Years passed quickly with little incident. The infant grew to a small child, watched closely by all around her for any sign of evil. Anerak was smaller and seemingly more delicate than the human children, yet was bound determined to keep up with them in all of the horseplay. Every day she spent some time with Pegador, aware that he wasn't her father, but that he loved her nonetheless. By the fifth autumn of her living in the Temple, the head priest and handmaiden were still not sure of her calling, so Anerak chose to study in the Hall of Truth, as she enjoyed the martial part of their training, although she excelled in the basics of working the magic within her.
Teachers that didn't like the dark elf's presence banned her from their classes till directed otherwise then placed her in the back of the classrooms. There was mixed stances on whether to push her more than the other children to drown out any calling from Innoruuk or be more relaxed when it came to the faith side of her education, letting it just happen, as they didn't want to tear her soul. Her classmates were no meaner to her then children are to any who are different, which is to say they were awful but she was more than willing to resort to her fists when provoked, quickly becoming the champion of the playgrounds.
By the age of eight she was able to enroll as a junior page to Pegador. This let them spend more time together, but she wasn't allowed to accompany him on duties when he left the compound. She was actually not allowed to leave at any time unless accompanied by an approved guardian. Instead, she chose to leave without permission, becoming adept at sneaking in and out of most buildings. Soon she discovered the Underground of Freeport, running errands and mingling with the less savory characters of the city. She was once found teaching minor healing techniques to a group of whores, and became quite skilled at sleight of hand and the game of King's Court.
She enjoyed her studies about the history of Norrath, but was silently disappointed by the lack of information she could find about the people she was born to. The history of Men was quite short as they were the youngest race to be placed upon Norrath by the grace of the Marr's. There were a few texts about when the Combine Empire flourished, when many lived in harmony and shared knowledge, thus all races have the knowledge to access mana today. Freeport was located where an elfin outpost was located before Antonius Bayle I rebuilt it and established a city of trade. Then there were increased sightings of darker beings that resembled elves. Briefly mentioned was a battle fought in the forest of Kithicor against dark elves led by none other than the self-proclaimed daughter of Hate. She was killed, but there had been nothing but trouble since. It was also believed that the tower located in the Oasis was a remnant of some long ago elfin city or guard post.
The lack of complete knowledge gnawed at Anerak, and she longed to seek out the great library of Erudin. Pegador did his best to help her any way he could, paying steeply to any elf that came through Freeport to come speak with her, teaching her the language of Elves and what little jaded history they had.
By Anerak's fifteenth year in the Free City, she had grown to be a lithe young woman with alluring pale blue eyes and pure white hair that cascaded down her back. She was less developed physically than most of her human peers due to her aging slower but carried herself with a maturity far beyond even her own years, subconsciously distracting to most males around her; even her guardian couldn't help but notice. Squires began to fight amongst themselves for her attention; although she made it clear she favored none when it came to midnight rendezvous'.
It was a warm day when she was sitting by the water canal by the Theatre of the Tranquil, watching the Ashen Order go through their drills as she read a book. She took sinful pleasure in making the stodgy monks uncomfortable with her presence. Studying with her were several classmates, waiting to see what other trouble the dark elf would come up with, when four armored men walked up to the group. Their armor glinted in the sun, their badges showing that three were from the Militia and the fourth from the Steel Warriors.
Confused why the two rivaling groups would be working together, Anerak shaded her eyes, looking up when they crowded around her. "May I help you, boys?"
"You are to come with us, miss."
She picked up her textbooks, and stood, dusting her skirts off and grabbing her slippers. The other students watched with interest that soon turned to surprised and confusion as two soldiers closed grabbed Anerak's arms, her books falling to the ground. "What...let go of me! You're hurting me! Stop it!" As she kicked, the third soldier grabbed her legs and the men carried her away struggling. She called over her shoulder, "Someone, find Pegador, please!" leaving the pages standing there, dumbfounded, while the monks pointedly ignoring the outburst.
She soon found herself alone in a small cell within the Steel Warriors hall. Through the walls, she could hear the warriors training outside. Thirsty, she murmured a word to conjure up a small flask of water. She was sipping from it when a soldier stepped in front of the door of her cell, helmet under arm. Her skin crawled as he stared in at her, a sneer on his face, his eyes raking her body. Curling into a tighter ball, she wedged herself into the corner, knees pulled up to her chin, skirt covering her legs as best it could. Finally the man moved along and she was alone again.
Hours passed, and she took the time to meditate and practice her sleight of hand with a coin from her pocket, until the opening of the cell door stirred her. Two men stepped into her cell, one wearing the regalia of a paladin, though he was unfamiliar to her. A small man in merchant's clothing slipped in around the two, setting down a plate with a small loaf of bread and some soft cheese, with a cup of water. The merchant also set down the cloak she recognized to be the one Pegador found her in, and a small pile of red velvet cloth she had never seen before, evident that they were pieces of a greater whole, torn apart. She came to her feet and glared up at them, her head barely coming to the soldier's shoulders. "What is all this about? Why have you kept me here? Where is Pegador?"
The paladin raised his gauntleted hand, halting the torrent of questions when she paused to draw a breath, "Enough. I am Sir Edwinn Motte. This is Guard Fernaldo. You will not be seeing your guardian again. You have been deemed a danger to the city and corrupt the future of the guilds, and will go to trial. You are to fashion clothing out of those," he nudged the pile of cloth with his boot, careless of the mud that fell onto the material, "as you are leaving or dying in only what you came with."
She stood gaping at him, her mind whirling, "What trial? Leave or die? What do you mean?" She stepped forward only to be thrown to the floor by a gauntleted fist of the guard striking her face. Tears of confusion and pain welled in her eyes as she looked up at the men. "You have until the evening bell."
With that, the paladin turned on his heel and marched out of the cell, Fernaldo following more slowly, his face unreadable. The door swung shut and their footsteps echoed down the hall. Rubbing the side of her face, whispering words to a minor healing spell, Anerak crawled over to the food, and tenderly began to eat; she was afraid the warrior might have loosened a tooth.
Meal done, she eyed the cloth. From Motte's words, she assumed the velvet was more of what she was found in. Brushing the dirt off and with no scissors, thread, or needle, she did the best she could, managing a two-piece outfit: loincloth that hung to her knees and a band that was still attached to a partial sleeve to cover her chest. It must have been a shirt or a dress or something. She folded the blouse and skirt Pegador had bought for her and set them next to the slippers she loved.
At least the cloak could cover her. It fit like it was made for her as Anerak settled it over her shoulders. There were slits for her arms to come through, allowing her body to remain covered. It was a rich blue-black with soft suede on the outside, satin the color of blood for the lining. She was amazed it was still in good condition considering all it had been through. There was a deep hood, meant to cover a lady's coiffure, and over the left breast in silver-blue thread was a symbol matching the mysterious tattoo on her lower abdomen.
The evening bell began to toll. As the last gong echoed into the evening air, the footsteps began down the hall to her cell again. She pulled the hood up, hiding her features that set her apart, and lifted her chin defiantly, ignoring the men who came to get her, even when they held out the manacles. They treated her better then when she was brought in, allowing her to walk in a dignified, if barefooted, manner towards the arena where this trial was apparently taking place.
Her resolve faltered a moment when Anerak stepped through the tunnel into the arena, seeing the stands filled with townsfolk, most of whom she had never met. The floor of the arena was covered with the fine sand of Ro, still radiating heat with the days' heat. In the middle of the sand was a post. The soldiers led her there and, after pulling back her hood, chained her hands behind her, the pole digging into her back. She was left facing the grandstand, where the city council, guild representatives, and ambassadors sat. She searched the stands, and spotted Pegador chained behind the large chairs, his mouth was gagged and he wore civilian clothing, his head hanging dejectedly. Off to the side sat a bard, whose sole purpose was to stun and silence the dark elf should she choose to use any magic and amplify her voice if she was to be allowed to speak.
It was not to be so. Charges were brought forth, found out by a group of Coercer's who pillaged the minds of any person the drow came into contact with, although they had never come to see her. All the squires and pages she had had extracurricular relationships with or taught how to pick a pocket or cheat at King's Court with were to be sent to Qeynos to see if they could be rehabilitated. The Temple's stable master, a creepy old man whom she had avoided all her life for personal reasons, was deemed to suffer enough by having to muck out stalls; even though they now knew he had repeatedly acted without a semblance of honor towards her over the years. When this was said, Pegador's head lifted for a brief moment to look Anerak and, seeing the look on her face, lunged towards the man who made no effort to hide his amusement as his guards beat down the former paladin.
Pegador's name was finally read out. For his charge of lustful thoughts towards one he was responsible for, and a dark elf, no less, he was to be stripped of his rank and exiled. For the present time, he would be sent to the Dead Hills beyond the city of ogres. In a decade or three, if he was still alive, they may consider leniency. Tears rolled down Anerak's face and she felt like she was falling. Because of her, they were sentencing the one person she knew who loved her to a lonely and painful death.
She opened her mouth to speak when she suddenly felt like she was choking. The bard was on his feet, a look of cold hatred on his face, an emotion she had never seen before. Only when she stopped struggling did he loosen the magical bonds only enough for Anerak to gasp for air. The council read out her name, calling her attention back to them, this time Pegador was nowhere to be seen. Due to her acts of blatant corruption and seduction, soliciting with smugglers, being a member of a pick-pocketing ring – these last two charges were from when she was a young child who had just discovered the Pit and its inhabitants – and in general harming the well-being and future of the city, she would normally be put to death by combat due to her connections in the Hall.
However, quite recently, some dark elves had contacted the Council in response to the letter sent a decade and a half ago, and they have come to collect Anerak and take her back to her people. It did not matter that she could count all of "her" people that she knew on one hand. Nor did it matter that these humans would normally kill any dark elf that ventured too close to the city walls and would rather die before cooperating with them. These strangers were, for now, peacefully waiting outside the western gates for the return of the prisoner. And so the dark elf would be exiled and returned to a nation willing to claim Anerak as one of theirs.
A loud crack sounded through the arena as the Magistrate's gavel hit the table. It was done. The crowd began to disperse; only three of the Council remained to watch: Valeron, Kalatrina, and Serna, their faces sad, the two women with their arms around each other, comforting. While one guard unchained Anerak's hands from the pole, four more stood around her, swords ready in hand should she try anything, along with the bard. Stunned, empty feeling, she did not resist as they led her to the gates.
Beyond the cactus, through the shimmering waves of heat that radiated from the hard packed dirt, she could make out some shapes. It appeared to be three dark elves: one male in jet-black armor that seemed to swallow light, a skull-shaped helm covering his face; another in silver armor but female, her blue skin and black hair standing out sharply against the metal; and the third also a male, only wearing a deep green and gold robe that extended to the ground. Looming behind them were two trolls, both in what appeared to be moldy chain mail; a hideous female with a spear the size of a small tree, and a male hefting a throwing axe that would be the size of a battle axe for any of the human guards.
Frightened, Anerak stumbled, trying to stop, but the guards merely grabbed her arms and dragged her before dumping her on the ground outside of the city walls, beyond arrow-range of the evil group. With no warning, a heavy-handed, powerful force invaded her mind and forced her to her knees. She tried to call out, but realized she had no control over her body anymore, she couldn't even cry without permission. The robed one must have been a powerful enchanter. The feeling of this foreign mind ripping through her thoughts felt more violating then the stable master could have hoped to be.
Drained, she didn't try to struggle, just let the enchanter walk her shell of a body over to the group, the smell of the trolls becoming so strong if felt like it coated you, inside and out. Their small camp had already been dismantled, their bags packed ready to head back to Neriak. The drow in the black armor held his sword under Anerak's chin, wrinkling his nose when he drew close, "Dos gow saph natha rivvil!" He snorted and shook his head like clearing a fog, "I know you can hear me, Lotha'uss, even if you cannot nod. We apologize for taking so long to rescue you from the rivvil, but there were more pressing matters at hand, no thanks to our monarchs, may they reign eternal. The spell will be lifted from you in a moment...if you try to do anything rash I have orders to kill you on grounds of being a traitor. If you try to run, our friend here," he gestured to the axe-bearing troll who merely adjusted his grip on the haft, "will put one of those in the back of your head. We will tend to your wounds, and then we shall be off. We hope to be back in the Dark Sanctuary before sunrise."
The pressure lifted from her skull, leaving a dirty taste in her mouth that wasn't caused by the trolls. The robed elf, his face reflecting his similar distaste, looked down his aquiline nose at her, "She's biu mal'ai. Can't even speak the language," and turned away in disgust.
The female stepped forward, "Phu'dos al?" She paused, realizing what the enchanter had said, "Your pardon...do you feel well? Can you speak Elvish at least? They don't speak Common in the City. I am Eresse V'elebrindal, Yathrin of Innoruuk." Murmuring softly about nothing important, Eresse tended to her wounds, before Anerak was picked up and slung over the shoulders of the shaman, and the group began to make their way towards Nektulos Forest.
While she bounced on the shoulder, Anerak realized what was happening to her, and for the first time in her life, she felt a cold but burning pressure enshroud her heart, directed at her situation, her new captors, and the people of Freeport who hurt Pegador. Some within the fold of the Teir'dal would call that feeling the blessing of Innoruuk. Thankfully, she passed out before too long.