Thread: Start of Darkness

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.