Closure
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Selinthia Avenchesca
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zelna@sprint.ca
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The dark elf perched, half listening to the heated debate taking place some meters away. Some things never change, he mused. How many times had he observed, or taken place in, a scene very like this one, in the past? True, those arguments had been with other drow, not Baatazu, but it was basically the same thing. And then, like now, he was none too fond of the people he shared with room with. Still, he could tolerate, even admire, the hell-dwellers, in ways which he could never tolerate, or admire, his fellow drow. The Baatazu believed in order, strove their whole lives for it, ruled their existence with it. It was certainly far more admirable than the barely controlled chaos of the drow.

At this time, however, it hardly mattered. He was here for a higher purpose.

The Baatorian courtier was playing a game of conversational one-upsmanship that was common to thousands of courts in thousands of realms. Save for the fact that most of those beings, in most of those courts, were not ten feet tall, eight hundred pounds, and sporting black bat wings. A few minutes later, the devil excused himself from his "sparring partner," walking away, apparently having had enough for the moment.

The drow smiled ever so slightly, waiting a few moments before moving himself, letting his own form become lost in the flow of bodies about him. The hallways curved into a round hollow, a chamber between destinations. The courtier passed along the edge, blending in, himself. The drow followed from the other side of the room, several paces ahead, keeping the devil in view, utilizing elven eyes to best advantage. Soon, they had arrived at the corridors containing private suits. The hallway the courtier entered was empty. The drow materialized beside the Baatazu, drawing a razor sharp sword, moving so fast that the devil barely saw what was coming. Arms came out the crush the attacker, to bat him away, but the devil was far too slow. The sword sheathed itself in the Baatazu's heart. Quickly, the drow danced out of the path of the falling corpse. A thud sounded as it hit the ground.

* * *

The drow was gone, far from the Castle, when the body was found.

* * *

The room was empty, silent, already piling up with dust. Soon, someone would come in, acquire the space, and the previous inhabitant would be all but forgotten.

Zaknafein smiled slightly. He would remember. He would remember the slight, clever tiefling that had befriended him those centuries ago, back in Menzoberranzan, working past his barriers with all the ease of one butting their head on a brick wall, attempting to smash through. It had not been easy for the mage, and Zaknafein still did not know why the tiefling had tried so hard. But, he had finally succeeded, gaining a true friend for them both.

Just a few days ago now, the Baatazu courtier, visiting the tiefling Grew's mage shop in Sigil, had become angry, and even the normally clever and unbreachable tiefling had not been able to hold off this time. Grew's luck had run out.

When Zaknafein had found out of his friend's death, the Baatazu courtier's luck had run out, as well. He had taken revenge for his Grew. It changed nothing, but it satisfied Zaknafein's need for action, for closure.

With a slight shake of his head, the dark elven warrior walked out the door.

end