Okay. You know the drill. Drizzt, Guen, Bruenor, etc. are R.A.'s. Mychal, Bruenor (the Drow), their parents, Brek, among a few others, are pulled from my mind as how the story should go. Enjoy (I hope).
"Bruenor, behind ye!"
At the shout, a young drow twirled about, short swords blocking the creature's claws from finding a purchase in his exposed back. When the dark elf had dispatched his attacker, he turned startling green eyes upon his companion. "Mick, I ne'er thought I'd be sayin' it, but I'm fer retreatin'!" Any further words he might have wished to share were cut off as he was once more engaged in battle, his body contorting in what seemed to be impossible positions as he danced between the claws of his adversaries.
"Aye! Me think yer reet," his fair skinned companion answered, as he too fought to stay a step ahead of his foes. Lopping off the claw of one of the beasts with his twin halberds, the one called 'Mick' cast his golden gaze toward his cousin. "We need to get word to Grady an' the rest o' our kin. Tis unnatural creatures we be fightin' here." A sound behind him alerted him to danger, causing him to turn toward battle once more, silvery white hair snapping like a whip from the force. Not fast enough.
Mykail Do Úrden found himself pinned to the forest floor. He was aware of his cousin, Bruenor, calling out to him, but only partially. As he stared into the crazed eyes of his captor, he thought only one thing. Misha, I be needin' yer help, me friend!
As he sent the thought out, his eyes, perhaps by some trick of the waning light, resembled those of a cat. A growl rolled from the twisted creature's throat as its jowls snapped at the trapped elf, only to bite down on the mithril handle of a halberd before the weight of a large, white feline knocked it from its purchase atop the elf. Mykail released his hold on the trapped halberd, willingly surrendering its use for the sake of keeping his shoulder in its socket. Once Misha finished the beast off, Mykail retrieved his weapon, grabbed a hold of his cousin's cloak, and ran, knowing Misha would stay close.
"What could've made these things, do ye think, Mick?" Bruenor breathlessly enquired as they raced through the woods, crashing through any underbrush they came upon.
"I do no' know, cousin! But I'm sure we'll find 'em reet enough. We're bein' herded!" The two continued to race through the wood, gazes fastened to the distance in case of trouble ahead. Night had settled upon them, casting the forest in eerie shadows. Dark forms seemed to flitter about among the shrubbery around them, leaving them with the impression of being watched: an understandable feeling when one of those shadows separated from the surrounding darkness to block their path. "Drow! Should've known," Mykail said. Other shadows began to separate from the foliage, meaning to surround the two cousins. They refused to slow. Instead, the two Do Úrdens sped up as fast as their weary bodies would allow. Their goal was to force through the Drow perimeter before it was fully set. "Do ye still 'ave some o' Gram's holy water, Bruenor."
"Aye!"
"Good. Cause we're to be needin' it!" Mykail called out, just as a barrage of darts rained down upon them.
"What's keepin' the lads! They should've been back by now!" The dwarven king cast his sharp eyes upon his elven companion, as the two stood on a natural shelf hewn by time from the mountain side.
"I do not know, Bruenor. Perhaps I should go look for them." Lavender eyes met those of the wizened old dwarf, noting how heavily his friend leaned upon the rod that now rested in his hands more often than his axe.
"Aye, yer reet. We should." Drizzt turned to see his son, Zaknafein, behind him. "Granda's got a point. They should've been back by now." Drizzt allowed his gaze to take in his son's mithril armor, befitting a prince of Mithril Hall. His son's swords—one of which had belonged to CattiBrie—were at his waist. Behind Zak stood his younger sister, Kaitlyn, with both of their spouses. "I be knowin' me boy is full o' mischief," Zak stated, "but 'e wouldn't be foolin' on patrol. They're a day late. That's no' like 'em."
"I agree with me brother, Da," Kaitlyn added. "Our lads should've been back by now. Ye know they 've a way of findin' trouble"
The familiar ache touched Drizzt's heart as he looked into their eyes. They were the eyes of their mother. "Then we go."
Mykail glanced about his immediate area as he ran, Bruenor in tow, in hopes of finding something to use to their advantage. Nothing appeared at first. However, a second glance around showed he knew the area, and, if he was right, there was a low cliff face carved from the mountain only a few hundred yards away. It wasn't really a solution, but it would force the enemy to approach them from one side only, blocking all other alternatives. Turning to his right, he ran for the cliff face, wincing as another dart struck him, this time in the neck. "The holy water, Bruenor!" he called to his cousin, deftly catching it without breaking stride. Taking a swig, Mykail soon felt it countering the Drow poison. He tossed it back to Bruenor. "Best ye take a nip of it yerself!" Mick said, as they finally started up rocky terrain to their destination.
"Aye!" Bruenor said in answer, adding, "Ye do know, cousin, that tis suicide to be puttin' our backs to the wall, don't ye?"
Mick flashed him a grin, "I thought ye said ye worked better under pressure, Bruenor!" Earning a crack of laughter from his companion, as he added, "Besides, I'm awful tired o' runnin', aren't ye?"
"Well, grandda always says we shouldn't run from our troubles!" Bruenor quipped as they slowed, turning to face the enemy as the Drow bled from the tree line. They were more numerous than the two had previously thought. "Course, I'm no' certain he meant it fer this many troubles, Mick," Bruenor stated, casting a worried glance at his fair-skinned cousin. "I'm thinkin' this isn't just a chance meetin' with a wee lil' raidin' party, what say ye, Mick?"
"I believe these might be huntin' fer Do Úrdens, Bruenor," Mykail answered, as he spotted two Lloth priestesses step out of the woods into the waning moonlight. The two Do Úrden cousins tightened their grips upon their weapons, bracing themselves as the Drow made their swift, but cautious approach. Bruenor tapped his short sword against Mykail's halberd, drawing his attention.
"Might we be hopin' fer a lil' assistance?" Bruenor asked when he met his cousin's gaze. Mykail simply grinned, his eyes once more marked with an eerie slant to the pupil, before cries broke out among the Drow ranks on both sides. "What's happenin'?" Bruenor added at the sight of a squirmish.
"The Drow were spread a lil' thinner than they should've been, so a kindly pack of wolves offered to point out this lil' discrepancy." Bruenor grinned, as Mykail added, "and o' course we've Misha on the other side makin' friends, though she tends to play a lil' rough as you know."
"Aye, that I do," Bruenor said, nodding sagely. "But ye know, me conscience doesn't seem troubled wi' the idea o' yer cat makin' chew toys out of Drow," Bruenor quipped, as his blade whipped out to meet the first of their attackers to make it up the short, rocky climb to the cliff face.
Mykail laughed, the fear and adrenaline drawing out the light banter with his cousin, dispelling his usual reserve, as he playfully added, "How yer sayin' so has relieved me mind ye've no way of knowin', cousin!" He then danced a little to the side to engage the next Drow soldier to approach them in battle, quickly dispatching him. The dance continued, the cousins more than accustomed to each other's style, so that their moves easily complimented one another. They were holding off the Drow surprisingly well considering the odds were decidedly against them, when a green glob of goo slammed into Bruenor, pinning him to the cliff face behind them.
"Bruenor!" All joking aside, Mykail struck the blades of his current adversary to the side, ducked, and rolled till he stood between the Drow and Bruenor. "How bad is it? Can ye move at all?" Mykail asked, currently unable to study his young cousin's situation. He heard Bruenor's grunts, as he attempted to fight the Lloth priestesses' little spell.
"It's no good, Mick. I'm stuck fast," Bruenor confessed. "The spider witch hit me dead center. Run fer it, Mick!"
"And leave ye here to fight them with a hard stare? O'er me dead, decayin' body!" Mykail assured him.
Bruenor's smile—though Mykail failed to see it—was grim, as he pointed out, "At this rate, Mick, it very well will be." As he spoke, the Drow soldiers fell back, causing a moment of confusion for the two defenders, until Mick sank into what was once solid rock. "Mick!" Bruenor yelled, helpless and unable to aid his cousin.
As his feet sank, Mick dropped his halberds, falling back. His hands, like his feet, sank into the stone. The stone then solidified once more, effectively ensnaring his limbs in stone bindings. The Drow soldiers still held back. Instead, the cousins watched, struggling futilely, as the priestesses approached.
The two priestesses were undeniably beautiful, but—if their Drow family members taught the two of them anything about the Drow—the beautiful ones often proved to be the cruelest. A chill ran down Mykail's back as one of the two drew her sword, her eyes locked onto him as she approached. Cries sounded from the ranks of Drow: further difficulties for the Drow that were yet unknown. The priestess with the sword rattled something off to the other in their tongue, never taking her eyes from Mykail. The other priestess reluctantly left to see what might be causing the disturbance among the lower ranks.
"Ye stay away from 'im, ye spider whore!" Bruenor shouted, as the priestess and her naked blade glided closer to his cousin.