Chapter 7
"Tell me once more: Why am I going on a surface raid?" Sab'vrae, now reaching his fortieth year, questioned Dilaere as the two drow strolled through House Aleanani's front gates. The weapon master sighed, irritated.
"Are you implying you don't wish to go? Most drow would kill their own brother for such a wonderful opportunity to attack our hated surface cousins, especially when assigned squad leader." He pointed out.
"Many drow would kill their own brother if any opportunity arose." Sab'vrae retorted with a roll of his eyes.
"Regardless, you must go. Matron Bhin'ree insists. House Aleanani is already sending twenty-five expendable troops to aid in the venture."
"So, I'm expendable now?" Sab'vrae scowled.
"All males are expendable, remember." Dilaere reminded, though his own voice hinted distaste at the belief. "But, no, that's not why. The matron wants to ensure that the raid is successful, and when House Nasandra requested our participation, Matron Bhin'ree wanted only the best leader to represent us. She felt myself too important to spare at the moment, but your duties can be substituted while you're away, and you'll do a fine job leading the drones."
"I suppose. What other Houses are involved? How big is this expedition going to be?" The elderboy questioned his ex mentor.
"House Nasandra's elderboy, Calril, is leading the entire conquest with one hundred of his house's troops. House Noquar and Houses Zau'mtor are sending fifty drow each. Houses Auvryath, Baen'und, Barri'ervs, and Maem'tor will give about one hundred soldiers and a few mages combined, then a handful of middle and lesser houses will participate with a total of about two hundred and twenty between them. The total expedition, fighters, wizards, and a few priestesses in all will amount to roughly five hundred and fifty drow."
"That's fairly large for a mere raiding party." Sab'vrae observed.
"True, but we plan to attack a fairly large moon elf settlement."
"When do I leave?" the young noble asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Tomorrow. Pack your things now. The journey to the surface will take at least a week or two both ways."
"Wonderful." Sab'vrae muttered, brushing past Dilaere and towards his own chambers.
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"All lesser troops are to defer to the squad leaders and the priestesses," Calril, a drow some few centuries young, stood before his large raiding party on the edges of Ched Nasad's border into the Underdark. Weapon master of his house and nearly peerless in combat skill, Calril stood only five feet from the ground, though his muscles rippled through his skin more than most drow. Unlike most nobles, he kept his light hair short, barely below his chin in unkempt clumps. His plate armor put the other soldiers to shame, and he proudly bore House Nasandra's crest upon his chest plate, his black piwafwi draped dramatically around his broad shoulders.
"There are ten squad leaders and myself," Calril continued, "You can identify them by the banners attached to the backs of their armor. Each squad captain will command a group of fifty soldiers, along with a Lloth priestess. You are to obey these captains with no exception, unless the order is overruled by a priestess or myself." He paced about the area, gesturing with his words to emphasize his meaning.
"You will go to the captain with the glyph matching the symbols on your sashes over your armor. Once everyone is organized, we shall move out." The most powerful elderboy in the city motioned for his subordinates to arrange themselves.
Sab'vrae stood patiently as his assigned troops, half of them from his own house, slowly gathered about him. His appointed priestess slowly approached, and the Aleanani noble tensed, recognizing her as the libidinous priestess from the graduation ceremony. He pushed his helmet lower on his head, in a weak attempt to cover his face. Fortunately, she gave no signs of recognition of him.
Merely, she nodded briefly at the captain with a curt, "I'm Xundra Maeana."
Sab'vrae bowed politely, avoiding eye contact, "And I am--"
"Sab'vrae Aleanani, elderboy of the twenty-first house, I know. Don't waste my time with useless details, male. The only thing that matters is the raid. Sources say you shall make an excellent captain. If you prove otherwise, I may take out my frustrations on you if the expedition runs sour." Xundra snapped snobbishly.
Sab'vrae resisted the strong urge to slice her to ribbons or make a biting retort. Instead, he took a deep breath and hissed, "Of course, mistress," with a low bow. Rage boiled in his veins. Only Masantar managed to anger him so before. He hoped the weeks would pass by quickly, otherwise, Ched Nasad might find itself short one priestess.
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All elves had superior sight and vision, but dark elves more so than their surface cousins. Though able to see excellently in the light spectrum, drow excelled more in ultraviolet sight, capable of over ninety feet of heat vision. Their long, elven ears could hear sounds ranging from 1,000 to 30,000 hertz. In addition, a well-trained drow could detect creatures based on echo patterns rebounding off the cavern walls.
This was a handy trait, considering horrid, malignant creatures roamed the Underdark. Monsters long adapted to living in a lightless, damp, dreary world. A group as large as Ched Nasad's raiding party would find little trouble -- most Underdark inhabitants preyed on small groups, or, preferably, lone travelers too foolish to travel with a partner or two.
A few days into the venture, the raiders ran into a rather large cluster of Lurkers, large flying creatures remotely resembling manta rays. They dropped down from the ceiling, attempting to consume a few drow with their own bodies. The dark elves withdrew their weapons, prepared for battle.
Sab'vrae's twin blades slid from their sheathes smoothly, thirsty for Lurker blood. One of the flying monsters swooped low, its belly mouth opened wide, revealing rows of jagged teeth. Sab'vrae swung his left arm, digging his father's red glowing blade into the Lurker's flank. The monster let out a loud screech, losing momentum. Taking advantage of its descent, Sab'vrae stepped on its tail, halting its efforts. He impaled his two blades through its back, killing it instantly.
He turned on his heels, slashing his long swords through the fin like wings of another Lurker, sending it crashing to the ground. The noble elf heard a howl behind him and instinctively swung his right hand sword backwards, stabbing it into the stomach of his would-be attacker. The Lurker slide off his blade with a wet "shloop!"
Around him, most of the other soldier fared quite well. Very few matched the Aleanani male heir for his speed and skill, but their sheer numbers easily outdid the assaulting creatures. Calril himself maneuvered his way gracefully through the ranks, his scimitars tearing clean cut lines in the Lurkers. Those that didn't die soon fled in loud, protesting shrieks.
House Nasandra's elderboy nonchalantly sheathed his scimitars, turning to his collection of fighters. "Any injured or dead? If so, leave them. We must continue onwards." After a quick inspection, his men found no one missing or incapacitated, and the hundreds of drow continued on their way.
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The next week passed by with no worthwhile events. A few long-term rivals made the typical subtle threats at one another, but knew better than to actually carry any of them out. Slaughtering surface elves held a much higher place in their agenda at the moment.
Late into their twelfth day of travel, Calril halted the force, ordering his vassals to make camp.
"We shall reach the Nether Mountains of the surface within the next day or two." He informed his troops and the priestesses, "We must be prepared to battle our horrid, evil cousins. Tonight, we rest, and, hopefully, by this hour tomorrow, our blades will bite into the light skin of our hated surface relatives!" The drow elves cheered in their agreement, unpacking their supplied and settling themselves down for the evening.
Sab'vrae busied himself pitching his own private tent, a luxury only the captains and priestesses could afford. Quickly and easily fixing the frame base, the noble draped a long sheet of cloth over it. He dragged his pack inside the makeshift shelter, rolling out his sleeping cloths. He settled down under the covers, closing his eyes and drifting off into a light doze.
He woke with a start a mere hour or two later, sensing a slight echo off the cave walls. He carefully scanned his room, hands on his long swords' hilts. His eyes caught no sign of heat, but his ears still sensed a light scraping sound -- outside his tent. Gingerly lifting the flap of his shelter, Sab'vrae scanned the campground. This time his keen hearing noted an odd clicking noise -- then he spotted the large collection of heat -- a Hook Horror.
Hook Horrors were tall, almost birdlike creatures in skeletal structure. Instead of wings, however, they had long, skinny arms that ended in sharp, wicked scythe like blades. They had a natural defense against most physical attacks, considering a hard, thick shell covered most of their bodies. They walked on two legs ending in long, talon like feet.
Silently slipping out of his quarters, the drow crept behind the snooping monster. Hook Horrors caused enough trouble alone -- he only hoped this one ventured out on its own.
Pulling his piwafwi tight around his being, the dark elf swooped around to the front, quickly stabbing upwards. He caught the creature in its one vulnerable spot -- the unprotected flesh under its beaked chin. The Hook Horror gurgled a low screech before slipping from Sab'vrae's blades and falling to the earth with a "thunk!" Sab'vrae crept through the camp, scanning for any other possible threats. Finding none, he sheathed his long swords and returned to his tent, eager to return to his well-earned rest. Whether or not the party learned who slew the Hook Horror in their sleep, he didn't care. Aleanani's elderboy merely wished to sleep without running the risk of an Underdark monster ripping him apart.
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Early rising drow stumbled upon the dead Hook Horror with surprise the next morning, but left the corpse in it place after noticing the blade wounds on its throat. Someone chose to play the role of guard last night, but it mattered not who. Packing their tents and other supplies, the raiding party continued on their way. They wove through caves, turned one direction at intersections, and paused only every few hours to regain their energy.
By early evening, Calril dashed ahead of party, scouting the area ahead. He returned shortly after, grinning wickedly.
"The exit to the surface is just ahead," he alerted his large crew. A veteran at surface raids, Nasandra's weapon master knew the path well. "Night's almost completely fallen. Leave your packs here -- bring only your weapons and spell books, if you're a mage. We'll wait until the darkness has completely descended upon the surface, because our vision will be better. Hurry, move!"
His troops complied, rallying to their troop captains and silently marching towards the cave exit. Soon, in small groups of five or so, the drow emerged out into open air, many of them for the first time. Fresh air descended upon the elves, catching many by surprise. Residents of the Middledark -- caverns three to ten miles below the surface, most Ched Nasadrans were well accustomed to stale air, and knew nothing of the pure oxygen available on the surface.
Sab'vrae gaped in awe at the endless ceiling surfacers referred to as the "sky." Fresh air and wind blew through his long hair, sweeping through the lush green grass and trees. Already switched temporarily to the light spectrum, Sab'vrae's eyes gazed into the distant mountains, impressed at the sight. What an odd, strange world so much unlike the one he lived and matured in.
Calril motioned for his captains to lead their troops through the woods with him. The eleven groups spread out though the forest, slowly creeping past the trees, leaves, and dead twigs. In the horizon, they quickly approached a large settlement. The dark elves hid themselves amongst the foliage and rocks, spying on the small elven city.
Sab'vrae watched the surfacers with a curious interest. So strange, these moon elves were pale with slightly bluish skin, much unlike his ebony tone. Atop their heads, some bore white or silvery hair similar to his, yet others had sapphire blue, black, and blonde hair. Intrigued by this odd sight, the elderboy almost missed Calril's signal to attack.
Sab'vrae removed his blades, motioning his squad onward. They flew through the night, and soon, the drow party fell upon the elven city before the moon elves realized what happened. At the sight of drow elves, the citizens screamed and scrambled in all directions, man, woman and child alike. Many shouted for guards and other fighting forces. The drow raiders quickly cut these verbal elves down.
Weaving through the panicking crowd, Sab'vrae scanned through the dark for any worthy opponents. He held no intentions of attacking civilians, but not for any moral reasons -- after all, he grew up in an amoral society. He simply did now wish to waste his time and effort mowing down helpless civilians who would provide him little or no challenge. When he fought, the Aleanani elderboy fought for excitement in the heat of battle. Simple slaughter at the flick of a wrist with no danger did little to sate that excitement.
Finally, elven reinforcements arrived, mainly comprised of the city guards. Sab'vrae awaited the oncoming horde, gracefully dodging their sluggish blows. His body and blades twirled, the enchanted metal easily cutting through armor and penetrating the flesh. Three elven soldiers spewed blood and sank to the ground, gurgling.
An enraged warrior charged at Sab'vrae head on, a great sword grasped tightly in both hands. He raised the huge sword to strike, only to drop it when Sab'vrae's simple long sword skewered his stomach. Blood leaked from the unfortunate moon elf's lips, and he slumped over, still stuck to the blade. Sab'vrae grunted, pushing his foot up against the body to yank his weapon free. He entered back into the fray, avoiding civilians and instead quickly diminishing the enemy's militia.
His fighting companions were not so picky with their choices, so to speak. Drow warriors gleefully cut into young childrens' backs as they attempted to flee from the scene; dark elf wizards lit homes ablaze with a few flexes of their fingers; and the elven priestesses called forth a Balor to trample, maim, and terrorize.
Soon elven bodies, both moon and dark elf, but mostly moon elf, littered the earth, crimson blood seeping into the dirt. Homes burned down to the ground, lighting up the ruins of the small city for all to see and fear. Once the last foe fell to the ground, spewing red liquid, the drow let out cheers and victory shouts, quickly retreating to the caves before the sun returned to the skies.
Sab'vrae found twenty of his squad intact, but saw no sign of Xundra. Secretly hoping a moon elf had managed to pierce her wretched heart, the elderboy led his men back into the earth's depths with the rest of the party. He decided then that surface raids were enjoyable, but most of his skill was wasted due to the lack of enemy troops. Still, it served better than his typical guard duty.
He sighed, realizing the monotonous duties that awaited him at home.