Somewhere down there.
He stood upon the entrance to the great cavernous opening, the world above meant nothing to the drow and now so did the world he was soon to leave behind. He had traversed from the underdark, a land full of unnamed horrors, wild and savage creatures all eyeing up any strangers be them mortal or other beasts for the next meal. A resident of the many drow cities that dwelled deep in the grand caverns Tarlak knew well what lay in wait for him round every corner, he was no stranger to the underdark, though he did not under estimate its denizens, to do so would be foolish and to invite death upon himself. He had no idea where he was now according to surface ordinance, but through understanding of the great chambers under the earth he had a good idea. The air here was cooler than the drow cities, the stone took no residual heat that he could feel with his palms and there was no sulphurous stench that he could smell with his nose.
He was getting closer to the surface, to the world of men, to the world of the Quendi, the race he had been told to hate from the moment he could understand the drow tongue. There was no place up there, underneath the great flaming orb that hovered in the sky, no ebon skinned cousin of the surface dwellers could ever find peace of true acceptance, that much he was ready to face, it was better than what began now only a shadow of his history, though he knew the knives of the drow are not unforgiving, they would come for him. But he would be prepared.

What had he left behind?
Failure, entrapment, demise, it was well known that the drow were prone to kin slaying, it was a common place activity, should such an act be warranted then there was nothing to stop you from sticking a dagger in the back of those who got in your way. Ambition was the paradox of all drow everywhere, they yearned to climb to the top of the sworded ladders that climbed to the tallest reaches of the drow hierarchy, they would scramble over their own fallen brethren carcass's to appease their matron mother, there was nothing more appealing to a drow than being favoured and having power over everyone else. Though it was ultimately their undoing, Tarlak saw this. With every gain in station comes a gain in enemies, the higher you climb the bigger the fall and onto many more daggers. At the bottom of the rung you had to keep a level head, watch your competitors, but as you began to eliminate them one by one, you could climb further and further though now you were weary on both fronts, those seeking to undo you from behind and those looking to keep their place in front. Climb to high and too fast and surely you will find death from those with a higher station to protect, drow are envious creatures and will horde what they have with their lives.

But what now?
Tarlak had broken free of those restraints, he had come forth from the darkness that bound the drow inside the earth, toiling forever amongst one another, what greatness could they achieve should their blades point not at their kin, but at their enemies? ”Greatness” He whispered into the emptiness of the caves, solitude was his only companion, the further he ran the closer it wrapped its uncaring arms around him, swaddled him almost. Though solitude over the petty ambition of the drow world he had left. There was no other choice. He was about to prove to the surface what the drow were, what they were capable of, even if it meant fighting of his kin time after time, he would stand and they would fall at the end of his waiting blade. He would be an example to those blind in the darkness as to what could be, what should be and what soon shall be. The drow were coming from out under their hole, though not in great droves, not as a unified force, such a notion only brought a fleeting smile to Tarlak's face, but as a single rogue, breaking the fixation of appeasing the matron by appeasing himself.

He flicked his wide brimmed hat upwards as the rays of light shone through the tiny cracks in the walls, he was nearing the surface, he didn't dare go out now, not when that frightful orange orb he had learnt to hate in tales from his training hung at its zenith, no, he would wait till the dying light, when the sun began to fail and the moon begun to succeed. Then he would go, but for now there was still a way to go. The air was still moist and earthy, he wasn't all the way out yet and the drow he would soon long forget could be snapping at his heels, their blades howling like the dogs of war.
He was ready for them, a scimitar tucked at his side, he'd lost the other one a way back, defending himself from a drow who dropped from the roof, the uppercut had surprised him and disarmed him, it was only a short battle, the drow had left himself wide open for that single skin puncturing attack and collapsed upon the floor all in the name of the matron.
His scimitar was lost to him, as the corpse of his kin hit the floor so to do he hear the metallic clanging of his blade as it echoed up from the bottom of the cavern. Lesser armed though no lesser skilled Tarlak ran on.
With a calm gait he carried on through the darkness, it was time he left home...it was time he forged his empire.
Ambition, drive, intention everything that made a drow a drow.

No longer a threat only in the Underdark, the dark elves, the drow, now prowl about the surface to work their evil or simply to survive. They either surface to desolate the old elven lands or to escape the oppression and insane conflicts of the cities under the control of the different drow houses, lead by different matrons, but all with the same purpose: to prove that they are stronger and worthy to rule over the rest of the houses. It was unknown what caused so much hate to dwell into the very core of this race, it did not matter if you were one of them, you would still feel threatened into their society. In order to obtain respect and to be feared you needed to be a formidable fighter and assassin, fighting for survival was not an option. They were the very definition of a successful assassin, they knew how to coat their weapons with different mixtures of poisons, and they attacked only from the darkness and from behind, they were not the most noble of the races.

Legends told from the lips of the bards about the drow managed to make even the bravest of warriors to think a second time before going to engage one of their kin. Especially now when more and more started to come to surface. But what was the reason behind the mass surfacing? Wasn’t enough room for all the dark elves underground? Or they wanted to just extend their domination across the lands as well? The most rebel of them came to surface as well, not wanting to serve the matron anymore, they needed a name for themselves, a name to strike fear into their foes. Few or those who abandoned the ways of their kin and desired redemption.

Whatever the reason was, they were still a plague to the land, hunted on place wherever they were spotted, but many of them were very slippery and managed to escape.

There was a time when Dispater delighted himself in reading tomes and old books of different races located across different realms of existence, thus he learned legends and how some specific race has come to be created, the offspring of some god or an evolutionary process. One of the races he studied intensely was the Drow, he wasn’t very fond of their ways, but back then he didn’t even care one bit, as long as it did not interfere with the purpose of his creation and the many jobs which could have placed him in the unpleasant company of a dark elf. As a matter of fact, the first creature to spot him when he first arrived in Arda was a drow female, one that didn’t seemed at all typical to her race. She was accustomed to the surface, yet her eyes betrayed her nature, she would have never abandoned the old ways of stealth and assassination. And that just about all he managed to learn about her, the encounter was very short, she did not interest him one bit, and he wanted to avoid the many question which could have been addressed to him.
Many things have changed at him since then, now he could react differently towards a drow.

---

There was darkness everywhere around Dispater, but it did not seem to bother him in any way at all, his eyes were very accustomed to it, and pierced it with a formidable infravision ability. Since his transformation, the augmented concordant killer started to enjoy the morbid embrace of the darkness a lot more than the light. He was deep within the Annon mines, exploring them with no certain purpose, it was just to pass the time since he was not ready to face the civilization. He was afraid of how people would react to him, he was afraid that he will be forced to kill every single one of them if they tried something that was not to his liking. He wondered if that made him a creature of darkness, something he always hated to become, however there was still a little hope for him, the taint did not install itself completely upon him, it stopped somewhere to 75 %, unable to break through the last barrier (yet).

The sound of footsteps, other than those of Dispater could be heard coming straight to his direction, they sounded as if they belonged to someone who was trying to be stealth and probably wouldn’t have alerted a normal adventurer, but Dispater on the other hand was always on his guard, he didn’t even trust the air which surrounded him. And he couldn’t be blamed for that, memories of what he had to endure in the Demonweb Pits were slowly but safely returning to him.
He was not one to hide and study his opponents first, so he just continued on his way, going to face the one who approached him, whatever it was, monster or some sort of humanoid. He still didn’t have his weapons upon himself, but developed a good fighting technique with his fists and legs. No warning was given to the approaching creature even, just the sound of his approaching steps.

Drow were relentless in their constant striving to reach the top, the same ambition and drive that so plagued the heart of his kin was deeply embedded within his own heart, though for reasons completely different to that shared with the ebon skinned warriors he had forsaken. The drow were obsessed with being more powerful than one another, though Tarlak felt differently, the drow were the perfect race, finely tuned killers, skilled powerful mages, potent clerics there was nothing a drow could not turn their hands too and make a name for themselves, though as stated before the drow were forever turning on themselves, had they focused their hatred elsewhere then there would be no need for such an exile as this.
Though Tarlak knew something, with all the skill that the drow possessed they could not look past their subterranean dwellings, past the clammy cave walls, through the earth that veiled their heads from the sky. They were blind, finally tuned to the darkness as they were they could never see through it. Tarlak's relationship with his own kin had been shaky at best, he was a heretic by all standards of the word. He wanted conquest, fame and all that came with it, but not of the kind that came with a typical drow repute, but one that came with being bold enough to dare.

He would take his underground ways up to the surface, amidst the humans, elves, dwarves, halflings, there he would test them, even best them. He would rule them, gather them under his banner and take the surface by storm, he was only one drow, but the surface was yet to see the resolve of a drow. He had no plan yet, other than to go up there, walk amongst them, breath amongst them and make something of himself. He would figure out which pockets his hands might be best suited too later.

Though Tarlak was getting bored of this walk, it had been like this for over two hundreds years, a few extra hours wouldn't cause him any harm, but he couldn't help but feel the walls closing in around him, the entrapment of his kin, how he despised those walls. Soon enough the sun would be on him.
He stopped for a moment, taking his hat from his head and made it into one long sweep of his arms before it finally rested against his chest as he took a pompous bow.
”Fair well home, tis likely i shall never see you again and neither shall i enjoy it should i ever do so.” he placed his hat back upon his bald head, running his finger around the rim so it sat snugly upon his head.
Though after he had finished his act of farewell to his homeland, the only world he ever knew. He stood silently and listened to the noise of the cave, there was nothing out of the ordinary except for the sound of foot falls. What ever it was it was clearly no drow, he had lived for two hundred years amongst the killers, he could tell one of their foot steps if he heard it. What ever it was it didn't bother him, he was Tarlak, he was a drow.

Sucking in a great gulp of air, he tilted his hat one last time and made his way down the gloom filled tunnels of the mines, he had to admit dwarven artisans were good at what they did, though apart from drinking and fighting this was all they did. Worthless. It didn't take long for the drow to find the owner of the foot steps in question.
A smirk crossed his face as his scimtar flashed out from its holding place and pointed directly at the great hulking frame before him. He was colossal, his muscles bulging out from all of his body, Tarlak could only assume that he was some kind of demon brought forth from the abyss to pull him apart.
”I see the matron mothers have brought another lackey in their quest to rid themselves of me” Though something about this ones eyes told him differently, he took off his hat and swooped down low into a bow, arrogance more than anything.
”I am Tarlak, your destroyer and who might i be vanquishing today?” he almost laughed out his words, if this was a demon sent by the matrons then sure enough he would have to fight once more to break for freedom, otherwise this was just going to end up in a rather large farce. Though what would someone be doing down here of their own free will was anyones guess.

A slender and shadowy figure seemed to take shape before Dispater’s eyes as he approached. No hostile actions were shown by the ‘demon’ *perhaps he could get used with this name since many people would regard him as something of that kind, a monster from the Abyss; well that was only partially true*, but his mere appearance seemed to be a hostile and ill-intended one. It did not matter for him, if the drow wanted to fight, then Dispater would not refuse him. His muscular arm lifted slowly, extending towards the wall of the cave, drawing his dark claws along it, releasing a high-pitched and intimidating sound. Upon a first glance he would look nothing more and nothing less than a brute, ready to slam into his victim and start a grappling match with them, in fact he was pretty intelligent, despite the many thoughts and contradictions which almost all the time made him look confused.

The association with a drow matron amused him slightly, and caused his lips to curl into a wicked smile, he would never be under the control of some crazed woman, he would rather throw himself from a cliff than work for a drow woman, they were known for they ruthlessness and arrogance which seemed to match his own every once and then. It came naturally for him to be a little cocky since he was categorized under superior creatures, the so called outsiders. He had the blood of a celestial flowing through his veins, as well as the one of a fiend, he was a hybrid of sorts, an attempt of giving him the abilities of the two opposite races, but the drawbacks of none. It was the strange dream of a long forgotten demigod.

“I think you are mistaking me boy, I don’t work for a scum such as the matron mothers are. But if you insist on fighting, I will gladly accept the challenge. But wouldn’t be a shame for your journey to end here?” He stopped in place, not walking further towards the dark elf. On the other hand, he seemed a little surprised when the man bowed before him, he seemed very styled and the way his words flowed through his lips made him a very charismatic individual, he managed to get Dispater’s interest; he was the type of drow that Dispater wanted to meet since he started to read about them.

“The name is Dispater, the one who will end your journey!” He seemed pretty serious about it. All the fights were the same, starting with a little psychological game before the real duel, a game which could consist into a very powerful mental advantage.

It’s been awhile since Dispater has been into a real duel, so the anticipation of the fight made the adrenaline pump through his veins, he could feel the heart beating into his ears. His hand remained pressed against the wall, and his fist closed promptly causing another series of strange, high-pitched sounds because of the friction between his claws and the wall, he only had his body to use as a weapon this time.. The dwarven architecture was ruined by the claws of the killer, it the first trace of him passing through there, the second one could be the spilled blood of Tarlak.

He knew that he should watch his back, in a hand-to-hand combat, the drow would stand no chance against him. Tarlak was much smaller than him, the only thing that he had to worry about was the stealth attacks. The darkness was on no one’s side this time.

“Just try not to go down too easily!” A soft smirk curled his face as those words were spoken. Dispater was preparing for the fight, by stretching his muscles and cracking several bones of his neck and other parts of his body. The fight could be avoided though…

The demon who was so called Dispater seemed confident in his abilities to overcome Tarlak, by all accounts so was Tarlak, should that brute grab hold of him in even one arm he could crush the very air from his lungs and still be able to pummel Tarlaks sharp, angular, pretty features, and of course he really didn't want that. His features gave him great charm, especially over the female of the species, he could often evoke feelings of lust within the female drow and not failed to please, like serpents they were, writing in ecstasy as they both “bonded”.
Of course however Tarlak wasn't exactly spoiling for a fight, why this moment presented a perfect and rare opportunity, one that he might never have time to recapture ever again. Quick on the up take he seized the moment.
”Well Dispater” he began, his voice flowing, his every word came out in a hybrid between common and drow accents they combined to something of a fierce yet lulling mixture, a perfect contradiction that aptly fitted the drow speaker himself.
” If you so keen to fight in such conditions as this, then by all means feel free” he claimed waving his sword in a simple battle movement that even novice warriors could pick up, though the manoeuvre ended by him snapping his scimitar back in its sheath.
”Though i would say your only fighting because you have nothing else to take out your aggression upon, here before you stands a finely dressed drow, even if he does say so himself” He tossed Dispater a wink and tipped his hat at him before carrying on his speech. ”And make no mistake a drows reputation is well earnt, we have not had such tales sung about us for fables of the tongue, no, they are all the truth and the mere mention of the name drow from your lungs can send most men into fits of fear.”

He didn't like the look of where this was going, after all Dispaters muscles were pumping blood, every small twitch and flex of his body was another surge of adrenaline and it would take a lot of adrenaline to fill that body, not that he didn't appear fearless or sound it for that matter. Tarlak winced slightly as the nails scraped down the walls, such a terrible sound.
”Of course, you being the great hulking beast that you are, do you really need to hear what im saying? Possibly not, i doubt you have time or the intellect for such a thing, but my my, the things we could do together. Out there under that sun. because thats why your here in the darkness, you don't look like a surfacer, no” His eyes roved up and down Dispater's frame, he made it obvious as to what he was doing, it would heighten the whole meaning of it, draw him in to the spider's web.
”That's why your down here, back in the depths because you cant find acceptance out there can you, you can't find any where to call your own. And here you are before an exiled drow who is about to leave the darkness for good and you wish to destroy him for a mere understanding, perhaps the drow are the superior race after all.” he wasn't exactly keeping his tongue still, Tarlak was a fast talker, this much was evident even to Dispater though it was hard to see through the meanings of Tarlak, he applied such words to cover a meaning which would take hours to strain out from under the excess verbiage.

”you see, with you looking as you do and with me being of a kin of dark reputation, what say you to venturing back out from under these dwarven crafted tunnels and out into the light, who would stand against a drow and his companion” The bait was set for him, he offered him a place, a friend, a meaning. Tarlak knew this would have some affect upon him because no one sought the darkness of the deep when they had the light of the land about them, not when they had a place, this was the last unhomely house for anyone who dared to brave its environment.

If there was something in the world Dispater couldn’t stand that was being insulted. He watched the drow before him carefully, as his lips moved with such an ease, releasing a flow of words that had some lulling musicality to them, they seemed full of confidence and able to persuade a man in almost anything he would wish. Despite the man’s drow heritage, Dispater had no doubt that he was able to turn even the greatest enemy into an ally. But what was he to do when he faced an arrogant creature such as the killer was? He might have been huge and hulking muscular but that didn’t reflect any of his intellect. Tarlak was making wrong assumptions, and wrong assumptions might turn to be fatal into certain situation. On the opposite pole, Dispater was not a man of many words, and he didn’t feel the need to justify himself before the drow, nor show to him that he was wrong, the element of surprise would be on his side, if they were indeed going to stick together, the drow would be amazed at how many knowledge in so many domains Dispater possessed. Especially knowledge about different creatures from different planes: the dark elven race was one of them, one that he studied so intensely, they were indeed charismatic and exotic to the others inhabiting the lands, but this certain individual was above average.

Dispater came to the sad conclusion that this man’s strongest weapon was the gift was speech, he owned a scimitar but how good was he able to wield it. How many cuts could it deliver to him before being crushed, merely by the superior weight and strength of the ‘demon’. His extremely long life, allowed him to specialize in not only one field, he gained knowledge, studied the art of the war and the ways of the magic. In what concerned the magic his arrogance once more took over him: he was focused on learning only offensive spells, he hated mostly the healing ones, and never accepted to be healed. Either he will heal naturally or die of extreme bleeding. You could safely admit that he was a weird one, and no one would tell you differently, not even Dispater, he was a creature of contradictions, and not even him could understand himself. It was amazing how he was still a whole. But that was beside the point.

Returning to the dark elf he faced at the moment, within the dwarven mines. The corridor in which the two meet seemed to be very tight, there was place for only one humanoid to be able to pass. They met at the middle, and each needed to go through the other in order to continue their journey. Dispater wanted to go deeper, while on the other hand Tarlak wanted to emerge to the surface. But then, instead of fight a partnership was proposed to Dispater, to work together since seemingly they had so many things in common. To that Dispater erupted into a short-lived laughter, interrupted by anger.

“You insulted me mortal, and now you seek me as an ally. I must say, that you are far stranger than I have read about your kin.” The very word he used: ‘mortal’ denoted once more the arrogance from his tone. “Do know that I don’t seek acceptance, the ones like me don’t mingle with the inferior races, the humans or the elves!” It was his time to insult now. So it seemed that they moved on from the psychological duel to a verbal one. Dispater stepped onto Tarlak’s own field. His words were few in comparison with Tarlak’s, but they were as efficient.

On a second thought, having someone with Tarlak’s skill on his side was not a bad idea, he was not going to dwell forever within the darkness of the caves and waste his life in such manner, one day he would surface and face the world once more. But could he trust a drow? That was his greatest dilemma.

“Your kin is nothing more than a bunch of assassins, thieves and rapists, and the saddest part is that you waste your skills on such insignificant creatures or causes. You are blinded by the very darkness you were born in, and all follow a crazed woman in hopes of gaining her respect through your dark deeds, there was a time when I would have killed you with no second thought, or word. You are unable to transcend your sphere of existence, and you are known as one of the most not thrust-worthy race. So tell me, why should someone like me will make team with someone like you?” In the presence of a drow he would have to sleep with one eye open, or not sleep at all.

Tarlak knew he had quite possibly erred and not on the side of caution. Perhaps he had forgotten what it was like to meet someone new, to not judge them from appearance when you didn't know them so well. Alas, it was a mistake but he could well rectify it, even if it meant a little bolstering of the demon named Dispaters ego.
He didn't need to glance around the room of the hallway to know that if the hulking brute lumbered forwards with the intent on ripping out the very vocal chords which he had just slandered his name with, then he was screwed.

It was time to assay all the errors he had erred and put them to rest in the quickest manner possible, after all he did seem like demons kin, there was nothing more pleasant to their abyssal ears than the sound of their own prowess, for want of something else to wish for at this moment in time. He wished that he was some kind of demon. Once again like the song of a bard he began to sing his words into that lulling weapon that worked all the time for him, far sharper than the deadliest of blades and far subtler than a feather fall if needed Tarlak was master of the tongue.

”It seems now to Tarlak that he owes you an apology Dispater” he took his time over the name, showing it some reverence, smoothing out all the creases of the word, letting it flow like silk across naked skin.
”You are indeed not what i expected you too be, you are not an unintelligent lackey sent by the matrons of the darkest depths of the earth, who's only intent is to find me and break every bone in my frail body. It is either that or you play a good game on old Tarlak, praise to you Dispater the wise.
It was of course no surprise to Tarlak that Dispater spoke with few words, if ever a beast of great strength was before him it was easy enough to dumbfound him with riddles or quick witted jibes, if one was going to concentrate upon their own physical appearance and strength then one does not sharpen the mind. His hooks were in, he had made a formal apology, made it so that Dispater seemed the more righteous in his superiority from one extreme to another. Tarlak loved these games.

He listened intently, well at least he put on a face to show he was, another one of his games. Make your opponent think that your doing what they want you to be doing and your free to do exactly what you wanted, Tarlak was eyeing up Dispater.
He would be a worthy alley, strong and intelligent to a degree, of course he was far from the dim witted slaves of the underdark and he out ranked some of the drow he'd met already in a few sentences. Sad really some of the fools he had known for two hundred years had less of an intellect than Dispater. Two hundred years and you cannot come up with something smart. It was all the free will, which was something Dispater touched upon. Like a whip he snapped into action.

”Assassins, thieves and rapists we may be dear Dispater, that much is correct, yet you wish to tar my ebony skin with the very same brush you tar my kin, i shall have to imagine i will be facing much more similar accusations from the surface folks. However, do you think i walk alone, Without the shadows to veil my foot steps and my kin. If you know of the drow then you know we never walk alone. Yet look at me, here i am. If i were with a company it is safe to say your body would be riddled with our finest poisons and you would be dead.
Yet unless you are secretly undead then you are clearly living and breathing. It seems we have gotten off to a wrong start. Though i tell you now.
You accusations of the drow are correct, blind they are to their entrapments but not me, i shall walk free of the depths.
But what of you? Do you walk where i have abandoned? For if you intend to go that way then allow me to offer you one word of advice. Leave. The drow hunt me so, infact i have no idea how far behind they are, for all i know they could be watching us now, though that is foolish. In that instance we would both be dead. You may handle one but you will not handle them all.”
It was good solid advice, one that Tarlak would of normally charged an extortionate amount for, but he knew when gold had less than its actual worth. It was well worth the loss to gain a little trust.

Words, words and did I mention words? That was the only thing which came from Tarlak, unlike many others Dispater had to deal with before this ebony skinned man was not trying to intimidate, instead he was trying to persuade Dispater into joining his side. He even tried to boost the killer’s ego, with many words of appraisal, he even called him ‘the wise’ when previously he was a walking brute with little to no intelligence, and everything he could do being to punch and shred anyone in his path to pieces.
However, the melodic sentences flowing through his purple lips had a major flow in Dispater’s eyes, the arachnomancer didn’t believe one thing he was talking about, the way he put the words still denoted that fact that he was trying to show off as a superior being. He failed! Dispater was hardly impressed by the little drama that he was trying to bring.

‘The demon’ kept his posture, hand pressed firmly against the dwarven architecture of the wall, he was like a stone, not going to move out of the way yet. Maybe he was just trying to find a reason to fight, since he couldn’t remember the last time when he had an worthy opponent, but for now at least, for a few moments he was pondering to the words of the drow. Indeed, it was not wise to say that he was the typical drow, but it was hard to think otherwise when it came to them. Many have tried before to make other people believe that they were looking for redemption and for a life in the services of something else, they said that they have abandoned the innate ways of a drow, and before you know it, he will stick a dagger into your back, and leave you to die.

“If you are not alone, then why do you seek my company, unless you want to use me for your own gain. The principle of companionship is unknown to your kin, not to mention about friendship or other similar things. See, your own brothers are hunting you, your own mother wants to have your head on a stake, what a degenerate family you have.” Dispater was still offended by the elf’s words, and in turn he kept insulting him, also he wanted to make himself clear that he could not trust him, not under those circumstances.

“You say that you want to leave your kin behind, yet you speak with so much respect about them…” He paused his words for a while and narrowed his brows into a deep frown, an idea struck him, after all he thought that it should be good to have this little fellow on his side for awhile, since the hunger of knowledge started to consume him once more. Tarlak was the type of the drow he wanted to study, and the only way he can do that is by sticking around for awhile.

“But fine…” said he, and slowly relaxed his muscles and composure, making way for the man to pass if he so wished. Dispater was not afraid of what this drow could do or plot behind his back. “If you try anything, I will deliver your head myself to your mother and brothers, and collect a handsome reward for it. Up there the darkness will not always be on your side, but if to the surface you so wish to go, then I should warn you, people will hunt you everywhere, and no respect will be shown to you, you will be disoriented and you would wish to return.” Dispater knew those things, he was an outsider himself, people didn’t try hunting him down, but they feared and crawled away from his path. That was once, but now his appearance changed, he would look more menacing and evil now, even if he really wasn’t. Humans were stupid by nature and would cause a revolt in which their deaths will unfold. Surface elves accepted only those of their kind among them, and probably the most fierce drow-hunters came from their ranks.

“Proceed!” Dispater demanded to the dark elf. “We will be outside in a half an hour at most.” The shock Tarlak would get once outside will be very interesting to see. The sun was high and shinning.

Even as he spoke he could see the eyes of Dispater narrow, analysing the words of praise which he threw about towards him, in all fairness Tarlak wasn't lying, why lie when you can use the truth to cover your intentions. He was smarter than the average demon that much was sure, in fact Tarlak would go so far to say that he wasn't even demon kind, there was a light in his eyes that shone all together differently than the soulless gaze of the typical breed of demons.
He was calculating and cold, he was de constructing the words of his web much like a spider would when their haunt was no longer needed. He would of made a good drow.

Though no sooner Dispater replied did Tarlak mentally scorn himself for something far too uncharacteristic. He had made an error in his speech, rather than saying “Why do you think i walk alone” he said “Do you think i walk alone”. He had utterly destroyed the meaning of his words, the irony he felt when he thought of the power words could have over your foe, could damage you just as easily, all it took in his case was one word. Again Ironically enough it was why.The very same question came back to haunt him.
Why?

Though it did not matter to Tarlak, the words he had spoken had seemed to suffice, though he never very well the sharp bitter end of Dispater's tongue, there was no subtly to his words such a monstrous looker as he was held no simplistic means of which to hide his malintent.
It was now his turn to stop and listen to Dispater, he began to rant about the affection he apparently showed to his own blood kin, if only he knew the truth of his despise of the narrow minded and short sightedness of his own kin, perhaps he might swallow them later.
Truth was if he spoke of any love for his kin then he spoke of love for himself, Tarlak was vein he knew where he should be so smart as to praise himself and where not too, he would show no love for a drow unless they deserved it. He wasn't one of them now, bound by blood but not ambition, Tarlak was truly apart from them.

”Fine” Such a judgement and so soon, even after such words that Dispater claimed to see through, truth be it, he did not. He only thought them conceited. Still the decision was made, even though it was purely on a hypocritcal basis, he claimed that Tarlak was saying such words for his own personal benefit, true enough. But so too was Dispater, that much Tarlak could see, and if he could not. Then it must have been sheer luck that he survived the dark dealings of the underdark all those two hundred years of bleak existance.
He listened to Dispaters estimations upon future events, the names they would call Tarlak, how they would hunt him down and destroy him, so nothing new then.

”Fantastic, i see your selfish reasons you covert behind your words, you forget i am Drow, i could not of survived two hundred years without knowing truth behind words. I give you my word such as it that no blade shall find you in the darkness, not my blade anyway.
Though warn you i shall, my kin search for me, if any drow wound you, think not of it my doing.”
He removed himself from an offensive pose, and began to strut with his confident air as he walked past Dispater.
”The surface waits then”
He grinned, he didn't doubt himself one bit, he knew he would succeed in whatever he turned his ebony hands too, nothing would stop him from achieving his goal of some base of empire or operation. There was plenty of things he could do, out there.
The burning orb's light would be upon him soon pulling his hat down low he continued on his way through the dimming darkness of the cave.
”To success” he spoke, the echo carrying down the tunnel to Dispater.

The frown from his face disappeared, and instead it was replaced by some maniacal look: as if he was a mentally-deranged criminal delighting in playing with his prey before killing it. Or if we talk in spider terms, it was as if someone just fell into his web, with no chances of escape. It felt weird to behold his face with such a look upon it, and since he was a creature of so many contradictory things, not even himself was able to understand the meaning of all his actions, signs and looks. It did not matter for him though, since he was used to it.

He could clearly see that the drow was sizing him from the very second they met, Tarlak was trying to figure exactly what the creature standing before him really was, and his mind changed from a certain belief to another in what concerned ‘the demon’ who didn’t seem to be a demon anymore. Those things did not go unnoticed by the arachnomancer, for some reason they all imprinted into his memory one by one, giving birth to a mental shape of the dark elf with the extremely large hat.

The selfish reasons behind his words, that part amused Dispater slightly, perhaps the ebony skinned man wasn’t exactly the right person to talk about selfish reasons. “You haven’t seen anything yet. And I would gladly kill any drow, be them you or another if they try to touch me with their sword.” Those were the last words addressed to Tarlak before he moved past his muscular form and further towards the light. he seemed like he knew where he was heading exactly, he must have studied a map of these mines recently, or he was just guiding by instinct and a strong desire to escape from the underground works of Arda. It did not matter though. The prospect of being stabbed by a poison-coated weapon of a drow didn’t fit nicely with Dispater, he had to endure already many sorts of venoms being injected into his blood stream, skin and muscles, as well as into his very being. One of the most powerful poisons was the one still dwelling into his very being, the taint of the Demonweb Pits. It had some surface advantages, but the pain caused by it and the many drawbacks with which it came made the taint some insupportable.

The red eyes of Dispater glanced over his hand which came trailing across the walls of the corridor as he started off behind the drow. A single small, yet extremely venomous spider found its way climbing the man’s hand and eventually arm, before concealing itself from the eyes of the drow on the killer’s figure.

“To success!” The words came echoing down the corridor and to Dispater’s ears. He had to admit, that for someone who supposedly was followed by a gang of crazed drows and the minions of his matron mother the drow was quite loudly in his escape from the mines, which made him further doubt the truth behind his words.

“Whatever…” Such a strange reaction, but typical for Dispater that was.

For almost of the rest of the road outside they didn’t exchange another word with the other, they were focused only on the road ahead, and along twenty minutes of walking or so, the darkness was slowly losing its intensity, attacked and replaced by the rays of the sun. It gave the drow a chance to adapt with the light, but that would not save him from being temporarily blind once they were outside. That happened to all the drow who first visit the surface, it was like a lighting struck straight into the middle of their head, Dispater knew it, and awaited to amuse himself on this situation, maybe… They were almost there.

Whatever.
To be fair, Tarlak half expect that reaction from Dispater, his new found “friend”. Tarlak felt the burden of what was to come push down upon him, after all a drow upon the surface cannot easily make a name for himself, lest it involved something as simple and base as assassination. Sure he could concoct a bubbling brew of poison and sell it to the highest bidder, he had often heard of the ludicrous prices that the matrons chose to sell their wares off, not because it was essentially worth it but because no one would contest that price. No one would dare challenge a matron mother, though they would have to be very bold to do so. He could pull off the same tactics upon the surface, fear, malice it could work so well for him, all he had to do with imply that he was backed by hundreds of drow warriors. And who would not believe him, drow seldom come to the surface alone.

Though Dispater did not know the full extent of why Tarlak had left the subterranean dwellings of his kin for a world of hatred, in fact he knew nothing about why he was doing it, such was his view point, born of ignorance as it was. There was little to expect except a constant barrage of predetermined names for his kindred, he would accept that, until Dispater saw the truth of his vision. Which all lay before him now.
Be damned the drow that haunt his footsteps now, his glory was ahead of him, their failings behind him.
He was to take the successes of the drow and show them to the world, no longer would he be hidden far beneath its rocky crusts left to be unknown by the waking world above, no it was a self imposed exile.
One that proposed something far better than the life of the drow and all its proposed offerings.

The darkness was shifting back, no longer could the delving deeps avail it, the orbs glory blazing down like the fire of an ancient red dragon through the tunnels Annon-en-Groth and he wasn't even at the end of the tunnel yet, already he could begin to feel his dark attuned eyes begin to squint and sting, as if small insects were ravaging his fleshy balls.
He however did not show his discomfort to Dispater, he didn't want to let him know that he was already beginning to feel the pain of the light, he would get used to it...eventually.
However ignoring the fact his eye balls were on fire, he had to ponder the giant war machine behind him, would he attempt to kill him? There was much to debate, Dispater showed an obvious disdain for Tarlak and it wasn't to say Tarlak knew all to much about Dispater either, though he certainly wasn't thinking about forcing to meet his trusted business partner.
He patted the scimitar by his side.
He was more concerned if Dispater would try to kill him, he hoped not. He seemed a useful ally in the struggle to reach the surface and no doubt he would prove more than capable upon the surface too. He would be useful, by Tarlaks figuring they would make a pretty good team if they actually put their heads together, even fighting together he assumed not many would be able to stand against the pair, what with Tarlaks drow skills and Dispaters raging war like frame.
But all thoughts got shoved aside as what could only be described by Tarlak as a wall of flame engulfed him.

The walls all began a blaze, light poured in and the air was considerably fresher, though no sooner had his eyes met the wall of light did Tarlak wail a frantic scream, two hundred years under the ground, he supposed he could excuse himself just this one time. Throwing himself onto the floor the suns light burnt at his flesh, he felt it seer at him, crawling back on the floor he covered his face with his hat.
”What manner of creature is this” he cried as he staggered to his feet once again, looking out from under the edges of his hat, the only thing that stopped him from being burnt once again.
Though he would not stop, he would continue on he went, pushing forwards passed the threshold of the cave, the hat protecting his eyes, he concentrated soley on the floor, avoiding gazes with the sun at all costs.

Dispater’s red eyes remained somewhat locked on the figure of the drow who was leading the way outside, a very strange interest seemed to glint within them. Dispater was just like a child studying an insect or similar thing in one of the school’s classes, he watched and anticipated what the drow would do next. Many could consider him a little mentally-deranged for that and for other things he often did, thought or the way he acted. Was is all just a game for him? No one was able to tell, he had a different sets of values than the rest of the creatures inhabiting the material plane, he was unique, a concordant killer, or better said an augmented concordant killer. Throughout his life he was a little strange, but the effect intensified once with the taint of the Demonweb Pits, he became a little paranoid. The most amazing fact was that he was switching from a mood to another with great ease and in short periods of time, if he wanted he could become a wise man, with a clear train of thoughts, capable of taking the best decision in a very short amount of time.

His condition was what placed him apart from the rest of the intelligent beings, he never had anyone he could call a friend or something close to it, in fact the term of friendship or a relationship between two intelligent beings was unknown for him in terms of feelings. His mind was full of theory, he did not lack information, but feeling certain things he learned about was way different. He accused the drow that he did not know what ‘friendship’ is when they were on the same boat, the urge of sounding a little superior and offensive has taken over him back then for a few moments.

They continued to walk through the corridors of the mine, the architecture of the walls become poorer by each passing step, they were now walking across the last passage before the surface, the dwarves didn’t fell like they need to craft their glyphs here too. However, Dispater remained trailing the wall with his hand, as if he was trying to visualize the whole mine in his head, or so it seemed. The light was becoming more intense as they walked, till it became unsupportable for the drow, and that was nothing yet. Dispater had a similar problem when facing the sun after a few days spent into the darkness, but now they adjusted to sudden changes of illumination.

The pain caused by the sun made the drow cried in agony. The cry was so powerful and full of negative feelings that it managed to impress Dispater. The ‘demon’ looked a little perplexed and disappointed, but why would he be disappointed, he expected this moment to come sooner or later. The drow fell to his knees, allowing Dispater to catch up with him in a second.

“This is the sun, my ‘friend’, the very source of life to everything which exists above.” A large and powerful hand was pressed against the slender back of Tarlak, it belonged to Dispater, and was urging him to push forward. “This is your great challenge on the surface. Would you face it, or turn back?” And now he was talking like a teacher… But to his own amusement and satisfaction, the drow pushed forward, drawing his large hat over his eyes. But sooner or later he will have to face the sun again, until he will grow fully accustomed with the light. Of course, the younger drow adapted more easily, while Tarlak, on contrast was well over two hundred years. But this was his lucky day, he had the support of a creature like not many has seen before, and no one would touch him if they were still going to stick around for awhile.

The drow followers would not consist a problem anymore, they would probably turn back as soon as they would face the light, the matron mother would not allow them to reach the surface, she would probably be afraid to lose them to the taint of the surface. Mercenaries in all forms and shapes would come after Tarlak instead, hired by the matron; the drow kin was not a forgiving one. It probably felt miserable to have your own brethren wanting your head, your own family…

The terrain under his feet was completely different in so many ways as he walked down the mountainous path. Small rocks and dirt all prodded and poked under his feet, such uneven workings, he was surprised that anybody could walk upon such a walkway. Though the surface was going to be different from the subterranean haven he once called home. Such small steps were to be taken in order for him to achieve bigger ones.
Beneath the dome of his hat, he breathed slowly, in and out. His eyes gazing down at the floor, more importantly at the shadow that he cast. It reminded him of home, well his former home. Now it was nothing more than enemy lines. He would never go back.
He felt water begin to trickle down his arms, his whole body becoming clammy from the heat of the sun, never had he felt temperature like this before. Back in the underdark it was a steady continuum of heat that settled and rose everyday, it never differed. However tales of the sun were nothing compared to what he felt now, if only he had actually learnt more about the firey orb in the sky and how he could overcome it, perhaps magic or potions of some sort. But no. He knew he must adjust to it at some point.

His breath began to deepen at the prospect of what he was going to do next, his fingers nervously gripped the edges of his hat tighter, his fingers wet and slimy from his perspiration. It had to be done, that much was fact. He begun to pull the hat away from his face, his shield from the might of the sun pushed away by his own hand, he knew he had to throw himself to the lions. It was the only way. Already, only inches away from his face, he could feel his eyes begin to sting, such a pain he had never felt before, like a thousand tiny daggers jabbing at his fleshy eye balls. Though he had to do it. Raising the hat fully with one swift motion he dropped it on top of his head, his eyes squinting, trying to block the flaming advances of the sun, assaulting his features.
His skin burnt under its rays, how could anyone live under this infernal beast? He threw a look over his shoulder, his eyes welled up with water, his body trying to keep his eyeballs moist. He glanced at Dispater and then back up the hill to the cave he had just exited from with such a passion, now he doubted himself and his folly.

Had he made the greatest mistake of his life? Was this the reason why Drow never fully invaded the surface? No. Drow came to the surface regularly, for raids upon the sylvan homes, how he enjoyed those small surface raids, but those were under the light of the moon. To live amongst them would be to invite the sun to rain down its fire upon yourself everyday, how would he cope?
He was Drow.
For now he turned his head back around, he said nothing to Dispater who was watching him intently from behind. He would not yield to the sun floating in the sky. He was superior, he was Drow.
He surveyed the land below him with watery eyes and blurred vision, he had to find somewhere to aim for somewhere to start. A beginning.
He couldn't make out the world, he would need Dispaters help on this one, it didn't matter where he went in essence, as long as he went somewhere.

”Point in the direction of the nearest dwelling of men”
He couldn't see anything, silently under his breath he cursed the sun once more, he would have his vengeance up it by parading around under its rays unaffected. Already he was challenging the folks of the surface and what better challenge for a drow. To challenge that which gives them life. A drow, taker of life itself.

They were finally on the surface, the first step upon the surface was made, and everything seemed to be against the ebony skinned man, the ground beneath him seemed unstable, unable to support such creature on it, or it was just an effect of the extreme pain caused by the light of the sun which could affect the train of thoughts and the way he perceived the world at the moment. It was an extremely and unusual hot day, the worse time for a drow to surface, but how could Tarlak knew what awaited him outside? The legends were far from the truth and the exact pain he was experiencing at the moment. Dispater knew it, and kept walking slightly behind the drow, delighting himself in seeing him fight with his worst demons.

Yet, Tarlak had a strong will-power and against all expectations he pushed forward, even starting to remove his only shield against the sun after a while. Every single gesture, and every single detail was noted and imprinted into Dispater’s mind, it was amazing, it was if he was assisting to the rebirth of a creature, such strange things of which only he could think of, and relate them with what would seem as an usual event to another, more simple, person. In spite all of the pain he was experiencing, the drow found the power to talk, he managed to make a sentence, an abnormally short one compared with his usual verbal ‘debit’.

“Now try and talk the sun into not hurting you so severely!”, those words whispered by the Arachnomancer, it seemed that he was having a good time, the most powerful weapon of Tarlak was useless now. His large hand was pressed against Tarlak’s back once more, pushing him into the direction of the nearest settlement if that’s what he wanted. “Keep going!” He said, maybe it wasn’t the brightest idea the drow could come with seeing as his eye sight was not going to improve in the first hours of his surfacing. He will be an easy target to some crazed humanoids who alarmed only at the sight of some ebony skinned creature with silver or white eyes and the grace of an elf. Dispater could also be considered a drow because of his appearance, though he had some noteworthy traits which ‘threw’ him far away from the elves of the Underdark.

Dispater had to chose where to take the drow, it was either Lomedor, the most important city of Arda and Ondolond, a not so important one. It depended on what he wanted the drow to experience, he would not have any chance of survival in Lomedor, not so soon after his surfacing, so after a few seconds of thinking the destination was decided. The human settlement they were heading towards was Ondolond.

((sorry about the rather short and crappy post, but I am at loss of what to post when just following around. Things will improve in my next post))

[Dont worry about it, i was struggling to be blind to be honest, now though we have a plan and purpose Huzzah!]

What was it that drove Tarlak to the surface?
He had to wonder now as he felt truly at the end of his tenure of existence. Perhaps it was the overwhelming feeling of hatred for his kin, it was well known and well documented, even in the underdark that drow hated everyone, though they hated their kin above all others.
After all it was a drow that stood in the way of their gain in station and their own ambition.
He despised those he left behind though, with every ginger footstep forwards he felt a little more detached from those he had forsaken. Every stretch of his leg he took was another leap into a bold and frightening frontier. He felt no remorse.
Behind him stood a creature of determination and power, it seemed to Tarlak in his brief encounter with Dispater that nothing could deter him from whatever he strove to do. He had said it once and he happily thought it again. He would of made a good drow. Though he knew Dispater would of taken that as an insult when in truth coming from a drow it is more of a blessing.
Or is it?
Tarlak didn't know, too many contradictions flooded his mind, the pressure the sun put upon him to either fight or flee, heritage and pride would not allow him to flee. Though he knew he wanted to run back to the safety of the caves far behind him, up the mountain way. But he knew that ambition and the hand of Dispater, firmly pressed upon his back stilled his feet and kept him on the right track onto further adventure.

What next for Tarlak?
Under the blazing gaze of the eyes of the gods, where would Dispater take him? What world would his subterranean eyes see next, he didn't know. There was so many question he had to ask himself, so many answers he had to find amongst the peoples of the surface. What was he going to do?
It flooded into him now the sheer magnitude of the situation.
Though as soon as the spark ignited so too was it extinguished. He pulled his hat by the edge, lowering it rim down over his eyes producing a subtle shade that he found rather pleasant, compared to the constant onslaught that his eyes were under just moments before. He stopped walking, lowering his hands to his eyes and began to rub at them, wiping off the moisture that blurred his vision. It was then that he saw for the first time the surface as it should be. Resolve covered his heart once more and fought off any previous self doubt. He scorned himself for thinking such reckless thoughts.
”Ah Tarlak, there it is. Before you. Your empire, your playground, you may go and do as you wish because you want too. It is here that the drow so crave to walk and yet they cannot cease their swords from piercing their own warriors. But they are not like you. No. Not at all. You have braved the harsh reality of your own world and now you come to a world anew. You will never see sights such as your own home again and be thankful for that could be your undoing.”
His words trailed off as his steps gained more frivolity to them, he strode on, arrogantly against the sun, he saw the rising plumes of smoke from Ondolond down below. He was eager to begin, though he knew to jump into the path of dancing blades one must time it right, and Tarlak was not about to jump in at the wrong moment.

He would have to think, plan, analyse and watch people from the shadows, see what they did, who they were amongst everyone else, single them out and utilise their potential for his own gain.
”Heh” He chuckled to himself, a lonely laugh that only brought about a small realisation that he still wasn't so far different from his kin, he still had the traits, though some were strikingly different. It amused him that not even he could figure out himself, what chance did his enemies have?
”Come Dispater, i see gain ahead of us. Down there where the smoke blooms like ashen flowers raising towards the sun. There We shall make Our mark upon this land, we shall gain footholds and begin our glorious climb to success. You will be useful to me as i shall be to you no doubt, and don't even think about telling me you have something better to do. I know that isn't true. After all, if it were so, you would not be here” He tossed Dispater a wink and a tip of his hat, the sun blasted his eyes, but he soon remedied it as he had done before with his careful positioning of his hat. He planned on having Dispater around for as long as possible, whether Dispater himself planned to or not was irrelevant.

Tarlak seemed to adapt to the sun and the surface world pretty soon, or either it was just a false bravado displayed by his entire being with the purpose of pushing himself forward, to be able to deal with the burden caused to him by the sun. It was amazing how much pain and damage the fiery orb was able to deal to a creature such as the ebony skinned man was when in fact it was the source of life to everything else on the surface. Without the sun there would have been no surface, and only those able to adapt to the subterranean world would survive. Dispater on the other hand could care less about everyone and everything the Material Realm possessed, he was not a native, and if hell broke loose, he always had the chance of moving to the next realm, another one which would be to his liking. He would just move to the next chapter of his life.

Tarlak considered himself old at his two hundred years of his, but in fact Dispater was much older, created long ago when he couldn’t even remember exactly, or didn’t want to remember, whichever. It did not matter, he never talked about his past, or about himself, he kept everything to himself, mainly because he never found anyone he could relate himself to, someone he could call a friend. Tarlak was still far from being a friend, maybe they would be partners, but never friends.

Tarlak was now able to see ahead of him, more or less, he didn’t need the guidance of Dispater anymore, so the clawed hands of the killer lowered and fell to his side, his red eyes starring into the far horizon, towards the far Ondolond.
Dispater remained behind a little, as some tiny-sized winged, scarlet-skinned demon traveled towards him. It landed on his shoulder and moved close to his ear, apparently whispering something to him, some information about something he requested earlier. The tiny demon was one of Disptar’s minions, it had an intelligence of its own and made a perfect spy. The wind carried a few words related to a ‘library’ but nothing was certain. As a response, Dispater nodded slightly, he was pleased.

It did not pass too long before Tarlak stopped as well, and glanced over to Dispater, he once more started to talk his usual long sentences, about fame and the things they could do together on the surface. The so called ‘demon’ didn’t understand why this drow wanted to do so much things in such a short amount of time, and not only, he wanted the help of Dispater himself. That was a little strange, but Tarlak’s words did not get any reply, only the occasional glance and slight nod, even if it was not always addressed to him. For now he would stick around, but that didn’t seem that he was going to help Tarlak with everything nor that he needed to be well-known amongst the people of Arda. Unwanted attention he gained all of his life, he was tired of it already, and for once he wanted to live in silence and peace. But seeing how the events unfolded that was not possible. The inborn curiosity of Dispater made a peaceful life seem impossible, and yet again if he wanted a peaceful life why was he still gaining abilities and fighting skills: those were just another series of Dispater’s contradictory thoughts and beliefs.

A few more seconds passed, and Dispater started to move once more, but he was tired to walk behind he moved in the front, following the path towards the nearest human settlement, leading the drow to Ondolond. It was for the first time when Dispater turned his back to the drow, and through his long silver hair which fell onto his back, two extremely large scars could be noticed: one along each half of his back. The scars looked as one of the nastiest around, it looked like some sort of limbs were ripped off his back, breaking his ribs in the process, and those limbs could be nothing but a pair of wings: the majestic, dusky feathery wings he once possessed, it was the only thing which reflected the celestial heritage of Dispater. It seemed impossible, that this man in fact was half celestial, of the same kin with many angels, however his other half was fiendish. Complete opposites: the very womb of his contradictions.

The tiny demon remained on the man’s shoulder until another order was given to it: to go and see exactly if any important things were going on at the moment in Ondolond and if there was a proper time for him to make his appearance there. It flew off with amazing speed leaving Dispater into a deep silence, he was not in the mood of saying anything, he didn’t have a reason to do so, and no discussion of his interest was going on at the moment.

There was the next step, always there was a next step formulating in Tarlaks mind, there was nothing worse than not knowing where you were going and should you not know, then you get lost and everything you have worked for has become utterly ruined and invalidated by your lack of preparation. Tarlak would never let that happen. Although strange and overwhelming forces sought to bring him down, keep him from ascending above what is the normal for a drow male. Tarlak would not yield to them. He would not be down trodden or beaten by anyone, his own drive and ambition was all the shield he needed from any such slanderous talk and self doubts. His own magical grasp upon language and words was all he needed to affirm everything he believed in.
He would succeed over everything that stood in his way.

He looked down from the rocky faces of the erad annon and looked down at the great causeway that lead down to Ondolond, it was through there first that he would have to pass before he could reach Ondolond itself. Though of course the journey down the mountain would not only be long and trying for the drow due to the rocky outcrops and overhangs that made the descent down below less than manageable, the sun would also be an issue, it had hit its zenith, that much he could see as he turned once again too look at the firey orb in the sky. It seered at his eyes, though he quickly remedied that by shielding his face with his arm, blocking its harmful gaze. He let out a small wince of pain then carried on one foot in front of the other, a determined stride.
He was coming.

[short i know but we can close this thread now too and get onto the next step of our adventure.]