Tales of Faerun

[AurianaValoria1]

Arland's innuendo was not lost on the Doomguide, and she narrowed her still-glowing eyes before slapping him none-to-gently in the face. The horrifying sound of the Devourer attacking Amendale, though, caused her to jerk her head abruptly towards the scene, and she shouted the elf's name as he flew into the air and landed in a bloody heap.

 

Rhaine made to attack the Devourer, but Zorica beat her to it, having already given in to a fury of her own. All hesitation and fear abandoned, the half-drow put every ounce of her strength and stamina into a series of devastating attacks, not letting up long enough for the creature to get in a counterstrike. Her magically enhanced blades sang with the force of her blows, the shimmering edges leaving shining trails of light as they cleaved through the air. She grunted and shouted as she kept on, slicing what remained of the smoking Devourer to pieces, nearly blind in her rage...

 

At last, bones began to give way, and the Devourer fell apart before their very eyes, collapsing in the dirt. After a few moments of strange and eerie silence, the soul of the elven woman trapped within escaped through its mouth, floating as an almost invisible spectre in the air. She hovered there, as if uncertain of what to do or where to go. Then, she swiftly moved to where Amendale lay, healed but weak. She bent and stroked the top of his head softly while muttering some words in elvish, before turning to the rest of them with a soft whisper of a voice.

 

"Thank you."

 

And with that, she vanished from sight and was gone.

 

Zorica gaped, open-mouthed, after the elven ghost disappeared. Then, all her strength gone and the enchantments faded from her swords, she dropped the blades in the dirt, fell to her knees, and wept, quiet tears rolling down her cheeks. Rhaine stood nearby, the wind fluttering her hair and feathers as she gazed at what remained of the ruined village and the undead horde, the white light fading from her eyes and giving way to their normal emerald hue. Conall limped out of the fallen building, blood clumped and clotted in his fur, and sniffed the smoky air. After a few seconds, he broke the silence with his growl.

 

"It is over."

 

"Kelemvor have mercy on them all," Rhaine added, murmuring soft prayers for the spirits of the fallen elves. She then turned to where Amendale lay and walked carefully over to him, kneeling beside him and resting a hand on his shoulder, "Are you all right, friend? Do you need assistance?"

Edited September 30, 2014 by AurianaValoria1

[Flipout6]

"Ow! What- how- when- where- oh!" Arland jabbered in response to the slap, bolting upright into a sitting position so fast he came an inch from knocking both of them out with an accidental headbutt. He grabbed the two unwillingly-discarded Anarchist's blades he'd lost and hopped to his feet, ready to keep fighting, but the final threat fell to pieces- quite literally - moments later. Even Arland had to gape at the sheer savage efficiency of Zorica's relentless assault. In the wake of such skill and despite the enchantments he saw glowing on her own blades, he felt his respect for her fighting ability increase sevenfold. Afterwards, his eyes followed the spirit of an elven woman, translucent and glowing with a pale silvery light, with long hair flowing in slow motion, defying gravity just as the spirit itself did.

 

Amendale looked up into the spirit's eyes as it- she -caressed his cheek with an ethereal hand, wiping away the tears silently streaking down his face and whispering to him in Elvish.

 

"Don't cry for me, Amendale." She told him. "I lived a happy life. Now it's time for you to go live yours, with all its adventures and bumps. I'm very proud of you, and I'll always love you." She kissed him gently on the forehead and faded until nothing remained where her spirit was. Amendale whispered his own love for her and slumped, sagging onto his knees and staring blankly in front of him.

 

Suddenly he felt completely numb, like a shell. He couldn't put together a coherent thought or feeling, nor could he move. When she approached him, he only felt the weight of Rhaine's hand on his shoulder, none of the warmth. He heard her words, not the empathy behind them. She asked if he was all right.

 

"That was my mother." He spoke hollowly, and fell silent once again.

 

Weyland stared at his friend, having absolutely no idea what to do. He wanted to comfort Amendale somehow, but nothing he could do would ever make him feel better at this point. He shuffled over and clapped Amendale on the shoulder, unsurprised at the lack of a response it garnered. Helpless, Weyland looked forlornly at Rhaine and walked away.

[Deleted6317247User]

As they finally reached the elven village, Nawen saw that it was all but gone. She remained quiet while her friends looked around. She observed whatever was left of the buildings as well as corpses in the streets. It all was a somewhat familiar sight: the burnt down houses and people, it was similar to the village she saw burn to the ground many years ago, though, she was sure the reason of this settlement's destruction was very different. The drow moved forward, hoping to notice something, anything that might indicate that at least someone survived the fire, but the farther she walked the more convinced she became that nobody survived.

 

As she looked back at her friends, she caught the glimpse of someone or something moving, but before she could say anything they were attacked by undead. Quickly, she drew her bow and ran towards one of the somewhat intact building and climbed onto the roof and started picking off the undead. For some it took a single arrow to kill, while some enemies were only temporary stopped by her arrows, but all worked for Nawen, as one stopped enemy meant it won't reach any of her friends as quickly.

 

The fighting went well for Nawen, as none of the ghasts could reach her, but it all changed quickly when bodaks appeared. The drow was too focused on the undead attacking her friends, that she didn't see the bodak approaching from behind. The creature reached out and grabbed her by her foot and roughly pulled her to the ground. Before Nawen fell on the ground she hit the roof with her head, and for a moment everything around her became somewhat blurry. Her hand reached out for her bow, but then she realized she must have dropped it when the creature pulled her off the building. And then she saw them. Several of them running towards them. Her hand reached to the only weapon that was within her reach. Her hunting knife.

 

Whether it was the spells Amendale and Rhaine kept casting, or was it her own skills, but Nawen fought most of the enemies that came at her. A few well-placed stabs there, a few punches there and several ghasts and a bodak went down. When she made sure nothing was running at her she climbed back on the roof just in time to see a giant monster walking towards them. She echoed Arland's "What in the hells is that?!" As she picked up her bow and notched an arrow, aiming it at the horrific creature, but eventually even the devourers were taken care of, and when the battle was over, Nawen came down from her position and approached her friends.

 

She stood close to Zorica, placing her hand on the half-drow's shoulder and squeezing it gently while Zorica wept, showing the half-drow that she's her for her in the only way she knew how. Nawen felt so sorry for Amendale but seeing how he responded to Rhaine's and then Weyland's concern decided to leave him be for the moment.

[AurianaValoria1]

Rhaine merely nodded to Amendale in understanding and decided to leave him to his grief. The Doomguide would speak with him again, later, when they returned to Eartheart. For now, though, they still had work to do. The bodies would have to be gathered together on a pyre; some of the corpses were in no shape to be buried, and, judging from the distant rumblings of thunder, the companions did not have very long to burn them. Rhaine sheathed her sword and put her hands on her hips with a sigh as she surveyed the ruin. Remembering the stinging blow to her cheek, she cast a moderately strong healing spell to seal the wound and the bloody scrapes on her wing before addressing the others.

 

"All right, everyone. We need to make sure these poor folk aren't disturbed again in their rest. Gather together the bodies, even the ones of the undead, and make a pyre. We'll set it alight, and I'll cast some protection prayers over them." It thundered again, ominously, and the blue-grey clouds were billowing above them as the wind picked up. The Doomguide moved to get some dry timber and added, "We'll have to hurry."

 

Conall, who had hidden himself behind one of the ruined buildings while transforming back to his humanoid form, came out from behind a wall with only half his armor on, the rest stuffed into his pack. He was obviously battered and exhausted, with numerous bleeding lacerations all over his body. He popped the cork on one of Annette's draughts and took a deep swig, most of the wounds sealing rather nicely. He then offered the remaining contents of the bottle to Weyland, "Need it?"

 

Zorica sniffed loudly and reached up to pat Nawen's hand, giving the drow ranger a helpless smile, "Thanks...I don't know what happened to me, really. But thanks." She then got up and retrieved her blades, sheathing them rather slowly. At Rhaine's request, she immediately set to work, assisting in grouping the bodies of undead and elf alike together for a funeral pyre. She did this duty without speaking, her eyes holding a faraway look in them, and she could not bring herself to meet the gaze of anyone around her.

 

------------------------------------------------------

 

Meanwhile, back in Eartheart, Dagny had just returned from taking Rhaine's helm to the smithy and was casually conversing with Argyros when her mother came half-jogging through the hall towards the party members gathered there.

 

"Oy, any one of ye here know of a chatterbox of a halfling?"

 

Dagny's brow furrowed, "Not a halfling, I don't think. We've got a gnome with us, but no halfling."

 

Her mother frowned, "Hmm. Well the watch won't stop fussing about a little halfling that won't shut up in the prison. They're talking about execution if he doesn't stop. Keeps calling himself a 'kender' or some such rot."

 

Argyros sighed heavily, "Hexol..."

[Flipout6]

Weyland helped retrieve the bodies of the elves that were scattered about, lugging them to the pile in the center of the clearing and arranging them so that they looked as peaceful as he could arrange in their often-mutilated state. After a few minutes even Amendale stood up and helped, moving corpses with telekinesis and- for the lighter ones - muscle power. He looked empty, robotic. Weyland tried his best to convey his sympathy; Amendale nodded his acknowledgement and moved on. He moved out to the outer fringes of the village, gathering bodies from there.

 

It was when a tree spontaneously exploded that Weyland decided to talk to his friend.

 

Amendale stood, shaking with rage, in front of a flat stone slab. Atop it lay a body with black hair, pronounced cheekbones and golden eyes just like Amendale's. If Weyland hadn't just seen her spirit pass on into the afterlife he wouldn't have been able to identify her as Amendale's mother.

 

"Look at what they did. Mystra forgive me for my outburst, but...look."

 

Indeed, the body on the slab had been tied down and mutilated. The lacerations were covered in various substances ranging from salt to alcohol, as the nearby containers identified. Disease had withered her frame until she was skeletal, and her eyes stared blankly into the sky. Without going into further detail, it was quite obvious she'd been tortured to the brink of death before her soul was drained from her body.

 

Amendale vanished behind a building to throw up. Weyland paled and felt his own breakfast turn over in his stomach, and he barely forced it down.

 

"Ugh...Rhaine, can you give us a hand? I don't think Amendale's in any state to cremate her himself and....we can't move her."

 

"No." Amendale barked, wiping his mouth and standing up again. "I do this myself."

 

"If that's what you want."

 

"She's passed on." Amendale stated. "But I'm not leaving her body here to rot." With a wave of his hand, the entire slab caught fire. "I only wish we had a blanket to lay over her." He added despairingly as the body was disintegrated. He made the work as fast as he could...he wouldn't draw this out any longer than was necessary. He knew his mother wouldn't want him to. A gust of wind carried the ashes away.

 

Once the bodies were gathered in the center, Amendale lit them aflame as well, head bowed. He grieved for everyone, not just his mother...they hadn't found his father's body anyway. The implications of that- that he could be one of the unrecognizable undead- nearly led him to detonate another tree. It was finished quickly.

 

"Let's go." He stated, and walked stiffly to the horses.

Edited October 3, 2014 by Flipout6

[AurianaValoria1]

Rhaine quickly cast protective spells over both the pyre and Amendale's mother's corpse as they burned, the holy symbol of Kelemvor flashing brilliantly above both before fading away; the guarding enchantment would last for years...if not dispelled by a more powerful, malevolent force. Afterwards, the Doomguide stood in respectful silence for a few moments, praying and thinking, her gaze taking a faraway cast. She could all too well imagine what kind of monster would do such a thing to these people, and she vowed that she would exact an appropriate punishment upon that beast, whenever she found them.

 

Thunder rumbled ominously again, closer this time, and a few fat droplets splattered on the bare dirt as Amendale led the way to the horses. Within a few moments, it was a downpour, sweeping away the stench of death and smoke. Whatever fire was left in the village was quickly put out as the party left the scene, and Conall could only think that it was appropriate; nature was cleansing herself of the taint of the unnatural.

 

Zorica kept her eyes on her toes as she walked, watching the tiny sprays of water that her boots tossed ahead of her. The rain soaked her hair and plastered her shirt to her skin under her breastplate, but she didn't care. It felt refreshing, and its coolness soothed her spirit. Likewise, Rhaine felt a certain peace come with the shower, and she did not bother raising the hood of her cloak, instead letting the rain wash her hair and face of the grime of battle.

 

When they at last returned to the Flameheart clanhold, Dagny's mother was waiting on them with bowls of hearty stew and a blazing hearth. She fussed over them and stripped their soaking cloaks from their shoulders to dry them in front of the fireplace. Argyros raised his brows at the sight of the rain-soaked party trudging through the doors of the hall, and he voiced what Dagny herself was thinking, concern in his tone as he beheld the way they all looked so downcast.

 

"Well...what news of the elves, friends?"

[Deleted6317247User]

Nawen helped retrieving the bodies of the deceased, from time to time glancing at Amendale. She felt even more sorry for him as they discovered his mother's body, but no matter how hard she tried she couldn't come up with anything comforting to say to him. Something he didn't already know or expect to hear from his friends.

 

She didn't mind the rain, she never did, and it seemed that some of her friends shared the sentiment as some traveled without their hoods on.

 

As they returned to Flameheart clanhold, Nawen noticed that Shalena found the clanhold but strangely enough none of her crew were inside. As the piratess noticed the grim expressions on everyone's faces, she shot a glance at Dagny's mother. "Not good, I take it." She said.

Edited October 4, 2014 by Guest

[tokyobiohazard]

Aera wandered through the halls absently, utterly lost. She hadn't seen anyone in ages, and was starting to worry as she came upon what looked like the door to her room. She decided she'd wait in there until the others got back. She opened the door, leaned through the doorway, and immediately clapped a hand over her eyes, "I'm so sorry!"

Ianthe and Arva lay together, bodies still tangled together after sleeping, hair disheveled and clothes lying on the floor, implying heavily that their activities the night prior had not been very wholesome.

Ianthe was the first to wake, jolting upright with a gasp. "What's wrong, Aera?"

Arva stirred, then rolled off the edge of the bed and landed in the floor, utterly and completely naked if not for the white sheet that was wrapped around his torso. This, of course, left Ianthe nude and uncovered for the world to see. Unfortunately, said sheet didn't cover anything it should have, and Aera found herself at a loss for words as he simply got up, and walked over to her.

"What's wrong?" he asked, reaching up and clapping a hand over her shoulder with a cheeky grin.

"Okay, you know damned well what's wrong!" She jerked away from his hand and covered her eyes with both hands for the second time. "You two were---"

"Sleeping?" Arva said, raising an eyebrow.

"Forget it!" Aera said, slamming the door behind herself, pressing a hand to her chest, her heart racing with embarrassment.

Ianthe then motioned for Arva to join her once again, and he cast a look toward the door before running to her side and lying down beside her, blowing out the stub of a candle.

[josh900]

Having spent much of the night kept awake my Arva and Ianthe's bedroom antics, Lucas was not in the best state when he was awoken by the commotion coming from out in the hall. Thus, still half asleep, clad in nothing but a tunic and shorts, his hair sticking out every which way, and clutching a candlestick, he ran out of his room, smashing into the wall opposite of his door. He stepped back with a groan and looked to see Aera storming off.

"Hazawuh?" He asked groggily. "Whaaaaa happen?"

[AurianaValoria1]

Rhaine explained what had transpired at the elven village as she dried her hair by the fire. She told them of the undead creatures they had found there, and of the massacre of the elves, including Amendale's mother. Conall and Zorica had little to add during her story, merely nodding or grunting in affirmation every once and a while. Afterwards, they learned that Falhgrod had yet to answer the message that Dagny's mother had delivered, and thus it was a waiting game until he decided to reply...if he did at all. Argyros made mention of someone that sounded suspiciously like Hexol being held in the city's prison, and Rhaine asked for word to be sent to the jailors that if he was there, he was to be released into the party's care immediately.

 

After devouring several bowls of hearty stew, the returning members sought out their beds, eager for rest. Rhaine was surprised to see a flustered Aera brush past her, but she did not say anything to the tall weretigress. The Doomguide spent the rest of the evening in her room, caring for her armor and admiring the handiwork of the smith who had repaired her helm. All the while, she pondered the events of the day and wondered if there was indeed a connection between the slaughter of the elves and the poisoning of Eartheart's water supply.

 

--------------------------------------

 

It was deathly quiet in the room.

 

Amendale lay on a bedroll in the floor on the far side of the chamber in which he and Zorica were staying again for the night. The half-drow sat cross-legged in the too-short bed, picking at the fur blanket absentmindedly. The low firelight threw dramatic shadows on the perfectly-carved stone walls, glimmering on the polished marble and causing the granite blocks to glitter. Zorica’s amber eyes almost glowed in the shadows, even as they took in none of her dimly lit surroundings. She was preoccupied with thoughts of the remnants of Amendale’s village and family…and the fearsome and dreadful undead things they had faced together that day. The encounter had deeply scarred her, she felt, and it was only now she truly understood what her church stood against. The horror of what she had seen was still intolerably vivid in her minds’ eye, and she was having great difficulty shrugging it off. She was used to skeletons and zombies and maybe the occasional ghoul…but not this…nothing like this…

 

Devourers, Rhaine had called them.

 

The disgust at the creation of such abominations shook her to the core, and it reassured her that she had made the right choice with what to do with the rest of her life. To create such a horrific monster…one that devoured souls like for sustenance, imprinting the screaming faces of their victims upon their bodies…such a crime deserved nothing but death. And she would be more than happy to deal it to whomever had raised these foul corruptors and murderers.

 

She visibly shuddered, and Sir Meowsalot purred loudly in her lap as if to comfort her. She petted the little furball lightly and glanced at Amendale, who was likely faring far worse than she. After all, it was his relatives whom the Devourers had slain, including his mother. The memory of the elvish woman’s face, contorted in fear and agony as it lay embedded inside the monster’s abdomen, haunted Zorica terribly. And the half-drow was certain that if it was doing so to her, then it was probably affecting Amendale twice as badly.

 

“Hey,” she started softly, calling from her place on the bed, “You all right there, Amendale?” Almost immediately, she regretted the question, “What am I saying…of course you’re not all right. Stupid…”she scolded herself, “I just…I…don’t know what to say at all, really. If there’s anything I can do…” she trailed, realizing how cliché such a phrase was. “Dammit…that’s not right either. Hells…” She scooted down in the bed and rolled over, trying to hide the embarrassment on her face, “Just…never mind me.”

 

Were this any different situation Amendale could have smiled at Zorica's awkward stumbling through her speech, but he couldn't bring himself to even so much as glance her way, and his face remained sallow and droopy. "It's alright. It's the sentiment that matters."

 

She had no response as she was too busy trying not to cry. She had no idea what to do, say, or even think. All she had was anger, on top of anger she already harbored deep within; she was becoming such an irate individual, she wondered if all she would ever have was rage to fuel her. Memories of her own dear mother came to the surface of her mind, already brought forth by the dwarvish orphans in the streets, and now magnified by the events of the day. She missed her mother so much…the only family she ever had…all the while she hated the drow father she never knew…

 

Amendale was haunted by similar images. Not just the twisted abomination that harboured his mother's face, but the incinerated wagons and buildings, the piles of corpses and the line of skeletons by the river, knowing that each of them- even if unrecognizable- was somebody he used to know by name and face. His friends, family, acquaintances, even the more brash elves he held a rivalry with...gone. Dead, raised as unnatural creatures with the sole purpose of delivering further death and agony. Maybe one of them was his father. Maybe the creature that wore his mother's face between its ribs was his father.

 

He'd never know.

 

Zorica tried to keep the tears at bay, but the internal agony grew too great to bear. Her chest felt tight, and a lump painfully lodged itself in her throat until her eyes spilled over with emotion, leaving hot trails down her silvery-grey cheeks. She hid her eyes in the blanket and tried not to make a sound; still, she ended up hiccuping quietly and sniffling.

 

"It's never easy seeing something like that, is it?" Amendale sympathized, sitting up and looking at her. "Anywhere. Doesn't have to be any place you've seen before or people you...knew.” He clenched his teeth. "It's just thinking about the kind of suffering that was endured, and perhaps still is.”

 

"It's so much worse when it's people you're familiar with, though." He added quietly.

 

She remained turned away from him, curled up in a ball, Sir Meowsalot lodged against her neck and a blush rising in her cheeks. She had not wanted him to hear her, and he probably thought she was some miserable pansy. He had a right to cry, but why was she? She was supposed to be his crutch at a time like this, and she was folding faster than an old parchment.

 

“I’m sorry,” she murmured shakily, not sure if he even caught it. Why she was apologizing, she didn’t know…it seemed to be for a multitude of things. Sometimes, she hated herself and her life.

 

Amendale looked at her. "Why? You don't have anything to be sorry for."

 

“I…I don’t know…” she moaned despondently, hating herself for breaking down like this and just wanting to disappear, to wipe her mind blank, “I just don’t know…I don’t…I can’t…”

 

“Can’t what?”

 

“I…” she spoke haltingly, “It’s like…I…I’ve been pulled apart at the seams…and I can’t….I can’t go back to what I used to be…”

 

He paused, pondering her words. "Weyland described something similar once, a few years ago. He made his way all the way from the Calim desert back to Westgate, spent months dreaming about how happy they'd be to see him, only to finally reach his destination and the house had been burned to ash and left to rot.

 

"We couldn't find them anywhere, both of us assumed the worst. He described something similar. It's the feeling you get when something changes you forever."

 

She was silent for a few moments before asking hesitantly, “And what was he like…before?”

 

"Not all that different from how he is now, but...more dependent. Having his hopes crushed like that, it taught him that he has to rely on himself. And he's stronger for it. I'm changing, too. I feel in pieces, everywhere, like I left part of myself back amongst the corpses and horrors." He closed his eyes as tears began to leak down his cheeks. "...But I don't know how. And I'm scared it'll be for the worse."

 

Zorica swallowed, “I know…the feeling. This isn’t the first time I’ve been hit like this. You’d think I’d know how to deal with it by now, but I don’t.”

 

Amendale shook his head, eyes suddenly downcast. "I don't." It took him a second to realize that he was being vague and quickly added, "I don't know the feeling, I mean. Or how to deal with it. Never experienced it before."

 

She closed her eyes briefly, feeling her lashes heavy with tears on her cheeks before rolling over to face him, gently pushing Sir Meowsalot behind her. She was a bit surprised to see that the elf, too had been crying, as evidenced by the dark and shining wet tracks down his face. She met his sad, golden eyes with her own and felt fresh tears overflow, “Did I ever tell you…about how I joined the church? About…why I left?”

 

He shook his head. "No. And you don't have to, if you're uncomfortable with it."

 

She chuckled miserably, “I…feel like I must. It’s…time.” She sniffed and picked at the blanket again, “Remember I told you I was a thief in my younger days? I…had no place to call home after my mother died, and so I fed myself by taking from others. It’s…it’s something I’ve never been proud of…

 

“Anyway, I often found myself sitting outside the walls of a tiny chapel to Kelemvor at night. I felt comfortable in the soft light of the windows, and I found a niche in the stonework just right for me to curl up and sleep. Every evening, I could hear the sermons delivered, and I learned to recognize the voice of one priest in particular. He was so…enthusiastic. He was enthralling. When I finally got up the nerve to peek over the sill one night to see his face, I was greeted with the visage of a mere boy…my age, or possibly younger. No older than eighteen summers. But he spoke with all the fiery wisdom of an elder.”

 

She grimaced, “It did not take me long to figure out that his wonderful understanding of theology came at a terrible price. In every other aspect, he was no more apt than a child. I don’t think I have ever seen someone so sweet and so innocent in my life. I felt…protective of him, almost instantly.”

 

“One night, he stepped out for some fresh air and interrupted a grave robber in the middle of his heinous crime. It just so happened that I had come from a…recent theft of my own. I had managed to get myself a nice sack of stale baked goods from the local tavern’s larder. The grave robber pulled a dagger on the young priest just as I rounded the rear corner of the chapel. I knew the boy couldn’t defend himself and I,” her voice became softer, “I slipped my own dagger between the robber’s ribs before he could do the priest harm.”

 

She smiled sadly, “The boy became my blood brother after that. Persuaded me to join the church and make something better of my life. From that moment forward, I swore my blade to Kelemvor and to the defense of my new friend…swore that he would never come to harm so long as I drew breath.” Zorica shook her head, “And I failed.”

 

Her expression morphed into one of pure anger, “Followers of Velsharoon. We had been sent to cleanse a tomb of their taint. We went in together, full of zeal…and I left alone, and broken.”

 

Amendale raised an eyebrow. "He had the mind of a child and they sent him to clear undead? What were they thinking?"

 

She laughed lightly, “He was talented more than anyone else in that little chapel. In the area of the divine, in that town, he was peerless. He was the best. It was only natural he be the one to solve a local issue of necromancy, and I to protect him.”

 

“We had no idea there were so many. We were overwhelmed and…he…he told me to leave. To leave him behind…” her tears increased in volume, “In that moment…by the gods he…he was like an angel. He…he seemed so strong, so powerful…he commanded me to go. And I…I obeyed him.” She wept openly now, sobbing with her head in her hands, “I should have died in there, Amendale. I should have died with him.”

 

Amendale didn't have anything to say to that for what felt like hours, but in reality lasted just over a minute. Slowly, he began to speak, hoping he didn't offend. "That's not what your friend would have wanted. It's quite the opposite, in fact. In doing as he asked you fulfilled his last wish. It's better for both of you that you yet live, as he evidently didn't wish for you to share his fate. You can continue to do good with the circumstances as they are. I won't make assumptions, but if you're wondering if he would have lived if you'd stayed...well, the creatures down there in all their numbers were enough to defeat a powerful priest who specialized in ridding the world of their kind. If they were that strong, it's quite likely you would indeed have perished and done him no good in the end but cause him despair in the knowledge that you would suffer as well."

 

Zorica took a few moments to absorb his words, sniffing loudly and closing her eyes. When she opened them again, she replied, “I know…but it doesn’t keep me from wishing things could have been different, somehow.” She fell silent for several breaths before adding, “I bet you’re the same way, eh?”

 

"That...I do." He mumbled. "I wish the situation had never occurred in the first place. For either of us."

 

There was a long, silent pause that was almost deafening. Zorica gazed at Amendale for several minutes, studying him. He wasn’t as physically resilient as someone like Weyland or Azuris, but he was strong in other ways. Still, the elf needed comfort…and he needed it far more than she. Perhaps the day’s encounter had scarred her mind, but it had done far more to him – it had scarred his soul. This was evident in his eyes and his posture.

 

Slowly, she rose from the bed and made her way barefoot across the room. Before she knew exactly what she was doing, she had knelt in front of him and pulled him into a close embrace, ruffling his hair gently with one hand. Her mouth was a thin line as she stared at the wall behind him and held him tightly, “There is one advantage to our survival, I know – the opportunity for revenge.”

 

Any words Amendale might have said died in his throat. Surprised but touched by the gesture, he returned Zorica's embrace, wrapping his arms awkwardly around her shoulders. Hearing her words, he parted himself from her to speak, finding the sound of her heartbeat to be rather distracting, no thanks to his acute Elvish hearing. "Well....it would be satisfying to ignite the masochist responsible for what happened, I can't deny that. I've never had any need for revenge before. Now I do, and I don't know what to do with it. There's plenty of tales of vengeance utterly consuming someone, and I'm afraid of that....but I don't think it'll happen."

 

She pushed away from him and took him by the shoulders, meeting his eyes with a hard amber stare, “So am I…but it gives me a reason to keep going. And I suppose that alone is worth something, yes?”

 

Amendale's eye and tone of voice both flashed with concern. "If that's your only reason to keep going, what happens when you get your revenge, then? What will you do then?"

 

She glanced away, “I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it, really.” She blinked a few times, “I…suppose I never thought I’d live any longer than that. Or…live to see it happen, for that matter. I just...keep going as long as my body is able.”

 

"With elven blood that'll be an awfully long time, Zorica,” he stated softly.

 

She stepped back and gave him a sad smirk, “Not unless a blade stops me first.”

 

His brow furrowed. "Well I, for one, don't intend on letting that happen."

 

Zorica snorted, crossing her arms, “And what would you be protecting, hmm? Just another half-breed, drow-blooded, humanoid piece of trash trying to make something of her miserable life and instead just plowing headlong towards her grave.”

 

Amendale, surprisingly, didn't miss a beat when he replied. "A friend. Someone with her own story and her own worries, and a good side. A compassionate one, as she's proving." He paused for a second. "...And who is probably annoyed by my speaking in third-person."

 

She smirked, “Actually, I think it’s rather adorable.” After a few awkward seconds, she rubbed the back of her neck and added, “Ehh…never mind. I…think I need to go to bed, now. And stay down. Getting too awkward for my own good.” Zorica then turned and crawled back into the dwarf bed, her feet hanging off the end of it, “I guess…good night. Probably not going to be able to sleep anyway, but it won’t keep me from trying.” She then rolled over with her back to him, “Hope you get some rest, at least.”

 

"Yes, I need rest as well." He lay back down on his sleeping bag and was just about to slip under the covers and try to doze off before something suddenly occurred to him. He shimmed out of the sleeping bag and hopped to his feet. He approached Zorica and laid his hand on her arm. "Sleep well." He mumbled before channeling a sleep spell into her. She was sleeping soundly in seconds.

 

Once he was sure that he'd done what he could to make sure she wouldn't be waking up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, Amendale subjected himself to the same treatment and fell asleep quickly, still feeling numb from the events that had transpired that day.

 

Unlike Zorica, he was not given the bliss of a peaceful slumber.