No Sanctuary, No Refuge. (Anyone)

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.

Ooc: Tree Shade's in my signature.

Bic:

Smudged fingers stroked a forked beard, their owner stopping in the middle of the road. A sudden thought just struck him: He hadn't seen another sentient creature in nearly a week. What had he been doing all that time? He stopped to try and remember, but couldn't think up anything of significance. He could have just been spacing out that whole week. It had happened before.

Shrugging off this thought, he continued down the road. The moon was bright, the crickets were singing, and the frogs were screaming.

The dead of night, the night of dead... nah, makes no sense. He thought to himself.

Alright, he had to do something. He didn't notice until then, but he was extremely bored. Having spaced out for a solid seven days straight, he really needed something exciting to happen soon.

What should he do? His mind spinned the invisible wheel of opportunity, searching the landscape for something, anything that could occupy him for the rest of the night. Right there in the middle of the valley was probably the worst place for any sort of fun. There were no silly humans to toy with, no funny dogs to set on fire, no humble peasants to steal bread from. But there, suddenly, the wheel of opportunity stopped. Up ahead, before his very own black and white eyes, walked a figure.

Rules of engagement? He asked himself. He thought on this a brief moment, but finally settled on the right thing. Picking up his pace, he rushed to meet the stranger. "Hello, stranger!" He chimed, bright smile filling his face. He had no clue where this confrontation would go, but he was sure it would be much less boring than spacing out.

OoC: Interesting. Zyke's in sig

BiC: Perched in a tree high above the valley, the Emerald Knight spotted the two figures. One quick throw of his grappling hook and he was within earshot of the figures. One of them, a man dressed oddly in a way that seemed completly natural, gave off a sinisterly jovial air, and the other, a dark elf, was harder to read. As the odd man called out to the elf, Zyke decided to stick around. Maybe he could get some excercise tonight.

OoC: I'm terribly sorry about the long absence, my computer problems of late seem to have no end.

BiC: Nafien could now sense ahead of him the mithril walkway that led to the doors of the Church of the Elder Gods, barely detectable to the dark elf through the endless falling snow. The knowledge that he was close to his destination renewed Nafien's spirits, and he began to trudge forward at a quicker pace.

As he pushed through the storm, Nafien heard a voice, loud but altogether innocuous, calling to him from afar. The drow knew that first impressions could be deceiving however, and so he loosened his scimitars in their scabbards and cautiously replied.

"Greetings stranger, and well met." the dark elf called out. Nafien leaned heavily on his walking stick and acted the part of the blind man, although in truth his lack of sight was no inconvenience to the seasoned drow. "Can you tell me if I am near the Old Church? Or are you one of the clergy?" he continued. However, at that thought Nafien tensed up. He could not hope to defeat a member of the Church in this blizzard, where echolocation was lost to him. The dark elf was riding on the hope that whoever this stranger was, he wasn't an enemy. In the back of his mind Nafien also sensed a hidden entity, but who or what that third party was remained entirely unclear.