Author's note: This is the first time I've posted any work, so I welcome any comments and/or criticisms you may have. This is just a beginning to a more epic story I haven't explored yet, and if the response is positive enough it might be just the amount of prodding I need to continue it. Hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: Everquest and the places, history, gods, etc. belong to Sony. Deacifer and several others are mine.
Cautiously, yet dutifully, the Tier'dal guard patrolled his route close to the borders of the Nektulos forest. He had walked this path many times, and had fought many battles with parties interested in constricting the Dark Elves' territory. Often, he was mortally wounded, but his unfailing alarm always caused the eventual retreat of the attackers. On his dying scream, companions always arrived to continue the fight. This day, as on so many others, he was being watched. He had developed a sense for it, and had learned not to fear it. He could not count the number of times he had been resurrected, and knew the pain was only temporary. It was all justifiable; he knew his role was vital to the survival of the Tier'dal. An invasion now, when they were only of mediocre strength, would be crippling to any future designs of supremacy. The guard could practically feel the eyes upon him, and knew there would be a battle this day. His mettle would again be tested, and he would fight to his last.
One pair of eyes gazed upon the guard critically. He was well trained, true, but several, stronger guards stationed at the mouth of Nektulos pass, where the foothills of the commonlands gave way to the dense forest of the Dark Elves, would prove a far more effective measure of deterrence. This guard was not weak, but he was not among the Tier'dal's mightiest, either, and more importantly, he patrolled his route alone. The critical eyes narrowed, and the man who possessed them shifted his weight onto his right foot, and crossed his left foot over it, resting his shoulder on a tree near the mouth of Nektulos pass. The guard was no more than 20 feet from him, and looking his way, but the man was magically concealed within summoned shadows. Even if the guard had seen his form, clad in a mixture of pitch black and blood red armor, with a great, dark sword strapped to his back, there would have been little cause for alarm. The man wasn't even a man, really. He was one of Neriak's own, a Tier'dal knight of darkness. However, he had been away from Neriak for years. He had left running, young and weak. A graduate of the school of the dead, he had abandoned an unappreciative family after his graduation, stealing many valuables from the house on his exit. He was Deacifer, third son of the House L'Bane. Scorned and neglected by a family whose matron, disappointed in having birthed another son, meant to sacrifice him. Among the ruling families of the Tier'dal, women are paramount, and men are only useful for their strength and for procreation. As such, the third sons of a ruling matron, and any thereafter, are usually deemed acceptable sacrifices to ensure the favor of Innoruuk. However, in Deacifer, Matron L'Bane's seers saw a great, latent power. The matron, thus, thought it in her best interest to spare him to see if this power would show itself. Soon after his birth, however, House L'Bane fell on hard times in Neriak's twisted political circle, losing a great deal of its former power after an unsuccessful attempt at destroying another house. The house somehow survived the treachery of its foes for years, but the Matron, and many others, placed the blame of such failure on the mere existence of Deacifer. He was often punished for no reason whatsoever, even physically tortured at times for the pleasure of the matron, and remained alienated from the rest of his family throughout his time in Neriak. As he came of age he was enrolled in Neriak's school for the dead, a training ground for necromantic knights and magicians. Matron L'Bane charged him as a knight of Innoruuk, and directed his instructors to break him so that he might be sacrificed for failure. Break, however, he did not, and his masters, respecting his strength, informed him of his matron's plotting, five years after the fact, after he withstood rigors withheld from his peers. His hatred was absolute.
Thinking of those times, long past, the corners of his mouth turned upward in a menacing grin. He had returned to a place he could never truly consider home. Now, thought, he was neither young, nor weak. Finally, revenge was a possibility for the now seasoned veteran, a hardy warrior who had seen forty winters since his graduation. Forty years. Not long in the life of a Dark Elf. Revenge was possible, he knew, but he doubted the scars he had left on his family, the ridicule of the other families, the outrage of his mother, had nearly abated. He knew he needed allies for his vengeance, and though he had fought with many in his travels, he trusted few, and liked none. He knew of no one who would assist him here. Most of his companions from the Highpass wars fifteen years ago were either dead or forgotten. His fellow shadowknights who battled the lizards of Thule alongside him possessed agendas of their own. Strong as he was, he knew from experience that numbers proved far more decisive. Whom could he ask?
Another pair of eyes observed the guard from behind a crag in Nektulos pass. Large as the man was, he was hidden skillfully. He was a wolf of the north, a man of enormous stature who hailed from Halas. He was awfully far from home, and though he adored Halas, he was possessed of a wanderlust that forced him to see the world. He and his companions had come looking for a fight, his friends looking to attain a tenuous foothold in Nektulos for further attacking. He, however, simply sought to test his skills, to find challenge in battle. He took great pride in his abilities, and was quite confident in them. His boisterous facade, however, made him seem more powerful than he indeed was, but he nonetheless sought superiority. Here, scouting the area, he devised a plan to attack the guard. A warrior and druid had paid him to assist them in securing a small portion of land in the forest, and he would perform these duties with zeal while adding to his purse, of course, when his companions paid little attention.
Deacifer was forced from his retrospection when the large man entered his view. His magically perceptive eyes were able to discern his hidden form, but it became apparent that the guard was not nearly so lucky. Deacifer watched with interest, which nearly turned to glee when the barbarian unceremoniously shoved a rather large dirk between the ribs of the poor guard.
The barbarian's friends were not far behind, and joined the battle quickly. The barbarian brandished a tomahawk and a knife which he had flipped in his hand following the backstab, so that the blade pointed toward the ground. The guard, wounded as he was, could not keep the large man and his friend at bay for long. The guard parried the warrior's initial slash and ducked his head just in time to dodge the sweeping dirk of the barbarian. He then thrust his right hand blade weakly at the barbarian, who hooked it between the blade and shaft of his tomahawk and threw it wide. The guard worked his left sword furiously to block a low slash from the warrior, but could not avoid the barbarian's dirk as it dove behind his collarbone. The downward force of the blow drove him to a knee, and his right hand fell limp, dropping the sword. As the barbarian brought the toahawk to bear for the kill, the guard yelled in the tongue of the Tier'dal. The barbarian and his friends apparently mistook it for a cry for mercy, as the barbarian proceeded to relieve the guard of his head. Deacifer, however, understood the guard to be calling for any of his fellows within earshot, and knew that these three had likely made a dangerous situation for themselves.
Even as the barbarian procured a beer from his pack and took a great pull on the bottle, four Dark Elven soldiers emerged from the thick darkness of the woods. The barbarian almost dropped his bottle to go for his weapons, but thought better of it and instead drained it in one mighty swig. He then brought his weapons to bear, as did the warrior. He began to turn on his heel, though, when he saw the arrow explode into the warrior's face. The druid, also, took an arrow in the shoulder as she began to flee. It was not mortal, as was the warrior's, but it knocked her to a knee and disrupted her thought process enough that spells became difficult. It came as utmost surprise to the barbarian, therefore, when he saw a black form tear across his view behind the guards. He watched in awe as the shadow tore through one of the guard's suits of armor as if it were nothing more than foil, slashing from the poor elf's left hip up through his right shoulder, cleanly removing the larger portion of his upper torso. The guards all turned around to the gurgling screams of their companion, only to lose another of their force as the dark figure's blade somersaulted toward them from the darkness, burying itself cozily in the chest of a second guard.
The dark figure then let himself be known as he strode out from behind a tree, a shorter, red blade drawn. As he neared the two remaining guards he slung a black shield from his shoulder, and looked toward the barbarian. A voice devoid of feeling or inflection issued from a face hidden by what can only be described as a blood red skull with horns.
"Now the fight is on even terms. Choose your opponent."
The barbarian gawked in reply for a moment, then steeled his gaze on one of the guards. Deacifer, seeing that he had chosen, charged the guards, drawing the shocked attention of both, who were taken aback by the defiance of this brazen Dark Elf. It was terribly uncommon for Dark Elves to fight each other for reasons non-political, and the guards were quite baffled as to Deacifer's intentions. A shame it is that they would not have longer to ponder them.
Deacifer provided the barbarian an ample opportunity to attack either of the guards from behind, one the large rogue did not miss. This time the rogue's large dirk bored into a guard's spine, contorting him into an odd and painful-looking position before dropping him to the ground. Deacifer, meanwhile, riposted the other guard's weak initial slash, thrusting his red blade through the elf's breastplate into his flesh. He then withdrew it, and, with two slashes that seemed to take place in the same instant, drew a jagged 'X' in the guard's already bleeding chest. The guard's weapon dropped from his hand, his body rigid in its last moments of life. Deacifer let the man linger there, between life and death, and certainly in pain, for a few arduous moments. The guard could only stand there, lifeblood spilling onto the grass about his feet. Deacifer then sheathed his weapon, slung his shield over his shoulder, and glanced at the barbarian. An instant later, as the barbarian watched intently, Deacifer's eyes narrowed and he shot his hand into the flesh of the guard's chest, somehow penetrating the plate mail. The guard writhed a moment, as if in terrible pain, and then his body quite literally burst. Extremities and other notable gore flew off in various directions, and the barbarian looked at the dark elf before him with great respect, and even more fear. Fear, in fact, that almost equaled his confusion. Deacifer was still grinning in the former direction of the destroyed guard when the large rogue spoke.
"Why did you assist us?" The wary barbarian questioned. "It is not often your kind are seen killing each other. What am I to expect of you?"
The druid, who had remained prone since her injury, stood up carefully. "Be careful Guderian, his feast o' blood may no' be finished!"
"Feast of blood?" The barbarian, called Guderian, questioned.
"Aye! Canno' ye tell? He is a knight o' shadow! He feeds on the very souls of others!"
"I want not your souls." The Dark Elf suddenly added. "I am something of a special case. I hold no love for my brethren."
"Why?" The druid asked. "Why should ye be trusted?!"
"He would have let the guards kill us if he wanted us dead," Guderian reasoned. "All I want to know is why he wanted us alive."
"I joined the fight to ask the large one a question, druid." The knight spat, his tone one of distaste. "My affairs are not your concern, you who turn tail and run at the first signs of trouble. You remained supine the entire fight, even as you could have healed your friend and yourself. You could have easily returned to the battle."
"B-but I was hurt, and the fight was well under control after ye made yer scene!" The druid replied. "Besides, I'm a woman, I don't deal with pain as well as ye or Guderian might be able to!"
Deacifer laughed at length. The sound that issued forth more resembled a cackle. "You don't, do you?" His narrowed eyes locked on the druid. She felt the need to shiver under such a stare. "You follow all of society's edicts? Hear me well. Your society foolishly indicts the feminine gender as the weaker sex. Women are no less capable than men. Do not attempt to garner that sort of sympathy from me, it only works with your softened men. You only pretend to be weak and fragile because it is to your advantage to do so, and you know it."
"B-but-"
"Leave us before I do to you what I did to those guards. Your large friend, no matter how chivalrous, will not be able to stop me."
"Hey," Guderian began, leveling an icy, insulted look Deacifer's way.
The druid though, was already on her way, up and fleeing towards the safety of the commonlands. Deacifer grinned menacingly and began to chant. He then pointed a finger towards the fleeing druid, and a transparent skull surrounded her. She screamed, and began running even faster.
"Why did you do to her?!" Guderian yelled. "She's a friend of mine, and a looker at that!"
"I just invoked a little extra fear." The Dark Elf replied. "Nothing harmful. Listen. I'm a little more open minded than most of my kind, and you fight well. As such, I have an offer you would do well to accept. As I said, I'm a special case, and I have my reasons to hate the Dark Elves."
"And what about her?"
"Her cowardice and lack of prowess made her useless to my cause. She'll have to deal with the insult, I'll not retract it. As for you, I was quite impressed. You will prove quite useful. I trust you possess at the least distrust for my kind, if not outright hatred?"
Guderian's pride swallowed the praise hungrily. "Though I do distrust them, I have no particular problem with your kind," Guderian replied. "I just fight them when I am payed to, and when I feel they'll test my skill."
"Ahh, a mercenary. What a quaint coincidence."
"What do you mean?"
"Like I said, I have an offer for you," The shadowknight replied. "The pay will be bountiful, and for any others you bring to the cause you will receive a bonus."
"I'm listening," A fast warming Guderian replied, slipping his dirk into a hidden sleeve sheath and slinging his tomahawk into a loop on his belt.
"My name is Deacifer L'Bane, third son of House L'Bane, seventh ruling house of Neriak," The Dark Elf began.
Disclaimer: Everquest and the places, history, gods, etc. belong to Sony. Deacifer and several others are mine.
Cautiously, yet dutifully, the Tier'dal guard patrolled his route close to the borders of the Nektulos forest. He had walked this path many times, and had fought many battles with parties interested in constricting the Dark Elves' territory. Often, he was mortally wounded, but his unfailing alarm always caused the eventual retreat of the attackers. On his dying scream, companions always arrived to continue the fight. This day, as on so many others, he was being watched. He had developed a sense for it, and had learned not to fear it. He could not count the number of times he had been resurrected, and knew the pain was only temporary. It was all justifiable; he knew his role was vital to the survival of the Tier'dal. An invasion now, when they were only of mediocre strength, would be crippling to any future designs of supremacy. The guard could practically feel the eyes upon him, and knew there would be a battle this day. His mettle would again be tested, and he would fight to his last.
One pair of eyes gazed upon the guard critically. He was well trained, true, but several, stronger guards stationed at the mouth of Nektulos pass, where the foothills of the commonlands gave way to the dense forest of the Dark Elves, would prove a far more effective measure of deterrence. This guard was not weak, but he was not among the Tier'dal's mightiest, either, and more importantly, he patrolled his route alone. The critical eyes narrowed, and the man who possessed them shifted his weight onto his right foot, and crossed his left foot over it, resting his shoulder on a tree near the mouth of Nektulos pass. The guard was no more than 20 feet from him, and looking his way, but the man was magically concealed within summoned shadows. Even if the guard had seen his form, clad in a mixture of pitch black and blood red armor, with a great, dark sword strapped to his back, there would have been little cause for alarm. The man wasn't even a man, really. He was one of Neriak's own, a Tier'dal knight of darkness. However, he had been away from Neriak for years. He had left running, young and weak. A graduate of the school of the dead, he had abandoned an unappreciative family after his graduation, stealing many valuables from the house on his exit. He was Deacifer, third son of the House L'Bane. Scorned and neglected by a family whose matron, disappointed in having birthed another son, meant to sacrifice him. Among the ruling families of the Tier'dal, women are paramount, and men are only useful for their strength and for procreation. As such, the third sons of a ruling matron, and any thereafter, are usually deemed acceptable sacrifices to ensure the favor of Innoruuk. However, in Deacifer, Matron L'Bane's seers saw a great, latent power. The matron, thus, thought it in her best interest to spare him to see if this power would show itself. Soon after his birth, however, House L'Bane fell on hard times in Neriak's twisted political circle, losing a great deal of its former power after an unsuccessful attempt at destroying another house. The house somehow survived the treachery of its foes for years, but the Matron, and many others, placed the blame of such failure on the mere existence of Deacifer. He was often punished for no reason whatsoever, even physically tortured at times for the pleasure of the matron, and remained alienated from the rest of his family throughout his time in Neriak. As he came of age he was enrolled in Neriak's school for the dead, a training ground for necromantic knights and magicians. Matron L'Bane charged him as a knight of Innoruuk, and directed his instructors to break him so that he might be sacrificed for failure. Break, however, he did not, and his masters, respecting his strength, informed him of his matron's plotting, five years after the fact, after he withstood rigors withheld from his peers. His hatred was absolute.
Thinking of those times, long past, the corners of his mouth turned upward in a menacing grin. He had returned to a place he could never truly consider home. Now, thought, he was neither young, nor weak. Finally, revenge was a possibility for the now seasoned veteran, a hardy warrior who had seen forty winters since his graduation. Forty years. Not long in the life of a Dark Elf. Revenge was possible, he knew, but he doubted the scars he had left on his family, the ridicule of the other families, the outrage of his mother, had nearly abated. He knew he needed allies for his vengeance, and though he had fought with many in his travels, he trusted few, and liked none. He knew of no one who would assist him here. Most of his companions from the Highpass wars fifteen years ago were either dead or forgotten. His fellow shadowknights who battled the lizards of Thule alongside him possessed agendas of their own. Strong as he was, he knew from experience that numbers proved far more decisive. Whom could he ask?
Another pair of eyes observed the guard from behind a crag in Nektulos pass. Large as the man was, he was hidden skillfully. He was a wolf of the north, a man of enormous stature who hailed from Halas. He was awfully far from home, and though he adored Halas, he was possessed of a wanderlust that forced him to see the world. He and his companions had come looking for a fight, his friends looking to attain a tenuous foothold in Nektulos for further attacking. He, however, simply sought to test his skills, to find challenge in battle. He took great pride in his abilities, and was quite confident in them. His boisterous facade, however, made him seem more powerful than he indeed was, but he nonetheless sought superiority. Here, scouting the area, he devised a plan to attack the guard. A warrior and druid had paid him to assist them in securing a small portion of land in the forest, and he would perform these duties with zeal while adding to his purse, of course, when his companions paid little attention.
Deacifer was forced from his retrospection when the large man entered his view. His magically perceptive eyes were able to discern his hidden form, but it became apparent that the guard was not nearly so lucky. Deacifer watched with interest, which nearly turned to glee when the barbarian unceremoniously shoved a rather large dirk between the ribs of the poor guard.
The barbarian's friends were not far behind, and joined the battle quickly. The barbarian brandished a tomahawk and a knife which he had flipped in his hand following the backstab, so that the blade pointed toward the ground. The guard, wounded as he was, could not keep the large man and his friend at bay for long. The guard parried the warrior's initial slash and ducked his head just in time to dodge the sweeping dirk of the barbarian. He then thrust his right hand blade weakly at the barbarian, who hooked it between the blade and shaft of his tomahawk and threw it wide. The guard worked his left sword furiously to block a low slash from the warrior, but could not avoid the barbarian's dirk as it dove behind his collarbone. The downward force of the blow drove him to a knee, and his right hand fell limp, dropping the sword. As the barbarian brought the toahawk to bear for the kill, the guard yelled in the tongue of the Tier'dal. The barbarian and his friends apparently mistook it for a cry for mercy, as the barbarian proceeded to relieve the guard of his head. Deacifer, however, understood the guard to be calling for any of his fellows within earshot, and knew that these three had likely made a dangerous situation for themselves.
Even as the barbarian procured a beer from his pack and took a great pull on the bottle, four Dark Elven soldiers emerged from the thick darkness of the woods. The barbarian almost dropped his bottle to go for his weapons, but thought better of it and instead drained it in one mighty swig. He then brought his weapons to bear, as did the warrior. He began to turn on his heel, though, when he saw the arrow explode into the warrior's face. The druid, also, took an arrow in the shoulder as she began to flee. It was not mortal, as was the warrior's, but it knocked her to a knee and disrupted her thought process enough that spells became difficult. It came as utmost surprise to the barbarian, therefore, when he saw a black form tear across his view behind the guards. He watched in awe as the shadow tore through one of the guard's suits of armor as if it were nothing more than foil, slashing from the poor elf's left hip up through his right shoulder, cleanly removing the larger portion of his upper torso. The guards all turned around to the gurgling screams of their companion, only to lose another of their force as the dark figure's blade somersaulted toward them from the darkness, burying itself cozily in the chest of a second guard.
The dark figure then let himself be known as he strode out from behind a tree, a shorter, red blade drawn. As he neared the two remaining guards he slung a black shield from his shoulder, and looked toward the barbarian. A voice devoid of feeling or inflection issued from a face hidden by what can only be described as a blood red skull with horns.
"Now the fight is on even terms. Choose your opponent."
The barbarian gawked in reply for a moment, then steeled his gaze on one of the guards. Deacifer, seeing that he had chosen, charged the guards, drawing the shocked attention of both, who were taken aback by the defiance of this brazen Dark Elf. It was terribly uncommon for Dark Elves to fight each other for reasons non-political, and the guards were quite baffled as to Deacifer's intentions. A shame it is that they would not have longer to ponder them.
Deacifer provided the barbarian an ample opportunity to attack either of the guards from behind, one the large rogue did not miss. This time the rogue's large dirk bored into a guard's spine, contorting him into an odd and painful-looking position before dropping him to the ground. Deacifer, meanwhile, riposted the other guard's weak initial slash, thrusting his red blade through the elf's breastplate into his flesh. He then withdrew it, and, with two slashes that seemed to take place in the same instant, drew a jagged 'X' in the guard's already bleeding chest. The guard's weapon dropped from his hand, his body rigid in its last moments of life. Deacifer let the man linger there, between life and death, and certainly in pain, for a few arduous moments. The guard could only stand there, lifeblood spilling onto the grass about his feet. Deacifer then sheathed his weapon, slung his shield over his shoulder, and glanced at the barbarian. An instant later, as the barbarian watched intently, Deacifer's eyes narrowed and he shot his hand into the flesh of the guard's chest, somehow penetrating the plate mail. The guard writhed a moment, as if in terrible pain, and then his body quite literally burst. Extremities and other notable gore flew off in various directions, and the barbarian looked at the dark elf before him with great respect, and even more fear. Fear, in fact, that almost equaled his confusion. Deacifer was still grinning in the former direction of the destroyed guard when the large rogue spoke.
"Why did you assist us?" The wary barbarian questioned. "It is not often your kind are seen killing each other. What am I to expect of you?"
The druid, who had remained prone since her injury, stood up carefully. "Be careful Guderian, his feast o' blood may no' be finished!"
"Feast of blood?" The barbarian, called Guderian, questioned.
"Aye! Canno' ye tell? He is a knight o' shadow! He feeds on the very souls of others!"
"I want not your souls." The Dark Elf suddenly added. "I am something of a special case. I hold no love for my brethren."
"Why?" The druid asked. "Why should ye be trusted?!"
"He would have let the guards kill us if he wanted us dead," Guderian reasoned. "All I want to know is why he wanted us alive."
"I joined the fight to ask the large one a question, druid." The knight spat, his tone one of distaste. "My affairs are not your concern, you who turn tail and run at the first signs of trouble. You remained supine the entire fight, even as you could have healed your friend and yourself. You could have easily returned to the battle."
"B-but I was hurt, and the fight was well under control after ye made yer scene!" The druid replied. "Besides, I'm a woman, I don't deal with pain as well as ye or Guderian might be able to!"
Deacifer laughed at length. The sound that issued forth more resembled a cackle. "You don't, do you?" His narrowed eyes locked on the druid. She felt the need to shiver under such a stare. "You follow all of society's edicts? Hear me well. Your society foolishly indicts the feminine gender as the weaker sex. Women are no less capable than men. Do not attempt to garner that sort of sympathy from me, it only works with your softened men. You only pretend to be weak and fragile because it is to your advantage to do so, and you know it."
"B-but-"
"Leave us before I do to you what I did to those guards. Your large friend, no matter how chivalrous, will not be able to stop me."
"Hey," Guderian began, leveling an icy, insulted look Deacifer's way.
The druid though, was already on her way, up and fleeing towards the safety of the commonlands. Deacifer grinned menacingly and began to chant. He then pointed a finger towards the fleeing druid, and a transparent skull surrounded her. She screamed, and began running even faster.
"Why did you do to her?!" Guderian yelled. "She's a friend of mine, and a looker at that!"
"I just invoked a little extra fear." The Dark Elf replied. "Nothing harmful. Listen. I'm a little more open minded than most of my kind, and you fight well. As such, I have an offer you would do well to accept. As I said, I'm a special case, and I have my reasons to hate the Dark Elves."
"And what about her?"
"Her cowardice and lack of prowess made her useless to my cause. She'll have to deal with the insult, I'll not retract it. As for you, I was quite impressed. You will prove quite useful. I trust you possess at the least distrust for my kind, if not outright hatred?"
Guderian's pride swallowed the praise hungrily. "Though I do distrust them, I have no particular problem with your kind," Guderian replied. "I just fight them when I am payed to, and when I feel they'll test my skill."
"Ahh, a mercenary. What a quaint coincidence."
"What do you mean?"
"Like I said, I have an offer for you," The shadowknight replied. "The pay will be bountiful, and for any others you bring to the cause you will receive a bonus."
"I'm listening," A fast warming Guderian replied, slipping his dirk into a hidden sleeve sheath and slinging his tomahawk into a loop on his belt.
"My name is Deacifer L'Bane, third son of House L'Bane, seventh ruling house of Neriak," The Dark Elf began.