Valuril Galitafesh - The Making of an Archer

[dumbfakeid]

There are those defining moments in one's life. Usually they come on sudden and unexpected. It's one of the great paradoxes that our entire lives often hinge on these split second decisions. Our actions or inactions in those precious few moments shape our lives in ways unseen at the time. Is this what some consider Fate? Do we really have control over these decisions? How different would our lives be if we had made another choice?

Excerpt from the diary of Valuril Galitafesh

The diminutive elven boy crept quietly through the thick foliage of the forest. He had always been stealthy, even for one of his kind, and this brought a measure of pride to the boy. He smiled broadly, careful not to let his white teeth flash in the darkness. Tonight, of all nights, he mustn't be seen. His mother and father had forbidden him to enter the grove where the ceremony was to be held. At only ten years of age, they claimed he was too young to participate. They had let his sister go, and she was only twenty years older. It just wasn't fair! Pushing these wandering thoughts from his mind, lest he unintentionally step on something to make a noise, the boy crept closer to the grove. From here he could hear the sounds of song, lifted to the Seldarine. Those beautiful elven melodies drifted almost hauntingly through the darkened forest of Cormanthor.

Closer and closer the boy silently crept until he could easily discern the large, magical flame the elves of his small community were circling in dance, lifting their melodious voices to the Elven powers that be. This was no simple festivity though. This was a ceremony of re-acceptance. According to his mother, a priestess of Hanali Celanil, goddess of Love, Beauty, and all things pleasing to the senses, they were welcoming a fallen sister back into the fold. Nestling himself safely into the hollowed out section of a tree that once had served as a burrow for some long gone animal, the small boy looked out with pride at the gathered elves. A broad smile blossomed upon his face as he watched the graceful dancers.

The boy shifted his gaze to the one figure that easily stood out among the dancers. Her ebony skin and white hair sharply contrasted those of the pale skinned and mostly dark haired elves she danced amidst. She was the reason for this ceremony. Jhaelryna. A dark elf. Drow. Her name still sounded as odd to the young elf as her appearance was. She had wandered into their settlement only a few weeks past, and had caused quite a commotion when she did. Despite the drow's proclamations that she had come in peace to live again on the surface, some wanted to kill her outright. It had been the boy's mother who had persuaded them to take her in and reintroduce her to their ways. She was always preaching of love and acceptance of all the Seldarine's creatures. To her, this was the ultimate chance to prove that love could blossom even in the deepest and darkest of places. That it could heal rifts so deep and ingrained upon their culture that it would show all elves that through love, anything was possible. The boy beamed with pride as he spotted his mother among the dancers. This was a night of joy, love, and peace.

All of which was quickly and suddenly shattered as thick blankets of darkness popped into being around the grove, and screams began to fill the air. The young boy sat paralyzed with fear, not knowing what exactly was happening. He slid back deeper into the burrow, hiding himself in the shadows. He held his breath, afraid that whatever was slaughtering his people would hear him and come for him next. For what seemed like an eternity he lay motionless and paralyzed with fear, unable to see what was causing the screams and terrible noises that had replaced the beautiful song. After a while, the terrible sounds of battle died down, replaced now by moans of pain, light laughter, and short sentences spoken in a language the boy had never heard before. He slowly and agonizingly crawled toward the opening of the burrow, hoping to see someone who might save him. He was completely unprepared for the sight he found.

Numerous dark elves stood among the carnage of his people, laughing and needlessly slaughtering any of the surface elves they found moaning. There, in the middle of them all stood Jhaelryna, grinning and laughing more than any of the other drow. The boy's world came crashing down when he realized that the bloody, tangled mess that Jhaelryna held firmly in her left hand was the head of his mother. With no thought for his own safety, the boy screamed and bolted out from his hiding place. The evil grin that spread across Jhaelryna's treacherous face stopped the boy in his tracks. She barked out a few words in the unknown language, and several of the drow raised what appeared to be small, handheld crossbows. The boy squeezed his eyes shut as he heard the distinctive sound of arrows in flight all around him.

Screams and shouts began to fill the air again, but this time they were in the oddly spoken language of the drow. Opening his eyes slowly, the boy's mouth dropped as he watched darkly clad surface elves spring into existence all around the clearing of the grove. From their black longbows death rained down upon the drow. Quicker than the slaughter of the elves from the boy's settlement, the drow were mercilessly destroyed by the darkly clad surface elves. The elves swiftly moved among the fallen drow, dispatching any they found still alive with a ruthlessness that rivaled that of their foes. An older male turned toward the boy and strode over to him.

"Did they harm you, boy?" The boy only shook his head quietly as he gazed around the clearing at all the death. The tears that wanted to stream down his face were held at bay by the utter terror of the evening. The older elf followed the boy's gaze around the clearing and then returned it to the young elf.

"We were tracking this bunch for several days now. I'm sorry we did not get here in time. There will be time for mourning later though, boy. A lifetime for it." The boy's lip trembled as he saw the lifeless forms of his father and sister among the fallen. "Do you have a name, boy?"

"Valuril," the boy softly whispered into the night.

Another of the darkly clad surface elves came trotting up to the older elf. He glanced once down at Valuril before looking to the elder, nodding toward the boy, and casually remarking, "Looks like he's the only survivor, Uvissan." Uvissan looked back down at the trembling boy. He stood silently for a long while before speaking.

"We'll take you to one of the nearby settlements, boy."

The boy looked back out over the carnage covering the forest floor. The flickering light of the magical fire only enhanced the ghastly scene among the grove. His lip trembled more, and tiny rivers streamed slowly down his face. Everything gone. Everything lost. In a few quick moments, his world had crumbled. He looked back to the darkly clad surface elves.

"No," he softly whispered. "I want to go with you."

[dumbfakeid]

I wish I could say that my time among the Black Brothers was one of the best times of my life. I wish I could say it was the worst. It was tough, but only as tough as it needed to be. All of us that trained there in the Silver Hills of Evermeet were there for a reason. Nearly all, to a man, had suffered some terrible blow by the devious drow. Centuries were spent in that hidden vale and the tunnels that littered the hillsides surrounding it, drilling, planning, and honing the skills needed to fight our dark enemy. It was no secret among the elves that the drow were some of the most deadly combatants on Faerun. The Black Brothers aimed to be better. They devoted their lives to the ruthless elimination of all drow. A war of attrition of which the Black Brothers were vastly outnumbered. They had to be better if they wished to succeed. When a Black Brother fell in battle, you could be sure that scores of drow had also been felled. Each Brother had trained most of their lives to fight the eternal fight and pay the ultimate sacrifice for it. It is not death I speak of though, for that sacrifice meant little to those who had lost everything. It was the sacrifice of Joy. To take the Oath of a Black Brother meant a lifetime without joy. To take the Oath meant that the joy of life could only begin after the utter destruction of the drow and the dark masters they serve.

Excerpt from the diary of Valuril Galitafesh

The young elven man crept catlike through the maze of tunnels, his bow held at the ready, one arrow notched but not yet drawn. The quiver full of darkened arrows strapped securely to his back had been arranged with great care. The arrows would not rattle against each other or make any undue noise until battle had been joined, at which point stealth would be unnecessary. The elf paused and listened carefully for any sound. From far off in the distance of the tunnels, he heard a distinctive language that briefly carried his mind back eighty-four years to that terrible night in the grove. Shaking his head slightly to clear his thoughts, the young man studied the tunnel ahead with great care. Eighty-four years of training with the Black Brothers had honed his senses, skills, and natural abilities. Now was the culmination of that training. He was being tested to see if he was ready to take the Oath.

Spotting the tripwire cleverly concealed along the path of the tunnel a few yards ahead, the young man slowly moved closer to it, keeping a wary eye on all of his surroundings. Drow were masters of ambush, and though it was most likely set up as a warning, this trap could very well be a ruse for a cleverly laid assault. Sensing no ambush in the immediate area, the young man turned his attention back to the tripwire across the tunnel. His eyes lit up briefly as he realized the tripwire was not the true danger. Just beyond the tripwire, the stone of the tunnel was actually some sort of pressure plate for a much more devious trap. Very clever indeed. Had he not spotted that second trap, more than likely he would have simply stepped over the tripwire and directly onto the deadlier trap.

Kneeling down and laying his bow carefully on the stone behind him, the young man carefully unrolled a well oiled, leather case filled with a variety of darkened tools and instruments. Selecting a few objects from this case, the elf set about cautiously disarming the tripwire first, and then the more dangerous trap. Even more cautiously, he reset the tripwire trap at chest height. If he had to retreat quickly, hopefully the trap would at least slow his pursuers. Retrieving his bow and ducking under the newly placed tripwire, the elf stood quietly for a long while before moving down the tunnel further.

As stealthy and quiet as the darkness that wrapped around him, the elf moved cautiously down the tunnel. Since adopting the garb of the other scouts among the Black Brothers, his stealth had reached a new height. Some mocked the kilts the scouts wore, but nothing compromised a stealthy person more than the telltale sound that pants made when the legs inadvertently passed one another. Smearing his exposed body first with the iceweed plant that grew among the vales of the Silver Hills, followed by soot from the ashes of a fire, helped conceal him further from both natural sight, and the heat-sensing sight of the drow. Nearing a bend in the tunnel, the elf stopped again, listening for those voices.

"Xun izil dos phuul quarthen," spoke a feminine voice from around the bend. The young elf's mind raced in a rushed translation of the speech... Do as you are ordered.

The reply from a male voice followed quickly, "A'Dos quarth, Jabbress." As you command, Mistress. Stepping quietly from around the bend, the young elf spotted the two figures, and quickly let an arrow fly at the figure of the female. Before it even sunk into the eye socket of the figure, a second arrow was being released at the male. With a solid thud, the second arrow lodged into the wooden neck of the male figure. Suddenly the cavern room filled with a near-blinding light. Suddenly blinded by the light, the young elf raised his arm to shield his eyes.

"Good, Valuril, but you should have anticipated the light there at the end." Blinking his eyes a few time to adjust to the newly lit surroundings, the young elf lowered his arm and glared at the darkly clad sorcerer standing beside Uvissan.

"You could have warned me you were going to do that, Tavon."

"You should have expected the unexpected, Valuril," snapped back Tavon.

A broad grin spread across Valuril's face. "If I had, you'd be as dead as they," Valuril quipped as he motioned to the two wooden dummies with black arrows protruding from their upper extremities. As with the sudden light, the never anticipated the sudden and brutal slap that came from Uvissan. Valuril's head snapped to the side and his body quickly hit the floor. In an instant, Uvissan was upon him, a knee firmly pressing down on Valuril's midsection as he jerked the younger elf's face close to his.

With spittle flying from his mouth, Uvissan snarled at Valuril. "You think you know everything, boy? You know nothing! Had these been real drow they would have taken you apart piece by piece, and had great delight in doing so. If you intend on being a Black Brother, you had better start acting like one! From here on out, if I even see so much as a smile touch your lips, I'll flay you alive myself! You haven't yet taken the Oath, but from this day forward, you will start behaving like you have! Do I make myself clear, boy?"

Replacing the shock on his face with a look of solid stoicism and bowing his head as much as possible in the position, Valuril softly replied, "Yes sir."