The Drow Ranger

"What do we do with her?"

The girl-child looked at them with fear, not knowing how to react. She could hardly be past two, as she huddled into a little cloaked ball hidden in the ruined wagon's shadow. The Drow couple towered above the tiny form, their features illuminated by the firelight of the burning carriage. They looked at each other, confused. They had no idea how to react, no clue how to handle the situation.

Annoyed by the noisy humans, the Drow elder had commanded Travin and Retha to go forth and bring peace back to the Forest again, by whatever means necessary. The couple had initially intended to ask the humans to leave the woods peacefully, but when they first heard the cries of agony and the manic laughter, the option of diplomacy had been swept clean off the table. It was not long after that they had located the source of the all that irksome noise; the humans were killing each other, and being terribly noisy as they did so. Under the cover and protection of the Forest, the Drow's arrows had quickly found their marks, but not before the killing humans had been done with killing the other humans. Such a noisy, uncivilized race.

But when the two had descended to the now-silent scene to pick up their spoils (after all, dead people no longer had any need for belongings, and the Drow were nothing if not practical), they had found the small girl-child hiding in the shadow of the wagon, nearly invisible. If she had not made the slightest of whimpers, even the sound-sensitive Drow would have simply passed her by.

As Travin and Retha looked at each other, they came to a consensus. They couldn't simply leave her here in the winter's night; she would die of any myriad of reasons before the day was out. Travin slung his bow across his back and moved toward the girl-child. With gentle hands, he lifted her in a clumsy embrace; to the girl-child's credit, she did not cry out, although she did whimper once again. Retha shushed her softly, and helped to bundle her tighter into an overly-large cloak she found in one of the wagons. Silently, as if they had never been, the trio vanished into the Forest.


"Traxex."

The summons was nearly a whisper, almost inaudible to the untrained ear, but it was more than enough to capture the attention of its intended audience. Silently and swiftly, Traxex got up from the hearth and moved to her mother's side. Her original name had been lost, forgotten; Travin and Retha had not managed to coax it out of her, and had simply given her a name worthy of a Drow's child. Traxex sat cross-legged at her mother's wrinkled feet, looking almost at eye-level with her adopted parent. Retha reached out a gnarled hand, and Traxex took it in her own without flinching. She had long since grown accustomed to the differences she and the rest of the tribe shared, and hated herself for being so different.

"I am not long for this world. The Forest calls."

Traxex heard the words clearly, and willed herself not to cry. To make any sudden outburst was a mortal sin amongst the Drow, and she had learned in her early days that punishment was swift and harsh. Besides, this was not news to her; she had known of her parent's affliction for weeks. It had claimed her father, and now it would take her mother away from her as well. There was no cure.

Still, Traxex shook her head. "No, mother. You will live long yet, the Forest bless you." She tried for a smile.

It was Retha's turn to shake her head. In silence, the two regarded each other; few words were needed to communicate what they felt for each other. Reaching out her other hand, Retha cupped her daughter's face in both hands and brought her smooth, pale forehead toward her own wart-infested one. Traxex surrendered easily to her firm grip, and their foreheads touched.

"Go to the elder. He has need of you there." Her words were softer than a whisper, a mere breath in the air. Traxex gave a slight nod, and this time a small tear formed in her right eye. As Retha released her grip and turned away, the tear fell.


Traxex sat there, silent and still. It was not until after her mother had left the room and entered her chamber before she finally stood. Her long silver hair flowed past her shoulders and halfway down her back, and she found it a nuisance; yet, the Drow had found the concept of her cutting her hair to be offensive and crude. She had tried it once, when she was young; her parents had been aghast when they had come home to her sitting by the hearth with her hair cropped short. She never tried it again. As she drew herself to her full height, her head brushed the ceiling of the hut; yet another inconvenience for her. The hut had already been expanded to suit her size; her parents had spent many long winter nights rebuilding the building to the correct height so that she could move in it unhindered. She hated that she had become such a bother to her father and mother, even as they had shook her heads at her to signal that it was nothing.

Traxex had learned, since young, that to preserve the silence of the Forest was the mandate and duty of the Drow. She took her duties seriously, and had followed her parent's training with vigor and earnest. The tribe had never fully accepted her, but could not fault that should she have been born a Drow, she would have fitted in perfectly; her abilities in stealth, silence and subtlety were matched only by the most seasoned of the Drow's warriors. But to Traxex, it never seemed enough; she would never be as silent as Mother, never as stealthy as Father, never as subtle as the Drow.

She walked toward the door of the hut, stooping slightly to get through the door, stopping only to pick up her bow. This was the only possession she prized, the only thing she was proud of. The bow had been carved out of a young willow, strong yet supple. She had made it herself, with tutelage and supervision from Father, and he had examined it and found it lacking for nothing. The same night the bow had been carved, she had brought down not one, not two, but three boars with it, and the tribe had feasted on her spoils.

Carefully slinging her bow across her back, Traxex began to make her way to the center of the village, where the elder's hut stood. She left no trace of her passing; even her footsteps were light and shallow in the snow, covered almost instantly in her wake. She tried to make herself as unobtrusive as possible; surely, the village was enduring enough with this mysterious malady without having to see her hideous visage. But her worry proved unnecessary; there was not a single Drow in sight. The village was normally silent, but this time the silence felt deadly.

As she neared the elder's hut, she saw a small group of the Drow folk huddled near the steps to the door. She bowed her greeting, as was customary amongst her people, but they made no similar gesture in response. Instead, they stared at her with accusatory eyes, following her with their gaze even as she mounted the short stairway. Uncomfortably, she drew aside the leather curtain and entered the elder's hut.

Inside, a central fireplace kept the room lit. The Drow elder sat in a high chair next to the fireplace, his aged and whiskered features highlighted by the softly crackling fire. Traxex bowed again, and this time the elder nodded in greeting. Raising a hand, he gestured Traxex to a spot near him. She obeyed, sitting down and folding her legs beneath her.

"Traxex," the elder began. She remained silent, but lowered her head in acknowledgement. "You came to us in odd ways. Some have said that the Forest willed it to be so; others have been more vocal with their objections. Still, Travin and Retha - no, the Drow have taken you in." The elder paused for a moment, observing her carefully. Traxex shuddered at the sound of her parents' names, but made no otherwise reaction. The elder continued.

"The Drow have always been keepers of the Forest. As the Forest keeps us, so do we keep the Forest; that is the Drow way. But now..." Again he paused, as if the words were difficult for him to say. Taking a breath, the elder forged on, "Now, there are no more Rangers."

Traxex looked up sharply, her eyes widening in surprise. No more Rangers? The Rangers were the Drow's pride, the one line of defense that they relied on to protect the Forest. Her father and mother had both been part of the Rangers; it was her dream to be a Ranger for the Drow people. To be a Ranger was to carry the duty of the Drow on one's shoulders; it was the highest position a Drow could look up to, next to the position of elder. How could there be no more Rangers?

But the elder's eyes held no answers, only sorrow and an emotion which Traxex could not quite fathom. "The Rangers have all been taken, stolen from us by this illness that comes to us. Perhaps we have angered the Forest, somehow; the healers are working on a cure as we speak. But regardless, even if the Forest should forsake us, the Drow will never forsake the Forest. The Drow must have its Rangers. In this dire time of need, I must make the only choice left available to me.

"Traxex. You are now a Ranger, and your duty shall be to protect the Forest, and to protect the Drow. To keep our silence, and the Forest's peace. Do you accept?" the elder intoned the ancient words. Traxex could hardly believe her ears, but she quickly rearranged herself into a kneeling position.

"I accept."


As Traxex left the elder's hut, she saw that the group of Drow folk were still gathered in the same place, but this time they were speaking in hushed tones. Doubtles they had heard the exchange that had gone on inside the elder's hut; sound carried easily in this part of the woods. She bowed again, but as she walked past them, she clearly heard one of them speak.

"Demon child."

Traxex turned sharply, to see once again the glares of her people. A sudden, icy realization hit her; she finally knew what she had seen in the elder's eyes back in the hut. It had been simply a flash, but it was plain: anger.

Traxex fled.


For days, Traxex stalked the Forest, on constant vigil against interlopers. It was not that the Drow prevented visitors; far from it, in fact, for they always welcomed traveling merchants in their village for their wares from the outside world. As long as they stayed quiet and disturbed not the forest's peace, the Drow had always preferred peace to violence. But there would be the occasional, noisy outsider who would deliberately destroy the peace of the Forest. These, the Drow dispatched of swiftly. Traxex was the only living example of such "dispatchments".

On the dawn of the tenth day, Traxex woke with a start. Faintly, she had heard voices; shaking herself fully awake, she silently rose on the tree branch she had chosen as her resting place the previous night. She strained her ears, listening for the sound again. Her patience was rewarded when, minutes later, the waft of soft voices arrived at her ears again. The sound was coming from her right, in the direction of the river; as a Ranger, she was duty bound to investigate. Silent and swift, Traxex moved toward the voices.

When she arrived, she found the source of the disruption - a large party of well-armed men, standing by the river that was the water source for the Drow. Traxex drew closer to a large tree, blending into the shadow it provided to observe.

"-and that's when we'll get 'em, boss." A short midget was saying. He seemed to be addressing a large, burly man, sitting down on a log. Clearly this was the leader of the pack.

"You're sure this will ferret them out? They're a wily bunch, and you can't even see them coming." The leader said. The midget nodded enthusiastically.

"Oh yes, fer sure boss. I guarantee it. The poison'll work, and none of them will be the wiser. It's got no taste, no smell, and it's slow so they won't even know what hit 'em! Me and Codge been here for weeks, ain't we Codge?" An old gaffer next to him nodded his response, and Traxex began to feel a cold pit growing in her stomach.

"It sure wasn't easy to hide from them Rangers, no sirree, but me and Codge did it somehow. They didn't even catch a sniff of us, right Codge?" The midget was continuing. To Traxex, this seemed unlikely; if her sub-optimal ears could hear his words, surely the rest of the tribe would have heard him just as well. But there had been no reports...

The leader seemed to have similar thoughts. "Be quiet, fool!" He admonished angrily, "These Drow have incredible ears. That's how they heard my brother, and that's how they found him. Don't bring them down on us!" The midget clapped both of his hands over his mouth quickly and looked around, but Traxex had heard enough. These were the people who were the cause of the village's sudden illness, and these were the people responsible for her people's deaths. Her eyes narrowed as a sudden anger overtook her, and she drew an arrow from her quiver. As she nocked her shaft, she heard the leader's next words.

"My brother was a fighter, but when I saw the body, I knew he had been ambushed. Those rotten Drow must have taken him by surprise, even as he was carrying out justice on those rotten Havens! I never found the body of the girl, but I can only assume she's dead, too."

Even as she let her arrow fly, Traxex's blood ran cold at his words. Something in them struck and resonated within her. The arrow went wide of its intended target, missing the leader completely, but by sheer luck embedded itself in the head of the midget. With a meaty thud, the midget fell, and the party rose with strangled shouts of alarm. The leader was the first to look her way; when Traxex saw his face, Traxex froze.

It was not completely the same, but she could never forget that face. Illuminated by fire, splattered with blood, that same face had delighted in the killing of her parents.

She regained her senses only when the men were charging at her, the leader standing far behind and directing the battle. From the way they were crashing about in the woods, they had only a general direction of her location, but she was one and they were many. Still, she was a Drow, and this was her Forest.

These humans would learn the hard lesson of crossing the Drow.


Swiftly, Traxex nocked another arrow, letting loose almost as soon as she had drawn her bowstring. The arrow flew straight and true, thudding solidly into the chest of a man. As he stumbled backward into the arms of the man behind him, Traxex was already on the move; she knew the Forest well, and knew all the possible hiding spots in the area. In this manner, she brought down as many as four more attackers, before they grew wise to her trick. The survivors began to seek shelter amongst the trees, making it difficult for her arrows to find their target on the ground.

Swiftly, Traxex slung her bow on her back and climbed up the nearest tree. From her vantage point up above, she spied one who was less protected from the skies; she took advantage of this immediately, dispatching the man quickly with a well-placed arrow through the head. Smiling in grim satisfaction, she climbed higher on her chosen tree, and leaped forward to a neighboring tree where the branches were closer.

As she moved from tree to tree, her attackers seemed to realize this as well, and began to scan the treelines for any sign of her. She counted the men who were left; only four of them, including the leader. This would be easy.

Finally, she found a suitable vantage point to fire from. She nocked her bow carefully and fired, her arrow flying unerringly toward its target. She spent a moment to watch her projectily fly, making sure it had found its mark, only gathering herself for another leap when she saw the man fall. But the moment spent waiting proved to be one moment too long, for a tomahawk came flying from a different direction, splintering the branch she had been on. With a yelp of surprise, Traxex crashed through the leaves and fell to the ground.

The ground rose to meet her, and the impact as she fell dazed her momentarily. In that instant, one of her attackers laid hands on her left arm; looking up, it was old Codge, leering at her boorishly. Panicking, Traxex balled her right hand and swung; she felt the pop of her knuckles as her fist met with his face, and felt his nose break under her hand. Letting go immediately, the old man shrieked in pain, both his hands covering his nose. Traxex leapt to her feet and swung her bow hard at his head, feeling the solid crunch of bone under her weighty bow. The old man's body began to sway to one side.

Almost instantly, Codge stiffened and slumped over, another tomahawk sticking out of his back. Traxex looked down at him in shock, then looked up again; snarling, the leader was reaching for another one of his weapons. Amazed by her sheer luck, she reached for an arrow, confident that she could draw and prepare her weapon faster than he could. She only had her arrow halfway out of her quiver, however, when the last remaining attacker burst out from her right, his blade at the ready. Traxex started, and only narrowly managed to dodge the attack. Blood spurted as the sword gashed deep into her right arm, and she bit off her cry of pain. She drew her arrow completely out of her quiver, but instead of placing it into her bow she drove the projectile into the man's left eye as hard as she could.

Having never done such a maneuver before, Traxex stumbled forward, crashing into the body of the man she had just stabbed. The stumble saved her life, as another tomahawk whistled narrowly past her head. Regaining her balance as fast as she could, she reached behind for another arrow, but her hand grabbed nothing but air. Her heart stopped; she had run out of arrows. Her opponent seemed to have realized this as well, as he came rushing at her, twin tomahawks in hand and victory spelled out on his face. Bruised and bleeding, Traxex willed her legs to move, but found that standing was all she could manage at the moment.

She looked death in the face as he charged.


As he neared, Traxex kept telling herself to move, to do something about the situation. But nothing came to mind, and as the man drew nearer, her fear grew exponentially. She raised her bow in defense, but knew that its wood was no match against two steel axes.

Then, inexplicably, the man fell over, writhing in the snow, a Drow arrow protruding from his back. Traxex glanced up at her savior; in the distance, she could see a tiny form collapsing into the snow. Struggling, she forced herself to walk; when she could not, she made herself crawl. Slowly, she progressed toward the figure, and felt her heart break.

It was Retha.

"Mother!" Ignoring years of Drow tutelage, she shrieked the word. Ignoring her own pain, she stumbled to her feet, and ran the remaining distance to Retha. Gathering the fallen figure into her arms, Traxex's tears ran unchecked as she cried the word over and over again. Feebly, Retha opened her eyes, and smiled.

"Shush, child..." Traxex fell silent, save for the sobs that she could do nothing about. Retha shook her head slowly, "You are the last Drow. Remember... the Drow way."

Long after Retha's body had grown cold, Traxex sat there, cross-legged, cradling her mother's head in silence.


It had been years since then.

Traxex lived alone, guiding travelers through the Forest and dispatching interlopers. She might be the only remaining Drow, but the Drow way would live within her. Of that, she vowed.

On that particular day, Traxex sat, cross-legged at the feet of her Mother's chair in her hut. The sole occupant of the village, yet she took pains to keep herself as unobtrusive as possible. She meditated silently.

Slowly, surely, a thought formed in her mind. This was not a new experience; over the years, Traxex had grown accustomed to such messages. She was convinced that these were messages from the Forest itself, for they had always guided her unerringly toward any visitors to the Forest. As the great Drow shamans of old had, she had gained the ability to speak to the Forest, and she was infinitely proud of the fact.

She concentrated on the thought, willing the image to mind, trying to see where the visitor was this time. But as the image became clearer, Traxex grew increasingly confused; this was nowhere she had seen before. The glade she saw was beautiful in its greenery, but the Forest was shrouded in winter's white cloak all year round. She had never actually seen a green forest before, and it was alien to her. Yet, it tugged at her heartstrings in a way she could not explain.

Go.

She heard the word clearly this time. In her mind's eye, the peaceful glade slowly became tinged in blood, and life slowly became corrupted beyond all recognition. It needed her help to survive, this much she knew, but to abandon her duties in the Forest...

Go.

Again. Traxex rose, reaching for her bow uncertainly. She felt that it was the right thing to do, that this was the Forest's wish, but no Drow had left the Forest before.

Go.

She made up her mind. Slinging her bow on her back, she looked at her mother's chair one last time, then left the hut and the Drow's village altogether.

The Drow Ranger answered the call.


I originally intended this to be a really short piece, but somehow it grew in monstrous length... But well, to the few readers who are still reading this, hope you enjoy it. No regular updates promised, if and only when I feel like I have the time and inspiration ya. I have a few stories cooking in my head at this time actually, just nothing concrete yet. Well, till next time.