Dalhar whirled, his foot lashing out at the shadowy figure in front of him. He had created another shadow warrior so that he could get some more training in. He sighed, as he felt his foot connect with the chest plate, and make a resounding clang. The shadow was practically real, and it spun backward slightly, its own blade coming around to attempt to intersect with Dalhar's leg, and only hitting air, as Dalhar was already back into his fighting stance.

Gah. Enough of this, he said, waving his free hand. Three more of the shadowy figures appeared out of nowhere, and began attacking Dalhar.

Ah. Now this is more like it, he murmured, and began whirling and turning, his blade intersecting one blade while his free hand snatched the arm holding another and pulled, jerking the one holding that blade onto the blade he had stopped. Turning again, he leaped straight up and over the shadow that had been behind him, his blade shooting out behind him to catch that shadow in the middle of the chest, since the shadow had whirled when he leaped, and sliced the blade around forward, ripping out the side of that shadow's torso. Turning, he faced off against the other two shadows, his eyes flickering and the air shimmering around his hand. A saw-toothed glaive appeared in that hand, as he slid the scimitar back into its scabbard, and grasped the glaive in both hands.

The shadows advanced, and he growled. Swinging the glaive, he left a roiling gash in the chest of one, and ripped the sword arm off the other. Moving forward, one hand came off the glaive, and punched straight through the chest of the one that had only lost an arm.

All four of the shadows, and all parts that had been cut off, vanished back into the shadows, and Dalhar stood there, barely sweating.

The day was slowly coming to a close as the sun slowly made it's way down in the west, where some clouds blocked it from view the lower it got. Veronna was sitting on the ground out in the courtyard, staring up at the red, orange and blue sky, her eyes distant. It was cool out, but she was not troubled by it, enjoying the cooler weather of this time of year. She sat with her legs pulled up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them.

She closed her eyes and breathed in deep, enjoying the silence that met her ears. Vaoulrah was in the temple sleeping, so she did not have to worry about her daughter. She was getting to caught up in her training to actually enjoy things. Like the seasons. She use to hardly notice the changes, but it was now that she took time to reflect on things that she was slowly missing in life. She knew that she would live forever, if she so wished it, but her husband would not. As the years went on, Ocar grew older, while Veronna pretty much stayed the same.

She knew she had to get back on track with things, besides combat, though she was the goddess of blades. Which reminder her. She had felt someone enter the temple earlier that day, and was still there. She was able to tell he was practicing, and Veronna had no intentions of interrupting him while he trained. Not until she felt the moment was right. She had never felt this person before, and it surprised her that he had not requested her presence right when he arrived.

She opened her eyes to stare at one of the walls of the temple. She sighed and looked down, concentrating. She sensed the new mind in the temple, combating with something she could not place. She felt his frustration of things being to easy, then his pleasure of having more of a challenge. The battle was soon to be over quickly.

Veronna placed her hands on her knees and stood up, her legs a little stiff from sitting there for so long. She looked around than spotted her scimitars which she had taken off before sitting down. She grabbed them, along with the belt they were attached too. She pulled it around her waist and clasped it. She pulled her boots back up which had gotten unadjusted while she sat, pulling them up to her knees once more. The dress that she wore reached just a bit past her knees, it's red, orange and brown colors looking like the leaves of trees during the fall. The skirt was loose and flowing while the top was more form fitting, and no sleeves were on it to hinder her movements.

She started walking forward towards the door that lead inside. She opened it and went in, turning to the right and rounding a corner where the stair case was. She knew that her visitor was on the second floor, so she headed up.

She opened the door that lead in to the training floor, where many different sized arenas could be found, along with armories. She did not see the person right when she entered, than spotted him on the farthest arena. She was expecting a human, but what met her eyes surprised her. Most Dark Elves did not visit her, for reasons she had no knowledge of, perhaps because she was a female and most dark elves she saw on the surface were male and wanted nothing to do with their female counterparts any more.

She walked towards that arena, one hand resting one of the hilts of her scimitars, though not in a threatening way, more of a reflex than anything, and she had no intentions on drawing it unless needed. "Vendui." She said in dark elvish when she got close enough for him to be able to hear her. "Welcome to my temple." She said, switching to common, mostly because it was starting to feel more normal to her than her home language.

She studied this dark elf closely, knowing most of her kind were treacherous and could not be trusted most of the time. Though she did not fear him, or any of the dark elves.

Dalhar turned, and was shocked to see a female Drow. In spite of his distaste for the traditions of his kind, he bowed, averting his eyes from hers. Vendui', Jallil. Evagna uns'aa, Usstan xunus naut zhaun gaer zhahus natha jalil Ilythiiri ghil. He waited for her response, and smiled slightly. His sleeved tunic was removed, leaving him in his vest. His shoulders bare, anyone could see the panther tattoo on his shoulder. Any of them that had heard of the Second House of Menzoberranzan would know he was part of their first strike team. Anyone that recognized his appearance would know that he was their leader. Or... at least... had been...

Looking at the ground still, he switched to common as well. Had I but known you were here, Lady, I would have presented myself immediately. Forgive my lapse of propriety, please. His double scimitars were back in the sheath, marking him not as a mage, but as a warrior, and his hair was pulled back in a tail. He had grown accustomed to the light here, but he still preferred the shadows. He sighed. Maybe he would have been better off in the Underdark.

*Greetings, Lady. Forgive me, I did not know there was a female Drow here.

Veronna was surprised when this male dark elf bowed and looked away from her gaze. She had not expected such a reaction to come from a male dark elf on the surface. "Nau ssrig'luin ulu evagna." She replied to him, smiling to show that she thought nothing of him not knowing there was a female dark elf there.

She looked him up and down, reading his body language to understand him better. She saw a tattoo of a panther upon one of his shoulders. She could not place where that symbol was from, as she thought about many of the different symbols that were found in the Underdark, but it had been a long time since she had been down there and her mind could not come up with in answer right away. She than looked at his face, seeing if it was anyone she knew, but again, she had no answer. While in the Underdark she did not socialize with very many people, keeping to herself and swordplay.

When he asked her to forgive him again, she shook her head. "It is nothing to worry about and there is surely nothing to forgive. I knew that you were here since you arrived, but I did not wish to reveal myself right away." She said as she watched him put his scimitars away, noting that he used double weapons like herself, and like many other dark elves.

"I am Veronna Darkblade Nydalath, goddess of this temple. Though you are more than welcome to address me with my first name only." She said, extending her hand to him. She knew that most would never shake hands with a deity, for it was a way to show that they were equals. But Veronna never was one for people bowing and worshiping her. She always would rather be seen as a fellow fighter and not a superior. Even though her knowledge and skill with the blade surpassed any other mortal.

He raised an eyebrow when she responded as she did, and smiled. "Very well, if you do not take offense, then I shall not mention it again." His eyes widened as he realized who she was, and had to resist the urge to drop to his knees. "Lady Veronna. The drow warriors from the surface hold you in high esteem. But they do not tell that you are a goddess," he said and took the hand that had been offered.

He looked around the main room, and smiled. "I see that you keep yourself up. But I must say, a female drow WARRIOR is something to be astonished at," he said with a smile. He shrugged. "However, given the circumstances, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. After all, it's not often that a drow is revered as a deity on the surface."

Veronna read the surprise all over him when she introduced herself, and it slightly entertained her, for most would not enter a temple of a deity unless they knew who or what kind of deity resided in said building. She was also surprised to hear that the surface dark elves knew of her and actually respected her. She was glad when he shook her hand, impressed he did not bow or not except the hand like many others would have.

"Every Dark Elf is a warrior in some way, our ancestors were seen as fierce fighters. I guess I carry on that old tradition." She replied to his statement about female dark elves as fighters. Veronna actually knew quite little about the dark elves before they lived in the Dark Lands, but she had found some books with vague references throughout them about the different elf species.

She had to smile at the last bit of his sentence, knowing it would seem odd to any dark elf coming from the Dark Lands to find one who managed to become a divine being. "Most are surprised when they find out that the Goddess of Blades turns out to be a Dark Elf, and not to mention one that lives on the surface." She said, her gaze still on him, her red eyes calculating.

She turned away from him, her hands resting on the hilts of her scimitars. "I see you use double weapons. But my question for you is, are you any good with them?" She asked, getting tired all the talking. She normally liked to cut right to the chase and not bother with talking, though sometimes talking was necessary. She had that feeling inside of her again, the feeling that craved for a fight, the one that gave her strength and weakness. She had not yet figured out what this feeling was, whether it was magical or not, but she did know it gave her a power she never felt before.

She drew her weapons, both at the same time, their black metal gleaming in the torchlight that lit the entire room. She turned back towards her visitor, wondering if he would hear her desire for a sparring match.

He smiled, and pulled his own. "I am not the best, but apparently my house thought I was good enough for their tastes to head their advance assault unit," he said, twirling them slightly, bringing one up in the warrior's salute. "I take it then, that you want to have a spar with me?" he said, knowing that with her being a deity, there would be no way within reason, outside of sheer dumb luck or outstanding circumstances, that he could beat her. But he would take her challenge anyway. After all, it would be an adequate test of his skill.

He grinned, gleaming white teeth, slightly pointed, showing slightly against the background of his black skin. His golden eyes gleamed, and he dropped into a low crouch, one blade held crosswise in front of his chest, the other held high over his head, vaguely reminiscent of the tail of a scorpion preparing to strike. "I don't want you to go easy. Shall we say... to my unconsciousness?" he said, smiling. "Or yours, if I should get lucky enough to force such a thing," he said, inclining his head, paying respect to the fact that she was more than he.

A dark smile spread on to her face, one the longed for a fight, as her visitor pulled is weapons from their scabbards. She watched her opponent take up a fighting stance, one that was slightly intimidating. But not for her. When he suggested how long the battle should last, she let out a slight laugh. "Hopefully I will be able to stop before you are unconscious. I normally like it when my opponents have time to contemplate how they lost." After saying that, she brought her left scimitar up, angling it diagonally upwards across her face, holding it around a foot from her head, while her right one went lower, slightly at an angle but not as severe as her other one, the blade crossing in front of her waist, held at about the same length as the other.

She waited a few moments, taking in his fighters stance, his body movements, and his face. The face was where most of it happened. Though, if he had been a leader in the Dark Lands, he would have learned long ago to mask emotions from his face. If so, then she would have to read his muscles, which were more last second then the face, but her reflexes were faster then any mortals. She hardly moved, her breathing the only visible sign of movement.

Then she move. Her first blow coming from her right weapon, keeping her left scimitar up higher to block attacks from his weapon he held over his head. She had brought her right blade out slightly and swept it in towards her opponent, a simple move that could be blocked without any difficulty at all. But it was merely a test, to see how he would react so she could understand him better. She had never seen someone take the stance he had, so she was curious about what he would do with it.

In the split second she started moving, he took in, in a flash, the fact that she held her second weapon high. But this time, no emotion showed at all, and his eyes seemed to go dead, as he fell into his old training regime, only this time against a true opponent. The lower scimitar flashed to the side, intersecting the incoming weapon just above the hilt, as his other scimitar swept, not in and down, but down and in, as he practically reversed his grip on it, coming in for a slow sweep at her knees.

This attack had been brought on by that split second flash of where her weapons had been. The one held high led him to believe that she expected him to attack high. So his lightning Drow reflexes induced the low attack. None of this sparked ANY thought, there was nothing in his mind other than to best his opponent in any way possible, as all the rest was pure instinct, training pounded into him at Melee-Magthere, and then in service to the former Goddess of Darkness.

Veronna stared at the dark elf's emotionless face, hiding everything from her. Unlike him however, her face had much emotion, her eyes burned with a fierce fire, a slight smile on her face, and something else that almost looked like she craved blood. But she would control herself, she could not kill anyone who came to see her, either for help or advice.

Her weapon was blocked, and a scimitar came in towards her knees. She knew he would attack low, for her left scimitar was high, and the most logical attack would be low. She noted his reversed hold, which he had quickly switched to in a smooth movement. Reverse holds were good, but only if you were using shorter weapons, where you would have better control. She needed force now, and speed. She whipped here left scimitar down, aiming at the weapon coming in at her knees. The momentum behind the strike was great, the power enough to make the weapon come loose in her opponents grip. Since her right scimitar had been blocked, she pulled it back to her side, then lunged out with it, the stab aimed at his gut.

Most would not expect the speed she had, or the strength. She found it amusing when someone would fight her, thinking they were stronger, and would be able to bash at her until they won. It was a deadly mistake most made with her. Even with her small frame, she had muscles from years of work with almost every kind of weapon, and was able to stand her own, even against the strongest of mortals.

(Blah...Not very good, sorry....)

(Blah. Don't worry about it. You gave me plenty to work with. Now it's my turn to apologize. I've been having problems with my power cord. Hence the long delay with all FOUR characters.)

Dalhar's eyes widened slightly when her scimitar moved with enough speed to nearly vanish. He spun on his right heel, forgoing the slash he had been aiming for, to dodge the incoming thrust. But he wasn't quite fast enough to completely avoid it, and the very tip left a rip in his tunic, and a thin trickle of blood stained the very bottom edge of the rip. He shook his head for a moment, and then grinned, a sadistic grin, one filled with malice and, one might say, overenjoyment. But then, there was a slight flicker in his eyes, and the grin turned downright evil. He tilted his head, a slight crackle emitting from his neck as he did so.

Then, he exploded into motion, practically flying across the room to the far wall, and seeming to bounce off of it. With a flip, he launched himself over Veronna's head, coming to rest behind her, knees bent, blades extended to swipe her feet out. Anyone paying close attention to his attack would notice that rather than attacking with the sharp of the blade, he was using the inside of the curved blade, aiming to hook on her ankles and pull her down that way.

In his head, he was seeing much the same scenario he had encountered here, only at an earlier juncture in his life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dalhar snarled, and bouncing off the wall, flipped over the head of his opponent, a blind Drow rage burning in his eyes. Landing, he whirled, his blades scything out at the back of his opponent's knees, a ragged snarl tearing from his throat as he did.

He received the rewarding crackle of bones snapping as his scimitars tore through bone, muscle, and sinew, and snarled in satisfaction. But whirling to his feet, the blood rage died from his eyes when he realized who it was he had struck at.

His brother lay on the ground, blood pouring from the ankles. Scattered around him were the broken remnants of a Disguise Person spell, but one of higher power, so that it was longer duration.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~