Last Light

Daybreak - I

  »Got you!«, the Drow said, unaware that he had spoken aloud, as he reached for the rat that was wriggling in the trap, trying to free itself. He opened the snap and pulled the rat out, which, now that the paralytic poison was taking effect, became increasingly sluggish. Eventually, the animal's attempts at defense ceased entirely, and the Drow placed it into one of his small fur bags.

According to the ancient legends of the Amber-Eyed Ones, long before humans had spread across the face of the world, Earth and Sky had created two races that were similar in some ways, yet could not have been more different: for while the High Elves were said to have sprung from air and wind, daylight and stardust, the Drows emerged from the earth's depths; as blue bolts, as crystals of ice, as living pillars of obsidian, and fountains of molten earthfire. They referred to themselves as Children of Earth and Stone and preferred the realm from which they had sprung as their habitat, nestling themselves in the safety of dark caves and abandoned swamps.

Scholars and wanderers often referred to them as the 'Pale Ones', as their appearance had adapted over millennia to their underground and cave-dwelling habitats; living reclusively and generally considered extremely headstrong. Many humans believed that the widespread aversion towards the them originated from this unfamiliar lifestyle, thinking it was proof that the Drows were offspring of chaos and eternal darkness, even that they had allied with the forces of the Black Lands. But the Pale Ones knew better: They despised foreign life just as much as their own and that of their siblings. It had destroyed the connection between them and all others, split their kind, scattered them to the winds, and made them invisible to others, seeming to have driven them from the face of the world.

The Drow had lived here for several years in the western wing of the Castle. His life had followed the typical path for the Pale Ones: Born an only child, he was raised only by his mother and spent many years in the deep, winding caves of a mountain. From her, he had learned to fight and hunt, to make various mixtures, and to master his innate magic. Every Pale One possessed this gift, and while tracking and hunting prey and exploring all the plants in the area for their effects were relatively easy, mastering his magical abilities had taken most of his time. His mother had told him about the initiation ritual, in which every young Drow was exposed to the four earth powers to determine which one belonged to them; carrying four stones with her since she knew she was expecting a child, as was the duty of every female Pale One, and she had shown them to him long before the time for the ritual had arrived. He had always been fascinated by the stones: the Shadow Bender, a stone shimmering blue like the power of lightning it symbolized; the Ether Flame, glowing red like the earthfire it represented; the Earth Pillar, an obsidian of such translucent green color as the forests and meadows of the Eastern Lands; and the Morning Echo, a mountain crystal as clear and transparent as the ice it symbolized. The wait until the time for the ritual was unbearable; the curiosity after seeing the stones for the first time was insatiable. And when the time finally had came, he could hardly contain his excitement.

The place for the ritual was only a blurred memory: an unknown cave in the middle of nowhere, dimly lit by phosphorescent mushrooms, with the sound of the wind echoing from outside, carrying in the moisture of the rain; the clammy ground under his bare skin, the four stones around him, and his mother's voice humming the melody of their gods. At some point, the four stones had begun to shimmer; many hours later, the shimmering had turned into a glow, and eventually, as his limbs stiffened from the cold and lack of movement and his mind exhausted from constant anticipation, the glow had become a strong pulse. Finally, the stones had dissolved and surrounded him as fine stone dust, settling on him, penetrating his body through his skin, deep into his core. Initially, he had felt only a slight tingling, but then it steadily increased, more and more, reaching an intensity that seemed to burn him from the inside out. He had wanted to scream but couldn't; he had wanted to move, to turn away, to flee, but was unable to. The pain tormenting his entire body had moved around, and with each circular movement, it had seemed to tear muscles, break bones, consume flesh, and intensify even further; until it had concentrated at one point, right in the middle of his chest, and was so unbearable that tears rolled down his cheeks.

Overwhelmed by the memories, the Drow looked down at himself, pulled his collar aside, and saw the stone that had fused with the bones of his ribcage, only partially protruding from the skin, otherwise encased by it. The mountain crystal had chosen him, had bonded with him, while the other powers had traversed him and eventually returned to his mother's hands in the form of the original stones. The Morning Echo has belonged to him since the day of his initiation and enabled him to invoke and use the powers of ice whenever he deemed it necessary or desirable. After the ritual, his mother had left him, and he hadn't seen her again. She had never been a talkative woman, most of his memories of her were based on actions, not words; except for one saying of their people that she had told him on the day of parting: 'We do not cry out of joy, my son. Not out of happiness, not out of sorrow, and not out of despair. We cry only out of pain, for that is what makes us Dark Ones.'

Now he lived here, in this Castle, and was grateful for the solitude that prevailed in the cold, dark halls. This place suited his nature, here he felt comfortable. Of course, he wasn't completely alone here. Some animals, an undead wanderer whose paths he deliberately did not cross, a handful of goblin guards who protected the libraries, and an unknown entity whose aura was so veiled that he couldn't define it, also claimed this place as their abode. But still, one couldn't say this place was lively, quite the contrary. These old walls exuded something that corresponded to what he and the essence of his race embodied: age, tranquility, and solitude.

He took his hands off his collar. His gaze fell on one of the arch windows overlooking the courtyard. It was getting lighter; daybreak. Time to hurry. He pulled a glass bottle from his satchel and observed the brownish liquid inside, how it sloshed back and forth in the flask. He reset the trap and wetted the tiny, integrated catch point with the poison. Satisfied with his haul, he slung the cloth bag with the rats over his shoulder and walked away.