Zri Silverblade the Secret

Title History

Role

Chapter 4

All was quiet, deathly quiet. Ezrie stood amidst a pool of blood.

She stared straight forward in a stupor that appeared to her childhood friend
and lover, Kithian, as horrible realization and anguish. He finally stepped out
from his invisibility and walked towards the duergar he had come to love so
much. He ran one hand through her hair and pulled from his pouch a potion of
cancellation. "Ezrie, its alright," he lovingly lied and consoled, fearful
of the consequences, "The magic was powerful and beyond your control. Drink
this, it will help."

Her eyes snapped back from wherever they had gone and she saw him for the
first time with his potion in hand. She smiled a sad smile and tilted her
head slightly. All she did was stare deep in his eyes and say softly, "Not
you too, Kithian." He looked at her in confusion, not understanding her
words. Nor did he understand the warm blood spilling down his body. As if
in a sort of strange dream, he looked down to see the dagger placed inside
him. Only the gentle touch of her hand running through his hair returned his
focus from the nightmarish dream and back to her staring eyes.

"Ezrie, I love you. I have always loved you," he struggle to say. Ezrie
then took her one free hand which brushed through his hair, bringing it down
to rest on the back of the dagger. She held his gaze with love and with a
sad smile simply said, "I know."

She gently pushed in the dagger to the hilt and her loving gaze never
faltered.

Role

Chapter 3

They were pressed and dying. The Imperial numbers far exceeded their own and
rained down destruction throughout the courtyard. Forked lightning raced
down the hallways and the stomps of imperial boots could be heard echoing
from all directions. Ezrie Silverblade finished her most recent skirmish
against a young member of the Blade Sect and moved from shadow to shadow
until she rejoined her unit whom had escaped the battle for a few moments.

The group was badly beaten, many dying, and few with the strength to hold
their weapons. They were attended by her childhood half-drow friend Kithian,
now an apprentice mage, who attended his master in reciting scrolls and
administering potions. The old master was exhausted, and it was clear he did
not have the magical strength of aura to throw more of his lightning and
fire. The old mage opened his last bag of magic and begin passing potions
out two by two down the line. "Drink up, it is all that is left!" he rasped.

One human found himself suddenly flying off the ground and his hands surged
with strength. Another went translucent and felt his grip on his weapons
tighten like a spider. Finally the old master mage reached Ezrie and went to
pull out the last of the potions. Hesitating and thinking better of it, he
put it back away. Tiredly the old man said, "So little magic left, and not
what we need. The warrior and paladins have nearly all fallen."

Suddenly a cold and dreadful whisper was heard by all. But if all heard it,
it seemed by the old Master's shocked look of dread, the words had been meant
for only him his whole life. "Die!" whispered the cruel , dark voice with
absolute authority. The masters scream was silent and horrible as he
answered the command.

Without thinking, Ezrie Silverblade, snatched out the last potion and
swallowed it whole, spinning to face the new threat with her daggers drawn.
As she did so the world went blood-red and she let out a primal scream. The
combined potion was powerful. A frenzy such as she had never known raged
through her. That alone was so very foreign to her, but the aristaeia was
beyond anything she had imagined and racked her body with shock. She was at
the necromancer in seconds, slashing and stabbing until she continued to hack
a long dead corpse. A young storm giant dragged himself over to Ezrie, but
without thinking she turned and slashed open his throat. Screams of horror
and shock filled her former party. A young human mage whispered a spell for
stoneskin and the frenzied duergar heard it as a crushing boulder. A
panicked priestess failed in her prayer for home and and Ezrie triumphed that
taking her life ended her coming prayers of plagues.

Ezrie saw only red. With each stab and slash she sought to end the evil
that surrounded her on all sides and destroy it once and for all.

Role

Chapter 2

It was a Day of the Sun in the Month of Heat, yet still the cool wind swept
out of the open plains from the south, across the towering ramparts, and down
into the pristine white courtyard. It swirled around a class of students
sitting row by row in their chairs and stirred the robes of the stern female
shaman who led the day's lesson. The sky was clear as the eye could see save
a lone dark cloud that cast its shadow and promise of rain far in the
distance.

The teacher finished her long explanation and asked, "Why then do we have not
only the Acolytes, but the Maran as well? What have we learned of those who
have gone before us in todays lesson?"

For the most part the children were attentive; though, one young storm
giant's eyes wandered to nearby jousting squires and a studious elf doodled
arcane letters absently. Even a young dwarf who usually slept through class
feigned interest until he threw the remainder of his Balator grapes at his
victim two seats in front of him.

The girl, and victim, could not be more out of sorts in the mixed company of
those around her. Her only friend, a young half-drow misfit himself, gave
her a sympathetic look even if he didn't dare confront the dwarven bully.
Her adopted paladin father had made sure the girl was fitted in the finest of
dresses, likely from the courts of Seantryn. Unfortunately, she wore it
horribly and it only made her look like a child's doll: An ugly child's
doll. All her wardrobe only made her look and feel more out of place and
seemed to draw attention to her much too pale skin. Unlike the elven girls
around her who didn't have to try, the fine lace from her father only seemed
to make her ugliness stand out more. That and just how different she really
was.

Unable to suppress a yelp, the duergar girl tried not to groan when the Maran
ethics teacher turned her attention towards her and asked, "Ezrie
Silverblade, have you an answer then for the rest of the class?"

Ignoring the grape juice dripping down the back of her neck, Ezrie dutifully
tried to answer in her best human dialect, "Being good is not bein enough.
We need to have those who be actin first. Those who be doin good by takin
out the evil others can't be seein or havin the power to stop themselves."

"Hmm, close. And why then in our history lesson did the Maran Brigade
decimate the now extinct village far beyond Arkham before they actually
started their war?" asked the stern shaman.

Ezrie thought for a moment and answered, "When facing true evil, it must be
destroyed utterly, for its very presence is bein a threat to all that's bein
good. Only in the destruction of evil, by those strong enough to be takin up
the task, can we be bringin good to the world."

Nodding the shaman said, "You show promise. Very good, Ezrie Silverblade,
very good."

Role

Chapter 1

They came in the night like death. They made every move with seasoned
execution, every action with months of planning, and every moral choice with
a lifetime of doctrine. In the aftermath of death and carnage, only the
crackling of the last burning embers remained, so very foreign to this dark
world leagues beneath the sun.

The many dark figures began to remove their slave robes and systematically
search the bodies as they had done so many times before. In the strange
shifting glow of dying embers a warrior took the lead, burnished phoenixes
inlaid upon his ancient armor. At his side, an old paladin with a golden sun
upon his shield passed on orders and followed in the warrior's steps. Traps
were sought, shadows searched, purple fog filled the air, and some of the
forms uttered arcane words of magic detection.

Perhaps it was more the result of thorough training than fate then when an
exclamation from one of the few squires filled the air. Attention and nerves
were pulled like a taunt wire and with it the ring of drawn weapons and
beginnings of prayers from the fortress raiding party's priests.

There before a dozen choices of death was the ugliest of babies. It lay
uncrying, briefly scanning the figures surrounding it with the true bliss of
an infant, before its gaze became lost in the strange foreign glow of dying
embers.

Silence. Then the phoenix decorated warrior and Captain shattered it with a
few simple words. "The red aura can already be seen, kill it."

Just then the venerable paladin Cardinal simply raised one hand and said,
"Wait!" The captain nodded his head in respect,"Cardinal Silverblade?"

"It is well to trust the red aura the orb reveals, but what actions has this
duergar baby committed that warrants such a punishment?" asked the old
paladin, "We owe it not to the baby, but to all we stand for to try and show
it our ideals. I will take this charge. Perhaps in such an early
intervention, even a duergar can find the light."

Silence filled the air, morals swirled in conflict, and a dark twisted life
hung on the line. Ending the decision with a seasoned escape the captain
simply stated, "Bring it then if you must Silverblade, the duergar patrol
makes its rounds."

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