I do not own Forgotten Realms. The characters however are mine.
His limbs were trembling and sweat ran down his face and back. Dante Shadowblade kept running though. He knew that if he were to slow down... the results would not be pretty. A graze lost in a giant purple bruise adorned his cheek. The hem of his robe was ragged were he'd torn away from his pursuers.
The two men behind him were about his age. He knew them. Through out his youth they had tormented him, at times even brutally injuring him.
Just one of the many who had victimised him... still did in fact, for being different.
The tiefling breath was coming in ragged pants now and he knew then that he'd have to stop soon. With the woodcraft his parents had taught him he could be able to hide until...
Dante skidded to a halt as another man stepped from behind the trees. The half-demon saw the bright flash of the dagger before his vision disappeared beneath a thick torrent of blood.
Clutching the wound in his forehead the young plane-touched staggered backwards, then fell face-first into the earth as his pursuers finally arrived.
One- Dante couldn't see beyond the blood- kicked him in the ribs, and laughed in satisfaction as a sickening crack sounded. Another had possessed an oak clugel and this struck Dante's hip.
The tiefling screamed in pain. It was the last thing heard as he passed out from the pain.
When Dante's crimson eyes opened again he found himself staring at a very familar ceiling and experiencing a very familar pain.
For as long as he could remember Dante had been ill. It was a very rare occansion that he was well again... but at the slightest hint of over- excursion he would have to be carried back here, shaking, feverish and totally incapactated.
Dante knew why he was unwell... and the voices told him that if he just gave in he could be cured... But to give in to the voices... When that occured... bad things happened... Dante shuddered.
"Dante?"
The tiefling turned his head, even that took a mighty effort. Yami Shadowblade, his foster mother, sat in the armchair across the room. The black katana lay, unseathed, across her lap.
With almost supernatural grace she rose from the chair and walked to Dante's bedside. Her slender hand still kept a tight grip on Marwolaeth.
On the surface Yami Shadowblade seemed to be calm... she always was... but Yami had been an assassin and was still a warrior and her skills were still incredibly acute.
"Mother..." Dante could feel his grip on consciness slipping, "Don't... do..."
His eyes shut again.
Yami looked at her son.
In the twenty years that Dante had been at Shadowblade Keep he had matured well under the elves's care. He was slightly built for a human and with his tall pointy ears he could have passed for an elf. However ebony antlers rose from his skull and he cast no shadow.
His demonic features aside he was attractive. Dante's white hair was grown past his shoulders and stood out against his skin, which never strayed from a pale tan colour.
Currently he was learning Asgwrn's trade (being too frail for Yami's profession) and showed a natural talent for it.
Yami touched Dante's now-healed forehead,
"You do not deserve this..." she frowned, "Corellon Larthian knows you do not."
His limbs were trembling and sweat ran down his face and back. Dante Shadowblade kept running though. He knew that if he were to slow down... the results would not be pretty. A graze lost in a giant purple bruise adorned his cheek. The hem of his robe was ragged were he'd torn away from his pursuers.
The two men behind him were about his age. He knew them. Through out his youth they had tormented him, at times even brutally injuring him.
Just one of the many who had victimised him... still did in fact, for being different.
The tiefling breath was coming in ragged pants now and he knew then that he'd have to stop soon. With the woodcraft his parents had taught him he could be able to hide until...
Dante skidded to a halt as another man stepped from behind the trees. The half-demon saw the bright flash of the dagger before his vision disappeared beneath a thick torrent of blood.
Clutching the wound in his forehead the young plane-touched staggered backwards, then fell face-first into the earth as his pursuers finally arrived.
One- Dante couldn't see beyond the blood- kicked him in the ribs, and laughed in satisfaction as a sickening crack sounded. Another had possessed an oak clugel and this struck Dante's hip.
The tiefling screamed in pain. It was the last thing heard as he passed out from the pain.
When Dante's crimson eyes opened again he found himself staring at a very familar ceiling and experiencing a very familar pain.
For as long as he could remember Dante had been ill. It was a very rare occansion that he was well again... but at the slightest hint of over- excursion he would have to be carried back here, shaking, feverish and totally incapactated.
Dante knew why he was unwell... and the voices told him that if he just gave in he could be cured... But to give in to the voices... When that occured... bad things happened... Dante shuddered.
"Dante?"
The tiefling turned his head, even that took a mighty effort. Yami Shadowblade, his foster mother, sat in the armchair across the room. The black katana lay, unseathed, across her lap.
With almost supernatural grace she rose from the chair and walked to Dante's bedside. Her slender hand still kept a tight grip on Marwolaeth.
On the surface Yami Shadowblade seemed to be calm... she always was... but Yami had been an assassin and was still a warrior and her skills were still incredibly acute.
"Mother..." Dante could feel his grip on consciness slipping, "Don't... do..."
His eyes shut again.
Yami looked at her son.
In the twenty years that Dante had been at Shadowblade Keep he had matured well under the elves's care. He was slightly built for a human and with his tall pointy ears he could have passed for an elf. However ebony antlers rose from his skull and he cast no shadow.
His demonic features aside he was attractive. Dante's white hair was grown past his shoulders and stood out against his skin, which never strayed from a pale tan colour.
Currently he was learning Asgwrn's trade (being too frail for Yami's profession) and showed a natural talent for it.
Yami touched Dante's now-healed forehead,
"You do not deserve this..." she frowned, "Corellon Larthian knows you do not."