Dedication : This tale is dedicated in full to Ethan,
Who fashioned for me two swords and taught me how to use them in the style of the dark elves I would grow to love under his tutlage, who would, on a whim, debate with me endlessly on whether elves or dwarves were better though we both knew that niether could be swayed, the first of my friends to ever call me an elf...
A dwarf-at-heart who named a crazy, would-be drow elf as one of his dearest friends...
That would-be drow you taught so well salutes you with a blessing you said to me many times as you left my house to walk back to your own: "May the winds ever blow at your back, your blades be ever sharp, and your friends ever true!"
If dwarves were real, you would be one my friend (after you grew a beard of course)...
Thank you for introducing me to the Forgotton Realms and giving me the inspiration I needed when I didn't believe in myself anymore as a person...
I miss you and hope you are happy...
Disclaimer : I'm starting to run short of ideas for humorous disclaimers (I try to make them funny to make up for how boring they are). But since I'm short of ideas for the time being I'll just state plainly that I do not own any of the characters, places, ect. that were originally conceived by RAS. However the following characters are my own creations and I ask that they not be stolen (I am more than willing to share them as long as my consent is sought first), Nessa Seralon; Dagasta Seralon; Reigaldus Seralon; Lazuli Entreri; Antioch Baenre; Zandrath Baenre; Sordath Do'Urden; Binx Do'Urden; Montolio Do'Urden; Seivriel Versail; Abominashi the Black; Mizumiyukiel the Speckled; Andrazilian the White; Deizandranzelynagolem the Scarlet.
They are mine, please don't steal them.
And for future reading - When I say 'Entreri' I am referring to Artemis Entreri not Lazuli.
And with that out of the way, the story can begin.
Mirror Me Dark
By Semdai Bloodquill
Chapter One : Pace and Progeny
" Attack me again, Lazuli, but faster this time," the old assassin instructed to his young pupil, he relaxed his grip on his weapons, but never shifted the gaze of his dark gray eyes off of his student. Lazuli matched her teacher's gaze and swung her twin sabers in circles at her sides before she moved in. She was adept at the style of fighting with two weapons of equal length, a credit to her second teacher. The old assassin was equally adept at his own style of dirk and saber.
The older assassin glided in with a speed that belied the spread of his dark, gray eye color into his once jet-black hair. His step was light, as if his feet simply didn't touch the ground, and as silent as the treacherous shadows that made his home, and just as deadly. His knee-high, leather boots made not a whisper on the hard floor and the great speed he had known in his youth was by no amount diminished by his age. Lazuli's only salvation was her experience with the wise, old assassin, having learned early in her decade of training with him and Jarlaxle that speed was as much Artemis Entreri's weapon as was his saber, Charon's Claw, and his spirit-stealing dagger that boasted no name save for the countless souls it had drained over the years it had been wielded by Calimport's most feared assassin.
Jarlaxle stretched his long legs out before him as he observed the sparring match between the two assassins. He kept his bald head, adorned by a great, plumed hat, tilted back and his drow eyes, pained somewhat by the room's light, on the two assassins. Entreri amazed him, always had, but Lazuli captivated him as Entreri never could. She was sleek, like a cat, lengthy of limb, and hair as black as Jarlaxle's ebony skin, which she kept in a tight, braided tail that fell down the length of her back. Her large eyes were slanted at extraordinary angles and colored as if they were made from stone, but soft and caring as only a teenage girl's eyes can be. Her attire made her all the more attractive to sly Jarlaxle's dark eyes. She often wore a cape, but she had discarded it for the match in favor of showing off her body, slender as any elf and just as quick, strong and muscled like a man's, and remarkably flexible as only those of the female sex can be.
Lazuli came at Entreri hard and fast, her two sabers working in harmony with each other and putting the older assassin back on his heels for an moment. A short moment, for Entreri had pushed her back with a mighty swing of Charon's Claw and a low stab with his dagger. Lazuli had expected the move, however, and matched it with a block from both sabers as she slide to the left of Entreri and twirled behind him, nicking the back of his right leg as she went.
" First blood to Lazuli," Jarlaxle applauded from his seat, noting the streak of scarlet of Lazuli's blade.
Entreri instinctively jumped away from Lazuli, making sure to land on his left leg, and swiped behind him, hoping to at least force her back. He was unlucky and Lazuli made use of his minor injury. She came again and made to attack his left. When Entreri moved to guard his vulnerable left flank, Lazuli reversed her strike, hitting his unguarded right hip hard with the flat of her saber. She darted back next, using her momentum to execute a backward somersault and effectively dodge a downward strike from Charon's Claw.
" Anticipation," Jarlaxle remarked, " effective and cunning." Lazuli was on her feet again in an instant, an instant Entreri used to close the distance between them. They fought their next few attacks in close combat, often locking blades and having to rely on brute force to escape, a force where the two were equally matched. Jarlaxle's eyes widened in surprise when Lazuli feinted a direct attack at Entreri's ribs, but instead dove into a roll that knocked the older assassin off balance and put his crafty student in line for a killing blow.
" I yield," Entreri surrendered when the flat of one saber pressed hard into the small of his back and the tip of the second tickled the muscles between his shoulder blades. Lazuli withdrew her sabers and waited. Entreri turned and faced her, a pleased smile on his sharp features. " You have learned much," he praised, calmly placing a hand on her shoulder, " I am proud of you."
" When your lovely daughter defeats both her teachers so effectively then I would praise her, Artemis," Jarlaxle baited, emphasizing the words 'both' and 'then.' It was true that Lazuli had yet to beat her second teacher. The dark elf tipped the brim of his hat farther up with the point of his throwing dagger. His dark, blue eyes seemed without pupils in the light his race so despised.
" Hold your tongue, Jarlaxle," the old assassin admonished coldly, " or I shall cut it from your mouth." Jarlaxle offered a cocky smirk and leaned back even farther in his swiveled chair, loving the position for the way it stretched his slender and powerfully muscled body, all too accustomed to threats from Artemis Entreri and completely unfazed.
Lazuli placed her sabers in the sheaths at her shapely hips and waited for the fight to break out between the drow and the assassin. The fight did not come and after several seconds of quiet Entreri shook his head and took his leave. Jarlaxle grinned triumphantly at the departing assassin and leaned back in his chair at an impossible angle.
Jarlaxle had always been a mystery to Lazuli. He liked his head bald, and wore outrageous clothes unheard of among drow or humans, particularly his great plumed hat out of which he could pull just about anything he wanted. Furthermore, Lazuli knew he was well past five hundred years old, but he didn't look a day over twenty.
It occurred to Lazuli as she followed Entreri out of the room that even if her father someday did take out Jarlaxle's tongue, the dark elf would only find new ways to agitate him. And nothing seemed to please the exotic drow more than pushing Artemis Entreri's buttons.
*~*~*~*~*
" GO!"
Sordath's long legs launched him swiftly and gracefully over the snow at the sound of his older brother's voice. Beside him, Binx sprinted forward over the snow in fast pursuit.
Sordath was younger than his sister, but with that came a smaller size and considerably less weight to carry. But Binx was very slender, as elves go, and her legs were longer, though not quite as muscled as her brother's.
" You won't beat me, little brother," Binx yelled over her right shoulder as she passed Sordath. On her left, though, her other brother came up and easily passed her.
Monty was the smallest and fastest of the three, he was also the middle child, born three years after Binx and six years before Sordath. He was very quiet, shy, and exceptionally fast.
Sordath used Binx's surprise at Monty's joining their race to his advantage, passing his sister and almost catching his brother. He knew he didn't need to pass Monty to win, the race was between him and Binx. And a good thing too, when Monty ran he was little more than streak of black to the still standing eye.
The siblings had agreed beforehand that they would race fairly. This was a contest of speed. Thus Sordath was more than a little angry when he felt a set of arms grab his ankles and yank his feet out from under him. He went down hard on his front, accidentally biting his tongue painfully as he landed. The breath was knocked out of his lungs from the impact and he had to wait for several seconds before he could breathe again.
Binx took those seconds and the victory of the race as she jetting across the snow and gripped her long, black fingers around the lowest limb of the tree that served as their finish line. Sordath came up panting hard from improper breathing and scowling at Binx with his golden yellow eyes.
" You cheated," he accused angrily. Binx brandished her arm for her brother, showing prominently her ebony-black skin.
" I AM a dark elf," she reminded.
" Our heritage is not an excuse to cheat," Sordath battled heatedly, " what would Father say?"
" Father is not here," Binx countered.
" What if I tell him," Sordath shot, anger clear in his yellow eyes. Binx had to be careful. Sordath was far from being a tattle-tale but there was no doubt that he would tell their father if he felt like it. The youngest sibling thrived in the family because he was unpredictable. Had they lived in a drow city, it would have been in Binx's power to silence her brother, but she couldn't up here. And likely she would not have had the gall to do it in the Underdark.
" I'm sorry," Binx apologized, sincerely, to her brother. Sordath seemed to calm down at Binx's apology. The youngest drow strode up to his sister and stared into her bright orange eyes. Impossibly fast, his fist shot out and collided with Binx's jaw. She stumbled back, holding her mouth and spitting blood from her torn lip.
" Now we are even," Sordath declared impassively, turning and stomping away.
" That wasn't very sportsman-like," Monty remarked from his perch on the branch just above Sordath's head.
" Neither was her stunt," Sordath remarked bitterly, leaning against the tree, sucking in a deep breath to calm himself, and glaring at Binx, who was already starting back for the mines, holding her mouth in one hand.
" Two wrongs hardly make a right," Monty added, using a long, bone-handled knife to pick dirt out from under his fingernails.
" What's done is done," Sordath countered, walking away from the tree in the opposite direction as Binx.
" She did apologize," Monty reminded, he didn't speak very loudly but Sordath heard him perfectly and grumbled all the louder for it. " Just because we are drow doesn't mean we have to be like them," Monty remarked to himself as he slid his knife away and climbed higher into the tree.
He loved this tree. It was old and gnarled and close to dead, its worn bark black as Monty's skin. Yet, its twisted limbs reached into the sky defiantly, as if the tree were reaching for the heavens themselves in the final years of it's life. Monty settled at the topmost part of the tree's trunk, the branches around him creating a makeshift chair for the young drow.
Montolio turned his pale, purple eyes to the east to better see the sun as it rose up over the tundra as he had done countless times in his past and would do again countless times in his future.
*~*~*~*~*
The blue-glowing scimitar bit deeply into his flesh, reaching for his heart. Waves of agony spread from the new wound, bringing the weapon master to his knees, his long, black fingers gripping the wicked blade. He tried to cry out, even managed to open his mouth to do so, but his voice and breath were frozen in his paralyzed lungs and constricting throat.
Dantrag let out a howl of pain and fury and pitched forward in his sleep only to be caught and forced back down on his back by waiting hands.
" He lives," a familiar voice remarked. Dantrag forced himself to take several deep breaths. He tried to calm himself. He didn't want to see Triel now, not when he was so sure he was dying.
" So it would seem," another familiar voice added. Dantrag groaned at the recognition of Gromph's voice.
" I was beginning to wonder if you would ever awaken, dear Dantrag," Triel purred, " you screamed often in your long sleep." Finally, Dantrag opened his eyes and faced his two siblings. " What did you dream that made you cry so, brother?" Triel was amused, Dantrag could hear it in her voice and see it in her face, she was mocking him.
Dantrag tried to sit up again, but a sharp sting in his ribs put him down on his back almost instantly. His hand went to his chest, which was tightly bandaged.
" Nearly thirty years and still that wound has not healed," Gromph remarked.
" Thirty years!" Dantrag hurled himself up, and promptly doubled over in pain.
" Lie down, Dantrag," Gromph ordered. The wizard placed his hands on his brother's shoulders and gently forced the drow back down. Dantrag obeyed only because he was in a state of utter confusion and stinging pain.
" Thirty years you have slept, Dantrag," Triel confirmed, " for thirty years your screams have been the lullabies of House Baenre." Dantrag's head swam. Thirty years was not so long a time in the lifespan of a drow but to have slept for that long...
" Where is Matron Baenre? I must speak with her," the confused male asked. Surely his mother could sort this out for him. Triel laughed at him.
" Matron Baenre is dead, foolish male," the female taunted.
" Dead," Dantrag pressed. If his mother was indeed dead, then his future seemed bleak.
" Slain by the rouge Do'Urden and his allies," Gromph explained, a little more sympathetic to his brother's position. Dantrag sat up slowly and slumped forward, almost wishing that he had not awoken from his continuing nightmares. Triel now controlled the house, no doubt, and he would have no place in his sister's family. If the drow could be classified as having families.
" Fear not, Dantrag Baenre," Triel's use of his noble name gave Dantrag some small measure of hope, " you have a place in House Baenre still, for the time being." Triel clapped her hands and two young, drow males entered the room. One had cold emerald eyes that studied Dantrag with reverence and contempt. He stood straight with his arms crossed over his chest and his feet slightly apart. His lengthy, stark white hair was pulled into a tight ponytail at his nape. He stood like a warrior.
The other leaned with his back against the wall, one foot and his shoulder blades bracing his weight against the structure. He also had his arms crossed and his gaze on Dantrag. This one held curiosity in his bright, yellow eyes, though.
" Dantrag Baenre," Triel addressed, " meet Antioch," the emerald-eyed drow inclined his head curtly, " and Zandrath," the yellow-eyed one grinned crookedly, " your new charges once you can walk again."
*~*~*~*~*
Bruenor's diminutive legs were hard pressed to keep up with the long, graceful strides of his companion, who seemed more to float than actually walk. The dwarf stubbornly moved his short legs faster while his thoughts tried to design a proper method of retaliation, both for the beast that had invaded his tunnels and for the elf who seemed to constantly forget that her legs were at least twice the length of his.
" Can't ye slow down a bit, elf," Brunor complained when his mind failed at both tasks.
The elf pulled rein on her fast gait and stood stark still in her signature pose. One leg stretched out behind her, the other straight and still, her torso twisted around so she could better see her companion, one arm encircling her ample belly, the other resting its elbow on the other arm while her long, black fingers splayed across her sharp, angular facial features. She rolled the gaze of her large, golden eyes over to Bruenor. " Slow enough for you Master Dwarf," she asked mockingly in her soft, ringing voice.
" Bah," Bruenor snorted, " now I know why elves and dwarves don't mingle so well, ye elves are too stinkin' fast."
" You mingle with Drizzt just fine," The she-elf countered, bringing up the drow ranger who was a dear friend to them both.
" He walks at my pace," Bruenor grumbled. His remark made the elf smile all the wider as she resumed her stride, though she did take some care to shorten her step.
The pair reached the entrance to the dwarven complex in fairly good time. Drizzt was there, as was Catti-brie, Bruenor's adopted daughter, Regis the halfling, grumbling about a missed meal, and a score of dwarves all arguing on what to do about the monster in the tunnels.
Drizzt, however, was not participating in the meeting. He was speaking to the drow girl who was having difficulty explaining herself while holding her jaw. Drizzt didn't seem too concerned that Binx was hurt, she had hurt herself often when she was very young, the ranger was more curious as to how Binx had come by the injury.
" Sordath punched me," Binx finally confessed. Drizzt raised an eyebrow.
" What did you do to provoke him into punching you," he asked dryly, knowing well that Sordath would not have hit Binx if there wasn't a reason. Binx hung her head in shame.
" I tripped him in our race," she admitted. Drizzt sighed and shook his head. Bruenor took that movement to mean that the drow was done scolding his ward.
" Got some trouble below, elf," the dwarf informed.
" And some more up here too," Drizzt sighed.
" I'm sorry, Father," Binx apologized, lifting her head slightly.
" When your brother gets back you apologized to him too," Drizzt charged, looking Binx in the eye sternly. Binx nodded and scampered off.
" Kids fighting again," Bruenor asked, sympathetic of Drizzt's predicament, having raised children himself.
" I should have stopped at one," Drizzt sighed defeatedly. Both of them knew that wasn't true. Drizzt loved his children, enough that he could raise a slew of the little buggers and still have enough time and love for another one. Drizzt would not have been content with just one.
" You can stop at any number," Bruenor reminded.
" I can only hope I'm doing this father thing right," Drizzt countered, knowing that as soon as his current three children left home, he would miss them terribly and likely get another group in compensation for the ones that had moved on.
" You've got help you know," Bruenor added, banging his chest proudly, " and I got experience with girls."
" Elves raised by dwarves," Drizzt grinned, " that will be an outrage to the elven communities."
" Ah they don't care what you dark elves are doing with your whelps," Bruenor passed.
" I suppose not," Drizzt admitted, " still, dwarvish speaking elves would be amusing to see."
" I see one every day that you're in," Bruenor nudged the drow in the ribs. Drizzt smiled at the dwarf's remark and clapped the surly creature on the shoulder.
" So what's this meeting all about," the drow tried to change the subject but Bruenor wasn't done having his fun.
" Nessa's lookin' plump, ya know," the dwarf remarked slyly.
" Is she now," Drizzt retorted, feigning surprise, " I though we were done with this batch."
" Apparently, this one's starting another," Bruenor suggested, " I gotta say, elf, you had me worried."
" How so," Drizzt asked, deciding to play along for a while.
" Nineteen years of a skinny Nessa was starting to make me think that you'd lost your touch," the dwarf mused. Drizzt sighed again, he seemed to be doing a lot of that lately.
" I heard that, Bruenor Battlehammer," the elf who had accompanied the dwarf to the complex remarked, " are you saying that I'm fat?"
" Oh, now you've done it," Drizzt teased, afterwards dodging a mock blow from Bruenor and spinning toward his wife.
" And you played along, you little scoundrel," Nessa scolded Drizzt, who merely grinned crookedly and shrugged. Nessa smiled and shook her head, tossing her long white hair as she did so, " you males are terrible."
" How much did you hear," Drizzt asked, knowing that Nessa had probably overheard most, if not all, of his conversation with the dwarf.
" Enough," the sly female remarked with a devastating grin. She caught Drizzt's chin with her slender hand and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before striding over to join the dwarves. Drizzt calmed considerably, and motioned for Bruenor to join him and the others at the meeting.
To be continued...
Who fashioned for me two swords and taught me how to use them in the style of the dark elves I would grow to love under his tutlage, who would, on a whim, debate with me endlessly on whether elves or dwarves were better though we both knew that niether could be swayed, the first of my friends to ever call me an elf...
A dwarf-at-heart who named a crazy, would-be drow elf as one of his dearest friends...
That would-be drow you taught so well salutes you with a blessing you said to me many times as you left my house to walk back to your own: "May the winds ever blow at your back, your blades be ever sharp, and your friends ever true!"
If dwarves were real, you would be one my friend (after you grew a beard of course)...
Thank you for introducing me to the Forgotton Realms and giving me the inspiration I needed when I didn't believe in myself anymore as a person...
I miss you and hope you are happy...
Disclaimer : I'm starting to run short of ideas for humorous disclaimers (I try to make them funny to make up for how boring they are). But since I'm short of ideas for the time being I'll just state plainly that I do not own any of the characters, places, ect. that were originally conceived by RAS. However the following characters are my own creations and I ask that they not be stolen (I am more than willing to share them as long as my consent is sought first), Nessa Seralon; Dagasta Seralon; Reigaldus Seralon; Lazuli Entreri; Antioch Baenre; Zandrath Baenre; Sordath Do'Urden; Binx Do'Urden; Montolio Do'Urden; Seivriel Versail; Abominashi the Black; Mizumiyukiel the Speckled; Andrazilian the White; Deizandranzelynagolem the Scarlet.
They are mine, please don't steal them.
And for future reading - When I say 'Entreri' I am referring to Artemis Entreri not Lazuli.
And with that out of the way, the story can begin.
Mirror Me Dark
By Semdai Bloodquill
Chapter One : Pace and Progeny
" Attack me again, Lazuli, but faster this time," the old assassin instructed to his young pupil, he relaxed his grip on his weapons, but never shifted the gaze of his dark gray eyes off of his student. Lazuli matched her teacher's gaze and swung her twin sabers in circles at her sides before she moved in. She was adept at the style of fighting with two weapons of equal length, a credit to her second teacher. The old assassin was equally adept at his own style of dirk and saber.
The older assassin glided in with a speed that belied the spread of his dark, gray eye color into his once jet-black hair. His step was light, as if his feet simply didn't touch the ground, and as silent as the treacherous shadows that made his home, and just as deadly. His knee-high, leather boots made not a whisper on the hard floor and the great speed he had known in his youth was by no amount diminished by his age. Lazuli's only salvation was her experience with the wise, old assassin, having learned early in her decade of training with him and Jarlaxle that speed was as much Artemis Entreri's weapon as was his saber, Charon's Claw, and his spirit-stealing dagger that boasted no name save for the countless souls it had drained over the years it had been wielded by Calimport's most feared assassin.
Jarlaxle stretched his long legs out before him as he observed the sparring match between the two assassins. He kept his bald head, adorned by a great, plumed hat, tilted back and his drow eyes, pained somewhat by the room's light, on the two assassins. Entreri amazed him, always had, but Lazuli captivated him as Entreri never could. She was sleek, like a cat, lengthy of limb, and hair as black as Jarlaxle's ebony skin, which she kept in a tight, braided tail that fell down the length of her back. Her large eyes were slanted at extraordinary angles and colored as if they were made from stone, but soft and caring as only a teenage girl's eyes can be. Her attire made her all the more attractive to sly Jarlaxle's dark eyes. She often wore a cape, but she had discarded it for the match in favor of showing off her body, slender as any elf and just as quick, strong and muscled like a man's, and remarkably flexible as only those of the female sex can be.
Lazuli came at Entreri hard and fast, her two sabers working in harmony with each other and putting the older assassin back on his heels for an moment. A short moment, for Entreri had pushed her back with a mighty swing of Charon's Claw and a low stab with his dagger. Lazuli had expected the move, however, and matched it with a block from both sabers as she slide to the left of Entreri and twirled behind him, nicking the back of his right leg as she went.
" First blood to Lazuli," Jarlaxle applauded from his seat, noting the streak of scarlet of Lazuli's blade.
Entreri instinctively jumped away from Lazuli, making sure to land on his left leg, and swiped behind him, hoping to at least force her back. He was unlucky and Lazuli made use of his minor injury. She came again and made to attack his left. When Entreri moved to guard his vulnerable left flank, Lazuli reversed her strike, hitting his unguarded right hip hard with the flat of her saber. She darted back next, using her momentum to execute a backward somersault and effectively dodge a downward strike from Charon's Claw.
" Anticipation," Jarlaxle remarked, " effective and cunning." Lazuli was on her feet again in an instant, an instant Entreri used to close the distance between them. They fought their next few attacks in close combat, often locking blades and having to rely on brute force to escape, a force where the two were equally matched. Jarlaxle's eyes widened in surprise when Lazuli feinted a direct attack at Entreri's ribs, but instead dove into a roll that knocked the older assassin off balance and put his crafty student in line for a killing blow.
" I yield," Entreri surrendered when the flat of one saber pressed hard into the small of his back and the tip of the second tickled the muscles between his shoulder blades. Lazuli withdrew her sabers and waited. Entreri turned and faced her, a pleased smile on his sharp features. " You have learned much," he praised, calmly placing a hand on her shoulder, " I am proud of you."
" When your lovely daughter defeats both her teachers so effectively then I would praise her, Artemis," Jarlaxle baited, emphasizing the words 'both' and 'then.' It was true that Lazuli had yet to beat her second teacher. The dark elf tipped the brim of his hat farther up with the point of his throwing dagger. His dark, blue eyes seemed without pupils in the light his race so despised.
" Hold your tongue, Jarlaxle," the old assassin admonished coldly, " or I shall cut it from your mouth." Jarlaxle offered a cocky smirk and leaned back even farther in his swiveled chair, loving the position for the way it stretched his slender and powerfully muscled body, all too accustomed to threats from Artemis Entreri and completely unfazed.
Lazuli placed her sabers in the sheaths at her shapely hips and waited for the fight to break out between the drow and the assassin. The fight did not come and after several seconds of quiet Entreri shook his head and took his leave. Jarlaxle grinned triumphantly at the departing assassin and leaned back in his chair at an impossible angle.
Jarlaxle had always been a mystery to Lazuli. He liked his head bald, and wore outrageous clothes unheard of among drow or humans, particularly his great plumed hat out of which he could pull just about anything he wanted. Furthermore, Lazuli knew he was well past five hundred years old, but he didn't look a day over twenty.
It occurred to Lazuli as she followed Entreri out of the room that even if her father someday did take out Jarlaxle's tongue, the dark elf would only find new ways to agitate him. And nothing seemed to please the exotic drow more than pushing Artemis Entreri's buttons.
*~*~*~*~*
" GO!"
Sordath's long legs launched him swiftly and gracefully over the snow at the sound of his older brother's voice. Beside him, Binx sprinted forward over the snow in fast pursuit.
Sordath was younger than his sister, but with that came a smaller size and considerably less weight to carry. But Binx was very slender, as elves go, and her legs were longer, though not quite as muscled as her brother's.
" You won't beat me, little brother," Binx yelled over her right shoulder as she passed Sordath. On her left, though, her other brother came up and easily passed her.
Monty was the smallest and fastest of the three, he was also the middle child, born three years after Binx and six years before Sordath. He was very quiet, shy, and exceptionally fast.
Sordath used Binx's surprise at Monty's joining their race to his advantage, passing his sister and almost catching his brother. He knew he didn't need to pass Monty to win, the race was between him and Binx. And a good thing too, when Monty ran he was little more than streak of black to the still standing eye.
The siblings had agreed beforehand that they would race fairly. This was a contest of speed. Thus Sordath was more than a little angry when he felt a set of arms grab his ankles and yank his feet out from under him. He went down hard on his front, accidentally biting his tongue painfully as he landed. The breath was knocked out of his lungs from the impact and he had to wait for several seconds before he could breathe again.
Binx took those seconds and the victory of the race as she jetting across the snow and gripped her long, black fingers around the lowest limb of the tree that served as their finish line. Sordath came up panting hard from improper breathing and scowling at Binx with his golden yellow eyes.
" You cheated," he accused angrily. Binx brandished her arm for her brother, showing prominently her ebony-black skin.
" I AM a dark elf," she reminded.
" Our heritage is not an excuse to cheat," Sordath battled heatedly, " what would Father say?"
" Father is not here," Binx countered.
" What if I tell him," Sordath shot, anger clear in his yellow eyes. Binx had to be careful. Sordath was far from being a tattle-tale but there was no doubt that he would tell their father if he felt like it. The youngest sibling thrived in the family because he was unpredictable. Had they lived in a drow city, it would have been in Binx's power to silence her brother, but she couldn't up here. And likely she would not have had the gall to do it in the Underdark.
" I'm sorry," Binx apologized, sincerely, to her brother. Sordath seemed to calm down at Binx's apology. The youngest drow strode up to his sister and stared into her bright orange eyes. Impossibly fast, his fist shot out and collided with Binx's jaw. She stumbled back, holding her mouth and spitting blood from her torn lip.
" Now we are even," Sordath declared impassively, turning and stomping away.
" That wasn't very sportsman-like," Monty remarked from his perch on the branch just above Sordath's head.
" Neither was her stunt," Sordath remarked bitterly, leaning against the tree, sucking in a deep breath to calm himself, and glaring at Binx, who was already starting back for the mines, holding her mouth in one hand.
" Two wrongs hardly make a right," Monty added, using a long, bone-handled knife to pick dirt out from under his fingernails.
" What's done is done," Sordath countered, walking away from the tree in the opposite direction as Binx.
" She did apologize," Monty reminded, he didn't speak very loudly but Sordath heard him perfectly and grumbled all the louder for it. " Just because we are drow doesn't mean we have to be like them," Monty remarked to himself as he slid his knife away and climbed higher into the tree.
He loved this tree. It was old and gnarled and close to dead, its worn bark black as Monty's skin. Yet, its twisted limbs reached into the sky defiantly, as if the tree were reaching for the heavens themselves in the final years of it's life. Monty settled at the topmost part of the tree's trunk, the branches around him creating a makeshift chair for the young drow.
Montolio turned his pale, purple eyes to the east to better see the sun as it rose up over the tundra as he had done countless times in his past and would do again countless times in his future.
*~*~*~*~*
The blue-glowing scimitar bit deeply into his flesh, reaching for his heart. Waves of agony spread from the new wound, bringing the weapon master to his knees, his long, black fingers gripping the wicked blade. He tried to cry out, even managed to open his mouth to do so, but his voice and breath were frozen in his paralyzed lungs and constricting throat.
Dantrag let out a howl of pain and fury and pitched forward in his sleep only to be caught and forced back down on his back by waiting hands.
" He lives," a familiar voice remarked. Dantrag forced himself to take several deep breaths. He tried to calm himself. He didn't want to see Triel now, not when he was so sure he was dying.
" So it would seem," another familiar voice added. Dantrag groaned at the recognition of Gromph's voice.
" I was beginning to wonder if you would ever awaken, dear Dantrag," Triel purred, " you screamed often in your long sleep." Finally, Dantrag opened his eyes and faced his two siblings. " What did you dream that made you cry so, brother?" Triel was amused, Dantrag could hear it in her voice and see it in her face, she was mocking him.
Dantrag tried to sit up again, but a sharp sting in his ribs put him down on his back almost instantly. His hand went to his chest, which was tightly bandaged.
" Nearly thirty years and still that wound has not healed," Gromph remarked.
" Thirty years!" Dantrag hurled himself up, and promptly doubled over in pain.
" Lie down, Dantrag," Gromph ordered. The wizard placed his hands on his brother's shoulders and gently forced the drow back down. Dantrag obeyed only because he was in a state of utter confusion and stinging pain.
" Thirty years you have slept, Dantrag," Triel confirmed, " for thirty years your screams have been the lullabies of House Baenre." Dantrag's head swam. Thirty years was not so long a time in the lifespan of a drow but to have slept for that long...
" Where is Matron Baenre? I must speak with her," the confused male asked. Surely his mother could sort this out for him. Triel laughed at him.
" Matron Baenre is dead, foolish male," the female taunted.
" Dead," Dantrag pressed. If his mother was indeed dead, then his future seemed bleak.
" Slain by the rouge Do'Urden and his allies," Gromph explained, a little more sympathetic to his brother's position. Dantrag sat up slowly and slumped forward, almost wishing that he had not awoken from his continuing nightmares. Triel now controlled the house, no doubt, and he would have no place in his sister's family. If the drow could be classified as having families.
" Fear not, Dantrag Baenre," Triel's use of his noble name gave Dantrag some small measure of hope, " you have a place in House Baenre still, for the time being." Triel clapped her hands and two young, drow males entered the room. One had cold emerald eyes that studied Dantrag with reverence and contempt. He stood straight with his arms crossed over his chest and his feet slightly apart. His lengthy, stark white hair was pulled into a tight ponytail at his nape. He stood like a warrior.
The other leaned with his back against the wall, one foot and his shoulder blades bracing his weight against the structure. He also had his arms crossed and his gaze on Dantrag. This one held curiosity in his bright, yellow eyes, though.
" Dantrag Baenre," Triel addressed, " meet Antioch," the emerald-eyed drow inclined his head curtly, " and Zandrath," the yellow-eyed one grinned crookedly, " your new charges once you can walk again."
*~*~*~*~*
Bruenor's diminutive legs were hard pressed to keep up with the long, graceful strides of his companion, who seemed more to float than actually walk. The dwarf stubbornly moved his short legs faster while his thoughts tried to design a proper method of retaliation, both for the beast that had invaded his tunnels and for the elf who seemed to constantly forget that her legs were at least twice the length of his.
" Can't ye slow down a bit, elf," Brunor complained when his mind failed at both tasks.
The elf pulled rein on her fast gait and stood stark still in her signature pose. One leg stretched out behind her, the other straight and still, her torso twisted around so she could better see her companion, one arm encircling her ample belly, the other resting its elbow on the other arm while her long, black fingers splayed across her sharp, angular facial features. She rolled the gaze of her large, golden eyes over to Bruenor. " Slow enough for you Master Dwarf," she asked mockingly in her soft, ringing voice.
" Bah," Bruenor snorted, " now I know why elves and dwarves don't mingle so well, ye elves are too stinkin' fast."
" You mingle with Drizzt just fine," The she-elf countered, bringing up the drow ranger who was a dear friend to them both.
" He walks at my pace," Bruenor grumbled. His remark made the elf smile all the wider as she resumed her stride, though she did take some care to shorten her step.
The pair reached the entrance to the dwarven complex in fairly good time. Drizzt was there, as was Catti-brie, Bruenor's adopted daughter, Regis the halfling, grumbling about a missed meal, and a score of dwarves all arguing on what to do about the monster in the tunnels.
Drizzt, however, was not participating in the meeting. He was speaking to the drow girl who was having difficulty explaining herself while holding her jaw. Drizzt didn't seem too concerned that Binx was hurt, she had hurt herself often when she was very young, the ranger was more curious as to how Binx had come by the injury.
" Sordath punched me," Binx finally confessed. Drizzt raised an eyebrow.
" What did you do to provoke him into punching you," he asked dryly, knowing well that Sordath would not have hit Binx if there wasn't a reason. Binx hung her head in shame.
" I tripped him in our race," she admitted. Drizzt sighed and shook his head. Bruenor took that movement to mean that the drow was done scolding his ward.
" Got some trouble below, elf," the dwarf informed.
" And some more up here too," Drizzt sighed.
" I'm sorry, Father," Binx apologized, lifting her head slightly.
" When your brother gets back you apologized to him too," Drizzt charged, looking Binx in the eye sternly. Binx nodded and scampered off.
" Kids fighting again," Bruenor asked, sympathetic of Drizzt's predicament, having raised children himself.
" I should have stopped at one," Drizzt sighed defeatedly. Both of them knew that wasn't true. Drizzt loved his children, enough that he could raise a slew of the little buggers and still have enough time and love for another one. Drizzt would not have been content with just one.
" You can stop at any number," Bruenor reminded.
" I can only hope I'm doing this father thing right," Drizzt countered, knowing that as soon as his current three children left home, he would miss them terribly and likely get another group in compensation for the ones that had moved on.
" You've got help you know," Bruenor added, banging his chest proudly, " and I got experience with girls."
" Elves raised by dwarves," Drizzt grinned, " that will be an outrage to the elven communities."
" Ah they don't care what you dark elves are doing with your whelps," Bruenor passed.
" I suppose not," Drizzt admitted, " still, dwarvish speaking elves would be amusing to see."
" I see one every day that you're in," Bruenor nudged the drow in the ribs. Drizzt smiled at the dwarf's remark and clapped the surly creature on the shoulder.
" So what's this meeting all about," the drow tried to change the subject but Bruenor wasn't done having his fun.
" Nessa's lookin' plump, ya know," the dwarf remarked slyly.
" Is she now," Drizzt retorted, feigning surprise, " I though we were done with this batch."
" Apparently, this one's starting another," Bruenor suggested, " I gotta say, elf, you had me worried."
" How so," Drizzt asked, deciding to play along for a while.
" Nineteen years of a skinny Nessa was starting to make me think that you'd lost your touch," the dwarf mused. Drizzt sighed again, he seemed to be doing a lot of that lately.
" I heard that, Bruenor Battlehammer," the elf who had accompanied the dwarf to the complex remarked, " are you saying that I'm fat?"
" Oh, now you've done it," Drizzt teased, afterwards dodging a mock blow from Bruenor and spinning toward his wife.
" And you played along, you little scoundrel," Nessa scolded Drizzt, who merely grinned crookedly and shrugged. Nessa smiled and shook her head, tossing her long white hair as she did so, " you males are terrible."
" How much did you hear," Drizzt asked, knowing that Nessa had probably overheard most, if not all, of his conversation with the dwarf.
" Enough," the sly female remarked with a devastating grin. She caught Drizzt's chin with her slender hand and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before striding over to join the dwarves. Drizzt calmed considerably, and motioned for Bruenor to join him and the others at the meeting.
To be continued...