Start of Darkness

[Alvis Alendran]

This is going to be the origin of the Drow that was the villain in the short piece, Hunted. I do hope you folks enjoy it...

The city never really slept. It never was truly awake in most places either. Once a towering achievement of the Drow people, it had fallen into hard times. War had come, an invasion from the previously docile sections of the underground realm, a tide of orcs and other similar filth. The great houses had rallied to the cause, each of them striving to outdo the other. There was glory to be found, and in that glory there was opportunity. The initial battles had gone very well, summoned creatures and mages laying waste to the orcs, while the fighting mass of the Drow were limited to scouting and clean up.

All of that changed in the space of a single night.

When the word came down that the orcs were coming again, the Drow had mustered to repel them, this time intending to press all the way back to the source, and eradicate them once and for all. The initial wave was repelled, slaughtered, and the advance was in full force. Demons stormed along, magic and strength rending their foes apart. The drow advanced into the teeth of the orcs for nearly half the night. And then things changed.

The orcs that had been fighting were strong, yet armed with no more than crude cleavers and axes, wearing little more than the skin on their back. When the Drow forces broke the lines for what they expected to be the last time, they found something very different waiting for them. Rank upon rank of much larger, stronger orcs. And all of them were encased in heavy plates or armour, thick enough that many Drow would be hard pressed to move within it. No crude weapons were seen, only well wrought falchions and axes. The Drow, still confident, sent in the demons. As they closed, the demons began to waver. After a few more paces, they vanished completely. The orcs began an advance. The Drow sent blasts of arcane destruction into the advance, only to see every one of them dissipate before claiming a single life. Deprived of some of their most powerful assets, the Drow realised that they had been tricked. The waves of orcs had been testing them, gauging their reactions. Now the real warriors of the orcish people had come, and they had found some way to neutralise their magic.

The losses were brutal, with the fighting forces of entire houses vanishing in that single battle. Battle became withdrawal, and withdrawal became rout as the Drow forces fled from their foes. They had inflicted enough losses to prevent the orcs from laying a proper siege, but only just. Sealing themselves within while the orcs moved through the tunnels, seeking entry, the Drow sought to prepare themselves for the conflict. They would need to change their approach to war, focus hard on the practical side of combat. And so they began the great search for more promising warriors.

Ktonos looked on at the recruiters, moving through the streets. All of the urchins and dispossessed were being rounded up by the Great Houses. They were desperate for manpower, and gathering up anyone that stood unclaimed to be turned into warriors. There had been no less than four sweeps that Ktonos had avoided, but he knew that this time, they had him. He felt a tremor of fear at the thought of what they might do to him. He was tall for his age, barely into his adolescence, but still lean and hard with corded muscle. Life on the streets allowed nothing else. His breathing began to hitch in his chest as the sweeper team came into the alcove that he called hom, and began to root through the refuse, looking for people that thought to hide away. The fear was burning within him, making him curl tight. The closer they came, the worse it got, until he felt hands moving less than a foot away from him. As a hand touched his shoulder, and he heard the shout calling for the others, Ktonos could bear it no more.

Exploding out fromt he refuse, his arm shot forward, the fallen brick in his hand slammign into the face of his assailant. Blood sprayed in the air, and there was a crunch of a nose breaking. Ktonos howled, the fear roaring through him as he bolted, running through the arc of blood. The crimson liquid spattered onto his face, and he felt the heat, felt the rush of what could almost be described as as life running through it. For just a moment, he felt the fear dissipate. He paused in wonder at it, the absence of fear almost a narcotic effect on his brain. He grinned, and ducked under a swung club, the sudden moment of realizing that there was a dance going on. He swung his brick again, catching a drow in the chest. No blood this time, the mailed armour there wardingthe blow off to Ktonos' dissapointment. He was faster than most, but one thing he didn't have, was experience in this kind of fighting. The first blow from a club sent him staggering, and opened him up to three more blows. Soon he was being dragged away from the place he'd called home by the Drow of Great House Venoch'Xuileb'Brou.

Ktonos, still battered and bruised, stood in a line with other rounded up people from the city. They were being sorted then, by age, by weight, and by whatever potential that the observers saw in them. Ktonos found himself in a small group of similar aged Drow. All of them eyed each other suspiciously. After all, had they been meeting under other circumstances, they woudl likely have been trying to kill each other. The apparent leader of the observers spoke then.
"You have all been granted a great gift, far more of one than you would have ever received had the city not had need of you. You are being adopted to within the Great House of Venoch'Xuileb'Brou, to serve amongst it's soldiers, and to train for the coming war. You are, one and all, going to the Academy." There was a collective intake of breath amongst the collected Drow. The Academy was a legend amongst tem, the place where young Drow were tempered, honed, and forged into deadly warriors. There was excitement. There was a sense of pride.

And then the moment ended.

"What if we refuse?" Ktonos called. Every eye in the room was aimed solely on him. he felt the claws of fear raking at him from within, but he stayed still, keeping himself in check.
"Why would you refuse such an honour?" The adult Drow advanced on him, coming closer. He was a well built Drow, lean and hard and had the scars on his face and hands of a veteran.
"I...I have avoided your sweeps before. I don't need your house. I want to be left alone." The oplder Drow smiled.
"No Drow can be left alone. Not unless he attains a high enough place in the world." He paused, a thought occuring to him. "Here is an offer for you boy. Attain my place. I am Weapon master of this Great House. Should you be able to reach my position, then you will be free to enact your own will upon all but the highest of the nobles." Ktonos frowned.
"Why would you make this offer?" The weapon Master smiled.
"Because I know it to be a safe one. You'll never reach my place. Ktonos felt the fear lessen, replaced by anger, by rage, and by pure poisonous spite.
"We'll see."

Ktonos felt the blow to his back as he missed the shot. Again. The hand crossbow was a poor fit in his hand, and he frequently missed the target. His hand shook when he grasped the weapon, and no amount of abuse, focus, or willpower seemed able to shake that. He had been a the academy for nearly six month. In that time, he'd grown. No longer limited to the scraps he could scavenge, he had put on weight, adnt he rigorous routine that he had been subjected to had began to shape his build. he was strong now, stronger than he had ever been, and was naturally light on his feet. He was simply without aptitude when it came to engaging a foe from afar. His instructors were at a loss for this, but Ktonos knew what the reason was. They were too far away for him to enjoy the rush of blood, the sense of risk, the thrill of the fight. It was all so...detached.

"We waste our time on this one. Should have left him n the street." The intructor sneered. Ktonos calmly set down the hand crossbow, and then swung his fist in a blurring arc. It smashed intot eh face of the instructor, a Drow confident in his place here, that none would dare try to harm him. Ktonos felt the satisfying crunch of a breaking nose, the euphoric thrill of hurting this man, and watched as the Drow fell to the floor, senseless. Ktonos looked at his hand, seeing the blood there, and experimentally licked a knuckle clean. The taste set his sense ablaze, and he shuddered. He walked fromt he instructor, heading for the melee section of the academy. He was going to get some practice in the area he excelled at.

Ktonos was trying to keep pace with his opposition. The training blades were blunted, even enchanted to not inflict lethal damage, but they were certainly painful to be struck with. Both Drow in th e match were fighting with a blade in each hand, weaving webs of steel around one another, thought it was clear that Ktonos was not going to win this fight as it was. He favoured his right hand too much, and when he became focused, nearly forgot his left existed. His foe on the other hand was much better at using each hand independently. Ktonos felt a blow land on his shoulder, then his ribs, and then a foot caught him in the chest. On his back, panting, but calm. When he fought, the fear faded from his mind. No longer a constant roar, but a dull murmur. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough for now.

Ktonos was standing alone in one of the Academy armouries, picking through the weapons. Time had been proving that he was not properly adept at fighting with each hand. It made him...slow, and less a warrior in the eyes of the other Drow. He held the longsword from one of the racks in his hand, and it felt...wrong. A little too light, and the balance felt wrong to his hands. He set it down, and pursued the racks. He found a blade within one that looked a bit better. Longer, broader, and had some weight to it. He lifted it eagerly. It wasn't perfect. Not by a long margin, but it was a better fit in his hand. Shouldering the bastard sword, he left the armoury, looking for another opponent.

More months passed, and Ktonos improved. He became barely passable at ranged weapons, but with the additional weight of the new sword, he began to excel more and more. It was a year after the beginning of his training that the academy held it's combat contest to see who would be the greatest amongst them. Each trainee would arm themselves, and be dropped into the vast maze of bridges, platforms and tunnels. They were often called the Murder Pits. As it was training, there was little chance of trainees actually dying within the pits, but it was also not unheard of. Ktonos felt his hands itch as he was led tot he pits. Fear and anticipation warred within him. He wanted to fight. Fighting helped settle him, and what was more, the feeling that replaced the fear was sublime. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. It was time.

The smartest of the warriors stayed to the fringes of the engagement, looking to pick off the stragglers. Ktonos, though clever, was not among them. His hands felt closer to whole when they grasped a weapon, and he threw himself into the fight. He overpowered his foes with vicious blows, often simply using his left hand to feint his movements, while thundering in with his right, the heavier blade able to smash aside most parries. There was no calm, quiet state that the instructors taught him to seek in the fight. Only a raging joy that blotted out his fear. He made little attempt to hide himself, drawing people to him, luring them into his reach. He stopped counting how many people he had fought, until finally things became quiet. Ktonos looked around, before his eyes fixed on a single remaining Drow that was within his line of sight. He grinned. There was still one left.

The other Drow came at him low, hands darting out. Ktonos saw the flicker of small blades, and threw himself back. his foe kept at him, trying to close range. Ktonos counter attacked, his larger blades giving him far more reach. Ktonos sensed something was wrong here. The blades that were coming for him were skilled to be certain, but practise blades didn't gleam like that. They had a dull reddish hue to them. His foe had live weapons.

Ktonos felt a cut on his forearm open, and he leapt back, extending a sword in a stop thrust. His foe read the move, and held a moment, which was what Ktonos was hoping for. His heart rate was up, and he felt...good. The normal rush he felt from fighting was heightened to the point of being almost distracting. There was life and death at stake now. He let instinct take over, to try and merge with the training that he'd received. He threw the longsword in his left hand at his foe, and charged in.

The Drow had to duck aside of the thrown weapon, only to back off rapidly as the bastard sword swept in. Ktonos was laughing now, his face split with a vicious grin. The sword was light in both hands, and he wove it in perfect patterns that would have stunned his instructors. His foe backed up a few more steps before lunging in. he was inside Ktonos' reach, but Ktonos felt equal to the challenge. The blade of his sword might be enchanted to cause no real harm, the rest of the weapon held no such feature. The pommel of the sword came in hard, crashing into the onrushing enemy head. The Drow staggered back, a knife falling from insensate fingers. Ktonos kicked him in the chest, sending him sprawling. His blood up, his instincts screaming for more blood, Ktonos grabbed the knife, and fell onto the other Drow. The blade plunged in, between ribs, but clear of the the heart. Ktonos raked the blade down, severing ribs, until he'd cut a wide gash. The Drow was struggling, blood running between them, while Ktonos pushed a hand into the gash. Fingers squeezed around the heart, sending the Drow into screaming spasms. Ktonos grinned as he pulled the organ free. Biting into it, he felt the wash of blood, his head swimming with the taste, the feel of it He stood, one hand crimson past his wrist, and blood running from his mouth, he raised his arms in laughing triumph.

"He's insane." The Weapons Master announced.
"It wouldn't be the first warrior who suffered from that particular issue. Why does this one bother you?" One of his peers asked.
"The boy ate his heart. That doesn't raise at least one flag with you?" There was a pause.
"It does indeed. In the fight against the orcs, that kind of savagery might be exactly what we need to win."
"And what do we do with him after that?"
"We need to be alive to worry about that. You may decry our advancement of him in the long term, but we need to survive the short term." The logic was sound, but both of them knew that the other was right. Ktonos was goign to be very useful. He was also going to be a very large problem.

 

[darkangel76]

*claps* Loved this to pieces!!! Large problem indeed!!! I so want to know how this connects to the other bit since we know he DOES become weapons master! XD I also love the little details.... licking the blood off his knuckles, for one. But the images in general were just wonderful. I loved the ending with him eating the heart. I could envision that so perfectly! Well, all of it really. So good! Hope to see more Ktonos. You know I'm a fan of his, hehe. >///< Great job!!!

 

[Alvis Alendran]

Well, it's been forever and a day since I touched this, but... new installment!

Ktonos, by virtue of winning the grand melee, was now the rising star in the class. Defiant of tradition, he would no longer carry a seconod blade into a fight. Both hands on the hilt of his bastard sword, he was rapidly showing that he was a force to be reckoned with in a fight. More than a few of his class mates were forced out of training for days at a time from injuries that he delivered. Even enchanted to not deliver a lethal wound, Ktonos had found was to subvert this, using his pommel to great effect, or even just his bare hands. He seemed to not be content with a fight unless it ended with blood on his hands, his own or someone elses. And it was drawing mroe concern from the Weapon Master.

"The boy is costing us recruits." He said clearly to the other instructors.
"Hardly. They don't die, save for the one that seems to have been planted to remove him. And who might have ordered that?" The smirk on the instructors face made the Weapon Master want to swing at him, but he knew it would accomplish little. So he did the least expected thing possible.
"It's no real secret. Of course I planted someone to remove him. He had to be tested. He would either rise to it, or be killed and he would not have been worth the effort." The moment of stunned silence filled the air. To hear someone openly admit to a failed plot was rare in the extreme. "Now, shall I assume that there will be no agreement to remove him?" No one spoke. "Very well then, I stand rebuked. But should we not prepare them for a foray into the wilds? The orcs are pressing the borders in scouting teams. Having our people move out to engage them would be good for seasoning, and push the orcs back a little."
"Agreed. As the head of the class, Ktonos will have a squad to lead. We'll see if he is more than just a butcher." The Weapons master nodded. He felt he already knew the answer to this.

Ktonos moved through the armoury. As the leader of a squad, and head of hte class now, the choice of weapons was his. These were not training weapons, all of these had been forged out my master artisans, dread runes graven on them, all of them promising death and pain to their foes. Ktonos passed over the longswords right away, knowing that nothing that small would suit him again. There was a moment of hesitation as he passed a small rack that held axes. While they had mass, he missed the reach. He kept going. He smiled as he saw a pair of bastard sword, very much like the one he used in training, but his eye caught one last blade. It was longer still than the bastard swords, and swept out in a long, elegant curve. The metal was not black like the others in the room, but a light blue tinged silver. The markings on it didn't look to be any form of Drow that Ktonos had ever seen, and there was a ruby set into the pommel.

Ktonos lifted the blade. It was far lighter in his hands than he'd expected, and mvoed through the air with barely a whisper. He shifted his weight, adn swept the blade through a few passes. It felt perfect in his hands, more so than any other weapon had. He pulled the harness from the shelf, and strapped the weapon on over the armour he'd been issued. The blade was sheathed a moment later, and he took his leave of the armoury. He was ready to hunt now.

The wilds were dark. No light leaked into the lands outside of the city, and there were very few points these days that could be left from. Neither Drow nor orc needed light, so the hunters could very easily become the hunted. Ktonos led his squad of nine other Drow easily inot the terrain. Freed from the watching eyes of the instructors, Ktonos felt a little more free in that moment than he had in years. The squad ghosted through the wide tunnels that led to teh city, pushing farther out, and keeping an eye out for any signs of the enemy. Ktonos frowned, thinking back to the briefing that they'd been given about the terrain, and finding that thigns were not as they'd been told. he moved to a wall, and run a hand along the stone. there were chips in it, marks that showed it had been worked on by metal tools. The orcs were doing something out here, something more than simply scouting. The tunnel was wider, much more open with no real cover anymore. Ktonos had the dawning realization that the Orcs were preparing the ground to meet the Drow on, making it as favourble to them as they could manage, letting them bring numbers to bear. If the Drow sallied out in force, it would be a slaughter if the orcs could put numbers in the field like last time. Ktonos noted this for later, knowing that he was not going back until his task was completed. And that task was to butcher a patrol of orcs.

The squad kept moving, going deeper into the Wilds, Ktonos sparing no thought as to how far they'd gone. No patrols were out here, and that made him wonder as well. Did the orcs not wish to control the area? As he kept moving, he froze, raising a hand to halt his squad. He shifted his foot, tapping his armoured toe lightly, and listening. There was a faintly hollow sound, and he crouched, running his fingers along the stone until he found what he'd been looking for. A faint seam. He drew out a knife, and dug at the seam, digging at it until he had a space to put his fingers, and pull. The stone resisted for a moment, and then started to rise. Then the stone flew up, and Ktonos stumbled back, and the air was shaken with the bellow of an oncoming orc.

Ktonos leapt back from the coming foe, his eyes picking out details of his foe. Much larger than him, but not one of the heavy warriors. This one was clad in hides, and carried a heavy cleaver blade. Ktonos knew he was outweighed by nearly five stone of weight, and that also meant he was likely outclassed in strength as well. Their reach was close with the longer blade Ktonos bore, so he knew he was going to have to rely on speed and skill, hoping he was the better in these regards. When the orc swung at him, it was a wide, clumsy blow, and Ktonos exploded forward, ducking under the strike, and bringing his blade up as he moved past the foe. There was a blur of motion as Ktonos whipped his blade around in a swift motion that pruned the arm off of the orc, bringing the enemy weapon out of play, and then Ktonos swung one last time, the honed edge of the sword taking his foe across the neck, slitting his throat. The beast toppled to the ground, Ktonos stared, his eyes picking out the hot flow of blood from the neck of the orc, and he leaned down without thinking, running his fingers through the liquid before stripping off his glove in annoyance. He let out a slow breath as his fingers felt the hot rush of blood on his skin. He lifted it to his tongue, tasting the bitter, acrid flavour that the orc blood contained. His head still swam at the sensation, tasting life there, the essence of a living thing, being snuffed out by his actions. This was strength, power, something that he'd discovered might be impossible to go without. What was more, the rush of sensation blotted out any other concerns from his mind.

He opened his eyes, looking at the place the orc had been hidden in. It was well carved, not something normally thought of as orcish work. And what was more, Ktonos could see that there was a tunnel wide enough for a single orc to travel through leading from it. His eyes widened. The orcs weren't just widening the tunnels. They were digging a new one to break into the city. He knew that this had to be relayed, but he held the heavy thump of stone slabs being pushed aside, and turned to see more orcs emerging from the ground.
"To me!" Ktonos shouted, raising his sword, and his squad leapt into surprised action.

Ktonos kept them close, making a tight unit for the orcs to come at, not letting them seperate the Drow apart. The orcs came at them readily, and the Drow began a slow withdrawl, fighting every step fot he way. Ktonos had the squad move in such a way to make their ring rotate as they moved, making sure that the orcs couldn't focus on any one foe, letting the Drow exploit any openings. Ktonos parried a blow directly, sweeping it aside from him, and reversing the stroke to cleave an arm off. He swept the blade down, taking the other arm as well, and kicking the orc back into his comrades, leaving him to bleed out. The rest of the squad fought with surgical precision, clean stabs to neck or heart, no wasted motion, exactly like they had been trained. Ktonos was reveling in the fight, every swing taking a limb off, letting the raoring brute die slowly compared to their comrades, using that to spread fear and apprehension among the orcs. A particularly precise sweep of his blade laid the the throat of an orc open, and the spray of shed blood hit Ktonos in the face and chest, nearly covering him in the fluid. He shivered, licking his lips, the taste and feeling spurring him on to greater adn faster movements, shifting his position to attack two foes at a time now.

The orcs could not sustain their momentum, and broke away from the ring of lethal Drow. More than thirty of their number lay dead across a stretch of ground, and those that Ktonos had slain had pumped their lifeblood onto the stone. The city was slightly downhill, and it had made a small stream or gore. Ktonos realized he stood with both feet int he middle of it, and smiled. He threw his head back and gave a roar of laughter, one that seemed to chase the orcs farther down the tunnel. His squad was silent, not sure what to make of their leader in this case. He'd maintained his control, given good tactical orders, and gotten them all out alive. But here he stood, half covered in gore, and laughing at the devastation he had wrought. When the laughter subsided, he turned back to them.
"Well done. Now, we make our way home. We've much to report." He grinned at these words, and those closest could see that the blood had stained his teeth crimson. What kind of warrior were they witnessing being made?