From: jcp@trident.usacs.rutgers.edu (Jonathan Petersen) Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn Subject: [Ga] A question of faith Message-ID: Date: 16 Feb 93 03:47:28 GMT Zebron Twilight, drow rogue and mage, walked slowly, cautiously over to Alaric, every step convincing himself that he was wrong. He wasn't. Khisanth was dying. Damn. As Dusk hopped off his shoulder to console Marran'helar, the winged cat bonded to Khisanth in the same manner that the raven was bonded to the dark elf, Zebron strode away from his friends. He turned to face a tree across the clearing. The drow reached into a boot, withdrew his magic dagger, and threw it full force into the trunk. The dagger glimmered out of existance and reappeared in his hand. Again the dagger was thrown. Again it reappeared. The cycle repeated itself. Again. And again. And again. Dusk flew over to see if he could help. "Get away from me, you stupid bird!" was Zebron's reply, tears streaming down his face. Dusk ignored the insult and landed behind his friend. "Why? Why her?" The dark elf asked the questions as he continued to hurl his dagger repeatedly at the tree. Dusk offered no answers. Perhaps no one knew the answers Zebron sought. "I work alone, but _no_, she says that I'm her champion and that I must walk with others to show them her way. I've converted worshippers in half a dozen realities. I get to induct priestesses into the fold. I am the damned living embodiment of the faith, but I can't even save my friends. A godforsaken cleric; faith without power." Dusk was quiet. The dagger continued to fly. "I'm willing to lay down my life for her beliefs. I thought that wasd the highest price. But there is something more dear than my own life: that of my friends. "This time the price is too much! Do you hear me, Eilistraee!? Damn your eyes! I never asked to be your damned 'Silver Sword'! I never asked anything! Why won't you answer me this once? You're worse than that uncaring hag Tymora! Come on! Answer me, damn you!" Zebron was shouting at the top of his lungs, the tears of frustration flowing freely. The others ignored him. Each was dealing with the passing of a friend in his or her own way. For, although the spark of life had not left Khisanth, it was fading quickly, and would be gone before morning. The nearest help was days away. Khisanth was as good as dead. Eventually, the dark elf could throw his dagger no more. His arm had grown weary, as weary as his soul. Zebron stood up straight, squared his shoulders, and walked towards Alaric. Dusk cocked his head to the side curiously, then flew to the drow's shoulder. Zebron turned to his feathered familiar, and saw a tear sparkle in the moonlight as it rolled off the bird's beak. Zebron put his hand on Alaric's shoulder. The ranger was still cradling his mate's form; he was saying good bye. "I am so sorry, my friend. Khisanth's fate should have been my own. They were after me, and should not have taken her. She should not have to pay for my mistakes, but rest assured, I will personally avenge her passing." Zebron paused. He wasn't even sure if he was being heard by the grief stricken Alaric. "Words are nothing, my friend, even when they promise action, but I swear on my blade," the drow drew his sword and held it before him, "the Eel shall pay in blood for this day. Damn! If there was only some way I could help. I only wish there was something I could do to help..." The sword flared bright silver, and then a soft silver glow envelopped Zebron's hands. Dropping his sword in astonishment, the drow looked at his hands, flexing their muscles. A cawing on his shoulder brought him back to reality and reminded him that miracles are not forever. Kneeling, the dark elf touched the forehead of his fallen comrade. Alaric looked down as his dying mate was surrounded by softly glowing motes of silver light. One by one the motes winked out of existance. The glow faded from Zebron's hands. No one breathed at all. Moments passed as though each was an eternity. But then, slowly, Khisanth's ragged breathing grew stronger, more even. She blinked her eyes, then looked around in wonder. Helping his friend to her feet, Zebron said, "Well met, Khisanth Blackblade," and looked into the eyes of a friend he thought he would never again have the pleasure to greet. In her eyes he saw his own reflection. He saw a dark elf with an expression of pure joy. And behind his shoulder was a dark female figure with flowing silver hair standing on a far off hillside. Quickly turning around, Zebron saw the empty hillside. "I had forgotten," he whispered, more to himself than anyone else, "I can only see her in the eyes of others. I will never again forget." Leaving the two lovers to embrace each other in the discovery of a second chance at life, Zebron strode purposefully towards the center of the camp. Thrusting his two swords point first into the ground, he walked over to his pack and withdrew his pipe flute. "Come, friends," he said in a strong voice that carried far and wide, echoing off the trees, "You have just witnessed a miracle. Let us celebrate by paying homage to Eilistraee, for it is her power that brought Khisanth back to us. "Come, there is room enough above for us all to dance among the flowers and trees, for our voices to carry on the fresh air and join the song of freedom carried by the breeze," Zebron entreated, invoking the simple prayer to his goddess that started all ceremonies, and then he began to play. He played an addicting melody, and all that heard it began to dance. The companions danced into the wee hours of the morning. None danced harder than Alaric, and none could match the beauty and grace of Khisanth. Travellers in the area were later heard to tell tales of a night of miracles. A night when babes were born healthy and strong. A night when the sick got well. A night that every soul slept soundly and in peace. Those huntsmen that lived in the wood attributed the miracles to a haunting song carried by the winds. Everywhere and nowhere at once, some said that it was an epic song that suggested great trials and tribulations followed by great rewards. Others said it told of suspicions and deceit overcome by friendship. Still others swore that it told of a man who never knew the power of faith until he questioned it. But no one ever heard anything like that song again. -Jak jcp@trident.usacs.rutgers.edu