair, which seems to glow in the meager light, frames a care-worn face. Her simple dress, with many patches, clings to her tightly. In her hand is a small bucket as she walks over and fills it from the bubbling brook.

Turning back to the cabin, she pauses to see a small dusky skinned child of maybe five years with unkempt white hair, standing in the doorway. His little hands rub the sleep from his eyes as he looks to her. They both smile, her's full of bitter-sweet sadness and his filled with unconditional love. He quickly runs over to her and leaps into her arms. as she drops the bucket. His little arms squeeze her tightly as she begins to twirl and hums a simple tune. The boy begins to laugh loudly as they spin.

**********Flashback**********

The impact of the cobblestones jar him back into reality. Rolling to his back, he glances at one of the moons above. The pain in his side is becoming unbearable, as his breath becomes rapid and shallow. Weakly, he starts crawling. Near the mouth of the alley, his vision is all but gone and the only sound in his ears is his labored breath. His body has become cold and numb from lying on the cobblestones, the poison or both.

He doesn't feel the large pair of hands that grasp him around the arms, nor does he hear the voice that urges him to hold on to life. His world is in total blackness and as his breathing begins to slow down. From somewhere in the coming darkness, he hears the echoes of a fading child's laughter.

-End section-

Two figures were walking down the cobble-stone street. As they passed under the light of the mage-lamps, they could be seen more clearly. Both were made of metal, stone and wood. Passers-by would know them as warforged. Construct beings who were made for the sole purpose of fighting in the Last War. After the end of the war, they were granted their freedom and allowed to live their own lives. Freedom was a new concept for the warforged and many failed to understand the significance of this right. Most sold their services into positions being bodyguards, while others roamed the lands searching for a purpose in this new world of peace.

The taller and by far the biggest of the two, standing around six foot seven, it's 'skin' was the color of dark gun-metal grey. Small spikes lifted from it's shoulders and were also seen on the backs of it's three fingered hands. Each piece of it's armored body seemed to flow togethor showing little or no seems. A symbol was etched into surface of it's forehead and chest. A soul-gem is clearly seen in it's chest, the color of the gem matched it's eyes, a soft purple that seemed to be filled with patience. At it's waist was a large spiked morningstar that was held in place by a leather strap and it swung freely with each step. Many pouches were bound to the leather belt it wore around it waist. On it's back was a thick metal shield engraved with the holy symbol of Boldrei, goddess of communities and patron of the hearth.

The companion that walked beside it was made roughy the same way. Where one's body was heavy and dull colored, this one's was slimmer and made of blueish white metal known as mithral. This one was shorter than it's counterpart, barely reaching six foot in height. It carried a large great-sword sheathed on it's back. The hilt of the blade could be seen sticking out from under the dark green cloak it wore. A pair of custom dark leather boots, ending at the knee, and a wide leather belt with numerous pouches was worn around the waist. The markings on the chest and forehead were mising on this one. It's soul-gem and eyes glowed with a fierce blue, those looking into it's 'eyes' would swear they saw great intelligence radiating from within. This one had several scratches and little dents over it's body, giving testament to many battles fought and won.

"Listen Syxx. We all have a soul. What we do with it decides the course of our life and how other look upon us.", said the larger of the two in a deep cultured voice.

Sighing as if this conversation has come up before, the other replies in a hollow voice, "Must we start this up again? Look Symbol, no disrespect to your beliefs, but we were created not born. By what right do we claim to a soul?"

"By the right that we are free to choose. When you are in battle, do you not feel saddened by the loss of a comrade when they die?", the one named Symbol asked.

"It is more liken to disappointment than sadness. But that is from the loss of the skills they brought to the squad and the possible failure of the group's mission, not to the loss of just one individual.", Syxx stated.

"So you are saying that if, shall we say, Ravanna was killed in an attack. You would not feel saddened by her loss? Or that you wouldn't feel anger towards the one who killed her?", asked Symbol.

"First off, that is a bad example. Secondly, I would not feel sad that she died, if fact I doubt that I would feel anything other than irritation since I must make new plans based around the act she is no longer an active ally. Neither would I personally seek revenge against her slayer, because she rarely listens to any plan and she has a severe dilike to following orders given to her by anyone other than the Captain."

"She listens to me, but only because I listen to her and act as a friend. You treat her and almost everyone else as piece that you can move on a board game. Giving the proper respect to others and having compassion for their feelings will teach you that you do have a soul and it can be a source of strength.", Symbol retorted.

"Listen. When I first came into being, there was no divine light, no flash of inspiration, no nothing, but a voice commanding me to stand and move off to the side and join the rest of the squadron. My first memory is of the Forgewright telling me that I was a tool for war and nothing else. Since then I have fought, killed and been almost destroyed and through it all there has been no deity, divine spirit or holy power that has aided, repaired or given me strength.", explained Syxx.

"They never have helped you because you have never asked. When I call upon Boldrei to heal the sick and injured, I feel her presence inside of me. It is like a shard of her spirit joins with me in ading of my duties. If I was to put a word to this feeling, it would be...Look."

"What? What kind of feeling is Look?", asked the smaller warforged.

"No dammit, look.", said Symbol while pointing to an alley.

A dusky grey hand can be seen. It twitches and curls as if in pain. Moving closer to the alley, they see that the hand belongs to a serverly wounded man, who is lying on the cold cobble-stone ground. He clothes are matted with blood and his breathing is shallow. Each breathe is a wheezing laborous ordeal. Walking over to the fallen man, Symbol kneels down and puts a hand to the man's chest. He begins to mutter a spell of healing, when his partner hisses in warning. Looking up, he sees that there are three other in the alley with them. One is bleeding from a wound in his shoulder, but otherwise he is unhurt. The other two draw wicked looking daggers and look back to the wounded leader.

"Stay away from him, you rusted bucket of slag! This bastard owes me and I will have my revenge!", stated the wounded man.

"Well, I was going to just leave this alone, but after being called 'slag' I think I have changed my mind. Symbol, heal the guy up and I'll take care of these three fools.",explained Syxx.

The warforged drew the greatsword from his back. The blade glistened in the light cast from the mage-lamps, as if it was soaked in some kind of liquid. Drops of the fluid fell unto the ground and began to sizzle. An acrid smell filled the air as the tiny droplets started eating away at the stone. The glow of the warforged's eyes increased as it started to move towards the three.

Glancing back to their leader, who just gives a nod, the two men charge the sword weilding foe. They try to come at it from different angles hoping to confuse or at least catch it between them. The warforged said a word in the tongue of the dragons, this caused his sword blade to begin arcing off in electrical energy. With a quick feint to it's left, it pivoted to the right and the greatsword cleaved through the feeble defense of the attacker. The greatsword cleaved through steel and into the chest of the man, it continued on its way passing completely through and out of the other side. Using the blade's momentum, Syxx spun in a complete circle and brought the blade up before the startled attacker. Slowly, the cleaved man, fell to his knees. The jarring impact caused half of the body to tumble to the side onto the ground. Blood began pouring unto the cobblestones.

The other attacker paused long enough for the horror to show clearly upon his face. Turning quickly, he began to run towards his leader. With another command, the warforged extended his hand and a light blue ray of light shot out, striking the fleeing man in the back. A frost began to cover him from head to toe and his slowed his running to a stop. He was frozed in mid-step. Syxx looked back toward the leader only to see him gone. Sighing in frustration, the warforged walked over and hit the man in the back of the head, knocking him cold.

"This one is for the guardsmen, then. How is he, Symbol?", asked Syxx as he returned to the alley entrance while sheathing his sword.

"No good. He has lost a lot of blood and he has been poisoned. I have healed him as much as I could, but I need to get him to the ship in order to remove the poison from his system. Quick, come here and help me lift him."

"No. I think that this is a bad idea. Who-ever is after him will only come after us to get to him. I am not wanting to bring any more danger to the ship or the Captain than we already have by interfering in a fight between a bunch of thieves."

"How do you know this man is a thief? Does your piercing insight give you the ability to know that he is?", asked Symbol.

"No, but any fool can see that he is not just a common person either. Come on Symbol, does the white hair and dark colored skin not tell you what he is? What about those pointy ears, eh? He is a drow and they are a dangerous bunch, not to be trusted."

"The same has been said of us Warforged, or have you forgotten how we have been treated since the Last War? Also, look at his face. There is no way a full-blooded elf, even a drow, could grow facial hair. So either you help me or not, but this man is going back to the ship."

Sighing loudly, Syxx walked over and helped in lifting the unconcious man to Symbol's shoulders. After he was settled into place, Symbol turned and began walking back to the ship. To where he could heal the wounded man fully. Syxx, after shaking his head in disbelief, followed his emotion driven partner.

"I still say this is a bad idea."

Looking at his smaller friend, Symbol laughed and continued on. Hoping that the spikes on his body wouldn't hurt the wounded drowling any more than he was.