Drom rescues a devil

Drommen rescues a Devil

Gryister kicked to the surface even though the light hurt his skin and burned his eyes. He had lost his swords and the bulk of his armor melted away as it crumbled off of him. He broke the surface of the water and he gasped and sputtered the strange smelling air. Only his lungs felt better as he crawled his way up the gravel of the lake shore. Every bit of exposed skin burned from the light of the bright burning ball above.
He adjusted what was left of his tattered clothes to cover as much of his suffering ebony skin as he could and crawled under the cover of a large green plant with a huge green stalk.
Relief to be out of the light was replaced by the chilling realization that he was not alone. The shiny long sword pointed at his neck was the first clue. The man, Gryister assumed that was one being it matched descriptions of men he had read, stood about six feet tall, wore leather armor with a green cloak over it. His hair was black and his skin was a light tan, almost white, a thick black beard covered much of his face and his blue eyes looked at Gryister with fascination.
As Gryister waited for the sword thrust that would end his misery he wondered about the man whose features were all strangely opposite of his own. Gryister had white hair, pitch black skin, no facial hair, and orange eyes.
“Who are you?” The man asked Gryister, in strangely accented elfish. Gryister wondered that he seemed to suffer no ill effects from the merciless light.
“Gryister” Gryister found himself answer before he even thought about it.
The man seemed surprised by the answer somehow. Gryister looked up. The sword was still pointed at him but it had moved back some.
“Are you Drow Grist?” The man asked with obvious disgust at the word drow.
“The name is Gryister. Gry like cry, ice, ter.” Gryister said to try to regain some pride and hide the discomfort the man and the light caused him. “And yes I am a Drow.”
“What are you doing here?” Asked the man.
Gryister looked up at him. The light made it painful to look up but the man looked puzzled not ready to kill.
“I was betrayed.” Answered Gryister. He closed his eyes feeling suddenly tired. “
Was far from home, had used all my useful spells when I got pushed by the leader of my squad into the river. Next thing I know I wash up here.”
“My name is Drommen.” Replied the man.
Gryister opened his eyes. Drommen was putting away his sword. Gryister had no idea what to say or think. He was not going to be killed and he was not going to be tortured, except by the searing light. Drommen had put his hand forward, open, with no visible weapon.
“Don’t you know how to shake hands?” Asked Drommen sounding unsure if he should be insulted or amused.
“Shake hands?” Asked Gryister wondering if death or torture still awaited him.
Slowly and deliberately Drommen stepped forward, grasped Gryister’s right hand and lifted then pressed down with a firm grip.
“Shake hands.” Stated Drommen to Gryister’s astonishment.
“What is the purpose of Shake Hands.” Asked Gryister as he tried to get deeper into the shade.
“It is the first step in making a friend.” Said Drommen with an amused smile. “Is something wrong?”
“The light hurts.” Said Gryister tiredly. “What is a friend?”
“What is a friend?” Repeated Drommen, puzzled as how to answer. Then he chuckled and slipped his backpack off and started digging through it. He pulled out a garment and tossed it to Gryister who caught it.
“A friend is some one who helps you.” Stated Drommen.
Gryister opened the heavy cloth to find a thick hooded robe.
“That may be a bit heavy for spring but it should keep the sun light off.”
Gryister put his arms in the sleeves that hung down to his finger tips. Then pulled the hood over his head and was relived that it dropped down far enough to hide most of his face from the blistering light.
“I don’t know what to say.” Stated Gryister truthfully.
“Just say thank you.” Drommen said brightly.
“Thank you.” Gryister thought the words felt strange to say.
Drommen looked at the lake at the base of the mountain. “Underground river brought you here then? Do you need help getting back?”
“Only when I can bring a strong enough force to utterly destroy my home city and everyone in it.” Gryister answered darkly.
Drommen raised his eyebrows and tried to come up with a question but Gryister had rolled up in the cloak and fallen to sleep. Drommen was left with only question about this strange black elf with orange eyes.
Gryister awoke with a start but resisted the impulse to bolt upright. He slowly opened his eyes and to his great relief the bright ball of light had worn out. He looked a little more to see the familiar ultraviolet shades around him. He almost thought he was back in the under dark but the strange sights surrounded him.
The roof was much too high for him to imagine and hung irregularly with little twinkling lights. The lake reflected them and make a strange rhythmic noise. The tall plants made noise too as they moved slowly back and forth ever so slightly in the cool draft.
Drommen lay sleeping in the cover of plants no taller than Gryister’s waist. He was still clutching his sword and appeared to have fallen asleep while watching. Gryister reassessed his opinion of Drommen. Either Drommen was not the watchful, hardened, adventurer or he was the victim of some spell. Gryister tried on experiment, he gently pried Drommen’s sword out of his hand. Drommen didn’t stir.
Gryister crouched behind the plant and scanned the darkness for attackers. He realized that the same spell that had made Drommen sleep must have woken him up. He could think of no time a swordsman’s sword could be taken from him without waking him except when the sleep was magical. Gryister tried slapping Drommen awake as he continued to scan the surroundings.
Just as Gryister thought he saw someone or something moving in the distance Drommen woke with a start and drew his other sword on Gryister.
“What are you are doing?” Demanded Drommen angrily.
Gryister didn’t have time to answer before he felt the tingling of a spell on his skin and Drommen collapsed in a heap in front of Gryister fast asleep again.
The shape in the distance turned out to be five shapes, one staying behind as the other four charged out from the cover of rocks. Gryister ignored the four charging and drawing swords as he saw the fifth gesturing with his arms. That one disappeared, surrounded by a dark sphere, with a quick gesture from Gryister. He cried out in surprise. Two of the four stopped and went back to help the stricken Spell caster. The other two , quite close now, charged on. One wore metal armor, a large shield, and had a long sword drawn. Gryister made a quick gesture and he was lifted high into the air. The other closed and took a wild swing with a mace at Gryister’s head. Gryister ducked under it, grabbed Drommen’s other sword roughly from his hand as he slept. Gryister stabbed his attacker with each of Drommen’s swords before he could attack again with the mace. He fell on Drommen dead and bloody.
Gryister looked at the remaining two as they tried to lead the spell caster, in darkness, away. Drommen woke again, flinging the body off of him and scrambling to his feet. The armored figure hurled his sword down at Gryister that the drow was only partially successful in parrying. Gryister looked at the slight cut on his arm with cold disdain before another small gesture caused the armored figure to come falling to his death.