The Voice of Darkness

### *This tale explores the backstory of the Half-Elf ranger, Azazel.*

Azazel begins walking up the intricately engraved stone steps towards his meeting with the Huntsmaster and the Regent. The thick canopy created a darkness along the path, lighting however was never an issue in Elvar. All the stones were magically enchanted with glowing glyphs that told the great stories and history of the Giant Eagle Clan. The clan was highly respected and feared amongst other elves, and comprised of two castes; the High Elves and the Wood Elves. Each caste divided the responsibilities of the society between themselves. The High Elves, with their enhanced intellect, oversaw the management of the government, infrastructure, justice system and enchantment of the city. They were led by the most senior High Elf, the Regent.

The Wood Elves, with their exceptional wisdom and attunement to the wild, optimised the natural resources of The Great Forest. They ensured that everyone within the clan had enough food, and that the longevity of the forest was sustained. Wood Elves were also responsible for all military progression; and when required, would provide a stalwart defence for the city or invade another clan that had wronged them. The Wood Elves were led by the Huntsmaster. The union was a combination that had provided the city with prosperity for countless centuries.

Arriving at the top of the stairs, Azazel raises his fist to his chest signalling the 'Hunters Greeting' to the guards. As he approaches, the head guard steps forward. "They are waiting. Enter when you are ready for your test." With a brief nod of acknowledgement, Azazel enters through the two large doors and approaches the dais with two equally large chairs sitting upon the top of it. One carved of stone, and sitting within it, the Regent, the other carved of wood was the Huntsmaster. Taking a knee at the base of the dais, Azazel waited.

After a time, the Huntsmaster spoke. "You have shown yourself to be very capable, Azazel. Potentially the Huntsmaster of the next generation. Your dedication to and commitment to the brotherhood of Hunters is impressive, however we need to ensure that you understand the way of our people, as your views are…concerning. If you would like to proceed there are the three questions you must satisfy. Are you prepared?"

Without hesitation Azazel responds, "I am prepared.

The Huntsmaster looks towards the paintings on the wall briefly and smiles "You are vocal in your opinion of how we should govern our people, and your views on everyone taking extreme ownership of themselves and others has some... validity. We once ran our society that way. But my question is most important, and relates to the very fabric of our society. Long before you were born, we were ruled as a monarchy. The family charged with our rule were exceptional governors and warriors. For centuries our clan prospered, until the day the king was charged with the murder of an adversary. He dismissed the charges against him and became increasingly corrupt. A civil war was sparked, and thousands of our kind died. After years of fighting we, the opposing faction, emerged victorious and the king was sentenced to death. Ever since we have been governed by a Reagent, and protected by the Huntsmaster. Why is it important to divide the powers of a society?"

Without hesitation Azazel responds, "It isn't necessary to split power. People should take ownership of themselves, and make their own decisions as to whether they allow the government’s decisions to stand. You blame the system, yet anyone can ignore a single person. These decisions can be made by a single person, splitting power is unnecessary and creates competing interests. It does nothing but foster weakness. It gives people the opportunity to blame our system's dysfunction instead of themselves; and worse, it gives our government the ability to make excuses for its own failing. It is open to abuse based on wants rather than requirements, and more emphasis should be on the needs of the common. People should be responsible for obtaining their needs on there own. We only need one person with the power to determine what is required, and enact to them into our laws. You know my opinion on this, I have repeated them to your question for the last thirty years..."

Frustrated the Reagent intersects, "Silence! Yet again you fail to live up to expectations. Your skills and abilities as a Huntsmaster would be admirable, however you consistently fail to adhere to our governance requirements. We haven't listened for good reason. Do you not understand that absolute power corrupts absolutely..." the Reagent is suddenly cut off by the doorway bursting open.

A Hunter rushed in. "Your highness, there is raid coming from the Underda..." Suddenly the Hunter is cut short as a crossbow bolt pierces his skull. Without wasting a second Azazel and his superiors dash to position and begin the counter.

Hours later the few surviving members were banded together; the Huntsmaster and most Hunters had been decimated. Azazel finds the Reagent bleeding but stable, accompanied by Azazel's brother Threndrel. The Reagent looks up, his face a slightly pale white; "Did I ever tell you how we got our clans name?"

Azazel shakes his head in obvious confusion. "I don't think this is the time..."

The Reagent persists "We weren't always bound to our current form. We were once winged elves called the Aarak'el, known commonly as the 'Birds of Prey'. We worked directly for *Death* himself. The civil war that led to our caste system began not due to the crazed King, but because the King had betrayed Death. We lost our wings and ourselves that day all because there were no checks and balances, and we never recovered. Try to piece us back together if you can. Try to find our ancient words..."

Azazel looks up smiling, feeling an almost perceivable presence moving his hand, he repeats words that are whispered in the back of his head,

*"Everyone could have risen to challenge the king. You all could have said no. You failed yourselves."*

Azazel looks relieved, he continues to repeat the whispering words.

*“We claim everyone eventually.”*

As a look of horror and realisation crosses the Reagent's eyes, Azazel rams his knife into the old elf's throat. Turning to Threndrel he sighs, "He wouldn't have made it, and we don't have the time to waste on him. Strength before weakness." A loud crash erupts as the Dueregar surge through the door. The remaining Eagles fight until the are over run, and after hearing a loud crack, everything goes black for Azazel.

Days later Azazel awakes to being thrown around inside a steel cage. His arms are chained to the roof, and he can barely move. He first notices that everything is grey, and then sees the mixture of Dueregar and Drow. One of the Dueregar notices the weary half-elf and motions to the cart to stop. Laughing menacingly, he approaches. "Look a' this wee bitch. Be' he's got no fight in 'I’m like the rest of the worthless worms." Leaning forward he sticks his head through the bar and spits on Azazel's face. As quick as a viper Azazel lashes out with his legs and grips the dwarf’s neck, twisting hard until a satisfying crack emits. Laughing, the half-elf waits patiently for the remaining dwarves to act. Before the dwarves can react, a well-dressed Drow and dwarf notice the commotion. Speaking loudly, the female Drow says firmly, "Foolish dwarf, not a complete waste I suppose. The rest of you all just got one share richer. What is your name slave?"

No response came.

"Slave I am talking to you. What is your name?"

Still no response.

With a sigh she moves over to the lever at the front of the cage, and with a hard pull the floor falls out from under Azazel. "Oh well I suppose it's time to set an example. Bring me the two brands. One for dangerous and another for slave. So all who see him are forewarned." The dwarves scurry about and rest the two brands in a fire pit, looking to the dwarf next to her, the Drow says "You know Garlak, with some spirit dampening this one may work well in the Gloom. We always need fodder. See if we can't break his mind with some, *extra curricula,* activities from the torturer's apprentices during the journey..." Turning back just in time she sees the brands being applied to Azazel's back. Moving around to ensure they are applied appropriately, she takes hold of the brands herself and pushes them deeply into Azazel's skin. A small sizzle escapes amongst the screams and she smirks, "I bet that hurt."

The dwarf approaches her "All right Anasteth, but I charge extra entertainment as part of our transport costs. You know that. Five silver a day and he won't sleep, and the pain won't stop. If his mind hasn't broken by the time, we arrive at the Gloom and you get your money back." The two shake hands and the horror begins...everything goes fuzzy for Azazel.

What seems like an eternity later, Azazel awakes on the floor of a dungeon. His back was still searing from the brands; the other scars had been healed by magical means, but the brands seemed to resist. Looking up he sees his brother and a dozen more elves from his clan, all donning heavy armour. *"What's going on?"* Suddenly a thunderous cheer erupts, and a booming voice can be heard. The elves put a bow in his hand and pull him, dragging him out into the arena. His career began.

Over the ensuing years, one by one the elves slowly stopped coming back from the arena until only two remained. For Azazel. the arena wasn’t the worst part of the Underdark; the pain and suffering provided in the dungeons of the Gloom were far worse than any of the monsters that they have faced. They all learnt that death wasn’t something to be feared, it was the slow dying that was terrifying.

After an unknown number of years, the only remaining Eagles were Azazel and Threndrel. They awoke to a click of the iron door being opened, like hundreds of times before. The Scheduler stepped in "Well, aren't you two a sight for sore eyes! You know when I bought you both I didn't think that you would last this long! My god what an investment! And to think I only just recently found out that you two are relatives! What are the odds? Yes, take that one." He motioned the guards toward Threndrel. Knowing that there was no use in resisting, Threndrel stands and makes his way over to the guard to be lead from the dungeon.

After Threndrel leaves, the Scheduler continues; "Now I have a proposition for you. A once in a lifetime opportunity! How would *you* like to earn your freedom? Sounds too good to be true, huh? All you need to do is go into that arena and kill your brother. But don't worry! You will use a magical bow and he won't really die. Just think of the performance value!"

Looking at the elderly man Azazel shakes his head "I don't trust you, and I won't kill my brother."

The Scheduler looks at him and tsk's, "Oh well, I guess I can understand your position. The offer will remain on the table until your next fight. However you won't be able to see your brother until then. He might feel differently of course!".

Days later the cell door opens again, and a guard throws a bow down to the half-elf's feet "It's time." Motioning for Azazel to follow him to the arena. As Azazel stands, he hears a whisper in the back of his head;

*"Death rides on my wings."* A slight burn pains Azazel, exactly where the brands were applied long ago. Following the guard to the door, he sees the Scheduler.

"Hello my friend! It's time for another one of your splendid performance! Good luck!" And with a mumbled word and a bright flash he waves his hands and walks away. Still seeing spots Azazel is pushed out into the arena.

The horn goes off, signalling the start of the fight. His opponent rushes forward with two swords drawn. Three shots are fired at the man rushing towards him, yet the man slides and dodges past all three. Jumping backwards, Azazel misses the first few ensuing slashes until he is hit on the final backhand, superficially slicing his shoulder. Azazel mutters a few words and the ground beneath him changes shape, hindering his opponent. Moving back, he fires another shot, this one stabbing deep into the other fighter's left shoulder. Doubling down, the fighter charges. One arm is clearly weaker than the other, yet he slices again and again. The last draw is blocked by Azazel’s bow, shearing it in two. Dropping his bow, Azazel grabs an arrow and rams the head into the eye of his opponent. The shocked warrior momentarily stares at Azazel with a look of disbelief on his face, before falling to the ground.

The crowd cheers for the spectacle and the Schedulers voice booms, "Well that was certainly much faster than we anticipated! But don't worry at all my fine people, there is plenty of more entertainment on its way! Let's hear it for our champion!" An illusion appears in the sky above the arena, a warrior stands over his victory. The warrior bleeds from a matching injury to Azazel, yet the features are all wrong. *"Shouldn't that be me?*" Azazel looks to the corpse on the ground. It's slowly changing. Recognition hits him and he knows it's Threndrel. Fury and rage swell inside of him; he embraces it all, looking around he hears a whisper from the voice again

*"Feel the shadows."*

The dark edges of the arena pit close in as he feels himself being swallowed by the shadows. The audience's cheer fades to nothing, as the darkness of the Underdark envelopes the half-elf. A light suddenly begins to glow around Threndrel’s corpse, and shoots towards the Eagle headed amulet around his neck. Azazel moves over and picks up the necklace to find its eyes glowing a dull green. Placing it around his neck, he grabs the swords available and climbs the wall out of the arena. The crowd panic as the half-elf seemingly vanishes. Moving towards the exit, the enraged gladiator mercilessly slashes down all of those he passes. Moving quickly and quietly as hysteria sets into the arena, the invisible force picks the spectators off at random.

Sticking to the shadows, Azazel wanders for days through the Underdark until he finds himself at an exit, the harsh light of day shining like a beacon to freedom. Wearing nothing but his blood soaked rags, the weary half-elf moves back into the world. The Underdark is not free of him just yet, however, as the words continue echo in Azazel's head over and over;

*“Feel the shadows.*”

He will return. And his revenge will show the under-dwellers the true meaning of darkness.