Even the little sunlight that filtered through the leaves still hurt his eyes, he noted with disgust. It had been decades since he had last been on the surface, and now he would have to re-adjust. An annoyance, if a minor one.

One did not usually find dark elves sitting in trees, but Zranid was never a usual drow. Deftly balancing on a thick branch, leaning against the trunk, he reflected on the events of the past week. That he had failed was certain. What that meant was another story.

Targets had escaped his initial attack before. No, that was not what angered him; he had always hunted them down later. A victim's survival only indicated a greater challenge. Nor was it the fact that she had recovered from the brink of death. Powerful people always kept some sort of healing magic about them, and this Del'rania was clearly much more than she appeared to be. And it was certainly not that she had hurt him so badly. Assassination is a dangerous business, as he knew all too well; he always carried powerful potions with him as a precaution.

But that she should defeat him in seconds, leaving him nearly dead with such burn wounds—!

Such a debacle had not occurred in a century. He was far too good for such nonsense. It was a dreadful insult, and a mark against his record, a problem that would have to be amended. Once more he examined the course of events.

It had been quite simple to find the location of the temple. Happening to chance across one of the lightskins, he had captured the filthy little grub and tortured it until it had told him the location of the temple. The sounds it had made were delightful, music that echoed in his ears long after he had killed it and destroyed the body.

He arrived a few days before the human dragged in the target, disguised as a wandering scholar. A long time had passed since he had last worn the identity of Jinz, but he had assumed it with ease, relishing the opportunity to play a surface dweller. By the time dear little Del'rania had staggered into the temple, he had already worked out several general plans for her execution. By the end of the week, he was sure he had at least two good methods of assassination.

Yet he had stayed his hand, curious about his wilted drowling of a target. Almost all of his assignments were powerful people; how could anyone feel threatened by this broken female? Yet not only Lixarin but the entire Council wanted her head for some closely-guarded reason, as he had discovered in his preliminary research into the woman. She was, to all accounts, an unimportant thief of some minor talent, employed by House Sus'sarin, nothing close to the likes of Lixarin; what had she done to provoke the wrath of the most powerful women in the city?

So he had approached her, in the personality of Jinz, and, eager for company, she responded to his advances. That she had reacted so violently to his mind probe was the first sign of hidden powers. Zranid was not a wizard, but he did possess some talent, and no mere thief should have been able to resist his probes. The necklace was the key to everything, he was certain; it dripped with magic, a beacon to anyone with the right senses. So he let her live a few more days, seeking to learn more about the strange piece of jewelry. If he had known about the raid, he would have struck much earlier…

But then, he mused, perhaps it was for the best that the attack forced his hand in a clumsy attempt; if she had not had other distractions, perhaps she would have finished him off…

But one good thing had come of this disaster. Reaching into a hidden compartment with one hand, Zranid pulled out a needle-thin, wicked-looking dagger. With the other, he felt along the curve of his ear until he found the place where metal melded with flesh. The accursed woman's attack had destroyed Lixarin's leash, a magical communication earring that allowed her to track his movements. It had melted in the heat of the blast, destroying the enchantment, later fusing with flesh as it cooled. He imagined her desperately trying to contact him, casting the spell over and over again before giving him up for dead; Zranid laughed, a soft cold sound, like a silken cord tightening around a neck.

Very carefully, Zranid poked the needle through the membrane of his ear, cutting carefully. Blood slicked cool metal, stained dark fingers. His lips tightened slightly. Finally the lump of flesh came away, and he tossed it up and down before hurling it away into the woods. Touching a finger to his lips, Zranid licked his own blood and smiled. The new hole in his ear would have to be healed, but now his last link to Zorin'zaal was cut. Swinging himself back onto the trunk, he clambered down to the ground, and set off to the east. He'd heard of a city in the foothills of Kushrrik, ruled by a coalition of wizards instead of an Archpriestess. He could stay there a while, free from the thrice-damned matriarchies of Lolth, and lay his plans for the execution of certain people in Zorin'zaal. And the death of one female in particular.

Years as an assassin had taught him patience. He would wait. And one day, the drow called Del'rania would die.

He had watched her fall from the sky, and later badgered one of the clerics into scrying her out, and now, nearly a week later, Tamariko an'Esrai hurried through the woods, following her trail.

The place of impact had been fairly easy to find with the help of the cleric, a tiny clearing literally burnt out of the forest. Nor had she bothered to hide her tracks when she fled, leaving an obvious trail for him to follow. He knew he was getting closer—the signs were getting fresher every day.

There! A short distance away he spotted a black body, lying on the ground. He hurried up to her, only to come to a hesitant stop about five feet away.

She lay curled into a fetal ball, completely nude, eyes closed in sleep. Though actually fairly tall for a drow, she looked small and shrimp-like, strangely vulnerable, like a child. With a start, he realized that her hair now emitted a soft, silver glow. Asleep, she looked more at peace than he had ever seen her before.

Strangely unnerved, Riko stepped forward cautiously, hand out-stretched as if to wake her up.

A sheet of white flame abruptly heaved out of the ground, blinding him, the wave of heat driving him back. Riko lurched away with a cry, covering his eyes, and tripped, falling to the ground.

When he opened his eyes again, he found the drow woman bent over his body.

"Riko?"

He stared up at her, dumbstruck. When he did not reply, she sighed, holding out her hand. After a moment he took it and she pulled him to his feet.

He stumbled back a few steps, brushing grass from his hair. She had changed, somehow, since the night of the battle; she looked different, moved different, behaved different. The change frightened him. He had come looking for an acquaintance—a friend?—and found a stranger in her place.

It struck him that she remained nude, and, fumbling with the ties, he tugged off his cloak and handed it to her. She stared at it as if she had never seen one before—then took it, slowly, and flung it around her shoulders. "Thank you," she said after a pause.

"D-Del'rania," he said, and swallowed. "You—you've changed."

She shook her head sharply. "Not Del'rania. Not any longer. Raine." The words were Common, not Goblan.

"What?"

"I am no longer called Del'rania. The goddess has blessed me with a new name. Raine."

"Goddess? Surely not…Lolth!"

Another sharp shake. Lips twisted, eyes narrowed. "No. Not the Spider Demoness. Eilistraee. Lady of the Night."

"Oh…" He had never heard the name before.

They stood silent for a while. Riko felt strange, awkward and unbalanced, against her perfect poise and air of confidence. Eventually she began to turn away.

"Wait!" he cried, and instantly regretted it. Del'rania—or Raine, or whoever she was—gave him a regal glance over her shoulder.

"Yes?"

"Uh…What happens now?"

"The Daughters are looking for me, even as we speak. We shall find each other in a day or two, and return to their Temple."

"Del'rania—"

"Raine."

"—Raine, yes, what…what happened?"

"The Goddess embraced me, and took me into her bosom," she said simply.

Seizing his hand, she bowed, pressing her lips to it. "You have aided me well, Tamariko an'Esrai, and for that I am very grateful. Take this as a token of my regard." She traced a small sigil in the palm of his hand. "Show it to any of the devotees of Eilistraee, and they shall help you howsoever you choose."

Riko raised his hand to his eyes. A small silver crescent moon glimmered in the middle of his palm.

When he lowered his hand, she had already turned away and was walking into the distance. Riko stood there, watching her, until she vanished into the trees.

And, standing alone in the midst of the forest, he felt a sudden sharp pain: for a woman's voice, harsh with exhaustion and fear, speaking some gutter form of Goblan—Stay away. I can take care of myself…What did you say your name was?…Mine's Del'rania. And a pair of bright red eyes, complex and alive and…imperfect. Mortal.

With a sigh, almost a groan, Riko turned to go back the way he had come, walking slowly, strangely worn out by the bizarre encounter. He would have to deliver a report to the Jarrin, and heal the wounded survivors, and help rebuild the temple, and…

…And he remembered Del'rania's last words to him, shouted over the thunder of the battle: Are you insane? You're going to die! How strange, he thought wearily, that you instead were sacrificed.

Good writing doesn't feel this way.

Trust me, I know. If anything, I feel let down by the story—it feels flat and unconvincing. Don't get me wrong—I'm not, repeat, not fishing for compliments. There are some good elements, in my opinion—the prose came out okay, and the languages were a lot of fun, and I got at least one cool character out of it (did you really think I could kill him off so easily?), but the plot itself feels wrong.

I wanted to write a story about a relationship between a paladin and this drow he rescues from the slave market and it became something else. Maybe I'll rewrite it later, but if I do, it will be very different. It doesn't help that a whole new picture of drow society evolved in my head while I was writing this. And the ending was a lot more bitterseet than I expected (though that's probably a good thing, now that I think about it).

Anyway, thank you guys so much for reading this. You have been absolutely wonderful and very, very patient with me. Mwah to all of you.