The Paleface
He could still hear the sound of crumpling tunnel mouth in his ears when he got anxious. See how the comforting dark was sealed away from him. Feel sand and dirt on his fingers when in an act of desperation he had started to dig on the freshly crushed ground, like he was expecting miraculously the earth to give in and take him, save him from approaching soldiers and ruthless glow of the sky, soon to change to fire as the sun would rise. He had been afraid for his life then, though soon enough he would feel that death would have been fate more merciful. In his trance he would keep digging, managed to get down to secure himself from the accusations of misconduct that commander would hurl on him, that would further muddy his chances with Yanta'Menohtar and then Mother.
Sometimes he imagined himself there, back in his mother's manner, back at home he realized he hadn't properly seen in a year even before he had come to the surface, as his work was in Netehdrez, not in the holy city. He imagined the pride his mother would have felt, an honor he would've brought to the family. Maybe there would've been offered to mate with him, maybe he would have been allowed to wear tags. Maybe he would have gotten favor, someone would have let him father some children. He thought of friends of past life, cheerful evenings, and stories of conquest… Dancing to music during celebrations...
It felt like an eternity ago. It was like he had already died, and reborn anew but he could still remember this last life he should have forgotten. What was left was dirt, burn of the sun, the pain that never really left. Weakness that occasionally rendered his legs useless. And anger. The rage that burned his insides. Loss, that drowned him. The sorrow that made everything dull and grey.
He wasn't quite sure what he had done to deserve this all. And now he was stuck with this blabbering paleface. In one moment he was like a raving madman, making very little sense, next, Malageth almost felt he could understand him and those moments were the scariest. It made him angry when he tried to talk about things he didn't understand or know with such authority. It infuriated him that he would speak of their goddess. Pale-one seemed like such an arrogant old man, yet maybe the years had made him go mad as well as he kept listening to him and just let him be around.
Maybe the old man had really been eaten by guilt, and this all his some kind of power trip to make him feel better when he went "helping poor unfortunate souls". Malageth was deeply skeptical about the thought and sincerity of it, as it felt so foreign and alien to him. His stories were weird and made him question the validity of them, yet he still listened. Maybe he was going mad, and pale one was already mad. He had to be mad, he thought of himself, he had to be mad to still be alive when there was very little reason to. He had been descended on level of scum like Fallen Prince now, more or less. Such a twisted fate, yet here he still was, like just to torture the world with his existence.
Strange cape kept his feet warm, as trance was taking him. Paleface didn't realize how precious his cape was, throwing it carelessly like that, he could have just bolted with it and get good money out of it. Yet… still, he didn't run. And he had to wonder why.
Maybe he was just getting mad.
The epilogue of one of the games for Kerymis Donaevel, and rare glimpse on the mind of Malageth Nightshade. Kerymis had been searching for the fate and remains of his dead brother, commander Enwandor Donaevel, and found instead Malageth, former prisoner who had been mutilated and tortured by his brother's unit and later neglected by his own people.
Kerymis managed to calm down Malageth, who originally tried to kill Kerymis, and Kerymis offered to help the partially crippled drow veteran. Malageth, after being stopped by Kerymis, agreed to follow along for a while, but trust is hard thing to build.
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