Di’thang did not dare to move his body for fear of who or what might be in this place with him, watching him… he knew it was unlikely he had come to be here by himself. But even as this assumption came to mind, the moon elf began to remember… Ashaba Crossing. Ar’thilmus had turned him down; the true love of his life had rejected his proposal of marriage, and the one woman that had caused this had then laid him dead at his own request. Evanshalee had gladly taken her rapiers to hand to finish his life, and he had let her… for without Ar’thilmus by his side he had no want of life. Di’thang’s heart felt now like lead inside his already throbbing chest as he dragged himself weakly to his feet, silently questioning why he was breathing at all. This was not right… he had fallen dead, Evanshalee had killed him…

Di’thang turned slowly on his heels, letting his eyes and acute Elven ears take in all around him, as had become his habit. It was then that Di’thang began to feel warmth, seemingly from nowhere, warming his body through to the bones from a hidden source. If this surprised Di’thang, then he hid it well, appearing completely casual as his eyes searched for the cause of the unusual warmth; but the only source of any heat was the small flames burning down the wax of the candles in the candelabras. Slowly Di’thang turned around for the second time, privately becoming annoyed at the situation he found himself in. His eyes set curiously on an altar, glowing in the darkness by an unearthly red light, that he would have sworn on the life of Ar’thilmus had not been there upon first inspection.

The moon elf took a wearied step towards this object, uneager to leave the light of the candelabras; he had always been cautious of the unknown, an element of his hunter’s instinct. The altar was as black as a panther but seemingly made of a material unlike any that Di’thang had ever seen, a material that seemed almost like coal in appearance. Emanating from the altar came a faint red glow, the light that had attracted his eye to it in the darkness into which he now stepped. Leaving the comfort of candle light behind, Di’thang wrapped the shadowing dark around his body as only he could, letting it cradle and caress his body, welcoming him. But even as it did, he could feel it pulling back, refusing to conceal him in its folds. A growl left Di’thang’s lips; he was unused to the shadows resisting him, refusing to be controlled and manipulated to his works.

Even as Di’thang could feel himself becoming vulnerable in the darkness, the candles behind him went out. He was plunged unwittingly into the gloom, no light source to provide him sight but the glowing of the altar before him. His ears began to twitch furiously, seeking any vibration of the air that might guide him or warn him of danger, his keen, golden eyes narrowing in an attempt to see through the dark. This task, normally so easy to the shadowmaster elf, was almost impossible to him now though, his eyes able only to focus on one thing; the dimly lit altar.

Clutching his aching chest, Di’thang staggered towards the light source, finally falling against it. The coal-like material was icy cold to the touch, a complete contrast to the warmth that was abnormally heating his body. For a moment he cradled the feel of the altar, for it felt soothing to the skin of his fingers and palms, but this soon became an indifferent pleasure as a scolding hot pain spread down his back, almost like a whip of heat that struck him through his leather armor. Di’thang dropped to his knees before the altar, his chiseled Elven features now twisted in an expression of his pain; pain like no other. A second lash of flame struck the back of the moon elf’s head through his icy-white hair, drawing from his lips a strangled groan.

Turning slightly, trying desperately to ignore the agony that pealed down his torso, Di’thang set eyes on the cause of this assault and his eyes widened momentarily in shock. The skin of the demon towering above him in the darkness was a cold red, drawn tightly over a huge skeletal frame, and from thin eye-sockets came a glowing red that matched that of the altar by which Di’thang now lay. Huge wings sprouted from the pit fiend’s back, their very rims alight with a roaring fire that spread over them and down the devil’s back. Several horns were scattered over its skull, pointed out wide and matching the tone of the skin. And in the boulder-like fists of the abomination was a whip of fire or a lash of flame, curling over its hands, slack from use and in position for another strike. This strike came, grinding down the length of Di’thang’s bare chest, singeing the skin on every point of contact and making him thoroughly regret having removed his armor for Evanshalee’s blades. Di’thang’s eyes widened, his lips pressed tight to prevent the escape of a cry.

A cold laugh escaped the fiend’s huge jaws, revealing rows of jagged teeth that lined them, the sound of which was hollow in the darkness, disappearing into the distance. And the moon elf closed his eyes, trying to shut out the pain that was all over his body now, stinging the skin on his chest, back and neck, his hand flailing almost subconsciously for the knife concealed in his bracer. Sure enough the knife fell free of its confines, but rather than rest in his hand it dropped through his skin and clattered to the stone floor as though his hand was not even there. Di’thang knew where he was now. He knew that Evanshalee had not failed in the task he had challenged her, and he knew that she had willingly taken his life. He was dead now, facing that which was supposed to torment him for that which was his life on the upper planes.

The flame whip again struck Di’thang, this time across the side of his face, almost literally roasting the skin around his eye and cheek to the bone, the skin itself actually hissing from the extreme heats. But the moon elf barely flinched, allowing the pain to numb his face now without a movement of resistance. Again the flame whip streaked down on him, striking his shoulder and drawing the air from his lungs as he breathed in. The pain was unbearable yet still Di’thang did not move. Give us your all, there is nothing left that you can take.

The abyssal fiend moved over Di’thang now, it’s glowing eyes boring down into him, warming his body to temperatures that would kill the living. Sweat matted the pale brow of the elf, his leather pants becoming sweat-soaked and uncomfortable on his legs, and still he lay, emotionless and motionless on the stone, his body wanting against all his will to curl up, shrivel and die, but Di’thang knew in his head and much to his displeasure that the dead could not die. He was spent now, all he had ever dreamed of just a figment of what was past, and the only thing left of him was to lie there now, tormented by a devil that fed from his pain. The whiplashes meant nothing to him… physical pain was nothing to how it had felt when Ar’thilmus had given him her answer. You had me, Di'thang... I'm sorry, I can't marry you…Goodbye…

Voices slowly began to play on the twin minds of the moon elf, calling dead into his being and he recognized them. They were the voices of the imps and mephits, working their task of tormenting his mind as the fiend lashed down on him with a whip of fire, torturing the soul of the body now laid cut down by the half-drow he had once loved. The voices as before echoed around his mind, in fiendish attempts to confuse him between the thoughts that belonged to him and the words they put there.

“She is gone, she is gone! You have lost Ar’thilmus; never again will she be yours. You cared, you loved, you lost now. Ar’thilmus doesn’t love you, Ar’thilmus will find another and she will grow old without you. You are lonely now, whilst she lives on elsewhere. You have lost her, you have lost Ar’thilmus.”

Di’thang opened his eyes slowly, staring up at the fire-wielding devil as its flame lashed down, caressing his body like a heated razor blade, ripping at his flesh, burning it clean off the soul. And he shouted, his reply echoing into the endless dark, causing the fiend to falter in its torment. The voices stopped now, some of them screaming as Di’thang’s voice carried past, louder from his lungs than he had ever shouted in his life on the upper planes.

“We know! We know we have lost her!! We know she refused us! Ar’thilmus does not want us any longer… and we know! Do what you will with us, we do not wish to return to Toril! Torment us all you...!”

Before the moon elf could ever finish his submissive cries, a searing pain took place in his head, a headache like an eruption that made him scream in agony. His eyes closed and he hugged his arms to his scorched chest. A look of confusion and dissatisfaction crossed the face of the pit fiend tormentor. And it stopped.

In a split-second Di’thang’s body was no longer aching, his brain no longer throbbing in his head. He felt a hand, soft and gentle rubbing along his brow, stroking his hair out of his eyes. His eyes shot open and he saw a face of beautiful Elven feature staring down on him. Familiar golden eyes met his.

“What in the…?”

Di’thang could see above him the blue skies, strewn with clouds that signaled his freedom from the torments of the Abyss. He had felt the agony of having his soul literally ripped from the low planes and forced into the lifeless body and now was back in the Ashaba Crossing. Ar’thilmus stroked her fingers over the tip of his ear, sending an involuntary shudder down his bare spine. Di’thang tilted his head, watching her but she simply rose from her knees, turning away from him and heading up an incline on the embankment beside them. Turning his head to lay his cheek on the bloody grass, Di’thang watched her walk away from him now, leaving him to lie alone in the mess that had been made. A tear left the moon elf’s eye, dripping into the grass on which he lay. He wanted her.

“Thank you…”