Short piece

[Evil Sadistic Bastard]

The first sign he had of anything wrong was the silence of the woods. Normally, he would have
heard Lini harrumphing by the tree he had been tethered to. This time, though, there was nothing.
No sound. Not even the chirping of the birds and insects and other wildlife.

And this was what saved Joneleth from instant incapacitation as he turned, dropping low into a
half-crouch, and the deadly little dart which would have pierced the skin on his neck was instead
caught on the folds of his long travelling cloak. His sword was still sheathed - in the next
moment it was bared, its mithril blade reflecting the cold, pale light of the moon, an argent beacon
in the gathering dark.

She landed silently on the dewy grass, the magical silence masking her movements. But she
had not reckoned with the light of the moon betraying her position, and so when she struck with
mace and flail, she hit naught but air.

Instantly, Joneleth was on the offensive, sword held in the pistol-grip favored by fencers,
delivering thrust after deadly thrust with merciless methodical precision - head, chest, groin,
head, chest groin, though not in this order and certainly faster than the words pronounced. His
thrusts were deflected by curt chops of the mace and seemingly casual twirlings of the flail.
Which was to be expected - she was not an orc or goblin, to be overwhelmed by a simple attack
such as this. Her ebony skin betrayed her race, and the hate in her red eyes was mirrored
in his own golden pupils. The same mechanical precision, fueled by his fury was also what gave
strength to her own counterattacks, smashing and crushing blows upon his elaborate defense,
the claws of a tiger turned aside by the wings of a crane.

He struck at her head, and the blade was caught by the flail and jerked aside, hyperextending
his arm even as the black mace sought his elbow. But the hand was quicker than the eye, and what
she cast aside was nothing more than air, and her second blow was deflected by an incoming thrust
straight for her eye. Coolly, she stepped into the blow, tipping her head to let the blade go by, and
once she was face to face with him, she delivered a vicious headbutt to his face, forcing him back
and giving her time to bring her weapons to bear again. The smell of her perfume mixed with the
scent of the blood from his nose as he reeled back, already in a defensive stance. And when he
saw her leering at him; licking his blood off her face, he sprang right back into her guard, almost
piercing it with the sheer ferocity of his thrust. She was saved only by the barest of margins - a
link on the flail caught the tip as she brought it down, ruining the thrust, and Joneleth chose to
disengage immediately rather than let his blade be snared.

From her belt came a small potion and she flicked its cap off with the thumb of her mace hand,
gulping the contents down, gagging slightly from the taste. She let the bottle go, and before it
hit the ground, she had closed the gap between them and was hammering away from all
sides, moving with preternatural speed and dexterity.

He correctly guessed that this was a haste spell of some kind, and even as he fell into his
sequence of counterattacks, he was already unlocking a similar spell from the corners of his mind,
drawing upon the bladesingers' Song of Celerity to do magic with his graceful and precise movements.
The spin and riposte to an up-to-down mace chop became the Arc of Holmgard, the triple thrust of
the Ayvuir Passado to ward off a flail strike was the Reversed Sign of Illuvatar, and the final diagonal
sweeping cut and flourish was in actual fact a cunning duplicate of the Seal of Maiar. The motions
thus completed, the spell was finished, and his movements too picked up speed, speed to match
hers as she attempted a deadly pincer attack on his knee, only to have it met by thrusts to each
elbow until she could no longer sustain her defense and offense and withdrew both.

Then, in a stunning turn of events she threw her mace high into the air. Instinctively, his eyes
followed it up, and he immediately cursed himself for looking. For when he had averted his eyes
from her she had produced a hand-crossbow from nowhere and fired its deadly projectile at him.
The poisoned dart should have impacted upon his neck, paralyzing his chest muscles and leaving
him to die a slow, horrible death of asphyxiation. Instead, he brought his left hand up to deflect it, and
he winced at the pain as it entered the flesh of his palm. Pain turned to numbness, and a slow horror
grew within him as he lost all feeling in his left arm. Then there was no room for horror, only for action,
as her mace fell into her hand like it had always belonged there, the crossbow cast aside, useless
now that its job was done. She swept in low, trying for a simultaneous trip and strike to his knee.
He raised his foot, spoiling the trip, so that the flail caught naught but air and the mace impacted into
flesh covered by solid leather. It hurt, yes, but it was not the disaster that being forced to the ground
would have meant. He reversed his grip, and delivered a short stab to the drow's back, only to have
the hit deflect off the chainmail she wore under her black robes.

She rolled aside, and slapped upwards with the flail, and this time the chains caught him on his inner
thigh. He cursed silently from the pain, then quickstepped out of her range, leg still stiff from the two hits.
She would not be denied, though, and as his foot made contact with the ground, she wrapped her flail
around it and pulled, sending him crashing to the ground. He landed on his useless left arm, cushioning
the impact, then jerked his body out of the way of a mace hit that would have split his skull open like a
ripe grape had it connected. It thudded uselessly into the ground, and Joneleth brought his boot down
on her shoulder in a heel drop, then dashed it across her face, blinding her momentarily and buying him
the time he needed to rise to his feet. She felt the movement of his body on her extended arm, though,
and even as he propelled himself off the ground, she too was gathering herself, ready to smash him
back down to the ground, this time for good.

Joneleth saw the glow of dawn break on the mountaintops in the horizons. In his heart he knew that the
engagement would be settled soon. Either he would feel the sunlight on his face or he would never see
the dawn again. This brought a new determination to the fore and a new idea to his mind, and he began
the end by springing aside.

The drow assassin recovered, shaking the brief dizziness from her face... when she realized that her
quarry was gone. Where was he? If she had known of the outdoors, she might have seen that the
grass was crumpled down to a certain point, where it suddenly...stopped. But never having seen spoor
like this before, and the coming dawn driving a spike of fear into her heart, she saw nothing - just a
morass of brightening green. Above her, the leaves were shaking, but she didn't know why...

...until, suddenly, Joneleth burst down from the tree canopy, his sword golden in the dawn light, a
heaven-sent killer sworn to exact vengeance upon the denizens of the impure earth. Had she not
cast her field of silence she might have heard him. Had she been looking at the right spot, she might
have seen him coming. Had she fought on the surface before today she might have expected this trick
from a magical combatant such as he, especially given the trail that suggested a sudden upward leap.

But she had not, and her legs crumpled uselessly beneath her as his blade entered her back and exited
below her breast, bearing her to the ground. Nerveless hands released their weapons, and she steadied
herself with them as she fell to all fours. Joneleth got his legs beneath him and pulled the sword out,
eliciting a great shudder from the drow as the pain overwhelmed her. She rolled over, onto her back,
gasping desperately for breath she would no longer need. Above her, she saw his golden eyes, emotionless,
pitiless, merciless. And as the field of silence dissipated and she could hear again, she heard him speak.

"This is too good a death for you, dhaeraow."

Had she known that her face had betrayed her agony, she would likely have turned her head aside to deny him
the pleasure of seeing her in pain. But Joneleth didn't care. What he was going to do wasn't mercy, wasn't
sadism, wasn't anything at all.

It was simply the right thing to do.

Once again, the blade reversed itself in the grip of a single hand, and once again it entered her chest,
slipping between the ribcage, cleaving the heart in two. The crimson light in her eyes shone once... then
shone no more, her body relaxing in the timeless grip of death.

Joneleth stumbled back, leaning against a nearby tree.

Why? Why had he shown such a mercy to an opponent like that? One who would have gladly made his torment a
living death had she had his way?

And the answer was simple, so clear in his mind, as he followed the sound of Lini's snorting back to his
mount.

"Because I'm not like them." he said as he fished out a bottle of healing elixir.

And as he swallowed it, he felt the sun on his face, and he smiled.