m: I've been told that my fic is a lot like 'Kill Bill'. However, it wasn't until recently that I saw the movie. Manny was right. O.O This chapter inspired by 'Kill Bill vol. 2' I would also like to apologize for the long wait for an update. Finals are evil.

shadow0015: LOL. Maybe if he had made the pie, she would have just dismembered him rather than stab him. ;)

Ruxy (not a chance in hell that I'm gonna spell out that long name. :P ): Nat is a drow bitch, Nackor just brought it out even more. Which song, by the way? (I've put in so many that I'm turning the story into a virtual song fic)

Chapter Fifteen

Nathyrra stepped off the boat. She had barely noticed how long the trip was, she was so numb. The weight of the deed she had committed did not make her heart ache—she would not allow it to—but rather, made her emotionally frozen. Sighing, she waited for the escort that was to take her home.

Three figures approached. As they came closer, Nathyrra realized that they were far too short to be of the drow. She was too late, and was soon hit in the chest with a speeding bullet. The impact made her fly backwards several feet, landing on her back.

The lead duerger kept a firm grip on his sling as he approached. "Grab her arms and legs." he commanded of his comrades. The other two grabbed Nathyrra's arms and legs. That was a bit pointless, Nathyrra was far too stunned from the bullet wound to attempt to struggle. She mentally cursed her own stupidity as the leader came closer.

The dwarf grinned. "My brother told me you were a pretty lass. He wasn't kidding."

Nathyrra glared at him.

"Allow me to introduce myself. My name's Navor. Navor Blackhammer. I'd shake your hand, but you seem a bit 'subdued' at the moment."

Nathyrra continued to smolder. Navor chuckled and tapped his sling. "These are some of my special bullets. They can create a hole in a stone wall if necessary, so I can only imagine how badly your tits must be stinging right now."

Nathyrra spat blood in his face. Navor grimaced and wiped it off his face. He pulled out his canteen, took a swig of the dwarven ale inside, and spat the contents onto Nathyrra's face. "Beat that." He taunted, before knocking the assassin unconscious.

XXXXX

Nathyrra once again walked in the shadowy plane that made her dreams. Her twin daggers were gripped in her fingers and she walked with caution, alert and ready for whatever nightmare her subconscious was ready to spring upon her.

Sure enough, the blond barbarian and the duerger appeared. Nackor gave his customarily wide grin to Nathyrra before unsheathing a dagger.

"No!" Nathyrra shouted before throwing one of her own daggers at Nackor.

The knife became embedded in the dwarf's forehead. He let out a strangled cry and fell to the ground, unmoving.

Nathyrra's muscles jerked and she started moving towards Seelamin. A confused expression dotted her face, for her body moved without her mind's consent. The confusion was replaced by horror as she raised the dagger. Helpless to stop herself, Nathyrra plunged her knife into Seelamin's chest.

He cried out and his face twisted into a mask of pain. Blood poured from the wound, as did a green substance. Nathyrra realized that her dagger was poisonous.

Seelamin gave her pained, weak smile. "Whoever appeals to the law against his fellow man is either a fool or a coward. Whoever cannot live without that law is both. For a wounded man shall say to his assailant, 'If I live I will kill you. If I die, you are forgiven.'"

"Such is the rule of honor." Nathyrra finished softly.

Seelamin smiled once more before falling to the ground. Even in death, his eyes remained locked on Nathyrra. She could see her reflection in his metallic grey eyes. Her own eyes glowed crimson.

XXXXX

Nathyrra's eyes snapped open. She realized that her hands were bound, a gag had been tied around her mouth, and she was lying on the ground in a strange room. The drow tried to cast a spell, only to learn that she was unable to cast her magic. The ropes must be spelled against magic, She thought.

The door at the end of the room opened. Navor grinned at Nathyrra. "Wakey wakey, Sweetheart."

XXXXX

Navor and the second dwarf took Nathyrra to a cemetery. The third was already there, standing by an open grave. Nathyrra let out a slight grunt as Navor and the second dropped her carelessly on the ground.

"Is the hole finished?" Navor asked.

The third nodded. "It's six feet under. She should fit."

"Good." Navor declared. The three turned towards Nathyrra.

Nathyrra narrowed her smoldering eyes at the men.

The second grinned. "Look at those eyes. This bitch is furious."

"Never seen a drow with blue eyes before." The third commented.

You learn new things everyday, Nathyrra thought sarcastically.

"What about that guy….what's his name…Drizzt?"

Navor shook his head. "Naw. Drizzt has purple eyes. Hers are blue."

"Oh."

Navor grinned. "My uncle, Mickey, had blue eyes. Of course, they're not really blue. You see, he got this mage to make his eyes blue in order to pick up chicks. Well, chicks weren't the only thing they attracted. There's a rare type of bird, Coogershnackler, that's very attracted to the color blue. Its eggs are white with blue spots…. "

He's Nackor's brother, alright, Nathyrra thought.

"…So the bird was flying by and got a good look at Uncle Mickey's eyes. The bird thought his eyes were her eggs, and attacked him. Mickey took her out, but not without loosing two of his eyes during the battle. Incapable of living without his sight, he paid the same mage to give him new eyes. Unfortunately, a mouse somehow got involved with the spell and gave my uncle…err… rather 'mousy' looks. After that, Uncle Mickey escaped to the surface where he became a popular spokesperson for some restaurant. But as you tell, Uncle Mickey's luck was never very good, and after a lengthy career, he was fired for his brief—but disturbing—nude scene in a children's play. He died alone. (A/N: And that children, is the story of how Mickey Mouse came to be…I've lost my mind.)"

The second nodded. "Great story, Nav."

I suppose the ability to tell truly obnoxious stories runs in the Blackhammer family, Nathyrra thought dryly.

"Thanks." Navor look at Nathyrra. "Let's get her buried."

The second and Nackor picked her up. Nathyrra started struggling to get free. The second let out a yelp as used her legs to make his hands twist. The drow took advantage of this to shake loose and fall to the ground.

Before Nathyrra could react, Navor grabbed the back of her jacket and pulled her up so that they were nearly side-to-side. Navor leveled a needle at one of her eyes. Nathyrra immediately stopped struggling.

Navor frowned. "Listen up, bitch. I'm gonna give you two choices. One; you stop struggling and we bury you, nice and easy. Two; you keep struggling and stick this needle in your pretty eyes. Then you'll be helpless, buried alive, and blind. Now then," He rolled her onto her back, still pointing the needle at her eyes. "Are we gonna do this smoothly, or are you gonna act like a rothe's ass?"

Nathyrra scowled and stared at him. Her eyes were hard as diamonds, her pride not allowing her to give any indication of true submission.

Navor still recognized this as surrender. "Smart choice." He said as he lifted her up and placed her in a wooden coffin. He pulled the gag off of her mouth. "Any last words?"

Nathyrra shook her head.

"This is for what you've done to my brother." Navor stated as he closed the lid.

The sound of the casket falling filled Nathyrra's ears. It was soon filled by the sound of dwarven laughter and a loud thump as the coffin hit the bottom of the hole. The laughter soon faded away as dirt was piled on top of the casket.

Several minutes passed. The disoriented Nathyrra was attempting to compose herself. She looked up. Her darkness-accustomed eyes could easily make out the lid of the wooden coffin. A memory flashed through her mind.

"I am going to teach you something new today, Alurl Faen." Ilivarra declared.

"Joy." Nathyrra said sarcastically.

"Silence, al'vur." Ili snarled. She led Nathyrra to the combat room. A board of wood had been propped up between two supporters.

"Keep in mind, I don't teach everyone this." Ili told Nathyrra.

"Are you teaching me because I'm special?" Nathyrra drawled.

"Stupid, irrational, and brash were the words I was thinking." Ilivarra shot back. She walked over to the board. "There may be a time in your life when you may need to do this." She let out a battle cry and punched the board, driving a fist size hole into the wood. "This may be useful to you one day. There may come a time where you'll need to break into a room, demonstrate your strength to a prisoner, escape a coffin…" A distant look formed in Ili's eyes as she said this.

Nathyrra blinked. "Well, I can do that, but not when I'm as close to the wood as you."

"Then learn, Al'vur." Ilivarra spat before walking away.

Nathyrra walked towards the wood and struck it. Her knuckles throbbed as she did so. She struck the board again. The drow winced in pain and clutched her hand.

Ilivarra shook her head from the doorway. "Pathetic. You give up before even trying. Have some courage, al'vur." She walked away.

Nathyrra gritted her teeth and went back to work.

XXXXX

Several weeks passed but Nathyrra was still unable to break the wood. One night—after a particularly grueling training session—Nathyrra and Ilivarra were eating dinner. Nathyrra's knuckles were stiff and burning with agony as she attempted to maneuver her utensil. Exasperated, she dropped her fork and began to eat with her hands.

Ilivarra snarled and picked up Nathyrra's bowl. "If you want to eat like an al'vur, you can live and sleep outside like an al'vur! Now then, if you don't want to make your nickname more literal," she threw some of the contents of the bowl across the room before slamming it down in front of Nathyrra. "THEN PICK UP THAT FORK!"

Nathyrra scowled. Sharp stabs of pain raced through her fingers as she attempted to pick up the fork. She winced in agony but successfully used the utensil and placed a forkful of food in her mouth. Ilivarra smiled at her student. "Excellent."

Nathyrra gave her a quizzical expression.

"You have learned a valuable lesson, Alurl Faen." Ili stated.

"What lesson?"

"I'll let you dwell on that."

XXXXX

Nathyrra put on a humorless smile. "There are no results without pain." She recited. She looked down at her feet. Slowly, she managed to pull her feet out of the ropes. Unfortunately, her right foot still had the rope securely attached and prevented her from using magic.

I suppose I must do this the old-fashioned way, Nathyrra thought as she shook lose of the ropes that bound her hands. The assassin curled her fingers into a fist and punched the lid. She punched it several more times. A crack began to form.

Ignoring her bleeding knuckles, Nathyrra continued her assault. Soon, the wood broke and dirt spilled into the coffin. Nathyrra crawled to the surface, gasping for air and covered in dirt. Vengeance, she thought as she lay on the ground.

XXXXX

Boring night, Peter thought as he cleaned a glass. The bar was empty except for him. The svirf bartender noticed someone approaching outside. Who would be coming at this hour?

A drow woman walked into the bar. She covered from head to toe in dirt, her deep blue eyes the only thing on her form that was not dirty. Peter stared at her in open shock. She sat down at the counter. "Water, please." She ordered.

Peter blinked and filled a glass with water before handing it to her. "Do you uh…want soap with that?" He asked jokingly.

She glared at him. "How much?"

"Three gold."

She reached into her pocket. A piece of cloth fell out. She picked it up, but not before Peter saw the symbol.

The bartender's eyes widened. "Y-You're a red sister?"

Nathyrra rolled her eyes. "Relax, gnome. I don't usually give out free samples."

Peter breathed a sigh of relief. "A-Anything else I can get you, miss…?"

"My name's not important." Nathyrra stated before placing the gold on the counter and standing up to leave. Her gazed flicked over a sharp knife that rested next to Peter's water glass. "May I borrow that?"

The svirf pushed the knife at her.

Nathyrra took it. "Thanks." She cut off the ropes that were still attached to her wrist and ankle and kicked them to the side, before attaching the knife to her waist.

Peter watched as she left. Strange bunch, those red sisters.

XXXXX

Nathyrra crept towards the campsite. Navor and the other two dwarves were laughing around a campfire, drinking and congratulating each other.

"Nackor's gonna be pleased when he finds out that we finally nailed that lass." the third declared.

"He sure is." Navor agreed.

The second raised his glass. "To the final death of House Kant'tar." They all drank.

Nathyrra's lips curled into a malicious smile. How wrong they were.

XXXXX

An hour later, the third stood up to relieve himself. Nathyrra followed him towards a rock formation away from the camp. When she was certain of her advantage, the assassin threw her knife at the third. The dwarf collapsed, the dagger sticking out of his back.

Nathyrra dragged him behind a large boulder.

XXXXX

Another hour passed. The second walked towards the rock formation, curious as to what was taking his comrade so long. A figure stood in the distance. He realized that it was far too tall to be his comrade, but it was too late. A lightning bolt struck him, and he fell backwards.

Nathyrra smiled at the stunned dwarf and placed her boot heel on top of his head. The duerger stared at her with obvious fear. Nathyrra smiled viciously and crushed his head with a single, powerful stomp.

When she looked up, the drow saw Navor staring at her. Navor instantly turned around and ran. Nathyrra let out a snarl before grabbing the second's axe and chasing after Navor. "COWARD!" She screamed.

"Better to be a live coward rather than a dead hero!" Navor shot back before running into the cabin and locking the door behind him.

Nathyrra ran to the door. She saw that it was immune to spells and could not be picked with a lock. She settled for the next best thing. The assassin picked up the axe and slammed it into the door. She continued beating it until a large hole appeared, revealing Navor's frightened face.

Nathyrra gave him a grin that both insane and vengeful. "Heeere's Natty!"(A/N: Okay, I've been watching 'The Shining'. Couldn't resist. XD)

Nathyrra reached inside and opened the door. She walked into the room and grabbed the front of Navor's shirt, lifting him off the ground. The drow smiled once again, her eyes smoldering. "When you go to Hell, save a seat for your brother. He'll be joining you shortly." She plunged the axe into Navor's chest.

His eyes rolled back in his head as he died. Nathyrra dropped him and walked out the door. She noticed that now, after she had taken revenge, her anger been replaced once again with numb emptiness.

She let out a snarl. This shall not control me. I will kill Nackor and then…then I will be free of this feeling, Nathyrra thought stubbornly as she trudged down the road.