Does anyone know how to spell the name of Drizzt's goddess? Her name begins with an M- and that's all that I seem to be able to remember. By the way, the Clair Bible and the spell of Raistlin's are actually the property of the anime Slayers. Yeah, I know, it's yet another extra crossover thing, but that will be all concerning the Slayers, since I just happened to think they filled the tiny (okay, I lied-not so tiny) role perfectly. TO ALL THE PEOPLE THAT KNOW THE SPELL-PLEASE DO NOT SAY THE NAME IF YOU REVIEW IT AS IT WILL SPOIL THE MEANING FOR OTHERS. Anyway, I'm glad that people are enjoying this so far, so here's an nice big chapter for you all as there have been a lot of requests for longer chapters. Zammy, I say you get yourself a nice little account…a bit difficult to know you without any background info you know.

Drizzt stared flatly at the seemingly endless expanse of water around them, his gaze rather moody. In fact, he was in a mood so foul that even the mage avoided him-something that he managed quite easily, for he rarely ever came out of his gloomy study, preferring the quiet solitude.

The drow snorted. Of course the frail mage was sickly, he privately thought. The human looked like he had never taken a brisk hike just for fun-

"And he probably never has." He remarked wryly, as he stretched his stiff muscles, longing to take one himself. If anything, what he desperately wished for now was one nice large piece of land to hike. It was certainly unusual for him to have such a long period of inactivity, and he hoped that it did start to affect his ability.

Peterson was lazily dangling an impossibly long fishing line near the rail, having baited it with a rather bloody piece of some type of flesh that Drizzt preferred not to learn the name of. He had been trying to catch a "killer-fish" as he called it.

"Sleek, deadly killing machines." The man had claimed as Drizzt had asked him earlier his purpose. "Huge meat-eating fish with an even nastier maw. The blood leaves a trail to attract them."

The drow resisted the urge to gag. The twisted human had a rather sadistic humor. The elf was still hovering between trusting his words and discarding them as an attempt to play a joke based on his ignorance of the sea. Dimly, he recalled a time upon the Sea Sprite where he had seen ghostly gray shapes lazily circle a ship were battles were commenced. He shuddered, feeling pity for even their fallen enemies. To die or lie dying, and get eaten by giant fish…he winced at the graphic image that it created in his mind.

"Blast it all!" Peterson swore, and scrambled to barely latch onto the line as it violently jerked from his hands. Drizzt instantly sprang up, just as another jerk sent the man overboard. Peterson's screams pierced the air as there was a distant splash, and then frantic, almost hysterical calls for help rang out.

Drizzt, looked around, quickly snatching up a slender dirk that fell out from the man's sheath as he went overboard. He peered over the railing just as another scream pierced the air. It was shrill, agony and terror, primal and powerful. Peterson's tiny, rapidly paling face was staring beseechingly at him as an ominous crimson tainted the water around him. Even as Drizzt watched with horrified eyes, the man futilely clawed at the sides of the ship, the sea vessel still going steadily forward, with the force of a sea breeze behind the voluminous sails. To the man, it must have felt like a symbol of abandonment as his fingers slipped on the passing wood.

Without another thought, Drizzt stripped off his simple white shirt, ready to dive in after him, but a sudden touch on his arm, brought him to face the mage. The cold golden eyes were looking on the horrifying scene unfolding below with an inhuman, detached interest, almost as if it were nothing more than a fleeting distraction.

Upon seeing the mage, Peterson opened his mouth, perhaps to plead for the mage's magical assistance, but a swift flash of a murky gray form under the water only issued another terrible scream as the water around him became as red as blood.

Raistlin merely hooded his eyes at the scene, a gesture he might as well have used to keep the sunlight from striking his eyes. The mage sent Drizzt, a calm look that sent his message through more plainly than words could. Give it up. The fool tempted fate and now he must pay.

The dark elf closed his eyes as yet another terror laced cry for help, considerably weaker now, reached his sensitive ears. When he opened them again, Raistlin was momentarily taken aback by the fire and determination in them.

"Never."

The drow went cleanly overboard, his strong back arched in a perfect swan dive that hit the water cleanly, barely causing ripples at the impact. Breaking the surface, he was at the wounded man's side with a single powerful stroke, briefly clasping Peterson's shoulder in reassurance as he yelled up to the distant mage.

"Pull him up!"

He did not wait for an answer before inhaling a deep breath of air, and he dipped below the surface. Ignoring the sting of salt water, he squinted through his eyes, now switched to infrared vision, as normal sight could hardly help him see through the crimson haze in the water.

Immediately, he registered two shapes circling just beyond his reach. He fought a brief wave of dismay. From the way that Peterson described the creatures, he heavily doubted that he could face on in the water, much less two working together. With a sickening feeling in his gut, he realized most of his advantages were useless, as they only worked on land.

He attacked first, a wary thrust of the dirk to the nearest killer-fish just to get an assessment of their capabilities. The creature slightly opened its jaws, bloodless strands of flesh still trailing between ominous rows of teeth as it lazily swerved away with a casual flick of its powerful tail. Oh great, they were intelligent too. Drizzt rolled his eyes. Why was it that with each successful battle, the next one would be stacked with even greater odds against him?

Suddenly, the pair both shot towards him in a synchronized manner, performing a perfect water version of a pincer movement to trap him. Drizzt forced himself to stay motionless until the very last second, in which, with a sudden flurry of movement, he shot above the trap, aided by the bracers upon his ankles. There was a tiny burst of blood as one of the killer-fish nicked its partner with its jaws. Drizzt squinted as the two snapped lightly at each other before parting, only to circle sinisterly below him, their eerie glassy eyes full of malice.

One killer-fish teasing broke off from the circling to barely touch Drizzt's toes with its blunt nose. The drow jerked his legs out of the creature's reach, then, in a flash of inspiration, he suddenly propelled himself forward and his fingers snared odd slit-lit openings around its neck. Immediately, the creature went berserk, thrashing around violently, only to have a large chunk of its delicate gill tissue torn out by the violence of its own maneuver. It shuddered in pain, slightly drifting, its jaws partially open as if trying to breath the water.

From the corner of his eye, Drizzt saw its companion approach. He fought the urge to race up to the surface at the critical moment, but his lungs were starved of air, and the edges of his vision began to slightly blur. Just as it was going to hit him, Drizzt shoved the wounded killer-fish towards its companion with the last of his strength.

The water below him roiled madly as the killer-fish tore a gaping hole in its wounded companions side. The warm blood gushed out, sending the other killer-fish into a killing frenzy as its companion stubbornly clamped its own jaws onto the uninjured killer-fish's fin, the teeth causing extreme pain to the creature's companion as it writhed in its death throes.

The remaining killer fish wiggled desperately, slowly being pulled down by the weight of its dead companion pulling down its fin. One glassy eye, fixed emptily on the drow, the remaining shark continued its futile struggle. Slowly but surely, the murderous pair sank under the murky depths, evanescent into the dark watery embrace of death.

A sudden, unexpected lurch to his stomach abruptly announced his flight to the deck of the ship. The magic buzzed pleasantly against his chilled skin, protecting him from the gusty breeze as he tried not to respond to the uncomfortable sense of weightlessness. He was carefully deposited on his feet, where Raistlin stood, a familiar scowl on his rather pale face. At the mage's feet, Peterson lay quietly, unconscious as his blood slowly pooled out around him.

"How is he?" The dark elf demanded, ignoring the tell-tale signs of danger on the mage's face. "Have you healed him with your power yet?"

There was an ominous silence before Raistlin coldly replied, venom clear in his soft voice.

"You, slave, have no right to disobey my orders, much less question my actions. A slave does not tell his Master to do anything. Perhaps I am being too gentle on you. You will stay confined to your cabin until I deem you have learned your lesson." The mage said clearly, without breaking down into a coughing fit, although his all to pale and strained face spoke of the immense effort it cost him. Raistlin was well aware of how confinement could be done to a fine art of mental torture, he knew that a ranger like Drizzt would hardly stand for it. "Go."

Drizzt stared silently back, defiance flaring in his eyes before stiffly marching towards his cabin, shutting the door all too silently, a good measure of the drow's anger reflected in the disciplined, controlled action.

Raistlin closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again with an obvious effort. Just as he took one step forward, he abruptly stumbled with weariness and landed on his side with an audible thud on the wooden deck, his breathing raspy and harsh, blood flecking his thin lips, Raistlin curled in slightly to himself as he could not contain his cough anymore. It erupted out of him with a vengeance, his frame shivering violently as the light slowly dimmed in his golden eyes, until they vanished altogether.

Obould grunted in approval as he eyed the huge ship floating in the makeshift harbor. The slaves had finally finished the laborious task of making it seaworthy. Some had paid for it with their lives. Their bones lay blackened in the fireplace, where some orcs, for the cruel fun of it, had roasted and eaten the dead in front of the laboring slaves. Needless to say, the progress had sufficiently quickened after that memorable episode. The remaining slaves were set loose into the forest upon Obould's orders…fitting game for his bored army.

Raising a crude horn to his thick lips, he blared a note, which was instantly copied by others waiting for the signal as a roar rose up from his troops.

Pointing a clawed finger at the mammoth ship patiently waiting to bear her loathsome load, he roared above the crowd.

"We board now!"

By the next few hours, all that would be left of the Orc army were blackened fire pits littered with bones, as a ship steadily disappeared towards the horizon.

Obould squinted into the fierce crimson glare of the dying sun. He imagined he could feel a scorching eye focused on him right now, echoes of the wondrous promises given loud in his mind.

"Look Master…We come."