OoC: Well, due to the breaking down of a very old computer, my chances to access the Internet have been few and far between. However, I have finally found the time and money to go out and purchase a new computer, so if all things flow according to plan, my activity on
ZU should sharply increase. Thanks, to whoever may have read that and cared.
BiC: The wind was bitter cold as it swept its icy hand through the moonlit valleys just north of the Darkenwood forest. A single silhouette stood out amongst the stones and snowdrifts littered throughout the landscape, hunched over with its back to the frosty gale. This figure was none other than Nafien De'Voirig, the infamous dark elf known to many as the "Black Hand" of Darkenwood. Although his name and reputation as an assassin brought fear to the soul of any of his enemies, his appearance at the moment would certainly have not.Having fought a vicious battle against a gunman known as Ivan in the last town, Nafien was injured and lacking any food or supplies. Unable to use echolocation as his normal means of sight because of the howling winds, the dark elf was forced to resort to his cane and knowledge of the region's topography to find his way. His path, he knew, was leading him to the Church of the Elder Gods that existed somewhere in these lonely valleys.The path was rough, and the elements bore down on his body from every direction. But a dark elf is never so easily beaten, and Nafien was never one to quit. The drow trudged onward, one hand holding his cane and the other clasping the hilt of one of his scimitars. The worn hilt held memories of victory that gave Nafien strength, and with these thoughts in mind he continued on his way to the church, and (unbeknown to the dark elf) to a warrior who would test the limits of his strength and heart.