Hey, I'm back! (Leaps for the nearest cover to avoid rotten vegetables) Listen, I know it took me way too long to update! No need to remind me! I'm sorry! (Looks out cautiously from cover) Sigh… I knew this would happen.
OK now, having the crowd of righteously furious people waiting for an update calmed down I welcome you to the second installment of "Natha keeshe lu' natha khaliizi". Yes, it's been a while since I posted the first chapter, and no, I won't go on and on about why I didn't update earlier. All you have to know –real life.
Now the first order of business: the reviews! Seriously, when I posted the first chap I thought that if I get one review it would be a real success. But four? And not single one flame at that? Holy Mother of Christmas, it really got me all pumped up! Thank you guys!
Also considering Sharnoresian Empire's review… Sorry, didn't get to read it. It possibly has to do with the fact that I rarely read fics with a female Harry. If I ever do read it however, I'll be sure to leave a comment. And sorry I replied like this, I'm still fairly new to managing an actual account here and I'm not quite sure how to go with replies to reviews.
Now, having the pleasantries out of the way I think I should warn you about this chap. If you like an iconic Potions Master from HP, I suggest that you take some chill pills before reading this. By no means am I going to make this story a bashing one (at least I'll try to), and it will not be anything to sever, but that being said Snape will not have a good time during this chapter. You have been warned.
Also there will be parts of this chapter that will not make any sense what so ever. If you see something like that… know, that it was meant to be that way. It's just my take on the concept of how the common language should sound, considering that Dungeons&Dragons games are played all around the world and every player uses his native language as the common speech. There will be no translations provided, but you should get the gist of what was all that about.
Hope you'll find this installment satisfactory and hope to see you again.
Eagle White
Disclaimer: I do not own anything that may be remotely considered a property of anyone else. The Harry Potter series, the Forgotten Realms setting, Neverwinter Nights and Dungeons&Dragons are all owned be their respective owners.
Natha keeshe lu' natha khaliizi
Chapter Two
Ilythiiri? Rivvil? Tuth?*
When Zak finally came to he didn't know what exactly happened to him or where he was. The only thing he knew was that some sort of light was eagerly trying to pierce his eyelids, irritating his eyes. He guessed that he must have been moved from the underground, because although he didn't exactly see the light source he knew instinctively that it was sunlight. Well, that and for some reason he was lying in a comfortable bed.
As soon as the thought struck him Zak tensed. Who in their right mind would let a drow in their bed? Well, except fellow followers of Eilistraee, but if his memories served him right he still was in a part of the Savage Frontier that was outside the sphere of influence of the church of the Dark Maiden. To be honest, if Zak would ever find himself unconscious and at the mercy of humans or any other race he would've been long dead. Taking all this into account he was really beginning to feel nervous, lying here, vulnerable, on a soft bed and with a fluffy pillow under his head. Just what was going on?
Suddenly he heard voices. Having his eyes still closed he couldn't see who was speaking, but even now he could tell that this was definitely not a language he understood. But that was short of impossible, at least if he still was in the North. He knew over twenty languages for crying out loud! He could basically give any linguist a run for his money, especially considering that a good portion of these languages were extraplenar in nature or dead for over a thousand years. But this one… All he knew was that a few words that were uttered resembled a weird dialect of the common speech, but it didn't help him much because he didn't knew the context of them.
Zak forced his eyes open, deciding that he would rather look this new threat in the face than cover under a blanket and hope they won't pay attention to him. First thing he noticed was that everything here was white. White covers, white walls, white ceiling, even the curtains separating him from the rest of the room were white. He really must have looked awfully strange with his black skin against all this white. Just where the hell was he?
"Where ja bin?" Zak said in common before he could stop himself. "Nice one, Zak. You're in a possibly hostile place, with no idea what these voices behind those curtains are saying and you just ask where you are?" he scolded himself silently, hoping that whoever was on the other side weren't as hostile as he thought they were. Well, he was going to find that out in a few seconds now, someone was pushing the screen aside, letting more of the sunlight to fall on him and allowing him to see some rather interesting looking individuals.
They were human as he realized right away. He knew perfectly well how their species looked like: small, rounded ears, usually pink skin, taller than your typical drow. Although this was his first time seeing humans as tall as these. They were huge, especially the bearded old man, he must have been 7 feet tall at the very least! It really felt strange to see such a tall man, especially if he looked like he had… what was it… seventy, eighty, ninety years? Zak was no good in defining age when it came to non-elves. Let's just say that he looked really old and leave it at that.
The old, bearded man was flanked on both sides by two women, only a bit shorter than their companion and looking slightly younger then he was. One of them was wearing something that could be described as a robe of pure white making her blend in with her surroundings. The second one however wore a more colorful robe, ornamented with a checkered pattern that for some reason screamed "dwarvish" at him, and he couldn't quite understand why that was… Moving on, she, as well as her male compatriot wore some sort of strange pieces of glass that were attached to some frame-like objects on their noses. Zak wasn't used to seeing these… binoculars he believed they were called. He understood that they were nonmagical means of correcting eyesight flaws, not that they were too popular among the people of the North. Usually they just went to a good priest and paid for having their eyes fixed. But aside from that: was it possible that the two of them had these… glasses?
While he contemplated the possibility of two of his "captors" (as he decided to call them for now) having curiosities known as binoculars the bearded old man spoke to him. The sense of his words were lost to Zak, the language barrier proving to be too great a hindrance, but he presumed that he was speaking to him. The man with the silver (as Zak only just noticed) beard was looking intently at him, his blue eyes hidden behind half-moon spectacles twinkling strangely. He was probably asking him something, but Zak really couldn't understand him.
"Ja verstehe vy non." By the surprised look on the old man's face Zak knew that he didn't understand a word he was saying. "Now that's just great" he thought. 'This guy doesn't seem to understand in common. What do I do now?" Zak did the only thing he could: he tried again, this time in draconic. That however had the exact same result. Growing desperate, he began to go through the same phrase over and over again, using each and every language he knew, even those that were considered dead. Unfortunately, the only thing he managed to accomplish was getting the brows of this old man to hide under his hairline. That and to completely baffle the two women accompanying him.
After a few more attempts on Zak's part one of the women, the one in the checkered robe spoke up to the bearded man, glancing at the confused drow with what he guessed was wonder. In the meantime the second one began to look for something in her robe but abruptly stopped when she heard a door opening. Curious, Zak peered through the white screen in the direction from where the sound came.
Before his eyes appeared a man dressed in black, his robe fluttering with each of his hurried steps like a cape. As Zak's keen elven (although drowish) eyes noticed at once the skin of this man had a sickly yellow, clearly unhealthy color, that he had dark, hollow eyes, greasy hair and a hooked nose. Only by looking at him for a moment you could tell that he wasn't too nice to be around. You could even go as far as to compare him to a typical, arrogant drow, if any drow would let himself look as dirty and unhealthy as this guy. You could almost feel his greasiness from afar. One thing was sure though: he really needed a crash course in personal hygiene.
The mysterious man sent him a brief look, his black eyes peering into his own lilac ones, and he grunted, gaining the attention of the bearded man and his glassed companion. They began talking amongst each other, the greasy one shooting him quick looks from time to time, but otherwise they ignored him completely. This was beginning to get annoying. Not only did Zak found himself in a foreign place, surrounded by people that he couldn't communicate with, but this man that apparently didn't know how to use soap was peering at him like he was some sort of animal that he wanted to put down! He had officially enough!
"Wo wy estas?! Was vil wy odo mnie?!" Zak cried out in a last ditch attempt to communicate using common, looking angrily at them and trying to will them into understanding him. Unfortunately for him, they still didn't seem to comprehend what he was saying, looking oddly at him, like he was some sort of lunatic. Besides, he really didn't expect them to understand him in the first place, all he wanted to do was them to stop ignoring him and treating him like he was some sort of retard. And to think that just minutes ago he didn't even want them to know that he was conscious.
A slight movement brought his attention to the woman in white. When Zak looked in her way he noticed that she just pulled out some sort of wand from her robe and was probably going to use whatever spell was stored inside of it on him. Annoyed, frustrated and now just plane mad that he was going to get attacked the drow Spellsword shot her a look that promised pain.
"Sevir uns'aa maglust xor F'sarn ulu elgg dos, j'nesst! (Leave me alone or I'm going to kill you, woman!)" He shouted, and surprisingly, the woman in question complied. Zak suspected that it had more to do with the fact that he was really scary when he wanted to (not to mention quite intimidating) than with his use of his native language. All in all, the woman took a step back from him and lowered her wand, but she never left her eyes from him.
Eh… This was getting more messed up by the minute. Waking up to all this shit really wasn't something that Zak was expecting, not to mention looking to. Complete lack of understanding breached only by a few treats was by far one of the worst situations he could find himself in. And now, after what he just did to that woman those wizards (at least he thought they were wizards, judging by the wand of one of them) were probably going to dispose of him, or at least try to. Zak Vicloth wasn't going down without a fight! Not that he wanted it, if they could just understand one another they could just… Understand! That's it! How could he have been so stupid!?
"Oi, ty!" Zak snapped, pointing at 'ol' Silverbeard'. He gestured for him to come closer while saying: "Come syuda." Surprisingly the man understood him, probably the gestures Zak guessed, and came a bit closer, looking intently at him, that weird twinkling still present in his eyes. It was really distracting. Focusing on the problem at hand Zak pondered for a bit and then began to slowly gesticulate, murmuring in common more to himself than to the old man: "Dajte mi bakku moj supot".
It took a moment and a good bit of repeating on Zak's part but the old man finally understood what he was saying and beckoned one of his companions to him. The woman that Zak shouted at took a few cautious steps, still looking at the drow warily. The bearded man said something to her to which she nodded and took of somewhere, out of Zak's site. After a few moments she came back, holding the thing that the drow Spellsword wanted to get back. His backpack. Ol' Silverbeard looked questioningly at him and seeing Zak nod eagerly handed it to him. Rather pleased with this outcome he took it from him and with a short: "Chakam pala" directed to his captors he began rummaging in it.
After a quick search Zak found what he was looking for. With a triumphant "aha" he pulled out a golden amulet, its pendant shaped like a open mouth, with some kind of inscription on its back. Hurriedly he put it around his neck, touched it and murmured a quiet "Telanth", after which he cleared his trough, letting the magic that was within the amulet take effect. Feeling a slight tingling and knowing perfectly well what that meant Zak looked at the quartet and announced:
"Well, having that out of the way, we can at least understand one another, isn't that right?"
The wizards and witches gathered in the room looked rather surprised, probably having a hard time comprehending how exactly their "guest" was able to speak their language when clearly he couldn't a few moments ago. That was kind of surprising, at least to Zak who thought that magic users should be at least aware of the existence of magic capable of granting understanding and/or the use of some foreign languages. These however looked completely flabbergasted, exchanging surprised looks and silently conversing, only to look in the end at the bearded man that was closest to the drow. Ol' Silverbeard must have guessed what his companions expected from him because, taking a example from his "guest" he cleared his throat and began:
"If I may, how is it possible that you are able to use our language just now? Only moments ago you have seemed to be incapable of comprehending any words that we said, and now it seems that you have full grasp of it. How is that possible?"
"Yep, they have no clue about magical means of communication" Zak was really struggling not to laugh out loud hearing this. This "wizard" apparently neglected a really useful branch of magic if he didn't even hear about this, not to mention that he must have overlooked the great boom on Amulets of Translation. Really, almost every magic user in the North had at least heard of them, especially after the archeologists from the region of Port Llast uncovered the tomb of the Ancients and found a rather cheap method of making them. Neverwinter was still the leading manufacturer of these amulets on the Sword Coast. However the dark elf decided that it would be unwise to point that out to this man and decided to answer the question to the best of his abilities.
"I am able to comprehend and use your language thanks to the amulet that I have put on." He began his explanations pointing at said pendant. Again, the onlookers were amazed by his level of grasp of their language. "The dweomer of my charm was imbued with spells such as Comprehend Languages and the like and a few other spells used to consolidate the language-dependant qualities of them. In theory the dweomer should never run out, what seems to be true considering that it has been working for a couple of millennia now." At this point the eyebrows of the glassed man stopped somewhere under the ceiling, as did the eyebrows of everyone else. "Pendants like this became quite popular in the North after the end of the last war between Neverwinter and Luskan. So, having that all cleared out… am I a prisoner or a guinea pig? Having a bed and all that may indicate the latter, but one can never be too sure."
"Good Merlin, no! You are by no means a prisoner nor a test subject, although I must admit that your amulet is most exceptional." The old man replied, smiling good-naturedly. That action however brought Zak to attention. This was the first time he saw a surfacedweller acting friendly towards him in a long time. Something clearly was not right here, and unfortunately he didn't know what.
"If I'm not a captive or a guinea pig than why am I here?" The dark elf questioned, looking attentively at the old man, trying to see any deception on his part and keeping an eye out for his companions. "Why am I here, wherever 'here' is, and why do I feel like a stampede of hill giants ran over me?"
"Actually, that was my question to you, mister…"
„Vicloth. Zak'Talqosee Vicloth from the city of Menzoberranzan, not that the latter maters anyway. And I wouldn't be asking if I knew the answer." Replied Zak, but he had a nagging feeling that he forgot about something. And that whatever it was, it was important.
His words, however truthful didn't rise the unconsciously anticipated reaction in these humans. It was as if they never heard of the drow metropolis. The only thing they did was exchange a few confused glances, not even an ounce of fear or at least more respect for him. Nothing at all. As if to make matters worse, the dark haired man that reminded Zak of a really shabby looking drow in a human body looked at him as if he was accusing him of something and began saying something in a venomous, arrogant way.
"I don't know what game you think you're playing, but you're not fooling us. There is no such place as Menzoberranzen or whatever you called it. You better start telling us the truth or else I'm going to have to use means that are… less then fit for a man at my position."
"My dear Sev…" Ol' Silverbeard was probably going to reprimand his companion, but was interrupted by a incident that had transpired in the span of barely a few seconds.
As soon as Zak heard the not-so-subtle treat from the greasy man his still dazed mind was flooded by some of his less than pleasant memories: his childhood in Menzoberranzan and the beatings from his sisters and Matron Mother; his days in Sorcere, where he was a meals way from being poisoned; the day of his father's death, the one person in his family that he was able to relate to. He remembered vividly the aversion and death-wishes from the people of the surface when they found out what he was, all the hateful glares and attempts at his life. Finally, he remembered something, that was the most painful memory of them all: the death of the only person he could ever trust. And the memory of Tris' treachery…
An overwhelming sense of rage began consuming him, directed at everything and everyone around him. He hated it, he hated all these threats and promises of pain, he hated (although he also grew accustomed to) the constant threat of Tris… He hated it all! Zak was beginning to feel like every fiber of his being was literally burning with anger. He shot one murderess look to the black haired man and felt that he was losing control of himself.
Suddenly the room was filled with a bright, blue-white flash and only moments later a earsplitting cry of pain shook the room. Before anyone was able to get used to the new light source a second shout, as loud and painful as the first one filled the white chamber, followed closely by the sound of a body hitting a closet. When the bright light finally subsided, Zak was the first to react. Or to be more precise his body reacted, becoming pale in a manner of seconds. He lost control and now he would have to face the consequences. And the fact that he was in foreign hands didn't help one bit.
The man that was threatening him a few moments ago was lying at the foot of the closet. Well, actually lying was a bit of a exaggeration. More like curled up in a fatal position, whimpering and clutching his smoldering right arm that smelled of burned flesh. But that wasn't the worst part. Zak knew exactly what did all this. A small fragment of the curtain was burning slowly, covered with blue-white flames of pure magic. And that could only mean one thing: he subconsciously used his gift ("more like a curse" he thought bitterly): Spellfire.
His eyes still hurt like all Hells from the excess of light, even though they were the source of it. Zak closed them tightly and hid them behind his hands, trying to ease the pain. But even without looking he knew that he had at least two wands pointed at him. With his luck, they were loaded with something really nasty to. So, thinking fast, he did the only thing he could in such a situation while not angering anybody further.
"Usstan joros whol dosst ka'lith…" He began only to bite himself in the tongue. With all this shit happening he reverted back to his native language. So, concentrating for a bit on his pendant he began again: "I beg for your forgiveness. The thing that I did just moments ago was the direct result of the pressure I was under for the last few days. I did not mean to attack anybody, it was but an accident."
"An accident?!" He heard the woman with the glasses ask incredulously. "You call that an accident?! You almost killed a grown, accomplished wizard by shooting some kind of white flames from your eyes! This… This looks more like a powerful curse, bordering Dark Arts!"
"Minerva, I do not believe that it was Dark Magic." The man with the silver beard interjected. "Trust me on this, I can tell when someone is using that particular kind of magic, and what we saw was by no means any spell of the Dark Side. It had no evil in it. To be honest: it felt like as if it was magically indifferent."
"Magically indifferent?" The woman was definitely surprised by what she heard. She shot a questioning look at the man and lowered her wand slightly. "How can something be magically indifferent? And how was this magically indifferent… thing… been able to almost kill Severus? Can you explain that, Albus?"
"A direct and unconscious manipulation of single threads of the Weave, the fabric of magic itself." Zak put in helpfully, feeling that it would be best to show good will and his willingness to help. Still, he didn't look anybody in the eye, hiding them behind his hands. "It was pure, magical power, free of any interferences from magical formula of any spell… to be more precise, its destructive aspect. What shot out of my eyes was nothing more than focused anger that took the form of blue-white flames, Spellfire. I am one of the few blessed with this rare talent, although at times it is difficult to control, especially if I'm under distress… or threatened by someone."
"Manipulation of raw magical power you say?" The old man, Albus if Zak heard right, asked him. However he didn't wait for an answer, turning to the other female in the room. "How is Severus holding up, Poppy? Everything alright? You'll be able to heal him I assume?"
"That shouldn't be too much of a problem, although I never seen anything quite like this before." The woman in white replied, waving her wand over the injured man, a strange, bluish glow coming out from its end. She was attending to him for a better part of a minute now and the smoke coming from his arm, as well as the constant whimpering had ended. "On one hand, Severus' arm seems to be heavily burned, probably by the fire itself. On the other hand, there are signs similar to those leaved by Stunners, only on a larger scale and more severe. It is possible that under these burns there is a large internal bleeding and a broken bone or two. Whatever this… Spellfire… is, it's very powerful."
"Thank you for the more than satisfying answer, Poppy. Now, could you ensure that our dear Potions Master makes a full recovery? I'll deal with our guest." The old man said calmly. Hearing this his white clad companion nodded and with a quick move of the –surprisingly –same wand she was able to lift the injured man and levitate him towards one of the free beds. That was the moment that Zak chose to uncover his now bloodshot eyes. He was a bit surprised seeing what she did, but chose not to dwell too much on it. Besides, only now did he realize, that he was actually in a hospital of sorts, maybe even in some kind of temple to Ilmater. Then again something wasn't right here, for example the robe of the witch, or rather the supposed priestess of the Crying God wasn't right, and he couldn't find the holy symbol of the god of martyrs anywhere. However he hadn't had the time to dwell on it, again, because two angry eyes hidden behind rectangular glasses appeared before him, glaring a hole in him.
"Who are you?" She asked, her voice strict and to the point. Zak casually noticed, that her nostrils were trembling in a threatening manner. "And don't try to lie too us again."
"And when did I lie to you people exactly?" He asked angrily. "As I said: my name is Zak'Talqosee Vicloth and I hail from a drow metropolis called Menzoberranzan, located deep underground in the Underdark. I was once a mage in Sorcere tower until I abandoned my homeland and chose to follow the teachings of the Dark Maiden Eilistraee. What else do you want to know?"
This was becoming really irritating really fast, and although he tried not to show it, Zak was at the verge of his nerves. That's what you get for being a drow: no one believes a word you say no matter if it's the truth or not. But seriously –they didn't even hear about Underdark? That's what he noticed when he told them about it at least; they didn't have a clue about anything he said. Not to mention that the part with his goddess that he mentioned in hope of getting a helpfully better response was equally lost on their part. Their, or at least her facial expression was one of pure skepticism.
"I never heard anything about Underdark or Menzoberranzan, not to mention drow." She finally replied, only confirming his suspicions. The woman was still pointing her wand at his face. "Furthermore, you're too young to call yourself a full pledged wizard. You couldn't attend any of the known magical schools in the world, not to mention that you're barely old enough to start attending one."
"Believe me, I'm older than you or the old man" Zak replied, forcing himself to remain calm. That was the first time in his life that someone, especially a witch or wizard, showed such ignorance in regard of the elven kind. Even complete backwater societies or barbarian hordes knew as much about his 'relatives' as to at least be aware of the fact that elves aged slower than other races. Then again, if they knew so much about elves they would know in extension about drow and then they wouldn't be having this conversation in the first place. Who knew what they would do to him if they were aware of what his kinsmen were capable of. So, knowing that being rude would serve only to get him in more trouble he ignored their unbelieving stares.
"If you're trying to be funny I must warn you: I am not amused easily." The glassed woman deadpanned, her voice laced with coldness and her eyes drilling a hole in his head. "You seem to not comprehend the level of trouble you're in. Lying in this situation is by far the worst course of action you can take, mister… oh, very well… Vicloth."
"No, it seems that you don't comprehend what I am saying" The irritated dark elf replied, mimicking her tone of voice. "Doesn't the fact that I have almond-shaped eyes with lilac irises, silver-white hair and skin black as tar clearly point out my ancestry? Aren't my pointy ears a rather obvious sign of my heritage? From what backwater part of Faerûn are you?"
„I really don't know what is your problem, mister Vicloth" This… Minerva woman was quickly losing her patience, which was painfully obvious thanks to the slight tremble in her voice. "If you're taking me as stupid then I must strongly disappoint you. You do have silvery hair and lilac eyes, as per your description, but no black skin or pointy ears." Zak shot her a incredulous look at that. Seeing this she paused for a moment, surprised by his expression, but she quickly recovered and again leveled him with a glare. "You may not believe me in your clearly insane state, but you cannot deny facts, and I will show you the errors of your reasoning."
Next thing Zak knew, there was a hand mirror resting beside him on the covers. He blinked a few times, surprised. He was looking at the woman all this time and he hadn't noticed her change her wand. Was she pointing a mirror-conjuring wand at him all this time, or was there more to it? Saving questions like this for later he reached out for the mirror, wondering what was the point of all this. Was she trying to deceive him in some way? He knew exactly what his reflection was going to look like and saying otherwise while conjuring a mirror didn't make any sense to him. This just defeated the purpose of… "Wait a moment. Why is my hand white?" Suddenly Zak wasn't so sure of himself. He lifted the mirror, his hand trembling slightly, and looked at his reflection.
He gazed in the eyes of the reflection that was his and wasn't at the same time. His face, littered with scars normally hidden under a small illusion looked unusually alien to him. Zak had eyes bigger than he remembered, hair longer than he was used to and skin… His skin wasn't black! It had a pink hue to it, slowly changing to chalk-white with the exodus of blood from his cheeks. His skin was human-looking. It was more at place on face of a Northling than a thin, scared face of a drow. A drow child as he suddenly realized. He must have been a ten, maybe eleven-year old for some reason. Well, that at least explained why these humans looked so damn tall. They really weren't, just he was smaller and… Were that human ears that he had now? Sweet Eilistraee, they were human!
"How… how can this be?!" Zak cried out fearfully, touching one of his ears with his free hand, trying to decide if this was some kind of weird illusion or not. Unfortunately, it wasn't. "This is my face, but… the skin, the ears… especially the ears… What vile sorcery is this?! I am not a human! I can't be a human! I am a Ilythiiri! I am a drow gods damn it! I can't be a human!"
While Zak was freaking out his captors were exchanging odd looks. They were, or at least the glassed woman was thinking to this point that he was only playing with them, not realizing what possible consequences he may face. Now however they realized that he believed every word he said, however strange they may be, and was absolutely terrified by what he saw in the mirror. All things considered, this just went from normal strange to 'what the bloody hell' kind of strange. In the meantime Zak went through a identity crisis.
"I am drow! I am not human! I can't be human, I lived more than a century for crying out loud! How is this even possible!? I am Zak'Talqosee Vicloth from Menzoberranzan, First Son of the Seventh House! Former master of Sorcere tower! I am a dark elf! I am not human! Not… human…"
Suddenly Zak fell silent, his mind racing. A wave of fresh memories that he thought of as a 'vital detail he couldn't quite place' just minutes ago began flooding him. He remembered encountering a flying scull that called itself a demilich, probably some kind of ancient mage trapped in his undead life for centuries. He and Tris got captured by it and then it cast some sort of experimental shrinking spell on them. Finding the results unsatisfactory for his taste he decided to cast them into another plane of existence trough a portal he created. Only thing is, the spell that he cast on them wasn't a shrinking spell to begin with. It must have changed at least him into a human child, no older than twelve at that. And if his instinct was telling him the truth (and it usually did) this particular curse wasn't as easy to overcome as by a simple transmutation. Probably even a Whish or a Miracle wasn't capable of it, if the part about that spell being a 'epic in proportion piece of magic' was true. And that meant one thing: he was stuck in a human's body for good, having only one hundred years of life left at the most. That, and the fact that he lost his fucking pointy elven ears! All things considered, his mind did the only logical thing that it could in a situation like this.
It shot down and Zak fainted.
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, better known as just Albus Dumbledore prided himself as being a man that seen and lived through many a strange event. With more than a century worth of experience he had seen things that most people wouldn't believe were possible. He fought in a war (or wars for that matter), did research on many arcane subjects and met people of exceptional capabilities. Most of them turned dark on one point of their life or another, but that wasn't the matter that he wanted nor needed to ponder right now. What did require his full attention at the moment was the now unconscious boy that was lying in one of the beds of the hospital wing of his school.
For all his knowledge Dumbledore couldn't understand what exactly happened two days ago, when he first saw this young man. He was just taking a stroll, heading in the direction of the school's kitchens for a glass of hot chocolate and a little chat with the House Elves working there when he saw something completely unexpected. A strange, disk-like object appeared in the middle of the corridor he was going at the time, clearly form out of nowhere. It was in itself a strange thing to behold: a swirling mass of pure darkness, darker then the darkest void, floating between a wall and the door to the women's restroom. Fascinated by the sight the aged wizard was even more surprised when the mysterious disc began to emit a low humming noise. Cautiously he approached it, having his wand at the ready, meaning to take a closer look. However before he even was able to take three steps something really disturbing happened.
A body flew out of the dark void, hitting the floor with a thud. Well, to be more precise the said body was shot out of the strange disc, hitting the floor a good fifteen feet from where it had originated and slid on the smooth flooring for another five. Shocked Dumbledore actually froze for a moment. He knew for a fact that mysterious floating discs of darkness shooting bodies wasn't a good sign. Then again, said floating matter of impenetrable shadows just disappeared after it had 'emptied' itself, dispersing in a few seconds and becoming nothing more than your average shadow cast by a wall. The only sign that something even was there was the body that was lying upon the marble parquetry.
At first Dumbledore thought that the strange body was nothing more than a corpse. The white hair and pale complexion clearly stated that: a body of someone old, probably nearing his nineties. For some reason however that wasn't the case. When the aged wizard took a closer look he not only became aware that the body belonged to a child, although with a strange hair color, but also that the child was breathing. Surprised by this discovery he completely forgot about his chocolate and did the only thing he could and should do. With a flick of his wand he levitated the boy and brought him to the hospital wing and in the capable hands of his long time friend: Poppy Pomfrey.
Madame Pomfrey, a woman in her late sixties, probably seventies (no one was sure of her exact age; it was a rather sore subject to her and it would be rude to actually ask any woman that question) was one of the only people who had any power over Dumbledore. As the school nurse and resident healer she had complete authority in her domain and could outrule any of the headmaster's requests if she seen it as a potential risk to the health of her charges. Acting upon that little portion of power she had she promptly took care of the unconscious boy, asking only a few questions like "where did he come from" and "how did he get here" and then shooed the headmaster out, claiming that he would only get in the way. Knowing that she was probably right Dumbledore left the hospital ward and went back to his office, his mind already searching for answers.
A swirl of shadows coughing up a unconscious boy in the middle of the school was something that he, for once, failed to comprehend. If he hadn't seen it with his own eyes he wouldn't believe something like that could happen. Out of all the possibilities of fast travel available to the common magical folk only one could possibly pierce the protective wards of Hogwarts and that were Portkyes. Then again, not many people were able to properly cast the Portus charm, and this rather thin boy that he found surely wasn't one of them. He basically could cross out the use of Floo Powder too, the kid didn't appear in any fireplace. And it was really doubtful if he had a phoenix familiar like he had, so yeah… Dumbledore was at a seemingly dead end.
Turning his attention away from the thoughts of exactly how this boy was able to get to Hogwarts the headmaster turned his gaze to one of the items that the young man was carrying. It initially struck him as odd, seeing a boy no older than eleven with a sword strapped to his belt, but having more immediate problems he didn't think too much about it, however he did take it off of him before entering Madam Pomfrey's realm. Now, having more time to properly adjust to this new and surprising situation the aged wizard took the strange blade into consideration and began to cautiously examine the exotic looking weapon.
Dumbledore was by no means an expert when it came to weapons, especially blades and the like. But even he, an absolute laic could guess that it was a weapon from the far east, probably China or Japan. A slightly curved steel blade, crafted that way to maximize the cutting properties was extremely sharp. Too sharp. The headmaster had a hard time comprehending how a weapon that was probably made by muggles could have such quality. And the symbols on the blade itself, they seemed almost as if they were… runic…
Suddenly it struck him. Ancient runes from what he remembered were an old form of storing magic in inanimate objects. They were carved on many items, such as shields, armors and swords but also teacups, wardrobes or even houses and castles and their purpose was to give the said object permanent magical powers. If he was correct in assuming that this sword was actually magical, it could at least tell him if the boy had any magic in him. How else would a child get in the possession of a magical item otherwise. Concentrating his magical powers in his wand he waved it over the deadly piece of metal, chanting a short magical formula. Only a second later he actually dropped his wand, his face one of pure shock.
Dumbledore maybe wasn't an expert in magical weapons, but he did know a fair bit about enchanting. He vividly remembered a certain treaty written by none other than Merlin himself about his research of the half-legendary Excalibur. That one treaty was considered the ground works for later magical objects creations and it was in this work that a scale of magical power stored in a single item was first introduced. The 'Merlinian Magical Scale' consisted of seven levels of magical properties, with a 0-level considered a 'completely mundane, nonmagical item'. It was said that the sixth, highest level was the level of Excalibur itself, and that it was basically impossible to achieve anything more powerful, not without shattering the said object. This sword however… If Dumbledore had to guess, it was basically more magical than the most powerful sword in history of mankind. It was probably more magical than half of his more powerfully enchanted possessions combined.
While this shocking tidbit of information confirmed Dumbledore's suspicions about the boy being someone with knowledge about the existence of magic it raised more questions than it gave answers. From where did this child had a sword so powerful? Why did this child even had a weapon with himself? Was he sent here for some reason? Was he a victim of a strong curse that somehow transported him into the castle? Or was he sent here on some mysterious, insidious in its nature quest, tasked with the assassination of him or someone of his staff? Some of the followers of Lord Voldemort were still free, and knowing the devotion of some of them, it wouldn't be that far-fetched. Then again, why was the child unconscious after it appeared in the castle? It didn't make any sense.
The next day Dumbledore decided to make a visit in the Hospital Wing and inquire about their mysterious guest. However before he even left his office a House Elf popped in to existence. It was one of the Hogwarts Elves as he noted by its 'attire', one of them that was sometimes used as a messenger for those of the staff that didn't have any other means of sending important information quickly. As the headmaster noted, the elf was seriously distressed and before he even was able to ask what was the matter he (at least the voice of this elf was male-sounding) squeaked out a urgent request of his presence in the Hospital Wing. Fearing the worst, Dumbledore quickly grabbed the elf by his hand and ordered it to take him there as fast as possible.
Half a second later Dumbledore was already surveying the chamber, looking for any signs of hostile activity. Nothing seemed to be out of place, and after only a few moments Madam Pomfrey appeared, her face displaying concern. The headmaster inquired what was the emergency, that she needed to send a frantic elf for him to which she replied that it was about their guest and that he better take a look at him for himself. Slightly confused Dumbledore did just that and after being escorted to the bed that he was occupying he peered through the screen at him.
First thing he noticed was that the boy seemed to be still unconscious. His eyes were closed and his face peaceful. Only then did he notice that actually the face he was looking at seemed different in some way. After further inspection he knew why that was.
The child was scarred. The child was scarred more than most of the veterans of the last war with Voldemort, only his old friend Alastor Moody could compete and win with him. The left side of his triangular, long face had a vertical scar, running from his forehead to the middle of his cheek, right through his eye. It looked like it even touched his eye, probably rendering it useless, although Poppy assured him that both of his eyes looked to be working properly. Then there were claw-like marks running diagonally from the upper left part of his face to his lower right chin, the middle one scraping his upper lip somewhat. Then there were bite marks on the left side of his neck, looking like some kind of predator, probably a wolf or something similar bit it. The rest of his body was covered with a hospital gown, courtesy of Madam Pomfrey, but as Poppy put it: "He looks like he went through hell and back at least three times." Hell, he even missed a part of his ring finger in his left hand!
With each passing minute all of this seemed to become more and more confusing. Especially after Minerva McGonagall and Severus Snape found out about the kid. As they too were spending the summer break in the castle, at least for the time being, considering Hogwarts had just began to send its letters, it wasn't a surprise that they've found out about all of this and decided to see what was exactly going on. Knowing that his coworkers were 'in the loop' so to say Dumbledore began brainstorming with them, trying to figure out what exactly was going on. And then, after a day (and night) of intense debate, on the second day of his stay their guest awoke. And that brought them to the present.
It was even more confusing than Dumbledore was willing to show. A child that didn't know a word in English, but knew over a dozen of other strange languages that he himself didn't even heard of. A child that after putting on a strange amulet was capable of using almost perfect English, although a bit artificial sounding. A child capable of using raw magical power, capable of almost killing an experienced wizard like Severus. A child that referred to himself as an adult, an adult older than most of the people present in the room. A kid that referred to himself as a 'Drow' or 'Ilythiiri', whatever that was. Then again, the term 'Dark Elf' did ring a bell, but he couldn't quite place it.
Suddenly, the silence that befell the Hospital Ward was pierced by Minerva McGonagall's shaky voice.
"What did he mean, Albus?" She asked, clearly confused and a little bit scared. The display of 'Zak's' shock really made an impression on her. "What could this boy mean, saying that he was a 'dark elf'? Was it some kind of act?"
"I seriously doubt that, Minerva." Dumbledore replied slowly, thinking about what he was about to say. "I took the liberty of checking if the lad was lying or bluffing, but I couldn't find anything. He clearly believed in what he was saying. Then again, he does have a really strange mind, I do not think that I have ever encountered something similar before. It's almost as if he doesn't need to sleep to actually process his memories. It even looks like the state he is right now, unconsciousness I mean, is something highly unnatural to him."
McGonagall looked surprised at that. It was common knowledge that a human being needed to sleep in order for their brain to function properly. For someone to not need sleep was like for someone to not need to breathe; it was not normal. Still, she refused to believe that this kid was something more than a slightly odd child that miraculously appeared inside the school. However…
"So your saying that this… boy… believes to be older than me and to be a 'drow', whatever that is?" The transfiguration professor asked and after receiving a nod she furrowed her brows. "This doesn't make any sense. What is this whole 'drow' thing anyway?"
"I am not quite sure myself, Minerva." Dumbledore replied stroking his long, slivery beard in contemplation. "The word 'drow' dose seem to be familiar in some way to the word 'trow', but…"
"'Trow' is a obscure form of the word 'troll', is it not?" Madam Pomfrey asked from where she was working, applying a orange salve to the injured arm of one Severus Snape. "From what I remember from when I went to school 'trow' were considered to be the same as the common mountain trolls."
"Precisely Poppy, precisely." Dumbledore nodded to the school nurse. "They are one and the same, and as such thinking that our guest is a 'trow' is as silly as believing in the 'baneful properties of the Grim' if I may say so myself. He doesn't look like he has even a drop of troll blood in his veins."
"So the boy's delusional?" McGonagall asked, eying the unconscious form of Zak.
"No, I don't think so." Replied Dumbledore shaking his head slowly. "There still is the second thing he called himself. A dark elf… hmm…"
"With all due respect, do you really think that this… kid… may be related to house elves?" Asked Snape, his voice finally its former greasy self after the resident school healer patched his arm up. You could not miss the venom in his voice however, especially when he regarded the white haired figure laying in the bed.
"No, no; I was thinking more in the lines of the old Norse legends." The headmaster responded, not at all surprised at hearing the way his employee regarded this mysterious young man. "If my memory serves me right, the old Norse wizards had tales of an evil race they called 'Svartalf'. They said that the 'Svartalfs' or 'Dark Elves' lived deep underground in massive caverns and that they rarely appeared on the surface of the world. However when they did appear they brought death and destruction to anyone and anything they encountered. It was said that they retreated to their caves only when a true hero showed up and managed to defeat them."
"Don't take me wrong, Albus, but you can't be serious." McGonagall interrupted him, glancing between the unconscious form of Zak and the injured arm of her colleague. "All the renown wizards agree, that only a handful of theories and creatures described in the legends about 'Asgard' exist in reality. Really, do you believe in High Elves that are as tall as a human and even more intelligent and magically powerful than we are? Or in intelligent gnomes that actually mine gemstones? Their all myths, as well as Valkyries or worgs. Only people like Xenophilius Lovegood can actually believe in such rubbish."
"Well, in that case it seems that people like our dear Xenophilius may actually be right, in this regard at least." Dumbledore replied happily, his eyes twinkling and pointedly ignoring the stares he received from his coworkers. "If this young man really is a Svartalf from Norse legends, than we're dealing with the potentially strangest and most unexpected discovery of this century, easily competing with the disappearance of Voldemort." As the old headmaster expected, everybody besides him flinched when he spoke the name of the self-proclaimed Dark Lord. After a moment that he gave his companions to pull themselves together he was about to continue, but Severus decided to add his two knuts.
"With due respect but I seriously doubt that this boy could be anything more than a distraught child with unstable magical powers. If I was to suggest something, I would send him to St. Mungo's for a mental checkup and restricting of his magical powers."
"Let's be reasonable Severus." Dumbledore tried to calm his subordinate. He easily noticed the odd (in one case even hostile) looks that the female occupants of this room were sending his Potions Master after his little declaration. "Why should we do such a thing? On what ground? If it's about your arm than we shouldn't be too harsh on him. Most wizards his age aren't capable of controlling their powers, not to mention emotions. Besides, you did try to intimidate him, and if he felt threatened by you, he could have attacked you in self defense out of pure instinct. And in the odd case of him telling the truth: do we have the right to decide the fate of a representative of a intelligent magical race? Do we really want to answer why we sent one of their kin on a derogatory checkup and then permanently turned him into a squib? If what he tells us about a whole metropolis of dark elves is true, then a incident like this could easily spell war."
"That may be, but only if the boy really is a 'Dark Elf' as he claims." Replied Snape, glaring a hole in the scarred face of their unconscious guest. "We don't have any evidence that could confirm his words. For all we know, it could be an act, and this kid may be under the Imperius Curse sent by some fanatical follower of the Dark Lord that avoided arrest. He could've easily been sent here to try and kill you, headmaster, or me for that matter."
"I seriously doubt that, Severus." This time it was McGonagall who decided to defend the unconscious whitehead. "He didn't behave like someone under any jinx, let alone the most powerful mind-controlling spell. He would probably try to attack his target the moment he saw it and he wouldn't try to explain himself, nor be so helpful afterwards."
"If you could call his lies helpful." The dark haired man muttered under his breath so that only he and by complete chance Dumbledore were able to hear that. Deciding that this could go on and on the aged wizard decided to end these speculations in the most direct way possible.
"You know… there is a way to find out if our young guest is telling us the truth." Dumbledore began and looked at Madam Pomfrey with a bright smile. "Poppy, would you be so kind as to cast some detailed diagnostics spells on him? We would like to know if his physiology is in any way, shape or form different from the normal human anatomy."
Madam Pomfrey looked taken aback by this request. It wasn't every day that she had to cast such spells, especially while she was tending to injured or otherwise disabled children in this school. Well, she did cast diagnostic spells all the time, but they worked in a different way than what Dumbledore asked of her. Basically: they only looked for physical injuries, not differences in the way the patient's body was built. Nonetheless, she knew how to cast a spell that was meant to do just that.
"Not a problem, Albus." She replied after a short moment and approached the bed with their guest. However she did raise an eyebrow at her employer. "You do know that this could be basically proof for his accusation of being a 'guinea pig', right?"
"I know, and I do believe that in this circumstances this shouldn't be a problem. All we want to check is if he's a normal human child or something else."
"We could just use a small dose of Veritaserum, I believe I have a vial or two of it in my storage." The Potions Master said coldly, his gaze still fixed on the young boy lying in the bed.
"How can you even speak about something like that, Severus!" Madam Pomfrey proclaimed outraged. "Forcing something like than into a child?! Do you even know what Veritaserum could do to a body so young?!" While she was scolding the younger man she waved her wand over the head of the unconscious whitehead, a ray of pale blue light emanating from its tip. "The boy could go mad, he could become nothing more than a… Merlin's Beard!" Suddenly she stopped her scolding, her face frozen in shock. Her eyes, now big as dinner plates were fixed on the place where her wand was actually pointed at: at Zak's head.
"What's the matter, Poppy?" Minerva asked worriedly, she and her two companions looking at the medwitch with concern. Seeing them looking at her expectantly she got a grip of herself and answered, though her voice was a bit shaky:
"It's… it's about the boys brain."
"Has something happened to him? Is he alright?" This time it was Dumbledore that asked, his voice growing concerned.
"No… Nothing of that sort I don't think." Poppy replied, though the look in her eyes betrayed her astonishment. "It's just… different."
"Different?" Snape repeated suspiciously, rising from the bed he was sitting on and nearing the fallen form of one Zak Vicloth. You couldn't tell it by looking at him, but he was beginning to panic, his theory about the boy lying starting to fall apart. "In what way? Define different."
"It's hard to say, it's just different." Madam Pomfrey replied, trying desperately to find words to describe what she had just found out, and only by a quick skan of the brain nonetheless. "The number of his synapses is astounding, as well as the length of them. I would even let my wand be snapped if it meant having some of them myself…" She noticed the rather surprised stares of her companions, so she decided that a explanation was in order. "The boy must have lightning fast thought processes. I wouldn't be surprised if he could think faster than a speeding bludger. If he has something like this in his spinal cord, he's reflexes too must be almost absurdly fast. Now, let's see… My God! This… this must be some kind of mistake!"
"What is it?" This time it was Minerva's turn to ask, after all, she was very much intrigued by what she heard op until now. "More strange changes in the boy's mind?"
"No, not quite. Although… I'm not exactly sure myself." With every passing moment Madam Pomfrey was becoming more and more confused by what her diagnostic spell was showing her. "I checked his brain activity… you know, try to find out how much of his brain he could actively use. Well, the average for a human, wizard and muggle alike, is about eight to twelve percent, with the odd cases of people being able to use up to fifteen percent. Our guest however…" She paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts. "He's capable of actively using over twenty six percent of his brain capability, with fluctuations reaching almost thirty percent. And it's like he's doing it almost constantly, like it's something natural for him."
Now Dumbledore knew why the aged nurse was so surprised by her findings. One thing was certain: the boy was beginning to be more and more of a puzzle for him. If he remembered correctly, the few study's on the subject of Merlin himself showed, that he was able to use about fifteen, maybe sixteen percent of his brain capacity, but this young man was beating him by more than ten percent without even trying! This was ridiculous! Well… it would be, if the aged wizard didn't already think that this youngster could really be a Svartalf. However, he was the only one thinking that right now, his companions still mulling about his absurdly potent brain.
"This must be some kind of mistake." Snape decided, his cold eyes fixed on the unconscious boy. "No one ever was capable of using such a large part of their brain."
"That may be, but I'm sure that my spell works properly and the readings are correct." Poppy replied, still a bit shaken. "It's just unbelievable."
"Yes, I know." The transfigurations professor agreed, nodding slowly. "If memory serves me correctly, that much brainpower could theoretically lead to subconscious telepathic powers, even a untrained form of Legilimency and Occlumency on a level close to yours, Albus, or of You-Know-Who's. And if he was trained in them… I don't think that I would like to know how deep in my memories he could get."
Shocked silence filled the hospital wing after that declaration. Dumbledore pretty much knew about that theory, he even was certain that the boy did use some primitive but effective form of the art of Occlumency while he was trying to delve deeper into his mind, but the rest, and by that I mean Severus Snape and Poppy Pomfrey were… well… floored. The headmaster however was getting more and more certain, that the youngster indeed was a member of a legendary race. He did have a strange way of thinking, something close to alien for the aged wizard, and now, seeing that he was able to subconsciously deflect a mental intrusion he was getting more and more certain of that.
While Dumbledore was contemplating the possibilities of the boy being more than he looked, Severus Snape was getting furious. A mere child, a child that attacked him and was able to hurt him was beginning to shape up into a biological wonder, if not really a 'dark elf' as he called himself. That however meant, that the Potions Master was wrong all along, and that was a slap to his ego. How dare the kid make fun of him like that! And even if he was wrong, so what?! The thing attacked him! Why didn't they see him for what he really was: a threat!? Why did they need someone so dangerous and unstable for!?
Oblivious to Severus' fuming Poppy went on with her diagnosis and, what was becoming a habit of hers, cried out in surprise. Guessing that by doing that she got the attention of her companions she delved into another explanation.
"I checked the parts of the brain responsible for his senses. The smell, taste and touch parts are basically the same, although I think that he has quite a good sense of taste, but… Well, the part responsible for hearing and sight are a bit unusual. The area responsible for his hearing is almost thirty percent larger than average, and the one responsible for sight is more than twice as big as it should be. It could be that he has a sort of a eye problem and his brain compensates for it somehow, but just to be sure…" She pointed the tip of her wand over Zak's closed eyelids and waited a moment for the information to be processed. When it did however she all but shouted in surprise at what she found. "His eyes! It's… it's incredible! There's a thin membrane inside of his eyeballs and… and small muscles inside of them used to move the membrane! And alongside his photosensitive cells… Galloping Gargoyles! Thermosensitive cells! This kid can see warmth! This is unbelievable!"
Now that was something unexpected. The three magic users in the room that weren't actively examining the boy exchanged surprised looks. Infravision was something, that was considered more of a curiosity found in snakes than something found in any sentient species. None of the known humanoid-like creatures in the magical world was capable of seeing warmth, even goblins, that were considered subterranean creatures weren't able to see in the dark using something like this. This boy however proved that it was not the case and a intelligent being can in fact see in the darkness and have eyes as strange and incredible as he had.
The three magic users fell silent, each of them thinking along the same lines: what on earth was this kid? In the meantime the school healer proceeded with her examination. Having found out everything that was to be found 'in his head' so to speak, she then began checking the rest of his body. There wasn't too many surprises down there, at least at first. His digestive and respiratory systems were more or less normal, although they seemed to be healthier than normal. His spinal cord also wasn't a great surprised, as Poppy predicted he had pretty long synapses giving him reflex unparalleled by any other. It almost seemed like he was able to react to things before he seen them. There was however one last thing that did surprise her greatly, to the point of her having to share her findings with her colleagues.
"The boy's muscles seem to be stronger than that of a typical eleven-year." She stated, amazement in her voice. "There almost as strong as those of a physical-working muggle adult. If my spell's reading this correctly he should be able to lift… over 200 pounds? But how? It's at least seven times his weight! And to top it all it doesn't even seem to fit with his bone structure! It's like his muscles are too strong for his bones. It's almost unthinkable that he's able to move about and not harm himself. And his immune system…" She trailed off, her face scrunched in concentration. Finally, after a moment or two she took a step back, surprise once more present on her face. "I never seen anything quite like this. His immune system is, well, unbelievable. I doubt that he would catch a cold even if he spent a night in the local mountains, in the middle of winter and only wearing his underwear. He's short of immune to most common and magical illnesses."
"That's… incredible, Poppy." Dumbledore announced after a moment, trying not to look too shocked himself and doing a poor job at it. He did however look less surprised than his companions to be sure, but that was only because he began to rise a Occlumency shield as a form of calming his emotions. He was about to say something more, but the school nurse beat him to the punch.
"There's one more thing you should know about our guest. It seems like his body has one, major in a way, flaw. His skin and hair doesn't seem to have too much melanin in itself, hence his white hair. It's almost like his an albino, however that's not the case. From what I gathered his skin isn't capable of synthesizing melanin because his body can't produce enough tyrosinase, which in turn is caused by scarcity of tyrosine. His body can produce it in small doses, but it's insufficient for him. I did however found some sort of gland in the vicinity of his pancreas that, if I'm not mistaken, produces a sort of a enzyme that helps obtain tyrosine from a specific type of food. If what the spell tells me is true, he needs to eat mushrooms or the meat of animals that eat them in large doses. If not… well, his skin could become vulnerable to light to the point that you could say that he has a severe case of porphyria. But, apart from that, he's not only as healthy as a hippogriff but also a walking biological wonder."
"Well… thank you, Poppy, for your help." Dumbledore nodded at the medwitch in thanks and began to ponder on all the information he just gathered. They indeed were dealing with a being that could be called more perfect than a human, wizard or muggle alike. A couple of those discoveries could even be attributed to the legendary dark elves, but the question was: is this boy really one of them? And if he really was a Svartalf was that a sign, that his people were gearing up for a new bloody expedition on the surface world? If the legend's of the Nordic wizards were to be taken seriously, appearance of the 'dark ones' always foreshadowed times of great troubles'.
Then again, there was no telling how accurate these legends were. There were many gaps in their beliefs. For starters: no legend ever mentioned that dark elves sent their own children as spies. There was no mention of a underground city as well. They didn't even had any details as to possible beliefs of the dark ones. From what he gathered, Zak did try to tell them about a Eilistraee or something like that, a Dark Maiden of sorts. He hadn't heard about anything like that god-like entity in any of the old legends, and to be frank, he always pictured the Svartalf as a ruthless race with no belief apart from mindless slaughter. But alas, these questions could wait until their guest has regained consciousness, which so happens wasn't that long from now.
Once again Zak felt, that his eyelids were assaulted by bright light. This time however he wasn't going to open them up just like that. Not like the last time that he blacked out he remembered everything. He knew that he was in some kind of pseudo-sanatorium where people didn't know what a drow was and that he was probably found by these people when he was transported by a insane lich-skull thing that called itself Khrel-Ithyr, a skull with a inferiority complex the size of Waterdeep. And if it wasn't bad enough, this bony bastard transformed him into a human. Him, a hundred and twenty one years old drow, a master of the arcane arts that flirted death more times than he was willing to count and who had to constantly wrangle with a insane priestess of Lolth named Tris. He might just have been robbed of more than five hundred years of life, sent Eilistraee knows where and stuck in a child's body for apparently good. Yep, it was the first of the ten-day already.
Zak wasn't going down without a fight however. If he really was going to stay here in a kid's body he would be damned if he didn't try to get back his old form. That and he needed to find a way back 'home', if you could call a world where you were an eyesore that way. And the sad part in all of this: he could already tell that the local wizards were of no help. After only a moment of talking with them he already deducted, that they hardly even understood the mechanics of the Weave, if it even existed on this strange plane. Then again, if it didn't exist here then how was he capable of creating that flame in the first place? Maybe they had a different source of magic, separate from the will of Mystra? Something like the Shadow Weave per chance? Well, he could ponder on that after he regained his body.
Once again he heard the voices of these local wizards and found them once more incomprehensible. Cursing silently he focused once more on his amulet and inaudibly whispered the word of command. After half a second the millennia old charm sprung to life again, allowing its master to understand what was said around him. He really was glad that he bought this little piece of magic, worth every piece of gold he paid for it at that black market in Luskan.
If his now human ears (Hells, he missed his old ones already) weren't deceiving him, Zak could make out the sound of the voice of that woman in glasses that conjured the small mirror he was still clutching in his hand. She was saying something about a body that contradicted almost everything they knew about the biology of a human being. Then the voice of that lady in white replied, that she was as much surprised as she was, but she was sure of her diagnosis. Then a third voice, this time belonging to 'ol' Silverbeard' butted in, saying something about proving the theory about… something his amulet wasn't able to translate on the fly, some 'Svartalf' thing… saying all that in this irritably cheerful manner. Really, this guy was beginning to annoy Zak with his cheerful deman…
'Dark Elf'. Svartalf means 'dark elf'. Zak's amulet was able to translate the foreign word only after awhile, but it was accurate enough. And explained a lot too. These guys did have elves and knew about them, and they didn't believe him only because he was currently looking like a rivvil child. Maybe now, after all this pointless arguments they would finally listen him out.
"I thought that I wasn't a guinea pig. Now I find out that to be a lie. Someone did some tests on me and didn't bother to ask me for permission." Zak spoke up with a deadpan, drawing the attention of the occupants of the room. He didn't however open his eyes, dreading what he would see should he open them. Being aware that he now looked like them, like humans, with their pink skin and small, rounded ears… gods, was that thought annoying… fuelled his belief, that he actually could attack them again with his Spellfire just because he was that upset. Not that he could mind you, he was spent at the moment and it would take at least a few spells and a heavy dose of meditation to replenish his reserves, but they didn't need to know that.
After the four in the room heard his voice they looked at him surprised. It was clear that they didn't expect him to regain consciousness that fast. However, when the initial shock wore off and the sense of Zak's words sunk in the slimy bastard a.k.a. Severus Snape and the two female occupants shot a glance towards Dumbledore, who smiled pleasantly at Zak, completely unfazed. Out of all of them only he noticed, that their guest was trying to stay as calm as he could, given the circumstances of course.
"I'm curious though, what did you find out regarding my body? From what I gather it must be something big, concerning that just a moment ago I was referred to as a 'contradiction to everything that is known about human biology'". Zak continued, his eyes still closed and trying to sound as composed as possible. "Stay calm, think happy thoughts… as happy as they can be being turned into a human child… fuck, I'm going to pulverize the bony bastard when I get my hands on him!"
"Well, Mr. Vicloth, you are right in assuming that we found some astonishing things about your physiology." Dumbledore replied calmly, judging the reaction of their guest. He didn't seem to surprised, although a slight frown appeared on his face for a split second. Deciding that the best course of action would be summarizing their findings from just a moment ago, the headmaster began listing the derogations in his body compared with a human's.
Zak may have appeared almost uninterested in what the old man was saying, but the truth of the matter was he was just as surprised by what he heard as was Madam Pomfrey when she found out about it. Not only had his body stayed mostly drow, at least when it came to his internal organs, his eyes and his high brain functions (let's face it, he knew perfectly well that he was much brighter than most of his 'peers' in Sorcere), but he found out just how much of a gap there was between humans and elves, especially dark elves. Well, some of his abilities were augmented by use of magic, some of them even permanently, but still. Living as one of them was beginning to look more and more annoying by the second.
Oh, and one more thing: why didn't Khrel-Ithyr remove that annoying racial flaw concerning his dependence on mushrooms?
"So, Khrel-Ithyr's curse changed my into a human child but didn't interfere with anything else?" Zak pondered quietly, finally opening his eyes and sitting up. "But I'll be damned to the Nine Hells if that's all it did. I'm more than certain that he did something more. He wouldn't call it an 'epic piece of magical arts' if it only was a cosmetic change." All this he said under his breath, muttering in his own native language, knowing full well that these people couldn't understand him even if they tried.
Suddenly Zak froze, his mind playing the whole scene with the damned skull right before his eyes. One part of it was especially interesting though. The part with the shortened lifespan…
"You!" Zak pointed at the white clad woman, earning a surprised yelp from her. "This is very important: did you check how fast I age? In what rate do I age?"
"And what exactly does that have to do with anything?" Snape growled out from his place by Dumbledore's side, subconsciously rubbing his injured arm. "I think that the fact that you" he spat the word like it left a unpleasant taste in his mouth "have the most outlandish organism in all of Great Britain is sufficient enough."
"The Great what now?" Zak asked out of pure reflex but quickly he shook his head and once more focused on the medwitch. "How fast do I age? This is very important."
"Well" She began a little awkward, considering the question was a bit odd and the now identified potential Svartalf was gazing at her with his mesmerizing lilac eyes intently. "I did not found anything out of the ordinary during my scans concerning that aspect of your body, Mr. Vicloth. From what I gathered you age accordingly to normal standards, not faster." She added with a smile. This smile turned however to a concerned frown when she noticed that Zak looked absolutely crushed by this tidbit of information.
"I should have guest as much." He said with a hollow voice, than looked at his lap. For a moment he didn't do much of anything, but after just a few seconds he hurled the hand held mirror that he was still holding at the nearest wall, shattering it into pieces.
"Fucking pile of bones!" He cried out furiously. This was just great. A useless pile of incomplete bones just had to rob him of most of his life. Only he could find himself in such a predicament, he and his rotten luck. "Next time I see him, I'm going to grind the fucker to a pile of fine powder and piss in it!"
Anger, no, pure rage radiated of Zak in such quantities that he could put even a wounded nesting dragon to shame. Although he didn't do much besides hurling that mirror and shouting angrily almost no one was to keen to get close to him, a type of primal sense of dread filling anyone that was stupid enough to come closer to him. That however didn't stop Minerva McGonagall from scolding a seemingly young teen using such foul language in front of adults.
"Watch your words young man!" The transfiguration professor all but growled out trough pursed lips in a way that would give nightmares to any normal student of hers. "Using such foul language in general, not to mention in front of adults such as us are completely…"
"Shut it snot!" Zak glared at her in such a way, that the 'older' woman stopped in her tracks, a feeling of dread creeping down her spine. "I already told you once: I am not a child! I'm older that you can hope to ever be! I'm fucking one hundred and twenty one for fuck's sake! And the fact that I look like a child of your race doesn't mean that I have the mental capabilities of one too. If that goddamn elghliik (skull) hadn't cast its fucking curse on me I wouldn't even look like your shitty, cock-sucking race, not to mention I wouldn't even be here in the first place. So be as kind as to keep your plowing face shut while talking about my age!"
That was certainly a first for the aged teacher. Not once in her over fifty year long experience was she so thoroughly trash talked by someone as young looking as Zak was. This left her utterly shocked, not to mention speechless. It was like he believed every word he said, and concerning that they did found out that he wasn't exactly human left McGonagall even more floored. He really was as old as he claimed.
The rest of the school staff present during Zak's little outburst was equally surprised by his tantrum, to the point even, that they couldn't for the love of god tell what was going on. One moment they have a boy that seemingly doesn't know any English, the next he's one step from biting off the head of one of them. Not to mention that between these two milestones he went through a mental breakdown and a moment of silent contemplation. Snape believed now more than ever that the 'boy' was actually cuckoo and therefore dangerous. Dumbledore looked like he was desperately forcing his mind into high gear to find a method of calming their distraught guest down. After a moment of contemplation he decided to speak up, seeing that Zak took a break in his rant to take a much needed breath.
"Now there, Mr. Vicloth, there's no need to be so rude. Were all a little bit surprised, and in your case terrified I'm sure, but shouting won't get us anywhere. Maybe I can interest you in a lemon drop?" All this he said in his patented grandfatherly voice, keeping an eye on the white haired youth at all times in case he decided to lash out on him.
Zak was beyond furious by now, working himself up not only because of the fact that he was basically condemned to live a much to short life for his liking but also because he was sure that he was going to be thought a child for a very long time. However, Dumbledore's words brought him out of the vicious circle of his thoughts. Or rather his last words did the trick.
The drow looked with a bit of a surprised face at the old wizard before him, eying a strange little tube filled with yellow lozenges with suspicion. In his peripheral vision he was able to pick out the surprised and more than in one case completely incredulous looks his colleagues were sending the old man. Not sure what he should think of all this Zak did the one thing that came to any drow naturally.
He became automatically suspicious.
"I don't eat any shit that a old goat like you shoves in front of me, so you can take your bloody drops or whatever you call them and shove them where the light of Lethander doesn't reach." Zak said glaring at Dumbledore, and although he tried to sound menacing, his stomach decided it was as good as any moment to let itself be known. Blushing a bit but determined to save his face the drow still leveled the aged wizard with his eyes, observing his casual shrug and unwrapping one of his sweets. During all this he noticed that the woman he all but chewed out looked like she wanted to say something, but she quickly thought better of it and backed out. All in all, 'ol' Silverbeard' casually sucked on his treat, making Zak droll slightly.
'Ah… what the Hells…'"On second thought, no harm in accepting some candy now, is there? At least it doesn't seem to be poisoned or anything…"
"Please, help yourself!" Dumbledore replied happily, passing the tube full of hard candy to him. Although Zak did feel hungry (being unconscious for almost three days tends to do that to a person) he eyed the strange treat warily, looking at it from all angles before he decided to actually try it. After that… well, the only thing that came to his mind was comparing the sweet to its Lentanian counterpart.
Seeing that their guest calmed down a little bit from his earlier furious state Dumbledore decided it was as good as any moment to try and work out this whole situation they found themselves in. With his normal kind demeanor he cleared his trough, gaining the attention of the lost drow.
"If I may be so bold as to inquire: why was it that you reacted the way you did when hearing about your aging rate, Mr. Vicloth? Most, if not anyone in your place would gladly great an opportunity to basically relive their youth, especially someone of such 'advanced' age as yourself. You however looked like it was some kind of death sentence placed on you. Why is that?"
Hearing this Zak ceased to suck on his candy and looked at his interlocutor with a somewhat blank expression.
"I overheard you lot talking about Svartalfs, my, as I guess, distant cousins." He replied evenly. "Being as it is: how is it that you don't know how fast my people age? It's almost common knowledge even in the most backwater societies I've met."
"You'll address us in the proper manner, bo…" The greasy fellow known as Snape tried to sneer at Zak, but one glare from his lilac eyes pretty much shut him up. He probably still had his attack fresh in his memories, considering that his hand still hurt like hell.
"It's quite alright Severus. If it'll help our guest understanding everything I won't hold his rude behavior against him." Dumbledore assured his employee, after which he looked again at Zak, his pleasant smile present under his long, silvery beard. "Well, as it is, I, or no one I know for that matter, do not know anything about the aging process of Svartalfs because of the simple fact that up until today no one ever saw one of your kind before." At this Zak arched an intrigued eyebrow. "Your people, Mr. Vicloth, were, or should I say still are regarded as stuff of legend. Nobody ever seen a representative of your… species, as inelegant as that sounds."
"Well, that at the very least explains your politeness to me, Mr.…?
"Dumbledore, Albus Dumbledore." The aged wizard replied, extending his wrinkled hand. Zak in kind took it and shook hand with him.
"Zak'Talqosee Vicloth, pleased to make your acquaintance." After they're brief but wary (at least on one part) greetings the dark elf continued. "From where I hale, most people tend to stay clear of my kinsmen. It's not really a surprise either, considering our rather violent history and a tendency towards dark and evil behavior. Seeing however one of you surfacedwellers react to me like to one of your own kind was… well, a bit odd to say the least. That got me a little confused and until I saw my own reflection I really couldn't understand the level of indifference and, let's face it, ignorance shown towards me."
"Ignorance?" A sharply stated question was directed at him from one Minerva McGonagall. "What exactly do you mean by 'ignorance'?"
"Basically: most humans know at least so much about elves, that they can tell that a… what was it… twenty year old lookin' elf can actually be hundred and fifty years old." Zak replied, taking some measure of pleasure seeing the shocked expression on McGonagall's face. "That's also the answer to your question, Mr. Dumbledore. Me, being a hundred and twenty one year old drow trapped in a body of a rivvil (human) eleven year old is a bit unsettling. Especially considering that your kind rarely live more than one century, not to mention elven seven hundred years. I had all the right to be upset at being stripped of more than five hundred years of my life now, had I?" A bit of sarcasm laced his voice at the end, especially looking at the woman that had the nerve to scold him about his use of foul language. Then again…
"Also for what it's worth: sorry for exploding like that." Now this took the gathered wizards and witches by surprise. "I know I had no right to call your race what I called it, but considering that I'm stuck as one of you and that you guys look too… alien for my liking I think that was the only logical reaction I could come up with. Really, I didn't suspect that I would ever miss my dark skin so much. Not to mention my pointy ears… damn, especially the ears…" Right about now Zak sounded like he was only a step from braking up in front of the four humans, but he didn't care. He missed his ears so damn much already!
"Speaking of which –how did you end up in a human body in the first place, Mr. Vicloth?" Seeing an opportunity Dumbledore launched his question, hoping to gather as much information as he possibly could on his new guest as well as on the place he came from. Zak for his part, not seeing any problem with sharing a bit of his life history, especially considering that he was a guest here decided to indulge them in the unbelievable story known as his life.
To say that the four native magic users were shocked was a huge understatement –they were completely mesmerized by what they heard. And it was still a hugely watered down version of Zak's story, created only for the purpose of this one talk. Their eyebrows were having a hard time staying on their heads during his tale, their heads having a hard time wrapping themselves around the concepts their white headed guest was using, even considering that they used wizarding logic, not the common one. Problem is, this also was like a wind in the sails of the boat known as ' HMS Severus'-Snape's-Box-of-Disbelieving-the-Crazed-Kid's-Story'. To be honest, only Dumbledore looked like he was willing to actually buy Zak's story, but seeing that he was a bit strange himself spoke volumes about his credibility. One way or another, the stranded drow brought his story to an end, giving them the opportunity to ask any questions they had. And one greasy bast… erg… I mean Potions Master decided to use this opportunity.
"So, if I got your story right, Mr. Vicloth… "he still spat the 'Mr.' part like it was an insult "…you were born over a hundred years ago, in a town called Menzoberranzan, lying in some place called Underdark that you claim is located on another planet, called by you Faerûn…"
"Toril" Zak interjected. "The world's called Toril, Faerûn is the name of the continent I live… lived on."
"So you lived there for the most of your life, then suddenly decided to leave your homeland because you refused to worship a spider goddess by the name of Lolth." This time it was McGonagall's turn to ask, her voice laced with skepticism. "A priestess named Tristonein Yasliesril was sent after you to kill or otherwise deal with you, is that right? She was trailing after you for more than fifteen years, most of them by the way you spent living on the surface of your world, and up until now you were able to dodge her attempts at killing you. You also mentioned that during your travels on the surface of your planet you were broadening you horizons, especially by raiding ruins of a ancient civilization named in such a way that I can't pronounce it…"
"Illefarn" Zak supplied, only to be rewarded by a glare from the transfiguration teacher.
"During one of these excursions you were attacked by the same priestess you mentioned earlier and forced to flee inside the old ruins. There you found some sort of prison chamber holding a flying, talking skull that changed you and your stalker into humans, in your case a eleven year old boy, and sent you trough some sort of… portal… that basically opened here, in Hogwarts. Is that all or did I miss something?"
"Quite a bit actually, but you lot didn't exactly think I would cough up my full biography in the span of two hours now, did you?" He replied cheekily, completely disregarding the rather doubtful way McGonagall and Snape recounted all that and looking at the faces of everybody in an analytical sort of way. After a moment's pause he sight softly. "You don't believe me, don't you?"
"That much is obvious." Snape was really getting irritated by all this nonsense. "Your story is so preposterous that it's not even funny. For one: how was a skull able to 'live' (he actually used air-quotes), not to mention 'think', if it was just that –an oddly ornamented human skull? And how did you actually ended up here, Mr. Vicloth?"
"Explaining both of these things is possible, although I can't be quite sure how Khrel-Ithyr ended up being only a skull." Zak stated without any hesitation, surprising both of the doubtful 'elders' with his confidence. "The theory of the Myriad of Worlds states, that it is more than possible that there are other Material Planes in the endless expanse of the Plane of Shadows, connected to one another via the Shadow Plane itself. Each Material Plane in turn has its own Astral, Inner and Outer Planes like the Plane of Elemental Fire or the Endless Layers of the Abyss, but only one Shadow Plane, common to all worlds. This theory seems extremely plausible, concerning that not only were the Mulhorand people once slaves of the Imaskar Empire brought to Toril from another world, but the Orc tribes seem to be a non-native race entirely."
"As for Khrel-Ithyr and how he was able to 'live' being only a skull… well, at one point of his life he must have undergone a transformation into a lich." Seeing the blank stares of the others Zak rolled his eyes. Clueless they were, bloody clueless. "Liches are basically undead wizards that had bonded their souls to an physical object of some sort – it's called a phylactery after the ritual. Liches fuel their carcass' with pure energy borrowed from the Plane of Negative Energy. It's a quite common praxis, you wouldn't believe how easy it became to run into a lich or necromancer trying to rise a private army of living dead. There was even a rather big war involving undead quite recently, the Second War with the King of Shadows if I'm not mistaken. That however is a entirely different story."
Once again the gathered wizards and witches exchanged confused glances, trying to comprehend what Zak was trying to tell them. Snape's accusations of him lying seemed to lose their credibility in light of the drow's explanations. That is if you actually believed in the existence of the Plane of Negative Energy, or in other planes than the Material one in general. However, one could not truly outrule the possibility of there being any other worlds, and as such could not conclude that Zak's words were untrue. After all, parallel universes were more of a domain of muggle science fiction writers and eccentric physicists than a researched theory in the magical world. In the end, it was Dumbledore that had the final say in the matter, and considering the exited twinkle in his eyes one could safely state, that he was buying every word the drow-turned-boy said.
„I must say, you reason on a level I have never before, Mr. Vicloth." The headmaster spoke up, a intrigued smile hidden beneath his silvery beard. "One could argue, that you actually have some experience with the things you mentioned."
"Well, I am what you call a white necromancer, that is I know and use necromantic spells not designed to raise undead, and know the theory behind the darker aspects of this obscure art, including creating necrotic beings." Zak replied with a shrug, completely disregarding the somewhat apprehensive looks most of the occupants of the chamber sent him. He was simply too used to looks like that to care. "I don't use these spells however that much –not my thing. I'm more of a straight up evocations expert than a necromancer. And as for portals and other planes… well, counting this, furthest as to date journey, I leaved my Material Plane… hmm, I'm not quite sure myself. I used the Shadow, Astral and Ethereal Planes more times than I can keep track of. I was however once in one of the Inner Planes and twice in the Outer Planes, although the latter two were kind of detached from the main bough of the World Tree."
"Oh, do tell, where ever have you went?" McGonagall, her gaze piercing asked the stranded drow, clearly not convinced by his words so far. Not noticing her tone of voice, or more precisely ignoring it Zak began explaining, to the best of his abilities.
"Let me think… I recall I was once on the Clockwork Nirvana of Mechanus, a land that consisted purely of sprockets and cogs, some of them as big as whole worlds, each a part of a machine so complicated, that even the gods themselves couldn't hope to guess its inner workings and functions. It wasn't a fun ride to say the least: living in a place where every rule and stupid law has its physical manifestation and wandering between gears was more than nerve wrecking, not to mention deadly was definitely not my definition of a walk in the park."
"There was also the time I ended up in the Ever-Changing Chaos of Limbo, a place where the forces of the elements battle endlessly, changing in a matter of seconds, behaving more like a stirred glass of water than a world. It was a stupid mistake on my part that led me into that hostile environment, I only planned to jump into the Astral Plane and wait until Tris loses me so I could go back. I was stuck there for some time and only thanks to the kindness of the githzerai sorcerer-monks from the Zerth'Ad'lun monastery was I able to go back."
"And there was this one time one of my experiments went awry and instead of me summoning an air elemental I ended being hurled onto the endless expanse of the Elemental Plane of Air. It was short of a miracle that I stumbled upon that flying island with a genie town on it; I wasn't exactly prepared for an expedition like this and didn't have any supplies on my. I would probably starve to death if it wasn't for that one genie that took pity on me and sent me back home."
"So you meant to tell us, that you've been in a place, where there was no solid ground, where the four elements battled each other and in a place, where the whole world was a giant machine?" McGonagall once again asked with her voice heavily laced with disbelief. Hearing her question Zak only shrugged, indicating that it was his version and he was going to stick to it. All this proved however one thing: that Snape was right in believing that the being they were dealing with was either lying or insane. Only problem with that: Dumbledore had a completely different view on this matter.
"Fascinating! Simply fascinating!" The aged wizard exclaimed, his enthusiasm enough to surprise all three of his companions and one drow. "So other worlds do exist and look that much different from ours?! That's truly amazing! If it wasn't for you and the fact that you don't seem to shield your thoughts that much, Mr. Vicloth, I would've considered you lying. I can however sense that you really did do all of that. Truly fascinating!"
"He isn't shielding his thoughts?" Snape asked surprised, looking between his employer and the white haired boy sitting in the bed with a confused expression. "But how can that be? I'm incapable of penetrating even the surface thoughts…"
„You having a weak mind and being unable to breach my passive mental defenses is not my problem, Mr. Snape." It was Zak that replied instead of Dumbledore, the way that he spoke the word 'Mr.' being a clear indication, that he thought as poorly about him as the Potions Master was thinking about him. However before this little jab at Severus' pride had even the slightest of chances to escalate into a full blown fight ol' Silverbeard decided to interject.
"I wouldn't have put it like our guest had, but it is true: even his passive defenses are exceptionally powerful. You see, Severus, even I can only tell when Mr. Vicloth here is lying or tallying the truth, nothing more. Poppy was right in concluding, that his mental resistances are unbelievably powerful."
"I had quite a bit too many run ins with creatures that tried to mentally rape me, so it shouldn't be a surprise that I don't just let anyone into my brain. Especially scum that threatened me just a few hours ago." The last part the drow added softly, so that only Dumbledore and Snape were able to hear it. And although the headmaster was less than pleased to hear that his guest was rather uncivil towards one of his most valuable employee's, he wasn't about to scold him for his behavior. It would feel rather odd, trying to tell off someone, that was almost your age, even if he looked like a eleven year old.
Severus Snape was definitely having second thoughts about this boy. At first, and by that I mean after he attacked him, the Potions Master was more than willing to call him a threat that had to be dealt with. With time his view on him was slowly changing, and now it had reached a new level. A level, that up until today had only one group labeled as such. He wasn't only a threat now. It was more personal.
It was like having a new Marauder to just hate with a fiery passion.
During all this Zak was smirking slightly. He perfectly knew, that by acting like he was and pushing this man's buttons he would enrage him, but right about now he was hoping for a distraction, be it an argument or a brawl. It would at least clear his mind off this whole predicament he found himself in. Then again, he really shouldn't do what he was doing –it went against the teachings of the Moon Maiden. And even if he wasn't as pious as the priestesses, he generally tried to live up to the title of an Eilistraeean, and acting hostile to surfacedwellers was not a good way of showing that.
And then there was the issue with this whole Dumbledore character. The news that he apparently was able to gaze into one's mind was disturbing to say the least. Zak really liked his privacy, and his thoughts were one of the most cherished private possessions of his, so any breach by any being was like a declaration of war for him. Then again, he did say that he was only capable of discerning when he was lying, so it wasn't that bad. He didn't lie for now at least, so he hadn't any reason for being concerned too much. But still, the strange tickling in the back of his mind was kind of familiar, like… like the time when a mind flayer was desperately trying to eat his fucking brain.
With a sigh Zak shook his head, trying to clear his mind of thoughts of his goddess, mind-eating monsters and old geezers and focused on the present. He did a quick rerun of all that happened to him so far, and again he found himself rather annoyed by the fact he ended up as some sort of human-drow hybrid in a world that started to annoy him after spending less than a day in it. This time however he stayed calm, remembering his priorities.
"Right… First of –try to use your own magic."
With that thought in mind Zak cracked his fingers, gaining the attention of the four resident wizard/witches, and waved his hand lazily, muttering a quick, almost inaudible incantation. The silver-bearded man and his companions seemed puzzled by his actions, but then, from behind of them, from the opposite wall the shards of the conjured and then shattered hand-held mirror flown up, accompanied by its broken frame. And then, like if it was the most normal thing in the world, the broken pieces of glass and silver reformed and repositioned themselves inside the said frame, creating a once again whole mirror, if you disregarded the crack-lines of course.
The astonished crowd of locals looked on, each and every one of them completely stupefied at what their guest was doing. The fact that he basically showed them an example of unparalleled control over his magical abilities without the use of a wand was in itself sufficient enough to tell, that he really was exceptional. However, they weren't prepared for what was coming next, and considering their combined experience that was saying something.
Zak gazed at the broken mirror floating before him with an almost uninterested look in his eyes. He eyed the cracks in the glass, grunted slightly and touched it with only his finger, muttering a new set of draconic sounding incantations. After only half a second all the fractures sealed themselves, like they never were shattered in the first place. Content with his handiwork the drow looked at his reflection and once again sighed. Looking at his face and not his face at the same time was going to be a pain. And the fact his little illusion spell worn off only added to his annoyance. "Well, on to part two then." He decided that he could remedy at least the last part, so, looking as if he did that casually Zak snapped his fingers, still looking at his reflection in search for anything he missed.
Dumbledore and his companions, still mesmerized by what they saw began to quickly blink their eyes, wondering if what they saw actually was happening or not. For before their very eyes Zak's face began to change, not by much mind you, one could still see that the basics of his looks stayed the same, but still. What did happen was that his scars, each and every one of the scars that littered his face and his body alike began to mold and disappear, replaced by smooth, healthy looking skin. They noticed that even the lacking part of his left hand ring finger reformed, looking like it was whole again, never severed from the rest. Just… just what had happened?
"Xsa, I still look like a pale piece of shit." They heard Zak comment his new image, looking at it in the mirror. "Well, I guess one can't have everything at once, right?" He added as an afterthought, looking at his hosts. Just then he noticed their unbelieving expressions. "What, never seen a wizard at work before?"
The first one to breach the silence was, surprise, surprise, Dumbledore. The drow once again noticed that his eyes twinkled in that disturbing manner while he asked the question that was on everybody's mind.
"How were you able to do that?"
"Magic, what else?" Zak replied, rolling his eyes at the aged wizard. For someone as old as him he was acting as if he encountered something like the Mage's Hand or Repair spells for the first time in his life. And he called himself a wizard? Then again… "You weren't asking about that, were you, Mr. Dumbledore?"
"No, I was asking how were you able to cast spells or otherwise control your magic to that great a extent without the use of a wand." The headmaster clarified. This caused however Zak to look at him surprised.
"What do you mean 'without the use of a wand'? It's the most basic way to cast spells. Why would I need a wand to work magic if I could do the same damn thing using my hands and my will? Unless…" The stranded ilythiiri trailed off, his brain shifting to high gear. All that he noticed up until now: the weird spell used to heal or otherwise patch up that greasy guy; the fact that the woman that strongly reminded him of a dwarf for one reason or another conjured a mirror waving her wand; now the weird looks he received for not using one. It all suddenly added up and he came to an interesting conclusion. "You lot need wands to work magic, don't you?"
"Precisely, that is why I and my colleagues are so surprised by your ability to cast spells without one, Mr. Vicloth. I assumed that your brand of magic wasn't so… different… from ours."
"Well, you assumed wrong then." Zak replied, a mixture of an amused smirk and a fascinated glint in his eye adorned his face. "In my world wands are like… bows and arrows for lack of a better comparison. We store a number of single 'castings' of spells in one, and then use it by pointing them at what we want to be bewitched and uttering the command word. But casting spells by the use of wands? That's the first time I ever heard of something like that."
"What you just described was one of the more fascinating things I have heard in a long time, Mr. Vicloth." Again, Dumbledore sounded just like he ended up locked in a storeroom filled with lemon drops. "In our world only a handful of wizards are able to cast any sort of spells wandless, and virtually no one can cast anything more than a simple light spell that way. What you just showed was simply amazing."
"Yes, I bet it was." Zak replied uninterested, his mind already on another part of his 'to do' list. The drow casually looked around, as if trying to locate something and after a few moments groaned slightly, obviously not finding what he was looking for. Deciding that he really shouldn't be so surprised about that he shook his head and looked at Dumbledore, who was apparently still going on about his apparent 'fascinating knack for wandless magic'. "Where's my stuff?"
The rather blunt question coming from their guest took Dumbledore by surprise. He momentarily stopped what he was saying and blinked a few times.
"I beg your pardon?"
"My stuff. Where is it?" Zak repeated, slight annoyance clearly heard in his voice. "I mean I seriously doubt that I came to be here with only one bag on me and…" He quickly glanced at the hospital gown he was in. "…with no pants… Who for the love of all things sharp and pointy took off my clothes?!"
"Um… That would be me." Madam Pomfrey replied, not quite sure what to make of her patient now. He did act strangely before, but now was just plane bizarre. All in all, Zak looked at her for a moment and shook his head.
"And here I hoped that a young novice priestess did that. Life is cruel like that sometimes I suppose." If someone of the four resident wizards/witches still had any doubts regarding the truthfulness of Zak's statement regarding his age, this one jab dispelled them. It was rather uncommon to meet a eleven year old making jokes about something like that. Older teens more likely, but not first-years. Zak however didn't seem to particularly care what they were thinking about him and continued, this time more seriously. "Really, can someone tell my where's my gear? My bag wasn't the only item in my possession you know."
"Well, most of it is placed in my office for safe keeping." Poppy replied once she regained her composure after that little joke made by Zak. "Your clothes were sent to be cleaned, most of them seemed to be stained with mud and… now I know… blood. They should be back later today."
"Fair enough." He replied. "And what about Dragontongue?"
"Dragon's what?" This time it was for McGonagall to ask surprised. She didn't have the slightest idea what Zak was talking about. She didn't notice a slight flinch made by Dumbledore, who as the only one had any idea what their guest was talking about.
"Dragontongue." Zak repeated, his eyes fixed on Dumbledore. McGonagall might have missed his flinch, but Zak sure as all Hells didn't. "It's the name of my blade. A enchanted katana sword, sharp enough to cut trough steel and able to burst into flames. Seriously, you can't possibly miss it, especially that it was strapped to my belt the entire time. Isn't that right, Mr. Dumbledore?"
Hearing the last part everyone looked at their employer, surprised by the revelations and in a way seeking an answer to the question if Zak actually was telling the truth. Seeing, that their wizened superior was actually avoiding the drow's gaze led them to believe that he actually was being serious. Well… One more thing to supplement Snape's theory about Zak being a dangerous lunatic slash hired assassin.
After a few seconds of avoiding his eyes Dumbledore decided, that there was no use hiding that particular information from Zak.
"I took the liberty of relieving you of it for the time being, Mr. Vicloth. For one –it would look suspicious if I brought here someone looking like a fresh student carrying about an exotic looking sword. Besides, I do not believe that you needed it so badly, being unconscious and all."
"I guess you're kind of right, I apparently didn't need to use it here… 'sides that one time when Mr. Slimy over there decided it was a good idea to threaten me." Zak replied thoughtfully, shooting Snape a sideways glance and smirking slightly at seeing his rather furious scowl. "Still, I would appreciate if I could get it all back. Need to do an inspection I do, 'specially that I'm not quite sure how my things handled the journey here."
"That's… understandable, I think." McGonagall slowly replied, not quite sure herself what to make of all this. "I do have a question however: Why would you need a sword, let alone a heavily enchanted one?"
"Self-defense." The drow replied shortly. "Faerûn, especially the North and the Savage Frontier aren't what you would call a picnic ground, not to mention that I delve into forgotten crypts of ancient civilizations for a living. That and I was stalked by a crazed priestess, or did you already forgot about that little detail?"
Again silence greeted them after the declaration made by Zak, nobody quite sure what to make out of it. Only now did it down on them full forced, that they had a seriously dangerous and probably powerful wizard from another world, and the thought that he lived a life that hardened him to the extent that he was actually joking around about his near death experiences was frightening, at least to the more sensible ones of the group. Dumbledore seemed to not particularly care, and Madam Pomfrey was still more concerned about his health, due to her vows as a healer. Still, it was the headmaster that replied to the question asked by the stranded ilythiiri.
"I believe that we can arrange for you to get your gear back, Mr. Vicloth. The other bag you had on yourself should be somewhere here, and as was said –your clothes should be cleaned by the end of today. As for your… sword… Well, I would appreciate if you could accompany me to my office and discuss some matters of interest while I give you your possession back. Is that acceptable?"
Zak looked at the old wizard warily, not quite getting what was his angle. It sounded almost as if he wasn't too keen on returning his possessions, at least when it came to his sword, but he didn't seem to have any insidious motive to not do what he was asked for behind it. And what were exactly the 'matters of interest' that he was talking about? For all the drow Spellsword knew, the only thing he owed them was for the care they must have taken of him while he was unconscious. Did they want some kind of payment for it? If so, he would pay and be on his merry way. He had a really long way ahead of him and didn't want to be held back by something like a debt.
While Zak was thinking, McGonagall and Snape looked at their employer with both shocked and confused expressions. The head of Gryffindor didn't know what to think about all that was going on. Clearly confused and only now coming to terms with the concept of actually meeting a century old wizard from a different universe, mysteriously changed into a human child. It was something most people would find trouble with accepting, but if Dumbledore was willing to accept his explanations, so would she. As for Snape… well, he was shocked that the 'oh so wise leader of the Light' was so accepting of one such as Zak, who clearly was a threat and who just moments ago was close to confessing, that given the chance he would kill him. And to actually willingly give him back a weapon? He ignored the fact that Dumbledore hadn't even bother to inform him about him being in possession of a sword, that clearly was this 'Zak' guy's possession, but really –give something like that back to him? Severus really began to wonder if siding with one as… careless as the headmaster was really that good an idea. The Dark Lord didn't make such stupid mistakes as this one, of that he was certain.
After a few moments more of contemplation Zak finally came to and conclusion. Looking Dumbledore in the eye (and feeling once more the strange sensation in the back of his head) he took a deep breath and began:
"I'm not quite sure you know what you're getting yourself into, Mr. Dumbledore." At this the said wizard raised an intrigued eyebrow. "I'm not going to negotiate any… I don't know… terms of release or sum' such nonsense. If I want to get out, with my gear, I'm going to get out with my gear, and there's nothing you or anyone can do about it, do I make myself clear?"
"I'm afraid not, Mr. Vicloth." Dumbledore replied calmly, as if Zak's words didn't make any kind of impression on him. "No one's going to keep you here by force. We're civilized people. All I want to do is discus some mutually beneficial… exchange of ideas so to say. You don't even have to answer any questions if you don't want to."
"So why not just tell me what you want here and now and get this over with?" Zak questioned suspiciously, studying intently Dumbledore's face in search of anything that could give a clue to what exactly did the old wizard want. "Why not bring my weapon here? Why all the secrecy?"
"It's not secrecy, it's more like courtesy. I doubt that you're all that comfortable with sitting in a hospital bed, surrounded by four strangers, wearing only a hospital gown, Mr. Vicloth." A small amused smile appeared on the headmasters lips after that small declaration. The flustered look on Zak's face was amusing enough.
"Yeah… you're probably right. It's kind of uncomfortable." He replied slowly, his hand instinctively traveling to the backpack that was still lying beside him on his bed. "Could I get a moment of privacy? I would like to change."
"Change? Into what? Your clothes are still…" Began Madam Pomfrey, but Zak quickly cut her off.
"Do you think that I have only one set of clothes with me? Man, you guys are strange. I'm more than prepared for a extended stay in the wilderness, and that includes a change of clothes to last me a month." For emphasis he reached into his bag and after a few seconds emerged with a white, buttoned up cloth shirt. It was a bit too large for him, but after Zak flicked it once it shrunk, getting onto the right size. "Now, having that all cleared up… you some kind of pedophiles that you're still here, waiting for me to strip?"
That was enough for them to take a hint and back out, letting him change in peace. Zak, who was rather proud of himself proceeded to dress, which was more challenging than he initially thought. He didn't notice it up until now, but his coordination took a pretty large hit after he was changed into a child. He suspected, that the spell Khrel -Ithyr used on him had something in common with the Baleful Polymorph spell, at least in the dexterity department. However after fumbling around for a few minutes he was capable of putting on most of his clothes, consisting of a white cloth shirt, a pair of dark brown leather pants and some socks. He also found out that his Headband of vast intelligence was still on his head, which put him at ease. It appeared that these people weren't as bad as he initially thought and didn't want to rob him of his magical equipment. That much was good.
After getting dressed Zak decided to stand up. Warily and slowly, the drow-changed-human placed his feet on the cold stone floor and began shifting his weight until he stood fully erect. So far so good, it didn't seem that the change made a weakling unable to stand by himself out of him. He did find himself being sore however, something that couldn't be attributed to the curse he fell victim to.
"Out of curiosity, how long was I out?" Zak asked trough the screen, gingerly crouching for his magical boots.
"We found you unconscious almost two full days ago, Mr. Vicloth." Replied the voice of the resident medwitch.
"Oh… Well then I think a 'thank you for your help' is in order." The drow replied, his voice sounding a bit shocked. He suspected that he blacked out for maybe twelve hours, not forty eight. That plane-shifting spell really did a number on him, and come to think of it, he really should be grateful to these people. They may have acted like a bunch of idiots, especially the old one with the beard, but if it wasn't for them he probably would have lesser chances to actually wake up.
Slowly standing up again, after he managed to put his boots on, Zak approached the edge of the screen and with a little sway to his step went through it, ending up on the other side and facing a surprised looking medwitch. Apparently Madam Pomfrey didn't think that her patient would be already up and running, especially considering, that her initial checkup told her, that he was a victim of something similar to the Cruciatus curse. For all she knew Zak should be bedridden for the next few days, and the fact that he was moving about before, in the bed, was short of a miracle to her. Seeing however, that she was about to say something, probably ask him haw was he able to stand already he shot her a crocked grin.
"Why the surprised face? I was once a chew toy for a black dragon, something like changing planes and being unconscious for two days' now biggie for me." Leaving the school healer with a bewildered expression Zak turned to Dumbledore, who seemed a bit surprised, but still amused by his antics. "Well now, Mr. Dumbledore, I believe that you wanted to show me your office?"
"That's quite right." The wizard replied, his smile widening and the twinkle in his eyes gaining force. "But first of all, I believe that this belongs to you." And then, with a flick of his wand he summoned something, that to the naked eye looked like a weirdly decorated sack.
The bag was made out of soft, black skin. The opening of this sack was held shut by some odd looking twine, silvery in appearance and sparkling in the sunlight. Only after a closer inspection one could tell that it was made out of the hair from a unicorn's mane. The bag itself had also a series of runes embroidered on the outside, circulating the whole thing, made out of finely crafted, glittering golden threads. All in all, the sack didn't seem to be anything special, aside from the strange way it was decorated. It also wasn't that big, one could hardly fit more than into a large backpack and that it was almost completely empty. To Zak however this one item was worth more than he was willing to let the humans watching him know.
The drow took the offered bag from Dumbledore and examined it carefully, seeking any anomalies that could lead him to think that it was manipulated beforehand. To his great relief it seemed that it was in great condition and no one had tried to open it, which was good. Pleased with what he saw Zak tossed it on his back where it rested besides his backpack, firmly placed in its normal place. Looking back to Dumbledore he actually smiled in thanks.
"Now that everything's settled here, would you be so kind as to follow me, Mr. Vicloth? Hogwarts can be confusing and considering that you never walked its halls you could easily get lost." The aged wizard asked, and after getting a nod in affirmation he looked at McGonagall with a smile. "Minerva, could you join us? I do believe that you should be present during our little talk with Mr. Vicloth here. In fact, I think it's essential that you accompany us."
"Y-yes, of course, Albus." She replied, a bit surprised by her superiors sudden request. What could he possibly want to talk about that she had to be present? Only one thing came to her mind after hearing Dumbledore word his request like that. But… no, she was just being silly. It couldn't possibly mean that. It wasn't like the headmaster was going to … Dear God, she hoped it wasn't what she thought it was.
Unfortunately for her, it was.
* Drowish for "Drow? Human? Both?
