To my big sister.

[Rainbow Prism]

"Dear Leo,

if you ever lay your eyes upon these pages, know that our father, Gilbert El'Hreira is dead. Know that he has died in the manner he always dreamed of: after defeating the opponent many times stronger than he was. I was with him in his last minutes and with his one last breath he revealed to me that he has forgiven you. As for me, know I forgave you years ago and your exile hurt me far worse than what you have done to deserve it. I still dream to this very day of the time of our reunion and hope that you have not let your heart be consumed by malice and still love me and our father. Though not bound by blood, he remains one of the most dear people to me, along with you, my big sister.

Meanwhile, I shall honor our father's memory and try to retrieve the Nine Blades our father talked so often about. Remember the tales he used to tell us before sleep? The heroic deeds of Reshar, first Master of NIne. I wonder if you think me foolish for even believing in these fairy tales, but please understand that this is something that I must do.

Maybe, one day I shall meet the same fate as our father. But I am not afraid. Even if I fail, I know that our father's teachings will live with you. Between the two of us, you were always the best. Don't deny it. Though father never said that, I always knew. I believe that was the reason he was so angry when he learned of what you have done. Do you know that he changed after you have left? I think part of him has gone with you and left a huge hole in his heart that nothing could fill. I hope to meet you soon, and if fate dictates otherwise, I hope that at least this diary will reach you.

Your ever loving sister, Cleo El'Hreira."

[Rainbow Prism]

As she stood over the broken body of the Wytch, the girl in blue clothing was recalling the reason she was there. Rumours said that Wytch Caves were full of unique artifacts the Wytches have collected over the centuries. The girl heard enough of such talk to know when people were telling the truth or when they just made stuff up. But this last rumour has sparked her interest. It was tale of how a relatively young Wytch has usurped the throne in Wytch Caves and now was gathering forces to march for the Baldur's Gate. The girl rolled her eyes at that part. Still... The part about a young Wytch killing the older one...

While that part had an audacity so loved by the storytellers, it was unusual enough and therefore rang somewhat true. As she asked around more, she learned that apparently, some strong magic artifact was involved. Though not inclined to believe it, she decided to pay Wytch Caves a visit. Now, as she looked down on the deformed female body, she had to admit that some part of the rumour was true. In her death, the Wytch was clutching with both hands a bastard sword of unusual beauty. As the girl pried the death grip of the Wytch and took the blade with both hands, she was immediately filled with both sorrow and joy.

With joy, for it was truly a fine blade to behold. And with sorrow, for it was not One of the Nine. She knew that, for when she drew the blade, she could not hear anything beyond the slight hiss of sword being drawn. It was a fine blade nonetheless and as she strapped it to her side, she made a silent vow to find a master worthy of it. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but that day shall come. For her father told her that every fine blade longs for it's rightful owner and as much as it hurt her to admit it, the girl knew that she was not the one. The blade did not call out to her.

As she made her way out of the caves, stepping over corpses that littered the stone floor, she could have sworn that she heard a faint melody of the flute played in the distance and she cried for a first time in eight years.

[Rainbow Prism]

Exhausted, the girl fell down to the ground. It happened a lot lately. Ever since she found that blade she tired more easily. Now she was so spent that she couldn't lift a finger. And those visions... Sometimes she got glimpses of the past that she did not remember. The animalistic howling interrupted her musings.

"Now is not the time."

As she closed her eyes and tried to recover at least some strength to crawl away from that part of the forest, she remembered her conversation with the blacksmith from Beregost, whatever was his name. As he noticed the blade strapped on her back, he asked if he could see it. Reluctantly, she gave him the sword. As he held the blade in his hands, he grunted in approval.

"Evil slayer."

Then he gave it back to her without another word.

"Evil slayer..."

Now she wondered if the sword was indeed slowly killing her.

"But that would mean... No. Better not go down that road."

Feeling a little better, she started to crawl to the north. At least she hoped it was north. She couldn't really tell with beads of sweat in her eyes. The wolves were drawing closer as well, if their howls were anything to go by. With the newfound strength, she started using her legs, kicking the dirt as she struggled to crawl faster.

She could hear the first few wolves running towards her... Then, the unmistakable sound of arrow cutting through the air. Then yelp.

"Great. Now elves."

She had some chance against wolves. She heard from her master that if she could slit the throat of the leader of the pack, the rest would not dare to attack her. But against elves, especially in her condition... She lay still with closed eyes, hoping that these ones were young, therefore not too bright and think her dead. She heard light footsteps draw close to her lying form. Then a hand lifted her by the hair.

"Damn it! I knew I should have just cut it down."

As she struggled to maintain her facade despite the pain, her captor started speaking.

"I know you are still alive. You can drop your act. I can help you."

The owner of the voice was definitely female, though she had a strange accent that the girl never heard before. Slowly, she opened her eyes and saw a female elf. Her eyes widened as she took in the ebony skin and the white hair.

"Oh, ****."

Strangely, as she slipped into the welcoming embrace of the unconsciousness, her last thought despite all this was:

"Why the hell is she naked?!"