The following takes place during, and immediately after, Whispers In The Dark. Night in the city of Rhy'Din was never quiet. For a Judge, one would have been very busy focusing one's attention entirely upon this time. After all, when did most of the evil and dark hedonists lurk except for beneath the cover of dark"

But to The Shadow, this was not a barrier. From within the center of her eyes, a brilliant red glow was upon the rooftops. Street lamps and far more esoteric lanterns of Magelights were far brighter, yes, but from up atop the buildings of the WestEnd, she could withstand their harsh brilliance. Below her, people milled about in nondescript tones of yellow and red and orange, with the occasional blue and purple and black individual.

Vampires, she thought to herself, lack body heat. This is naut why I have come, though. Scathach forgive me, but I have no time to protect the victims.

The squalor and elbow-to-elbow construction of the WestEnd provided for the ability, if not the ease, to leap from one building to the next as she traveled and searched. As the night wore on, though, the pedestrians and even the vampires disappeared into doors, and away from her infravision. Only the bums now, probably once entrepreneurial proprietors of august institutions and bars and inns and taverns that failed to attract custom, stayed cloistered together within their alleys and sidestreets, covering up with whatever they could to stay away from the brutal Rhy'Din winter.

The sound of a door smacking loudly against the natural backstop of the wall beside it attracted her attention. She was almost prepared to jump to the next rooftop when the sound echoed up between the buildings, and she turned and sprinted to the edge of the building. With one foot — booted this time, even Umrae'diira would prefer her pretty little black toes not melting away into cubes of ice — kicked up onto the raised edging of the building, she searched...

A figure, running away, almost as if in a blind panic. Glowing eyes narrowed as she examined. The body was wrong. Not quite tall enough, if she didn't miss her guess judging by the size of a barrel that the figure passed. And....nowhere near as powerfully built as it should have been. Female, certainly, but not the right one.

I have nau time for this, worked the thoughts over in her mind.

But that side of her, that edge that wouldn't let her truly abandon the meek and helpless, was what kicked on first. There was light in one of the windows. Not much, mind, and if she hadn't have been actively using the heatsight she would have missed it anyway. But it was there.

A squatter burning his candle. What am I wasting time for"

Then. Another figure exited the building. This one had all the trademarks she was searching for. It was tall, yes, well and truly clearing six feet in height. Moreover, the figure was very powerfully built, with a muscled physique that the drowess could appreciate as being very similar to some of her Sisters.

The important part, though, the part that sealed the deal" The figure was also most decidedly female. But there was still one more test which needed to be meted out.

With the bright red glow vanishing into the pits of her eyes once more, her vision shifted back to normal. Street lamps and mageorbs were the proper tone, now, and what she saw in the dim beneath disturbed her. Aside from being able to discern what appeared to be a small bag bouncing from a girdle or belt, there was one particular thing about the imposing female figure which attracted her attention.

The hair. It was the proper colour.

Goddess, this cannot be happening. Do naut let this be happening..

Once the figure was well and truly gone for the now, Umrae'diira vaulted over the edge of the building. She didn't fly nor fall, however. Instead, a simple iron drainpipe became a ladder for her. Hand under hand, foot under foot, she scaled down the length of the pipe to the ground level far below, and moved over to the building.

It's a good thing she was a drow, and quite accustomed from her youth to seeing such....displays. The words upon the wall were as sharp as her mithril throwing knives, and stinging like the crack of a whip, and made Umrae'diira's stomach want to turn. But she did not clean the message off. There might be some evidence - some kind of forensics test that could be used later that she, a simple warrior, was not aware of.

She left the building, and returned to the rooftops. Down the street the figure went, the imposing, striking female form, but it was a futile search. She had tarried too long in the building, and now she was gone.

Once again back in the Sanctuary, Umrae'diira waved off an offer for a midnight snack from Trixie and Eddie, who were piled up together in what passed for the common room, apparently watching some kind of....bright box with flashing lights and images. Instead, wordlessly, she returned to her room, removed her armor, and donned the loose-fitted, simple red clothes she wore when not on the hunt. Besides the bed, spartan as it was, the only real article of comfort in her room to be had was the mat that she now sat upon. Legs folded up beneath her, she prayed silently to Scathach for guidance, and began to meditate.

She knew that figure. She remembered her from....from years ago.

More importantly, Umrae'diira could draw upon the long memory of her people, and remember things that no human could. A nuance. A gesture. A single word slipped within the boundaries of a hundred others for the keen eye and ear to discern the subtle clues. She had an idea of where to find her.

But...

There'd be no shame in praying for one more night, right'

...Right?

Goddess, spoke her silent cry, I beg of you. Give me strength.

Even in the womb, the drow were raised to kill one another. With so many deaths amongst so many children vying for places of power within their family, dark elf physiology evolved to a rate of reproduction almost equal to that of humans, as opposed to the lengthy period of time between surface elves.

Drow did not have twins. On the off-chance that two were formed within the belly of the same female, even then — they battled it out one with the other. Violence was in their nature, and this was never more visible than when a female drow was pregnant with twins. Even in the womb, before they're even born, drow children will kill one another.

Umrae'diira should have had a twin brother. Hands that were not yet even wholly formed had broken a spine only barely worthy enough to be called bone, in twain.

And that was just the first of many, many that would fall by her hand before she left the Underdark, and....wandered. It took weeks of staring toward the mouth of the caverns, forcing her eyes to adjust to the light, forcing herself to become acclimated to the burning ball of gas. She ventured out at night, she found solace in the earth still, but she tried.

It had been so many years now — nearly the span of a human's entire existence — that even she forgot why she had originally left. She was no noble's daughter, not an heir to a House, though she was one of the very few who remained loyal to the teachings of Lloth within the patriarchy of Sshamath. Then she joined herself with the Scathachians, and those teachings that she had remained loyal to, so many miles beneath her feet, were cajoled, coaxed, beaten, and disciplined out of her.

But that was then.

Now, she sat cross-legged on her mat in her room, with a bowl of sludge-like porridge cradled in one hand, and a spoon held in the other. It didn't taste good, but she was used to that by now " but the resident cook truly had no concept for drow tongues when it came to their particular palate. It had everything within it she needed. Nutrients, life, sustaining warmth in Rhy'Din's bitter cold. Let the others gorge themselves on sweetcakes and fancy fruits, with multiple-coursed meals and fine dining.

Umrae'diira was going to be a loner even when she was eating.

Then....the door spoke.

Knock, knock it said, echoing out in wooden timbre. She turned her head, spoon held just-so in front of her face. She blinked, staring at the door like it were some kind of tentacle-headed monster in the deep places of the earth.

Finally, though, she set the bowl down, and set the spoon down into it.

A deep, deep breathe was taken. She would need to rest soon; her body demanded it, after all, and she was only a few steps short of falling over. In the very near future, she would be curling up on the simple and unadorned, rather small-ish bed to devote herself to the oblivion of slumber.

She had mellowed a little bit — just a little — after her prayers to Scathach. The War Goddess comforted her in a way she had never known before. It came easy now to foreswear all other comforts " the fine tastes of elaborate meals, the stupor of wine, or the satisfaction of losing oneself in the pleasures another's body. Many saw Scathach in the view of the battle. Umrae'diira felt a calling to the Mother-Goddess in a way few others felt it.

Here, she was home.

"Come," she said in her usual crisp, accented voice, "and be welcome." The harsh lilt of her homeland was there even now, even after so many years away.

Well, you know what they say - you can take the drow out of the Underdark, but you can't take the Underdark out of the drow.

The Drowess turned her eyes back toward the small bowl of lukewarm porridge, and took up a lengthy examination of the spoon's handle that protruded from the thick, sludge-like substance. No, it most certainly didn't taste very good, but it had everything in it that she needed to survive. That was enough; the mother-goddess would provide the rest.

Such is the way of things.

"This venomous darkness ....marked us all for death."

Mirage.

She was young, even by human standards. Only Winifred — Reeni — was younger than she was. By comparison, Umrae'diira had lived the full scope of their little lives several times over - perhaps several dozens of times over. She had never spoken of how old she was, but given the longevity of the many elven races of Rhy'Din? It wouldn'tn have been a stretch for someone to assume that she was older than all the rest of them were, combined.

Granted, it had drawbacks. It had taken an unusually long time for her training to be completed on the Island of Shadow as every trace of Lloth they found in her heart and mind and soul had to be purged. Rumors of the dark elf on the Island were old hat, though — after all, she was in training there while Isuelt herself was in diapers, still.

With age came ...wisdom' Umrae'diira herself would disagree with that, though it was a widely-held belief. In her view, some of the greatest fools she had ever met were exceedingly old, and yet fools they remained.

"Hate, by it's very nature, consumes itself. Stay your hand, and watch for the opportune moment to strike with righteous fury. It will do as hate has always done throughout the long centuries. It will raise it's arm to strike, and expose the heart for a quick jab of the ready blade."

She tried to offer a comforting smile, but it mostly came off as tired. "I do naut doubt you, Sister-mine. Naut your heart, naut your skill. But I will keep my own counsel concerning these recent events. I can only hope you understand what can naut be understood easily, and accept my wishes."

"Suffice to say that..." She frowned, looking back to the floor and her cooling meal, "...Well. There is nau shame in it. I am frightened, Sister."