The Lesser Evil
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of R.A. Salvatore/Wizards of the Coast ©. I don't own them; I'm just examining all their possibilities.
Chapter 8: Son of Chaos
Arvin Sayersby lifted his fine, green cape with an expression of disgust as he walked along a particularly muddy section of Rauthauvyr's road. The torrential downpours that had soaked the border between Sembia and the Dalelands for three days had finally ceased, but the smell of moldy grass and the sinking wetness of mud against the merchant's expensive black boots made the preened man ill. Normally he would never make such a trip down an unkempt, dangerous road, but this road would lead him to greater power: his old ally, a corrupt elven wizard named Nieral Moondown, promised him a few powerful magic items to draw more wealth and coerce more favors from business partners. All he needed to do was travel to Scardale Town and personally provide the large payment to his trusted old friend.
Nieral was also kind enough to hire three bodyguards to protect him from the hungry creatures and bandits who would otherwise be a constant threat. Even better, two of the bodyguards were drow warriors from Cormanthor, whose presence would likely unnerve any attackers. Arvin would occasionally glance to the drow on his right, whose white cloak stuck out against his ebony features, especially his cleanly shaved head and red, jeweled eye patch. The drow on his left wore a black cloak that concealed two deadly-looking swords. His short, white hair and determined, lilac eyes, gave Arvin a feeling of protection, yet the young dark elf's presence was unnerving. He would occasionally look behind and see the raven-haired human following at a distance and keeping a constant flanking position. All three of these ruffians gave off an aura of control, so he knew he was safe.
Arvin was completely unaware that Nieral promised the three bodyguards a handsome reward for bringing his head to Scardale Town. Whatever they did with the rest of the body was their decision. Even worse, Jarlaxle, Drizzt, and Entreri, reaching into their last bounty of gems, each threw a black pearl into a pouch that would go to the one who struck the killing blow: a friendly competition to make this job more interesting. All three were now walking in silence, planning their strategy.
Drizzt and Jarlaxle may have been closer to their target, but Entreri figured such closeness made both more paranoid and plan their acts more carefully. He inched closer a minute at a time, readying his dagger for the perfect moment to spring. Then Jarlaxle drew one of his hidden daggers and raised it over the merchant's fat neck…only to slice into empty air as Drizzt grabbed the man's shoulder, spun him around, and stuck him through the back with dagger he had bought for a copper piece in a junk shop last week. The movement was lightening fast as the bent blade went through the layers of fat, stuck in his spinal cord, and twisted to kill him before he knew what was happening. The drow spun out of the way of his falling form and pulled his dagger out while drawing Icingdeath and cleanly slicing off Arvin's head. He stuck the scimitar through the head and displayed it to his comrades with a smug smile.
"You little bastard," Jarlaxle said in a tone of mock indignity as he dramatically placed his hands on his hips.
"And you all said this thing was a piece of scrap," Drizzt said waving the dagger. "Now I believe I am owed some gems; three fine pearls if I'm correct."
"When we get to Scardale," Jarlaxle replied, "that was the agreement."
"The second we get to Scardale," the fallen ranger said as he swung the head under his cape and into his backpack, wiping the blood off both blades with his cape before putting the dagger back into his belt. "I don't want you getting tempted."
Drizzt then drew Twinkle and proceeded to hack the corpse into many pieces.
"What, you don't trust me?" Jarlaxle asked innocently while watching his partner's handiwork and was met with glares from both.
After a minute of hacking, he sheathed his blades and took each severed limb and former organ and flung it into different parts of the wooded path, walking over to a few and covering some with leaves and dirt while leaving others completely open as his companions watched in amusement.
Ever since his first night with the group and the fiasco at the Chapel of Ilmater, killing had became Drizzt's new hobby; another release from the torment of his grief and inner conflict. After slaughtering five monks and eight chaplains three months earlier, inner conflict ceased to be a problem. The killings felt more like a weight had been removed from his shoulders, allowing him to fully express his true, violent nature without a crushing torrent of self-imposed guilt. It was also convenient that he had a steady supply of subjects; captured murderers, thieves, and other ruffians who probably showed the same mercy to their own victims. He felt no guilt about putting such miscreants at the end of a scimitar, dagger, rope, brand, or any other implement that struck his fancy at the time. As long as the act was kept quiet, the head was retained, and the body was properly disposed of, it was never a problem. He also had certain taboos against who he would damage and how much. While a petty confidence artist might be escorted to the authorities with a few bruises and the occasional broken rib, the limbs of foul-mouthed highwaymen made a tasty treat for various woodland creatures. Drizzt would never raise any hand against female prisoners unless it was in unavoidable self-defense and if it was even hinted that a bounty was a rapist or a wife killer, he would savor their screams.
Jarlaxle was never fond of such messy slayings, but he admired his new partner's creativity in the grisly art. He had never seen such ingenuity in any priestess or soldier in Menzoberranzan for Drizzt admittedly took pleasure in the act itself and never tried to mask it as a part of any higher cause. Both Jarlaxle and Entreri noted his growing efficiency in the practice of murder, giving him the potential to be a skilled assassin if he controlled his passions a little. Entreri was impressed by his unlikely partner's skills: Do'Urden definitely knew how to strike a fast killing blow with a combination of his natural speed and stealth. His methods, however, were too messy. He also took too much pleasure in the act, which made him too eager to strike and potentially compromise his blows.
Entreri had tolerated his presence in the group for the past three months, though Drizzt Do'Urden became a completely different individual after that first night, which still played out in the assassin's nightmares. He was more social and jovial now. He also was completely unstable, responding to certain situations with a laugh and a grin, others with swift blades, and many with both. Entreri did take some guilty pleasure in watching a once noble man break apart and gleefully take the role of a killer. He compared it to his occasional desire to attend a jousting match in the hope that some of the knights would crash from their horses. Entreri, however, never wanted to be directly on the field under the plummeting knight in spiked armor, which was his exact position to the unstable Do'Urden at the moment.
Drizzt finished disposing of his latest victim and returned to the group, his black traveler's clothes masking any rare drops of blood that found their way to his clothing, though his careful efficiency prevented that as well. Without a word, he continued down Rauthauvyr's Road, followed by Jarlaxle, who was still chuckling in amusement at the whole scene, and Entreri, who shrugged off the reoccurring feeling that he had finally gotten himself in over his head.
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"And how many have you killed, sweetums?" Gruna, the half-orc barmaid said to the black-haired human sitting at the furthest part of the bar.
Entreri had sat in his seat at the Birdkiller Tavern trying to mind his own business and not get dragged into the rather obnoxious conversation between the gray skinned barmaid and two badly scarred dwarf patrons. He glared at the tusked, warty woman between sips of what qualified as "wine" in these parts.
"If you ask me that question one more time," Entreri said firmly, "I will add your name to my long list and make everyone here think you were just taking a standing rest."
"Oh you're just the charmer, ain't ya," Gruna said, batting her scaly eyelashes and returning to the inebriated dwarves.
Entreri wasn't in Scardale Town too long when he fully realized how much he hated it. All he needed to do was scan the crowd at the finest inn in town (and that was still not saying much) and see the various awful creatures during their night of carousing. Three gnomes were in the middle of a slugfest while a small band of human schemers forgot their scheming and passed out from drink. Two, tattered looking dark elves made some kind of illegal transaction in the corner and seemed to melt into the wall shortly afterward.
Then there was the one drow coming down the stairs, short hair still somewhat mussed and ebony face gleaming with residual perspiration. The buxom, blonde tavern whore beside him still ran her delicate fingers through hair and whispered various pithy phrases in his ear, phrases he obviously ignored as his lips ran down her neck and his hand went to his purse. Entreri tried not to look too interested, but the assassin found the whole sight of Do'Urden trying to be somewhat romantic with a woman he just paid a few gold pieces for half an hour of entertainment rather amusing. He knew the whore wasn't worth ten pieces, and knowing Do'Urden, she probably received even less.
This was a typical routine that had gone on for the past three months ever since that one night in an inn at Baldur's Gate. Entreri watched Drizzt rescue fair damsel of the night, who was being roughed up by a patron like the noble hero he always was. Before the assassin could roll his eyes and note that not everything had changed, he was taken aback by the sight of the normally chaste drow running a hand over her breasts and telling her how "special" he could make her feel. Entreri was no longer counting how many more whores the drow would pull aside, whisper some honeyed words, and go upstairs to ride like a disobedient horse.
This had become his new passion besides killing. After a day of hunting, capturing, and executing criminals, he would always cap off his evening with a beautiful human woman. It was a practice he probably picked up from Jarlaxle, whose whoring was legendary, though the assassin suspected a deeper motivation for Drizzt's lechery: he knew the only other woman he had before was Catti-brie, his true love who was now lost to him forever. Drizzt also completely avoided any women with red hair and he always tried to be somewhat romantic with every tavern wench he seduced.
Entreri kept half an eye on this sight as he waited for Jarlaxle to finalize his deal with Nieral Moondown at the Four Dolphins Fountain. Occasionally, Drizzt's latest wench would stop talking and start kissing him, running her fingers over his neck and over his pointed ears, playing with the tiny, silver hoops that adorned them. Entreri suddenly remembered the night he returned to his camp from a small hunting trip to see Jarlaxle piercing Drizzt's earlobes with a flower pin and putting in the small posts that were small enough so they didn't get in the way, yet large enough so they stuck out. Do'Urden added a few more rings over the past few months so now two adorned each earlobe while one was stuck through the side cartilage of his left ear. Ever since his white mane was seared off by Minan Rannegart's fire spell, Drizzt still kept his hair neatly trimmed to a slight spike that accented his features. He had also used some of his bounty to purchase a few nicer shirts and a less worn pair of high, black boots. His more polished appearance fully illustrated his major transformation from the ranger hero to the dangerous rogue he was now. The only recognizable features on Drizzt Do'Urden now were his scimitars and those piercing lavender eyes, which now had a perpetual look of ice.
Drizzt tried to pry away this beautiful, voluptuous maiden, whose hands were now running down his chest, over the open part of his black shirt and gently caressing his skin. As the fallen ranger savored this moment, he was becoming fully aware of the new, growing urgency between his legs that made him want to go upstairs and give her another go. When the whore's hand left his shirt and traveled directly to the rising bulge in his trousers, which she clasped firmly, he wanted to rip off his neck purse and ignore the glowing, vibrating disk that indicated Jarlaxle's summons. Business, however, took priority over pleasure. His hand clasped hers and moved it off his desperate flesh while slightly pulling away.
"I am really sorry, milady," he said, giving her one last kiss on the cheek, "but I have to go. You were wonderful."
He kissed between her breasts, half-exposed by her tight, flower print dress, before bowing and walking away, putting on his black felt hat (another present from Jarlaxle that resembled the hat of a gentleman farmer and had holding properties). Before he walked through the door he took one last look at the half-orc barmaid, who exposed her yellow tusks in a grin, an image that successfully destroyed his renewed urgency.
Drizzt stepped out the door and walked down the street, looking back to see Entreri following close behind.
"I have to compliment Jarlaxle on the excellent lessons in whoring he must have given you," the assassin said sarcastically.
"You should try it sometime," Drizzt replied with an annoyed laugh. "Give yourself the opportunity to use that concealed sword you probably pretend doesn't exist."
"I'll pass, thank you; I have more control over my urges. I know you didn't know the touch of a woman until you were seventy, but there is a time to think with the organ on the top portion of your body in such situations."
"After all your years with the drow, you still haven't realized that seventy is still a very young age. Seventy-year-old drow are at their prime, where as humans passing forty begin to have …physical problems; though I'm sure you know all about that."
"So if you are saying that seventy is very young, you actually admit that you're a child."
"Still bickering like a couple of old hens are we?" a familiar voice called from the side. They stopped and looked over to see Jarlaxle walking towards them. "First you were trying to kill each other, and then came the nightly fisticuffs, so I guess I can call this a marked improvement."
Jarlaxle's demeanor was jovial, yet his partners noted the strain his voice had taken ever since they entered the Dalelands. He still kept his hat tucked in his belt behind his cape, which now took a less conspicuous color. He was also wearing a fine, black tunic as opposed to his usual high-cut vest.
"I myself thought our little trinket was broken," he said, glaring at Drizzt. "I first tried to summon you five minutes ago."
"All apologies," Drizzt said in a semi-insincere tone, "I was on a diplomatic mission."
"When I summon you, drowling, you come," Jarlaxle replied, voice strained.
"Yes, my captain," Drizzt replied, an address that made his kinsman's angry glare soften.
Drizzt and Entreri both knew that Jarlaxle's sudden edginess had everything to do with their uncomfortably close proximity to Cormanthor and its notorious population of drow renegades. If Jarlaxle advertised himself too much, chances were good that most of the drow in the area would recognize him and likely strike, rendering the mercenaries hopelessly outnumbered. Given the circumstances, Jarlaxle, for once, decided to keep a low profile.
"I assume our business here is done," Entreri said.
"If we wish," Jarlaxle said with a creeping smile, his nervous gait becoming more confident, "though good Master Moondown has offered another opportunity with much handsomer rewards."
Drizzt and Entreri exchanged glances
"So who needs to die this time," Drizzt said.
"No, quite the opposite," Jarlaxle replied. "We are being sent on a rescue mission. The mage has a young protégé who likes to wander off to this little spot to meditate and memorize his spells. Just this morning, a few sentries from the order spotted what appeared to be two scouts from the Zhentarim, who normally leave the area alone. Master Moondown does not want his talented young wizard in the range of these sinister creatures, so he has hired us to go and deliver the young mage back to his order."
"So now we are going into Zhentil territory to rescue someone's favorite apprentice," Entreri said with a look of disgust.
"It is not yet Zhentil territory, hence why we are going to rescue this boy before the Zhents get too comfortable and know he is there."
"How much are we being offered?" Drizzt asked, though his face showed a slight hesitation at the idea of this mission.
"Fifteen emeralds each, but that is for bringing him back alive."
Drizzt whistled and Entreri's eyes widened.
"The elf must be generous, foolish, or not planning on us returning," Entreri said.
"Then I say we call his bluff and bring the damn kid back," Drizzt said with a smile.
"So that makes two," Jarlaxle said, "we're just waiting for you, Master Artemis."
"Fine," Entreri replied, his face betraying some lingering doubts.
"Good," Jarlaxle said, "I say we leave now. There is at least a day's travel ahead of us and I'm glad you're both rested."
"A day's travel," Entreri said, "and just where exactly are we going?"
"Our journey takes us up Rauthauvyr's road, further to the north."
"Further to the north is Cormanthor."
"Barely on the outskirts, assure you. The archmage provided a map."
"How accommodating," Drizzt mumbled under his breath while starting down the road.
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The moon shone through the last fading clouds as the three mercenaries arrived at their destination. After a full day of walking and managing to avoid any hazards, the three finally reached the marshy stretch of cleared wood, one of the shallowest sections of Cormanthor. All three walked carefully, though they still spoke in whispers and not in hand code.
"Remember," Jarlaxle said, keeping his voice low, "We are looking for an elf with blond hair wearing shabby gray robes. He answers to the name of Maz and can be jumpy if he is approached with too much force."
"You are sure he has dealt with drow before?" Drizzt asked.
"Moondown says he has the best training in our language of all the members of his order, remember?"
The three continued cautiously, walking through a patch of high grass and seeing a lithe form sitting on a small hill with his back facing the mercenaries. His gray hood was up, though all three saw locks of flowing, champagne hair strewn over his shoulders that glowed in the moonlight. Jarlaxle motioned for Entreri to approach, with Drizzt following behind according to what they planned before.
Entreri carefully ascended the hill making barely a sound, though the small wizard's head turned up from what appeared to be his spell book, indicating he knew someone was there.
"Are you Maz?" Entreri said in a soft, yet firm tone.
"Who inquires?" a soft voice replied.
"I am a sentry sent by Archmage Nieral Moondown to escort you back to the Order of the Seven Dragons."
"My mentor sends for me. I should feel honored. You are human, right?"
"Yes, and you will be in danger if you do not join us now."
"And your companions are dark elves. You cannot deny this fact, for it was foretold to me by the spirits."
"And are the spirits aware that we need to leave now or else some not so friendly souls will be here any time?" Entreri replied, his patience waning.
Maz came to his feet, picking up his spellbook and putting it in his robes. Entreri looked to the ground where he once sat and saw the corpse of an albino cat, cut open with its intestines spread out in the shape of some kind of symbol.
"Do you wish to bring along your spell components," Entreri said trying to suppress a look of disgust.
"No, the spirits accept their offering."
The assassin looked back and saw Drizzt slowly coming up the hill.
"And who is your friend, sentry?" Masrei asked politely.
"A mean dark elf," Drizzt said with a smile.
"What is your name?"
"Nalfein," he replied.
Maz paused.
"Nalfein is dead," he said plainly. "He was killed seventy-six years ago, stabbed in the back by his younger brother, allowing a son of chaos to live."
Drizzt felt his stomach drop. Maz pulled his hood back, allowing both mercenaries a clear view of the back of his flowing, blond hair, which parted around a black, pointed ear.
"I am sure you are quite familiar with the story, Secondboy of House Do'Urden."
Maz turned around, allowing a full view of his ebony face and large, beaming red eyes. Drizzt suddenly remembered the face from his time in Sorcere, Menzoberranzan's wizard academy: the young apprentice wizard with strange blond hair was a shy, almost dreamy student who Drizzt regularly encountered.
"Maz," Drizzt said, nodding his head, "short for Mazn'reysla. I remember you. And now you are on the surface, the student of a faerie elf?"
"I escaped, like you did. Nieral Moondown protected me and we are what I guess you could call, friends," Mazn'reysla said, turning to Entreri, who looked down the hill with a look of slowly building rage.
"Scouts from the Zhentarim have been seen in the area," Drizzt said, trying to shake off the bad feeling he got from this entire encounter. "Your master wishes you in safer territory, hence why we are here."
The drow wizard stared at Drizzt, and then smiled.
"Of course," he said, walking past the two mercenaries and climbing down the hill.
Drizzt and Entreri followed, saying nothing and both seething in various degrees over the new turn of events. Then they heard Mazn'reysla scream and run back in their direction, the wizard falling to Drizzt's feet and wrapping his arms around his legs as Jarlaxle walked forward with a puzzled expression. Drizzt managed to kick one leg free and use the other one to send the wizard on the ground. The wizard looked back at Jarlaxle and threw himself at Drizzt again, grabbing his shoulders and locking his pleading, red eyes with the lavender orbs of his rescuer.
"Don't let him take me back, Drizzt," Mazn'reysla begged, tears running down his cheeks. "He wants my head, I know he does. I've killed important people in Menzoberranzan, blasphemed the Spider Queen in too many ways. That is why Captain Jarlaxle is here, right? They'll turn me into a drider if I go back."
Drizzt grabbed the wizard's arms and threw him to the ground.
"No one is taking you back to Menzoberranzan," he said, looking both at the trembling, weeping drow at his feet then to Jarlaxle, whose visible eye rolled as he shook his head with a groan.
What is his name? Jarlaxle signed.
Mazn'reysla.
"Mazn'reysla," Jarlaxle said out loud, kicking the wizard, "Secondboy of House Sshemlet, the twenty-seventh house?"
The wizard's sobbing became louder.
"A notable family of wizards, as I have heard," the mercenary continued. "As I recall your compound has a grand water clock in its foyer that grants various spells at different times of the day." He bent down and picked the trembling drow off the ground, turning him around and looking in his face. "That clock is now a focal point of Gromph Baenre's sitting room. He says it was the only real reward that came from obliterating such a useless house."
"Sshemlet fell?" Mazn'reysla asked weakly, gaining his composure.
Jarlaxle laughed and threw the wizard back on the ground.
"You're worth more to me on the surface," Jarlaxle said, kicking him again and turning around.
Mazn'reysla propped himself on his elbows and started let out a series of shrill cackles like the call of a jackal, laughs that slowly rose in volume and sent shivers through all three mercenaries. The wizard rose, brushed off his robes, and gave one last laugh as he walking off with the three following behind with hands towards their respective weapons. Drizzt managed to come directly beside the wizard, whose gaze stayed fixed ahead.
The journey was silent. Drizzt tried to look forward, but he noticed that Maz was continuously staring at him.
"You have known the taste of death, Drizzt Do'Urden," Mazn'reysla finally said. "I see it in your eyes."
"I am a warrior, you know that," Drizzt replied, keeping his gaze on the ground.
"Yes, a warrior; a master of swords, expert on killing, one who has tasted his own death."
Drizzt was slowly becoming ill with the turn of this conversation.
"I am alive now," he said, trying to sound disarmingly cheery.
"Your flesh walks beside me, but another spirit inhabits your body. Flesh can be altered, Drizzt Do'Urden: hair can be cut, green ranger's cloak fed to the fire, pretty lavender eyes can be gouged out, but the death of the spirit screams to the gods. I speak to the gods, they tell me their secrets. I know that you sadden the Lady of the Forest, the Queen of the Demonweb Pits reaches out to embrace you, and so many other deities want to call you their son, or their sacrifice."
"Would Vhaeraun be the former or the latter?" Drizzt spat. "You worship the Masked God, don't you? After all, that is why you would be turned into a drider. Are you trying to preach to me, maybe convert me to your cause? Save your breath, I listen to no oaths or lies."
"In the matters of the gods, oaths are only lies if you believe them untrue. You will soon have your moment of judgment, son of chaos, the moment where what is lie and what is truth will smash you across that pretty face of yours. I never told you about the ever watchful wild elves that inhabit these woods, did I?"
Mazn'reysla stopped and in a sudden, fiery flash, he was gone. Drizzt jumped aside in shock for a second as he and Entreri drew their weapons. The air was pierced by a shrill twang of bows and all three ducked in time to miss a few fired arrows that landed in the trees. Jarlaxle reached for his belt and produced his hat, taking out a black disc, throwing it on the ground to form a large hole that all three jumped into.
"Now I am going to kill him," Jarlaxle said, digging his necklace of fireballs out of his shirt, plucking out a large gem, throwing it at the direction of the arrows.
The explosion ripped through the trees and all three saw small, burning forms plummeting to their deaths. By their form they were elves, most likely the wild elves Maz referred to, or purposely used as a trap. Those were probably followers of Mielikki, Drizzt thought, the wizard's cryptic words ringing through his mind. He leaned against the hole and heard thunder of countless feet rushing in their direction; the feet of several armed soldiers waiting to eradicate the drow presence in their sacred wood. So Mielikki was saddened and he was in Lolth's favor? Most likely Ilmater wanted his death and Vhaeraun wanted his service. So now the gods were fighting over him, and here he was caught in the middle of what could likely prove to be his last battle.
Drizzt leapt up the side of the hole and landed on the ground facing the brown-skinned, hide-clad wild elves that charged after him, all the while hearing Entreri and Jarlaxle screaming at him.
"Which one of you bastards wants me first!" Drizzt screamed, first over to the wild elves and up to the gods, as he charged forward.
He plowed through the ranks in a complete frenzy, ignoring various stings and slices that came from superficial cuts and whizzing arrows that failed to reach their mark. One elf fell to his blades, then another. More elves came at him and more elves died. He occasionally looked back and saw Entreri charging forward and cutting down combatants while Jarlaxle, his magic longswords drawn, meeting the foes with both blades and missiles that flew from his bracers. Drizzt also noticed fireballs coming from the air and landing on the elves and saw Mazn'reysla levitating over the group, coming in an out of invisibility as he fought. So he had more of a purpose in this?
Drizzt soon reached the back of the field, cutting down wild elves, which seemed to pour out of the woods. Then the elves started to fall; small bolts appearing in their necks and putting them to the ground in seizures. Drizzt paused and saw a small horde of drow, all dressed in woodland clothes and all wearing masks of various designs, coming from the wood and taking down the gradually thinning ranks of wild elves with bolts and swords. The occasional drow would pass him and give a sneering grin before returning to the carnage. He looked back to his comrades and saw them also stopped, but still in battle stance. Entreri looked completely dumfounded by the sudden onslaught of dark elves, while Jarlaxle was visibly enraged and screaming various, undecipherable curses.
Drizzt's sudden confusion was broken by a swift movement in front of his face followed by a searing burn through his abdomen. He gave an almost animalistic howl as he kept his footing from the force that jerked him back. He looked over and saw Jarlaxle's look of rage suddenly melt into a look of horror as he watched the whole scene.
"Nau!" the mercenary screeched, running forward.
Drizzt looked down to see the white, finely carved elven arrow protruding from his stomach and the river of his life essence that poured out. He became light headed and felt another river of blood come up his throat and pour over his lips. His vision faded as his legs lost their strength and he fell backward into a large mud puddle, feeling the pull as the tip of the arrow met the wet ground first, followed by the rest of his body.
Drizzt lay for a second in the consuming chill, one phrase passing his bloody lips as he faded to blackness:
"Fate does have a sense of humor."
Author's Note: To be continued...
