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The Sweetest Revenge

RetroWitchcraft

RetroWitchcraft

Star
Joined
Jun 24, 2011
Location
The Basement
Gilloleth Le’irk had been the one to find their bodies on the path that winding through the grounds of their large estate. Her parents often went out on late night walks through their gardens. No matter the season a section was always in bloom. Even in winter there were rare flowers that could survive the frosts and snows; color dotting the canvas of diamond white snow. The season was early summer and the red trees were in bloom with their fragrant buds. The various stone pathways were littered with the falling petals. That was how she found their bodies; covered in the same petals.

At first she was not sure who could have done such a thing. Her family had been well liked within the city that they lived in. Even those of lower station had little to say about the Lord Le’irk and his winsome elven bride. The higher gentry sometimes looked down upon them but she could not fathom why any would send out someone to do such a wicked deed. She doubted that it was a common thief. The only thing that was taken was something of sentimental value to her; her family’s crest that her father wore no matter the occasion and no matter where he went. It was perplexing.

The day had been spent digging their graves. This she did on her own with no help from anyone and if any of her servants dared tried to assist her she screamed until they scurried off. Gilloleth was grief stricken, lost, and unable to justly vent her anger towards the person who had done the deed. She thought that digging into the cold ground would vent some of what she was feeling but it did not. All it had done was gotten her hands dirty and made her think on the grisly task of preparing their bodies for their burial. This she had also done in silence. The world did not have to see them that way; cut open it seemed just for sport. It was not until nightfall that she had finished everything and, finally, a servant had approached her.

It was a young woman; a blonde haired wisp with large brown eyes. She had explained to Gilloleth that she had been out with a lover that night in the gardens. At the time she had thought nothing of it and assumed that the fellow she saw lurking about the path. He was broad and full of muscle and his hair shone bright white in the light of the moon. She could not discern his skin as it was almost the same shade as the night that surrounded them. When the half elf beauty pressed the girl further, she balked and flushed. Clearly she had been further distracted by said lover.

Yet she knew her quandary now. Or, at least, the race of him. What else could he have been but one of those wretched Drow of the Underdark? Speculation was lost on her as her rage grew into a white flame. Finding him would be simple. Not many males of that species traveled without a stronger female companion and she was sure that she could kill him easily if he were on his own. After all, the men of that race were considered weak.

Not wanting to waste any time she began preparations that night to leave her home. What happened to it she did not care. That place was a shell to her and a reminder of the happy life she had once held. The carefree half elf had been murdered a long side her parents that night. Cloaks were stuffed hastily into bags as well as spare clothes, her father’s bedroll, and her mother’s old crossbow. Her mother and father had been adventurers together. He had been a powerful warrior and she had been a druid on the same party. Gilloleth, although young, had been trained by both of them. She inherited some of her father’s strength, and her mother’s speed and affinity towards ranged and light weighted weapons. This would be easy, she assumed, but she prepared for a long haul.

She even went as far as to change her name. Now she would simply be known as Nightingale Silverleaf. Her hair had made her pick the name Nightingale; it was black as inky night and her father had a fondness for the song of that particular bird. Silverleaf had been the family name of her mother before she was wed. Her pale skin was covered head to toe in light and soft leather armor. She could not wear much heavier. The same servant who had informed her of the unknown drow in the garden had been preparing her horse for her.
 
Mallkior, born from the noble matriarch of the drow house De’Rathe, had been cursed to be one of the few male drow born with the powerful noble trait of his dark-dwelling kin. Males born with this gene were often slaughtered when they were brought into this world by one of the higher ranking houses in drow society, but House De’Rathe held no such station. Against the better judgement of her daughters and advisors, the matriarch allowed her first-born son to live in the hopes that he could be cultivated into a living weapon which she could us to advance House De’Rathe’s station. This decision, born of greed, pride, and in some small part, envy, would prove to be a most unwise decree in the years that were to come. In that moment, however, the matriarch believed that she had been blessed with great tool. The matriarch believed that she would always be able to control her new son; that he would always remain subservient to his mother and elder sisters. Blinded by ambition, the matriarch had never bothered to ask herself why the higher houses throw away such men.

Over the next several years, the young drow noble grew and was taught the basics of survival that all drow learned to prepare them for a life in the Underdark. He learned the creeds of the drow people from his father and he learned how to control the magical abilities with which he was born from his mother. From his two elder sisters, he learned the basics of combat; swordplay, archery, and the weakest spectrum of the magical arts. His abilities were growing fast and this began to worry the members of the house outside of his immediate family. These cries fell on ears which had been deafened by all-consuming ambition.

As the boy neared maturity, rebellion grew inside of his heart. This sent a renewed wave of fear and panic through the small drow house and for the first time, the matriarch listened. Mallkior was punished severely for the contention that he had sent through his family and house but he was still not killed. It was natural, the matriarch had told the house De’Rathe, for a child to rebel at the age which her son had reached. She assured them that he was being punished and that his training would be ceased until such a time as he could properly be controlled again. The house, still unsure, fell silent once again at the command of their blinded matriarch.

Though his family had put a hold upon his official training, Mallkior did not let them stop him from advancing his teachings on his own time. He was furious that his mother and sisters would dare do such a thing to him and that rebellion slowly molded itself into resentment. They were hypocrites in his eyes. They had brought him up to be a weapon; to fight. They had brought him up to be a physical embodiment of the violence and chaos which the drow people embodied in honor of their most precious goddess, Lloth. In Mallkior’s perverse view of the world, twisted beyond even that of the average drow, House De’Rathe had dishonored Lloth by attempting to quell his chaos. Being born of House De’Rathe himself, it was his duty to spill their blood so that he may redeem his family name.

For another handful of years, Mallkior trained in secrecy to advance both his swordsmanship and his sorcery. Slowly, he began to combine the two until he had melded blade and magic into one fluid combat style. He had become what his mother had always hoped that he would become; an eldritch knight. However, he had also become what the rest of his house had feared that he might become; a rogue male, and a powerful one at that. No longer did his mother or sisters have the ability to control him.

The night of reckoning for House De’Rathe came and went. Mallkior had sustained only small injuries while the rest of his former family lay dead in the cavernous halls of the Underdark. With House De’Rathe gone from the world, there was no reason for Mallkior to remain in the Underdark any longer. His loyalty to his people was non-existent. His only loyalty lay in the birth and growth of chaos; something which the Underdark was already swallowed in. The surface world, however, was a place of law and order according to most of the books which he had read. With this in mind, it was clear to Mallkior what he must do.

While the surface world was swallowed in the darkness of night, Mallkior left the Underdark behind. He was sure that his kin would not hunt him for what he had done but he also decided that it was better to be prepared rather than ignore the possibility. He would need a way to hide himself and he knew just the thing to help with that. The drow recalled tales of a human family that lived in a nearby surface town. The family were renowned combatants and most of them carried an amulet of proof against detection on their bodies at all times which was cleverly disguised as a family seal. This amulet would make it difficult to magically track and locate him.

This is why the half-elven girl’s parents were targeted and this is why her father’s family seal was stolen. The drow had confronted him and his bride in the garden and when the human refused to give the eldritch drow the object which he had come to collect, the drow killed him. Then, in the tradition of his kind, he killed the man’s wife who he believed was the only witness. The servant and her lover had been spared only because the drow’s vision was hindered by the light of the full moon. He hadn’t seen them; a mistake that he wouldn’t have otherwise made in the pitch black of the Underdark.

If the half-elf intended to track down the drow man now, she would need aid to do so. Her father’s amulet was powerful and only the strongest magi would be able to track the drow in spite of the seal. Perhaps if she was lucky, someone in town had seen the dark-clan man come or go in the dead of night. Surely, she would know that this was her best bet at picking up the trail.
 
The young maid had prepared everything for her mistress. The horse was packed well with dried food stuffs, blankets, skins for wine and water, and various other things that Gilloleth had forgotten about in her hasty gathering. By the time she set out for the town, the young half elf looked drawn and exhausted. Bags lined sharp, almond shaped green eyes. Yet she was not going to rest that day or perhaps not even that night. Every time she closed her eyes she was haunted by the figures of her parents laying dead, eyes opened in surprise for her father and terror for her defenseless mother. Sleep would not come easily or at all and she was not the type to take a tonic for such problems.

Entering town had done her little good. People stared openly at her, knowing the loss she had recently sustained. They whispered things her sharp hearing picked up on. What a shame it was for someone so young to be left without a mother or father; she had barely been the age of adulthood! Many had wondered why she wore her long, blackish waves down. It was custom in that town to pin the hair up while in mourning. Gilloleth was not in mourning. That word was too trite to explain how she felt.

Instead of crying openly and wearing black to show the agony she was in, she was going to properly vent that anguish. The drow who murdered her parents would come to rue that day and she would take great pleasure in making him suffer beforehand.

As she rode through the town the glint of the sun reflected blue off of her raven locks. The skin of her face and hands was pale and nearly reflective as well. Large eyes and a rosebud mouth offset a heart shaped face and ears that were ever so slightly pointed at the tips. With her heritage she had the elven beauty with the fullness of face of a human and it came together in quite a pleasing fashion. Some had likened her to a painted doll, which she loathed. Now she looked upon those who had mentioned it with a severe glance.

Her first stop was the inn. If she was going to find him, she would need to ask around. Drow were known to be quite stealthy and sneaky. Perhaps he was even travelling by the shadows but someone had to have seen him. There had to be people that knew. As she walked in people looked in her direction. Normally such a place would make her balk but, now, she was determined. She strode up to the bar and began to question the barkeep.
 
The barkeeper, an older human gentleman who went by the name Oswald, had been an old acquaintance of the girl’s father. They hadn’t spoken much recently, but back before the late fighter had retired from his life of adventure and glory, it wasn’t uncommon for him to unwind at the tavern after a rough trip. Actually, it wasn’t uncommon for him to just stop in at any time to see if any of the inn guests were in need of body guard work or if Oswald needed a little muscle for security should the tavern-goers get too rowdy. The human nobleman had spent quite a bit of time here before he had met his elven bride.

Oswald was roughly in his early fifties now and in really good shape for someone of his age. He stood at roughly five feet and ten inches tall with a lightly muscled physique. His belly bulged a bit with what you could call a ‘beer gut’ but there still weren’t too many people in the tavern that would want to tussle with old Oswald. Most people wouldn’t have thought that Oswald was so old just by looking at him but his hair certainly gave him away, or lack-there-of. Oswald was completely bald, save for poorly-shaven, dark grey facial hair. Blue eyes watched the little half-elven girl as she approached the bar from a sea of heavily tanned skin.

Though Oswald had been a friend of the deceased, it seemed that he was about as interested in mourning as Gilloleth. The customary black mourning attire that one wore when a family member or close friend died were replaced with a pair of denim bibbed overalls, old white shirt that was more an off-white or grey color now, and heavy leather working boots. His clothes were clearly old and though they were clean, they were decorated with a myriad of stains from messy foods to blood.

“Well look who we have here,” Oswald bellowed in a deep, pleased voice as the half-elven girl finished pushing her way through the crowd and made it to the tavern’s bar. “I haven’t set sights on you since you was just a wee thing; no bigger than one of them there halflin’ creatures. Course, you was cuter than them things. Nasty little buggers, them halflin’s; always stealin’ and rootin’ through places their thievin’ little fingers don’ belong.”

Once Oswald finished wiping the glass that he had been working on cleaning, he sat it down behind the counter and turned to close what little distance remained between himself and the half-elf. “Ya doin’ alright, girlee?” he asked in a much softer and private voice as he leaned in close to Gilloleth. “If’n you need anythin’ at all then you just let ol’ Oswald know and he’ll see if he can help you.”
 
The question struck Gilloleth oddly. How was she doing? She had not taken time to assess that. All she had been concerned with was all consuming revenge. Her own needs and wants had been pushed to the side. She sat down, her small body barely rocking the chair beneath her. There were whispers again but she pushed them out of her mind. Who cared if they thought she was going to drink herself stupid with grief? These sorts of people could only solve their problems at the bottom of a mug of ale.

“I am very tired,” she finally replied. “I have not slept since the night before.”

She paused as her gloved fingers traced the bar top. This man had been a friend to her father’s and she did vaguely remember someone like him when she was younger visiting the home whenever she was younger. She wondered if she was a cute child. Every portrait she ever had sat for depicted her very much the same way; snowy white with inky hair, bright eyes, and a small rose bud mouth.

“I do have a few questions about a man. I figure that, since you run the social apex of the town, you would be able to help me.” Gilloleth launched herself right in to it after a long, steadying breath. “You see a servant girl of mine witnessed something quite odd before the murder happened. In the gardens she noted a Drow male lurking. As you know anything coming up from the Underdark is suspicious and that a male emerging on his own is even more so.”

There was little tact to her questioning. That was a skill that she had found little taste for whenever she was training, though her mother insisted that such charisma be learned, Gilloleth much favored the bow or crossbow.

“Has anyone of the sort passed through this establishment?”
 
“Ah well you shouldn’ strain yerself by stayin’ up all hours and makin’ yerself tired and sick,” Oswald spoke in retort to Gilloleth’s first statement while she collected her thoughts, but the half-elf did not seem to acknowledge that she had been spoken to. He hadn’t really expected her to, though. When people were struck with this kind of grief, they tended to develop very selective hearing until they had come to terms with themselves.

While he waited for the half-elf to collect herself and decide just what it was that she had come to a place like this for, Oswald busied himself with pouring her a drink. He honestly wasn’t even sure how old she was, so he didn’t want to take the chance on handing her anything hard. Sure, she looked old enough for an ale but that elven blood really threw him off. If it wasn’t entirely human, Oswald never trusted what his eyes told him. Instead, he grabbed a large clay mug and poured the girl a tall glass of his home-made apple juice. Elves were supposed to like fruity drinks right? Bah, it didn’t matter. He was pretty sure that the girl wasn’t here for ale.

“I don’t know nothin’ about any of them there dark elves, girlee,” the man answered once Gilloleth had finished speaking. Oswald just slid her drink over toward her and tucked the big jug of juice back behind the bar. “Come ta think of it, yer father never had many dealin’s with them either did he? Them elves don’ come out of their holes too often and there ain’t much reason for us normal sun-lovin’ folk ta go down there where they live.”

It didn’t make a whole lot of sense to the older human that one of the Underdark-dwelling elves would come to the surface just to murder his old friend but then again, the whole situation didn’t make sense to him. Gilloleth’s father had been well-liked in the town and Oswald wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box when it came to inter-species affairs. He knew that he, personally, was going to be somewhere between little help to none at all in whatever information gathering the young half-elf woman was trying to do. Fortunately for her, Oswald knew someone who might be able to help her.

“Have ya tried talkin’ ta the guard-captain about what yer servant saw?” Oswald asked as he leaned in close so that hopefully only the half-elf girl would hear him. “If’n this has ta do with the dark elves then he will want ta hear about it, ya know? Tell him Oswald sent ya and that ya want ta talk ta Zarraema. If’n any of those dark elves come crawlin’ out of their hole, Zarraema will know about it.”
 
It had been hours since any sort of drink touched her lips. The sweet and apply flavor was almost too much for her taste buds, as if even they had been thrown into shock. Yet she was grateful for it. The cool liquid helped soothe her overly sore throat and she drank it in two greedy gulps.

As he spoke her expression fell ever so slightly. Perhaps she had expected a speedy chase like she had read about in the many fantasy novels that lined the shelves of her library. Those had always ended with the target being found in a few scant days and the lovely maiden giving the hero a kiss. A sigh escaped her lips and she rubbed her temples. Those men in the books had been skilled trackers though and never needed the help of the local populace. And she was more realistically inclined; she needed the help.

“Zarraema?” She repeated the name. That was one she was unfamiliar with. In fact she was not entirely sure where the command guard post was. “Where would he be located this time of day?”

The juice had sharpened her some, made her words more vibrant and added an edge of agitation to them. “I would be ever so grateful if you could point me in the direction I must go to find him.”

Such things should have been common knowledge but she had not really spent much time out in the town. Her estate had enough entertainment, care, excitement, and intrigue to get her well occupied. The servants were quite good with all of those things and her parents provided her with love and understanding. There was no need to go out though now she wished that she had. It would make things much, much easier for her.
 
“Don’t go throwin’ that name aroun’, girlee,” the older human retorted when Gilloleth repeated the name of the woman which she had been told could help her. Clearly, Oswald had felt that the half-elven girl had spoken the name too loudly. The bartender had never been an easy person to scare and he didn’t often dance around any subject too gracefully. Perhaps if Gilloleth had spent more time around her father’s friend, she might have picked up on his odd behavior.

Before Oswald continued on, he turned to face the half-elf fully and leaned forward so that both of his arms were resting on the large wooden counter and he was close enough to lower his voice even further. Now it would have been clear to the other tavern patrons that the old human man was talking to the young half-elf about subjects that he didn’t want anyone else to hear about. Fortunately for the both of them, none of the tavern’s usual gossipers and self-proclaim information brokers were in tonight, leaving the place full of drunks who couldn’t care less about anything except their mugs of ale.

“Yer gonna want ta head toward the northern exit of our territory,” Oswald said with an even softer tone than before. He could only be referring to the town’s northern watchtower. It was the only thing on the northern edge of the quiet forest town. “That is where Captain Gibson normally stays unless he’s expectin’ some kinda trouble; like a raid from them orcs that live up in the mountains. If Zarraema is on the surface then Gibson is the man that ya need ta talk to.”

With that, Oswald erected himself and turned to leave Gilloleth standing alone at the end of the bar. All bartenders heard things from time to time that they just pushed to the back of their heads and tried to forget. For Oswald, Zarraema was one of those things and he no longer wished to continue talking of the subject, even with his old friend’s daughter. In fact, if Gilloleth hadn’t been who she was then Oswald would not have even given her what information that he had. It was his subtle way of honoring his old friend. Gilloleth’s father had always spoken so proudly of her to his friends; about her beauty, her intellect, her skill, and her strength. Oswald was too old to go stomping around in the dark to hunt one of them drow creatures but if his friend had spoken the truth, Golloleth could handle herself.
 
Gilloleth thanked the man. When he turned away from her she delved into her purse. Her servant had made sure that she had enough coin to last at least two months though that mattered little to her. What care did she have for fortune to live comfortably when her parents had been so brutally taken from her? On the bar counter she set five gold pieces and stood. She made her way out in less a dramatic of a fashion. Instead of pushing past people like she had before she slipped past them quietly. Eyes followed her out, as did whispers, but she ignored both.

So she would have to travel towards the northern border of the lord’s territory? They weren’t too terribly far away. About a day’s worth of travel if she had remembered correctly. Instantly she went over to her horse and dug through the saddle bags. The servant had to have been clever enough to have packed a map and right she was. Gilloleth unfurled the scroll and looked at it carefully, eyes darting to the compass rose to gain perspective. A delicate finger traced the quickest path to the place and she whistled. The quickest path was through the woods that wrapped around most of the village like a dark cloud of shady trees. Various sorts of things dwelled within that forest but she was sure that whatever came her way she would be able to defeat it.

With another quick check of her map she was on her way, saddling up on her trusty horse to head towards the Northern part of their territory.

-_-_-_-_-

Her time through the forest was rather uneventful. Occasionally her horse was spooked by some shadows that lingered on the corner of Gilloleth’s vision. Halfway through the forest she set up camp, her body finally giving up on her with the impending night. Her dreams were filled with the horrific scene of her parent’s death and she could not sleep well but some rest was good and she was the better for it.

Refreshed she pressed on until she came to an outpost. There she dismounted and looked around.

“Captain Gibson?” She called out.
 
How this place could have passed for an outpost was anyone’s guess. By the standards of other kingdoms, this place was little more than a rest stop for wary adventurers and traveling merchants. Of course, the kingdom that Gilloleth lived in was not known for its riches or its military might. The forests of these lands had birthed many grand adventurers in recent years but that was about all that could be said for the small kingdom born of little more than treaties saying that the local nobles would share the rule over all of their lands in a collective council. It was an unprecedented political move but the newfound kingdom had blossomed since, expanding its boarders and founding new colonies and small towns within itself.

To think that this was all that was protecting the growing kingdom along its northern border would have been a frightening concept to those who knew better. The ‘outpost’ was really just what appeared to be a barracks on either side of the road with four watchtowers. There weren’t any walls, no checkpoint across the road, not even any standing guards that could be seen. The place looked almost abandoned, actually.

When Gilloleth called out for the guard-captain, however, the outpost sprung to life. Archers appeared from behind the small walls in the tops of the watchtowers, all with bows drawn and arrows nocked with their sights set on the half-elven girl below. Soldiers of assorted rank and file poured out of the barracks, forming a line across the road both in front of and behind Gilloleth, trapping her in the central area of the outpost.

“What business do you have with Captain Gibson?” one soldier bellowed as he stepped forward out of the crowd. He was a younger looking man, perhaps in his mid twenties. He seemed pretty darkly tanned and his eyes were a dark chocolate brown. The half-elf wouldn’t have been able to make out any other details about this man, however, as his face was all that was visible. From the helmet atop his head to the toes of his boots, this soldier was covered in a heavy suit of scale mail armor with a buckler strapped to his left wrist and a longsword drawn in his right hand.

The rest of the soldiers all drew their weapons as well, as though they believed that it would take all of them to bring down this one traveler. If Gilloleth gave this matter any thought then she’d probably know that this wasn’t quite right. The guards of this kingdom were accustomed to the occasional orc or goblin raid but outside of that, this land was peaceful. For the guards of any outpost, let alone one this small, to have set up an ambush then they would have had to have been expecting trouble and mistaken the half-elf for being said problem.
 
Whatever Gilloleth had been expecting, it certainly wasn’t this. Their land had been very peaceful for the last few decades. No one had tried to claim them as territory and there was no power hungry ruler that had sent armies out to eviscerate anyone and anything that crossed their path. Even someone like her, who had spent most of her time in her nice estate training and enjoying the company of her father and the more intelligent of the servants, understood this.

Her pale green eyes went from one archer to the next. Each had an arrow nocked and pointed at her. Their faces bore the look of men who had recently seen something dangerous. Her stomach felt as if it somersaulted inside of her and she could not help but think she had been on the right track. To show that she meant no harm she lifted up her arms. All of her weapons were visible on her. The bow and arrows remained on her back and there was a small dagger strapped to the outside of her boot. For fear of her life she dared not even twitch, lest one of them assumed that she was reaching. What a poor ending to her revenge, indeed!

“I am here because of the death of my mother and father,” she stated boldly. Even in that submissive position, she lifted her head and commanded an air of authority and command. “They were killed by the hands of something vicious and cruel and I believe Captain Gibson may know something about it.”

Some whispered between each other, wondering if they should let down their bows. After all such a slip of a girl did not really seem like that much of a threat. Not only that but she was there while she should have been in mourning, if what she said in her story was true, so if she was making that trip she may have been in emotional distress. Was it wise to leave an unstable woman just standing there? They looked to their leader for answers.

Gilloleth simply sighed and waited, shifting to accommodate the ground beneath her.
 
“News of the murders of the nobleman and his elven wife has already reached the Captain’s ears,” the soldier that seemed to be in charge answered the half-elf. He sheathed his sword as he spoke which seemed to be the signal for the rest of the soldiers and the archery units to stand down. Everyone returned their weapons to their hips, backs, or wherever else that each individual soldier felt most comfortable storing his weapon when at ease. The archers lowered their bows and un-nocked their arrows. The tensioned among the border defense soldiers seemed to all but melt away when this man issued that silent command.

“We offer our sincerest apologies for what has happened in the nearby township, but certainly you must realize that such affairs fall out of our area of influence. If you have information pertinent to the murders then you should take it right back home to the local militia; this issue is their duty to resolve.” This apparently young man spoke with too much authority to be just an average soldier. His voice was deep and his tone held assurance and command. There was an air of regality about him that seemed out of place in such an area as this.

With the wave of his now empty sword hand, the young solder dispersed the crowd of flesh and metal that had spilled from the barracks. Most of the other soldiers returned to the wooden buildings though a small handful moved, instead, around to the backs of the barracks where the training dummies had been set up. The archers simply sat back down in their towers. They had probably been playing cards or tossing dice before the half-elf disturbed the peace of their outpost.

Only the commanding soldier remained, standing strong and unwavering before the half-elf girl. He just stood there silently now, staring at her from the path directly in front of her horse some thirty yards ahead. His gaze was intense. Was he trying to intimidate her without making any direct threats?
 
Gilloleth clenched her teeth together as she watched the men go back to whatever they had been doing before her arrival. It had been a very difficult two days for her and she was not simply going to be turned down before she even saw Captain Gibson. She lowered her arms to cross over her chest and her pale eyes narrowed on him. Clearly she was not one to be intimidated.

There was a moment or two of silence as she weighed what he had to say and was thinking on what she needed to say. In the background various sounds of soldier play could be heard. Swords clashed from behind the barracks. The dull ‘thump’ from within that persisted told of men practicing grappling with one another, perhaps for drinks later on at the pub once they were allotted free time. Dice being rolled in a cup joined the clatter. She found it odd how life could return to normal so quickly for these men.

Finally she spoke, “I am here, sir, because of the man that killed my parents. I don’t care to get the local authorities into this for I believe he has already fled and, besides, what do peaceful men know about revenge? The man I am looking for just so happens to be a Drow.”

There was another pause where she batted around the idea of telling this man about Zarraema or at least mention it. She decided it would be worth a shot at least. Looking about to make sure that no other was in listening distance to her, she leaned forward.

“I was told to mention something about Zarraema.” Gilloleth pulled back, the scant light that made it through the thick of the canopy making her hair shine its inky hue. “If you think staring toward my horse is going to get me to leave you would be quite mistaken.”

The half elf had spirit and tenacity and would not allow herself to be stared down.
 
The armor-clad man merely quirked his brow when mentions were made of revenge and a male drow. Certainly the half-elf could not have expected much more from him, given the circumstances. The drow had not been seen outside of the Underdark in this region for nearly twenty years. Couple that with the fact that Gilloleth had spoken of a male drow and you’ve got a tale that no ordinary person in the area would believe. Male drow did not act on their own; they acted upon the command of a female.

When mention of this Zarraema was uttered, however, the man’s face returned to its stern expression and his eyes scanned the courtyard to make sure that no one had just heard what this girl had said. Oswald had told Gilloleth not to throw the name around back in the bar and now this man seemed concerned about it as well. Surely someone or something with this much influence could not have truly gone undetected by the noble houses. It was about as likely as Gilloleth's father and mother being killed by a lone male drow.

“You are speaking to Captain Gibson, girl,” the man said authority while his hands moved behind him and cupped together at the small of his back. There they stayed as he continued. “I would thank you to keep your voice down and to not speak that name again. If you must make reference then simply refer to ‘the oracle’. If you cannot abide by this one simple rule then I will be unable to assist you in your misguided quest for a… male drow was it? You are aware that they do not act alone are you not? What possible reason could you have to believe that your true target is not a female puppet master hiding in the shadows?”

The male’s armored hands came back around to his front and his right rose quickly as if to cut the girl off from speaking. “It does not matter I suppose,” the male said, his questions clearly having been rhetorical. “The greater question on my part should be to ask who was killed. News travels slowly to us, you know. If you had not come along then it could have been a good week before news of any killings reached us.”

This young man certainly did not seem as though he could be a captain. As if he didn’t simply appear to be too young to have the experience that such a position would demand, his speech patterns seemed too condescending and uncaring. Of course, if could be possible that Gilloleth had just caught him on a bad day but that wouldn’t explain his age.
 
There was something wrong with all of this. Confusion swept over her delicate features and her eyes locked on the man before her. Everything sounded normal. The soldiers were still at their play. The trees rustled loudly. The birds chirped a truly happy tune. Yet there was something completely off about the entire situation.

“Did you not just say that you knew that a nobleman and his wife had been murdered?” She asked. Part of her was tempted to reach for her bow and arrow but she did not know how quick this supposed Captain Gibson was. “To reiterate it was my mother and my father; the family Le’irk.”

She thought about his other questions thoroughly. How did she know it was not some angered drow woman using a male puppet to exact her malice and hatred? The truth was that she didn’t but she knew that the first step in finding anything out about this horrible event was to find the man her servant girl had spotted in the gardens. Her eyes narrowed on him for a moment so only a silvery blue slit of color could be seen through her thick lashes. Her stance was broad and she stood with her feet shoulder width apart. Whatever she had thought about this clearly had her on edge. Nothing was adding up correctly for the grief stricken Gilloleth.

“I know that if I find this Drow male, I will find whoever may or may not be controlling him. Even if he will not surrender the name of his Mistress willingly…” Her voice trailed dangerously off. Someone like her could be driven to the brink and she had decided early on torture was not beyond her.

“Aren’t you a little young to be on commander?” she asked suddenly, taking in the youthful appearance of the face beneath the helmet.
 
A cocky little smirk slid across the armored young man’s lips when Gilloleth came down upon his little fib with her razor wit. He hadn’t expected the grief-stricken woman to catch his white lie but the fact that she did changed nothing. She had answered his question, regardless. The soldiers had indeed heard of the murders of a human noble and his elven bride but the names had not been enclosed in their message. Now that he knew exactly who it was, maybe he could set some of his men’s nerves to rest.

“How observant of you,” the man said matter-of-factly as his hands returned to the small of his back and his eyes fixed themselves on the half-elf’s gaze. “We had indeed received the news, but the message that we received did not contain names. Some of my men have been restless since, fears for their own families fill their hearts and nightmares of their families’ untimely demises haunt their dreams. Now that I know who the deceased are, perhaps I can settle the brewing storm that has been swelling within my ranks.”

“I offer my sincerest apologies for the poor attempt at deception but I felt it rude to simply come out and demand the names of the dead from someone whom I could only assume was their child by your obvious heritage. My claim of rank, however, is no deception. I am Commander Gibson, as I have claimed. If I were not, then I would not even have known about the Oracle. There are very few these days who do; mostly older folk but since I am the Commander of this garrison, it is necessary information for me despite my age.”

The man paused, taking a moment to gauge the elven girl’s reactions to his claims but he had never been very good at reading people. It didn’t really matter to him, either way. What he spoke now was the truth and if this half-elf chose to not believe it then that would be her problem. She was the one who needed information from him, after all.

“I feel that I must urge you to turn around and try to continue your life as normally as possible, Miss Le’irk,” the man continued. “Many who seek the Oracle’s guidance are often disappointed by what they find and learn when they meet her. She is a woman of great power and skill; a woman of knowledge and insight. She has the power to reshape destiny with her visions.”
 
Military men were harsh. Little condolence was offered for her and, instead, he showed more worry for his men. That was to be expected, however. Although naïve to such ways she knew that not everyone was going to be kind or even sympathetic to her plight. Still a bitter taste rested in her mouth and she bristled visibly.

“That is wonderful for your men, commander.” Her voice was dull and listless, barely even able to be heard over the natural pall of the forest and the louder noises of the men.

His apology seemed as careless as the treatment of her feelings and she could not help but roll her eyes. Over and over again she reminded herself that she was being given a favor and she should act accordingly. By his reaction to the name he was either frighten or extremely hesitant to let her see this Oracle. The fresh anger that pulsed through her blood made her not fear what the woman could possibly say. Gilloleth would have her revenge at whatever cost.

“I think that being able to find the one who murdered my parents would be worth any other disappointment I may face whilst I am with this Oracle. Will you please show me to her?”

She placed her hands on the swell of her hips and she looked up at him through narrowed eyes. She wondered in that moment if he had lost a mother or a father or if he had lost them both at the same time; if they had been killed for a practically useless bauble. These questions stayed poised on the edge of her tongue and if he refused her admittance still, she would let them fly.
 
“No,” the man answered as bluntly and as heartlessly as ever when asked if he would guide this half-elf woman to the Oracle. “I have a duty to be filled here, Miss Le’irk and it is not one that I can afford to take lightly at this time. A band of orcs have set up camp along the nearby river and while we have not been given official permission to set upon them, my men and I have been keeping a close watch. Should they swell into a raid during my absence and my men are killed then I would not be able to face myself in morrow’s morning.”

The man turned as he spoke, showing his back to Gilloleth for the first time. It was strange that a man of such standing would leave himself open for attack, even to someone who seemed like an innocent traveler. Of course, not too many assassins would be foolish enough to announce their presence in the camp and then try to strike down a commander in the middle of the guard posts. Once he was turned, Gibson’s hand rose and he pointed down the northern path out of the camp.

“If you wish to see the Oracle then you are going to want to continue traveling to the north until you come to the rock shaped like a dragon’s skull. When you reach the skull, you will need to leave your steed and venture into the forest. Travel away from the road in the opposite direction which the rock is facing as though you were walking upon the dragon’s spine. Straight into the woods, about three hour’s travel, you should come to a river. From there, follow the river upstream. At the end of the river, or at least the end of where you can trek, there will be a waterfall cascading from the rocky ledge of a steep mountain. The Oracle resides in a cave hidden by the waters and mist of the falls.”

When he finished giving his instructions, the man’s hand fell back at his side and he turned back toward the half-elf. His eyes stared into Gilloleth’s and his arms came to cross over his chest. Gibson knew that there would be no talking this girl out of pursuing the truths that the Oracle could bestow upon her. The soldier did not know what these truths might be but the entire situation seemed off to him and he knew that Miss Le’irk would likely not like what the Oracle would have to say. No, there was more to this than that. He suspected that the half-elf would not like the Oracle herself.
 
What she would have preferred was a proper escort but she highly doubted that would be provided for her. This man was hard; too hard to care about someone like her or anyone beyond his own group of soldiers. Part of her wanted to cry out for her mother and father in that moment but she stiffened herself. Staying strong would keep her alive during this trek. Even here she needed to show her ability to keep together. So she threw back her shoulders and tilted back her head, making her hair shine in the faint light once more.

“I thank you for your kindness.” She told him. “I will continue on towards the North.”

Without another word to him she turned on her heel and walked back to her horse. After giving its nose a loving stroke, the young half elf mounted and headed in the direction she was told to. Gilloleth did not like the idea of leaving her horse to sit at the entrance of the second leg of her trip. Thieves could easily swipe the mare while she was looking for the oracle. Too soon for her comfort she came upon the rock that was reminiscent of a dragon skull and she dismounted her horse. Again she patted the good mount on the nose and kissed it once for good measure against the side of her long face.

“Now I will be back as soon as I am able. There is plenty of nice grass for you to graze on and nice flowers, too. Don’t wander too far, eh?”

Reluctantly she pulled away from her travelling companion and headed inside of the thick taiga, taking the route up the ‘dragon’s spine’ as she was told to do. Here she moved as quickly and as silently as she possibly could. In this part of the woods no birds sung and the shadows hung heavily and felt cold against her skin. Every sound of rustling and twigs snapping sent her to jump. Once or twice she fired off an arrow into a bush and had to leave the path to retrieve them. Gilloleth did not know if she had actually came to the waterfall within three hours or if it had been longer or shorter than that but she finally made it there.

Pale eyes looked over the craggy and flat surface that lead up to the place that the Oracle was to dwell. A lump rose in her throat and she cursed beneath her breath. This was going to be a longer trip than she had anticipated. That broad best had have some good information for her. Gilloleth huffed loudly and continued on the steep and treacherous path that lead up to the cave behind the waterfall.

Reaching the cave had been difficult for her. She had to stop along the way to drink water and rest a minute or two before heading pressing on again. As she walked the forest around her shifted into a dark and twisted version of itself. Part of her wanted to wait until the morning light but she knew she could not. The mouth of the cave finally came into her view and she bit her lip.

"Oracle!" she called out boldly.
 
The forests on the outskirts of the small, noble-forged kingdom were a dangerous place to be after the sun had kissed the sky goodnight and gave way to the faint, silvery light of the moon. It was at night that most of the predators hunted, that the orcs became bolder and more aggressive, that the goblins descended upon civilized settlements in a chaotic wave of destruction and thievery; that the drow dared set foot out of the Underdark, and that all other manner of undead crawled from their daytime resting places and walked the earth. Even adventurers did not often set up camp in these places so far out in the wilderness.

Gilloleth, however, was not an adventurer. She might not have been the weak little girl that most people would have suspected a daughter of the late nobleman and his wife to be but she was still far from experienced in the ways of her father’s old ways. There was no way that she could appreciate the danger that she was now in. It was not likely that she could understand how likely it was that she would never see her horse again even if she made it back to the road. It wasn’t even likely that she would ever make it back out of the deep, dark forest.

Fortunately for Gilloleth, the Oracle, Zarraema, seemed to have a way of rewriting the way that the world worked. Oswald could have told her a hundred tales of travelers who had claimed to have been saved by a mysterious woman in the woods who had calmed the anger of a bear by merely gazing into its eyes or shielded them from a landslide with a gale-force wind from the wave of a small fan. Of course, Oswald wasn’t a superstitious man and he didn’t like to discuss such wives-tales. Instead, he had sent Gilloleth to Gibson, whom had claimed to have been saved by the Oracle on more than one occasion.

The young half-elven woman’s call into the mouth of the cave yielded her no answer, though the sounds of someone or something moving about inside were quite apparent. A few clicks here and a bump there held the telltale signs that the cave was occupied but it was too dark and the sounds were echoing from too deep inside of the cave for anyone to have accurately guessed exactly what they were hearing. Had Gilloleth traveled to the correct place? Had she been tricked, perhaps? There was only one way to know for sure.
 
Gilloleth listened closely to the noises within the frighteningly dark cave. The sounds bounced off of the sides of the rocky walls, making it impossible for even one of her sensitive hearing to be able to discern what lay beyond the mouth. Standing around was not an option, however. All about her the forest was becoming more alive. The groans of various beasties and rustling of leaves mingled in with the sounds of what was happening inside of the cave. It was quite an appalling din but one that set her on her guard.

By the scant light remaining from day she looked through the bag that hung over her shoulder. She knew that she had forgotten to pack a lantern and flint but was sure that the delightful servant had done so. However the bag that held those precious items was hanging from her horse and her search proved futile. She swore beneath her breath. As the frightening sounds grew nearer to her she swallowed hard and went inside of the cave anyway. Whatever she met in there was likely to be less terrifying than what was outside.

“Hello?” she called out once more in her sweet tones. “I was looking for the Oracle. I was told that she lives in this cave and may be able to assist me.”

Her voice rebounded off of the walls and rocks and came back to her. Even to her own ears she had sounded more frightened than anything else. Which would not have been a lie; everything was beginning to put the fright in to her. This whole section of the wood to which she had been sent to was starting to reek of sabotage. Again she questioned true identity of Captain Gibson but now there was not much she could do about it. The further she went inside the cave the darker it became. A shiver crawled up her back.
 
“Your fear taints the air about you, child,” a soft and almost motherly voice echoed through the cave just as the last sliver of light vanished from the deep, dark cavern. The source of the voice sounded close but Gilloleth would have been lucky if she could see more than five feet around her in any direction at this point. Even the sharp eyes of her pure-blooded elven mother would not have been able to see in this kind of blackness.

“You must try to calm your nerves if you do not wish to invite the aggression of the dark-dwelling beasts of these lands. Would a cup of tea aid you? Mead, perhaps? Something to eat?” Whoever was speaking to Gilloleth was clearly female and the sounds of her footsteps were constant and precise, not the uncoordinated stumbling that should have been expected. She sounded close enough that Gilloleth could probably strike her with an arrow if only the half-elf could see and it was apparent that this darkness was not hindering her movement. If this was indeed an act of sabotage, as Gilloleth suspected, then there was little chance that the half-elf would ever leave this place if the 'Oracle' so decided.

Luckily, Gilloleth seemed to have been greeted by a friendly presence. It could have easily been an act, of course, but at least for now this other woman did not seem to be trying to hurt her; quite the opposite, in fact. The half-elf was being greeted by much more open arms than the barracks of the northern pass had offered her. Here, she was being offered food and drink though she still had no way of being able to see what was being handed to her if she chose to accept. Worse than that, perhaps, was the fact that there was no chance of even a pure elf's eyes adjusting to see in this place.
 
The sound of the voice was soothing enough to the terrified half elf. Her nerves were calmed considerably by the motherly tone. Any urge to reach for her bow and fire was unheeded. This woman reminded her too much of her mother for her to do anything to. Tears welled up in her eyes and, in the darkness, she felt safe to finally let them fall. A hand came up to wipe them away and she worked hard to stifle any sobs that worked their way through her red lips.

“Tea would be lovely,” she replied with a quivering call. Upon hearing the mention of mead, Gilloleth rethought. “Tea and mead would both be lovely but no food. My stomach cannot handle even the smallest morsel at this time.”

She looked around again and her eyes would not adjust to her surroundings. Everything was as black as pitch with not even the smallest sliver of light to rebound off of anything. A loud sniffle echoed through the halls of the cave.

“Would it be too bold of me to ask if you had a lantern that could possibly be lit? My eyes are unseeing in this inky blackness and I would hate to accidently trip over anything of yours and break it.”

The kindness towards Gilloleth elicited kindness in return. The garrison commander had been cruel and short with her. The oracle or, who the beauteous half assumed to be the oracle, was treating her much like a mother would treat a daughter. Gods above how she missed that sort of treatment already. How she missed everything about them!
 
When Gilloleth asked for tea, the quiet patter of precise steps turned into the gentle clangs of tin and glass, the sounds of pouring liquid, and the whoosh of a fire bursting to life. Despite this, the cave remained as black as it had ever been as though the unmistakable sounds of tinder crackling as it was engulfed by flame were merely the half-elven girl’s imagination. Nothing about this cave seemed quite right and anyone else would have turned and ran long ago. The fact that Gilloleth was still here already spoke volumes of her courage to the enigmatic Oracle.

“I own no such things as the lanterns of your world,” the gentle motherly voice responded to the half-elf’s inquiry. “The light from such a device would burn my eyes and leave me blinded. That is why I hide away in the deep reaches of this cave. That is why I do not venture beyond the mouth of my cavern and explore the world that you call home. Nothing would bring me greater pleasure but it is something which I am simply incapable of doing. My visions and the scrying eyes of my crystal orb will have to do.”

The patter of footsteps began again, this time clearly moving toward Gilloleth. The Oracle continued to speak as she made her way toward the little half-elf. “Hold still, child, and I will grant you the dark-sight. My gift will grant you the eyes of my people and you will be able to see in this world as well as I, or any other, but you will not be able to set sight upon the light of the outside world until my gift has passed.”

The footsteps were now no more than a few feet in front of the half-elf. Just how close the Oracle was became even more apparent when a soft and gentle hand retched out and rested itself upon Gilloleth’s head with the palm pressed against her forehead and her fingers resting in the half-elf’s hairline. “Close your eyes, child,” the voice continued as the hand settled into place. “Close your eyes and you will receive my gift. Then you can tell me why you have come to seek the council of Zarraema.”
 
What race this woman was that even the faintest of light would blind her completely? This intrigued the young half elven maiden. Even though the prospect of being trapped in the cave until the duration of the vision wore off frightened her, Gilloleth knew that it would be for the best to do it. Being able to see was important and she had a feeling that this woman would let no harm befall her.

The sound of the footsteps came much closer. In the dark her hearing was much sharper. Every rustle sounded loudly within her ears. Even some of the vicious growls permeated the cave. Her mind went back to her horse waiting outside of the forest. There would be no chance for that poor mare and tears prickled at her eyes again. Would she lose everything she held dear in such a small space of time? That damned thief!

“How long will this gift last?” she asked as she closed her eyes. “I have my poor horse waiting outside of this forest.”

There was a pause and she did not feel the need to elaborate what could happen. Zarraema probably knew of the dangers that lurked outside of her cavern and Gilloleth did not want to describe what could happen to her companion. Her lips twisted a moment as she fought off another sob. How foolish she came off as!

“I come here because I seek your help in finding the man who killed my family.” She told the oracle. “They were murdered in cold blood and I want to avenge their deaths.”
 
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