Disclaimer : (checking e-mail) Let's see... Ooh! A reply from the Forgotten
Realms office! (opens the e-mail and reads it out loud) "Dear Miss Semdai,
we regret to inform you that your request to own Forgotten Realms has been
denied, again." (sighs) Oh well, at least I've still got all the pirates of
Seivriel's band, (counts on her fingers) The whole 'Aruine history' thing,
the Nauticals, the Night Eyes... (fades out)
Mirror Me Dark
By Semdai Bloodquill
Chapter Three : History
Robillard watched the sun go down, his heart sinking with the celestial body. He was tied to the Sea Sprite's central mast, had been since agreeing on Seivriel's 'lullaby.' The pirate leader herself had dismissed her last Nautical and retreated to her own ship. The other captains had parted Sea Sprite's crew into three groups and imprisoned them aboard their own vessels. Robillard had been tied up then and three pirate wizards, one from each of the ambushing ships, were set to watch him.
" Haven't had a Lullaby in some time, have we, Smedley," the wizard from Spookshow remarked, turning to the wizard next to him.
" Sure haven't, Kaelic," the one called Smedley agreed.
" Ain't run into someone with the guts for one," added Metellus, the wizard from Demon Pinion.
" What is this Lullaby," Robillard ventured, wanting to get a feeling for what he was going to face.
" I take back what I said about guts," Metellus snickered, " all we have to find is someone dumb enough." The other two pirate wizards had a good at Metellus's jest.
" Ain't ye heared the stories," Kaelic taunted, cocking his head at Robillard, who shook his head.
" You saw that violin o' hers, right," Smedley began. Robillard nodded.
" That violin's got a soul of its own," Metellus joined in, " it was made by the Aruine in the ancient days of the elves." Robillard had to think for a moment before he remembered the Aruine. The oldest and wisest of the elven races, the Aruine were powerful magicians and extraordinary summoners. The race was wiped out in the ancient times and most of their traces had been lost.
" The thing was made with the power to control water and fire as well as creatures of those elements," Kaelic resumed control of the tale, " we've seen it call monsters that would send those Nauticals running away with their tales firmly between their legs."
" Lullaby is the most powerful spell that violin can produce," Smedley interjected, moving his arms and hands mystically to emphasis his remark.
" A least the most powerful that we've ever seen it do," Metellus added slyly. The trio shared a snicker. Robillard was no longer listening, but lost in thought.
~*~*~*~*~*~
She was confident in her long stride, daring any of the Night Eyes, a band of vicious rogues that envied her position, to make a move for her. They would not, she knew. They would not invoke the wrath of Artemis Entreri by striking down his daughter. Though it was rumored that Entreri, now well along in years, was slipping in his craft, his daughter was quick to take up his name and his reputation. The Night Eyes would leave her alone, at least for now. Nor would she seek them out, yet, she had other, more pressing, business this night.
Lazuli moved silently down Paradise Avenue, which was deserted, having borrowed Jarlaxle's enchanted boots (without permission but with every intention of returning them later) for the occasion. Her cape flared out behind her as she glided noiselessly into a shadowy alley where she would find the messenger.
A scant sound in the deepest portion of the shadows caught Lazuli's hearing, which was greatly enhanced by the magical earring hanging from her left ear.
" You are alone," a soft, melodic voice whispered in the tongue of the dark elves, a language well known to Lazuli.
" Alone as a Lolth forsaken spider," the young assassin added in the drow tongue, carefully deepening her voice to make it sound less feminine, though she didn't expect to fool the messenger.
" You are late," the informant stated, switching to the Common Tongue, which he wasn't very fluent in but Lazuli understood him well enough.
" I had to appropriate the proper attire," Lazuli offered, which wasn't a full lie considering how long it had taken to 'borrow' Jarlaxle's boots.
" And learn the proper passwords," the stranger snorted, " I was told to expect Entreri and you are not him."
" Is not one Entreri as good as the next," Lazuli had wanted to wait for the drow messenger to come out of the shadows before she would reveal herself fully, but she could tell that he probably would not come out even if she striped for him, " Lazuli Entreri has come out this night to meet you, Kimmuriel Oblodra of Bregan D'aerthe." Lazuli bowed low.
" Another Entreri," Kimmuriel, intrigued by Lazuli's performance, moved from the shadows and into the girl's sight. Lazuli had seen many drow in her life and Kimmuriel wasn't much different. He was taller than her by a few inches with ruby red eyes, almost gaunt features, and stark white hair. " Any relation to Artemis Entreri," he asked, circling her like a great, black vulture, " Sister? Cousin?"
" Daughter," Lazuli corrected, " if you must know."
" Daughter?" Kimmuriel repeated skeptically, " yes, I see the resemblance. His eyes. His hair color. Jarlaxle spoke of a young girl he had grown rather fond of when I saw him last."
" Did he," Lazuli asked coldly, not appreciating the way Kimmuriel seemed to be measuring her.
" He did," Kimmuriel confirmed, stopping in front of her, " said he'd found a girl of mixed blood that could have conquered Menzoberranzan had she been born a drow." Lazuli was a little perturbed at the remark but did well in hiding it, and in pushing Kimmuriel's mind probe out of her head and sending the psionicist reeling.
" Jarlaxle wants to know why you insisted on a meeting," Lazuli stated when Kimmuriel regained his dignity.
" A strange disease is killing the drow of Menzoberranzan at alarming rates," Kimmuriel said coldly, not happy about having one of his one spells manipulated and turned back on him, " the priestesses call it Aruine Abitus." Lazuli knew those words, in the old elvish tongue they meant 'spirit death.'
" Is there a cure," she asked.
" None that we can find," Kimmuriel replied. Lazuli did well to hide her dismay, though her hopes were effectively shattered by the psionicist's news. " Why did Jarlaxle send a colnbluth to meet me?" Kimmuriel would have liked to call Lazuli much more than simply a non-drow, but her display with the probe made him reconsider.
" Jarlaxle was too sick to leave his abode this night," Lazuli stated flatly.
" Is it serious," Kimmuriel demanded, slightly worried for Jarlaxle's health.
" He says it is a bad cold and nothing more," Lazuli assured although she and Kimmuriel both knew that it was more than that.
" Abban del a drow?" Kimmuriel's question, which translated to 'are you an ally of the drow?' in the Common Tongue, confused Lazuli at first, but she caught on quickly.
" Abbil del Jarlaxle," she corrected, stating that she was merely a friend of Jarlaxle.
" Sargtlin," Kimmuriel inquired, indicating the sabers that hung at Lazuli's sides.
" Teigo Sargtlin," Lazuli corrected, naming herself as an assassin or shadow warrior, rather than simply a warrior.
" Bol Teigo Sargtlin," Kimmuriel remarked, calling Lazuli a 'mysterious assassin.' Lazuli bowed at the subtle compliment. " Our business is concluded," the psionicist stated as he melted back into the shadows, " I will offer you some free advice, daughter of Artemis Entreri, Quenshin ful biazz coppon quangolth cree, a drow." Then he was gone.
Lazuli had much to think about on her way home. Kimmuriel respected her, she could tell that much, and that was a good thing considering that he commanded Bregan D'aerthe in Jarlaxle's absence. But he was also warning her to beware. His last statement, an old saying among the drow that meant, 'doomed are those who believe they understand the designs of the drow,' was meant to remind her that, though she was skilled, she could never equal a drow.
Lazuli suddenly felt very small and helpless, dark elves had a way of making her feel so. She wanted to go home and report to her father. Maybe Jarlaxle would be better when she got there? She wanted to see him again. After all, she might only have a short amount of time left with him if the words of Kimmuriel Oblodra were to be believed.
Lazuli ran the rest of the way home and the Night Eyes watched her every move.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Dinin's warrior instincts alerted him immediately to the presence of the intruder. He was awake and ready, though unarmed and naked from the waist up. The intruder was a young drow female about the same size as Dinin with large, yellow-orange eyes and wavy, white hair hanging halfway down her back.
" Who are you," Dinin demanded, using Deep Drow, the only language he knew.
" I was sent to check on you," the drow female replied in the same tongue, holding up her hands and crossing them over her chest, an Underdark sign for peace. Dinin calmed somewhat.
" Who sent you," he asked, managing to sit up. The female found it hard to take her eyes off him. He was thin and his bones protruded in places, but he was well built as well, his graceful body showing smooth, rippling muscles.
" Drizzt sent me," she stated, quickly averting her eyes.
" Take me to him," Dinin insisted, standing shakily.
" You might want to put on a shirt first," the female giggled. Dinin remembered that he was half naked and hastily pulled on the loose tunic Drizzt had left for him. " Follow me," the drow girl directed and she strode from the room. Dinin followed silently.
Several dwarves greeted the drow girl as they passed the pair. One trio of dwarves even followed them closely for a time, talking intently with the female in a language Dinin didn't understand. They reached what appeared to be a throne room of some kind. A squat, red-bearded dwarf sat back in a lavish chair at the end of the long room. At his right were several dwarves all running to and fro as he barked orders to them. On the left stood Drizzt, a red-haired woman, and a very tall, blond man, all of them engaged in a conversation with the dwarf.
" Well look elf," the dwarf on the throne remarked when he saw Dinin, " our guest is awake and about already." The room fell quiet as its occupants all stopped to regard Dinin, whose eyes kept darting around the room nervously.
" Did you sleep well, Dinin," Drizzt asked in the drow tongue, stepping out to meet his brother.
" Well enough," Dinin replied, " do you know all these dwarves?"
" All of them are friends," Drizzt assured, clasping Dinin's shoulder, " they won't threaten you." Dinin relaxed a little. " They might pester you to madness for stories though," Drizzt warned with a grin on his face. Dinin managed a soft chuckle at Drizzt's joke.
" You seem happy here," he remarked.
" I am," Drizzt confirmed, " I have friends who accept me despite my race, and a growing family," he paused to smile at the drow girl, " of which I see you have met one." Dinin also looked at the young drow. " This is my daughter, Binx," Drizzt introduced. Binx grinned and bowed to Dinin, who was more than a little surprised to learn that he was an uncle.
" I hate it when you talk and I can't understand what yer saying," the red- bearded dwarf growled from Drizzt's left. The dwarf having rose from his seat and joined the conversing drow. " Ye teach yer kids these exotic languages so ye can talk about me, I think," the dwarf accused.
" Where are my manners," Drizzt exclaimed in Common, " Bruenor, I think I introduced you to Dinin in the tunnels?"
" Yeah ye did," Bruenor snorted waving his hand.
" Dinin," Drizzt reverted back to Deep Drow, " this is King Bruenor Battlehammer." He indicated the red-bearded dwarf and motioned for the other two he had been speaking with to join them. He put a hand on the blond man's shoulder. " This is Wulfgar," the ranger introduced.
Wulfgar studied the drow before him. He seemed small to the barbarian, but Wulfgar remembered that this was Drizzt's brother and likely had many of his abilities. The barbarian smiled at Dinin and inclined his head.
" And this is Catti-brie," Drizzt notified, taking the woman's hand. Catti- brie looked Dinin up and down, comparing him to Drizzt. In the end she too inclined her head to the cagey drow.
" You weren't going to forget me, were you," a new voice questioned playfully in the drow language. Drizzt grinned as Nessa strode in with Sordath and Monty not far behind.
" Of course not," Drizzt assured feigning shock, " Dinin, this is my wife, Nessa, and my two sons, Sordath and Montolio." Each drow bowed at the mention of their name.
" I see you've been doing all right for yourself, little brother," Dinin remarked slyly, giving Drizzt a playful nudge in the ribs.
" What'd he say," Bruenor demanded when Drizzt laughed at Dinin's comment.
" He says, 'I see you've been doing all right for yourself,'" Drizzt translated.
" I'm thinking I like this elf already," Bruenor chuckled. Drizzt couldn't help but laugh.
" What," Dinin demanded, thinking that they were making fun of him.
" Bruenor says he likes you already," Drizzt relayed. Dinin relaxed, thinking that he might just be able to fit in here with his brother.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Jarlaxle eased himself into the chair opposite Entreri. The dark elf's eyelids drooped with fatigue.
" What's wrong," Entreri demanded, locking his gray eyes on Jarlaxle.
" A simple cold and nothing more," the drow insisted, waving his hand, which seemed thinner than normal to the ever watchful assassin.
" A simple cold has brought Kimmuriel Oblodra to the surface to inquire about your health," Entreri asked skeptically. Jarlaxle shrugged like he knew nothing, which was a lie. " He is meeting now with my daughter," the assassin continued.
" One Entreri is as good as another no matter the sex," Jarlaxle mused. Artemis Entreri was not even smiling.
" This cold is not a normal sickness," the assassin stated dryly, " and Lazuli is off limits to you."
" You can't keep her in the dark forever, Artemis," Jarlaxle reminded, suddenly becoming serious, " sooner or later you will have to tell her what she is."
" And what do you think she will do when I tell her the truth that I've been keeping from her all these years," Entreri snapped, " what will she make of her herself when she learns of her hidden abilities?"
" She is wise beyond her seventeen years," Jarlaxle remarked.
" Wise she may be, but in many ways Lazuli is still a child and not ready to face the heritage of her mother," Entreri countered.
" Her mother would have argued differently," Jarlaxle put in.
" Her mother grew up knowing what she was," Artemis argued.
" And why can't Lazuli do the same?" Jarlaxle's question made Entreri stop and think.
" Lazuli only has you and me to look to," the assassin said slowly, " and I'm getting old. I might live another eight or ten years but that will be it for me."
" Soon she might not have either of us," Jarlaxle said solemnly. Entreri snapped his gaze back to the dark elf.
" What are you saying," he demanded. Jarlaxle held out his hand and stared at it for a moment.
" I'm sick, as you know," he turned his hand over to stare at his palm, " I feel it in my heart. Every day it gets harder to breathe, harder to move, harder to ignore the growing ache in my entrails," he clenched his hand into a weak fist and leaned his head against it, " you say you might have another ten years left, I might have another ten weeks." Entreri was truly stunned. Was Jarlaxle admitting what he thought he was?
" What is wrong," Entreri repeated gently, reaching across the table and laying a hand on Jarlaxle's arm.
" Do you want the whole story or just what's wrong with me," the drow asked, not lifting his head.
" The whole story," Entreri replied.
" Get comfortable," Jarlaxle warned, " it's a long tale."
" Tell it," the assassin urged.
Jarlaxle lifted his head slowly, his ruby eyes seeming to stare off into oblivion. He was silent for several seconds before he began, " In the ancient days when the drow walked and danced on the surface, there existed five races of elves: the dark elves, the moon elves, the gold elves, the dragon elves, and the Aruine elves." The drow paused to consider his next words. " The five races lived in relative peace, enjoying the gift of long- life bestowed upon then by the magic of the Dalabrian."
" Dalabrian," Entreri asked in confusion.
" Instruments," Jarlaxle specified, " the Aruine were the wisest and most powerful of all the five races of elves. It was these elves that made the Dalabrian Instruments, a different one for each of the other four elven races. When played together, these four instruments brought power, protection, and longevity to the elves. But the instruments could only be properly played by their chosen wielders and their mystic song had to be played at least once every five thousand years for the magic to stay alive. Naturally that wasn't a problem in the ancient days when the races all lived together, but when the Plague of Urgutha Forka decimated the light elves and the drow were driven into the Underdark, well, you can imagine." Jarlaxle paused to let what he had said sink in.
" Nobody was too apt to play music together," Entreri remarked.
" Precisely," Jarlaxle confirmed, " with the drow underground and most of the Aruine killed by Urgutha's plague, the moon and gold elves fled to the forests where they managed to escape the plague and keep their races alive. The dragon elves, or the drandil as they were called, were unaffected by the plague so their numbers remained strong, but they were saddened by the death of the Aruine and the banishing of the drow, who were their closest friends."
" So the drow do have one race that doesn't hate them," Entreri reasoned.
" The drandil almost went with the drow into the Underdark, but their hearts were torn between their love for us and their need to help their wounded cousins. They chose to split their numbers between the two, one half followed the drow, the other half scattered over the surface to help their cousins."
" What happened to them," Entreri asked, wondering why there were no drandil left if half the race stayed on the surface."
" The drow were happy that the drandil had not deserted them and welcomed them, even began to crossbreed their two races, but the drandil could not survive so far from the dragons that gave them their strength and many died in the arms of the drow they had come to love. Within a century, all the drandil who had not given up on their dark cousins were dead, as were many of the elves that had been bred from both races."
" A most sad story," Entreri remarked.
" The last drandil of the Underdark was a female named Zembral Tavalone. She was the wielder of the Drandil Dalabrian. Zembral, the last pure blood of her race, gathered her children, all of them crossbreeds, and left the drow city of Menzoberranzan. Before she left, however, her drow lover, the Drow Dalabrian wielder, gave her his Dalabrian and bid her to keep it safe. She and her children fled back to the surface and her drow lover died only a few years later."
" And the drandil of the surface," Entreri pressed.
" They searched until they found their cousins and offered to help them. The Aruine had been completely annihilated by the plague and the moon and gold elves were on the brink of extinction, while the drow and the bronze skinned drandil remained numerous and strong. The light elves were afraid and lashed out at their bronze cousins. The drandil could not bring themselves to kill the light elves, not even in self defense. Only a thousand or so escaped death at the hands of the light elves who hunted them mercilessly like animals and blamed them for the plague that had almost wiped them out. The survivors were angry and stole the Dalabrians of the gold and moon elves, saying that elves that killed their own brethren did not deserve the honor of carrying the holy instruments. The leader of the surviving drandil put a curse upon the light elves. A wretched curse it was: any elf and all of his or her descendants whose hands were stained with the innocent blood of the gentle drandil would find the magic of the Dalabrian denied them."
" Meaning," Entreri was confused again.
" Without Dalabrian magic, the light elves lost many of their powers and had to struggle even harder to survive," Jarlaxle explained, " Zembral Tavalone and her children soon found the remnants of her kind and was appalled at the savagery shown them. The drandil broke into four groups, each clan led by one of Zembral's children, and disappeared to the winds, taking the Dalabrian Instruments with them. They have not been seen since." Jarlaxle looked back at Entreri as he finished his tale, " the drow grew corrupt under the teachings of Lolth and the surface elves have never forgiven the darker elves for the plague or taking the Dalabrian."
" So why are the elves dying NOW," Entreri wanted to know, " that's the only thing I don't understand."
" The four Dalabrians were played often in the ancient days," Jarlaxle reasoned, " I think that is why their magic has lasted this long, but now the old magic is failing and the elves are dying out once again." Entreri tried to digest the information Jarlaxle had just shared with him.
" So you're dying because the magic that keeps the elves alive is failing," the assassin concluded.
" That is what I believe," Jarlaxle confirmed, laying his head down on his crossed arms. His sides heaved as if his breathing had become very difficult all of the sudden. The drow added, " from what I gather, even the half-elves are starting to feel the effects." Apparently exhausted from the tale, Jarlaxle slumped forward, his breath rasping in his throat. Entreri rose and hurried to Jarlaxle's side.
" Jarlaxle," the assassin pressed, grabbing Jarlaxle by the shoulders and shaking him, " what about Lazuli? She's part elf, will this affect her too?" Jarlaxle managed to open his carmine eyes halfway, their painful gaze struck a nerve in the callous assassin.
" Perhaps," the drow said breathlessly, " if the magic is not restored..." Jarlaxle's eyes closed again as he fell into darkness.
Entreri caught Jarlaxle in his arms as the drow collapsed and eased him down with his upper body sprawled over the table. The door burst open then and a panting Lazuli entered the domain.
" Why are you so worn out," Entreri asked curiously.
" I ran," Lazuli panted, leaning against the wall and trying to catch her breath.
" You can report and tell me why you ran home after you help me here," Entreri informed.
" With what," Lazuli asked, making her way over to her father. She noticed the still form of Jarlaxle and her heart skipped a beat with fear.
" He's fine, don't worry," Entreri assured his daughter, gripping her shoulder, " help me get him back to his room." Each assassin took an arm and they half-carried, half-dragged Jarlaxle down the hall to his room, where they arranged him on his bed. " Come Lazuli," Entreri directed when his daughter lingered in Jarlaxle's doorway staring at the sleeping drow, " we have much to talk about." Lazuli stole one last glance at Jarlaxle before closing the door and following her father.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Zandrath inhaled deeply through his nostrils, held the breath for a couple seconds, then exhaled slowly with a heavy sigh. He was tired more than he was agitated at his twin's display. The older son was working furiously with his blades, trying desperately to blow Zandrath's weapons away with sheer strength. The younger of the Baenre brothers found himself thoroughly bored.
Zandrath had no desire for the routine duels Antioch challenged him to. He preferred fighting Dantrag. That one Zandrath understood. Antioch he knew and understood too well for their fights to be of any substance. Antioch was too brutal, too narrow-minded. Zandrath could slip a sword through his brother's defenses at almost any opportunity. It wearied him.
" Is that all you are," Antioch yelled at his twin, " a shell that wields a sword?"
" A sword and a saber," Zandrath corrected calmly. Zandrath's unique choice of weapons was well known among the house's fighters. I was a difficult style to have one blade straight and forward and the other curving and sneaky.
" Do you derive no pleasure from the sight of your blades moving in this dance," Antioch goaded.
" What can you know of dancing," Zandrath questioned almost sadly, " to dance as a blade is meant to dance requires that one let go his foolish need for the fight and give himself utterly to his weapon."
" Your preachings are hollow in my ears," Antioch yelled, " a true master is in total command of his weapons for they are but metal and have no spirit!"
" Your will to dominate your scimitars makes you deaf to their pleas," Zandrath stated, not bothering to hide his depression, " I hear them cry to your deaf ears and it shames me that you and I came from the same loins."
Zandrath deftly slipped his saber under his brother's first scimitar and locked Antioch's arm against his chest, the sharp edge of the scimitar cut his chest but he did not care. Antioch made to bring his other scimitar to bear as he tried to drive the first blade deeper, but Zandrath grabbed the second scimitar right above the crosspiece, the sharp side of the blade slicing deeply into his palm but effectively stopping the blade.
Antioch was outraged and tried to kick his brother, but once again Zandrath had seen the move coming and stopped it completely by shifting his weight to his right while driving his left boot into Antioch's right knee, the one the older drow was currently balancing on. Antioch went down hard on his face, his nose breaking from the impact. Zandrath calmly pressed his weapon tips against the sides of Antioch's throat.
" You are defeated," the depressed Baenre stated slowly. Without another word he sheathed his blades and walked from the gym.
His chest stung from the shallow cut. He reveled in the pain of the wound for it dulled the ache in his heart. Zandrath's source of calm ironically came from the undying battle in his soul. The young Baenre was a killer, and a deadly one to boot, but his mind was a mass of conflict, a web of aching pains so thick that not even Triel could read his thoughts unless he projected them to her.
This was a depressed drow, a lost soul in a vast hell. He knew it and hated it with all his heart. He wanted to go to the surface, wanted to see what he was told to hate so badly. he wanted some meaning to his life, which seemed to grow emptier with every cycle of Narbondel, the time clock of Menzoberranzan.
Zandrath pulled a long dagger from his belt and ran his finger over the edge, smearing the blade with blood from the cut on his hand. Without warning, he pulled back the sleeve of his shirt and sliced a long, deep cut along the length of his arm. The pain was intense but it made him forget about the war raging in his soul. A war fought between his killer nature and the strong sense of morality he tried so hard to understand, but could never comprehend.
He grimaced from the pain, but it was fleeting and the old aches returned quickly. He considered cutting himself again, but the notion felt so very wrong.
" Why do you hurt yourself purposely," Dantrag asked from the shadows. Zandrath turned to regard his teacher.
" With this pain," he held up his arm, which was bleeding severely, " I can forget the aches in my weary heart."
" By cutting these marks into your skin you make a mockery of yourself," Dantrag stated, closing the distance between them and gripping Zandrath's wrist.
" I don't care," Zandrath wailed, his voice breaking as he gashed a second wound across the first one, " Why should I care at all?!" He would have cut himself again but Dantrag held his other wrist firmly. " What do I gain from my pitiful existence?!" He screamed the words as he thrashed wildly, " Why do I exist only to serve as the sword of a bloodthirsty goddess!?" The wild drow finally wrenched his arms free of Dantrag's grip and threw himself down, pounding the stone floor so hard that his fingers were soon scraped and bleeding as well. " Why does my soul cry out as it does, yet only I can hear it!?"
Dantrag was caught completely off guard, he had never seen such torment as he saw in Zandrath. The poor drow was willing to cut himself to ease a greater pain. Dantrag felt he should try to calm the unsteady drow before he could do any more harm to himself. Triel, after all, would not be pleased to learn that her prized Zandrath had killed himself. Dantrag slowly knelt beside Zandrath and placed a hand on each of his shoulders. Zandrath did not acknowledge Dantrag's touch, he only continued to shake violently.
" Calm yourself, Zandrath," Dantrag advised, " this self-mutilation will only make the pain worse when it comes back." Zandrath slowly lifted his head and locked his golden eyes with Dantrag's amber ones. Sadness made those beautiful orbs dull and almost lifeless, despite the gleam of the tears rimming them.
" How can you know," the young Baenre sobbed, " how could you ever begin to understand the war I carry in my soul?" Purely on impulse, Dantrag wrapped his arms around his nephew and held him closely. Zandrath was a little stunned but had to admit that he felt so comforted in Dantrag's embrace. The young Baenre curled himself up and leaned against Dantrag's chest.
" Because I am fighting a similar, if not the same, battle," Dantrag whispered in Zandrath's ear. The younger drow allowed Dantrag to haul him to his feet. The two locked gazes, Dantrag still holding Zandrath up by the shoulders. " Ever since I lost my battle with Drizzt Do'Urden I have been fighting to understand what he put in me when he put his scimitar through my heart!" Dantrag wrenched his tunic open and showed Zandrath the open wound festering in his chest, a wound that did not bleed but clearly showed Dantrag's beating heart. " This wound will not heal," Dantrag stated, " no matter how many healing spells or how many medicines I endure, the wound will not close. Drizzt Do'Urden put something more than just a scimitar in my heart that day. Somehow he planted the seeds of morality in me and I have been fighting with myself ever since I awoke!" Dantrag stopped abruptly and turned away.
" We fight the same battle, you and I," Zandrath stated, reaching out and touching Dantrag's shoulder, " might we fight it together?" Hope rang clear in his voice.
Dantrag considered his nephew's proposal. It would certainly help if he had someone to confide in, a trusted friend perhaps, a Khal'abbil. If they could unravel the mystery of the morality they felt? Could they become as strong as Drizzt Do'Urden?
Dantrag was tired and weary of fighting in the name of a goddess who did not appreciate him and the possibility of becoming as powerful as the renegade Do'Urden was more than a little tempting. And he trusted Zandrath in a way he trusted no one else. Would a friendship with his nephew really be so wrong? Perhaps such a friendship would be for the better of them both. Perhaps then he could better understand what had made Drizzt so powerful. He turned and smiled at Zandrath.
" Yes, let us fight this battle, this war, together," Dantrag agreed. Zandrath managed a weak smile before he collapsed. Dantrag was ready and caught the falling drow in his arms, then he carried Zandrath away.
In his hiding place among the shadows, Antioch was shocked. If his mother knew that Zandrath so unstable would she still give him the position of Weapons Master? he wondered. His evil grin taking to his pointed ears, Antioch rushed down the corridor to claim the title he wanted so very badly.
To be continued...
AN : Oh that was hard to write. (cracks neck) The whole concept of the history of the elves and all. Maybe I'll go back and write a story about that after I'm finished here. And the drow words used in this chapter (except 'Teigo' which is latin for shadow) are all authentic drow words taken mostly from 'Legacy of the Drow.' I need to go listen to some Rob Zombie and think on ideas for chapter four (stomach growls) and eat. As always feel free to flame.
Mirror Me Dark
By Semdai Bloodquill
Chapter Three : History
Robillard watched the sun go down, his heart sinking with the celestial body. He was tied to the Sea Sprite's central mast, had been since agreeing on Seivriel's 'lullaby.' The pirate leader herself had dismissed her last Nautical and retreated to her own ship. The other captains had parted Sea Sprite's crew into three groups and imprisoned them aboard their own vessels. Robillard had been tied up then and three pirate wizards, one from each of the ambushing ships, were set to watch him.
" Haven't had a Lullaby in some time, have we, Smedley," the wizard from Spookshow remarked, turning to the wizard next to him.
" Sure haven't, Kaelic," the one called Smedley agreed.
" Ain't run into someone with the guts for one," added Metellus, the wizard from Demon Pinion.
" What is this Lullaby," Robillard ventured, wanting to get a feeling for what he was going to face.
" I take back what I said about guts," Metellus snickered, " all we have to find is someone dumb enough." The other two pirate wizards had a good at Metellus's jest.
" Ain't ye heared the stories," Kaelic taunted, cocking his head at Robillard, who shook his head.
" You saw that violin o' hers, right," Smedley began. Robillard nodded.
" That violin's got a soul of its own," Metellus joined in, " it was made by the Aruine in the ancient days of the elves." Robillard had to think for a moment before he remembered the Aruine. The oldest and wisest of the elven races, the Aruine were powerful magicians and extraordinary summoners. The race was wiped out in the ancient times and most of their traces had been lost.
" The thing was made with the power to control water and fire as well as creatures of those elements," Kaelic resumed control of the tale, " we've seen it call monsters that would send those Nauticals running away with their tales firmly between their legs."
" Lullaby is the most powerful spell that violin can produce," Smedley interjected, moving his arms and hands mystically to emphasis his remark.
" A least the most powerful that we've ever seen it do," Metellus added slyly. The trio shared a snicker. Robillard was no longer listening, but lost in thought.
~*~*~*~*~*~
She was confident in her long stride, daring any of the Night Eyes, a band of vicious rogues that envied her position, to make a move for her. They would not, she knew. They would not invoke the wrath of Artemis Entreri by striking down his daughter. Though it was rumored that Entreri, now well along in years, was slipping in his craft, his daughter was quick to take up his name and his reputation. The Night Eyes would leave her alone, at least for now. Nor would she seek them out, yet, she had other, more pressing, business this night.
Lazuli moved silently down Paradise Avenue, which was deserted, having borrowed Jarlaxle's enchanted boots (without permission but with every intention of returning them later) for the occasion. Her cape flared out behind her as she glided noiselessly into a shadowy alley where she would find the messenger.
A scant sound in the deepest portion of the shadows caught Lazuli's hearing, which was greatly enhanced by the magical earring hanging from her left ear.
" You are alone," a soft, melodic voice whispered in the tongue of the dark elves, a language well known to Lazuli.
" Alone as a Lolth forsaken spider," the young assassin added in the drow tongue, carefully deepening her voice to make it sound less feminine, though she didn't expect to fool the messenger.
" You are late," the informant stated, switching to the Common Tongue, which he wasn't very fluent in but Lazuli understood him well enough.
" I had to appropriate the proper attire," Lazuli offered, which wasn't a full lie considering how long it had taken to 'borrow' Jarlaxle's boots.
" And learn the proper passwords," the stranger snorted, " I was told to expect Entreri and you are not him."
" Is not one Entreri as good as the next," Lazuli had wanted to wait for the drow messenger to come out of the shadows before she would reveal herself fully, but she could tell that he probably would not come out even if she striped for him, " Lazuli Entreri has come out this night to meet you, Kimmuriel Oblodra of Bregan D'aerthe." Lazuli bowed low.
" Another Entreri," Kimmuriel, intrigued by Lazuli's performance, moved from the shadows and into the girl's sight. Lazuli had seen many drow in her life and Kimmuriel wasn't much different. He was taller than her by a few inches with ruby red eyes, almost gaunt features, and stark white hair. " Any relation to Artemis Entreri," he asked, circling her like a great, black vulture, " Sister? Cousin?"
" Daughter," Lazuli corrected, " if you must know."
" Daughter?" Kimmuriel repeated skeptically, " yes, I see the resemblance. His eyes. His hair color. Jarlaxle spoke of a young girl he had grown rather fond of when I saw him last."
" Did he," Lazuli asked coldly, not appreciating the way Kimmuriel seemed to be measuring her.
" He did," Kimmuriel confirmed, stopping in front of her, " said he'd found a girl of mixed blood that could have conquered Menzoberranzan had she been born a drow." Lazuli was a little perturbed at the remark but did well in hiding it, and in pushing Kimmuriel's mind probe out of her head and sending the psionicist reeling.
" Jarlaxle wants to know why you insisted on a meeting," Lazuli stated when Kimmuriel regained his dignity.
" A strange disease is killing the drow of Menzoberranzan at alarming rates," Kimmuriel said coldly, not happy about having one of his one spells manipulated and turned back on him, " the priestesses call it Aruine Abitus." Lazuli knew those words, in the old elvish tongue they meant 'spirit death.'
" Is there a cure," she asked.
" None that we can find," Kimmuriel replied. Lazuli did well to hide her dismay, though her hopes were effectively shattered by the psionicist's news. " Why did Jarlaxle send a colnbluth to meet me?" Kimmuriel would have liked to call Lazuli much more than simply a non-drow, but her display with the probe made him reconsider.
" Jarlaxle was too sick to leave his abode this night," Lazuli stated flatly.
" Is it serious," Kimmuriel demanded, slightly worried for Jarlaxle's health.
" He says it is a bad cold and nothing more," Lazuli assured although she and Kimmuriel both knew that it was more than that.
" Abban del a drow?" Kimmuriel's question, which translated to 'are you an ally of the drow?' in the Common Tongue, confused Lazuli at first, but she caught on quickly.
" Abbil del Jarlaxle," she corrected, stating that she was merely a friend of Jarlaxle.
" Sargtlin," Kimmuriel inquired, indicating the sabers that hung at Lazuli's sides.
" Teigo Sargtlin," Lazuli corrected, naming herself as an assassin or shadow warrior, rather than simply a warrior.
" Bol Teigo Sargtlin," Kimmuriel remarked, calling Lazuli a 'mysterious assassin.' Lazuli bowed at the subtle compliment. " Our business is concluded," the psionicist stated as he melted back into the shadows, " I will offer you some free advice, daughter of Artemis Entreri, Quenshin ful biazz coppon quangolth cree, a drow." Then he was gone.
Lazuli had much to think about on her way home. Kimmuriel respected her, she could tell that much, and that was a good thing considering that he commanded Bregan D'aerthe in Jarlaxle's absence. But he was also warning her to beware. His last statement, an old saying among the drow that meant, 'doomed are those who believe they understand the designs of the drow,' was meant to remind her that, though she was skilled, she could never equal a drow.
Lazuli suddenly felt very small and helpless, dark elves had a way of making her feel so. She wanted to go home and report to her father. Maybe Jarlaxle would be better when she got there? She wanted to see him again. After all, she might only have a short amount of time left with him if the words of Kimmuriel Oblodra were to be believed.
Lazuli ran the rest of the way home and the Night Eyes watched her every move.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Dinin's warrior instincts alerted him immediately to the presence of the intruder. He was awake and ready, though unarmed and naked from the waist up. The intruder was a young drow female about the same size as Dinin with large, yellow-orange eyes and wavy, white hair hanging halfway down her back.
" Who are you," Dinin demanded, using Deep Drow, the only language he knew.
" I was sent to check on you," the drow female replied in the same tongue, holding up her hands and crossing them over her chest, an Underdark sign for peace. Dinin calmed somewhat.
" Who sent you," he asked, managing to sit up. The female found it hard to take her eyes off him. He was thin and his bones protruded in places, but he was well built as well, his graceful body showing smooth, rippling muscles.
" Drizzt sent me," she stated, quickly averting her eyes.
" Take me to him," Dinin insisted, standing shakily.
" You might want to put on a shirt first," the female giggled. Dinin remembered that he was half naked and hastily pulled on the loose tunic Drizzt had left for him. " Follow me," the drow girl directed and she strode from the room. Dinin followed silently.
Several dwarves greeted the drow girl as they passed the pair. One trio of dwarves even followed them closely for a time, talking intently with the female in a language Dinin didn't understand. They reached what appeared to be a throne room of some kind. A squat, red-bearded dwarf sat back in a lavish chair at the end of the long room. At his right were several dwarves all running to and fro as he barked orders to them. On the left stood Drizzt, a red-haired woman, and a very tall, blond man, all of them engaged in a conversation with the dwarf.
" Well look elf," the dwarf on the throne remarked when he saw Dinin, " our guest is awake and about already." The room fell quiet as its occupants all stopped to regard Dinin, whose eyes kept darting around the room nervously.
" Did you sleep well, Dinin," Drizzt asked in the drow tongue, stepping out to meet his brother.
" Well enough," Dinin replied, " do you know all these dwarves?"
" All of them are friends," Drizzt assured, clasping Dinin's shoulder, " they won't threaten you." Dinin relaxed a little. " They might pester you to madness for stories though," Drizzt warned with a grin on his face. Dinin managed a soft chuckle at Drizzt's joke.
" You seem happy here," he remarked.
" I am," Drizzt confirmed, " I have friends who accept me despite my race, and a growing family," he paused to smile at the drow girl, " of which I see you have met one." Dinin also looked at the young drow. " This is my daughter, Binx," Drizzt introduced. Binx grinned and bowed to Dinin, who was more than a little surprised to learn that he was an uncle.
" I hate it when you talk and I can't understand what yer saying," the red- bearded dwarf growled from Drizzt's left. The dwarf having rose from his seat and joined the conversing drow. " Ye teach yer kids these exotic languages so ye can talk about me, I think," the dwarf accused.
" Where are my manners," Drizzt exclaimed in Common, " Bruenor, I think I introduced you to Dinin in the tunnels?"
" Yeah ye did," Bruenor snorted waving his hand.
" Dinin," Drizzt reverted back to Deep Drow, " this is King Bruenor Battlehammer." He indicated the red-bearded dwarf and motioned for the other two he had been speaking with to join them. He put a hand on the blond man's shoulder. " This is Wulfgar," the ranger introduced.
Wulfgar studied the drow before him. He seemed small to the barbarian, but Wulfgar remembered that this was Drizzt's brother and likely had many of his abilities. The barbarian smiled at Dinin and inclined his head.
" And this is Catti-brie," Drizzt notified, taking the woman's hand. Catti- brie looked Dinin up and down, comparing him to Drizzt. In the end she too inclined her head to the cagey drow.
" You weren't going to forget me, were you," a new voice questioned playfully in the drow language. Drizzt grinned as Nessa strode in with Sordath and Monty not far behind.
" Of course not," Drizzt assured feigning shock, " Dinin, this is my wife, Nessa, and my two sons, Sordath and Montolio." Each drow bowed at the mention of their name.
" I see you've been doing all right for yourself, little brother," Dinin remarked slyly, giving Drizzt a playful nudge in the ribs.
" What'd he say," Bruenor demanded when Drizzt laughed at Dinin's comment.
" He says, 'I see you've been doing all right for yourself,'" Drizzt translated.
" I'm thinking I like this elf already," Bruenor chuckled. Drizzt couldn't help but laugh.
" What," Dinin demanded, thinking that they were making fun of him.
" Bruenor says he likes you already," Drizzt relayed. Dinin relaxed, thinking that he might just be able to fit in here with his brother.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Jarlaxle eased himself into the chair opposite Entreri. The dark elf's eyelids drooped with fatigue.
" What's wrong," Entreri demanded, locking his gray eyes on Jarlaxle.
" A simple cold and nothing more," the drow insisted, waving his hand, which seemed thinner than normal to the ever watchful assassin.
" A simple cold has brought Kimmuriel Oblodra to the surface to inquire about your health," Entreri asked skeptically. Jarlaxle shrugged like he knew nothing, which was a lie. " He is meeting now with my daughter," the assassin continued.
" One Entreri is as good as another no matter the sex," Jarlaxle mused. Artemis Entreri was not even smiling.
" This cold is not a normal sickness," the assassin stated dryly, " and Lazuli is off limits to you."
" You can't keep her in the dark forever, Artemis," Jarlaxle reminded, suddenly becoming serious, " sooner or later you will have to tell her what she is."
" And what do you think she will do when I tell her the truth that I've been keeping from her all these years," Entreri snapped, " what will she make of her herself when she learns of her hidden abilities?"
" She is wise beyond her seventeen years," Jarlaxle remarked.
" Wise she may be, but in many ways Lazuli is still a child and not ready to face the heritage of her mother," Entreri countered.
" Her mother would have argued differently," Jarlaxle put in.
" Her mother grew up knowing what she was," Artemis argued.
" And why can't Lazuli do the same?" Jarlaxle's question made Entreri stop and think.
" Lazuli only has you and me to look to," the assassin said slowly, " and I'm getting old. I might live another eight or ten years but that will be it for me."
" Soon she might not have either of us," Jarlaxle said solemnly. Entreri snapped his gaze back to the dark elf.
" What are you saying," he demanded. Jarlaxle held out his hand and stared at it for a moment.
" I'm sick, as you know," he turned his hand over to stare at his palm, " I feel it in my heart. Every day it gets harder to breathe, harder to move, harder to ignore the growing ache in my entrails," he clenched his hand into a weak fist and leaned his head against it, " you say you might have another ten years left, I might have another ten weeks." Entreri was truly stunned. Was Jarlaxle admitting what he thought he was?
" What is wrong," Entreri repeated gently, reaching across the table and laying a hand on Jarlaxle's arm.
" Do you want the whole story or just what's wrong with me," the drow asked, not lifting his head.
" The whole story," Entreri replied.
" Get comfortable," Jarlaxle warned, " it's a long tale."
" Tell it," the assassin urged.
Jarlaxle lifted his head slowly, his ruby eyes seeming to stare off into oblivion. He was silent for several seconds before he began, " In the ancient days when the drow walked and danced on the surface, there existed five races of elves: the dark elves, the moon elves, the gold elves, the dragon elves, and the Aruine elves." The drow paused to consider his next words. " The five races lived in relative peace, enjoying the gift of long- life bestowed upon then by the magic of the Dalabrian."
" Dalabrian," Entreri asked in confusion.
" Instruments," Jarlaxle specified, " the Aruine were the wisest and most powerful of all the five races of elves. It was these elves that made the Dalabrian Instruments, a different one for each of the other four elven races. When played together, these four instruments brought power, protection, and longevity to the elves. But the instruments could only be properly played by their chosen wielders and their mystic song had to be played at least once every five thousand years for the magic to stay alive. Naturally that wasn't a problem in the ancient days when the races all lived together, but when the Plague of Urgutha Forka decimated the light elves and the drow were driven into the Underdark, well, you can imagine." Jarlaxle paused to let what he had said sink in.
" Nobody was too apt to play music together," Entreri remarked.
" Precisely," Jarlaxle confirmed, " with the drow underground and most of the Aruine killed by Urgutha's plague, the moon and gold elves fled to the forests where they managed to escape the plague and keep their races alive. The dragon elves, or the drandil as they were called, were unaffected by the plague so their numbers remained strong, but they were saddened by the death of the Aruine and the banishing of the drow, who were their closest friends."
" So the drow do have one race that doesn't hate them," Entreri reasoned.
" The drandil almost went with the drow into the Underdark, but their hearts were torn between their love for us and their need to help their wounded cousins. They chose to split their numbers between the two, one half followed the drow, the other half scattered over the surface to help their cousins."
" What happened to them," Entreri asked, wondering why there were no drandil left if half the race stayed on the surface."
" The drow were happy that the drandil had not deserted them and welcomed them, even began to crossbreed their two races, but the drandil could not survive so far from the dragons that gave them their strength and many died in the arms of the drow they had come to love. Within a century, all the drandil who had not given up on their dark cousins were dead, as were many of the elves that had been bred from both races."
" A most sad story," Entreri remarked.
" The last drandil of the Underdark was a female named Zembral Tavalone. She was the wielder of the Drandil Dalabrian. Zembral, the last pure blood of her race, gathered her children, all of them crossbreeds, and left the drow city of Menzoberranzan. Before she left, however, her drow lover, the Drow Dalabrian wielder, gave her his Dalabrian and bid her to keep it safe. She and her children fled back to the surface and her drow lover died only a few years later."
" And the drandil of the surface," Entreri pressed.
" They searched until they found their cousins and offered to help them. The Aruine had been completely annihilated by the plague and the moon and gold elves were on the brink of extinction, while the drow and the bronze skinned drandil remained numerous and strong. The light elves were afraid and lashed out at their bronze cousins. The drandil could not bring themselves to kill the light elves, not even in self defense. Only a thousand or so escaped death at the hands of the light elves who hunted them mercilessly like animals and blamed them for the plague that had almost wiped them out. The survivors were angry and stole the Dalabrians of the gold and moon elves, saying that elves that killed their own brethren did not deserve the honor of carrying the holy instruments. The leader of the surviving drandil put a curse upon the light elves. A wretched curse it was: any elf and all of his or her descendants whose hands were stained with the innocent blood of the gentle drandil would find the magic of the Dalabrian denied them."
" Meaning," Entreri was confused again.
" Without Dalabrian magic, the light elves lost many of their powers and had to struggle even harder to survive," Jarlaxle explained, " Zembral Tavalone and her children soon found the remnants of her kind and was appalled at the savagery shown them. The drandil broke into four groups, each clan led by one of Zembral's children, and disappeared to the winds, taking the Dalabrian Instruments with them. They have not been seen since." Jarlaxle looked back at Entreri as he finished his tale, " the drow grew corrupt under the teachings of Lolth and the surface elves have never forgiven the darker elves for the plague or taking the Dalabrian."
" So why are the elves dying NOW," Entreri wanted to know, " that's the only thing I don't understand."
" The four Dalabrians were played often in the ancient days," Jarlaxle reasoned, " I think that is why their magic has lasted this long, but now the old magic is failing and the elves are dying out once again." Entreri tried to digest the information Jarlaxle had just shared with him.
" So you're dying because the magic that keeps the elves alive is failing," the assassin concluded.
" That is what I believe," Jarlaxle confirmed, laying his head down on his crossed arms. His sides heaved as if his breathing had become very difficult all of the sudden. The drow added, " from what I gather, even the half-elves are starting to feel the effects." Apparently exhausted from the tale, Jarlaxle slumped forward, his breath rasping in his throat. Entreri rose and hurried to Jarlaxle's side.
" Jarlaxle," the assassin pressed, grabbing Jarlaxle by the shoulders and shaking him, " what about Lazuli? She's part elf, will this affect her too?" Jarlaxle managed to open his carmine eyes halfway, their painful gaze struck a nerve in the callous assassin.
" Perhaps," the drow said breathlessly, " if the magic is not restored..." Jarlaxle's eyes closed again as he fell into darkness.
Entreri caught Jarlaxle in his arms as the drow collapsed and eased him down with his upper body sprawled over the table. The door burst open then and a panting Lazuli entered the domain.
" Why are you so worn out," Entreri asked curiously.
" I ran," Lazuli panted, leaning against the wall and trying to catch her breath.
" You can report and tell me why you ran home after you help me here," Entreri informed.
" With what," Lazuli asked, making her way over to her father. She noticed the still form of Jarlaxle and her heart skipped a beat with fear.
" He's fine, don't worry," Entreri assured his daughter, gripping her shoulder, " help me get him back to his room." Each assassin took an arm and they half-carried, half-dragged Jarlaxle down the hall to his room, where they arranged him on his bed. " Come Lazuli," Entreri directed when his daughter lingered in Jarlaxle's doorway staring at the sleeping drow, " we have much to talk about." Lazuli stole one last glance at Jarlaxle before closing the door and following her father.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Zandrath inhaled deeply through his nostrils, held the breath for a couple seconds, then exhaled slowly with a heavy sigh. He was tired more than he was agitated at his twin's display. The older son was working furiously with his blades, trying desperately to blow Zandrath's weapons away with sheer strength. The younger of the Baenre brothers found himself thoroughly bored.
Zandrath had no desire for the routine duels Antioch challenged him to. He preferred fighting Dantrag. That one Zandrath understood. Antioch he knew and understood too well for their fights to be of any substance. Antioch was too brutal, too narrow-minded. Zandrath could slip a sword through his brother's defenses at almost any opportunity. It wearied him.
" Is that all you are," Antioch yelled at his twin, " a shell that wields a sword?"
" A sword and a saber," Zandrath corrected calmly. Zandrath's unique choice of weapons was well known among the house's fighters. I was a difficult style to have one blade straight and forward and the other curving and sneaky.
" Do you derive no pleasure from the sight of your blades moving in this dance," Antioch goaded.
" What can you know of dancing," Zandrath questioned almost sadly, " to dance as a blade is meant to dance requires that one let go his foolish need for the fight and give himself utterly to his weapon."
" Your preachings are hollow in my ears," Antioch yelled, " a true master is in total command of his weapons for they are but metal and have no spirit!"
" Your will to dominate your scimitars makes you deaf to their pleas," Zandrath stated, not bothering to hide his depression, " I hear them cry to your deaf ears and it shames me that you and I came from the same loins."
Zandrath deftly slipped his saber under his brother's first scimitar and locked Antioch's arm against his chest, the sharp edge of the scimitar cut his chest but he did not care. Antioch made to bring his other scimitar to bear as he tried to drive the first blade deeper, but Zandrath grabbed the second scimitar right above the crosspiece, the sharp side of the blade slicing deeply into his palm but effectively stopping the blade.
Antioch was outraged and tried to kick his brother, but once again Zandrath had seen the move coming and stopped it completely by shifting his weight to his right while driving his left boot into Antioch's right knee, the one the older drow was currently balancing on. Antioch went down hard on his face, his nose breaking from the impact. Zandrath calmly pressed his weapon tips against the sides of Antioch's throat.
" You are defeated," the depressed Baenre stated slowly. Without another word he sheathed his blades and walked from the gym.
His chest stung from the shallow cut. He reveled in the pain of the wound for it dulled the ache in his heart. Zandrath's source of calm ironically came from the undying battle in his soul. The young Baenre was a killer, and a deadly one to boot, but his mind was a mass of conflict, a web of aching pains so thick that not even Triel could read his thoughts unless he projected them to her.
This was a depressed drow, a lost soul in a vast hell. He knew it and hated it with all his heart. He wanted to go to the surface, wanted to see what he was told to hate so badly. he wanted some meaning to his life, which seemed to grow emptier with every cycle of Narbondel, the time clock of Menzoberranzan.
Zandrath pulled a long dagger from his belt and ran his finger over the edge, smearing the blade with blood from the cut on his hand. Without warning, he pulled back the sleeve of his shirt and sliced a long, deep cut along the length of his arm. The pain was intense but it made him forget about the war raging in his soul. A war fought between his killer nature and the strong sense of morality he tried so hard to understand, but could never comprehend.
He grimaced from the pain, but it was fleeting and the old aches returned quickly. He considered cutting himself again, but the notion felt so very wrong.
" Why do you hurt yourself purposely," Dantrag asked from the shadows. Zandrath turned to regard his teacher.
" With this pain," he held up his arm, which was bleeding severely, " I can forget the aches in my weary heart."
" By cutting these marks into your skin you make a mockery of yourself," Dantrag stated, closing the distance between them and gripping Zandrath's wrist.
" I don't care," Zandrath wailed, his voice breaking as he gashed a second wound across the first one, " Why should I care at all?!" He would have cut himself again but Dantrag held his other wrist firmly. " What do I gain from my pitiful existence?!" He screamed the words as he thrashed wildly, " Why do I exist only to serve as the sword of a bloodthirsty goddess!?" The wild drow finally wrenched his arms free of Dantrag's grip and threw himself down, pounding the stone floor so hard that his fingers were soon scraped and bleeding as well. " Why does my soul cry out as it does, yet only I can hear it!?"
Dantrag was caught completely off guard, he had never seen such torment as he saw in Zandrath. The poor drow was willing to cut himself to ease a greater pain. Dantrag felt he should try to calm the unsteady drow before he could do any more harm to himself. Triel, after all, would not be pleased to learn that her prized Zandrath had killed himself. Dantrag slowly knelt beside Zandrath and placed a hand on each of his shoulders. Zandrath did not acknowledge Dantrag's touch, he only continued to shake violently.
" Calm yourself, Zandrath," Dantrag advised, " this self-mutilation will only make the pain worse when it comes back." Zandrath slowly lifted his head and locked his golden eyes with Dantrag's amber ones. Sadness made those beautiful orbs dull and almost lifeless, despite the gleam of the tears rimming them.
" How can you know," the young Baenre sobbed, " how could you ever begin to understand the war I carry in my soul?" Purely on impulse, Dantrag wrapped his arms around his nephew and held him closely. Zandrath was a little stunned but had to admit that he felt so comforted in Dantrag's embrace. The young Baenre curled himself up and leaned against Dantrag's chest.
" Because I am fighting a similar, if not the same, battle," Dantrag whispered in Zandrath's ear. The younger drow allowed Dantrag to haul him to his feet. The two locked gazes, Dantrag still holding Zandrath up by the shoulders. " Ever since I lost my battle with Drizzt Do'Urden I have been fighting to understand what he put in me when he put his scimitar through my heart!" Dantrag wrenched his tunic open and showed Zandrath the open wound festering in his chest, a wound that did not bleed but clearly showed Dantrag's beating heart. " This wound will not heal," Dantrag stated, " no matter how many healing spells or how many medicines I endure, the wound will not close. Drizzt Do'Urden put something more than just a scimitar in my heart that day. Somehow he planted the seeds of morality in me and I have been fighting with myself ever since I awoke!" Dantrag stopped abruptly and turned away.
" We fight the same battle, you and I," Zandrath stated, reaching out and touching Dantrag's shoulder, " might we fight it together?" Hope rang clear in his voice.
Dantrag considered his nephew's proposal. It would certainly help if he had someone to confide in, a trusted friend perhaps, a Khal'abbil. If they could unravel the mystery of the morality they felt? Could they become as strong as Drizzt Do'Urden?
Dantrag was tired and weary of fighting in the name of a goddess who did not appreciate him and the possibility of becoming as powerful as the renegade Do'Urden was more than a little tempting. And he trusted Zandrath in a way he trusted no one else. Would a friendship with his nephew really be so wrong? Perhaps such a friendship would be for the better of them both. Perhaps then he could better understand what had made Drizzt so powerful. He turned and smiled at Zandrath.
" Yes, let us fight this battle, this war, together," Dantrag agreed. Zandrath managed a weak smile before he collapsed. Dantrag was ready and caught the falling drow in his arms, then he carried Zandrath away.
In his hiding place among the shadows, Antioch was shocked. If his mother knew that Zandrath so unstable would she still give him the position of Weapons Master? he wondered. His evil grin taking to his pointed ears, Antioch rushed down the corridor to claim the title he wanted so very badly.
To be continued...
AN : Oh that was hard to write. (cracks neck) The whole concept of the history of the elves and all. Maybe I'll go back and write a story about that after I'm finished here. And the drow words used in this chapter (except 'Teigo' which is latin for shadow) are all authentic drow words taken mostly from 'Legacy of the Drow.' I need to go listen to some Rob Zombie and think on ideas for chapter four (stomach growls) and eat. As always feel free to flame.