Chapter 2
An Unlikely Savior
Zak'nefien edged towards the display case. He had never come here before, only knew to come here because his need was urgent enough. He looked over the edge of the display case and gasped. In it, he saw the most beautiful blades he had ever seen. On the magically created shield, there was an inscription. It read:
"The one who knows the words of inferiority,
The one who has been brought here by peril, or otherwise
But not by greed or want for the gifts
But for want to destroy a stronger foe
Who is forced into that which he cannot fix
Who lives a lie
Grab the hilts of the blades and leave the place
Grab your prize, rightfully earned
And never return
And remember the price
The price owed to those in need
The time is now, go warrior and fight the foe seen, but not seen."
Zak smiled grimly. The greed was in his mind... He wanted the blades, but only after knowing about them, never before. He had not known about them and would have preferred that he could take the weapons without worry. He shrugged, and reached into the case. His hands lightly touched the hilts of the blades. He grabbed them and quickly walked back to the portal and instantly reappeared inside the circle in his previous chamber.
Zak quickly walked back to his room, not taking any backwards loops, the new weapons tucked safely in the sheaths. He walked through the expensively trapped door and reset the trap once again. The previous owner of the room was a strong magician, and never needed a trap on the door. Zak grinned as he remembered why.
He rushed to the tournament arena and found his previous annoyance.
"I'm here, alright Fal'rshic?" Zak stayed nonchalant, and wondered how such a non-drow name was thrown on this one.
"Good, I told you to come, and you did. It'll be a big challenge. Matron's orders that no one dies, fights are to first blood or yield. She says that we will need all the soldiers soon."
Zak'nefien smiled half-heartedly. He was, unlike his brethren, happy that there would be no killing. He knew that the drow were wrong in killing others, and made sure he did not kill for the fun of it. He scanned the area, and looked at Narbondel. The pillar read about eight hands up. He wondered when the tournament would start.
"Fal'rshic, what time does it start?" Zak inquired, still looking around.
"At about nine hands. You have an hour for sparring until the tournament. Just make sure you enter before you spar."
Zak stepped away before Fal'rshic could answer. He walked up to the Matron Mother, who was efficently running the event. He respectfully lowered his eyes and bowed to the Matron, fully aware that she was sizing him up.
"Well... who are you, now?" She seemed amused, almost charmed, if a drow could be charmed, by Zak's respect. After no forthcoming responce, she repeated the question, more than a little anger inflected in her tone.
"Zak'nefien with no title worth being heard by my matron." he responded, with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
"Well... Zak'nefien, go spar for an hour, and I'll call you when you are to start fighting, understand?"
"Yes, Matron Mother, Lloth be with you."
Zak walked to the other fighters and started sparring.
"He will win, no doubt," Malice said, with an almost entertained smirk. Malice was Do'Urden's oldest daughter, and her every comment and response was weighed by the Matron Mother extensively.
"And good for him then," Matron Do'Urden said seeming not to care. "Call up the fighters. It is time for the tournament to begin."
An Unlikely Savior
Zak'nefien edged towards the display case. He had never come here before, only knew to come here because his need was urgent enough. He looked over the edge of the display case and gasped. In it, he saw the most beautiful blades he had ever seen. On the magically created shield, there was an inscription. It read:
"The one who knows the words of inferiority,
The one who has been brought here by peril, or otherwise
But not by greed or want for the gifts
But for want to destroy a stronger foe
Who is forced into that which he cannot fix
Who lives a lie
Grab the hilts of the blades and leave the place
Grab your prize, rightfully earned
And never return
And remember the price
The price owed to those in need
The time is now, go warrior and fight the foe seen, but not seen."
Zak smiled grimly. The greed was in his mind... He wanted the blades, but only after knowing about them, never before. He had not known about them and would have preferred that he could take the weapons without worry. He shrugged, and reached into the case. His hands lightly touched the hilts of the blades. He grabbed them and quickly walked back to the portal and instantly reappeared inside the circle in his previous chamber.
Zak quickly walked back to his room, not taking any backwards loops, the new weapons tucked safely in the sheaths. He walked through the expensively trapped door and reset the trap once again. The previous owner of the room was a strong magician, and never needed a trap on the door. Zak grinned as he remembered why.
He rushed to the tournament arena and found his previous annoyance.
"I'm here, alright Fal'rshic?" Zak stayed nonchalant, and wondered how such a non-drow name was thrown on this one.
"Good, I told you to come, and you did. It'll be a big challenge. Matron's orders that no one dies, fights are to first blood or yield. She says that we will need all the soldiers soon."
Zak'nefien smiled half-heartedly. He was, unlike his brethren, happy that there would be no killing. He knew that the drow were wrong in killing others, and made sure he did not kill for the fun of it. He scanned the area, and looked at Narbondel. The pillar read about eight hands up. He wondered when the tournament would start.
"Fal'rshic, what time does it start?" Zak inquired, still looking around.
"At about nine hands. You have an hour for sparring until the tournament. Just make sure you enter before you spar."
Zak stepped away before Fal'rshic could answer. He walked up to the Matron Mother, who was efficently running the event. He respectfully lowered his eyes and bowed to the Matron, fully aware that she was sizing him up.
"Well... who are you, now?" She seemed amused, almost charmed, if a drow could be charmed, by Zak's respect. After no forthcoming responce, she repeated the question, more than a little anger inflected in her tone.
"Zak'nefien with no title worth being heard by my matron." he responded, with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
"Well... Zak'nefien, go spar for an hour, and I'll call you when you are to start fighting, understand?"
"Yes, Matron Mother, Lloth be with you."
Zak walked to the other fighters and started sparring.
"He will win, no doubt," Malice said, with an almost entertained smirk. Malice was Do'Urden's oldest daughter, and her every comment and response was weighed by the Matron Mother extensively.
"And good for him then," Matron Do'Urden said seeming not to care. "Call up the fighters. It is time for the tournament to begin."
