Dalhar's unit had been sent out a few days ago, to see if anything was stirring in the tunnels. So far, the only problem they had had was the hook horrors. They were unusually restless, considering that almost every house had at least one patrol, if not two or three, out looking. They had narrowly avoided an encounter with two patrols, which would have been disastrous. They had returned that day, at the first chime of the clock. Since then, Dalhar had wandered the streets of Menzoberranzan, killing anyone that challenged him. Most of them wanted him to work for their house if he lost, and he agreed, knowing he wouldn't lose. He had yet to lose, ever.

He had already been challenged twelve times, and he wasn't even a quarter of the way around the city. "Fools," he muttered, sheathing his scimitar after disposing of another attacker. He couldn't believe how foolish these people were. They knew he was good, and yet they continued to challenge him, even though they knew they would lose. Of course, twice, they had turned their back, knowing that he still refused to strike someone when their back was turned.

He turned and walked on, satisfied that everyone would know who had killed those two, the same with all his other victories. He sighed. His head jerked around when he heard a sharp intake of breath to his right. He whirled, scimitar flashing out, to face...

The sharp intake of breath had been from Ranewen, Goddess of Darkness. Although, at the time she looked like no Goddess. She simply looked like a Drow woman with a hood over her head that belonged to no house. But it was obvious enough that it was she, Ranewen, the Goddess, because of her golden eyes that looked over the man in front of her. She wanted to seem to cower to him, to see what he would do. He had whirled around a scimitar. Ranewen took a step back so that the blade simply skimmed across her flesh, which left a small cut on her right cheek. She felt no pain, but flinched anyways to keep on the intention that she was just a simple Drow. But that was very far from the truth.

She wrinkled her nose at him. She had no idea what Drow acted like down here. She simply wanted to intimidate him, give him a match, and then perhaps he could see who she really was. The blood had seeped from her small wound, dripping off her chin; once; twice. Then it had ceased to stop flowing, the cut not having been deep. In her hands, underneath her cloak, she held a twin pair of fighting knives. No, she didn’t want to kill this man. Simply prove to him a challenge, then perhaps a talk with him. Ranewen did not have their type of vision down here; she used her magical powers to enable her to see.

It was like light to her, being down here; it was like she was walking the floor of her temple. She smirked at the man in front of her. To him, she might look like a middle-aged Drow, not yet an adult. She stood with her feet about five inches apart, ready to pull out her knives and parry a blow from his scimitar and return one of her own. Perhaps if I prove to him a worthy challenge, then I could convince him to…No, I shan’t do that. I shall just find out who he is. He seems powerful enough, though…

Dalhar's eyes narrowed, and then widened in shock. He realized he had just attacked a female, and that by Drow law, she was supposed to kill him. He stood solid, however, even though he knew that would likely make the punishment to come that much worse. The only sign of servility he gave was bowing his head in reverence to her. "Forgive me, Mistress. I did not realize that ... I didn't think ..." He stopped. "I apologize." His head remained bowed.

The last time he had struck a female, it had been one of the priestesses, by mistake. He had been in a sparring match outside Melee-Magthere, and one of his strikes had gone wide and hit a priestess that was watching. It had been highly unintentional, but he still received a gash across his back from her whip for the error. He didn't even want to think of what the result of an intentional strike.

“Do not bow to me, Drow. I can fight as well as you can,” she said. Although her appearance was different than that of her normal form, her voice was still the same: dark and emotionless. “You are forgiven. But might I ask you name?” she asked turned her face slightly. She muttered a few words and the wound upon her face began to slowly close. The blood around it, however, stayed to show where she had been hit. She was not going to wound him; she was not going to kill him.

All in all, Ranewen had no idea that it was not allowed for a male to attack a female. She looked at him with her golden eyes. She even wondered if he had ever heard of the Goddess of Darkness other than their own God that they bowed down to. She didn’t even know what the name of their God was, nor did she really care. Ranewen pulled back the cloak from her face, which now revealed the golden eyes that looked at him. She wondered if she should let her real appearance show through. She didn’t know if it would cause trouble or not. So she just stayed as a Drow as she watched him with unmoving eyes, awaiting her answer.

Dalhar raised his head, keeping his eyes averted from her. That was another mistake he had made once. You never looked a female Drow in the eye, especially if you were a male Drow. His eyes narrowed when she asked his name. "Dalhar Vharc." He returned his scimitar to its sheath, and still refused to look her in the eyes, but when he noticed her eye color, he couldn't help but stare. Her eyes were the same color as his own! He couldn't believe it. He had been told that his eye color was a one in a million chance. And here was someone else in Menzoberranzan with the same eyes. He glanced over her robes, trying to find a house token, but didn't see one. He was highly puzzled.

“What you are seeking for, Dalhar, you shan’t find. I do not live down here in the Underdark. In fact I am of high status in the world above your head.” She smirked slightly. “You may look at me. I’m not going to punish you or anything; I do not follow the ways of a Drow, which may enrage you, because I am not a drow at all. Good luck trying to kill me. It’s impossible,” she said with a sarcastic grin, then let the magic slip from her form so that Ranewen, the Goddess of Darkness, stood in front of him in her true form. She was much shorter than he was, reaching only up to five feet and five inches. She was now wearing different clothing; no cloak was to be found, but she wore a simple tunic and pants, both were black. Around her waist were two scimitars: one on her left side, one on her right. They were for the twin fighting blades, which was the only weapon she happened to have brought with her down here. “If you do not know my name, I am Ranewen Amandil.”

Dalhar's eyes narrowed. "Hah! I can't kill you? Need I remind you, that whatever you are, I'm a Drow warrior. If I were to fight you, one of us would die, and I have yet to be defeated." He smirked back. Either way. You are correct. I am not pleased to discover a non-Drow free in Menzoberranzan. The Ruling Council would be highly interested to hear of this, and even more interested in meeting you." The scimitar flashed from its sheath again. "Now, are you going to come with me, or am I going to have to subdue you?" But just as he raised the scimitar, the first thing she had said registered completely. In fact I am of high status in the world above your head. That could only mean one thing: The Goddess of Darkness of the surfacers, Lolth's bitter rival.

She smirked. “They won’t believe you that the Goddess of Darkness came down from her temple down here. In fact, most of them probably think I’m still from the Abyss. And I shall go without a fight. Because it should be interesting to see what Lolth has done down here.” She didn’t know Lolth; she actually didn’t care about her at all. She had nothing against the Goddess down here. She hadn’t even known that she had something against her. She knew none of this and here she was, walking into a set trap. “Lay a hand on me in any sort of way,” she said, her golden Erinyes eyes looking at his matching golden ones, “You shan’t take another step. You’ll finally be defeated,” she said. He probably didn’t even believe that she was a Goddess. Oh well. She smirked and crossed her arms.

Dalhar's eyes narrowed. "Why should I believe that you are who you say you are? You have already proved I have no reason to trust you, changeling," he sneered. His scimitar was still held at the ready, waiting for anything. He might lose in a fight against this new person, but he wouldn't back down if it came to it. He would fight until one of them were dead, if necessary.

“You’re quite smart, Drow, but you are forgetting one thing. There is one way I can prove to you that I am the Goddess who I claim to be. Take your scimitar and stab me where my heart would be. Carve the hell out of my chest to where one would lie. But all you’ll find is darkness there. Do it. I dare you.” Her lips curled up in a daring smile. “Or perhaps a duel with a Shadowdancer, a part demon, and an immortal? Are you up to it, Drow?” she said with a challenging tone in her voice, almost asking him to attack her. There was no need for her to dodge his blows. It might hurt her, but she would not die to a wound dealt by a mortal.

Dalhar narrowed his eyes. He wasn't quite sure that this person could be attacked. If she could shift to a Drow, then there was a good chance that she could also shift to an insubstantial form as well. But she offered to allow him to test her, so...

The scimitar flashed in the low light as it snapped up. "A duel then. But in the tunnels. Even if you were in this form, and someone were to see us, I would still be punished for striking you." He shook his head. Here he was, the leader of the most feared unit in Menzoberranzan, and he was afraid of being punished.

“I have a better place. My temple. You may not object either because now…” she muttered a few words, and soon they were in the main area of her temple, “it’s too late to go back…” she finished her sentence. He’d be able to adjust to the light, for it was dim where she had brought them; for the windows had been shut. The only light was from that of the torches on the wall. They too were dim, though.

She drew her fighting knives. “Anything goes; no rules whatsoever. We shall go until someone gets knocked out. Or killed, if you prefer.” She smirked at him, standing in a fighting stance. She was a Shadowdancer, an arch mage, an apprentice to the high druids, Goddess of Darkness. Of course she knew how to fight. And, oh, how this was going to be a long one. She’d make sure to wear him out before knocking him out. Or perhaps killing him.

Dalhar smiled. "Nice trick, that one was." His free hand went to his belt, pulling his Drow dagger out. "No rules, no holds barred. Understood. But I hope you know what you are getting yourself into," he smirked, dropping into a crouch. The scimitar was held crosswise in front of him, with the hilt at his hip and the point at the opposite shoulder, and the dagger pointing down, held in front of the scimitar, slightly below the blade. He stood there, tensed and ready for the females first attack.

As he waited, he kept one eye on the female, and examined his surroundings. Strangely, he felt more at home here than in his own tunnels in the Underdark. He shook his head, preparing to fight.

Ranewen smirked as she prepared to lunch at him with one of her fighting knives. “By the end of this fight, it is you who will be begging for forgiveness; it is you who got yourself into this. Keep that in mind, Drow,” she growled. Instead of lunging, she changed and jumped into the air, turning as she brought down one of the knives—the back of the blade was pressed against her arm, but now it came out slightly, much like an assassin would hold a knife—which was aimed at his chest. He’d learn, soon enough, that she was truly the Goddess. And if she killed him, she would keep his heart in her private chambers. Or perhaps on display, as one of Lolth’s follower’s hearts that she ripped out herself. She smirked at the very though of it as her blade came down at him.

Dalhar smirked when he saw the tactic she was using. He had taught that same tactic to his own unit, as well as an effective counter, although that counter required two weapons. His dagger shot up crosswise, intersecting the blade of the female's dagger, as his scimitar shot out towards her midsection. He moved with almost lightning speed, sending her blow wide as he lunged toward her, blade outstretched...

She didn’t even bother to block it, but simply let herself drop to the ground, the blade of the scimitar in her mid section, all the way through. Her blood spilled upon the floor, but she did not weaken; she showed no sign of pain. She looked down at herself, looking at the blade. She simply pushed it through her even more, swinging both knives at him, each coming down from a different direction. “Convinced yet?” she asked him as her blades still came down at him, waiting to be parried or to connect.

Dalhar backflipped away from her, kicking her in the chin. "Not quite," he said with a smirk. His dagger was still in his other hand, and he intended to use it. Charging at her, he flipped over her, whirling as he landed, stabbing at her unprotected back...

And he jerked himself back. He backed off, not wanting her to think him like the rest of the Drow, that would stab you in the back at a moment's notice. Even after all these years, all his self-inflicted punishment, and he still had this damned sense of honor that forbade him from striking someone when their back was turned.

She pulled the scimitar out of herself and let it fall to the floor. There was a gaping hole, now, in her abdomen. “No? Don’t believe me? Would a mortal be able to stand after such a blow and not have the slightest bit of twisted pain on their face?” she asked as she looked over her shoulder at the Drow. He had not stabbed her from the back. She smirked and turned to face him. She dropped both of her weapons and, muttering a few words, a double-bladed staff lifted itself from a weapon rack to the right of the two of them. She grabbed it in the center and twirled it around, then held it in her left hand. She then swung it towards him like she was going to aim it at him, but then pulled it back into her other hand and stepped forward, so that know her staff’s blades could reach him, She twirled it around quickly, then stop suddenly, jerking her right hand up, hoping to connect with a slash on his chest.

Having seen the staff spin maneuver before, his hand came out to snag the staff, only to close on air. He gasped as a fiery pain laced through his chest as the blade on the other end of the female's staff sliced into his chest. He growled, and flipped to the rack, sheathing his dagger, and snatching a pair of scimitars. He whirled both of them around his hands, finally bringing them up to cross in front of his body. His smirk grew. "Now, this fight is back on even footing," he said, even though he felt the warmth of his blood slowly spreading down his chest.

She simply smirked and lunged towards him, spinning to her right, and pulling the double-bladed staff behind her. Had he been caught off his guard, this blow would probably pierce his abdomen; or maybe his leg. She didn’t know. “It’s far from evenly matched, Drow. I’m an immortal. This fight could go on until your death, but I would still live on. You can’t kill me and you have to face that fact…But you have determination, and I’ll give you that much,” she said, her eyes looking at him as she brought the staff back at him. She was ready for the parrying blow and firmly placed her feet on the ground, crouching slightly so that her knees would be able to keep her balance.

But Dalhar wasn't about to lose. Slamming his blades together into a V, with the hilts at the point, he slammed them into the ground, forcing the staff down. Swinging, using the scimitars as a pivot, he kicked out, hoping to connect with her stomach, knees, or face...

He connected with her stomach, but she simply stumbled back, catching her balance by collapsing down to one knee. She then brought the staff up, aiming for his left leg's thigh. "Still not about to give up, eh?" she said. She wasn't going to let him win. This was one of her worst enemies' followers! He had to die. Or at least switch to following her.

((I'm at school, so forgive me if I reply slow.))

(((Not a problem. Explains why you aren't on Messenger)))

Dalhar screamed when the blade on the end of the staff sliced into his thigh, right on one of the scars he had gotten in Melee-Magthere, opening it up again. The blood had covered his entire torso by now, and he was getting light-headed. But he wasn't about to give up. He would beat her, or die trying. Forcing himself to his feet, he gasped as new waves of pain shot through his body. He staggered, slowly forcing the pain down. Moving slowly, he moved towards her, wincing at every step. The pain was rapidly growing unbearable. He decided to use one of his own created attacks. The scimitar in his right hand shot out, aiming to intersect the staff, as his other scimitar shot towards her stomach.

Ranewen simply moved out of the way, his aim being slightly off due to the pain or something of that sort. She sighed slightly, sticking out her foot so that he would trip over her foot. Since his attack had missed, he must have stumbled forward. Then, she extended her staff and hit both of the scimitars out of harm’s way. Once he had fallen she simply hit his leg with the flat of the blade on his wound to cause him more pain. Then, she hit him hard on the side of the head. He might have been passed out before then, but she had to make sure. “The Drow’s way of fighting… Fight till the death. Never really got it…” she said mostly to herself as she looked at the body on her floor. Using her leg, she shoved him so that he was rolled onto his back. She ripped a piece of her own shirt off, exposing her abdomen. She then wrapped it around the Drow’s thigh. She wasn’t going to heal a follower of Lolth. At least, not yet.