Entessa Di Camarii sits alone in a shadowed corner, the Inn of the Crow in Portsmith was dimly lit at the best of times, but tonight it was more so. Patrons from nearby farms and the town itself were regulars at the Inn, tonight however most decided to stay home. There was no direct threat, just a sense of forbodeing and mystery, and not the kind you want to solve.

A nervous waitress approached the Elf with a glass of red wine in trembling hand. Her eyes downcast, as if approaching an unpredictable hound.

She began to set the wine glass on the rough hewn table top, suddenly Entessa's cold slender hand encircled her wrist.

"is it...... still raining outside?" Entessa never looked up at her, his grip was bone breaking but the girl swallowed her cries of pain, not wanting to stir whatever demon resided in this elf.

"I..I am not sure M'Lord......I can check for you if you wish" she tried to wrench her wrist free but could not, just then Entessa flung her hand from his own and leaned forward into the dim candlelight, taking his wine glass gently into hand and bringing it to his thin blueish lips.

"No need, I was simply curious" his lips curled in a smirk, he sipped at his wine again, slowly savoring its rich aroma's and tastes.

The girl backed away slowly, cautiously.

Entessa sat back into the corner, shrouded in shadow again. only the faintest tinge of red light emenated from his eyes, a warning to those observant enough of his allegiance.


It was not this way a matter of days ago. He had been on the hunt, seeking the heads of those involved in the death of his beloved. Thinking of her face caused his to become a mask of rage. Anger at his loss, at the arrogance of the gods of light whom he had once served so faithfully bubbled to the surface, seeming ready to overflow, but as ages old techniques of calming and meditation had taught him control over his emotions, his new allegiance to the Dark Queen would also give him the measure of revenge he had sought for so long.

All would be set right, and then he would do his service, then he would bath in blood.......He shook his head, never had such thoughts entered his mind before, all of the death he had caused and he had always remained seperate and detached from it, always beleiving it was for the greater good, that it was the will of the gods and he was but an instrument. Now he actually reveled in the thought of bringing chaos and death.

"Can it happen so quickly, can one change so radically after over a hundred years of life." his thoughts swirled around his head, images of combat and war, blood in the streets, vacant lifeless eyes stareing towards the heavens.

He sipped his wine, settled deeper into the shadows. He felt comfortable there now, as if going home.


samm

Shylana, That was her name, that name which had been swirling around his head for weeks. Since his time with her he had changed drastically.

The wind whipped his cloaks around him, though thick and well fashioned they did not offer the same warmth as they once had. He chalked this up to the weather, but deep in the recesses of his mind he knew a fundamental change had occurred and that it was both a blessing and a curse.

He had taken to watching the busy roadways and markets on the outskirts of Palanthas. He had no target within its walls, not that he knew of, but something about the people drew him there time and again. Maybe it was their ignorance, going about their daily lives oblivious to the turmoil raging in the heavens above them. Maybe it was their simple lives, such as the one he had enjoyed with his beloved. Or perhaps it was a hunger for conflict.

That was it, he had been itching for it ever since his conversion to the Dark Queens service. As if he were newly alive and wanted to run and jump for the joy of it, though this was not that kind of energy, it was coming from rage and malevolence, emotions he was well used to after years of hunting for revenge. But now they were free to fester, not held back anymore by a monks discipline but now unleashed by that same discipline, almost as if a switch had been turned, telling him that it was not a sin to use this strength, not a sin to revel in his emotions.

Without noticing he had drawn his modest kama's, their long curved blades wickedly sharp. He looked at his reflection in the blades length, his helm, a mechanical contraption custom made for him, now looked like the old eyes of an automaton, and as rage and vengeance slowly ebbed from his soul, they were replaced by a cold driving need. He cocked his head to one side, as a hound does, looking deeper into his reflection, not of his face but of this cold impassive mask.

That night he vowed that this would be the face Krynn knew, rare would be the times he would take it off, not out of embarrassment, but out a cold need to be impassive, unemotional. It was true, his new Queen was a god of passions, but something in him had snapped this night, something that seemed to sap all warmth and emotion from his bones.

The Dark Elf sheathed his kama's at his sides, furling his long greaves over them, He then lept with the strength and agility of a hunting hound to a nearby rooftop, his favorite perch of late, and simply watched.

If any passerby would have looked up they would not have known of his presence, such is the skills taught to silvanesti assassins and hunters, but to those with the sense, they would have noticed two faint red spots, peering down on them, unblinking and unfeeling.

The gates of the Nerakan capitol bristled with spear tips and battlements as a bloated porcupine. Guards dark helms and breastplates barely reflecting the dim light from the Silver Moon, which now reached its zenith in the sky, ousting its siblings as it shone down on Krynn.

The Dark Elf Entessa Di Camarii, crouched low amongst the shadows of a large dead oak, peered through the clear night air at the high walls. The eye pieces of his helm, designed to mechanically aid the Elves already superior night vision, was not a common object for a monk,or an elf, But Entessa had found that for one to survive in this world, nay, thrive, one had to cut corners.

He waited there for a time, impossibly still, a shadow amongst shadows. He waited for her, Shylana, the enchanting woman who had made him see the light. Entessa shook his head at that final thought, "more like see the dark".

He crept silently from the shadow of the dead oak, its blasted features telling of the many conflicts it had witnessed. Darting across the open space between that relative protection and the wall itself was as short as the blink of an eye. None on the ramparts noticed, all going about the business of serving their Empress and their Dark Queen.

Though he now found his very soul bound to Her Service, he did not feel a part of this vast war machine. Neraka and her politics were not the elves concern, nor did he feel any camaraderie with others in Her Service. As never before he felt quite alone, though feeling would be a strong term, to his surprise and slight dismay he felt the twinge of loneliness and bitterness ever lessen as the days went by. He found that he felt very little, and at other times this would have sent the monk into a tailspin, though his kind worked to master their emotions they did not fight them or try to eradicate them.

Crouched low against the wall, using every available shadow cast by the sputtering torchlight above, Entessa moved along the massive stone embankment quickly and quietly as the breeze that blew that night. When he found a spot where the guards were not as attentive he sprang up the wall, finding it too high he quickly improvised by throwing a dagger into the mortar. Balancing on it easily, he marked the distance to the top and sprang again.

Another quick leap and he was atop the thatched roof of an old dilapidated house. Finding a shadowed spot beside the out of use chimney he settled in for the night.

"She will come." he thought, he had no feelings about it one way or another, he simply knew it was the next step.