To Kill a Drow

Teryll Silvertree opened his eyes awakening to a world of pain. The young wood elf found himself surrounded by the mangled corpses of his kin and the ruins of his clan's forest village. The smell of smoke fouled the crisp morning air with the scent of smoldering trees and mage-blasted bodies. The mossy floor of the cedar forest was littered everywhere with the wreckage of fallen tree homes, rope bridges and smashed huts. The bodies of drow and wood elf alike lay everywhere as the dark elf raiders hadn't bothered to carry off their dead or even their seriously wounded.
Terill looked down toward a sharp pain in his belly to see a large crossbow bolt burried deep in his gut. The bolt had to have been enchanted as it had penetrated through the dwarf crafted scale mail vest of mithril that he'd benn wearing under his
homespun brown tunic. The wounded elf lay back and groaned, knowing that his wound was fatal. Already his extremities were growing numb and he felt cold from the loss of blood. He also had a severe gash above his left eye from the mace of a Spider Priestess that had knocked him unconscious at the start of the attack. His long red hair was plastered with dried blood against his scalp and his tan skin was smeared with dirt and dried blood.
The wounded elf rolled his head to the side. Next to him was the body of his wife Naomi, sprawled out in a pool of her own blood. Her black hair was thick with blood and her pale blue eyes were frozen wide in disbelief. Her mouth was open wide in an eternal scream on her ice white face. Teryll had watched helplessly in disbelief during the raid as a drow sword had slashed open her neck, nearly severing her head. He had loosed a bolt of lightning on her killer, striking the murderous drow dead, but before he could reach his fallen wife to cast a healing spell he'd been shot by the crossbow then knocked out by the mace blow.
A single tear fell from each of his gold flecked green eyes as he looked away from Naomi's body. His only comfort was knowing that he would soon be re-united with her in Heaven.
"Lord God, help...", he began to pray as he lapsed back into unconciousness. The pain faded as his world went black.

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Lady Faelynn of Dyrr was beautiful inside and out. The half elf maiden was just into her early 20's, tall and shapely with long shiny amber hair and eyes of the richest brown. Her off white robes manged to both cover her modestly and hint at the lovely form beneath. A small silver cross that hung on a thin platnum chain around her neck and a gold pearl ring on her right index finger that matched her pearl earings were her only adornments other than the emerald jeweled mithril scimitar that she wore strapped across her back.
The youngest daughter of an elvish prince and his human consort, Faelynn had dissapointed her parents when she had left Dyrr two years before to join a group of traveling Christian missionaries. Though her parents were Christians as well they didn't understand her choice to follow God's calling. They had wanted her to be a lady of the court, to be educated then marry well, possibly even marry the king of some distant kingdom.





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