You spent two days staking out the drow palace, watching the goings on inside its walls through infrared while suspended from the ceiling and slowly shaving away at the wards. You had quickly discovered that the top of the castle was the most vulnerable, which was convenient as it would also afford you the best vantage point. It didnât even take you very long to determine the pattern of your mark, and the best time to strike.
Finally, it was time. As she sat alone in the courtyard near the back of the palace, you descended upon her, landing in a crouch with sword in hand. The look of shock on her face did nothing to help her head sliding from her neck in a clean slice.
Retrieving the head, you cast a levitation spell on yourself and begin floating airily toward the front entrance. You snag a flag with a spike on the way, for good measure. Once at the front gates, you drop to the ground with a small burst of sparks, and plant your flag in the cobbles of the path.
This message would be clear: the head of Sara Neadie, who had assassinated the High Priestess, cut and mounted on a spike. You also take the time to leave a short message, a couple lines of Elvish shimmering in the air above the gruesome sight.
Strider is here. Your shit is wrecked.
Short, sweet, and to the point. You donât linger to watch it get discovered.
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It was early morning, not yet light outside. The High Priestess Lalonde sat in her study with Senator Strider, arguing as always over the war. Their arguments had become such a daily occurrence that anyone not paying close attention would think them two friends catching up on neighborhood gossip. They argued over the morality of the war, how best to proceed, and when it would end. They argued about their children. The Priestess expressed concerns that the Senator was too eager to send his progeny into combat. The Senator countered that the Priestess was too complacent, and allowed her own daughters to do nothing.
It was then that a human courier burst into the room, accompanied by a young drow - a wizard, by the look of the wand pointed at the humanâs throat.
The Priestess was already bartering for the courierâs freedom as the Senator leapt to draw his sword. It didnât matter. The wizard was there for the Senator. He agreed to a duel, so long as the Priestess was allowed to retreat to the safety of her bed chamber. She demanded to take the courier. The wizard obliged.
Priestess Lalonde locked the door behind them, turning to soothe the innocent who had been taken hostage. The Senator would take care of the intruder. She had the utmost faith in him. They would both be safe.
Of course, it was the human they should have been concerned about, as the Priestess learned only seconds later when she found a knife in her ribs.
Dirkâs gaze was transfixed on the man at the head of the table, as was nearly everyone elses, though for different reasons. His own fatherâs voice was surreal in this moment, in this context, although perhaps the most grounded thing heâd encountered since arriving home early that morning.
Heâd tried to maintain some measure of levity, for Roxyâs sake. He knew she wasnât nearly as keen on all of this as he was. She was too forgiving. Too gentle. He knew from the beginning this wouldnât lead anywhere sheâd like.
Of course it wouldâve been easier to take her mind off of it if they hadnât been in various incarnations of senate meetings all day. Listening to the senators talk themselves in circles had been taxing. He didnât care much for politics in the first place, but watching the so-called leaders of his people spin their wheels when the answer was so clear to him was a special kind of frustration.
His father had been one of the strongest advocating voices. The High Priestess, Roxyâs mother, one of the strongest in the opposition. Most of the others at the table had gone back and forth a few times by now. Theyâd called up several humans during the many debates. Ambassadors, generals, philosophers. At that exact moment, the human king himself was projected before the elven senate, a silent observer.
âThe alliance stands.â His father continued, âKing Egbert has promised his assistance. We have no better options.â
The Priestess, standing to his left, was clearly upset with this decision. Her lips pursed, arms folded tight against her chest. To his own left, Dirk knew Roxy sat, staring at the marbling of the table. Sitting stock still in his chair, arms folded, he waited for the verdict.
âThe drow, whoever they are, have made an act of aggression against us. The vote has been cast.â
For a moment, the two Striders at the table made eye contact. Dirk knew he didnât exactly want this. He knew it would lead them nowhere good. Somehow, he believed his father knew that, too. But they had no other options. Every recourse had been explored, debated, drilled into the ground one by one while he watched his best friend grow ever more sullen as the meetings dragged on. He didnât want it. But he wasnât entirely opposed to it, either.
âWe, the senate of the elves, in representation of our citizens, must declare war on the drow.â
Dirk finally moved, slipping his hand over to grip Roxyâs. He knew this wasnât what she wanted. Itâd be hard for her. He also knew that he would personally do all he could to lessen the burden and shorten this war. That empress wouldnât find his threats amusing for long.
Word had arrived at the capitol late that past evening. Not to the general public just yet, but to those individuals who would be responsible for pursuing such important news. The human king immediately dispatched a delegate and a small parcel of soldiers, complete with one of his own knights. He also extended an invitation to the elven embassy.
The ambassadors were practically buzzing with excitement over the news. A whole new race living underground! And they might be a relative of elves! How often did you get the chance to be at the forefront of such a momentous occasion?
Noah was the first to volunteer. A sparky and boisterous young wizard who, after kissing her wife goodbye the evening prior, had set out immediately to meet with the convoy. Jobe, a middle aged elf who promise his mother he would visit and tell her everything afterward. Yana, one of the oldest members of the embassy but remaining one of their top marksmen even in his climbing age.
Together with the humans, the three of them rode straight through the night, discussing how they would approach their newfound cousins. Noah and Jobe agreed, friendliness and honesty were key. Yana was a bit more hesitant about the whole ordeal, repeating gruffly âWeâll see.â To which their youngest member replied with a spirited raspberry.
They finally arrived at late morning, the human delegate and knight forming up with the elven ambassadors. They couldnât very well take the entire platoon of soldiers into the mine,so the knight picked a few volunteers to assist with guarding.
The miners were all too happy to lead them down through the winding tunnels, reporting about how the underground people - the drow, apparently - had been so hospitable. The excitement mounted among the delegates from both sides, while the tension from Yana remained unheeded.
Late Saturday afternoon, and he was glued to the library again. At least he was making more of an effort to get out lately - he would leave to hang out with Jake, sometimes. Earlier heâd visited with Dave to help tame his hair. That was pretty good for him, especially being as down in the dumps as he was. The argument with Roxy had him feeling much worse than he thought it would.
He was finally mapping out the arcane circle he needed for the next step in his project when his tea arrived. The humans didnât have the green tea he was used to, but he was slowly growing accustomed to what they did have. Some tea was better than no tea.
The serving girl from the kitchen drew his attention with a small âMilord?â He roused himself with a small yawn before shuffling a few papers out of the way to let her set the tea tray down. The small corner of the library that heâd claimed had quickly grown cluttered as he shuffled its contents as well as bringing more in, though the chaos had an inherent order to it. He knew where just about everything was.
âThank you,â He reached over to grab the already filled mug as the girl gave a small curtsy and turned to leave - wait.
Raising the cup to his nose, he inhaled the steam. It smelled...wrong. Not the usual kind of wrong, either.
âExcuse me,â He called to the kitchen girl, keeping his voice and posture level to not raise her suspicion, âDo you know what kind of tea this is? Whatâs in it?â
She turned back, instantly on edge. He took careful note of the stiffness to her movements. âI know not the type of leaves, milord. I only deliver the tea.â
He gave a small nod. âRight. Well then, would you mind waiting a minute or so while I check the ingredients? You know how picky we elves can be about our tea.â
â...of course.â
Good. With that settled, he set the tea cup on the provided saucer, centering it on the table in front of him and turning the handle toward him. Tracing the lip of the cup with one finger, he started the incantation for a spell to detect toxins, making sure to keep an eye on the girl.
As his spell concluded, the steam rising from the cup writhed, thickening and coalescing. It took on a purple hue and formed a shimmering skull above the cup before dissipating into the air.
And he was almost surprised, until the girl finally turned heel and started sprinting back out of the library.
Already in the midst of another spell, he stood from his seat and reached a hand out toward her, clasping his fingers as if holding something invisible. The serving girl seemed to jerk to a halt mid-step, momentarily paralyzed.
The librarians were perturbed, to say the least. Not that he really cared. He was careful to keep his hand closed and pointed at her as he stepped around and walked over to her. The first thing he did was force her mouth open to check for cyanide capsules - thatâs what he would do, if he sent an assassin after someone. But there was nothing, which was something very close to a relief.
Turning to address one of the librarians, he asked in a smooth tone, âCan you please alert the war council that Iâve caught an assassin? I can only hold her for about ten minutes.â
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Word had come earlier that evening. The location and time of the next attack, determined by the councilâs divination experts. It was hardly any notice, as it would apparently be happening in the wee hours of the next morning. He only had a few short hours to prepare, but he hardly complained.
After relaying the information to the human war council, and spending a subsequent hour or so convincing them of its legitimacy, he had spent the rest of his time preparing for the counterattack.
The outfit of soldiers chosen to accompany him on this particular excursion were squeamish about accepting any protective charms, so he just made do with affixing some mage lights to their gear. Then he spent a good few hours drawing the teleportation circle; it had to be large enough to fit all of them, but maintain its dimensions just so. The remaining time after all that had been designated to readying himself - possibly the most important and time consuming task.
He was a very thorough man. There were no half measures with him. While this would be his first time in a large scale battle, he knew well that he would kill all of them or die trying. Although he had no intention of fulfilling the latter prediction.
Now, standing in the center of the circle with the soldiers surrounding him (providing a small bubble, which he didnât spend much time considering but was grateful for), he found himself completely calm. It wasnât what anyone had ever told him going to war would be like. His sword on his hip, and the armor, what little of it he wore, were just as comfortable as always. He knew what he had to do.
At a nod from the commander, he knelt to touch the circle and begin the incantation. The humans shuffled uncomfortably, but he didnât notice. He thought maybe, if anything, he was excited. This was the perfect opportunity to field test his theories. And besides, heâŚwell. He was ready.
The circle hummed slightly as he completed the incantation, emitting a light that wasnât quite light. It grew for a moment, and then all at once they were yanked somewhere else.
It was raining. They were at a small farming village back home. All around them, the buildings being ransacked. Civilians running, screaming, and receiving death at the hands of the drow raiders. Several of whom had stopped to witness the appearance of the group, although many more continued on as if nothing had happened at all.
Dirk heard the commander issuing orders as the soldiers snapped out of their shock and rushed onto the scene, but didnât acknowledge it as he was already deep into a spell. The ground beneath him began to freeze, radiating out from his feet as the rain continued to fall, adding more ice to the patch. At a lifting motion from his hands, icicles seemingly lifted from the soil, actively forming larger with each drop of water. They rose in a circle around him, and with a flick of his wrist, several of them flew off to spear unsuspecting drow combatants.
If nothing else had drawn the attention of the raiders, that did. Those not already locked in combat with the human soldiers turned toward him, forming up in a circle. He responded by drawing his sword.
The next ten minutes or so consisted mainly of one sided slaughter. Working with sword and magic simultaneously, Dirk made short work of the small raiding party. Not the whole thing, but enough to give the remaining attackers pause. After cutting down his final assailant, Dirk paused to survey the battlefield.
The drow were clearly losing. The bulk of the humans had moved on to assist the civilians, though a few struggles persisted here and there. A handful of drow stood a short distance away from him - assessing their next course of action, he assumed, while keeping a careful eye on his movements. Their eyes glinted in the low light to match his own.
One of them issued a command in a sharp tongue - a retreat, he assumed. As if he would allow that.
Sheathing his sword, he hefted the last remaining icicle, drew back, and flung it like a spear. Filled with magic, it flew toward the now shrieking group to impale one through the abdomen. The rest scattered, and he began a new incantation. He needed to catch one, at least one, to test his theories on.
He raised his arms as if holding a bow, and a shimmering line of concentrated mana appeared between his hands. At the end of the chant, he released it, then watched as it flew directly to its target, lodging itself in the leg of one of the fleeing drow. A few quick flashsteps brought him close to the kneeling elf. This poor guy had the worst luck of all of them.
Fingers already crackling with energy, he placed the heel of his palm on the manâs forehead. Sparks flew off into the night air as he focused on drawing the power through his tattoos. It grew, and built in his hand, until all at once it burst into peels of lightning, somehow pink in color, enveloped both Dirkâs arm and the unfortunate soul knelt in front of him.
The drow seemed to separate from himself for a moment, a ghostly form emanating from his body as the lightning licked at him. Dirk cringed, trying as hard as he could to hold it. After what seemed like an eternity but truly only amounted to less than one minute, they separated with a startling crack. Dirk stumbled back a few paces as the drow slumped to the ground, eyes blank and soulless.
He took another few moments to catch his breath and wipe the sweat from his brow before surveying his hand. A few sparks still danced on his fingertips as the energy rushed back to where it came. He had only a few small burns. He had been prepared for worse.
The target of his attack, on the other hand, was charred beyond recognition. His eyes were more than dead, they were empty. Dirk grimaced to himself. The experiment had been a successâŚsomewhat. But he needed more power.
Turning to make his way back to the village center, he pulled his arm across his chest. It was stiff as hell, and sore. Heâd have to worry about that later. Right now he had more pressing matters to deal with.
âAfter deliberation, the council has decided to deny your request for reinstatement.â
Gritting his teeth, Dirk did his best to maintain composure. âI humbly beg the council to reconsider,â He replied, a bit too tersely.
He stood alone in the center of the room that heâd commandeered for the calling stone, surrounded by projections of the members of the wizarding council. Each of them a titan of their craft, he couldnât help but regard them, or at least their work, with some amount of respect. Though his overall feeling for the council was negative to say the least. He was glad for the sunglasses on his face to hide the disdain in his eyes.
âWe have reached our decision, young man,â Said a woman to his left, whom he recognized as a leading magical history expert. âWe reached it a year ago, and youâve done nothing to prove that decision unwise in the year since.â
Biting his tongue to keep himself from responding in anger, he took an extra moment to consider his wording. âIâve done nothing but prove myself a model and obedient student this past year. Iâve been quiet.â Okay, so maybe he didnât quite get all of the bite out of that one.
âYoung Mister Strider, no one currently sitting on this council would deny your prowess both academic and practical.â The man at the head of the table called his attention again, âYou are certainly one of the most promising pupils the academy has received to recent memory. But this is a decision that we cannot recant. Your actions have shown a blatant and callous disregard for the gift of life, and we canât in good conscience align the entirety of wizard kind with such horrific experiments-â
âBut I havenât done anything!â His outburst was tinged with equal parts anger and desperation.
"You really mean to have us believe that you feel repentant,â Dirk was taken aback to find his former headmaster and personal tutor speaking this time, chiding him like heâd stolen a cookie. âWhen you stand in front of us looking like that? Those markings on your skin may as well be a written confession. Your own life isnât fodder any more than a strangerâs.â
He grimaced at the floor, subconsciously hovering a hand over the arcane circle on his chest, hidden under layers of fabric. A moment of silence passed with a few whispers, only to be broken again by the council head.
âHowever, you have graciously volunteered yourself as our liaison to the human king.â Was that sarcasm? Dirk tried to keep his expression neutral, though he felt like heâd just eaten a lemon. âIt would be a waste of resources to remove you, and while you may not be officially sanctioned, you are still a wizard.â
He hesitated for a moment, just long enough to catch Dirkâs attention, before frowning. âThe council also recognizes that you are perhaps the best choice for this particular assignment. Therefore, we have decided to keep you on retainer as consultant. You will relay information for us between the king and also the High Priestess, as well as providing aid in whatever forms you see fit.â
Great. So he was reduced to a glorified errand boy.
âIâm sure I donât need to remind you of the councilâs position on political struggle. We maintain a policy of staunch neutrality on all things. Nonetheless, in outstanding situations which threaten the existence of the elven people and the council itself, we think it foolish not to act. As our liaison and consult, you will do everything in your power to put a swift and resolute end to this war. Of course, in turn, we will provide you with assistance where necessary, including use of our divination experts and teleportation circles. You know how much responsibility this entails.â
He didnât bother to look around at the other council members, instead staring dead on at the head of the table. His eyes flickered over to the headmaster for only a moment as he considered his response.
âFine.â He replied at length, with no small amount of bitterness. âI accept the councilâs terms, and I will fulfill my end of the agreement in full. Iâll end this asinine war single handed if I have to.â
Vriska groaned to herself as she awoke, this was a familiar feeling, one she experienced when ever she dreamt of that mysterious island, except, something seemed off about things this time, she could hear the oceans surrounding her now, she could feel a very slight breeze on her skin, and the sun bearing down on her form.
She sits up, a hand running through her blue hair as she looks around, yep, same rocky island, same trees, and same caves. she could already hear that scuttling sound from inside, except, this time she found herself walking towards the sounds, unable to resist the calling now.
Soon enough, she was making her down through the loot littered caves, wooden torches hung from the walls and illuminated the caverns, the sounds getting louder as she proceeded down, soon feeling like it was surrounding her as she looked around, that sounded an awful lot like scorpions.
it wasnt long after that she came across a very large cavern, the walls practically lined with various kinds of loots, all for her eyes to see, and by this point there were practically stars in them from what she was seeing, had she died and gone to heaven? if so she was loving it.
âGreetings, chosen human.â A dark voice spoke, the greeting ringing from the shadows of the unlit center of the of the cavernous space, causing vriskas eyes to turn towards the unexpected sound, hand reaching for the knife she always kept under her shirt.
âNow, now, there isnt any need for violence, well, not yet anyway. Im simply to offer your stubborn heart a dealâ The being says with a chuckle as it steps out of the shadows, its body was pure white, and it appeared to have a chitinous exo-skeleton, a total of six arms lined its frame and a scorpions tail was curled and ready to strike behind it.
She eyes the creature before her cautiously, was this that spirit Rose had spoke of? it couldn't be right? I mean spirits weren't real weren't they? this had to be a dream, except it was to real to be a dream âStubborn? isnt it a little unwise to make a comment that could be taken as an insult, towards someone your trying to make a deal with?â she retorts.
âPerhaps, but I have a feeling from my observations of you, that no matter what, youâll accept what I have to offer.â If the beings mouth was capable of forming a smug grin, vriska was sure it would have been doing so right now, and already it had her curiosity peaked
âWhat kind of offer are we talking about here anyway?â she asks caution clear in her voice, she could clearly hear the smug grin in the creatures voice when it next spoke.
âWhy, if you accept my deal, not only will you be given powers and abilities to help advance your prowess, one such ability being that I will allow you to access one of my, vision 8 folds in order to see, and twist the strings of fate you call luck, to your advantage, you will also be given the capability to access your magical talent of Illusion, and mind control.â
Vriska stops, that, was a very tempting offer, but one could never be too careful. âAnd whats in it for you? surely you wouldnt give me such an offer without you wanting to something.â she says, eyeing the strange being.
In response to the question, she recieves a chuckle, âOf course, I should have expected this, what I get in return is your loyalty to me, you will be my champion, and will do as I say. and in return you will receive my blessing of these abilities, and so much more.â
Vriska pauses, mulling the deal over for a bit before nodding, this deal certainly seemed to be more in her favor than the spirits âFine, I accept Thief.â she says calmly the thief grinned, and with a snap of one set of its fingers, vriska was gone from the spirits domain, and back in her dirty Hide out.
