Summary: Sequal to "Sins of the Father." Anjelo grows up angry because he never knew his father, and his mother, Natasha, would never tell him about him. At last she breaks down and tells him, and begins researching a way to get back into the Human World to meet his father. Meanwhile, Dante and Vergil, living with Heather and their children, must deal with an incursion of demons attacking the city.
Disclaimer: Don't own DMC, don't own Forgotten Realms. Do not own Elminister or Drizzt Do'Urden. Not recieving financial benefit from this in any sort of way. Very sad. Do own Anjelo, Natasha, Tlane, Ssalinisthiira, Heather, Michael, and Aeva. Happy about this.
Farewell, Toril...
Anjelo was soundly asleep when he suddenly became aware of a draft. Still mostly asleep, he reached down to pull his blanket up.
His groping fingers made contact not with soft wool, but instead with bare flesh.
What the...
His eyes flew open, and he rolled onto his back to make sure he wasn't dreaming. Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes and stared at his legs. Then ground the heels of his palms into them, blinked, and looked again.
He wasn't dreaming. His blanket had somehow made its way to the floor, and the pants he normally slept in seemed to have taken their leave of him, leaving him exposed to the gaze of his neighbor next-door and the chilly breeze fluttering the curtains through his open window.
In other words, he was bare-arsed naked.
He whipped his head to the door just in time to catch sight of a long, fluffy tail of snowy coloration vanishing around the jamb, his departed pants dragging along beside it.
Solis...
The wolf obeyed the commands of only one person in this house. The culprit behind the reason why his lecherous, widowed neighbor ws staring wide-eyed at him from her window was obvious.
"MOTHER!!!"
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
Downstairs, Natasha fought to keep her laughter subdued. She had tried waking Anjelo earlier, but her efforts had been for naught; he was an extremely heavy sleeper. So she had removed his blankets and told Solis to "fetch pants." Now the white wolf was lying next to her chair, contentedly ripping her son's trousers to shreds. She smiled fondly at him and threw him a piece of bacon, which she was frying along with pancakes in the skillet. "Good boy, Solis. Good boy."
She heard Anjelo stomping down the stairs and picked up his breakfast, a stack of pancakes smothered in hot honey with crispy bacon and fried ham on the side, placing it before his chair at the table ust as he appeared in the kitchen doorway, resplendent in a colorful blanket.
"Good morning, tha nasthar!" she sang, pouring him a mug of ale. Lacking ownership of cows, she simply couldn't get milk as often as she would like. "It is a beautiful day, is it not?"
"Mother, I wouldn't know. The only thing I've seen this morning outside my window was that ex-courtesan, Faleen." He shuddered dramatically. "I know she likes men, even at her age, but I never want to wake up to that again."
"Then awaken when I tell you to do so. I made your favorite breakfast, tha nasthar." Her expression was completely guileless, nothing but pure innocence. Anjelo, however, had seen that trick before. She was as fond of mischief as she was of men. He snorted.
"Don't change the subject, Mother. And don't bribe me." Still scowling, he sat down at the table and tightened his blanket around his waist. "Guess I have to eat this now, so it won't go to waste. Why'd you get Solis to steal my pants, anyway? That's a little sick to do to your own son."
"Anjelo, I changed your diapers and wiped your bottom when you were little and needed help in the garderobe. It is not as if I have never beheld your gods-gifted equipment prior to this morning." Natasha transferred her breakfast to its plate and took it to her chair, pouring some honey over her cakes and biting into some bacon. "As for why I stole your pants, perhaps this shall teach you to get up when you are urged to do so."
"And why did you feel the need to get me out of bed so early?" the half-elf grouched as he bit into his breakfast.
"Kellian arrived late last night. He is sleeping at the moment, but was eager to return to Earth." The elf-woman swirled a piece of pancake in the hot honey, bringing it up to her lips and biting delicately into it. "I feel the need to remind you that he is a drow, a dark elf. But he is not as...well, as nice as Solaufein or Qilue. Be sure that you are nice to him, tha nasthar. I do not wish to lose you simply because he lost his temper. And please remember that he will take on a different appearance when he brings you to Earth. Humans are not so used to black skin and white hair there as they are here; in fact such a thing is very much unheard of." There was a soft shuffle at the doorway. "Ahhh, here he is."
Anjelo turned from his mother's grinning countenance to the doorway, where a smallish elven male stood shirtless, watching them. He had coal-black skin stretched tightly over a lightly-muscled frame, with long white hair cascading to his hips and blood-red eyes peering from behind his lengthy fringe. His face, though handsome, was absolutely expressionless.
"Good morning to you, Kellian. I had thought you would be longer abed than this."
"I could have said the same for you, Natasha. After all, we both tired each other out last night." A perfect white smile flashed, quicker than lightening, across his midnight countenance before departing, leaving him as unreadable as before.
"You always were rather skilled with those hips of yours, my friend," the elf-woman replied demurely, gold-and-green eyes playfully downcast. Anjelo stared at his mother, disbelieving.
"You slept with him?"
"Of course, tha nasthar." She sipped her ale, the corners of her mouth twitching upwards. "After Solaufein joined the Promanade Temple in the service of Lady Silverhair, the goddess Eilestraee, under the command of her favored priestess Lady Qilue, Kellian and I were left to our own devices, adventuring together for several years before he became a Spelljammer."
"And let me assure you, your mother is rather ravenous in bed," Kellian deadpanned, arms crossing before his chest. "Which of us went for the other first?"
"Honestly, I do not recall." Natasha's smirk widened as her son pushed his now-empty plate away and let his head drop to bang on the table.
"Mother, could you please not discuss the details of your love life while I am in the room?" came his muffled voice.
"As you wish, Anjelo." He didn't see his mother's grin. "Kellian, your breakfast is on the counter beneath the heat-dome."
"Vale'en ish thilk dai ul'ulay, Natasha." He fetched the plate from beneath the silvery plate-cover and joined her at the table, a goblet and bottle of wine materializing when he waved a hand. The elf-woman frowned when she read the label.
"Spiderblood wine, Kellian? That stuff is more poison then wine, you know."
"Only if you did not grow up drinking it. I did, and it is possessed of a far greater range of flavor than anything you surface faeries can brew. Even above your precious Feywine." He took a healthy sip and smiled as it passed through his throat into his belly. "Ahh... Perfect, as always."
"So... What is Earth like? Why do you prefer to stay there?" Anjelo asked, wanting to get on with things.
Kellian shrugged. "It's home."
The elf-woman rolled her eyes. "Anjelo, Earth is very, very different from Toril. It is a far more technologically advanced world, but there is little magic reminiscent of that which I or Kellian so often use. Our magic can be used there, but only with great difficulty, as there is no Weave to aid in the casting. More than that, the predominant race on its soil is humanity. I know there are some other races, but I could not tell you their names or what they are like. They mostly stay hidden from the humans, where they cannot be found."
"Everything will be new and strange, and more than a little confusing, when you first see it." Kellian finished chewing his fried ham and swallowed. "The period in which Faerun is currently embroiled, this age of swords and sorcery, is known as the Medieval Era, or Middle Ages, on Earth. The humans there completed it and moved on some five centuries ago. I know I was more than a little lost until someone showed me how to work a computer."
Anjelo tilted his head, confused. "What is a computer?"
"You'll find out soon enough. Earth's humans have come to depend on them for everything, the very continuation of the life which they know would be impossible without those machines. In fact, when they entered the second millenium, there was a general panic because it was believed the computers would not be able to handle the time-change." The dark elf smiled coldly. "Silly humans."
Anjelo decided to address that issue later, when he had met a few of Earth's inhabitants. "Tell me. How did... I mean, what's my..." He stopped, trying to figure out how to phrase the question.
Kellian saved him his embarassment. "You'll find out when you meet him."
"When are you planning on leaving?" Natasha queried.
"Once he's ready to go." The drow waved a hand at the half-elf. "He will not require much; I will be purchasing him some proper attire once we reach Earth. I would advise wearing a shirt and a pair of trousers, nothing more elaborate than that. And of course, he will need a weapon."
"I shall take care of that." Natasha gathered up the plates and took them to the sink. "Anjelo, if there is anyone you would like to say your farewells to, I would suggest that you go see them now."
Anjelo wanted to say that there was no one he wanted to see, but the truth was that there was indeed someone he wanted to say good-bye to. He nodded his acquiescence to his mother and went to grab some clothes.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
"Anjelo! Tosh me!" Razmira cried, racing towards the white-haired teen with arms outstretched. Tusie followed her out the door, arms crossed and a smile on her face, leaning against the wood of the jamb as her little sister prepared to tackle her friend.
Anjelo grinned and grabbed hold of the little girl beneath her arms, using her momentum to lift her off the ground, her legs swinging up between his own. The imminent danger to his family jewels didn't seem to faze him; instead, Anjelo's arms and back snapped in the opposite direction, sending Razmira skyward, arms and head thrown back as she screamed in delight.
Tusie smiled again. There was no danger to her sister; she was more secure in Anjelo's arms than she was in her those of her father.
She was lucky.
The half-elf swung Razmira back down, leaving her feet firmly on the ground this time. "Happy to oblige, kid," he commented, ruffling her hair and walking through the gate. She laughed and ran off, going to join her friends for the day.
Leaving Tusie alone with the man for whom she had cherished a secret love for the past five years.
She tried to supress her panic and nervousness as he approached, flatly squelching the desire to drool and stare. Anjelo was hands-down the most handsome man in Beregost, the one all the guys hated and envied, the one all the girls were crushing on. Tusie was no exception, no matter how casually she acted in his presence. She longed to thread her fingers through that cloud-soft wealth of snowy hair, to gaze into his gold-flecked lazuline eyes while held tight against his chest, his head bending closer to her as their hearts hammered against one another. More than anything, she wanted him to see her as something other than his long-time friend.
It seemed that Sune, the goddess of love, was not going to take pity on her this day.
"It's a bit early for visiting, isn't it Anjelo?" the young woman asked, trying to calm her pounding heart. "I mean, Father only just left for the smithy."
"I had to tell you something, Tusie. And I'd rather not face Neeber and his Idiots after I leave the yard."
"So, what is so important that you would risk getting beaten up to say it?" The young woman felt her pulse racing, beating at the base of her throat with the force of a warhammer. It couldn't possibly be...
"I'm going on a long journey, and I do not know when I shall return, if I even do. I might decide I like it more there than I do here." Tusie felt her heart sink as he continued, knowing what he was going to say. "So I came to tell you good-bye. You and Razmira are my only real friends in the town, after all."
She discreetly swallowed her disappointment, forcing a cheerful smile onto her face when she really wanted to beg him to stay. Far too many of the men she had known around the town had gone adventuring and had never come back. Or if they had, they had returned on their backs, heading for the graveyard. It broke her heart to think of Anjelo doing the same. True, his mother was believed to be on a level of power comparable with Elminister and Drizzt Do'Urden, but Natasha's son was not possessed of the same experience she had fought so long and hard to acheive. It broke Tusie's heart to think of him dying somewhere, before she even had a chance to tell him how she felt. "Well, good-bye and good luck to you. Just make sure you come back in one piece, all right? I don't have any other friends either. I'll pray to Helm, He of the Unsleeping Eyes, that you will be safe."
"I'll be all right, don't worry. Mother taught me everything I need to know about swordplay." He offered her a smile, one full of pride and self-confidence. "I can take care of myself. I don't need the gods to look after me." His smile faltered. "But if you must ask someone to protect me, offer your prayers to Corellon Larethian."
"The elven god of fighters?" Tusie furrowed her brow. "Is he your patron god? I thought you offered your prayers to Lathander Morninglord."
"I changed my mind."
She shrugged. His choice of faith was none of her business. "All right then. Both Helm and the Preserver of Life shall hear my prayers in the morning and the night until you come back."
He tilted his head to the side briefly, effecting an 'eh' expression. Pretending he really didn't care. "As you wish, then. I'll see you later, Tusie. Tell Razmira I said good-bye, ok?"
"I'll do that." Quickly, before she lost her courage, Tusie stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "Good-bye, Anjelo. Good luck." Then she disappeared back inside the house, slamming the door behind her and leaning against it, her heart pounding. I can't believe I just kissed him!
Then the full force of his words hit her, and she slid down to the floor, fingers on her lips where they had touched him. Come back safely, Anjelo. Get the adventuring itch out of your system, and then get yourself back to us.
Don't forget about me.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
Anjelo stared at the door, dumbfounded. Tusie had kissed him. Him. Of all the men in the town, she had kissed him.
So she was just like all the other girls? Mooning over him, practically throwing themselves at him in an attempt to get him to sleep with them?
No. Tusie had never done anything like that. Instead of a tearful plea for him to stay or a long and flowery declaration of eternal love, she had simply told him to stay safe and kissed his cheek.
And instead of being angry or even annoyed, he was surprised to find that he wished she had kissed his lips rather than his cheek.
But he didn't pound on the door or make a scene, as Neeber or the other guys would have done.
He simply turned and walked away.
She'd be better off with one of those jerks rather than a guy like me.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
"So what have you decided to give me, Mother?" Anjelo asked, walking into Natasha's study. She had told him to come see her when he returned. That she would have his weapon picked out for him.
"So eager you are, tha nasthar." She turned to face him, her back to something long covered by a shroud of red velvet laying on the table. "I suppose you have a right to be, but you sound like a child recieving a new toy."
"And weapons are not toys." He mockingly repeated the mantra she had pounded into his head when he was younger and just learning how to handle a blade. "'They can extend your life or they can shorten it, and thus should be treated with respect, not as a child's plaything.' Aye, I know that, Mother. But you've never let me handle one of the magical blades before. Of course I'm a little excited!"
She chuckled softly. "You have a point, tha nasthar. And the one I have decided upon for you is one of the most powerful blades I possess, a weapon that holds great religious significance for the race that forged it. So I would advise that you only use it when you feel it is absolutely necessary. Someone killed by this sword cannot be resurrected from the dead, unlike with any other weapon I own. And so, I have picked out a second weapon for you, a sword that is just as powerful, but not quite as dangerous. I would advise using it more than the other, but the choice, ultimately, is your own."
"Mother," Anjelo growled, impatient to see what weapons he would recieve.
"My apologies, Anjelo. I am not only your mother, I am also a Swordmaster, remember? Forgive me if I lecture you as I would an apprentice fighter." She beckoned him closer and turned back to the table. "Here, then, are your new swords." She whipped off the shroud, unveiling two blades he had only ever seen mounted on the wall. A two-handed sword with a long, long blade made of pure silver-sheathed steel, its hilt an raven cast in gold, and a longsword forged entirely of blue steel, its pommel gem an enormous aquamarine. His eyes widened when he realized what they were.
The Vorpal Blade, the sacred Silver Sword of the Githyanki, and the Equalizer.
Two weapons known only in legend, to those who did not know Natasha possessed them. They were among his mother's greatest treasures, the two blades he had eyed for years but had never dared touch. He feared his mother's wrath too much to ever use them without her permission, and she never let people touch them.
"I spent a lot of time and thought before I chose these blades, Anjelo. My half-brother Sarevok used the Vorpal Blade before he settled into using the Illithid's Bane, and I put the Equalizer to great use before coming across the Answerer. Their power is great, and it is for that reason alone that I chose them for your hands. They, more than any other weapons I possess, will keep you safe from that which you might face. Here." She picked up the Silver Sword, mindful not to touch the sharp edges of the blade. It could cut through a diamond as easily as hot butter; her fingers would stand little chance against such razored precision. Holding it securely, she offered it to her son. "Take it."
He looked at her quizzically, but finally took the hilt in his hands and lifted it. He had thought that it would be extremely heavy, but to his surprise the Silver Sword of the Githyanki was lighter than most of the mundane swords he had practiced with. Careful not to cut anything, he put it through a simple routine. The blade seemed made for his hands.
"Enchanted for lightness and strength, able to cut through anything, capable of granting true death even to that which cannot be killed." Natasha approached him with the Equalizer in hand. "It is a weapon that cost me much to have reforged, but ultimately was more than worth the price. The Githyanki regard it as a sacred object, their Holy of Holies, and so I have had to fight off members of their race intent on reclaiming the blade many, many times. It has been long since they attempted to seize it; I do not believe they will trouble you on Earth if you weild it. I know you will make your own decisions regarding which weapon to use in a given situation, but I would offer you this piece of advise: do not use the Vorpal Blade unless it is absolutely necessary. The ability to grant true death, the death not only of the body but also of the soul, is one that requires careful limitations. Use it only when the situation calls for it. The rest of the time, I would advise that you use the Equalizer." She held out the longsword in both hands, her palms flat. "Even when it is carried only in the sheath and not in your hands, this blade can protect you from that which attacks the mind, charms and enchantments that would command your actions against your will. It will also do greater damage to people who are either extremely good, or irredeemably evil. The farther their heart is from the balance that is nuetrality, the more the cut of the Equalizer shall burn. Use them both wisely, tha nasthar. The choice between the Equalizer and the Silver Sword could be the judge of whether you live or die someday."
"Thank you, Mother. And I will. I will not disappoint you." Anjelo sheathed both swords in their appropriate scabbards and attatched them to a pair of belts. The belt holding the Equalizer was buckled around his hips. The other went over his right shoulder and under the left, settling the Vorpal Blade comfortably against his back. "Will I need anything else?"
"Aye, you will." The elf-woman paced over to her desk and opened a drawer, sifting around for a moment before pulling out a folded piece of black fabric. This she pressed into his hands before moving to the wall and taking down the shotgun. "Your father's twin used this, and it was he who gave it to me. I give it to you now to use as proof that you are indeed my son, along with this." She pulled off the glove she wore and gave it to him with the gun. "Your father gave me this glove. He has the mate. Even though his memory has been wiped clean, our adventures and relationship relegated to the realm of dreams and fantasies, this glove and this gun should serve as proof of your lineage. Along with the letter." She gave him a scroll sealed with green wax upon which had been pressed her symbol, a flaming crescent moon with twin swords crossed before it. "When you feel the time is right, show them the gun, the glove, and the letter. Hopefully, they will explain everything."
"And exactly how am I to carry all this?" Anjelo inquired, one snowy brow arched.
"The portable hole, of course." She took the square of fabric from him, unfolding it until there was a circle of black silk in her hands, three feet in diameter. That done, she spread it out on the floor. The fabric suddenly became a hole in the ground, ten feet by ten feet square and six feet deep. "It is an extra-dimensional space, so I would advise that you keep this away from any bags or chests of holding. It would cause an astral rift, and trust me when I say that you do not, under any circumstances, want that. There is already a ladder in there so you can get in and out easily, and no matter which way you turn it, it will never be upside-down. You can keep people in there, liquids, animals, anything. It can hold and sustain practically anything that fits. Just like my bag of holding, except that people can ride around in it. I have already packed an assortment of potions in there, so you should have everything you need. You do not need the enchanted items I would normally give you. Your demonic blood can give you far more speed, protection, and strength than my items possibly could." Natasha gave him the portable hole back after folding it back up. "Kellian is waiting downstairs. You should go."
"Aye, I should." He stood still for a moment, debating with himself, then walked over to his mother and wrapped her in a hug. His actions surprised the smaller female for a moment, and then she reached her arms around him and returned the embrace with as much strength as she could muster. "I don't know if I'll ever see you again, but I know I'll miss you, Mother."
"Go with your mother's love, Anjelo, and choose the destiny that is right for you, be it here or be it on Earth. And incidentally, you are welcome."
"Sorry, Mother. Thank you for the weapons and the portable hole." He gave her a final squeeze and released her, accepting her kiss on his cheek without the usual protests. "Farewell, Mother."
"Be safe, tha nasthar." She kept up her brave face until he left the room and his boots had tromped down the stairs, until she heard the curious popping noise that indicated spelljamming, and then she crossed the room to collapse at her desk, weeping softly into her hands.
It was never easy letting one's children go.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
Queen: From this point on, there shouldn't be any more from Natasha directly. I can't say promise anything, though. The muse might tell me to get her in there. What I can promise, however, is that Dante and Vergil will finally be making their appearance in the next chapter.
Dante: I was starting to wonder when you would be introducing us. I mean, this is a Devil May Cry fan-fic. Wouldn't be DMC without us!
Queen: Do you not trust me? I wouldn't leave you out of it.
Vergil: Queen, why don't you explain exactly who the three gods mentioned are. I find it highly unlikly that most of the people reading this have ever had anything to do with Dungeons and Dragons, much less with the Forgotten Realms.
Queen: If you insist... Fine. Here is the basic run-down. Corellon Larethian is the leader of the elven gods, the Seldarine, which translates into "Brothers and Sisters of the Forest." He is the patron deity of fighter/mages (like Natasha), poetry, music, the arts, and warfare, and while he is actually both male and female, he is almost always depicted as a male sun elf. That means he has blonde hair, green or silver eyes, and skin that is permanently bronzed. He's one of the gods of Good. Eilestraee is his daughter by the goddess Lolth the Spider Queen, evil patron goddess of the drow people. She is a good goddess, and holds sway over the realms of dancing, warfare, music, the arts, hunting, and warfare. Eilestraee is also dedicated to peace between the drow and their surface cousins. She is extremely tall with long silver hair and eyes, and black skin. Her worship is forbidden among the drow, punishable by death. She was once a member of the Seldarine, as was Lolth (then known as Auraushnee), but when her mother and twin brother Vhaeraun tried to dispose of Corellon she willingly left, to act as a balance for their evil. Helm is the god of guardians and loyalty, a god that eternally keeps watch over the Abyss. He is a human god who is usually garbed in plate armour, and is one of the gods of Nuetrality. Sune Firehair is the human goddess of love and beauty, one of the Major Powers of the human pantheon. She is a vain and unpredictable goddess, known to sleep around with any and every of the gods that appeals to her. She is exceptionally beautiful, with red/gold hair that constantly moves and waves like fire, hence the name Lady Firehair. If you want more detail than that, ask me about it via a PM. I'm not putting down any more than this here.
Vergil: That's actually more detail than I was expecting, but it works.
Dante: How exactly do you pronounce that one female's name, anyway?
Queen: Qilue. Her name is pronounced "Kill-you-eh." There's supposed to be an accent mark over the 'e', but the computer's being difficult.
Dante: Pretty name. What about that other drow, the guy you mentioned with Elminister?
Queen: Any fan of the Forgotten Realms could tell you that one. He is Drizzt Do'Urden, pronounced "Dri-zzz-t Doo-Ur-Den." If I was really being nasty, I could have used his House's ancestral name.
Vergil: Which is...?
Queen (smirking evilly): Daermon Na'shez'baernon.
Dante (whistles, impressed): Wow. That's definately a tongue-twister.
Queen: Read the Forgotten Realms fan-fiction if you want to know more about him, Dante. To those of you still listening to this nonsense, please, leave a review in the right place. I could really use the encouragement!
Vergil: You wouldn't have this problem if you wouldn't write such controversial stuff, Queen.
Queen: That's not an option, Vergil, and you know it. I don't care whose toes get stomped or whose feelings get hurt. If the muse brings it to me, I'm writing it. It may not get published, but I will get it down on paper. To those who hate this mindset of mine, I would direct you to the beginning of chapter 8 of "Happy Anniversary." There's a letter there that I wrote specifically for people like that. Regardless, I believe I shall go now.
Dante: Queen, don't get off the Net, ok? I have some sites I want to look up.
Vergil: Translation: Dante has found some new porn sites.
Dante: HEY!
Queen: What, I'm not good enough for you anymore?
Dante: No, it's just... Well, I...
Vergil: Great comeback there, brother.
Dante: It isn't porn, I swear!
Queen: You can get on the Net later, Dante. When I'm not in the house.
(transmission ended)