Rite of Blood(paging Ala or Ginthrae)

The tunnels were silent as the black-hooded Chakos ascended toward the Tybold Mine. Was it excitement he felt at his task? Did his scythe whisper eagerly of the life it would soon feed upon? He felt as a youngling again for only a brief moment. When his skin was still smooth and unmutilated; when his hands could feel comfortable gripping something besides the shaft of a weapon. But Chakos was not a drow that dwelled on the past for very long.

He entered the surface world through the opening of the mine, into the middle of descending night. Just the light of the moon caused his eyes to sting, but the pain was a challenge. A true warrior did not just endure the pain, he treated it as an enemy to defeat. A test, before he could find his true prey: The Surface Elf.

It took many hours of searching through the night. A methodical and tedious hunt for a suitable candidate. Mercifully, in the dark hours before dawn, Chakos found what he had searched for.



The two elves were camped upon a hill in the middle of the forest. Their campfire and torches drew Chakos to them like a scythe-wielding moth. One seemed something resembling a warrior, or as close as one could find among the filth of Myth Drannor. The other was different, and seemed weakened somehow. Moaning about some ill fortune. His troubles did not concern the Ilthyiiri weaponmaster.

The glorious battle erupted. The elf swordsman fell in a few well-placed strikes, but then a very curious thing happened.



The other elf transformed suddenly into some manner of dragon, towering above Chakos and assaulting him brutally with a flurry of claws and teeth. It was surprising and confused, but iron-willed discipline held him strong against his foe. Settling after the dragon-elf's initial attack, Chakos fell into rhythm with the beast and a worthy battle ensued... and then was finished.



The elf-dragon, severely wounded, fled into the forest. It's long strides were too much for Chakos to keep up with, and he cursed inwardly at the missed opportunity of collecting such worthy blood. Disappointed, he returned to his other prize awaiting him on the hilltop.



The elf lay barely alive. It's blood was splattered across their tent, but Chakos knew there was plenty more waiting to be had. Kicking the elf's sword away, he slit it's wrist and collected the blood greedily.



Naturally, his hungry scythe also needed to feed. With a mighty rearing back, he planted the blade precisely into the elf warrior to end him completely. He could feel his weapon drinking in the scum's waning life as it seeped away. He could hear it's messy slurping. Or was it all in his mind?

His mission was complete just in time, as Chakos found that dawn was upon him. The full rays of that cursed orb began to fall upon the countryside like a great reckoning, the surface world's anger manifesting itself. The dark warrior retreated hastily to the tunnels, blindly following the course he had memorized days before. The sweet blackness of the tunnels could not come soon enough. The only thing that eased the pain of his scorched eyes was the blood of the Darthiiri he carried now to the Yath'tallar. In accordance to complete his blood rite, and become truly Zau'afin.





EDIT: Big thank you to Ardylan and Ka'avain'nae, I wish I could've roleplayed more leading up to the fighting but the sun was just about to rise, heh.