Devoid. I am empty, my soul is bereft of joy without Her loving grace. I am nothing. The tears continue to stream down my cheeks. I have lost all track of time. Weary and drained I slump against the back of the cave, depressed.
Their eyes mock me. Maybe I should just relent, let them win. Without the joy She brings to my life, what is the reason to exist and go on? What purpose do I have? The stirges have a purpose for me, I could sustain them.
But what of my soul. Without Her, where would my soul go? Am I doomed to Perdition, unclaimed, with no access to the promised Heavens? Cast and abandoned to the darkness, wallowing in the mire, a ghost to the realms. Doomed, outcast, rejected!
"No!", I scream in released rage, "If you will not have me, Eilistraee, then I shall not have you!" The anger seethes within me, building, strengthening me, but the emptiness remains inside.
I am drow. I was drow long before I walked the path. I am drow still.
My eyes narrow archly, I wipe the tears from my face and stand, hefting my mace. My teeth grit as I walk to the opening, the stirges take flight in anticipation of an opening for attack.
"Face me wraith birds. Face me and DIE!", I scream as I jump from the opening, tapping into the innate ability of my race and levitating to the ceiling. The birds, shocked by my sudden aggression, fly to the far side of the cavern, flitting amongst the stalactite teeth, building up the confidence, and then attacking in force. I wait.
They are but meters away when I limne their small forms in faerie fire, the dazzling flames sending many of them into frantic flight away from the melee. The remainder close with me, swooping and piercing my flesh, while I dodge and maneuver to keep them at bay. My mace downs several, but the recent pain and sorrow has leeched much of my strength, and my swings grow haphazard.
I fly toward the floor, as quickly as possibly, drop a cloud of darkness about the sharp stalagmites jutting from the ground and steeply climb. The ravenous birds, driven by blood fury, fly after me, into the dark cloud. Were they not lost in the depths of hunger, they well may have discovered the folly of their course, but as it is, they did not. The remainder of the flock struck the ground with deafening thuds, some impaling themselves upon the stoney jaws.
I return to the cavern floor, spent. My enemies are vanquished. My wounds seep freely from the rented punctures in my leather armor, the blood refusing to coagulate due to the cursed saliva of the birds. I collapse, torn, empty, rejected, but victorious.
Posted by Zayne at November 17, 2003 12:24 PM