Midnight Star: Interlude 1

It was strange, the way the daylight had so quickly ceased to pain his eyes. Sekkyro' was not entirely certain he liked it, either; the surface was uncomfortable and unnerving enough without imposing its changes on his body. And filled with frustrating creatures, riddlers and jesters - both humanoid and not. He fingered the white mask in his pouch, still wondering what it did, still a little surprised that no-one had raised a hue and cry at his possession of it. It was proof, if nothing else, that mysticism and mortality did not go hand in hand. The boy had promise, that much was certain. Unfortunately, that promise seemed to be tied into yet more religion. He couldn't escape it, between the boy and the drow bitch. The only way he could feel more trapped would be if the bedamned elves were toting their religions out in the open. Sunlight, gods, jesters, and not a single thing that reacted properly to cold steel. It was enough to make a man wonder whether he had died without knowing it, and found himself in the outer layers of hell. Furthermore, it was exhausting. There was nothing to do to relieve his frustrations; no decent battles against worthy foes to let him lose himself in the blades. The only worthy opponent he'd seen since arriving at the drow city had been the bitch, sad to say. She was good with a blade, and serpent-fast, good enough that he'd been surprised to see her move in batle. If she'd been anyone else - even an elf; if the bard had been man enough to fight with a sword more often - if she'd been anything but a woman and a drow, he would have been glad to ask for a bit of sparring, if only to take his mind off things. But his back was a mazework of scars to remind him of what sort of creatures drow women were. Even the slightest hint of weakness was all she needed, an admission that there was something worthwhile to him about her, and she'd seize on it and never let go. He knew she, like every woman who'd ever entered his life, was just looking for a way to bend or break him to her will. Over the decades, he'd learned - and learned well: it was far easier never to give anyone a chance to try and manipulate him than to have to dislodge someone once she'd gotten the idea that he could be used. Sekkyro' had no desire to be used again, not after he'd been forced into this idiotic quest on the surface to begin with - and he had no real desire to find himself having to beat yet another drow bitch into submission. Engaging in that particular byplay (It would let you fight her, spoke up a feral part of his mind, before he shoved it angrily down) would only prolong things. Religion and women - if there existed a combination more tailor-made to cause him grief, Sekkyro' hadn't seen it yet.