Ok. First things first, I don't know the layout of Faerun very well
so the story will take place in a world called Gaia (despite the fact that
the Underdark is included, it is not Faerun). Later on there will be hints
of a romance, but that wont come for a while yet. This story will be quite
long in the end and has a VERY long plot. So, I hope you can handle it.
The Darkest Road
Chapter 1: Drace Dal'Muara
From the Underdark, beneath the Tremos Mountains, through Kalaeria, across the plains of blood to Muarinin, through the Talimninian foothills and deep into the heart of the Nishannian forest, Draces' flight from his brethren had taken him.
The densely wooded forest swayed about him, groaning. The dirt path littered with logs and rocks fresh wagon tracks running along its' course. Drace followed the wagons' tracks for lack of other direction. He didn't know where he was going, in fact he knew very little of the surface world, having spent all of his life in the Underdark, beneath the ground. He remembered quite clearly the tears that touched his eyes when he stumbled out of the Underdark, only to find the sun setting - mind you, the tears may have been brought on by the stinging sensation in his eyes at the sudden brightness. In his flight from the Underdark he had been forced to kill several of his people, some who he had been close friends with - That day, gazing at the sunset, he had vowed never to kill any of his own kind again. He had watched the sunset everyday since he came to the surface, nearly two months ago, and cried every time, though the stinging was fading now, it still burned to gaze at so bright a beauty.
The few people he'd met thus far on the surface had not been kind to him. Given his appearance most mistook him for a half-drow, but in truth he was what the surface dwellers called a Dark Stalker, though the Dark Stalkers called themselves the Draeil. Though he hadn't fully revealed his face to anyone, they had still managed to catch a glimpse of his pale blue skin. He wore a dirty, brown cape, which had attached to it a large neck- guard and hood which allowed him to conceal himself. He wore a shirt of white-silver armor, which couldn't be identified as any form of metal for it allowed him full flexibility and a pair of dark brown, flexible pants. At his belt hung a pair of magical scimitars, one named Requiem the other named Sonata. Upon his hidden face was what appeared to be teal war paint, however, it was natural, all Draeil were born with markings such as his, though none were the same markings, even on twins. He was a modest five feet tall and was quite thin, though he was quite muscular, some might even go as far as saying his bones were lined with steel. His white-blonde hair nearly touched his waist, though only his bangs were visible to someone looking directly at him. His eyes were a deep shade of lavender and deep within them one could find compassion and a longing for acceptance - traits quite rare among the Draeil.
Sometime in the late afternoon he felt a hand place itself on his shoulder and forcibly spin him about, before the hand could even finish its movement to the hilt of his blade Drace had leapt away from the much larger man and drawn his scimitars - he was a Ranger of no small skill. Requiem glowed a faint blue glow as he held it in his hand; a reflection of his soul.
Behind him stood a well armed group of bandits - four of them. He quickly studied each of them, one carried a small hand crossbow, otherwise he could detect no long distance weapons hidden on their person. The hand crossbow on its own would do very little to heed him because the bolts were so small so Drace had to assume the tips were washed in a poison of some sort. One of them carried a mace, two a sword, and one of them carried both the hand crossbow and small axe.
"What is it?" One of the men asked, smiling, having caught a small glimpse of Draces' face.
"A night elf or maybe even a drow," another spoke, smirking, "what do you say about giving us all your money and those lovely scimitars, elf?"
Drace smirked, hidden by the shadows cast by his hood, "What are my options?"
"You can give it to us or we can come over there and take 'em." One of them stepped forward.
Sliding into a defensive stance Drace muttered, "Be my guest."
"Stubborn little twit," the group came at him full charge, one of the sword wielders in the lead, the one who carried the mace wasn't far behind him and the other swordsman took up the lead with the one who had the crossbow strapped to his belt.
Having two blades to use - two blades that he wielded more then well enough to handle these fools - he had a clear advantage as long as he could take one of them on at a time. At the moment, it didn't look as though he'd be given the chance. He stepped toward the leader, bringing his left scimitar, Requiem, into line with his attackers' blade. The blades connected solidly and Drace immediately punched forward, throwing his opponent off-balance. Before he could cause any real harm to his first opponent he was forced to divert his attention to the second attacker. He spun toward his next foe, knocking their mace away with the flat of his blade as Sonata lashed outward, cutting a clean cut through the larger mans armor and into his stomach - not a fatal blow, but a decisive one not the less. The man fell away, grasping his stomach, giving Drace time to figure out how to deal with the other three who were now coming at him quite angrily.
He brought Sonata in line for the parry but had no time for a counter attack and was instead forced to bring Sonata in close to his shoulder to block the descending axe. Requiem was busy with the other. He was struggling to keep up with all three of the well trained blades. He knew if he had enough time he could deal with all three of these, but he knew that sooner or later the one he wounded would join the fight again. He acted quickly and perhaps recklessly. Twisting his blades around and tossing his arms in an outward arch warded off the two others as he put his foot to the chest of the axe wielder and push him hard. The man was thrown several feet back onto his ass. Drace however had kicked out harder then intended and was thrown off balance. He was forced to leap into a rolling summersault to avoid any harm.
Leaping back to his feet his spun around, his advantage wasted. He surveyed the area, searching desperately for an advantage. He could call on his innate magic abilities to summon a cloud of fog but he couldn't risk not being able to react - even he couldn't manage complete silence in the middle of combat, and against four opponents he'd be at a great disadvantage. If something were to come at him, he wouldn't see it before it was too late.
The three men suddenly charged at him. He quickly took a step forward, sending Sonata crashing into the first mans blade. He quickly leapt into a twirl, spiralling away from the other two, Sonata locked with the mans' sword. Using his momentum he sent Requiem into the back of the mans head with a sickening crack.
He twisted away from the other two, his scimitars flying around him in a wide arch to ward of any attack. One of the men, who had gotten too close was clipped in the shoulder by Sonata, the blade had done much, just cut a fine gash in his armor and give him a scratch. The men came on more warily now, likely scared of the man who'd killed two of them and nearly crippled one.
The other one was stumbling to his feet behind the others. Drace knew he had to end it quickly. Leaping forward, he parried two blows in quick succession with one of his scimitars, thrusting the other forward toward one of his foes' stomachs. The man began to move out of the way, moving his axe to deflect the fatal blow. The axe knocked Requiem away, but not far enough. Requiem sliced into the mans' shoulder, the armor there already decimated by Draces' previous assault.
Drace leaped away, swatting aside another vicious blow. Drace stood staring at the two fighters, pondering how to launch his next attack, when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a hand-crossbow pointed in his direction.
He instantly leaped high into the air, throwing himself into a three hundred and sixty degree turn. The mini-crossbow bolt was lost in the billows of his flying cape. He dashed forward, focusing his attack entirely on the already wounded man. Sonata dove for the tender flesh of the mans neck, Requiem knocking the mans blade away from the parry.
He heard the click of the crossbow again and immediately grabbed hold of his dead foes corpse and used it as a shield. The other fighter, thinking he had the advantage, came full force at Drace. Needless to say he was quite surprised when two hundred and fifty pounds of man and armor were thrown upon him. Drace made a mad dash toward the crossbow man, who was fumbling around for another bolt. Requiem, however, had cut deeply into the mans' breast before he could manage to load his crossbow.
Turning around, Drace nodded toward the man buried beneath his dead companion and took off after the wagons tracks.
~~~~~~)-----(~~~~~~~
One month ago they had learned of his evil plot. They had been chasing him ever since. Yet, still he always remained one step ahead of them. They had chased endlessly after the ancient artefacts that would help him in his scheme, but to no avail. As of yet they hadn't any leads either. It seemed that he had already acquired one of these artefacts. Feeling her loves' strong arms pull her in closer, she smiled and let herself drift into sleep.
~~~~~~)-----(~~~~~~
Dacra trudged across the seemingly endless plains, his scimitars held in close to his sides. He would have his revenge, one way or another, and in doing so, he'd take back his pride as well.
~~~~~~)-----(~~~~~~
Liedle, the human archer, Samwise, Liedles' brother, the mage, Lana the human cleric, Dorn the dwarven fighter and Morghanna the human barbarian all sat at a table in the Boars' Head Tavern. They had just come into Mordon with a caravan from Muarinin. They were adventurers; they travelled from city to city looking for a way to make a name for themselves. Samwise and Liedle had come from the distant regions of Faebuarre after an assault on their home town. Dorn had met them deep within the winding corridors beneath the dwarven city Kalaeria when the drow had launched an attack. Morghanna had been hired on as a body guard for the caravan the group had been traveling with and, with nowhere else to go after the job was done she had asked if they would mind if she joined them.
They had all woken up not half an hour before when Samwise had tried to levitate his staff over to him instead of his staff; however, His bed had come gliding across the room to him. It had been dropped quite hard and woken up nearly everyone in the inn. Now sitting at a table, the group was deciding what to do next.
A moment later they heard a disturbance outside. The city guards were having trouble with someone by the sounds of it.
Drace.
The Darkest Road
Chapter 1: Drace Dal'Muara
From the Underdark, beneath the Tremos Mountains, through Kalaeria, across the plains of blood to Muarinin, through the Talimninian foothills and deep into the heart of the Nishannian forest, Draces' flight from his brethren had taken him.
The densely wooded forest swayed about him, groaning. The dirt path littered with logs and rocks fresh wagon tracks running along its' course. Drace followed the wagons' tracks for lack of other direction. He didn't know where he was going, in fact he knew very little of the surface world, having spent all of his life in the Underdark, beneath the ground. He remembered quite clearly the tears that touched his eyes when he stumbled out of the Underdark, only to find the sun setting - mind you, the tears may have been brought on by the stinging sensation in his eyes at the sudden brightness. In his flight from the Underdark he had been forced to kill several of his people, some who he had been close friends with - That day, gazing at the sunset, he had vowed never to kill any of his own kind again. He had watched the sunset everyday since he came to the surface, nearly two months ago, and cried every time, though the stinging was fading now, it still burned to gaze at so bright a beauty.
The few people he'd met thus far on the surface had not been kind to him. Given his appearance most mistook him for a half-drow, but in truth he was what the surface dwellers called a Dark Stalker, though the Dark Stalkers called themselves the Draeil. Though he hadn't fully revealed his face to anyone, they had still managed to catch a glimpse of his pale blue skin. He wore a dirty, brown cape, which had attached to it a large neck- guard and hood which allowed him to conceal himself. He wore a shirt of white-silver armor, which couldn't be identified as any form of metal for it allowed him full flexibility and a pair of dark brown, flexible pants. At his belt hung a pair of magical scimitars, one named Requiem the other named Sonata. Upon his hidden face was what appeared to be teal war paint, however, it was natural, all Draeil were born with markings such as his, though none were the same markings, even on twins. He was a modest five feet tall and was quite thin, though he was quite muscular, some might even go as far as saying his bones were lined with steel. His white-blonde hair nearly touched his waist, though only his bangs were visible to someone looking directly at him. His eyes were a deep shade of lavender and deep within them one could find compassion and a longing for acceptance - traits quite rare among the Draeil.
Sometime in the late afternoon he felt a hand place itself on his shoulder and forcibly spin him about, before the hand could even finish its movement to the hilt of his blade Drace had leapt away from the much larger man and drawn his scimitars - he was a Ranger of no small skill. Requiem glowed a faint blue glow as he held it in his hand; a reflection of his soul.
Behind him stood a well armed group of bandits - four of them. He quickly studied each of them, one carried a small hand crossbow, otherwise he could detect no long distance weapons hidden on their person. The hand crossbow on its own would do very little to heed him because the bolts were so small so Drace had to assume the tips were washed in a poison of some sort. One of them carried a mace, two a sword, and one of them carried both the hand crossbow and small axe.
"What is it?" One of the men asked, smiling, having caught a small glimpse of Draces' face.
"A night elf or maybe even a drow," another spoke, smirking, "what do you say about giving us all your money and those lovely scimitars, elf?"
Drace smirked, hidden by the shadows cast by his hood, "What are my options?"
"You can give it to us or we can come over there and take 'em." One of them stepped forward.
Sliding into a defensive stance Drace muttered, "Be my guest."
"Stubborn little twit," the group came at him full charge, one of the sword wielders in the lead, the one who carried the mace wasn't far behind him and the other swordsman took up the lead with the one who had the crossbow strapped to his belt.
Having two blades to use - two blades that he wielded more then well enough to handle these fools - he had a clear advantage as long as he could take one of them on at a time. At the moment, it didn't look as though he'd be given the chance. He stepped toward the leader, bringing his left scimitar, Requiem, into line with his attackers' blade. The blades connected solidly and Drace immediately punched forward, throwing his opponent off-balance. Before he could cause any real harm to his first opponent he was forced to divert his attention to the second attacker. He spun toward his next foe, knocking their mace away with the flat of his blade as Sonata lashed outward, cutting a clean cut through the larger mans armor and into his stomach - not a fatal blow, but a decisive one not the less. The man fell away, grasping his stomach, giving Drace time to figure out how to deal with the other three who were now coming at him quite angrily.
He brought Sonata in line for the parry but had no time for a counter attack and was instead forced to bring Sonata in close to his shoulder to block the descending axe. Requiem was busy with the other. He was struggling to keep up with all three of the well trained blades. He knew if he had enough time he could deal with all three of these, but he knew that sooner or later the one he wounded would join the fight again. He acted quickly and perhaps recklessly. Twisting his blades around and tossing his arms in an outward arch warded off the two others as he put his foot to the chest of the axe wielder and push him hard. The man was thrown several feet back onto his ass. Drace however had kicked out harder then intended and was thrown off balance. He was forced to leap into a rolling summersault to avoid any harm.
Leaping back to his feet his spun around, his advantage wasted. He surveyed the area, searching desperately for an advantage. He could call on his innate magic abilities to summon a cloud of fog but he couldn't risk not being able to react - even he couldn't manage complete silence in the middle of combat, and against four opponents he'd be at a great disadvantage. If something were to come at him, he wouldn't see it before it was too late.
The three men suddenly charged at him. He quickly took a step forward, sending Sonata crashing into the first mans blade. He quickly leapt into a twirl, spiralling away from the other two, Sonata locked with the mans' sword. Using his momentum he sent Requiem into the back of the mans head with a sickening crack.
He twisted away from the other two, his scimitars flying around him in a wide arch to ward of any attack. One of the men, who had gotten too close was clipped in the shoulder by Sonata, the blade had done much, just cut a fine gash in his armor and give him a scratch. The men came on more warily now, likely scared of the man who'd killed two of them and nearly crippled one.
The other one was stumbling to his feet behind the others. Drace knew he had to end it quickly. Leaping forward, he parried two blows in quick succession with one of his scimitars, thrusting the other forward toward one of his foes' stomachs. The man began to move out of the way, moving his axe to deflect the fatal blow. The axe knocked Requiem away, but not far enough. Requiem sliced into the mans' shoulder, the armor there already decimated by Draces' previous assault.
Drace leaped away, swatting aside another vicious blow. Drace stood staring at the two fighters, pondering how to launch his next attack, when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a hand-crossbow pointed in his direction.
He instantly leaped high into the air, throwing himself into a three hundred and sixty degree turn. The mini-crossbow bolt was lost in the billows of his flying cape. He dashed forward, focusing his attack entirely on the already wounded man. Sonata dove for the tender flesh of the mans neck, Requiem knocking the mans blade away from the parry.
He heard the click of the crossbow again and immediately grabbed hold of his dead foes corpse and used it as a shield. The other fighter, thinking he had the advantage, came full force at Drace. Needless to say he was quite surprised when two hundred and fifty pounds of man and armor were thrown upon him. Drace made a mad dash toward the crossbow man, who was fumbling around for another bolt. Requiem, however, had cut deeply into the mans' breast before he could manage to load his crossbow.
Turning around, Drace nodded toward the man buried beneath his dead companion and took off after the wagons tracks.
~~~~~~)-----(~~~~~~~
One month ago they had learned of his evil plot. They had been chasing him ever since. Yet, still he always remained one step ahead of them. They had chased endlessly after the ancient artefacts that would help him in his scheme, but to no avail. As of yet they hadn't any leads either. It seemed that he had already acquired one of these artefacts. Feeling her loves' strong arms pull her in closer, she smiled and let herself drift into sleep.
~~~~~~)-----(~~~~~~
Dacra trudged across the seemingly endless plains, his scimitars held in close to his sides. He would have his revenge, one way or another, and in doing so, he'd take back his pride as well.
~~~~~~)-----(~~~~~~
Liedle, the human archer, Samwise, Liedles' brother, the mage, Lana the human cleric, Dorn the dwarven fighter and Morghanna the human barbarian all sat at a table in the Boars' Head Tavern. They had just come into Mordon with a caravan from Muarinin. They were adventurers; they travelled from city to city looking for a way to make a name for themselves. Samwise and Liedle had come from the distant regions of Faebuarre after an assault on their home town. Dorn had met them deep within the winding corridors beneath the dwarven city Kalaeria when the drow had launched an attack. Morghanna had been hired on as a body guard for the caravan the group had been traveling with and, with nowhere else to go after the job was done she had asked if they would mind if she joined them.
They had all woken up not half an hour before when Samwise had tried to levitate his staff over to him instead of his staff; however, His bed had come gliding across the room to him. It had been dropped quite hard and woken up nearly everyone in the inn. Now sitting at a table, the group was deciding what to do next.
A moment later they heard a disturbance outside. The city guards were having trouble with someone by the sounds of it.
Drace.