Rizfryn Umbralson

Introduction

Note: I have not made up this plot, nor the names involved. Those have been supplied by a third party.

RIZFRYN UMBRALSUN

"The colour of my skin does in no way diminish the radiant light shining in my heart!" The drow said.

Preposterous, of course, and the men around him didn't lower their clubs. Sure, might claim to be a force for good, but you could never trust drow.


I was born into relative wealth, my family's estate being not far from Luskan. I remember those years with a distant fondness. Sure, I didn't become the man I back then desired to be and today I have no desire to try, though I bear no illusions that my people would still accept me back if I desired to try.

Drow children don't play with each other the way I've seen human children do. There's a certain undefinable education in every game we drow made up. Whether it was how to make someone submit to your will, to see who could get the most coin by a certain time or a whole third game, it was always a competition and always preparing us for the struggle ahead.

Our parents never told us directly, but I think they were proud of us.

And so, I was playing with my younger sister when They came. The world of Drow politics may be decided by subtleties, but it's consequences are far from it. They killed my parents, my grandparents and even the parents of the girl it had been arranged for me to marry.

My parents had failed to maneuver properly in the political game and their punishment was death. I was only a child, so I was spared.

Instead they sold me into slavery.

I didn't have any illusions about how duergar acted and just as well, because I would've been disappointed; they didn't harm me, mind you. That would've been better, actually. No, they didn't even think of me as an animal in need of rearing, but just as a piece of merchandise, no different from a pot or a pan.

I was to be brought to the Luskan slavemarket in perfect condition and that meant that I was chained behind their wagon the entire way, linked by means of chains to hundreds of other slaves. The manacles were metal, but padded on the inside so to not hurt the skin, though they were as tight as any I've ever tried.

I don't know if you've ever been to a slavemarket? If you haven't, I'll describe it to you. It's smelly, crowded and anyone wearing manacles are considered animals. They do in fact look at your teeth, your feet, ask if you've learned to read - they don't ask you, of course, but your owner - or if you have any particular skills.

It was all I could do to repress the urge of spitting the filthy creatures in the face as they groped me and talked as though I weren't even present. I swallowed my pride to stay alive.

I was bought by elves. Not drow, but elves.

A decent person would think that surely these were decent people who'd found an orphaned boy and bought him to raise properly. That'd be a nice story, but it wouldn't be mine.

No, I became the runt of the litter in a gang where arguments were settled at knifepoint, preferrably in the offending persons back. I had to play bait, scout and make sure to cry out if we were about to be discovered.

A lot of elves despise the Drow for our practices but you'd think that killers and cutthroats would see my kind as kindred. Still, their leader, Saervyn, was a sadistic bastard.

And yes, she was in fact a bastard in the true meaning of the word. Though I was flogged for finding out, I overheard that she was in fact half drow herself (though, even knowing it, I couldn't see it) and despised herself for it.

She was a spellsword - using both magic and blade in perfect unison - and whenever she thought I'd done something wrong (which was whenever she wasn't otherwise occupied apparently) I would be seared by fire and cut by cold steel.

I came close to dying several times, but she deemed even that release to kind a punishment and made sure I was properly bandaged each time.

I never had enough to eat either, so I had to steal food from stalls and cut purses from people to keep myself from starving to death.

One night, after a particularly brutal beating, I staggered away from the hideout, my vision blurred but my feet finding their way to the market nevertheless. I tried to cut a purse - in retrospect not the wisest act when you could barely walk upright - and I was caught by the wrist. The grip was like iron and I was forced to my knees, my world exploding in pain as my wounds reopened and started to bleed through my bandages.

Still, after a moment I was let free and I looked into a face smiling somewhat amused and extended a hand to help me on my feet. The man led me to a stall and asked me what I wanted. At first I thought it might be a trap, so I pretended I wasn't hungry, but my stomach soon betrayed that sentiment. The man - he'd still not given me his name at this point - smiled and bought me something. I don't remember what it was, only that it tasted sweet, lightly spiced and that I ate more of it than I normally ate in a week.

Wren - as he introduced himself as once I had finished eating - was a kind man; a paladin of Amaunator, as I would later learn. He asked me if I was alone and I told how I was stealing for food because the gang that had bought me didn't give me enough to eat. He didn't get angry, that would be the entirely wrong word for it, but me did promise that wouldn't happen again and asked me to lead him to them.

At first I wouldn't. Somehow, in its own twisted way, that gang had become the only family I knew. Sure Saervyn would beat me again for ruining the bandages and it would be just as hard to get something to eat tomorrow, but it had been like this for years now and I could barely remember anything else.

He insisted, though, and I couldn't let myself ignore the kindness he'd showed me by not returning it. I made him promise that he wasn't part of some rival gang wanting to slaughter them all.

He promised.

When I came back with a stranger, the others grabbed their weapons and Saervyn cursed and cast a protective spell on herself. Wren didn't move and his blade was still in its scabbard, even peacebonded so he wouldn't be able to simply draw it. It was suicide. "You really should treat this child better," he said pleasantly, unworried by the blades around him. "he'll be no use to you if you starve him like that."

"What's he to you?" Saervyn snarled.

"A malnourished orphaned child,"

"He's Drow!" Saervyn yelled, "His kind would submit you and I to far worse things. We feed him, clothe him, make him a part of our group! Don't lecture me on how to treat his kind."

"I do see the evil in his heart, as in yours. But so do I see it in every inhabitant of this city. Still, why nourish that spark of evil until it becomes a flame, if you can try to quench it? Teach him the values of life and become a force for the Good in the world."

"DO. NOT. LECTURE. ME!!!" Saervyn loosed a whip of lightning from her fingertips and let it wrap around Wrens leg, ready to pull him off his feet. Wren didn't move.

"So you choose to fight?" he asked wearily. "Fine."

Saervyn pulled her whip and Wrens leg lifted from the ground. I watched with amazement how he used the power of her pull to launch himself into the air and land a kick to the side of the head of one of the gangs brutes, grasping the brutes thug in mid-air while untangling himself from the whip. "I will accept your surrender, whenever you are ready."

Several crossbow bolts flew towards Wren and he dropped into a crouch, knocking another thug from his feet and then crossing the distance to the two 'bolters and striking them both in the throat, causing them to drop their weapons.

Within seconds Saervyn had been the only person left standing. Her face turned into a mask of fury. "You coward!" She yelled, "You bloody coward!" she unleashed a barrage of spells, half of which I had never seen before, but Wren simply moved one of the 'bolters in front of him, using him as a shield.

I'll spare you the details of how that man looked afterwards. Suffice to say, that Wren never drew his sword and that Saervyn cast a spell and fled the scene.

The moment will be all that more glorious if you think of it that way.

As you may or may not have guessed already, I travelled with Wren for a long while. He left Luskan and I followed. I suppose that'd make me a squire, seeing as how he was a Paladin.

For years we travelled and for years he impressed me with not only his martial skill, but with the strength of his convictions. He wouldn't let anyone go hungry, be abused or hurt without good reason. I never saw him kill anyone. Ever.

But as in all tall tales, such a mentor is not meant to last. And when I one day saw a woman blocking our way I recognized Saervyn immediately. She was angry and arcane energy crackled around her hands.

I stepped away, knowing that Wren had beat her before and confident that he would do so again. Wren hadn't gotten more than three steps towards her, though, when a line of emerald struck his chest and he collapsed. Dead.

I was in shock and while I remember Saervyn saying that I was still her slave, I don't think I even heard the words at the time. I picked up Wrens sword - still peacebonded, as always - and with tears in my eyes I charged at hear, swinging wildly.

Either she was amused or surprised, but no spell struck me before I reached her. The scabbard connected with her temple, though, and she staggered back, blood running down her face. "You dare attack me, you ingrateful child!? Who was it that gave you your food all those years, who taught you how to survive? Me! And now you betray me?"
I didn't know what to answer, so I stood there, waiting for something. I didn't know what.

Next thing I knew there was fire all around me and I screamed as my clothes were burnt up in an instant. My grip on the sword tightened in the pain and after a few seconds it was over. I looked at the world again; the earth around me was black, my skin was covered with burns I had hoped never to experience again and Wrens blade had turned black from the flames.

Wait, blade?

The thin scabbard had burned away completely, leaving the blade bared. With a pained smile I swung the sword again and suddenly I had Saervyns head lying at my feet.

I gave Wren a proper funeral, though I had to dig the grave with my bare hands. Once I had gotten my strength back, I even buried Saervyn.

She could've been a good person, if someone had been there in time for her.