Lasting Impression (ToB and beyond)

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I like the idea of making his sword a long sword, but if he has no shield, maybe another sword? Personally, I think "Evening Star" is used a little too often (roots in LOTR, Arwen Evenstar). Maybe something more along the lines of C'Jakob's idea, "Darkstar" or maybe something like "Soulflame" or, if you insist on using "Mist", something like "Moonmist." Maybe making it like a moonblade. I don't know if these ideas will work for your story or not, but they may.
PS- C'Jakob "Eilistraee."

[This message has been edited by Faerus Stoneslammer (edited May 22, 2002).]

 

I can't really picture him using more than one sword (and no shield), but whatever works in your story should be fine...

Now, as has already been pointed out, Evening Star reminds too much of Elrond's daughter. Perhaps Evenmist? Perhaps make it a scimitar and name it the Crescent?
Soulflame sounds good too, but I don't think it really fits this sword in particular, and neither does Darkstar (too ominous).

Don't bother about it's enchantments unless you plan to use it for other purposes than this story. Introduce us to its powers within the text instead.

That's my opinions in the matter.

 

Thanks for your opinions, guys!
Believe it or not, for all my random LOTR references I - never - thought of Arwen once.
Anyway, in my typical solution of the problem, I simply avoided it.

You may guess what I'll write next: that this post didn't come off as I wanted it to. And that is correct, more or less. It feels clumsy and rushed, and really weird; and is really written with no edits; I'll probably have to heavily edit it because of the two first dis-qualities.
And it's weird, because well... it's weird. I just hope I won't offend anyone by it.
I guess I am just cursed by both being impressible by what's on TV AND a bad writer, one unable to show my character's emotions, at the same time. I then try to replace it with my own emotion.

One thing: I've written the first part of this one listening to a "Duel of the Fates"/"Bridge of Khazad-dum" combination; it may be better to read it listening to it as well?

As I now stand and look forward to this city of shadow, I seek to foresee the things that will come. For a day will arrive when I'm called forth to act and I would that my blades struck true that time.
As I now stand and look back to this city of light, I seek to remember the things that have come. For a day will arrive when I'm called forth to sing and I would that my words spoke truth that time.


"What do you feel… great predator?"
"Sorrow and regret."

He looked at the wasteland that the city had become, and could not help but laugh sadly at the irony of it all. Now, when he forgot, he was forced to remember anew…

"It would eventually have happened anyway."

"But not through my actions."

"There was no choice. And you did not know. Few knew. No one can accuse you."

"Why do I feel so bad, then?"

"They aren't worth it."

"Was I any different?"

He looked around again, and remembered - was it only several hours before?


They were outside the walls of Ust Natha, and it took much of Haer'Dalis' meagre magic skills to hide them from the keen eyes of the guards.

Since the safety of the prisoners was paramount, they could not waste time fighting their way to the slave pens. They had to get to them as fast as possible; then one person - Solaufein, most likely - would remain there, protecting the prisoners, and the rest would try to clear the way out. This meant they would have to fight overwhelming forces in a hostile city whose layout was largely unknown to them; all they could base on were Solaufein's brief sketches; Adalon in her wrath had destroyed some parts of Ust Natha, and much had changed in the city since Viconia and Haer'Dalis had last seen it. But they saw no other path, save the one of forswearing the people; the one they would not take.

Their objective was not killing Ust Natha's citizens, but releasing the prisoners; of course, they were not so naive as to assume it could have been achieved in a peaceful way. But if it were possible, they would prefer not to fight the entire city; not necessarily because it would be a pointless waste of lives, but because they were not sure of their chance of victory. They were powerful and justly proud of their power; but they were not overconfident; overconfidence is an inexcusable weakness, oft punished by death, as they all well knew.

And so they stood in front of the walls of Ust Natha, in a spot they thought the closest to the pens. Nothing but the walls and a short hasted run down the city's narrow streets separated them from Solaufein's companions; nothing but the high, thick, adamantine-hardened walls and streets busy at all times with drow and their slaves.

"It's all too ridiculous," thought Viconia, and spelt the last words of her incantation.
Akin to the light of the Sun on a day's noon, a brilliant white shine now enveloped her. The same light shrouded Haer'Dalis, who now wielded an ancient blade long ago wrestled from a lich. And Solaufein; his bejewelled helm was one source of the shine; another, even stronger, was his sword, now as dazzling, and radiant, and beautiful as when he had first set his eyes on this gift of his goddess.

The one weakness of adamantine is its vulnerability to the light of day; the most finely crafted drow mails and weapons soon turn to unsightly piles of dust when subjected to the Sun's gaze. That is not a drawback in the Underdark, for no sunlight enters it; and the dim flicker of lamps cannot hurt the alloy.

"But what if we focus a lot of light on a tiny spot of the walls?" argued Haer'Dalis during one of their heated discussions. "We may just manage to breach them."

"You are the least informed on storming cities, and especially drow cities, of all of us," answered Viconia. "This is a plan that cannot work."

"This, my raven, was an ad hominem response if I ever heard one. Why can't it?" Haer'Dalis, as always, was only amused by her anger.

"Ad daemonium, rather; because someone would have tried it by now?" Viconia was annoyed that she was reduced to such arguments; indeed, Haer'Dalis was right, these were no arguments at all.

"We don't know nobody did, do we, raven?"

So here they were now, attacking a city with nothing more material than light. And, to her surprise, it worked. A small part of the wall - but still enough to let one person, even as large as Sarevok, through - melted, revealing to them the view of a narrow street. The explosion of light evidently blinded the passers-by, their eyes having to recover from the abrupt change from the previous omnipresent umbra.

"Let's go," cried Sarevok, and hurried into the city. Solaufein followed him, his helm no longer agleam, but his sword still very much so; he led the group down the streets, not pausing anywhere, always forward; at last they entered the slave pens and in a few fast cuts did away with the surprised overseers. Although she did not expect it, the plan had worked so far.
But already sounded the alarms in the city, and already first drow warriors began to pour into the pen; so Solaufein began to free his companions and lead them away to the safest corner of the place, where they would be relatively protected from stray arrows and ricocheting spells; and Sarevok and Haer'Dalis stood in the narrow entrance, Viconia supporting them from behind. Fortunately for them, the platform was quite isolated from the rest of the city, and thus a position they could possibly defend.

The greatest threat was, as it soon became obvious, not the melee fighters immediately before them, but the unreachable archers and spellcasters from whom they were separated by an almost constantly renewing wave of the swordfighters. Safe in the behind, they could shoot spells and arrows unperturbed; many of those did not manage to pierce the armours, both those substantial and those more ethereal, of the two fighters, but some did, and hurt the two men. At last, Haer'Dalis had to withdraw a bit to be healed; Solaufein substituted for him. On seeing him, many of their enemies yelled and turned to him, and away from Sarevok; grave error for the majority.
Meanwhile, Haer'Dalis and Viconia occupied themselves with the spellcasters behind. Finally they managed to decrease the immunity to magic of some, and started to succeed in the elimination of the dangerous foes. At the sight of this, many of them retreated, leaving the melee fighters to their fate.

Soon, a dangerous impasse was achieved: the party controlled a short stretch of the street until a small circular place; so many bodies of drow littered it that it was hard to traverse. But apart from their branch, three other streets extended from the place. If they entered it, they would be attacked from all of these, and it was hard to foresee if they would prevail; most probably not.

But enter the place they must, and the drow knew about that; their path led through the place and then through the rightmost branch. As unease was the party to leave their positions, they had to; for now they were trapped, much like Solaufein's companions were before, the physical boundary to their confinement no less real.

And then, something unexpected happened: from the shadows on the other side of the place a single drow appeared, and spake in perfectly accented Common. Behind Sarevok and Viconia, Solaufein whispered, "That's she; the leader of the city." Haer'Dalis looked at Sarevok, to see if they were to attack the drow now, but Sarevok - whom they chose the leader of the group for the duration of the undertaking - shook his head. He wanted to hear the drow's words.
And those were:

"We seem to have reached a stalemate here, don't we? Well, there is a conventional solution to such a problem: a duel. Do you want to wait there till the stars burn out, or do you, as we, wish to have this matter over?"

"I challenge one of you to a duel. If your champion wins, you are free to go, together with those traitors; my drow will not attack you. If I win, expect death. Not a fast and easy death, remember that."

"You aren't such an idiot to take up on her offer, I hope?" asked Viconia in a matter-of-fact voice.

"Actually, Viconia, I believe I am," answered Sarevok. "The prize of killing her may be enough. Do you genuinely think there will be no discord in their lines after she dies?" And loudly he cried: "I take your offer. Just mind that no arrow is accidentally shot when I appear on the arena."

"Fool," hissed Viconia after him, "he's leaving us one fighter less." It was obvious that she was no more eager to fulfil her part of the agreement than the other drow.

At first, he fought defensively; only parrying his opponent's moves, not attacking himself, trying to feel her style, and its possible weaknesses. The drow fought at first aggressively and angrily, then she too started to use economic, efficient moves, preserving her energy. It was not a thrilling duel to watch, though certainly exciting to fight; a battle of minds just as much as of weapons; but it was obvious that however good his opponent was at it, it did not suit her; finally she lost her patience, and attacked again.

A quick succession of slashes, thrusts and parries; and then, their weapons were deadlocked, like their armies were only minutes before. They unlocked them, and stood anew against one another, each looking closely at the other's face for a sign when and where the next blow would strike.

And then, the drow laughed, and said, in Common again:

"Are you afraid of death, human? I'm not."

And he remembered.

A different time, a different underground city…
"I do not fear death; do you?"
A different duel…
A different life.

"You will be," he said in his deep, resonant voice, and smiled to her a cool little smile that carried no joy and no invitation. And then, he cut with all his Deathbringer might, a cut far too fast and far too powerful for her to parry.

A head rolled on the ground…

It was over.


The chaos that were the next several hours he remembered only blurrily. As was to be expected, the drow attacked them before their leader's body was on the ground; but as often as at the party, their blows and spells seemed to be directed at one another; old grievances were brought to the dim light of the caverns and dealt with. They would still probably be able to unite against the intruders but for what happened next; for as soon as the drow died, the ground around them began to shake, first faintly, then stronger and stronger. Large parts of the ceiling of the cave started to fall around them…

"Earthquake? Here?" thought Viconia. "Impossible!"

"Sarevok! Wake up! We have to get out of here fast!" she screamed, and shook the human who stood in the middle of the battleground as if he were alone in some garden of dream; somehow, he was untouched by any stray weapon. "Solaufein! Haer'Dalis! Get the prisoners!"

They all hurried to the entrance to Ust Natha, Solaufein and Sarevok in the lead, the prisoners next, finally Viconia and Haer'Dalis; there was no time to get through the tiny opening they used on their way in. On their way out, they fought many drow, some escaping the city just as they were, other willing to delay their own rescue for the prize of killing one of the surfacers or one of the prisoners. And indeed, many of the prisoners died in the rescue, either killed by a drow weapon or crushed to death by the falling roof. Sunlight began to pour from cracks in the ceiling, melting the parts of the city where it touched.

"Faster! We have to be faster!" thought desperately Viconia. "We have to get at least to the soul crystal to be safe." But the prisoners, malnourished in their captivity, moved only slowly; and there were no spells to surmount this.

Eventually, they managed to get to the city's gates, now opened by the escaping drow; they went past and went on; but soon they stopped.

"What's happening?" She left Haer'Dalis to defend the rear alone, and went to the van to look. Soon, she received her answer.

"Spiders."

Hundreds of spiders of all sizes and kinds filled the vast expanse beyond the narrow bridge to the city. Sarevok and Solaufein were already busy fighting them; so were all the drow who escaped the city before them; but although they were fast and there were many of them, the spiders were prevailing by sheer numbers. Viconia joined the fray, now casting spells, now attacking with her weapon; so did other drow, fluxing from behind her; now everyone's forces were concentrated on the same goal; they had to get out of the immediate neighbourhood of Ust Natha before the city finally melted and collapsed. Even the weaponless, armourless, weakened prisoners tried to fight. But that still wasn't enough.

"They need only to delay us," thought Viconia. "Lloth's cohorts…"

And so they were, between the falling city and the multitude of enemies; not sure of their allies, whom they fought against only half an hour ago; hopeless beyond all hope.

And then, suddenly, the spiders' ranks waved, as though they were attacked from the behind; and attacked they were, though by ally or an even stronger enemy, Viconia knew not.

She learnt soon enough, however, because with this another army the arachnids were before long all dead. Svirfneblin, deep gnomes, under Goldander Blackenrock, were who came to their rescue. He approached Viconia and cried over the noise of the falling rocks, "Tell them all to put down their weapons. Now, if they want us to let them through. Everyone save you, surface drow, and your humans, is to put away their weapons."

Sarevok approached them and asked, "What does he want?"

"Tell the drow that they are to put away their weapons," repeated Blackenrock, in coarsely accented Common.

Usually, such a request would have been met only by laughter on the part of the drow; but these were unusual times, and the drow quickly disarmed themselves; the only problem was with Solaufein, for though he gladly set his sword aside, no gnome could lift it. Eventually, he was allowed to be fourth armed prisoner, for time was scarce.

Then, they were all led in the direction of the gnome's village, but did not enter it; instead, the drow were all rounded up in a small open space; and Viconia, Sarevok, Haer'Dalis and Solaufein - for in the meantime Viconia managed to convince the King that he was to be treated specially as well - were called before the King, who said:

"They are to take off their armours as well. And you are personally responsible for their behaviour. They must not attack one of my people, or one another, or they die. Understood? My people will heal the wounded, and provide them with food and water for this one day. Check on them, and tomorrow we will talk about their future. That good?"

"Yes, but…" Solaufein started.

"What?"

"Why are you doing this? The drow did you no good! We would let you die!"

"An old debt, shall we say, outcast drow? Yes," he added, seeing how Solaufein's face changed, "you might wear a gorgon plate of a drow leader, but little escapes our eyes, and we know you are outcast. But whether you want it or not, you are their leader now just as well."

They followed the King's directions, and checked on the prisoners, ordering them to do his bidding. Few of the drow belonged to Solaufein's companions; but when Viconia demonstrated the necessity to obey him by killing one who dared attack a gnome healer, the other were disobedient no more. And since she - to the amazement of many, especially the females - answered to Solaufein, by the force of circumstances he was, indeed, soon assumed the leader by all the drow, just as the King foresaw. Soon, order was restored, and Viconia was unnecessary in the camp.


Several hours after the fight, Sarevok approached her, and asked her if she would return with him to the city, since the quakes were - according to the gnome engineers - over; perhaps they would find someone still alive. She agreed, and they went to where Ust Natha used to be.

"What do you think happened there, Viconia?"

"I think she somehow - isn't it ridiculous how we don't even know her name - enchanted the cave so that when she died, the city would die with her. A safeguard against any assassin attempts, if the appropriate people - her daughters, Matrons of other Houses, and the such - were informed."

"Meaning that when I killed her…"

"You were responsible for the destruction of an entire city, my hawk," happily supplied Haer'Dalis, who approached them just now. "Wasn't this absolutely delicious, this death of a city? If I recollect well, this was your one-time dream, wasn't it?"

He looked at the bard incredulously.

"You are sick, Haer'Dalis! How dare you say such things! This was everything but delicious! It was terrible, terrible… and it was all my fault…"

"If you believe so, well, that's your opinion. Let me be entitled to mine."

Now Sarevok was barely controlling himself. He grabbed his sword, and brought it to the bard's neck.

"Listen… I… just… LEAVE ME ALONE! Go write a story or something, just don't let me see you, or I'll lose the rest of my self-control! Just GO AWAY!"

Haer'Dalis, indignant, hurried forward. Viconia looked at Sarevok, who was still holding his sword, a mad look in his eyes.

"You aren't controlling yourself again; I don't understand you. You were perfectly willing to kill them one by one; what's so wrong with killing them all at once? They were drow; they wouldn't cry for you, you know."

"That's what you think of what happened? That it's good riddance?"

"Well, yes, of course. They deserved what happened to them. And you allow yourself to be controlled by emotions again."

"Forgive me, Viconia, but I am still only a pitiful, weak human governed by emotions. And the thing, this plan, was so… devoid of emotion. Cold calculation: I will die, but everyone else also will. Perhaps once I would understand it; but even my plan was driven by greed… desire for power; and here… none, only cold reason. That's so drow that I don't think I will ever understand it; I don't even think I want to. But let us talk about it no more; I see we understand each other no better than I understand Haer'Dalis."

They finally arrived at Ust Natha, or rather when it used to be; for no trace of the city remained. They had to go slightly upslope to get there; there was more earth and rock in the roof of the cave than space in the deep under the city's piers. The roof ended abruptly over their heads; but from every other direction, the descent into the crater was gentle. Indeed, one could actually get out to the outside world from this place, and it would take no real strain to accomplish that.

The bottom of the crater was surprisingly even, made of the earth that was previously above; here and there were rocks and fallen trees; but no bodies were seen, and there was nothing that would possibly suggest the former existence of a city in this place. It was as if Ust Natha had never existed. As if the battle had never been fought.

And it was this way that he found himself dreaming and remembering the events of few hours past, and his role in them. And he could not stop wondering if what has occurred could not have occurred differently, though he knew such speculation was idle.


At last, it was getting darker, and they decided to return to the camp; they had to ask Solaufein what solution for the future he would propose; for they found none. Haer'Dalis would stay; the view did, indeed, give him incentive for a new sonnet, just as Sarevok in his rage had predicted.
They were now inspecting the camp, where the drow lay in spell-induced sleep, and searching for hidden weapons. They did, indeed, find one, though not hidden as expected: instead, it was thrust deep in the chest of one drow warrior. And it was not a large knife, nor a fight-knife, actually: it was a kitchen knife. And its handler stood just behind the head of the murdered drow.
It was a little gnome girl, now looking at the corpse with such a look of hate as Sarevok remembered himself once looking at Gorion with, at the dawn of his life; a look that, he suddenly decided, no child should ever look with.

"And what do you think you're doing here, child?" he asked the girl. "I hope she understands Common."

She did; and without hesitation answered matter-of-factly, "She killed my brother. So I killed her."

He was now kneeling next to her, and asked her in a voice tired by the events of the day.

"And do you feel better? Better for your brother? Better for yourself? You are, after all, a killer just like she was; a great predator… this should make you feel better. Does it?"

The child looked at his face. And then, slowly, very slowly, the look on her face changed. And she shook her head, and, eventually, burst into crying.

Viconia shot Sarevok an astonished and enraged look, then knelt and hugged the girl, and spoke to her softly, "Believe me, if I could, I would bring back your brother. But I cannot."

The child whispered something into her ear.

"Yes, I could bring back this drow; but only if you want me to."

The child, still clinging to her armour, nodded through tears.

"Better take her away now," Viconia said to the closest gnome of the small crowd that had meanwhile gathered around them; some of the faces in the crowd, she observed, were sad at what happened; other showed just like that on the child's face a moment ago. But then, the child cried, "No!"

And the drow was resurrected, and the child was reunited with her family, and when they were alone, she spoke to Sarevok.

"Well, what was it about? Are you so suddenly against killing your enemies? When did you become a self-righteous, stuffed-up paladin, I wonder?"

"I merely tried out your tactic, dear friend," answered Sarevok, now again towering over her; his voice loud and reverberating, and full of tones and echoes, like on that night on the hill. "I showed her what she had done. She chose by herself."

"Don't you dare use that voice on me, human," spitted she, on the inside furious that she fell into this trap.

"Calm down, Viconia, I wasn't trying to attack you." He was surprised that she pounced on him so.

Frankly, she was just as surprised at her reaction, and said quietly, "I know."


Solaufein was witness to what had happened; and soon after the matter was cleared, went to Goldander.

"May I speak a word with Your Majesty?" He was now speaking Common, for although he understood the gnome's language, he spoke it not, and Common seemed a neutral alternative to speaking Drow. "Curious that I should know the language of humans, but not of my neighbours," he thought.

"Yes, what is it, drow leader… Solaufein, is it?"

"Your Majesty, I believe that for the benefit of all, my people and I should leave you as soon as possible tomorrow."

"And why would that be?"

"We are already great strain on your village as it is… even this day's rations must have strained your village's food reserve. We will pay for this, of course, but I don't think that you will be even willing to sell us food soon. And we won't have the money anyway. So, we'd better leave now, when our relations are still good."

"And things are coming up which should remain hidden," the King added. "We see you are a wise man, drow. Don't worry about today's food; keep the money, you will need it."

"Thank you, Your Majesty." He was astonished at the King's generosity; the issue of paying for the food burdened him greatly; he did not know if he could collect enough money without asking Viconia for help.

"And for as long as you are the leader of these drow, we think our relationship will, indeed, be good." The King smiled. "What do you intend?"

"I… don't know. Obviously, there is no future for us in the Underdark. But there is no future for us on the surface, either. I simply don't know." He looked to the King for advice.

"We cannot help you, I'm afraid, drow… but why don't you ask your surface drow for that? She seems like a clever and resourceful one."

"Thank you, Your Majesty." He bowed and left. "I wonder how he knows Viconia is a "surface drow"… another of Aquila's acquaintances? Did she do something for him when in Ust Natha? Haer'Dalis must have omitted this fragment… or I was more asleep than I thought."


He next went to Viconia, and asked her what she thought he should do; the very same question she and Sarevok planned to ask him.

"What will we do now, Viconia? Where are we supposed to go now?"

"How I hate you, Solaufein!" she wanted to shout. "How I hate you! How dare you come here and ask me questions! I hate you! If you are the leader, lead; don't ask me to lead you; if you are a drow, behave like a drow; not like some human baby! I hate you!"

But aloud, she said something else.

"Why not back?"

"Back?"

"To where Ust Natha used to be. We, Sarevok and I, were there before today. The falling roof covered the city completely with a thick layer of earth and rock… and the ground's pretty even. There is a good ascent to the above, and a section of the city can still be built underground. And it's in a good place for trade."

"But what of… what's below?"

"The old city is completely buried, and the layer, I believe, is too thick to dig through it in search of a lost treasure; digging for cellars won't go as deep, I think."

"You may be right," he said, deep in contemplation. "I initially thought to head for some human cities… but we probably even wouldn't get there, but be killed on the way. Going for the caves is obviously excluded; so we will have to rebuild on our own; and why not here, then, where we more or less know the terrain, and are relatively safe thanks to the ceasefire with the gnomes, though it's shaky at best; no other race now lives here."

"Of course, this is all idle thought anyway, Solaufein; don't expect too much. You are now poor; you have no money, no food, no fresh water, no shelter, no peace, no weapons and no tools. How long do you think you will survive together? Drow will come to kill you, humans will come to kill you, elves will come to kill you; and even if they don't, we are, after all, drow. There will be strife and betrayals and fight for power. Do you understand what you are pitting yourself against?"

"Something I will die from soon. Very soon. You don't change the drow; you die trying;" he sighed, and looked at her. "We could use some help."

An idea suddenly struck her.

"Well, yes, you could."

"Someone like you."

"No. You know just as well as I do that if I stayed here, we would soon be fighting each other for power. Besides, what can I give you, save some healing skills? But I think," she started to play with a trinket she wore down her neck, "I might know of a person who could be interested in fulfilling an eternal debt." She took off the necklace. "She'll give you an audience, if only to learn who you stole it from."

The following day, Viconia led the drow refugees to where their future city was to be constructed; and Solaufein, Sarevok and Haer'Dalis departed for the elven city of Suldanessellar; the former to negotiate with an elven Queen, the latter to record the meeting to posterity, and the third one because he had never been there yet and had nothing else to do.

 

You said you think it feels rushed and, I don't know, maybe you're right. It is more fast-paced than previous episodes though, but it's still good.

Now I eagerly await the next installment...

 

Earlier today I decided to start reading your story (I am currently in episode 3).

And I am thrilled. You are really doing a great job. Just your background work is amazing. This piece is setting a great standard for the creative surge.

Edit; You ask about Ham-goblins in the episode I am reading. I take it you mean Haemoglobin? I can't see that anyone has answered that. I'll try not to get too technical.
Haemoglobin is a very important part of our oxygen transportation. It is a protein which binds to oxygen and transports it to tissues like muscles. Haemoglobin-proteins are present in erythrocytes, which are the red blood cells. Creatures in Faerun (forgotten realms) breath, so it strongly indicates that they carry oxygen around their body and hence have Haemoglobin in their blood. Nothing prevents the red color from beeing green blue or black for that matter in Faerun though. Hope it helps

[This message has been edited by ArchAngel (edited April 23, 2002).]

 

This post will be updated as soon as I finish editing the next part.


My background work? What background work? There was none that I'm aware of. Even the drow dictionary I found by chance when I was writing the part. Luck.


I'll try not to get too technical.

Will it help that I am a MolBio? LOL, come to think of it: What other kind of a person would ask for haemoglobin in a fantasy world?

But I can't agree with: nothing prevents...; the red tinge of haemoglobin is distinctly connected to the haem iron (chlorophyll, with a slightly distinct porphyrin ring and Mg instead of Fe, is green, after all), and it won't be different. But red blood can contain other, non-haem (non-Fe) carriers.

Random Quote of the Day:

To be brief, we put on scary clothes and had a ride through that neighbourhood in full armour, almost screaming at every corner: "Where does so-and-so live, the lord of the Ring of Power? Give him to us!" It was good that they haven't got counterintelligence there, or even police! A professional would get it in a minute: "Hey, guys, something stinks here! If someone searches for a person, it's not how it's done!" But those bumpkins - the owner of the Ring and his fellows - had no doubt as to our intentions, of course. So, we rushed them easily to the east, scaring them a bit, so they would not sit in pubs too much.

- Sharha-Rana, a Nazgul, on the hunt for the Ring of Power

 

Lovely, another molecular-biologist. We almost swarm this place. You, me, Vukodlak, Christopher_Lee and a few other. Great.

Anyway, I am sure we both know all there is to know about respiratory pigments. If you want crazy blood howabout the yellow-green(blue) blood from Haemocyanin
It was a more philosophical view I took in that last phrase. What are colours? Wavelenghts. It is your world you descide whether Iron has a purple green or blue glow.

Edit; what I am sure of is that we have to have an oxygen carrier. It might as well be Haemoglobin (But any oxygen carrier you can imagine would work, it is your world) . Are you asking because of Viccy's blue blood? Naah Don't Tell. Don't spoil.

Another Edit; you say you're lucky? In my experimce there is no such thing as luck

[This message has been edited by ArchAngel (edited April 23, 2002).]

 

Well, no, the only thing was that if there was no iron in Sarevok's blood, he could not really dream that little dream...

I'm so tired. I saw all the scenes of this next part, but actually coming upon the right epithets was... difficult. And after seeing them really many times in my memory, writing them was absolutely boring, like playing Irenicus' dungeon over and over again.

There is no chapter header this time, since it is merely a continuation of the previous one.

It was early in the morning of the second day of their travel, and the air was cool and sweet in the small grove they were passing through on their journey to Suldanessellar; the few red rowanberries left behind by the feeding birds were the only clear shapes in the remnants of the mists of dawn. They walked freely through the forest, not fearing enemies, nor caring for silence; laughing loudly at some anecdote of Haer'Dalis', almost daring the world to oppose them and their joy; and so they did not hear the soft, quiet steps and swift arrows of the elves that ambushed them. Or mayhap they did; for all their apparent recklessness, they were quite well prepared when the attack arrived.

"Are you really that willing to die, darthiir, or will you listen for a second instead?" asked Solaufein; his sword was on the neck of the party's leader. Three of the seven elves were gravely wounded and lying on the ground; a fourth was unconscious, stunned by an offhand blow by Sarevok - who suddenly discovered that defeating an enemy without killing him was quite harder than he had previously imagined. The fifth opponent was clutching her arm, her hand cut off by Haer'Dalis, who now held her neck between his two blades; a not too efficient, though effective, move, and, like much of the bard's actions, one almost certainly executed mainly for effect. The last elf was unharmed, and still hiding somewhere in the shrubs and trees; his bow sang no more; perhaps as its owner feared that they retaliate on the hapless captives; or perhaps for he fled to gather reinforcements.

It was best that he did not worry about the escapee, though; the wounded were the more serious matter for the time being. "I had better start the negotiations before they bleed to death," he thought, looking at the pools of blood, ever-growing and deep red, red as the berries growing on the rowans under which they grew; then, he turned back to his disarmed opponent and spoke, again carefully choosing the words of the Common tongue.

"You do not, I presume, recognize this." Aquila's Amulet of Seldarine, an exquisite jewel of emeralds and sapphires, blue and green diamonds; a minute masterpiece of the elvish craft, unique and unmistakable; and instantly recognizable by anyone who was present in the Temple of Rillifane on that singular day when Aquila was brought back to her life. The darthiir's face clouded.

"And you do not, I presume, recognize him," he pointed to Haer'Dalis, "to whom, as to few other, your Queen offered once, and not long ago, the eternal gratitude of Suldanessellar?" He watched, satisfied, as anger and shame slowly entered the warrior's face. "No ground to claim moral superiority now, I see."

The elf now answered; and Solaufein admired him; for despite his position, his arguments still held reason; there was no panic and no excuse in his voice. "He might once have been with Aquila, and a saviour to our city; but who he is now, and in league with whom, I do not know; I only see him in the presence of a drow, an enemy to my people, an intruder on my land, and one who could only inherit the Amulet by theft or murder; how am I not to be suspicious?"

"A fine gratitude it is, then: not to be even allowed free passage through the lands in a company one chooses for himself! Tell me then, elf: there whisper some that another of those who helped free the Queen was a drow herself, an enemy to your people, an intruder on your land; what would be her greeting if she reappeared here, wishing passage only? Would she be a one-time saviour or a present danger to you and your folk?"

"She did not…"

"Forgive me, gentlemen," Haer'Dalis interrupted, reproach clear in his voice, "but my hands are aching."

"I agree that they are losing blood, Haer'Dalis, but what am I to do?"

"The inevitable consequence of theatrical gestures," countered Sarevok, who now reappeared from between the trees, dragging the unconscious form of the sixth elf behind him, "That is quite an interesting discussion, one I most certainly cannot allow interrupted by unwanted guests," he added, his image that of civility incarnate.

Suddenly, as if taking cue from her prolocutors, the other elf still afoot spoke in Elvish, "If they wished our death, we would have been dead by now; if they want information, they will have to heal us. I cannot help you now, I lost too much blood; nor can any other; and your little ploy to gain time has failed; I suggest that we surrender."

"Aye, listen to your friend," Solaufein now spoke, in Elvish just as well, though the musical, rich tones of the language sounded awkward and distorted coming from him, "you may either stand there and argue with me further, your friends wounded and untended to; or we may all sit and discuss the necessary matters in a much finer arrangement. What say you?"

He hoped that the revelation that he knew the language would be taken as the act of goodwill he intended it to be. "If I aimed to intercept their talk, I would keep my ability hidden; but this is what their first thought will be. A double-edged sword is the art of subterfuge; what shall you decide, elf, I wonder?"

"We consider ourselves your prisoners, then," the elf said, looking to Haer'Dalis, as if for support. But the tiefling spoke nothing; Solaufein continued, still acting the role of the leader of the party.

"Prisoners? No; guests, perhaps; my friends will take care of the wounded now, while we," the prisoners having left his mind, he could now concentrate on the more serious matter, "continue our conversation; alas, appealing as our former argument was, I must press for a different topic. The conjecture is that you are a scout, sent to espy what had transpired in the city of Ust Natha not too long before; the hypothesis is that you are willing to listen to my words."

"An interesting proposal. But why should I trust you?"

"Trust the words of a drow? I considered you far too intelligent for that; I never spoke of trust; only of willingness to listen to a firsthand witness. If it helps my credibility any, I don't do it for free, of course; I demand that you reciprocate."

"What is the bargain, then?" The elf now relaxed slightly; he was disposed to assume that this, indeed, was more of a trade, and less of a trap than he had previously believed.

"An audience with the Queen."

The elf looked more amused than angry at Solaufein's answer. "Are you mad, drow?"

"I do not ask that the Queen speak; I only ask that she be present and I will be content if she listens to me. Don't you have battle-mages to verify the truth of my words in Suldanessellar? I am willing to go to the city, if you are willing to take me there." The incredulity on the surfacer's face did not lessen any; he needed other arguments, one he was loath to press; and yet was now forced to.

"I can kill you now, and simply wait for the next patrol; and the next, if need be. It is all the same to me; ask yourself, though, if it be the same to you."

"All of which are lies, but I hope you will not see through them."

"How can you presume yourself fit to choose for your Queen? Take me to the city; I will not accuse you if she elects not to meet me."

Finally, logic prevailed; not the sophisticated logic of reason, though, but the mundane logic of sword and blood, and death; for all his heroism and courage, the elf did not want to die. "What harm can one drow be? He will not be allowed to speak to the Queen, anyway."


The sight before his eyes was almost too insubstantial to be true: delicate, ornamental structures, toy-houses rather than real-houses, celadon and white on the background of the deep green forest canopy. Suldanessellar was a piece of art as much as architecture, a true expression of the elven love of beauty. And yet, as he looked at the fine craftsmanship, he could not help but recall his own, now-destroyed home: substitute the deep, rich purple of adamantine for the celadon and white; dark faces for white; underground for over-ground; Ust Natha and Suldanessellar were much more alike than he had suspected, "Indeed," he thought, "much more alike than anyone suspects."

And with this picture of the city now destroyed returned his foolish resolve for its restoration; a resolve he would gladly shun, and continue travelling with his surface friends; if for no other reason, then to simply see more sights like the one before his eyes. But he knew in his head and in his heart, that it was too late for him now: despite the warnings, he chose wrongly; and could not choose again.

"I wonder how Viconia is doing," he thought; but straight away he laughed off this foolish concern.


She looked at the heap of bodies; the stench of burning flesh filled up her nostrils; but the disgust she felt was more of an intellectual, than of physical, kind.

"Better few, but faithful, than many undecided."

Now she had to find out those too intelligent to fall for the ancient "unguarded armoury" ploy, and yet not wise enough to stop plotting Solaufein's demise.

"Why don't they see that powerless among mortals, they are worthless to the gods? No amount of betrayal could elevate them to their former statute; they might just as well outright join with Solaufein. Why is reason so rare these days among the drow?"


He now stood in the central chamber of the Palace of Suldanessellar, where the Tree of Life grew, and where once - as he remembered from Haer'Dalis' tale - Aquila had fought her enemy for her future and her soul. He was alone with the Queen, and was still armed with his sword; a show of trust he considered foolishness. Or rather would consider so, if he had not known that in this place, in the centre of the city and the centre of the forest, was the centre of the power of the godchild-Queen; it would take one far more powerful than him to disobey her here.

Her advisors, Demin the Priestess and Elhan the Captain, had argued that she must not allow herself this folly; but the Queen reminded them that at least one drow saw the Tree before; and his weapon she feared not. They argued that they must not be alone; but she wished so; she even wished that Haer'Dalis and Sarevok be absent from the talk. And since her wish was her command, they had no choice but to obey, and guard the chamber from afar.

And now she spoke, this elven Queen, and demanded that once again he tell his tale to her; and he obeyed, for he feared her much; and once again he thought of how foolish he was to come to this terribly beautiful, and yet terrifying, place.

"Your Majesty," he concluded, now tired and exhausted, beyond all caring, "I had killed many drow, many elves, many humans and many other beings in my life; it is obvious that I cannot usurp any moral stance. I will not say, therefore, that destroying my people now would make you no better than us attacking your city with the aid of Irenicus. I will not blackmail you, saying that without help, my people will soon turn on civilians, not even from malice, but from sheer hunger only. I will not play the emotional string, asking you to help me because Aquila once helped you. I will not promise you the eternal gratitude of my people, a ridiculous concept if those people are drow; and I will not assure you that we will be your vassals, bound by alliance and peace to your city. I don't think your decision will be remembered for ages in the songs of bards and scrolls of historians. I don't even know if I will still be the leader of those whom I call my people when I return to Ust Natha. There is no certainty, no assurance, no conviction and no philosophy to support me; in the end, all I can do is to beg you that you give me some time, and some doubt; and that you do not move against my people now. And I do understand that were our roles reversed, the drow armies would already be here, and already would the slaughter and pillage begin. I repeat: I did not come here to ask, for some rational or emotional or philosophical reason; only as a beggar." He now stood turned away from her, his head touching some branch of the Tree or another; and he could not help but be amused at his foolishness. "It only took some sunlight to make me forget all those sophisticated arguments I so diligently rehearsed… some sunlight and a lot of ancient magic."

Strangely, from her answer it was clear that the Queen was amused as well. "You are an outspoken person, lord Solaufein."

"Truth is the one commodity I still have in abundance, Your Majesty."

"We could do with some even here. But since you now speak the truth, do speak all the truth: what is it that you need, save the safety of your people? How may I, and my city, help you; and when will you be ready to return to Ust Natha?"


She looked after him as he went away; awake he was now, and drunk with merriment. She touched the spot of the Tree that he touched before, and thought, joyfully and yet sadly, "Soon, the elves will be gone from here… Perhaps it is just as well that this man was born…"


There were fewer drow in Ust Natha now than when he had left it with his two companions; but that he had expected.

"I can see you managed to convince the Queen," she said, looking at the supplies and troops that he brought with him.

"I can see you managed to convince the others," he answered, looking at the relative peace of the settlement. "Are you sure you don't want to stay? Your friends will understand, I believe."

"Yes, I'm sure. It simply would not be… prudent. Perhaps when you establish yourself as a leader, I will return…"

"Thank you… for everything."

"You may keep both the armour and the helm."

"Our shrine to Aquila will need a caretaker."

"Are you mad, drow? Who will visit it?"

"I, for one… there is a bird on this sword as well. Are you sure you don't want to stay?"

"No."

"Fare thee well, Viconia."

"Fare thee well, Solaufein."


A se'nnight the three of them spent on the court of the elvish Queen, resting, doing those little, insignificant things no bard ever bothers to speak of in her tales; and Haer'Dalis finished his tale of Aquila's deeds.

They were now alone somewhere in a forest, and listening to his song.

"And so the tale is ended," he said, proud with the pride of a newborn's father.

His listeners both felt that the pride was just; but when they tried to praise him, they found that their words failed them; as if too many words were spoken, and none other could follow.

Finally, Viconia asked. "What will you sing of now, bard?"

He rose and turned away from them, looking at a flower, now withered and near death, and yet still beautiful to his eyes. "I know not, my raven… Perhaps of a man who wanted to kill one city, and killed another, and when he did so, he discovered this brought him pleasure no more? Or perhaps a woman who loved her friend too much, who almost betrayed her word to her friend in order to preserve her friend's image in the eyes of people? Or perhaps of a man who being a drow, despised all things drow, and having been an outcast of his people, became a leader to his people? Or a city, once proud and famed, cruel and vengeful, and yet now dead because of one person's madness?"

"Or perhaps of a bard, a stranger everywhere; he who rarely interferes, and yet in the end knows all that was hidden," Sarevok finished, looking at Viconia. Then, startled, he cried loud, pointing to the skies.

"Look! An eagle!"

The bird called out once, happily, and was gone.

And they laughed.

And for the rest of day they played with substance and with magic, doing small tricks with light and shadow; even Sarevok managed to spell a little spell; and they ran through the forest, and tried to guess as many names of plants and animals as they could; and still more Haer'Dalis sang, of heroes long dead, and yet immortal; of places long destroyed, and yet eternal; and all the time they laughed.

And in the evening they returned before the Queen, and Haer'Dalis sang his chant to the Queen, and to her courtiers; and the elves recognized its beauty, though it was not chanted in the elven tongue. And they ate, and drank, and sated their eyes with the loveliness of the city, and their ears with the elven music; and they were happy, and tried to remember well their happiness of that day.

And the next morning, they left Suldanessellar; they turned back when it was almost hidden already from their sight, and watched it being lit by the rays of dawn.

"Well, where now to?" asked Haer'Dalis.

"Athkatla!" cried Sarevok, drunk with happiness past.
"Athkatla!" repeated Viconia, joyful for the future.
"Athkatla it is," said Haer'Dalis; off went they to the septentrion.

And well, this is the end to the story (I guess I will have to change the title ). This time, for a change, it is supposed to feel rushed, especially at the end; so if you sleep instead, do write so:

How does it end?
With a beginning?

It was evening when they were passing through the city gates of Athkatla and when the little girl approached them. She strove to keep a look of gravity and importance, entirely inappropriate on her little face. The effect was quite ludicrous; her words were similarly polite to the point of ridicule.

"Excuse me, m'lord… Are you perchance Sarevok Anchev, the son of Rieltar?"

"Getting famous with women, I see," teased Viconia.

Sarevok shushed her and, straining to be equally polite - and to restrain from laughing - answered:

"Indeed, m'lady, I am Sarevok, though Rieltar was my foster father only. Who are you, and what is required of me?"

The girl was visibly relieved, and quickly lost her decorum.

"I knew it was you! With the drow and the weird guy! Um… I mean… I was supposed to tell you my mistress wants to speak with you. She says it's really urgent. She told me to get you to her as soon as possible."

"I will be the happiest to oblige, my young friend… but who is your mistress? Are you a slave?"

The girl was now visibly flushed.

"No, so sorry, forgot again… I'm not a slave, but an apprentice to the lady Imoen of Candlekeep. But let's go!"

They looked at one another. "Imoen here? What can she possibly want?"

"We will be honoured to follow such a gallant young lady," Sarevok finally answered. "Whereto?"

"We live in the slum area…"

"Does Imoen need money or what?" Their astonishment must have been clear on their faces.

"Oh, I know how it sounds. But it's not that bad really. Let's go!"


They followed her to the slums, and to a giant sphere that has nested in the north of the area. Understanding dawned on them, or at least on Haer'Dalis and Viconia; Sarevok was rather shocked at the sight.

"What is this… monstrosity? It was not here when I last saw Athkatla."

"Aquila said it arrived here just before she escaped from the dungeon," answered Haer'Dalis. "It landed on some buildings… but those aren't here anymore. Anyway, it's supposed to be a machine for traversing the Planes, but now it is thought to be defunct."

"We lived here back when we were based in Athkatla," added Viconia. "Aquila had somehow gotten into possession of the deed to this thing. I guess Imoen took over now."

"Well… shall we?"

They entered the sphere. The child was waiting for them, and led them forward to a small hall.

"Mistress Imoen, the guests are arrived."

Imoen looked from where she was studying some scroll. "Thank you, Tari. You may leave now; make sure no one interrupts our conversation." She then turned to Sarevok.

"Greetings, dear brother. Hello, Viconia, Haer'Dalis. Please do sit down. How was your trip? I heard you visited some of Viconia's people…"

"News travels fast, I see, darling sister…" he answered.

"Is this Imoen or her doppelganger? What happened to "heya, it's me, Imoen?""

"The journey? Boring, though it did have some moments. What about yours? I thought you wished to visit Candlekeep?"

"Boring just as well… I decided to return here with Jaheira."

"Jaheira? Is our dearest friend here with you?"

"No, she returned to her druid duties; she is in a grove somewhere near Trademeet, I believe. Knowing her, she's probably bossing everyone around, as usual." She laughed, and for an instant, the old Imoen was back. But the impression vanished almost as soon as it appeared.

He was forced to continue the farce. "What do you want of us, Imoen?"

"And what of you? Did you find life more interesting here, in Amn?"

"Why not? However, let us not dwell on unimportant matters. I have not called you here to discuss my life in Athkatla."

"Why is she so vague?" But his interest fell as soon as he saw the change in her face; and in her voice as she spoke, hurriedly and angrily all of a sudden.

"Listen, Sarevok, the gods know that I hate you, and that I have a good reason for that. But that does not mean I'm going to simply stand by and look at what will happen! You may not even know how correct you were when you said that news travels fast. There is a delegation from Baldur's Gate in Athkatla, and you may be sure that they will demand your head when they learn you are in the city; and I think the Council of Six will be more than happy to grant their wish! And it won't be long before they learn of your presence: you three are not exactly the most conspicuous people in Amn. I mean, Viconia isn't even hiding that she is a drow!"

"I'm long past hiding my identity, Imoen," Viconia answered coldly.

"And think of what will happen when the people will learn who you are! What did you think when you came here? I bet you were going sightseeing to Baldur's Gate next!"

"Indeed, what were we thinking? No matter what you do, the past always returns…"

"My advice is that you leave as soon as possible. Perhaps for Maztica? They are always looking for good fighters there. Anywhere, just away from the Coast!"

"It is a fool who believes in justice and forgiveness and the goodwill of humans…" From the look of it, Viconia thought the same. He didn't even have to look at Haer'Dalis; he knew the bard was excited, rather than repulsed, at the possibility of riots.

"And yet, to be fair, Imoen didn't have to help us…"

"Thank you, Imoen. We will take your advice; we will leave as soon as we can."

"You probably don't need to leave at once, but I'd advise that you hurry. It's well that I learned of your arrival sooner than the Council, and that it's almost night-time now," Imoen added, in a warmer tone. "It is quite possible that you have a day or two before they decide what to do with you. You may rest today, and tomorrow decide where to go - most probably."

"Thank you again, Imoen."

"Don't mention it. I have no idea why I'm helping you at all."

"We will not bother you any further. Farewell, sister."

"Farewell, Imoen."

"Farewell."

Sarevok and Viconia left the study; but Haer'Dalis, who, uncharacteristically for him, did not comment upon the whole conversation yet, lingered behind.

"What is it, Haer'Dalis? Hurry up, I'm busy."

"Nothing, my flower… Only this sparrow is surprised at the difference between the sight before his eyes and that in his memory; prithee, tell me, what triggered this death of the old Imoen?"

"Haer'Dalis, have you never heard the proverb that you should not bite the hand that feeds you?"

"No, never, indeed; is that a local saying? But I did hear you speak, and wondered that you now sound like a respectable merchant, lady Imoen; and I did hear you speak that you knew of our arrival sooner than the rulers of Amn did; and that speaks a lot. So I wondered how it may be… this is a guild of thieves, is it not, my flower?"

"Will you stop calling me that?" She was now visibly flustered.

"Of course, my cherry-blossom, if that be your wish. But what of my request?"

"You are observant as befits a bard, Haer'Dalis; I suppose you'd piece it all up anyway - you'd ask Tari and the others… I might just as well avoid the inaccuracies. But this is for your ears only; I want to hear no stories… not that this befits a bard's story anyway."

"I understand… for my ears only."

"Well, as I told Sarevok - you'll have to tell me why he looks so different now, and Viconia just as well - I came to Athkatla with Jaheira. I was barely two days in the city when a tax collector accosted me and said that since I was the next of kin to Aquila, I was understood to be the one to pay the estate tax for this thing. And that several lawsuits were waiting for me in the local court because of the destruction of property that occurred when it teleported here. There you have it: the Amnish approach to divine ascension."

"Anyway, I decided that since I'm supposed to pay the taxes for the sphere, I may just as well return to living here. Then, soon after I moved in, I met my current associate, a gnome by the name of Jan Jakobar Jansen."

"He was sitting alone in the Copper Coronet, drinking himself to death with turnip beer - did you know that there are more than twenty variants of turnip beer, and that in the brief period of our acquaintance I've tasted them all?"

"You are braver than I thought. How does it taste?"

"Awful."

"I imagine. Go on," he said, sitting himself more comfortably.

"The woman he loved, Lissa, and her daughter, were with another man, who abused them; thing was, the other man was a Shadow Thief, and Jan was not strong enough to oppose him. Well, not to prolong, I helped him; he and Lissa are now happily married."

"I am happy for their happiness, but what does it have to do with your guild, cherry-blossom?"

"I'm coming to that part. Jan is a good fellow, though somewhat… wordy, and we decided that there was a niche in the market that we could fill; the Shadow Thieves in Athkatla were seriously wounded by the death of Bloodscalp and Linvail, and not even the several months that passed when we were away helped their position much. You know, for all her mistakes, Bodhi was right about one point; they were not as strong as they suspected to begin with. And so, when Jan and I entered the market, they really couldn't do anything about it; they could not risk another guild war. Instead, many of them joined us. This place isn't just a guild, though; we are training our employees also in the use of magic, a purpose the sphere fulfils perfectly. Tari - the one who brought you here - is one of my best apprentices."

"And what of the Cowled Wizards?"

"They won't dare touch me again; I'm too powerful now to be simply grabbed to Spellhold; too powerful in magic… and in connections. The only person that has really tried to cause some problems is Sendai Argrim, the daughter of Ketlaar Argrim, a noble of this city and a magic hater just like her father. And an arrogant bastard. I remember meeting her once when we were travelling with Aquila in the Cloudpeaks; she tried to mock us into fighting her then, and I sometimes almost wish that she had succeeded. She would be dead now and I would have no trouble."
"And that is the end of my story. I may just as well stop working now and ask you about yours; I'll just go tell Tari that she's free. Will you stay for the night?"

He agreed.


"Do you think he's coming?" asked Sarevok, after they had waited for five minutes for the bard.

"No, I think he found his fellowship for the night. I'm doing the same."

"A wise decision. Is the old Coronet still in business?"

"I would think so. The new owner, Hendak, closed the slave arena, but I see no reason why Madame Nin's little enterprise should offend him."

They entered the Coronet and parted. Just before Viconia entered her chamber, a drunken dwarf stumbled onto her.

"Watch out, you little…!"

"Yer little what, blackskin?" The dwarf brandished his axe. "Nobody talks to Korgan like this, and no drow, fer sure. Defend yerself, if ye can!"

Strangely, his drunkenness did not lessen his aim. Viconia, forced, did defend herself, and killed him. She threw his body into an empty chamber and did not think about the incident anymore; pleasure awaited.


Haer'Dalis shook her into consciousness.

"Put your cloths on," he said urgently, "fast, don't bother with the armour, Sarevok's taking care of it."

"What's happening?"

"I saw a mob coming up this way. It seems they decided not to wait. The owner said he'd lock up the Coronet, but he won't be able to hold them off for long. Shouldn't really, for his own good."
She was almost done.

"Imoen said she'd think of something. Drink this" - he threw to her an invisibility potion - "and let's go."

"What, into the street?"

"No, to the sewers."

The three of them ran into the Coronet entrance into the gutters, then down the stinking drain and back up to an empty building. "Old slavers' base," Haer'Dalis explained. "We should be behind them now. Let's stop for a moment and look."

They peered cautiously through the door. Indeed, the mob was now storming the Coronet's doors; no one was looking their way. Shouts of "Sarevok! Give us Sarevok!" "We want the drow!" "For Korgan!" "Korgan Bloodaxe!" hurt their ears.

"Who, pray tell me, is Korgan?" asked Haer'Dalis, evidently amused by the whole situation.

"A dwarf I had to kill yesterday. But it was he who attacked me first!"

"I do feel inclined to believe you, my raven. But there's no use trying to explain this to them now, isn't it?"

"No, it's not, of course. I do, after all, have the wrong colour of skin, don't I?"

"What did Imoen say she would try to do?" interrupted Sarevok.

"She would not tell. I don't think she knew herself."

"This amuses you, doesn't it?"

"Of course it does, my hawk. Look, there are paladins of the Most Radiant Heart there, fighting for revenge - "justice" - for a drunk and a cutthroat. Doesn't this amuse you?"

"Actually, no."

"It does amuse me."

"Something's happening. Looks like Hendak gave in to an official search of the Coronet. We should go now."

They ran for the Sphere. They were halfway there when one of the wizards at the back of the mob turned in their direction and started to cast some divination spell.

"Faster," three minds thought simultaneously.

They were just entering the Sphere when they heard an ominous growl from behind their backs.
"I do hope that Imoen doesn't fail."

They saw Imoen, but she was separated from them by a thin silvery-bluish mist. She waved her hand, mouthing "Farewell," as they ran into the mist.


They were in a city. Undoubtedly in a city. It was all around them, bustling with all kinds of activity. And above their heads…

"Haer'Dalis…" asked Viconia.

"…where are we?" finished Sarevok.

The tiefling, now radiant, turned to them.

"Home," he announced, "Sigil. The Hive, by the look of it."

Behind them, the portal closed.


THE END


Now I will try to rewrite this, as soon as I can look at it again. And actually write a story that fits the title, because I still think the original premise was interesting.
Can anyone please correct my Korgan accent? Pretty hard to guess at from a localized version of the game. Not to mention I know nothing of dialects.
The complete listing of non-game names used in the story: Aquila and Tari.


Random Quote:
Of course. Congratulations: what you did two years ago in the field of nerve fibre research heralds a new era in physiology. I am not sure if you will get into school textbooks, but to universities - I warrant you that... If only, in the light of the recent events, there will be textbooks and universities at all.
- Sharha-Rana, a Nazgul, on Haladdin's work

[This message has been edited by Istari (edited April 25, 2002).]

 

Bravo, bravo. I can only hope you continue writing.

 

This is fantastic, your words describe situations and feelings very good. Keep on writing!