He watched as she begged, silently, on her knees. With tears in her eyes, sobbing, hoping to prevent death by blade. A pitiful creature, one that, in the drow world, did that deserve to live, did that deserve the chance of Lloth's favor. She knew no pride, but that was an advantage. A strange technique, for sure, though one that saved her a number of times, no doubt.
With her standard, and background, obviously, she would have been taught how to protect herself from swords. Either she didn't bother, or she knew it was useless in the position she was in. Either way, she was in a precarious position, left at the mercy of one drow's judgment.
Outside, Do'Urden warriors laughed, half drunk with the blood they had spilled. The attack had been a perfect success – the other house, caught in the net of surprise, were as helpless the fish on the land. The fishermen delivered the butchering of the powerless with no more than a chuckle. The once grand hallway was a crimson smeared cage, and the palace, built centered on an invincible defense, kept all in just as well as keeping drow out. Terror and mirth mixed in strange harmony, and fear lent its hand to create chaos.
However, it had not yet reached the small hidden room, where she lay at his feet, the flesh of her throat painfully obvious. Zak's hard eyes stared back at her, giving away no emotion. His blade hung at his side, useless. The weapon master revealed nothing of the turmoil he was inside – it was either he was going to play into her hands, or that she could just been another, like him, desperately hiding in against the cruel eyes of Lloth. A battle like the on outside played on inside him, mercy winning, but there was another factor, nagging at him in the shadows. There was a way to find out once and for all, it called to him.
There was always a way.
Ignoring the drow, he turned from her, baiting her with a sudden weakness. Though his reflexes had been honed by several hundred years, there was always the chance where it would fail to defend. Without being able to see her, he, too, was venerable. Unconsciously, his eyes scanned the carvings on the decorated wall, revealing with sickening pride the accomplishments of a drow hero, a priestess, as if carving her would bring luck to the house. His ears caught a sound, and he knew she had been too despaired, too hungry, to resist the bait.
Abruptly, his blade swung in an arc as a sharp crack sounded the air, slicing through cold flesh of serpents. Several heads fell with a soft thud to the floor, but the others, followed through, their fangs biting deep into his arm. He growled, but before numbness could affect him, Zak thrust his blade again. An elfin head rolled, her long white hair like silver threads of Lloth.
Perhaps if she hadn't taken that chance, if she hadn't tried to see if she could trade a life for her own . . .
Sadly, Zak bent down to close the drow's eyes, the red tint giving her, as with all drow, a dark, tainted look. He sheathed his blade, not bothering to clean it of the warm blood, dripping to a growing pool from her body. Frozen numbness crawled up his arm like a spider, its thread a chain, a leash made for Lloth. The room muffled sounds of screams outside, but could not prevent them from reaching their failing fingers through the cracks. The weapon master gritted his teeth. They were looking for the hidden, the survivors that had not been killed in the heat of the fight. Anytime now, they would discover this place, and there would be no more time for thought.
Bending down in the pool of crimson, he whispered in the drow's ears, "Unlike your family you had abandoned, you were given a painless death." He couldn't care less about the spiders listening; they could do nothing with such little information. A young warrior's voice squeezed in, excitement of the battle still rushing through his veins. But the doors didn't open, as Zak expected it to. Instead, the room misted, with black fog, until his surroundings were nothing but night. Everything was covered, until he thought he was blind, but on thing was left untouched. The corpse head, her face still glowing in silver threads. The weapon master stood in bewilderment, rushing through his knowledge of magic in of finding a reason for the strange mist.
A laugh interrupts his thoughts, and he found the drow's head, smiling to herself, still detached from her body. With that, he drew his blade, preparing for the worst. Surprisingly, the numbness from the snakes was gone, and he could take his blade with ease. As if Zak had offended her, the dark elf burst into tears.
She wailed, screaming, "Why? Was mercy too much?" Zak took a step back, and she took that as a success. Crackling, she snarled, "Mercy!" Her screech was cut off as his blade sang, batting the head away. Hitting the floor, it left a bloody trail as it continued to roll, mirth still stamped on her face.
Zak blinked as the mist dissolved as suddenly as it appeared. A familiar forest replaced the drow sculptures, but the woods were silent, the birds watching as the hunter among them singled out his prey. A rare breezed dipped down, and Zak shook his head, discovering he was falcon once more. Spreading his wings, he lifted himself from the forest earth, seeking a creature for food. A dive caught him a mouse, in the same place where the drow's head was, Zak realized. The creature screamed, clawing, biting in desperation to escape.
His two natures, the drow and falcon fought each other. No more bloodshed was needed! The drow wanted to tell the world, but the falcon coolly bit back. To survive, to eat, they had to kill. To keep peace in the world, to guard the lesser creatures from destroying themselves, they had to kill. With that, the prey was slammed into a tree, killed, and eaten. The falcon won.
Zak stared in horror at the blood dripping from the bark of the tree. Tiny rivers flowed downwards, staining it forever. His blade appeared at his feet, coloured with dried blood of the drow, as new, tiny beads of blood from the mouse dripped from the rivers on to the blade. In denial, in anger, in horror, Zak screamed, but one word refused to be buried.
"Mercy"