Alfbie

Vanish Into Light

"Midnight" by Coldplay was the song that got me through Jeron's first flashback scene :)

Here's the lyrics:

In the darkness before the dawn
In the swirling of the storm
When I'm rolling with the punches and hope is gone
Leave a light a light on

Millions of miles from home
In the swirling swimming on
When I'm rolling with the thunder
But bleed from thorns
Leave a light a light on
Leave a light a light on

In the darkness before the dawn
In the darkness before the dawn
Leave a light a light on
Leave a light a light on

Vanish Into Light

Jeron felt the cool, hard steel of the pliers against his fingers. He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the pain that was sure to come. Fear had paralyzed him; he knew this Zhentarim guard would not stop until he was maimed beyond repair. How was he to live without his fingers? That's right -- he would not live. He would die on this day, chained to a post, his life viciously delivered like a prize to a thirsty, vengeful crowd.

He could hear the crowd, could almost feel their energy. Kindness was lost to him, not to be trusted, for he knew that gentle mothers, smiling grandpas, kindly wives, and thoughtful men stood amongst those watching him. Every village had good people, but there was nothing wholesome about yearning for the death of someone else, someone they had never met, someone that had done nothing to them or their families. To Jeron, there was no such thing as a good person; he had seen the darkness in everyone he had met. Would his suffering satisfy them at least? Would it bring this crowd a sort of comfort to know that someone who fit the physical description of evil was dying before their very eyes? Somehow, he could not find solace in knowing that his violent end would bring peace to their hearts.

Memories always helped with the pain and the fear, at least this was what he had come to discover in past experiences. Perhaps, by drifting back and away from this place, the horror of what he was about to endure would not be so agonizing. So he thought of that night, years ago, when the full moon was so bright its light snuffed out the stars around it. The breeze had been refreshing relief to what was a hot summer day. The meadow was alive with the night -- of crickets serenading the breeze, of the distant call of a hound, of the wind whispering through the surrounding trees that were but large black shapes in the shadows...

Jeron had only been eight years old at that time. His body ached with the bruises his human mother inflicted on him, fresh ones slowly blossoming over fading ones. Whenever she got to drinking, which was almost every night, she would remind him quite thoroughly of how much he had ruined her life just by being born. Her being drunk was both a curse and a blessing, for it not only brought out her anguish but, after some time, it left her sleepy and delirious in the tiny shack in the woods they -- no, she -- called home. Jeron would make a habit of sneaking out of the house after these times; a great risk, for if he was discovered, he would surely be killed. For some reason, however, seeing his mother sleep on the floor by a puddle of her own vomit was almost worse than suffering through her beatings; he had to get away.

He could smell the natural sweetness in the air, the calming aroma of nightblossoms. They were small white flowers that resembled violets, holding true to their namesake of only blooming at night. Nightblossoms were a rare flower; few souls were lucky enough to see their pale beauty in the darkness. On this night, the entire meadow near Jeron's home was covered in them.

The meadow almost seemed to glow, the full moon illuminating every pale petal that yielded to the silvery light. Jeron walked slowly through the meadow, the tall-stemmed flowers brushing against his waist. His skin was as dark as the stems, his silver hair also glowing under the moonlight. He paused in the middle of the field, tilting his head up to the sky, and wondered what it would take to touch the moon. Could the moon pull him into its safe embrace if he reached it, away from his mother, from people, from the nearby village, from the beatings, the fear, and the constant hiding? Tentatively, he began to reach up towards the sky...

And he heard a little gasp a few yards in front of him.

Jeron, young as he was, snapped his arm back to his side and immediately crouched down, doing his best to hide among the flowers. Unfortunately, he had already been spotted. A young human girl, approximately his age, slowly sat up from the ground. Wisps of frizzy blonde hair, loosened from beneath the scarf she wore around her head, waved gently in the breeze around her face. She stared wide-eyed at him with round, blue eyes that were shiny from crying; her freckled cheeks were stained with tears.

At that point in his life, before his mother's death, the loneliness, and the unpleasant encounters with people, Jeron had thought her the most terrifying creature he had ever seen... and the most captivating.

Maura would change his life forever. Oh, how he missed her...

The pain did not come.

Surely Jeron hadn't immersed himself in the memory that deeply, though he wished he had. He could no longer feel the pliers against his skin, and he wondered what the delay was. He dared to crack open one eye, seeing the crowd below him in utter chaos.

Both eyes snapped open. Jeron watched with shock as villagers pushed and bumped against each other, everyone in a panic to get away. Many were retching, some seemed so disoriented they could barely keep on their feet. It was as though a sickness had swept across the crowd in one fell swoop. He had never seen anything like this before, so he could only suspect that magic was at work.

He strained against his bonds once more, worried that whatever spell had been inflicted on these people would reach him, too. He knew enough of magic to do small, simple things, like summon a flame of light at his fingertips. However, his current state of weakness and his inexperience with magic was enough that he could not muster the strength to reach into the Weave to summon the power to set himself free.

The trembling thud of a body hitting the floorboards brought Jeron's attention to his captor... and the being that felled him. Seeing her stand on the platform with a guard at her feet reminded him of another night in his past, of when he was twelve, bound to a post in a similar fashion, captured for the very first time. It was Maura who had felled that guard, a man who was a father to a classmate of hers that she had grown up with. Magic crackled at her fingertips. She had looked just as frightened then as she did the very first time she and Jeron had met, but never, not even then, had Jeron been the source of that fear.

But this wasn't Maura. This was someone else entirely, someone with a dagger and unknown intentions. Jeron tugged, squirmed, and strained against his bonds anew as she approached, wondering if she was a villager fed up with the guard's theatrics who had decided to take advantage of this strange situation to kill him herself.

His struggling ceased when she applied the dagger instead to the ropes binding him. He watched in shock as the ropes frayed and parted before settling his gaze on her, almost seeing Maura's determined look in this woman's eyes. Maura, too, had struggled desperately to free him all those years ago.

The woman's whispered words left him bewildered. Here he was thinking she was about to kill him and she was worried about him killing her?! There was no time to think, however, only act when the last rope was cut. Living his entire life in hiding and on the run, Jeron never passed up an opportunity for escape. Thus, as soon as he felt his limbs loosen from his bonds, he ignored his savior completely and took off in a dead run... or at least tried to. He was badly injured and weak, so he had only managed a few steps before he staggered, fell, and tumbled off the platform.

It was a wonder he didn't accidentally stab himself with the dagger he was barely aware of holding. The pain of falling was intense, but adrenaline was a powerful thing. It numbed him from his body's pain and fueled him to stagger forward as quickly as he was capable of...

...except he did not run along the road that lead him out of town. No, instead he ran straight towards the jail cell. He was not leaving without his knapsack. It was not the artifact he had stolen that had him concerned, but a very precious journal he had kept since he was young. It was the only thing left in this world that he cared about, and he would rather die than leave without it.

Those guards that weren't sick or distracted by the villagers were after the person that had killed their comrade. Essentially, he couldn't have chosen a more perfect time to find his things and sneak out of Shadowdale, except he knew exactly what happened to the last person that tried to rescue him. He had low expectations for his savior's survival.

Besides, the villagers were beginning to calm down and the remaining Zhentarim guards were beginning to come to their senses. Even with her distraction, it would be difficult to leave here. Jeron would need some help getting his things.

So he ignored the jail cell, instead running along an alley parallel to the woman's path. He had no idea what he would do once he had gotten her attention; no one had ever taught him to fight and Maura had never managed to teach him defensive magic. Still, she had saved him, which was something no one ever did, and he would not let her kindness result in her death.

Frantically, Jeron scrambled over several crates and barrels stacked against a bakery to access the roof. It was painful; his breath ran ragged from the agony, but it did not stop him from letting out a sharp whistle.

As soon as he heard the piercing noise, he regretted his decision. He never called attention to himself, so surely he had gone mad, but it worked. Half of the guards chasing the woman stopped to look up. Jeron immediately flattened himself on his stomach; an arrow whizzed by his head. Hopefully his stupid stunt gave his savior the chance to safely escape. Now he had to figure out how to do the same. At least he was on the roof; he felt safer in high places. The arrows wouldn't reach him so long as he didn't stand up, and the other Zhents would have to climb up the roof to get to him, essentially creating a bottleneck. Still, without an escape plan, his prospects of leaving this rooftop alive were slim. Grimly, he clutched at his dagger and waited for the first guard...

Play-by-post Roleplay VS In-game MMO Roleplay

Magic Magnum,

Yeah, when it comes to storytelling I'm not very good at thinking on my feet at all, so that could be a big reason why I'm so nervous around in-game RP. When I'm writing on my own, it typically takes me forever (a couple hours) to write a few good pages simply because I'm constantly pausing to re-read my work and to ponder different scenarios. In-game RP can be fast-paced to the point of being stressful, especially when there are several people involved. Not only do I have to worry about what my character should say on the fly but I also have to worry about what that character will also do, which can be madness in the chaos of tells and emotes.

Your response was very enlightening; thanks :)

Play-by-post Roleplay VS In-game MMO Roleplay

Pachamac,

Thanks for your response! A lot of in-game RP I've experienced involves a bunch of folks sitting/standing around at a tavern/bar/pub/public place and having a conversation, but sometimes someone will throw an event in which more action happens. I agree, it is an interesting concept, and I wish I was better at it than I am. I have a hard time immersing myself in my character enough in-game to flawlessly "mingle", yet it's easier with text-based roleplays. Sometimes my shyness feels like a true curse, haha!

Play-by-post Roleplay VS In-game MMO Roleplay

I love playing MMORPGs. I’ve been bouncing around various games for years. As I play, I conjure up intricate backstories for my characters and I’m always eager to share those ideas with others.

However, I just can’t get into the groove of in-game RP.

Am I the only one that feels this way?

I’ve tried in-game RP a few times via a friend and I get so nervous every time. I feel like the shy kid stepping into a huge party: I’m so desperate to fit in but I lack the skills and confidence to do so. Lately I get so nervous thinking about it that I make up excuses not to RP in-game at all. Sometimes my in-game RP turns out great and I’m always so elated to have successfully managed “social roleplay.” More often than not, however, I’m so nervous that my character ends up saying the wrong thing, performing the wrong action, I cannot keep up with the conversation at hand, or I feel so small and lost that anything my character does is drowned out by the actions and dialogue of more interesting characters. I’m typically and understandably never invited back to RP again.

However, when it comes to forum/IM/email RP, I flourish. I am an aspiring writer, so I love being descriptive. In this format, I am in my element, so roleplaying with multiple people through written text isn’t nearly so daunting. I can weave my characters’ backstories in an interesting plot without worrying about messing up, and if I do write something incorrectly I’m not so mortified/embarrassed. All of my best RP moments have been through AIM or through email. I feel less restricted in this format. With in-game RP, I don’t feel like I’m writing at all, which makes it difficult for me to get into it.

Am I the only MMO player/roleplayer who feels this way? I have a few gamer RP friends who are fantastic writers, but they (understandably) prefer to roleplay in-game. Successful in-game RP can be a wonderful experience, so I envy those that can work with it so comfortably. I just feel like there’s something wrong with me or my RP skills that I can’t bring my forum RP creativity into the virtual world like my friends can or that I get so nervous about the whole thing when they’re nothing but excited. I simply don't like in-game RP. I understand that my friends and I simply have different RP styles – they prefer in-game RP, I prefer forum/IM RP, and I should find like-minded individuals to roleplay with. I just want to know if I’m the only gamer that loves RP but doesn’t like doing it in-game…

I guess I need reassurance that I’m not too much of an oddball in this regard *laughs*

Thank you so much for reading this!

*bows*

Vanish Into Light

"This, my fine citizens, is what happens when anyone tries to steal from the Zhentarim."

The guard stepped around his captive in the Shadowdale town square, taking slow, deliberate steps like a cat circling his prey just before striking. A small cluster of men, women, and children gathered around on that bright late-summer afternoon as they watched the scene unfold. Every face wore a grim expression, tension held in every body, some children cringing into the embraces of their parents. Whether the crowd was forced to watch or were spellbound by some morbid curiosity, it was difficult to tell. The only certainty was in the action and the message it conveyed.

Tied to a post was a Drow elf... or was he a half-drow? His pointed ears and silvery-white hair were unmistakably Drow. His skin was a smoky grey instead of the typical black pitch. He seemed taller than an average Drow, though his position on his knees with his hands bound above his head to the post made that assessment difficult to gauge. If anyone had bothered to approach him, to push back the strands of hair dampened from sweat and blood from his face, they would encounter startlingly-human brown eyes instead of the unsettling red of a typical Drow as well as the shadow of facial hair beginning to grow on his slender face.

Jeron Mel'velen, however, kept his head bowed, tried his best to turn his face away from the crowd. The knowledge of all of those eyes on him, looking at him, was almost as bad as the injuries he had sustained since being foolishly caught by the Zhentarim in the area. He had been raised to believe he was a monster, that if anyone looked at him, he would die. The older scars that marked his body were indication that such a notion was reinforced; this was not the first time he had been captured, though this was probably the first time he had been for a reason other than his appearance.

Jeron was stripped away to nothing but his dark trousers; never had his body been so exposed to anyone. He could hear the frightened, confused whispers around him, each sound a catalyst to his death sentence. His back throbbed and stung from the lashes he had received just moments ago, the weight of his back pressed against the post a prolonged agony. Every muscle ached from the beating he had suffered, and every intake of breath was a reminder, sharp like a knife, of his broken rib. How was he going to get out of this one?

In the past, in another land, his captors had been so quick to kill him that one of them didn't realize he was close enough for Jeron to grab the dagger strapped to his belt. The time before, in yet a different place, the ropes that bound him weren't quite tight enough. And the time before, in another town still, he had been young enough to have unwittingly caught the eye of a guard with a desire of a certain type of young flesh, and those terrifying, painful, and humiliating moments had also presented a chance for a breakaway opportunity...

Jeron was a nomad, never staying in one place for more than a day. He found it a necessary survival skill. Had he known that the Dalelands were overtaken by the Zhentarim, he would have stayed clear of these lands. Perhaps the signs were there and he had been too distracted, too foolish, by the possibility of the treasures he would find at Elminster's dwelling. Whatever the case, he had been spotted, was unable to evade the Zhentarim, had not found the chance to slip from their clutches. Now he firmly believed that he would die this day.

How strange to be so hated yet still have such a strong desire to live...

"This... creature," the guard said, gesturing with an extended arm to Jeron as he engaged his audience, "thought he could enter your lands, our lands, and take something from us. The public beating he received, the lashings... any one of you will receive the same fate if you ever dare such a thing. But I am compassionate; I have given you all a chance to see first-hand what disrespecting Bane and the Zhentarim will do. However, we now have a bigger issue in our hands."

The guard -- messy brown hair and a cruel sneer -- turned to face Jeron. "This creature is Drow. I'm sure you've all heard of their terrifying reputation. Such creatures are like ants -- emerging from the ground, swarming around their prey, leaving nothing behind in their terrifying wake. Where there is one, there are many nearby."

Jeron shuddered. This, at least, was familiar. Trying to explain that he was only half-drow, that he had been raised on the surface, that he had never seen a true Drow elf was a futile experience he had gone through many times in the past. He had long ago determined that humans were incapable of listening to reason when faced with irrational fear. Still, he hated being associated with the likes of beings that had done terrible things he would never have the courage to do. He hated suffering over this misconception. And now it seemed that he would die over it.

"Today, you will witness an execution," the Zhentarim guard said almost mirthfully. "But this Drow won't die right away, not when we can extract some information from the monster. The whereabouts of other nearby Drow, perhaps? Or how about the location of an entrance to the Underdark? Even killing him for the sake of killing him is deserving for the likes of him. Now..."

The guard held out a hand as another approached holding a large, heavy set of metal pincers. The first guard took the tool, his gaze slowly assessing Jeron like one would eye a puzzle. The half-drow glanced up, his expression grim but his eyes showing full fear.

"Perhaps, if we pinch off bits of this Drow, finger by finger, toe by toe, we could gain some information."

There were several gasps in the crowd, a restless stirring rippling through the growing throng of people. It was one thing to watch a Drow die; it was another to see him slowly tortured.

Jeron began to squirm despite his body's protests with pain. Though he was on his knees, his ankles were firmly tied to the post in such a way that would leave him unable to even climb to his feet. The best he could do was sway and buck against the post, tearing up his already-shredded back in the process. What he wouldn't give to know enough magic to somehow break free from these bonds, to fly away... Or, better yet, how sweet revenge must feel to cast flames upon the wretched man with the pliers...

The half-drow's futile struggling to break free only seemed to encourage the guard. He stepped forward, reaching up to hold still one of Jeron's fingers with one hand as he positioned the pincers with the other. "It's not too late to confess what you know about your comrades," he drawled.

Jeron pulled with all of his might against his bonds, the lean muscles of his body straining. "I told you," he gasped. "I don't know--"
"Wrong answer..."

Vanish Into Light

((Test...))

[Advanced] The Book of Secrets

Taco,

I've replied via PM :)

[Advanced] The Book of Secrets

Hi, everyone :)

My name is Alfbie; I am an aspiring writer and and an experienced role-player of many years. I'm seeking a special someone or two to build a compelling story with, someone(s) who can inspire me and flesh out my own writing, as I hope to do in return for my partner(s).

If this sounds like you, please read on.

-- I'm not a grammar Nazi, and though I do hope your post lengths match mine (I can get VERY descriptive), it's not required. However, I do ask that you put your best effort in each of your posts. I want to feel inspired when I RP with you; I want to improve my writing technique through collaborative writing. I hope that my RP partners also gain the same experience from me. Let's learn and build off of each other together!

-- I work full-time and take college classes, so I don't have oodles of time on my hands. As such, I eventually tend to bore the piss out of those who wish to RP with me simply because they are bored or because they have nothing else really to do. There's nothing really wrong with that -- I wish I could spend all of my time engrossed in great RP! -- it's just impossible for me to do. If you want long, quality posts from me, you're going to have to wait a few days for a reply (however, if I disappear for more than a week, do nudge me). I can promise you that my posts will almost always be worth the wait :)

-- Email is my preferred method because I can check it from anywhere without hassle and I can better organize our posts. I can also post from forums (it doesn't even have to be this forum). I would prefer not to RP over PM. I don't mind RP with Google docs (or something similar) under certain conditions. If you have other suggestions as to where to carry the RP, let me know.

-- I will play almost any genre so long as there's some sort of supernatural/mystic/sci-fi/not-normal element to it. As such, high-fantasy is my favorite, but it is certainly not required with me. Kudos to those who can turn something interesting out of a slice-of-life/realism story, but I'm afraid I'd simply bore you with my sad attempts at those types of RPs. I also like romance with my RP, though I prefer it with conflict. It does not need to be the main focus of the story.

That said, I have no limitations as long as it is within good taste and it fits with the story line of the RP. This means that 18+ partners are required, just in case. If you have boundaries, I need you to be VERY, VERY clear as to what those boundaries are and how I can recognize them. So, clear communication between us before and during the RP is an absolute must. You having no limitations of your own is easier, but this is not required; I can be accommodating :)

I am a woman who tends to play male characters, though I can work with characters of my own gender as well. I am very, very fond of character development, which places me in the habit of playing multiple characters. Please don't leave me to be the only one playing multiple characters! It's quite draining and uninspiring for me to do so, leaving you with less-than-stellar posts from me. (NOTE: If you don't like to double, that's fine, so long as you contribute to side characters.) Also, please don't leave me to be the only one pushing the story along! The whole point of this RP venture is to improve writing skills WITH SOMEONE ELSE. That simply can't happen if your character is filler for whatever I devise in my strange little mind of mine. I don't mind being surprised in an RP, but if you're not sure where to take a scene, feel free to ask :)

Now, for the good stuff!

Instead of boring you with a long list of plots, I am going to post song lyrics to two songs by the immensely talented Loreena McKennitt. Listening to and/or liking the songs is not at all important or required. Reading the lyrics IS. If any of these lyrics sparks RP ideas, tell me what comes to mind! It doesn't have to be lengthy (even just a few words is fine), it doesn't have to be detailed, and it doesn't have to be spot-on with the lyrics (in fact, I prefer your ideas NOT to be spot-on). I just want to see the creative juices flowing in hopes that it will plant the seeds for really creative RP. I've been told by several people that I'm a damn good plotter, so send me a little spark of something, and we'll grow out the details together :)

If the below song lyrics do not catch your fancy but you still wish to RP with me, send me your ideas. Something, anything; we'll make it work to our tastes. I also have more specific ideas for game fandoms such as Wildstar (Tresayne Toria, anyone?), World of Warcraft (in which a retconned NPC gets the limelight), Rift, and something loosely based from the Forgotten Realms/Neverwinter universe. Again, I can be a good plotter, so let me know...

"The Old Ways"

The thundering waves are calling me home to you
The pounding sea is calling me home to you

On a dark new year's night
On the west coast of Clare
I heard your voice singing
Your eyes danced the song
Your hands played the tune
T'was a vision before me.

We left the music behind and the dance carried on
And we stole away to the seashore
We smelt the brine, felt the wind in our hair
And with sadness you paused.

Suddenly I knew that you'd have to go
Your world was not mine, your eyes told me so
Yet it was there I felt the crossroads of time
And I wondered why.

As we cast our gaze on the tumbling sea
A vision came o'er me
Of thundering hooves and beating wings
In the clouds above.

As you turned to go I heard you call my name,
You were like a bird in a cage spreading its wings
to fly
"The Old Ways are lost," you sang as you flew
And I wondered why.

The thundering waves are calling me home to you
The pounding sea is calling me home to you

"Dante

When the dark wood fell before me
And all the paths were overgrown
When the priests of pride say there is no other way
I tilled the sorrows of stone

I did not believe because I could not see
Though you came to me in the night
When the dawn seemed forever lost
You showed me your love in the light of the stars

Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me

Then the mountain rose before me
By the deep well of desire
From the fountain of forgiveness
Beyond the ice and the fire

Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me

Though we share this humble path, alone
How fragile is the heart
Oh give these clay feet wings to fly
To touch the face of the stars

Breathe life into this feeble heart
And lift this mortal veil of fear
Take these crumbled hopes, etched with tears
We'll rise above these earthly cares

Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me

Please remember me

Finally, here is a writing sample of mine so that you know what you're getting into. This is an actual post I wrote for an email RP:

"Writing Sample"

Context: My character, caught stealing a special book in a village, is being chased through the surrounding forest by several very angry village guards. It is during this time that he first meets my RP partner's character...

Panic spiked through the thief as a figure stepped out in front of him, drawing a bow. He gritted his teeth even as he attempted to quickly veer to the right. Of course someone -- an archer no less -- would take this opportunity to finish him off. Still running, he yanked his face mask down with his free hand, raising the vial of invisibility potion to his face in an attempt to pull the cork free with his teeth...

An arrow whizzed by his head, barely missing him. His heart stopped in that moment; he felt certain his life did as well. In his panic, the vial slipped from his fingers. He did not think to see where it fell or if it was still intact, his mind still registering the solid thunk of the arrow sinking into the head of a guard behind him, followed by the startling thump of that body hitting the ground.

More arrows whistled around him. Only then did the thief's instinct, sluggish from panic and confusion, allow him to skid to a halt and drop to the ground. His view instantly became that of tree trunks and the scattering of sunlight through an umbrella of fern leaves, the smell of damp earth and moss filling his nostrils. He flattened his body against the ground, concealed by the ferns, as the ground trembled with the thundering weight of the guards running past him. What was going on? Why was a mysterious stranger shooting at the Zhentarim and not at him?

He flinched, startled, as the body of a guard flopped down next to him. Wide, lifeless eyes of a middle-aged human stared vacantly at him, blood oozing from the stem of an arrow protruding from his head.

The thief forgot to breathe at that moment; he was as still as the corpse beside him. The Zhent was most certainly dead, not reacting at all to a tiny insect landing on his eye.

The thief's mind reeled - how was he still alive? Why was he still alive? Why were guards falling all around him? He did not know any skilled archer well enough to save his life like this. So then, a stranger...

Now would be a perfect time to drink the invisibility potion. All of the guards were distracted, moving around; he could drink the potion, sneak out of there, circle back to get his pack, then leave the Dalelands for good. But wait, where was the...?

The thief cursed sharply under his breath. His only vial of invisibility potion was somewhere in the mess. This realization cleared his mind enough to focus on the sounds bouncing around the trees in the forest. Cries and grunts, the clash of metal, the rustling of dirt and foliage, the beat of bodies falling like trees...

The thief dared to lift his head, unmasked but still hooded, just enough to view the action unraveling before him. What he saw astounded him. More Zhentarim guards had joined the fray, all surrounding one lone figure, that of a woman. Not just a woman -- the style of her cloak, the gloss of her dark hair, the milky-white of her skin, and, of course, her pointed ears revealed her as an elf. A high elf, if what the descriptions in the books he had read about them were accurate.

The thief had never seen a high elf before. In his lifetime of traveling, he had been very careful not to wander into elf territory, to steer clear of anyone he suspected of being one. Should an elf spot him, he would most certainly be dead.

He blinked, realizing that he had unmasked his face. The hood did little to conceal the sharp, delicate lines of his own elfish lineage; ash-grey skin with a hue of brown in stark contrast to silver eyebrows -- perhaps too thick for elfish eyebrows, but suitable enough to pass as human. Chocolate-brown eyes -- unusually human, accompanied a narrow nose, the bridge slightly crooked, that rested over thin lips, accompanied by high cheekbones and a narrow chin -- only marginally dusted white from days of not shaving...

The thief, realizing his exposure, ducked his head back under the ferns. Hastily, with as little movement as possible, he refitted his mask over his face, showing only a bit of grey skin and his eyes. Then he peered out over the ferns once more, unable to help himself.

He had never seen anyone like her before. She had no trouble with the Zhentarim guards, felling one after the other without breaking rhythm or stride. The way she looked and moved -- like a wood elf or wild forest creature -- mesmerized him. He assumed high elves maintained a constant regal, sophisticated appearance. The way she fought -- as savagely as an orc but with the grace of a jungle cat, astonished him. Since when was a high elf so...violent?

He blinked, realizing at once that she had stopped fighting. He inwardly cursed his wandering mind for distracting him as he ducked his head down once more. He needed his invisibility potion, but he had been running when he dropped it, which meant it was behind him somewhere. Moving to retrieve it would most certainly give away his position. He considered his life in no less danger now than when he was being chased by the Zhentarim guards; if she spotted him and unmasked him, she would kill him with the same efficient ruthlessness that she had the guards.

The thief held his breath when she spoke. He could read and write elfish very well; he learned with his childhood friend, who had been just as voracious of a reader as he was. As familiar as he was with the written language, however, he had never heard the words spoken. As such, it seemed foreign to listen to it now. He furrowed his eyebrows in concentration, only able to comprehend snatches of the speech...something about chasing her kin and a waste of arrows...

The thief's blood ran cold, quiet terror falling upon him at once. Her kin. Somehow she knew what he was! Was it so easy for every high elf to realize a half-Drow through heavy physical concealment? Somehow, he had to get out of there. But how? He possessed a short sword, and knew how to use it just enough to somewhat defend himself, but he knew he stood no chance against this elf's battle prowess. He could not run; he'd have an arrow through the back of his head before taking two steps. His only option was to remain still and hope she was a dimwit at finding him, unlikely as that was.

One glance at the dead guard beside him reminded him that she did, essentially, save his life. And he was still on the ground, breathing, thinking. Why hadn't she come to kill him yet?

Reason began to melt away his terror. He poked his head up again only briefly; she was currently pulling arrows out of her dead opponents. As skilled a fighter as she was, if she wanted him dead she would have at least attempted to look for him by now. Or she would have shot him instead of the guards. Or she would have simply allowed the guards to continue chasing him. The fact that he was still alive meant that she knew he was an elf, but did not know that he was half-Drow. Hope surged through him like a fire roaring to life -- he could still make it out of this situation without dying! If he was very careful...

Except he was surrounded by dead Zhentarim guards, and he was the last one seen with them. His emotions shifted again, this time to anger. For being such a brilliant warrior, the elf girl was also foolish. He may be living now, but that only meant that he would die later, in a slow, horrific method of vengeful torture by the Zhentarim...

"Are you an idiot?!" The words, spoken in the Common tongue, rushed out of his mouth before he had a chance to stop them. He had lived with anger most of his life; it fueled him to live day by pitiful day with no way of being eased. There was no possible way he would leave this area undetected. If he was going to interact with the woman long enough to attempt another escape, he would at least speak his mind. Anger clouded his judgement too extensively for him to consider that perhaps being polite and civil to his savior would yield him a far higher chance of leaving the Dalelands without incident. "You just killed half a dozen Zhentarim guards!" Slowly, cautiously, he rose to his feet; at least he knew enough to keep his guard up, though his current attitude did little to make this awareness of any use. "Zhentarim guards! Once others realize what has happened here, this whole forest will be overrun with them by nightfall! You have just put the whole of the Zhentarim force upon us! You may have--" He cut himself short, looking around anxiously. He only now realized that he was close to shouting; he certainly did not want to give their position away before having a chance to escape. "You may have easily dispatched this many," he continued in an audible hiss, "but there will be many more coming, some of them mages. You cannot fight them all. No one is foolish enough to take down a member of the Zhentarim without fierce retribution." He glared. "You need to get out of here, now, before too many people begin to wonder about why these men haven't returned to Shadowdale."

Thank you so much if you've read all the way through! Reply to this post or PM me for comments, questions, or input; I look forward to hearing from you :)