Forgotten Realms-Warders of First Magic-Chapter 2 Dark Hunters

[Spirit Hawkfellow]

Chapter Two: Dark Hunters

Dale Reckoning: 682

The Glade of the Seven Star was hidden from the sight of mortal man.
Those who sought it thought, to prove the legends had been true, for
many stories had been created to explain he mysterious grove, hidden
some where in the forest of Cormanthor. Some legends were spun from
traveling bards looking to ply their trade for gold or silver, other
tales stemmed from home spun stories as fathers and mother tucked
their children away at night. The one thing the Glade of the seven
stars had true was that it was the place you could commune with gods.
Demron winked into existence. He rubbed his eyes to adjust to the
low light that infused the Glade of the Seven Stars. He could make
out thick brush, and smell the light dew that hung mistily in the air.
It was an early morning in Cormanthor, and light wing herald the
coming of fall. It would be another hour or so before Lathander ruled
the sun up, so he knew he was on time or so he thought. The mage
could see though he as not, and that there were seven others beside
himself that stood with him.
He could make out three. One was a human, not so tall, as men grew,
and was wiry of frame. He could pass for a good quick thief. His
hair was long but pulled back into a pony-tail. What made the man
stand out were, his large hawkish nose, and the grey eyes that
simmered with intelligence and power. Elminster. The wizard before
Demron had been the first human to walk upon Cormanthor's pristine
glades. Demron was indeed surprised for he knew that the youth had
mastered mighty magic, but nothing indicated that he was this loved by
the goddess of magic. Elminster voice brought him back from his
thought.
" Ye be the last Demron. They goes me wager with Arunson." He
whipped out a briar pipe and several gold coins then handed it to the
burley man that strode to the wizards.
"Aye, you never were a good better El, simple put to much faith in
people." The Half-elf known as Arunson replied slipping the gold
pieces into a pocket. Demron eyes flowed over Arunson. For the
Wizard had known the man for many years. It was common knowledge that
he went by the moniker nameless for it was said he had no name, so he
took the name of his elven father Arun.
Arunson was a robust man, and his human heritage seemed to be the
dominate of the two. There were signs of his elven lineage, but one
would think him more from the race of man than the race of elves, with
the long beard he wore. He wore the mantle of the black and in his
hands was a staff of the same color. There was mischief in his eyes
even though his look was often stern.
Elminster guffawed at that, and took a puff from his briar wood pipe.
The scent of pipe weed filled the air. "So I lose one wager to you
oh dour storm, it does not mean I shall lose another."
Demron could not hold his smile and laughed. The two often traded
barbs in that way. Even though rumor had it that they were long time
rivals in the arts, both were comrades in arms, and friends. One
would give his life for the other.
" So like men to bet upon something so trivial. Human men at that."
A feminine voice came forth from the dark and the smell of strawberry
filled the air. All three of the men eyes widened when they saw the
beautiful elf maiden that stood before them clad in soft elven silks
of green and grey. Her eyes were a cool blue, like that of a forest
pond; her hair shimmered, streams of yellows and gold. It was as if
the dwarves had fashioned her hair out of molten gold. Her skin was
soft, and shared a slight touch of the color of her hair. She walked
towards the men, with a smooth gait and a slight twitch of her hips
that had been known to capture the most lustful of bravos who fought
for a touch of her supple small lips. To say lady Symmruster was
beauty was one thing; to say that Symmruster was a glorious sight to
behold was another.
Demron closed his slack jaw when he saw her blue eyes gaze at him.
It was well known by many that Symmruster had shared a bitter hatred
of mankind, in the days before she had been transformed by the silver
fires of Mystra. She had become a staunch defender of the races that
inhabited Mythdrannor. Elminster laughed. Arunson simply sucked in
his teeth and his dark brows came together in a huff.
"So speak the mighty lady of magic." The words slipped from Arunson
before he knew what he was about to say. Elminster coughed, and was
about to shy away, when the most beautiful but haunting voice stole
his retreat.
"Oh dour one, so you wish to spare word of impending evils and dread.
If any here I would have thought you the smarter one than to bet that
rascal of this'¦" She looked Demron up and down," This hot smelly sword
smith the worth of arriving on time." She gave them as mirthful look.
"See here lady Symmruster, I bath and look after myself quite well
thank you." Demron stood arm in akimbo, his foot tapping.
"Well I see my time is at hand." Elminster, replied shying away, but
he was stopped again when Symmruster arms shot forward and gripped his
arm.
"Oh no trickster, you have a lot to explain. Especially getting me
out of bed at the wee part of morning, to a place I have never been to
till now.
"I know as much as thee. My lady sent word that all of her most
favored would appear before here in this glade."
"Of course she only speaks to you in this way." Arunson sighed.
"She is the lady of mysteries is she not," Elminster shrugged. "So
you have it, I sent the message to all that have arrived, plus Demron."
"Why me?" Demron looked puzzled. "Yes I serve the lady, and I work
the art. But I'm nothing like the rest of you. You all wield the
silver fire of Mystra, you are all her chosen. I am but a mage, a
mage with a special skill of fashioning weapons."
"I guess that is for Mystra to decide." Elminster said as the last
of the other chosen arrived. In the glade there stood seven chosen of
Mystra all bequeathed with her power, the power of the silver fire.
"Indeed it is my decision make!" Powerful words of arcane might broke
through the clearing like thunder and all in attendance took note.
`Sons and daughter of the silver fire gather before me in a circle and
here my words. I impart to you great tidings. Guard thyself. Arm
yourselves. For evil approach's that will blanket this land. This
evil that comes will threaten your beloved city like no other. It
will be you here that must protect the city of crowns, Mythdrannor.
Thus this is the reason you Demron, have been called forth. Prepare
thyself, for the greatest of your achievements will soon be nigh.
They will taxes you of strengths and limits, but be strong in your
pursuits, for they will birth the greatest weapons against evil this
world might ever see." Of all in the circle it was Symmruster to
break the silence of the chosen.
"Lady Mystra. How can Mythdrannor fall, how can a city that stand for
so much be swept away. Do not the gods care, do they not favor us?"
`Oh Symmruster my child. Have you not learned anything? You are
Elven, and for the elves change is never a thing they have grasped
well. Was it not you that stood against a lone human who had entered
the city? Elminster had no malice in his heart. Yet you raged war
upon him, and sought his life. In the end it was his caring of you
that had changed you to the better. No Symmruster the elves do not
take change well, nor do the gods, in the entire world it the one
power we cannot master. Only the races Of Faerun can do this by
living, surviving and continuing on their legacy. To this great
empire must rise and fall. It is the way with all things, magic is
well. In this world nothing stays the same. As it should be."
"Forgive me my lady. I do not doubt your word. You have given us
great gift that we use in your name. Then how is this to come to be,
we are mighty in the art all assembled here. Surely nothing can stand
against our silver fire." Arunson found his voice. The nameless
chosen stepped forth into the circle. Elminster stood silent as he
watched. Demron stood in awe at the voice of one of the patrons of
his art. Azuth was his patron god that he gave blessing to, but
Mystra was the power that gave substance to the weave of magic that
all spell caster took there spell from.
There was a slight quite, and then the voice returned in a boom.
"HAVE A CARE ARUNSON, YOU ARE ONE OF MY BELVOED SERVANTS, YET EVEN
YOU SHALL BE TESTED LIKE ALL HERE. DO NOT LET THE HUBRIS OF YOUR
ELVEN SIDE TAKE YOU. DO NOT BE SO COMFORTABLE WITH THE POWER I HAVE
GIVEN YOU, THAT YOUR ARE INDESTRUCTIBLE. KNOW THAT THE FUTURE WILL
BRING FOR A TIME OF GREAT DANGER EVEN TO ALL WHO WIELD MY POWER. IT
IS THROUGH THAT YOU WILL PREVAIL AND CONTINUE. IT IS HOPE AFTER ALL."
Demron stepped forth, and looked at all assembled in the circle. All
practiced and wielded mighty power of magic, and he was amongst them
listening to a goddess, no the goddess of magic. His eye fell upon
Elminster who gave him a sheepish smile. Of all in the circle Demron
knew Elminster the best. On many nights when the stars had veiled
themselves to mortal eyes, he and Elminster would share in talk of
magic and the wider world. In many of their conversation he had felt
their was more to younger man than was lent out, It was night like
those and tonight that he realized Elminster for what he was. Demron
could now see it. When Elminster had called him to the meeting, he did
not think twice. It was then that he realized that of all the chosen
the roguish man with a briar pipe was he favored and it was through
him that she would work her ways.
Demron felt humbled, and was about to open give voice to his
thoughts, when a slight mental whisper made him keep his tongue.
Mystra mighty voice boomed.
"GO FORTH KNOW MY HEARLDS OF THE SILVER FIRE. GO FORTH AND PREPARE
FOR WHAT IS TO COME, FOR IT SHALL BE YOUR GREATIST CHALLENGES. FEAR
NOT THAT YOU SHALL NOT PREVAIL AND KEEP HOPE TO YOU BREAST FOR IN THE
DARK DAYS, IT SHALL GIVE YOU THE LIGHT AND SHIELD YOU FROM DARKNESS."
Demron looked at the others, and, he noticed several of the chosen
deep in talk. The talk centered on Mythdrannor's dooms filling their
heart with sorrow and dread. Demron noted the look of Symmruster
face. There was the look of lost. A blanket of sorrow that none
could peel away. It was true for the elves change was the greatest
foe they had. She glanced his way and gave him a slight curt of her
head and spoke two syllables of magic, and she was gone in a wake of
smoke and the smell of strawberries.
Elminster and Arunson both stepped forward. "I for one do not think
the great city shall fall. Her people are strong, her mythal great,
and her Coronal everlasting." He said with a gruff and with a wave of
the black staff in his hands he was gone.
Elminster shook he head. "One day that fool will be himself in
danger he can not get out of," he laughed," and I will be the one to
pull him out. Fear not Demron you are as important as any in this
circle, the lady Mystra does not chose her words idly." Eliminster
clasped Demron arm in a salute, he then puffed upon his pipe the smoke
twirled about his form and he slowly winked away.
Demron was known alone in the grove of the seven stars. Still caught
in amazement of the power he felt and the company he had been apart
of. From the corner of his eye he saw seven shimmering balls of
light come forth, flying his way. They circled the mage and Demron
could here Mystra's voice.
"BE AT EASE LORD OF THE BLADE. FOR IN THE FUTURE IT WILL BE YOUR
HANDY WORK THAT BRINGS FORTH THE GREATIST SWORD THE WORKLD HAS EVER
SEEN. YOUR PATRON AZUTH, TOLD ME YOU WOULD BE THE PERFECT ONE TO
UNDERGO A GREAT QUEST." The voice replied. Demron was awestruck;
Azuth the god and helper of Mystra had counted him as worthy.
"Thank you lady Mystra. But what can I do I am but a wizard
interested in enchanting items. What can the goddess of magic want
with me?"
"OH DEMRON, OF ALL PEOPLE YOU SHOULD KNOW YOU'RE WORTH. YOU HAVE
BEEN PROVEN WORTHY OF A GREAT TASK. A TASK THAT WILL PROTECT FAERUN
FROM A GREAT POWER THAT CAN BE USED FOR EVIL. THERE WILL BE A TIME
WHEN THIS POWER WILL BE AWAKENED, BUT YOU MUST SAFE GUARD IT FOR US.
YOU SHALL BE A WARDER, OUR GUARDIAN AGAINST THIS. EVEN THOUGH I AM A
GOD I CAN NOT FORCE THIS TASK UPON YOU. YOU MUST BE WILLING TO ACCEPT
IT FULL OF HEART.
Demron looked down at the swirling motes of lights, and fear coursed
through him. He wondered if he was actually going to do this. To
make a deal with a god simply astounded him. Demron knew his duty
though; he could not fathom why the goddess of magic had chosen him
but he would fulfill whatever destiny he had coming to him. "I
accept!" He said gladly as the last vestiges of fear disappeared.
"THEN IT SHALL BE DONE, DEMRON ESVENION. YOU SHALL BE KNOWN AS THE
WARDER OF FIRST MAGIC. WATCH OVER OUR MOST SACRED TRUTH, FOR ALL YOU
R DAYS." The voice boomed, as the seven light globes impacted against
Demron. The mage felt silver fire, ride up his body through his toes
and fingers, and his world rocked by the magic that was Mystra. The
last thought Demron had in his head, was the question; what was first
magic?

* * *


There was a time of Sivendress slept soundly. This was not one of
those times as her sense came fully awake. The Dark Elf Matron of
house Dulfur knew she had had a visitor. Her spell charms instantly
sounded in her mind, but silent to her intruders. She had been lying
in a circular bed sans blanket that had been strewn about along with
the bodies of several dark elven men she had killed with a dagger
enchanted with the fairezness of the underdark. The stench of death
wafted through her gigantic bed chamber, as the body long since cold
spilled their lat drop of blood.
Sivendress was no fool to be taken likely, and the visitor that had
entered her grand obsidian chambers would pay a terrible prices. With
cat like grace she leapt from the bed easily covering the floor,
locked in on the intruder who thought to conceal his or her identity
in an incantation of invisibility. The drow's toned body moved fast
and found the spacing she needed to launch a flying kick where she
thought the person would be. A kick that would have shattered wood
simply found air. The `arm band she slept with allowed her various
spell for her command, and one of these spell allowed the wearer to
the see the invisible.
She could see the man in front of her, shorter than her by a hand.
Sivendress was taller by far straddling almost six feet. Most dark
elven woman seemed to be taller then the men of their race. The
intruder in the golden robes seemed to follow that trait. This one
would be easy pickings.
The matron mother dropped into a low crouch and ready to spring.
Sivendress had honed her body to the perfection of physical fighting.
In her years of youth her mother had taken a human slave from the
fabled land of Kau Lung, where they mastered the physical arts.
Through sheer terror and torture, the human monk had taught Sivendress
the various martial disciplines of his people. That was until she
killed him with an open handed strike known as the crane stab. That
blow had taken the man wind pipe and killed him instantly.

That was the same blow she readied now as she came across the lavish
stone floor, naked and long, white, hip length hair following behind her.
What made Sivendress any man match, and as dangerous was the two arms
that had been replaced with mithril attachments. Upon the two metallic
arms were ruins inscribed with different protective and offensive
magics; That could kill a normal enemy. Sivendress knew that the
shadowed intruder was like no other foes she had ever faced before.
For the first time fear coursed through her veins. The drow matron
wondered if her time had fully come. What drow house would be so bold
as to send an assassin into her midst, to deal her death? She readied
herself for she would not pass to the beyond with out a fight. The
drow matron exploded across the room as she soared foot out looking
too connected against her invisible assailant. To her chagrin there
was nothing but shadow. Then the laugh turned her blood to ice. It
was a mirthless laugh, devoid of both warmth and human quality. It
was the laugh that told her she was in the presence of something
darker than her own twisted soul. She felt her body convulse as she
landed expertly across the floor and readied to make her next strike.
For Sivendress it was late, as she felt her body grow ridged. She
tried to call out in defiance but she felt her soul dominated by the
unseen force of the intruder. She felt a powerful shove to the ground
and she landed on her knees. There was one other time she had bent
her knees to the ground in supplication. That had been the first time
she had given her soul over to the goddess Shar, mistress of shadows,
and darkness. Sivendress wondered if she had angered her goddess in
some way, and even know the fickle deity had returned to bring justice
on her.
She tried again to give voice and protest, but the muscles in her jaw
simply didn't work; or wouldn't. She began to sweat and waited for
her doom.
"I have watched you for quite a while Matron Sivendress Dulfur."
The voice turned her blood to ice. For Sivendress that was no mean
feat for her blood had already been chilled by the years of
subjugating those who were not worthy to her will. No she felt the
stings of what it might have felt like, under her own subjugation.
"How does it feel to be under the thumb of some one more powerful than
yourself. Don't say a word. Ahhh but wait you can't. Let me
rectify this then." Suddenly she could speak again. The Matron rifled
off a string of curse in the drow tongue, and he voice laughed.
"I see even though held against your own will, and dominated by mine,
you still wish to the temp the fates. The drow are so short sided.
In time you will bend. For know I have a task for you." The voice
replied.
Sivendress let fly a deep throaty cackle, "Shade, shadow or what ever
you are. You can never bind me to you will. You may have my body but
you shall never have me! I will never serve you." She spat the last
words out.
"You think so mighty Sivendress. Then I shall show you your folly.
Oh you will break. You will be the fulcrum that swings my plans in to
fruitation. It is through you that our people shall rise from the
ashes. After I have had my way with you then we will discuss the
future, for now though, let me show you the error of your ways."
Sivendress felt power, coldvice like hands grip her shoulders flinging
her to the bed. She then heard the sinister laugh. For the First
time since she had lost her arms as a girl: Sivendress screamed. The
last thing she heard in her ear was the whisper from the shadow. "You
will call me master, in the end." The laugh pierced the chamber, and
the world exploded in pain.

.* *
*.

Spirit, kept to the road as he passed through the deep forest of
Cormanthor. Spirit Hawkfellow, ranger of Mieliekkie kept a brisk pace
as he traveled through fabled forest. It had been some years since he
had last been in the thick green forest of the elves. It was quite as
he stepped over the dirt roads, and long lush forest wood that would
lead him the fabled city of Mythdrannor. The last time the ranger had
been in the forest, it had been to find the fable city and reclaim his
legacy; the sword of Fflar known simply as Foe Bane. Spirit had
learned of his family history upon an adventure with his first
adventuring group. The group had found themselves stuck in the ruins
of the elven court, and it was there they had done battle with a young
green dragon. It had been worth the battle, for it had opened the
opportunity to trace his family roots of his mother. Spirit had been
shocked to find that originally his line was connected to the one of
the greatest elven legends to come forth from the dreaded days of
Mythdrannor. His great Ancestor had been no other person but the last
captain of the bane-duals that had taken place before the fall of that
golden realm. His mother's line had come from Fflar the last captain
of Mythdrannor.
The information they had gleaned from the ancient crypts about he
elven court, had spoke of Fflar last battle, as well as the fabled
blade he used during the last battle. Foe-Bane had been said to be a
magnificent blade, a hero's blade, which would bring hope to the
people, and to those who lacked it.
Thus Spirit and his companions had headed to the magnificent city.
Mythdrannor, was no welcoming place. Dreaded demons, crazed
inhabitants as well as illithid undead that sucked the brains out of
any who crossed their path dwelled there.
He and his companions barely made it out of the city with their lives
as they searched for the fabled blade, battling the many terrors found
within. Finally on the last day, Spirit had found the site of the
last bane-duel. It was a blackened patch of seared earth. Bones
still littered the floor were the last conflagration had tore the skin
off bones. Here he could feel the essence of the magic, and power.
It was here he knew he would find Foe-Bane.
The blade had been stuck deep within deep sediment of ash. He could
see the dragon headed hilt, crafted out the fine elven silver and
gold. Two gems rested within the pommel.
Spirit hefted the mighty weapon as it cleared the ash, and white
light exploded. The ranger could see before him a large elf that
stood in front of him. He could make out the elf and noted he had
been a moon elf in life and was clad in the ancient armor of the
people. The elf had a strong chin and hawkish nose much like Spirit.
Gray unfeeling eye gazed forth with the energy of death. Spirit
could feel the anguish of the Spirit. He could feel the pain of not
being released to the lands of his fathers, the land where the elves
danced and sung songs, both happy and sad. Fflar last captain of
Mythdrannor spirit called for rest.
It was then the essence of Fflar issued the blade challenge, to wield
the blade.
Spirit and Fflar contested for nearly half a day, until finally he
bested the caretaker of Foe-Bane. It was only then that Fflar had
found peace, knowing full well that he had passed on the blade to a
worthy successor. Spirit looked at his ancestor with a fond heart
knowing full well that Fflar soul could rest with those of his people
of Arvandor.

So he thought.

So amazed was Spirit to find out that the name of Fflar once again
lived on. It was during the year of the Lightening storms, while he
and his fellow companions resided in Sucumber, that the news had come
forth. The elves had returned. A contingent of elves had come forth
from Evermeet to stop the scourge of the daemonfey. Devil born elves
that wished to reclaim their ancient home lands. The elven host had
battled their foul cousins from evereska the last elven fortress, and
hunted the very creature to the fabled city of Mythdrannor. Leading
the way had been none other the Fflar Starbrow, that very same soul
that Spirit had wrested the blade from. Know it seemed the hero had
been reborn, and captained the elven host.
When News had reached Spirit the war was as an end, with
proclamations of Mythdrannor return, and a new Coronel and lady.
Fflar the Last captain of Mythdrannor was now the ruler of Cormanthor.
This news had hit Spirit like a fist. It was there and then Spirit
knew that he would return home.
The trip from Sucumber to the dales, like any trip through the realms
was eventful and wrought with danger. Spirit took the task with a
full heart knowing he would return to the place where he had reclaimed
the bane-blade and hopefully reconnect to his kin.
Spirit needed the rest. It been time to settle down, and begin a new
chapter in his life. He had been fighting a never ending battle
against many of the dark forces that plague Faerun, and know the time
to lay down the sword was near. He had been gone for so long battling
foes for his goddess Mielikke and other powers in the realms; he knew
it was time for a rest.
Even now as he walked briskly though the elven wood he finally felt
like he was home. The sounds of birds chirping; the scent of forest
due, and the color of forest green restored his bound to nature. It
was the same exact bound that his grandfather Laudel Hawkfellow had
fostered upon him when he was but a young lad.
There was giddiness to Spirits step, as he continued on his way,
following the road, yet keeping out of site of others. Through his
many years of adventuring even in the time of quite danger always
lurked. With his green finely wrought elven cloak he was almost
invisible to the naked eye, or those not trained to see a ranger in
the woods. It was that very magical weaved cloth that helped Spirit
move around so undetected. The elves crafted the finest cloaks for
various woodland sojourns, which hid hunters and rangers from prying
eyes. In Spirits case, that would prove a task due to his size. The
ranger stood six feet and four, and was muscular. He wore elven
chain-mail and plate that was crafted by the hand of a loving father
for his son who had perished in a raid of goblins. Each link and
plate of protection had been lovingly cared for and woven into a
formidable piece of protection. The smithy that had forged the armor
had coated it with precision and care as well as using elven method of
applying ever shine to coat it. Thus it never rusted, and when struck
it would repair itself.
At his side he carried his legacy, the magical sword known as
Foe-Bane in leather skinned sheath. The sheath was lined with gold
along the seams of the scabbard, and a finely stitched design of a
forest patterns rode the leather. At his hip, tied in a thong he held
his war-hammer, the very war-hammer he had found whilst fighting an
iron-golem. The weapon had been crafted by dwarves, and with in it
silver-iron head was enchanted the power to destroy any type of
constructs.
Upon Spirit's back, was the shield he had wrested, in battle against
a cultist of Orcus. Spirit had been surprised when he had lifted the
shield for when he battled the cultist upon the shield had been a
symbol of a demon. The Demon symbol slowly changed its shape and, and
became the symbol of a unicorn, with long streams of white-blue
strands of hair. The shield was magnificent, and it had saved
Spirit's life on many occasions.

Now with the return of the elves to Cormanthor, he felt the need to
return home, to meet the man who he known only in spiritual form, to
find some connection to a family he never knew he had been apart of.
Spirit had been traveling for several days, spending time in both
Shadow dale and the Lathander's temple the Dawn Spire. Here he had
hoped to meet with Sunrise, the paladin of Lathander, as well as the
women he loved. Even as he traveled on his path his thoughts focused
on the women he had first met when he had undertaken the mission for
Foe-Bane.
He remembered the sight of her, swimming in a pond not to far from
where he and his companions camped. He had no intention of spying on
the woman as she bathed, but her beauty and grace over powered him.
She had soft pink skin, lightly burnished by the summer sun. Blond
hair that was pulled up yet left curls that flowed down in ringlets.
Her face was round and full, and soft lips shimmered with touches of
waters. She had a powerful warrior's body, honed by years of fighting,
and several wound marks told the stories of her battles. For the
first time, he laid eyes upon her his heart was filled with a joy he
could never lose.
The ranger shook his head from his reverie; he smiled when he thought
he could smell the scent of her perfume. It had been several years
since they had seen each other, and he hoped he would be able once
more to meet, and finally he would make her his.
Marriage, the words brought a warm feeling to his soul. Spirit had
never thought the idea would full him with so much joy. The
adventure, the traveling, these things had filled his mind and heart
for so long; yet now, the thoughts of settling down, marrying the
woman he loved did not seem so strange.
It was then as he moved into a clearing, near a large rolling stream,
that he noticed, there was no sound in the forest. No call of birds
flitted across the air. It was deathly silent. Spirit, who had
journeyed for many years, knew the dangers of silence.

Something was hunting him.

The Scream of arrows descended from the air at him, and the ranger
instinctively moved. He tumbled into the clearing as the barely
missed him, he came up quick on his knee and, the bane blade Foe-Bane
came forth. The blade sizzled as eldritch magic shed its light.
Spirit lowered the hawk shaped helm over his eyes, and readied.
Another flight of arrows soared through the air and bounced of the
magical shield emblazoned with the head of a unicorn. Once again the
shield protected the ranger life. Spirit had no clue that was
attacking, but his assailants would learn the error of their ways.
Spirit jerked, when an arrow slipped through and caught beneath the
ribs. He could feel the hot searing barb work its way to his gut, and
then he could feel the insidious poison begin it work. Damn, he
thought, as he pulled the arrow from his gut. The make of the arrow
looked elven, yet he could see he purplish glow that emanated from the
projectile. Spirit had seen this type or magic before. The arrow had
been enchanted with the energy of the underdark. Feyrezz was magic
found in the deep delves of the underdark, and was often used for
enchanting the weapons of the dark elves.
Why was he being attacked by dark elves? Before heading out into the
elven court many had warned him of bandit and dark elves. Spirit had
been a ranger and a scout for a longtime; if the drow had been
tracking him they must have used powerful magic to do it.
Even as the poison worked it way through blood stream, he saw those
who wanted to kill him step forth.
The Drow came forth into the light. There were four, each carrying
magical weapons of the finest underdark make, three road giant hairy
spiders. The mounts were huge a span of about fifteen men. All about
there bibulous bodies were a rough hair. They reminded the ranger of
giant tarantulas. He could see from their maw, a green ichor flow
forth and sloshed against the ground. Two mandibles curved and wicked
clicked as they moved into the glade. The last Drow at first seemed
to be riding a one of the spiders. The dark elf though seemed to have
no legs, and was attached to the torso of the great body. The upper
part, of the drow was well muscled, and had plates of steel that
protected both shoulders and back of the neck. The dark elf was
naked, except for the belt that wrapped about the connecting
midsection and waist. In its deadly hands it held a spear of black
steel; electricity surged from the tip of the death spear, waiting to
dip deep into its master prey.
Spirit could feel the poison working its way through his system. It
was not the arrow blow that would make him drop. His power of fast
healing that he had gained from Mythdrannor's mythal while it was
still a ruin, would heal the damage, but the drow poison would either
put him to sleep or paralyze him.
The drow riders on their forest spiders moved closer. The dark elf
warrior wielded deadly blades immune to the power of the sun. Spirit
took note of their weapons and seemed no to weaken or become dull from
the exposure, as the bards tale had sung. He was in a grim situation.
Spirit wanted to laugh. What else was new? When was the last time
he wasn't in a grim situation that threatened his life?
The one thing he did know, was to he had to take the battle to the
enemy before he succumbed to the power of the drow poison.
The drow warrior's spurred their spiders on and hoped to encircle the
ranger.
Spirit reacted. The magic laced in the boots he wore activated, and
the ranger was off in a sprint.
The drow were caught off guard and enacted their innate ability to
form several globes of darkness. Spirit's enchanted boots, enhanced
his speed, and he moved faster than the globes that appeared. As he
sprinted to engage the drow he called forth the power of Foe-bane and
leapt twenty feet into the air.
He soared and came falling down upon the first spider rider. He
tensed as he fell from the jump and readied the blow.
Both rider and ride crumbled in a heap as, Foe-Bane ripped into them
slicing them in half with one blow. The drow rider never had a chance
to react, and died instantly.
The second drow rider sent his spider in. The creature spewed off a
thick entangling web at the ranger.
It was to no avail. The ranger with his god blessed ability to move
freely simply passed through it. The first strike came with Spirit's
shield. The hit crushed the spider face, shattering the creature eight
orbed eyes. The thing wobbled and buckled back. Foe-bane followed
cutting into the spider leg. It gave a squeal and landed in a heap.
The rider jumped for his life.
Spirit was on him. Both warriors clashed, as their blades met.
Spirit was the better the swordsmen. Foe-bane found a weakness in the
drow defense and slipped in. The tip caught the drow underneath the
rib, and continued upward blasting through the lungs and tearing at it
heart. The drow died instantly.
The third rider slammed into Spirit, which knocked him back several
feet. He landed hard; Foe-bane fell from his hand.
His eyes widened, as he saw the giant spider descending upon him from
the air. The impact rattled his bones. Blood rolled out of his
mouth. The creature girth pinned him down. Spirit knew what would
come next. The spider's deadly mandibles would do quick work on him.
Sweat began to pore. He had to work quickly.
"Azetus Streguth!" Spirit cried out. He could feel the power of his
goddess flow into him. He felt his strength increase, and he lifted
the giant spider up. The strain almost made him buckle. Spirit
heaved and the spider flew to the side. The Drow rider levitated
away, to escape being crushed. It was a deadly mistake. Spirit's war
hammer spun, with the power of a rushing ram. The blow caught the
dark elf straight in the face. Teeth shattered, bone splintered, and
the drow skull cracked. The creature dropped to the ground dead.
The spider wobbled up from the prone position; Spirit was on it. The
ranger connected with two wicked gauntleted punches that smashed the
creature face. The monster let out a wail, as another thunderous blow
took it mandible. The giant creature shuddered and dropped too weary
to stand. Spirit stepped back and gathered his war hammer. He sent
the head home into the creature's head, finishing off the grisly work.
It was then he felt the sting of the death-lance. The electricity
flared through his body, and his armor rattled as well as his teeth.
He turned to see the half dark elf-half spider, creature prepare
another strike.
Spirit fought off the blast and tumbled back. Smoke rose from his
armor, and he looked about, for foe-bane. He could see his weapon a
few distances away. Spirit watched the drider. He had heard stories
of dark elves that had been tainted by evil magic. It was said that
the rite that transformed and merged both dark elf and spider was
indeed a curse and punishment by the dark powers.
The drider was a ghastly thing. It had the resemblance of a dark elf
except for the eyes that resembled a spider. The drider had eyed
shaped into hundred of multifaceted chambers that allowed it to see.
Mandibles clicked to and fro, ready to mend flesh with the first touch.
The poison coursed through the ranger. He could feel the heat of the
poison insidious work upon his left arm. His shield arm was totally
useless. Both his weapon had been out of reach.
The drider toyed with him, probing with short stabs of the
death-lance. Spirit avoided the strikes easily. His footwork was
slowing, and soon he would succumb to the power of the paralyzing
poison.
He made a dash for foe-bane; his speed enhanced by the boot of
magical make. The drider was on him and a cast a black oval of rich
blackness upon Spirit. The field of black light that blocked out
light engulfed the ranger, and he was seen no more.
The drider stepped forward in an awkward spider gait. In his hand
the death-lance readied the final strike. It was all too easy for the
drider. Human could never be a match. They could never wield weapons
like those of the drow, on their queen. The human would fall upon his
lance, and he would carry his head back to his mistress, as homage to
her power. The drider moved closer to the field and was about to
enter the zone of dark magic when a bright searing light ripped forth
in a dozen lances of white sunlight.
Spirit cried out with all his heart, in his hand held aloft was
foe-bane. The blade along with the spell of solar illumination
exploded and blinded the drider.
Spirit exploded into action; foe-bane leading the charge. As the
light cleared for the drider eyes, the monster could see the ranger
rush in. It lifted the drider's weapon too late, as foe-bane came
smashing in. The first blow severed its right legs cleanly through.
The drider yelped and keeled over, just as the second powerful strike
cut open it abdomen. The last thing the drider saw, was foe-bane tear
into it head, with a searing bright light that finished it.

Spirit swooned, his temples burned for the drow poison, and he could
feel his lungs slowly begin to stop working. Spirit held on even as
his vision slowly diminished, with out thinking the ranger walked to
the powerful stream of water that rolled on. Thought flew through his
head. He had faced death countless of times. This time he knew that
this would be the end. He had been so close to returning home. So
close to seeing the home of his dreams. All those dreams faded away
and the drow poison finished it work, and Spirits heart stopped.
The mighty ranger crumbled into the rolling river, and descended into
its dark recesses. Foe-bane slowly slipped from his grip, and
disappeared in darkness.

[Raelifin]

I didn't read any of your stuff, but just as a general note, you may want to keep all the chapters in the same thread. It'll be much easier to read, etc.