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<div id="content">
<h1 class="title">Tastavi D'Maelnor of Llolethane</h1>

<p>
When I DM, I try to allow players to have as many options for
character creation as I can. Usually, this manifests in pretty
interesting, but stable, characters. And other times&#x2026; you get
Tastavi.
</p>

<p>
Tastavi D'Maelnor of Lolathane-Mael'na'rath is not what I'd call a
stable character: a CN half-(drow)-elf half-(black)-dragon ftr/rog/war
hybrid sworn to an evil demigod who wants to swallow your dreams (and
possibly the sun and all life) and fleeing one hell of a custody
dispute.
</p>

<p>
But I fell in love with the idea. I had to write it up. It
started out as a three paragraph synopsis, but quickly devolved into
the micro-epic below. He was only played for three sessions before
dying to the most viscious and demanding opponent of all: sports
season. Enjoy!
</p>


<div id="table-of-contents">
<h2>Table of Contents</h2>
<div id="text-table-of-contents">
<ul>
<li><a href="#sec-1">1. Ik'lithslaelith</a></li>
<li><a href="#sec-2">2. The Drowess</a></li>
<li><a href="#sec-3">3. The Tunnel</a></li>
<li><a href="#sec-4">4. High Priestess Destiny</a></li>
<li><a href="#sec-5">5. Soup for Dinner</a></li>
<li><a href="#sec-6">6. Hunger and Possibilities</a></li>
<li><a href="#sec-7">7. [CENSORED]</a></li>
<li><a href="#sec-8">8. Visions</a></li>
<li><a href="#sec-9">9. Visitations</a></li>
<li><a href="#sec-10">10. Voices</a></li>
<li><a href="#sec-11">11. jal'Bror-noloth</a></li>
<li><a href="#sec-12">12. The Hold</a></li>
<li><a href="#sec-13">13. The Pits</a></li>
<li><a href="#sec-14">14. The Return</a></li>
<li><a href="#sec-15">15. Tastavi</a></li>
<li><a href="#sec-16">16. Trials</a></li>
<li><a href="#sec-17">17. Transformations</a></li>
<li><a href="#sec-18">18. Training</a></li>
<li><a href="#sec-19">19. The Leader</a></li>
<li><a href="#sec-20">20. The Contest</a></li>
<li><a href="#sec-21">21. The Cell</a></li>
<li><a href="#sec-22">22. Motherly Love</a></li>
<li><a href="#sec-23">23. The Will of Lolth</a></li>
<li><a href="#sec-24">24. Doom</a></li>
<li><a href="#sec-25">25. Destruction</a></li>
<li><a href="#sec-26">26. Dreams</a></li>
<li><a href="#sec-27">27. The Surface</a></li>
<li><a href="#sec-28">28. Credits</a></li>
</ul>
</div>
</div>

<div id="outline-container-sec-1" class="outline-2">
<h2 id="sec-1"><span class="section-number-2">1</span> Ik'lithslaelith</h2>
<div class="outline-text-2" id="text-1">
<p>
A dark form slithered though the deep, black against black in the
sunless place. The form pulled its girth across the smooth stone of
its cavern, uncoiling itself and scraping eons of accumulated filth
from its obsidian hide. Too long had it slumbered here, content with
its wealth and glories of days long past. A yellow eye appeared inside
the chamber, burning with a delicate and powerful inner light.
</p>

<p>
The dragon Ik'lithslaelith was awake. And he was hungry.
</p>
</div>
</div>

<div id="outline-container-sec-2" class="outline-2">
<h2 id="sec-2"><span class="section-number-2">2</span> The Drowess</h2>
<div class="outline-text-2" id="text-2">
<p>
She walked nude across the parapet. Her onyx skin still glistened from her
bath and her long white hair hung loose about her shoulders. She eyed
the servants gathered along the tower's edge, daring them to look.
</p>

<p>
Most simply bowed humbly before her, inches from oblivion, knowing
full well the punishment. She reached the stair and snatched a
loose-fitting robe from the extended hand of her favorite butler. His
empty and scarred eye sockets heaved involuntarily at her
proximity. It has been too long since she'd had a real excuse to user
her power. Too long.
</p>
</div>
</div>

<div id="outline-container-sec-3" class="outline-2">
<h2 id="sec-3"><span class="section-number-2">3</span> The Tunnel</h2>
<div class="outline-text-2" id="text-3">
<p>
<i>This was not here when last I was.</i> mused the dragon.
</p>

<p>
He peered at the worked stone. Beneath his lair, along one of his
favorite underground flying paths, a circular tunnel disappeared into
the cliff face. Below him, the chasm loomed, threatening to consume
any that strayed too far from the path's narrow ledge&#x2013;and could not
fly&#x2013;to be burned to fiery cinders upon a lake of boiling stone
below.
</p>

<p>
He had always found the cavern poetic: no matter how hard the little
climbers tried to rise, this was not their place. Their place was
among the ashes.
</p>

<p>
The newly hewn tunnel was far too small for him to squeeze into of
course. But one does not reach advanced age as a dragon without
learning a few tricks along the way.
</p>

<p>
<i>And one does not keep it by being over-curious either</i> he thought to
himself.
</p>

<p>
<i>But I suppose it cannot be helped.</i>
</p>

<p>
Ik'lithslaelith breathed a deep echoing sigh, closed his eyes, and
began to shrink.
</p>
</div>
</div>

<div id="outline-container-sec-4" class="outline-2">
<h2 id="sec-4"><span class="section-number-2">4</span> High Priestess Destiny</h2>
<div class="outline-text-2" id="text-4">
<p>
The family estate was vast, and by all accounts, grand. Nestled in a
isolated corner of the massive complex of linked caves that comprised
the southern drow 'city' of Mael'na'rath, the layered structure
resembled a spiked claw rising from on oozing wound.
</p>

<p>
Grand, but hideous.
</p>

<p>
Grotesquely complicated, but functional.
</p>

<p>
In a word: Chaotic.
</p>

<p>
From the single gate at the base of the claw to the tips of the
fingers, every staircase was a spiral. Most with an open center so
that the priestesses and noble family could levitate from floor to
floor, but commoners or household slaves would have to climb the steep
steps to get anywhere, and so guards could fire upon intruders the
entire way up. Intruders who, would first need to bypass the acid
pools which surrounded the fortress.
</p>

<p>
High Priestess Ul'Ilindith D'Maelnor of the Second House of
Llolethane-Mael'na'rath decended through the main stair upon a cloud
of authority. Any walking the stairs prostrated themselves before her,
and any family members floating up quickly stepped aside and bowed as
she passed. Her name meant "destiny" and she knew it. She reached the
floor she wanted and halted her descent. It was almost time. She was
expecting someone.
</p>
</div>
</div>

<div id="outline-container-sec-5" class="outline-2">
<h2 id="sec-5"><span class="section-number-2">5</span> Soup for Dinner</h2>
<div class="outline-text-2" id="text-5">
<p>
From the darkness, expectant eyes scanned the palace walls. The acidic
no-man's land glowed an eerie green from the pools which dotted the
cavern floor. But the eyes were not concerned with the
defenses. Instead they clutched at one distant parapet and
waited. Minutes passed, but there was no activity from the palace. The
eyes closed. Impatiently, a dark form slid from its hiding place in
the mouth of the abandoned tunnel to nowhere, and approached the
nearest pool of acid. The bubbling glow cast flickering splotches of
light over its distinctly feminine form, and she bent over the pool,
moving one hand in intricate spellcasting and clutching something
hanging from around her neck with the other. She felt at ease with it
near her, a rare feeling for a drow, but she had been experiencing all
kinds of rare feelings recently. Her divination spell failed, as they
were oft to do since she had fallen in love. Terrified of her own
feelings, she knelt in fervent prayer to the Spider Queen.
</p>

<p>
Behind her from the tunnel, another dark figure crept close,
unnoticed, a silent hand of death in the land of silent death.
</p>

<p>
Perhaps her prayers were answered, or perhaps the Queen of Spiders
simply thought it amusing, but with a gasp and a rush of power, the
beautiful drow woman felt the impending danger. She spun around,
calling upon years of training and the will of her goddess to meet the
threat. A whip appeared in her hands almost instantly, its twin
heads, each a living snake, hissed and spat. Smiling coolly, she struck
out against her assailant, the snake heads reaching, mouths wide to
bite deep into its flesh. A loud crack and hiss echoed through the
chamber, but when she pulled back the whip for another strike, both
heads lay limp and dead in her hands. A scaled form, black as onyx,
stood before her wearing only a billowing cloak and a practiced look
of grim amusement. The fangs had only barely scratched the surface of
his scales, and though sticky splotches of thick acidic pus covered
the point of impact, he seemed entirely unconcerned.
</p>

<p>
He responded in kind, spitting a line of black acid into her eyes and
face. She reeled backwards, clutching at her dissolving eyes, and fell
backwards into the bubbling pool.
</p>

<p>
The form approached the shallow pool.
</p>

<p>
"Looks like I'm having soup for dinner" mused Ik'lithslaelith.
</p>
</div>
</div>

<div id="outline-container-sec-6" class="outline-2">
<h2 id="sec-6"><span class="section-number-2">6</span> Hunger and Possibilities</h2>
<div class="outline-text-2" id="text-6">
<p>
She couldn't believe it! A dragon! And a powerful one from the looks
of it. High Priestess Ul'Ilindith smiled coolly from her invisible
floating vantage point, and watched him feast. Though the
'opportunities' she had been pursuing with the High Priestess of House
Undros were most definitely ended, perhaps even greater power than
simply controlling a minor house was in her reach. She nearly shook
with excitement at the thought of an ancient black dragon raining
death upon her enemies. But as always, she was to be careful in
this. A dragon, even a male dragon, was dangerous and difficult to
control. She mused for a moment on the dangers, she could see them
clearly before her even, the fate in store if she made a wrong move,
or if he still hungered. But the possibilities&#x2026;
</p>

<p>
And perhaps, she mused, he hungered for drow in a way that could
benefit them both&#x2026;
</p>
</div>
</div>

<div id="outline-container-sec-7" class="outline-2">
<h2 id="sec-7"><span class="section-number-2">7</span> [CENSORED]</h2>
</div>
<div id="outline-container-sec-8" class="outline-2">
<h2 id="sec-8"><span class="section-number-2">8</span> Visions</h2>
<div class="outline-text-2" id="text-8">
<p>
She saw a city burning.
</p>

<p>
She saw people screaming in pain and rolling upon the ground, trying
to wipe away the tar that ate at their fingers, at their faces.
</p>

<p>
She saw clerics casting frantic spells, only to have them fail in
their time of greatest need, abandoned by their goddess, and likewise
be consumed.
</p>

<p>
She saw her son.
</p>

<p>
Standing in the midst of it, unharmed, and smiling, wiping blood from
his blades. When the fires died, his yellow eyes were all that
remained in the darkness.
</p>

<p>
The vision departed and the brazier bore once again the droopy-eyed
oozing visage of a Handmaiden of Lolth. The priestess bowed and the
messenger disappeared into the flames of the Demonweb Pits.
</p>

<p>
She looked down upon her pregnant belly. He would become her
weapon. It was the will of Lolth.
</p>
</div>
</div>

<div id="outline-container-sec-9" class="outline-2">
<h2 id="sec-9"><span class="section-number-2">9</span> Visitations</h2>
<div class="outline-text-2" id="text-9">
<p>
<b>Ik'lithslaelith</b>
</p>

<p>
The name woke him from his renewed slumber. He lay upon his
newly-heaped hordes of gold and pools of melted bones. The echo of the
name roared in his mind like a tempest. Like a wildfire. Like the roar
of ten thousand dragons.
</p>

<p>
The ancient Ik'lithslaelith, the proud Ik'lithslaelith, the noble
Ik'lithslaelith, the silent hand of death in the merciless Underdark,
Winnower of Worlds, and many more names long forgotten, cowered in
fear before his goddess.
</p>
</div>
</div>

<div id="outline-container-sec-10" class="outline-2">
<h2 id="sec-10"><span class="section-number-2">10</span> Voices</h2>
<div class="outline-text-2" id="text-10">
<p>
An ancient laughter hissed in the Abyss.
</p>

<p>
<i>The night is filled with voicess, so it seemss.</i>
</p>

<p>
She mused.
</p>

<p>
Time stretched out naked, and the darkness prophesied:
</p>

<p>
<i>Two minds.</i>
</p>

<p>
<i>Two goddesses</i>
</p>

<p>
<i>of mixed intent</i>
</p>

<p>
<i>and muddled vows.</i>
</p>

<p>
<i>Scheming over one</i>
</p>

<p>
<i>neither shall have.</i>
</p>

<p>
<i>The Nightmare smiled.</i>
</p>

<p>
<i>For even gods must sleep.</i>
</p>

<p>
<i>And neither see the</i>
</p>

<p>
<i>choices made when</i>
</p>

<p>
<i>nightmares reign.</i>
</p>

<p>
<i>Or hear the calls</i>
</p>

<p>
<i>of the forgotten</i>
</p>

<p>
<i>or the bound.</i>
</p>

<p>
Dendar smiled at the ironic cost of freedom.
</p>
</div>
</div>

<div id="outline-container-sec-11" class="outline-2">
<h2 id="sec-11"><span class="section-number-2">11</span> jal'Bror-noloth</h2>
<div class="outline-text-2" id="text-11">
<p>
The pregnancy was a wicked affair. Any news of it among the common
folk was quickly discredited, and to speak of it openly, even among
the family, was dangerous. Lady Ul'Ilindith spent her days under the
care of her most trusted subordinates in the priestesshood: the ones
with no ambition to speak of, whom she ruled with fear. She craved
meat, and so she feasted upon the flesh of exotic animals, taken from
both deep within the Underdark and from far above it, scoured from the
surface. Every day, the burden in her belly grew more intense, the
child growing much larger than any drow child. Every night the pain in
her abdomen became almost unbearable. But she bore it. She bore it to
term by force of will and the whispers of Lolth, promising her power
beyond her wildest imaginings.
</p>

<p>
Her time arrived quickly and with little warning. Appropriating a
hidden chamber deep beneath the complex&#x2013;aptly, one often used for
summoning creatures from lower planes, and shielded against unwanted
magical intrusion&#x2013;Ul'Ilindith labored for six days and nights. Every
second, the unborn child tore at her. She used up every spell of
healing from every priestess within the complex and more besides,
calling upon the aid of magical items and elixirs to keep the child
from tearing her apart. And the pain only heightened her
determination.
</p>

<p>
When the child was finally born, it was amid a spray of blood. The
child poured forth wrapped in stinking muck, an acidic darkness that
mirrored the hearts of its parents. His parents. Even with all of her
powers of healing, it was weeks before Ul'Ilindith recovered. She
named the boy jal'Bror-noloth, the Sudden All-Encompassing Darkness,
and kept him hidden from the world.
</p>
</div>
</div>

<div id="outline-container-sec-12" class="outline-2">
<h2 id="sec-12"><span class="section-number-2">12</span> The Hold</h2>
<div class="outline-text-2" id="text-12">
<p>
A sudden rush of fresh air and the sounds of grinding stone attracted
a small huddled group of kobolds to the cavern entrance. Large eyes,
well-adjusted to the darkness, peered towards the unblocked hatchway
and waited. From the other side of the hole in the cavern ceiling red
and purple faerie fire cast an eerie glow into the chamber. Usually,
if someone had rolled away the blocking stone and ventured into the
cavern, the kobolds would know if it, but these were dark elves, in
their domain, and fully prepared for stealth. All the kobolds saw was
a vague hint of motion and the sudden glint of steel at their throats.
</p>

<p>
They prostrated themselves before their cruel masters and whimpered
despite their better sense. Or rather all but one of them whimpered. A
young female, untested, but strong, remained unbowed. This was her
first encounter with the dark elves, and through either willpower or
through ignorance she stood and stared into the eyes of the drow
soldier that held her captive, brandishing a knife and scowling at the
ambush.
</p>

<p>
The soldier's face became a mask of rage. She was ibluth, a worthless
slave, a worthless kobold. He had certainly killed avenging lesser
slights. He moved quickly and knocked away her blade, pressing his own
in the space between her legs, preparing to cut her from stem to
stern, but a commanding voice held him at bay. From behind, a
weathered face, drained, but dangerous and beautiful, approached the
soldier and the kobold maiden. She carried a small bundle in her arms,
breastfeeding.
</p>

<p>
She stared down at the scaled creature, regarding her cooly. Then she
carefully lifted the baby from her breast. He began to cry.
</p>

<p>
"You. Raise this iblith."
</p>

<p>
She roughly handed the child to the now-wide-eyed kobold and stalked
away, the rest of her guard following her.
</p>

<p>
The boulder ground back into place and the cavern returned to
darkness&#x2026; but not silence.
</p>

<p>
The sound of a baby's cry echoed through the halls.
</p>
</div>
</div>

<div id="outline-container-sec-13" class="outline-2">
<h2 id="sec-13"><span class="section-number-2">13</span> The Pits</h2>
<div class="outline-text-2" id="text-13">
<p>
The smack of sweaty flesh upon hard rock, and the crack of breaking
bones, and shattered maws, and the echoing bloodthirsty cheer brought
kobolds from all parts of the hold to witness the spectacle in the
pits. A pair of fighters were sprawled upon the ground, clubbing and
beating on each other with their claws or hands or whatever tools were
available. It was over quickly, the opening salvo of the contest. The
winner was cheered, the loser tossed aside to make way for the next
fight. This was the way of kobolds: fast brutal victory or slow
agonizing defeat.
</p>

<p>
A large kobold, round, his puffy skin bulging from around his scales
like fishnet tights, sat atop a large boulder overlooking the pit. He
called out for the next pair to enter the pit. Cheers erupted at the
first volunteer, a tall specimen, muscular, and well-endowed. His
reddish scales flickered brutally in the dim torchlight. He stood
proudly waving a spear to the adoring crowd, so he did not note his
challenger until the cheers turned to anxious whispers. A small boy
stood squarely in the center of the ring, head downcast. Few could say
the moment that he had arrived, but none could deny his presence now,
nor what it signified. The challenge had been issued. The boy's scales
contrasted greatly with the proud fighter that stood before him. Where
the champion's scales gleamed in the torchlight, the boy's seemed to
swallow it completely. Black. As the darkest night or deepest cave.
</p>

<p>
From the crowd, an adopted mother gasped as she saw her son standing
in the ring and not at her side. It was no secret that she had been
commissioned to raise the boy by the drow themselves, and the sudden
silence in the stands all but confirmed it. None knew for sure which
would win out, their customs: the right of challenge in the pits, or
their fear of the drow should anything happen to the boy.
</p>

<p>
Their internal war was ended by the sudden motion of the
challenger. He lifted his spear and lunged at the champion. The strike
was short, but the damage was done, the fight had already begun. The
champion returned the strike, only to have his spear deftly deflected
as it came down. The young half-dragon took this opportunity to charge
at the kobold before him, getting within the range of the spear and
clawing at the hands holding the weapon. Long thick lines of blood
appeared on the champion's forearms and he released the weapon in
order to block the continued onslaught and return the favor. He led
with a left hook that connected right under the boy's eye and sent him
sprawling backwards, and quickly followed it with a kick to the boy's
side, right beneath the shoulder-blade. The youth hit the ground and
dove into a roll to come back to his feat. He had no more completed
it, when another powerful kick knocked him back again, this time
against the cavern wall. More punches followed and the boy fell back
again and again against the wall and the floor, for support. His eyes
were swollen, his hands and knees bloody, his body aching from the
thrashing, but he did not signal his surrender. Instead he peered into
the champion's eyes with determination and smiled, a bloody broken
thing amid a silent crowd. The champion shook his head, but stalked in
one more time to finish it.
</p>

<p>
He never got a chance.
</p>

<p>
The only sound that could be heard for miles was his scream. Not a
person gathered breathed, nor heart beat for several moments, as their
champion writhed pitifully upon the ground clutching the wreck that
was once his face. Acid melted down into his skull and soon he could
no longer draw the breath to scream and just shivered upon the ground.
</p>

<p>
Jal'Bror'Noloth wiped the spittle from his mouth and looked up to
regard the assembled, but from his vantage point, could see but one,
the puffy chieftain upon the rock, as all bowed down to worship the
dragon-blessed.
</p>
</div>
</div>

<div id="outline-container-sec-14" class="outline-2">
<h2 id="sec-14"><span class="section-number-2">14</span> The Return</h2>
<div class="outline-text-2" id="text-14">
<p>
The hatchway was open and once again, the proud kobold mother stood
before dark elves. Though this time, she did not stand alone. Her
adopted son, nearly her height, stood, hands balled into fists, at her
side. He glanced protectively from his mother and the kobolds
cowering on the ground to the strange dark-skinned woman standing
before him, who began to speak. She spoke slowly, as if to a very
young child, and with an unfamiliar and decadent accent.
</p>

<p>
"You appear to have raised him well. Does he speak Undercommon?"
</p>

<p>
"Aks him yerself." his mother spat back.
</p>

<p>
The drow priestess held out a hand to halt one of her guards who had
stepped out of the darkness brandishing a knife. He stopped with a
quizzical look, and slipping his dagger back into his piwafwi cloak,
disappeared again.
</p>

<p>
"Do you know your name, little one?"
</p>

<p>
The boy looked to her suspiciously, but answered proudly "The others
call me Nightshade."
</p>

<p>
She smiled coolly.
</p>

<p>
"A fitting name I'm sure, but a child's name, a disguise at best." She
stalked closer to the boy, peering deeply into his eyes, and reached
out with a hand to trace the pattern of his scales.
</p>

<p>
His mother attempted to interpose herself, to shield her child from
the foreign touch, but instead found herself frozen in place
mid-step. Wide-eyed she tried to cry out, but found no words. The
paralyzing poison of the trio of small darts protruding from her back,
neck, and leg had done its task.
</p>

<p>
"I see it in your eyes little Nightshade. This place has made you a
killer, as I knew it would, but you shall become so much more. Follow
me, and rise to conquer nations! And you shall earn your true name!
Jal'Bror'Noloth!"
</p>

<p>
Jal stood dumbfounded at the revelation. He looked to the
ground. Silence fell upon the empty chamber and all eyes upon the
young half-dragon. He closed his eyes. Though he could almost feel a
thousand heartbeats all around him, the one in his chest was the
faintest. Here among the kobolds, he was revered, some kind of god to
the dragon-loving fanatics. Could the same be true of wherever this
woman would take him?
</p>

<p>
No, he decided, his place was in the caverns. And he didn't like this
stranger and her band. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes.
</p>

<p>
"I already have a mother." he stated flatly. "I have no need for
another one, nor your names for me."
</p>

<p>
Ul'Ilindith smiled, unperturbed by his response. She leaned down to
his ear and whispered "You do indeed already have a mother. But soon,
you'll have a goddess."
</p>

<p>
A hundred drow warriors appeared from the shadows, blades
spinning. Kobold blood splattered the ceilings, the floors, it
splattered the pair standing undisturbed in the midst of it. Jal found
he could not move his body, he could not open his mouth again to send
acid into the faces of the attackers.
</p>

<p>
It was over quickly. The cowering kobolds were all dead, cut into morbid
ribbons that covered the walls and floors. As were all the kobolds
that stayed in the darkness and thought themselves safe from the
spectacle. Any that saw the return of the drow or the fate of their
beloved dragon-blessed were left to feed whatever monsters that would
inevitably take up residence in the food-rich cavern. The Underdark
is not a place of wastefulness.
</p>

<p>
Jal watched as the only other survivor, his adopted mother, was put
into chains and levitated up through the drow hatchway. Still groggy
from the poison, he barely noticed when his own fetters were locked
into place. Ul'Ilindith leaned over his shoulder and whispered once
again,
</p>

<p>
"You shall know your destiny my little iblith. And you shall know the
futility of defying me."
</p>
</div>
</div>

<div id="outline-container-sec-15" class="outline-2">
<h2 id="sec-15"><span class="section-number-2">15</span> Tastavi</h2>
<div class="outline-text-2" id="text-15">
<p>
The aging Master of Arms, Elderboy Tastadraa D'Maelnor, looked over
the boy's head to his sister Ul'Ilindith.
</p>

<p>
"This? This is the one you bring to me?"
</p>

<p>
The boy appeared unremarkable in every way. Average height, build,
skin tone, hair style, musculature, almost a mockery of normalcy.
</p>

<p>
"He is."
</p>

<p>
"I take it then, he is some prodigy with a blade?"
</p>

<p>
"I doubt he's ever touched one."
</p>

<p>
Tastadraa sighed and slicked back his receding hairline. Despite his
position in the family, one can never take a demand from a High
Priestess lightly. He nodded his head,
</p>

<p>
"I will train him&#x2026;"
</p>

<p>
"Very good."
</p>

<p>
Ul'Ilindith turned to leave.
</p>

<p>
"&#x2026;assuming he passes the trials of course."
</p>

<p>
Ul'Ilindith stopped. Slowly turning around, venom oozing
from her gaze, she asked
</p>

<p>
"Trials?"
</p>

<p>
"Just a formality I assure you, since he does not appear to be
of&#x2026; noble birth. I shall train him if he proves himself superior to
my most recent student."
</p>

<p>
Ul'Ilindith smiled. She looked across the room to the gangly youth
attempting to lift a glave twice his size and nearly chopping himself
in twain as the weapon fell to the ground with a clatter&#x2013;her sister's
son would prove no challenge.
</p>

<p>
"All right. He shall fight then."
</p>

<p>
But to her surprise the weapon master called out, "Tastavi! Come hither."
</p>

<p>
From behind a weapons rack, a lithe youth looked up and walked
over. His gait was one of practiced grace and noble refinement.
</p>

<p>
"This is my son Tastavi, he came of age just yesterday to start
training with the group. Tastavi, you will be fighting this one to
determine if he is fit to train against you."
</p>

<p>
Tastavi glanced at the new boy and smirked.
</p>
</div>
</div>

<div id="outline-container-sec-16" class="outline-2">
<h2 id="sec-16"><span class="section-number-2">16</span> Trials</h2>
<div class="outline-text-2" id="text-16">
<p>
Both fighters panted for breath. They dripped with sweat. From
opposite sides of the perfect circle drawn upon the floor, they stared
into each other's eyes, waiting. Tastavi licked blood from his
battered lip.
</p>

<p>
He had expected to finish the match quickly. He held his sword
delicately but firmly, gently gliding it into thrusts and parries, as
opposed to this stranger who held his sword like a club, and used it
like one. But he quickly discovered that what the newcomer lacked in
technique he made up for with ferocity. He looked so small and
unspectacular, but possessed the raw strength of someone much larger,
and the split-second reflexes of a master. The force and savage speed
of his swings was jolting. Tastavi was able to stay ahead of each of
them, but barely.
</p>

<p>
Tastavi had then moved to the center of the ring, expending as little
effort as he could, dodging as much as deflecting, to tire out his
opponent. Eventually the frustrated and slowing newcomer simply
started swinging out as a distraction and using his body to push
Tastavi towards the edge of the ring. Several times only his training
in gymnastics had kept him from being bowled over out of the ring, and
the last rush had been the closest yet.
</p>

<p>
Tastavi had to adjust, and began to counter the charges with precise
blade thrusts, forcing his aggressor back, but took a few flying elbows
to the face while perfecting it.
</p>

<p>
Now mutual respect and more than a little exhaustion had the pair
circling. Almost an hour had passed, with neither side backing
down. His father, the Weapon's Master, stood by the wayside trying to
look disinterested to Ul'Ilindith, while nonetheless remaining intent
on every second of the fighting. The other students held no such
reservation and watched the display with open wonder.
</p>

<p>
As the two dragged themselves around they ring they knew that whatever
happened here, it would be the last clash between the two. Tastavi
hefted his blade and focused on his breathing and his feet, on his
years of training with his father, and on his enemy: nearly collapsed
on the ground, hands clenched upon the hilt of his broadsword, knuckles
as white as the hair upon his head.
</p>

<p>
And suddenly upon him.
</p>

<p>
Tastavi stepped to the side, barely avoiding the downwards strike and
stabbed out, piercing flesh and striking against bone. The newcomer
fell past him landing with a dull thud against the floor, jutting out
halfway from the ring and retching in pain. His blood bubbled from the
wound on his side. Tastavi heard a strange sizzling sound and looked
to his blade, the blood was slowly eating away the metal!
</p>

<p>
The crowd cheered, but Master Tastadraa silenced them with a harsh
reprimand and they reluctantly began to disperse. Tastavi nearly
collapsed, but held his feat and his honor. Then nearly collapsed
again as Ul'Ilindith surprised him by personally moving forward to
tend to the boy. Tastavi found himself dumbfounded before Ul'Ilindith,
who reached down and touched the boy, instantly healing him and
vaporizing the bubbling blood before it burned into the ground.
</p>

<p>
The conversation between his aunt and father echoed far away.
</p>

<p>
"I shall teach him."
</p>

<p>
"But, didn't he lose your little challenge?"
</p>

<p>
"I shall teach him."
</p>

<p>
The tip of his blade fell to the ground with a loud clatter as the
acid ate cleanly through the steel.
</p>
</div>
</div>

<div id="outline-container-sec-17" class="outline-2">
<h2 id="sec-17"><span class="section-number-2">17</span> Transformations</h2>
<div class="outline-text-2" id="text-17">
<p>
He awoke to a Sending message in his mind.
</p>

<p>
<i>Jal, it is time to train with Master Tastadraa.</i>
</p>

<p>
<i>Yes Mother.</i> he replied.
</p>

<p>
Jal lay upon a thin bisected cot, the center of which was cut away
so that he could lay on his back without the ridge on his spine
cutting at the fabric.
</p>

<p>
He looked to the three other belongings his mother allowed him: a pair
of clothes for training at blades and bows, a small key, and a thin
mask of white velvet.
</p>

<p>
He reached for the key, but changed his mind at the last second and
went for the mask instead.
</p>

<p>
He carefully set it place upon his face and grimaced beneath it as
its magic began subtly changing him. He shrank, his thick arms and
legs shriveling into the spindly appendages of the drow. The ridges on
his spine disappearing into his back. His hair remained roughly the
same, resulting in an almost comical effect if anyone were
watching. However, if anyone were watching, they would almost
certainly be dead by now. His room was one of the best guarded places
in the complex.
</p>

<p>
He left his chamber fully drow&#x2013;there was no illusion, his entire body
was changed&#x2013;and made for the training complex.
</p>
</div>
</div>

<div id="outline-container-sec-18" class="outline-2">
<h2 id="sec-18"><span class="section-number-2">18</span> Training</h2>
<div class="outline-text-2" id="text-18">
<p>
Tastadraa leaned against a trident and watched Jal and Tastavi
spar. He marveled at the progress they made in such short time. Given
years, these two would surely become the best fighters in House
D'Maelnor, if not the best fighters in Llolethane-Mael'na'rath. But
which would predominate?
</p>

<p>
Tastavi represented perfection in discipline and form. He learned
every technique: line, parry, block, feint, it didn't matter, after a
few repetitions he would master them, and he followed orders to the
very punctuation.
</p>

<p>
Jal on the other hand, represented pure natural talent and
improvisation. He could find his way in any situation with no
preparation whatsoever. He always tested his opponents, challenging
their careful techniques and reactions, throwing them into
unpredictable patterns and unfamiliar lines. He was dangerous and
cared nothing for orders.
</p>

<p>
Only time would tell.
</p>
</div>
</div>

<div id="outline-container-sec-19" class="outline-2">
<h2 id="sec-19"><span class="section-number-2">19</span> The Leader</h2>
<div class="outline-text-2" id="text-19">
<p>
Flames billowed into the sky.
</p>

<p>
The sky.
</p>

<p>
Bright and blue, horrid and happy.
</p>

<p>
Ul'Ilindith shuddered.
</p>

<p>
"Why do you show me this?"
</p>

<p>
A caped rogue peered from the crystal ball to the priestess.
</p>

<p>
"We all serve the Queen according to her will."
</p>

<p>
He motioned for her to continue watching the silent scene unfold below
in the glassy sphere. The sky came into view once again and then
shifted to a quiet village in the middle of a great yellow plain.
</p>

<p>
From the south a sweeping army of darkness crept upon the unsuspecting
village, at its head an imposing warrior. Arrayed in thick armor, not
much could be seen of his face, or much beyond the massive broadsword he
carried upon his back. With an unheard bellow he hefted the sword with
two hands and led the the charging army to battle.
</p>

<p>
A charge that faded from her view as the scene changed
subtly. Suddenly the army was on the road, traveling by the new
moon. Then they were at the gates of a great city, then inside it,
slaying indiscriminately. Then there was a throne, obsidian and
bearing the mark of the Spider Queen, and an ancient drow upon it,
casting traitors into the flames.
</p>

<p>
Ul'Ilindith struggled with the vision.
</p>

<p>
"We shall take to the surface? An army?"
</p>

<p>
"Not we, but see the mark upon the leader?"
</p>

<p>
"D'Maelnor!"
</p>

<p>
"Yes, he carries your crest. And another, of the first house."
</p>

<p>
Ul'Ilindith smiled. "Then it's true, the union shall take place?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes, but keep in mind" said the rogue, "there is but one leader
prophesied&#x2026; not two."
</p>
</div>
</div>

<div id="outline-container-sec-20" class="outline-2">
<h2 id="sec-20"><span class="section-number-2">20</span> The Contest</h2>
<div class="outline-text-2" id="text-20">
<p>
Tastavi held his bow carefully and exhaling suddenly, sent a perfect
shot into the deep-rothe's eye.
</p>

<p>
"Twenty-three" Jal sighed dramatically, his face emotionless.
</p>

<p>
"If you hadn't wasted your shot on the bull you would be tied with
me. Next time." Tastavi patted Jal on the shoulder mockingly.
</p>

<p>
"I've got one shot left." Jal pulled the arrow from his dimensional
bag.
</p>

<p>
"Even if you somehow managed to kill two of them with that, you'd only
match me." Tastavi gave him a superior look and started packing his things.
</p>

<p>
Jal stared out across the cavern floor at the grazing rothe. Slowly a
half-smile spread across his face.
</p>

<p>
"I've got one shot left." he reiterated. 
</p>

<p>
Tastavi stopped and just watched. He knew that look well enough after
all. It usually preceded something worth watching.
</p>

<p>
Jal lifted his bow, nocked the arrow and held out his hand encasing a
rothe in purple flames.
</p>

<p>
Tastavi gave him a disapproving look, "Now that's cheating!"
</p>

<p>
"No, that's not the target, watch." Jal replied.
</p>

<p>
At first the rothe seemed not to notice, and Jal lifted three fingers.
</p>

<p>
Two fingers.
</p>

<p>
One.
</p>

<p>
The rothe looked up and seeing the illusory flames encasing it, began
to panic. It let out a mooish-roar and bolted for the water.
</p>

<p>
It would have made it too, except for the very agitated bull rothe
standing directly in its path with an arrow protruding from its
hindquarters. The bull had almost come to accept the nagging itch in
its backside, but being bowled over by a frantic, and apparently
burning, female on her way to the water was not a good way to arrive
at acceptance.
</p>

<p>
He reared up and charged, looking to gore anything in its path. A
couple of plump females stood nearby and he charged at them
blindly. They looked up in time to see the horns, and bolted to the
side.
</p>

<p>
Jal fired.
</p>

<p>
His arrow whisked past the enraged bull, peeling flesh from his face
and changing his course to plow, horns-first into the escaping females,
skewering both of them before himself, crumpling to the ground.
</p>

<p>
"Ok, well that's just Twenty-three then. We're tied." Tastavi managed
to stammer. But Jal turned to him and smiled.
</p>

<p>
"Look again." 
</p>

<p>
Tastavi traced the arrow's flight from where it had been
deflected&#x2026; into the water. The startled rothe, no longer in faerie
fire, floated on her side, bleeding dark blood into the water from an
arrow between the ribs and into the heart.
</p>
</div>
</div>

<div id="outline-container-sec-21" class="outline-2">
<h2 id="sec-21"><span class="section-number-2">21</span> The Cell</h2>
<div class="outline-text-2" id="text-21">
<p>
Jal opened his eyes and realized that for the first time in several
years, his mother had not called him to training. His room was dark,
but there was no mistaking the time. She should have called by now.
</p>

<p>
He donned his mask and hesitantly took up the tiny golden key.
</p>

<p>
If she called, he would answer, but it was not often he had the time
he needed, and he decided that he would not waste it.
</p>

<p>
He dressed quickly and left his chamber, racing through the levels of
the palace to the great stair. He usually descended the stairs on
foot, but who knew how long he had to spare. He activated his house
insignia and levitated down the center.
</p>

<p>
Near the bottom, he jumped to the side and followed a narrow corridor
to the cell block. He counted his steps and arrived at the correct
door. He slid in his key and opened the lock.
</p>

<p>
Inside the room was a small cell, only a few inches taller than he and
only a few feet wider. It was empty.
</p>

<p>
"No." He said.
</p>

<p>
He had to have made a mistake. Where was she? He looked around, but
found no signs of escape, nor of capture.
</p>

<p>
"No!" He exited the room and looked both ways down the narrow
hallway.
</p>

<p>
He tried the adjacent doors, but could not open them.
</p>

<p>
"NO!" he screamed, the sound echoing in the long metallic corridor. A
second passed, then thirty. His head ached and his gut clenched and
burned. A sending arrived from his mother.
</p>

<p>
<i>Jal, come to the throne room immediately.</i>
</p>

<p>
Jal's rage flared inside him. The truth he suspected burned his lungs
and throat. He tried to be calm, to tread carefully, but couldn't help
but scream back <i>Where is she?! What have you done with her?!</i>
</p>

<p>
No response was forthcoming.
</p>

<p>
He screamed. An echoing anguish mixed among the cell-block moans. He
ran, dashing through the archway to the stair. He took no heed of
those around him as he raced fate to the throne room at the top of the
complex.
</p>

<p>
He arrived at the doors out of breath, and furious. Guards attempted
to bar his way to announce him, but Jal rushed deftly past them and
stormed into the throne room without announcement.
</p>
</div>
</div>

<div id="outline-container-sec-22" class="outline-2">
<h2 id="sec-22"><span class="section-number-2">22</span> Motherly Love</h2>
<div class="outline-text-2" id="text-22">
<p>
Ul'Ilindith reclined upon the throne. A drooling zombie stood guard
beside it, once a powerful priestess, she was now cursed to forever
stand as a reminder of what may happen to those who lose the favor of
the Spider Queen.
</p>

<p>
Guards lined the walls armed with hand crossbows. Tastadraa and his
son stood before the dais, waiting for the final addition to their
ranks.
</p>

<p>
It burst into the throne room.
</p>

<p>
"Where is she?! What have you done with her?!" Jal screamed.
</p>

<p>
Ul'Ilindith remained seated and unaffected.
</p>

<p>
Jal screamed again, "WHERE IS SHE?!" The volume and the timbre
contrasted dramatically with the unimpressive image of the drow
youth. An aura of fear radiated from him, slowly affecting the nearest
guards who stiffened and stood frozen beside the open door, mouths
agape.
</p>

<p>
"My my, Mother, what am impudent little pup I've raised." Ul'Ilindith
lamented to the zombie beside her. It responded to the attention by
lolling its head slightly towards the sound.
</p>

<p>
Jal looked to the pair standing before the throne with suspicion.
</p>

<p>
"Where is my mother." he stated.
</p>

<p>
"Jal, Jal, do calm down. I have liked your 'mother' from the moment I
saw her. I believe that we share a certain&#x2026; bond. But display an
attitude again in my presence, and I promise, she'll soon resemble
<i>my</i> mother more than yours." Ul'Ilindith casually gestured to the
guard zombie.
</p>

<p>
Jal deflated. The fire in his throat cut off any further words, and
tears threatened to well behind his eyes. But his anger wisely turned
to caution. He looked around the room and took in the situation, then
wandered to his spot beside the other two males.
</p>

<p>
Ul'Ilindith was not sure about what she'd seen foretold, and thought
about the rogue's warning. She had worried about the course set before
her, but Jal's continuing insubordination left no room for doubt.
</p>

<p>
She put aside her contemplation and said with a plastered smile,
</p>

<p>
"A special opportunity has come to my attention. The first house has
shown to me a great vision of the future. A great warrior, a son of
D'Maelnor, shall join with the first house and lead an army of
darkness across the surface world."
</p>

<p>
Master Tastadraa's mouth fell agape, Tastavi focused on calming his
excitement, Jal just strained against his rage, though there was dull
curiosity there too. Tastavi was the only "son of D'Maelnor" he knew
who could possibly wear the description of 'great warrior.'
</p>

<p>
Ul'Ilindith just watched their reactions to be sure. Yes, the choice
was obvious, but perhaps it should still be best left in Lolth's
hands.
</p>

<p>
"Brother, you're a bit too old to be our warrior. Step away from the
dais. I will address the boys."
</p>

<p>
Tastadraa bowed and stepped back into a line of guards at the side.
</p>

<p>
Jal felt isolated upon the dais. He looked to Tastavi uncertainly, but
Tastavi looked at his aunt with expectancy, ambition gleaming in his
eyes.
</p>

<p>
Ul'Ilindith addressed the room. "Before me stand two great sons of
D'Maelnor:"
</p>

<p>
A dull question thumped in the back of Jal's mind. <i>What?</i>
</p>

<p>
"Tastavi, son of Tastadraa D'Maelnor."
</p>

<p>
<i>Two great sons? Tastadraa isn't up here, just Tastavi and&#x2026;</i>
</p>

<p>
"and Jal'Bror'Noloth, my firstborn son,"
</p>

<p>
Jal almost fell from the dais. No, she had been his 'Matron Mother',
but he'd never believed that&#x2026;
</p>

<p>
"whom I carried and delivered."
</p>

<p>
Jal's rage flared, but his voice was nowhere to be found it in. He
stood stone-faced and looked to the ground.
</p>

<p>
Tastavi looked to his newfound cousin with surprise, and sudden
jealousy. All this time, and Jal had never told him? There he stood,
embarrassed to have his secret revealed. Were they ever friends, or
only rivals?
</p>

<p>
"Both of you have surpassed my expectations with regard to fighting
prowess. But&#x2026; There is but one great warrior." Ul'Ilindith stated
clearly.
</p>

<p>
She let the statement sink in.
</p>

<p>
Tastavi turned.
</p>

<p>
Jal broke from his focused denial and turned to look at his friend. He
shook his head, slowly in disbelief.
</p>

<p>
Tastavi reached his hands slowly to the hilts of his swords.
</p>

<p>
Jal made no move to match him. He looked to Ul'Ilindith. She smiled
wickedly. He looked to Tastadraa. He looked lost, a mixture of caring
father, and greedy coward.
</p>

<p>
He threw off his sword belt. It fell with a clatter to the ground.
</p>

<p>
"Tastavi can go. He can be your warrior."
</p>

<p>
Tastavi looked quickly back and forth between Jal and Ul'Ilindith.
</p>

<p>
Ul'Ilindith's smile became a sneer.
</p>

<p>
A muffled screaming came from somewhere behind the throne and an aging
kobold, bound and gagged, naked and bleeding, was brought before
it. The zombie drooled at her and strained at its magical restraints.
</p>

<p>
"No. You shall fight, my little iblith." She held out her hand before
her with an open palm. In it lay a small scrap of white velvet. Slowly
fire rose from her fingers and ignited it.
</p>

<p>
Immediately Jal was wracked with pain as if his face was being torn
off. He screamed, a primal roar, a dragon's roar. Guards around the
room stiffened. Tastavi's eyes grew wide.
</p>

<p>
Ul'Ilindith turned her hand over into a fist and crushed the ashes.
</p>

<p>
The polymorph spell of the mask was ended. Jal knelt on the
ground. He breathed heavily and shivered. His clothes were tatters. He
held the thin mask in his hands&#x2013;his clawed hands. He looked up, his
white hair falling over his yellow eyes.
</p>

<p>
Tastavi looked upon him with a mixture of disgust, betrayal, and fear.
</p>

<p>
Jal shook his head, dropped the mask, and held his hands up
defensively, waving away the accusation in Tastavi's eyes.
</p>

<p>
"Kill him." Ul'Ilindith commanded Tastavi.
</p>

<p>
Tastavi drew his swords.
</p>
</div>
</div>

<div id="outline-container-sec-23" class="outline-2">
<h2 id="sec-23"><span class="section-number-2">23</span> The Will of Lolth</h2>
<div class="outline-text-2" id="text-23">
<p>
Though years had passed since their first fight, Jal found the whole
scene familiar. Tastavi would stalk forward blades drawn and execute a
perfect series of textbook thrusts and faints. He'd win. He usually
did, but this time he wouldn't stop. This was no practice spar; this
was life and death.
</p>

<p>
Jal snatched up his weapon belt, pulling his blades from it&#x2013;a rapier
and a dagger&#x2013;kicked it into Tastavi's face, and retreated.  But
Tastavi responded by slashing down in a brutal 'X' with his scimitars,
cutting the tossed belt and bag into four even pieces. Jal tried to
reason with him, but couldn't get out more than a word against the
determination in Tastavi's eyes, and speed of his routine.
</p>

<p>
Tastavi came on in full. Emotions flooded his mind, betrayal was
nothing new or exotic to a drow, but this was something more than
that. Jal was a half-breed, a disgrace. He would put an end to this
traitor, this ibluth masquerading as a D'Maelnor. Only a true D'Maelnor
could lead an army of drow to bring justice to the surface world. Not
this abomination. Tastavi thought back to every fight against the
traitor, to the times he had beaten him. His training had always won
out in the end. He couldn't help but think of the good times as
well. But he violently rejected them. Lies, they were all lies.
</p>

<p>
Tastavi lunged forward, his whole body extending, uncoiling like a
viper. Jal managed a half-hearted parry, sending Tastavi's thrust out
wide, but lost space, as Tastavi dropped his blade below, tapped the
tip of Jal's rapier harmlessly upwards with the strong of his blade
and re-engaged. Jal managed to parry the first few blows of every
line, but barely held on as the sequences progressed. He was never as
good as Tastavi at feeling the parries and teaching his arms to
remember them. Jal relied on the space afforded by his greater
height, backing away, disengaging, dodging, and doing anything to
break Tastavi's muscle memory. Several times he tried to flee, but
whenever he came close to the guards, their crossbows forced him back
into the fight against his friend.
</p>

<p>
Jal looked into Tastavi's eyes, but saw nothing but pain there. Deep
welling emotion. Not regret, but pure righteous hatred. The look
festered like a wound on his conscience. He felt the bile welling in
his throat, preparing to send forth a blast of acid to burn away that
look. But he choked it back and continued to parry.
</p>

<p>
There had to be another way.
</p>

<p>
Jal felt strong. Free from the polymorph, he was able to stand to his
full height, the chamber, the columns, even the other drow all seemed
so much smaller now. The passing thought gave him an idea. But he had
to act quickly.
</p>

<p>
Jal flexed his thick legs, turned, back to the enemy, and rushed
headlong into a pair of guards. He felt the wind of Tastavi's blade
barely miss impaling him. The guards paled at the sight of a large
black half-dragon barreling at them, and dodged behind a pillar, firing
crossbow bolts at him as they fell. But they were poorly aimed and
glanced off of his hard black scales. He followed them around the
pillar, screaming. Then silence filled the chamber.
</p>

<p>
Tastavi soon followed, breathing heavily from his furious assault, but
found nothing around the pillar but the pair of guards unconscious on
the ground. He darted around the other side of the pillar to find
nothing there either. He looked around behind him in frustration and
caught a glance at another guard from the other side of the room
staring dumbfounded at the ceiling. He turned to the pillar and found
deep scratches on the intricately carved relief. His eyes followed
them up, to find Jal climbing, tearing chunks of the porous stone free
with his claws to use as handholds.
</p>

<p>
Ul'Ilindith held out a hand to keep the archers at bay, amused by the
tactic.
</p>

<p>
Tastavi put away his swords and carefully followed him up.
</p>

<p>
The chamber's ceiling was crisscrossed with the webs of thousands of
spiders. Moths and flies, bats and even larger specimens struggled in
freshly wrapped cocoons or lay very still. Drow-made archways that
provided places for the webs to attach jut from odd angles.
Crisscrossing struts connected them in intricate patterns. Jal leaped
from the top of the pillar to one of these, sending its occupants
scurrying away.
</p>

<p>
He moved from strut to strut, displacing as few spiders as
possible&#x2013;it was bad luck after all&#x2013;running where he could, climbing
where he could not, and constantly dodging the think and sticky
strands. He reached the end of one strut and turned to see Tastavi
racing after him, swords drawn, hacking at whatever strands got too
close. Jal looked around and dove into the thickest part of the
webbing, directly over the throne.
</p>

<p>
In the confined space it would be much more difficult to dodge, and
impossible to run, but Jal took comfort in knowing that if he could
find the right spot, it would also be impossible to lunge. His greater
range combined with the sticky walls could then keep any advance at
bay. He found a large strut, disconnected from the one he was on,
probably two feet think, and curving from the ceiling like a
hook. Tastavi was nearly on him. This would have to do.
</p>

<p>
He took a deep breath, coiled like a spring and jumped. He tossed his
rapier into the air, spun around, back parallel to the ground, and
threw his dagger out behind him. He continued his rotation and found
the strut at the same time the rapier bounced against it. The blade
followed the curve upwards and then fell off to the side. Jal reached
out with his legs and caught it with his foot.
</p>

<p>
Tastavi turned the corner quickly, moving to follow him, but had stop
to knock aside the dagger inches from his face. He glared across the
gap.
</p>

<p>
Jal pulled himself up with a deep groan and the heavy rumbling breaths
of a dragon. More than forty feet below him from the throne chamber,
Ul'Ilindith smiled wickedly.
</p>

<p>
Jal watched as Tastavi's furious glare turned into a look of panic.
</p>

<p>
Several web strands twinged near Jal's head and a slight clicking
sound came from somewhere disturbingly close by.
</p>

<p>
"It's a spider isn't it?"
</p>

<p>
Tastavi's silence was telling.
</p>

<p>
"It's right behind me isn't it?&#x2026;"
</p>

<p>
"&#x2026;"
</p>

<p>
"Right."
</p>

<p>
Jal dropped to the strut just in time for the spider's jowls to snap
shut where he stood. He turned and sliced out with his rapier, tearing
away a thick strand of webbing. He wrapped it around his leg, then
jerked left and right, barely dodged the spider's next two rapid
attempts to capture him. He kicked out against it, not to hurt it, but
to use it as a springboard. He jumped back across the gap, sword
leading his way.
</p>

<p>
Tastavi saw the move coming and instead of falling back, he leaped
from the ledge as well in order to push Jal back into the line of attack
from the giant spider. They collided in midair and struggled over a
tiny ledge before both losing their footing and plummeting towards the
ground.
</p>

<p>
A sickening crunch echoed in the chamber.
</p>

<p>
Tastavi groaned upon the ground. Jal hung from the thick strand of
webbing just above him. They had fallen towards the center of the
room, nearby the spot where the fight had begun, before the throne.
</p>

<p>
Tastavi opened his blurry eyes to find Jal standing over him, or
rather, hanging over him, rapier at his throat.
</p>

<p>
"Very good, Jal. Now end it!" Ul'Ilindith cheered.
</p>

<p>
Tastadraa looked at her with disbelief.
</p>

<p>
Jal lifted his rapier, pressing it deep, drawing blood. Tastavi pulled
away, but winced at his multiple broken bones, some of which protruded
grotesquely and spouted little fountains of blood. He closed his eyes,
ready to accept his defeat if that was the will of the Spider Queen.
</p>

<p>
But instead, Jal shifted his weight to swing himself towards the
throne, brought his sword around, cutting the line holding him aloft,
and flipped over towards the dais. He landed with a roll, dodging the
lazy lunge of the zombie guarding the throne and sprang forward with
the grace of a cat and the speed of a scorpion.
</p>

<p>
A deep thunk and sudden rushing of air shattered the sudden
silence. Jal's rapier dug deeply into Ul'Ilindith's chest and blood
spurted from the wound. A second later, two dozen crossbow bolts hit
Jal in the chest and paralysis seeped into his muscles from each tiny
pinprick.
</p>

<p>
Ul'Ilindith's voice came through ragged slurping breaths, a spell of
some kind, and Jal found himself sprawling backwards, teeth chattering
and sword shattered into shrapnel in his hands. He landed roughly upon
the dais steps a few feet from the broken Tastavi who looked at him
aghast.
</p>

<p>
Ul'Ilindith's eyes changed to a deep black, and raven flames engulfed
her. She chanted with otherworldly power. Her wound closed. She began
to levitate and ripped off her stained clothes with revulsion.
</p>

<p>
"Once again you disappoint me my son. Watch what is borne of your
failings!"
</p>

<p>
Ul'Ilindith turned ruefully towards the bound kobold and sent forth
waves of necrotic energy that quickly tore her apart. Jal tried to
scream, but his mouth refused to open and his voice left him silent in
his agony.
</p>

<p>
Ul'Ilindith was not finished though.
</p>

<p>
"I'll show you the cost of your weakness! Watch as I cut it out."
</p>

<p>
Instead of turning her wrath on Jal, she turned on Tastavi, pointing a
rueful finger and chanting. Soon lightning arced between her fingers,
gathering for discharge.
</p>

<p>
"Noo!!" Tastadraa screamed, breaking ranks and standing between his
son and his sister. He held aloft a glowing shield emblazoned with
the lightning symbol of the surface god Talos, and in his other hand a
broadsword wreathed in black flames.
</p>

<p>
"I shall not allow this!" He called to her.
</p>

<p>
"This is not yours to decide, Elderboy." she spat back.
</p>

<p>
Ul'Ilindith let fly her spell, and lightning shot from her finger to
the waiting Tastadraa. Electricity sparked and crackled as the shield
focused and contained it. What little hair remained on Tastadraa's
balding head stood straight but his look of determination and
concentration disrupted whatever mirth could be garnered from the
sight. He brought around his sword and rapped it against the crackling
shield and then with a wave of his arm, released the energy at the
ground beside him. Lightning arced into the stone and it exploded with
a deafening blast.
</p>

<p>
Tastadraa stalked slowly forward towards Ul'Ilindith.
</p>

<p>
"I'm sorry, Sister, but this is not how the D'Maelnor line shall
end&#x2013;with an abomination."
</p>

<p>
Guards swarmed from beside the throne and drew swords&#x2013;drow that
Tastadraa had taught. But he had not taught them everything. Two moved
forward to engage him. Their heads fell to the floor and corpses
turned to ash beneath his wicked blade.
</p>

<p>
The rest of the guards looked to the powerful siblings and decided to
refrain from allowing their duty decide their deaths.
</p>

<p>
Ul'Ilindith sneered. She began to chant again, her eyes rolling up
into her head. The air grew dense inside the throne room, thick and
stifling, beads of sweat began to form and run down Ul'Ilindith's
naked body.
</p>

<p>
Tastadraa stalked forward with the shield of Talos held high.
</p>

<p>
Beside the throne, the twisted and battered form of Jal's adopted
mother began to twitch.
</p>

<p>
She finished her incantation, but waited to unleash the spell to
gloat, "Lets see your blasphemous surface god save you from this one."
</p>

<p>
Her hand jerked spasmodically and green bile erupted from the air
around it in a stream and blasted Tastadraa to the ground. Contagion
spread across his body wherever the stuff touched and ate away his
skin. At the same time the kobold skeleton began to slowly shift into
place, ligaments forming, muscle growing upon the shifting bones.
</p>

<p>
But Tastadraa was not finished, he pushed with his rotting limbs and
triggered the levitation on his amulet. He rose, blade poised to end
the conflict with a single vorpal strike. Then his body fell limp and
he hung awkwardly in the air, his head crushed from behind by the maw
of a giant spider.
</p>

<p>
Tastavi cried out in anguish.
</p>

<p>
Paralyzed by more than just the drow poison, Jal watched the scene
progress in horror. Tastadraa was nothing more than a decaying pile of
flesh, Tastavi lay broken by his fall, his adopted mother under the
throes of some insidious magic.
</p>

<p>
Only Ul'Ilindith seemed unharmed, floating above them all cherishing
the moment.
</p>

<p>
The ground began to shake.
</p>

<p>
"Fool, don't you see? A traitor and his son are revealed and Lolth has
shown me favor! The dead rise. Even Toril trembles! This is the will
of Lolth!"
</p>

<p>
She continued, addressing the guards, "Now. Do as I commanded."
</p>

<p>
A crossbow bolt zipped past Jal's frozen face. The whole world seemed
to stop. But the bolt was not indented for him. Beside him, Tastavi's
scream became a gurgle as the crossbow bolt in his throat quickly
drained him of both the air and the blood needed to circulate it.
</p>

<p>
Jal retched involuntarily, and could taste the poison on his lips.
</p>

<p>
The shaking intensified in the chamber. A column came down in dozens
of jagged pieces. Guards ran about, dodging falling debris and
spiders.
</p>

<p>
Tastavi breathed his last, slumping against the broken stone.
</p>

<p>
Ul'Ilindith, levitating, but stationary in the air was pelted with
rock fragments and quickly began her descent.
</p>

<p>
Jal's anger flared within him, but fear helped him keep his head and
push away the worst effects of the poison. What was going on?
</p>

<p>
Ul'Ilindith reached the ground and began to hurry towards Jal, still
paralyzed upon the dais steps, but a curious laugh stopped her.
</p>

<p>
"Hahaha, 'da will a Lolth you say?" The scratchy voice became clearer
by the second. Ul'Ilindith turned to the living kobold slowly standing
up where her corpse should have rested. Her scales grew back in
patches, and she peered at the Matron Mother with one regenerated eye.
</p>

<p>
"No my dear, this&#x2026;" she gestured to the chaos around her.
</p>

<p>
"&#x2026;is the will of Tiamat."
</p>

<p>
The ceiling collapsed.
</p>
</div>
</div>

<div id="outline-container-sec-24" class="outline-2">
<h2 id="sec-24"><span class="section-number-2">24</span> Doom</h2>
<div class="outline-text-2" id="text-24">
<p>
Often a dragon's roar precedes its breath, but Ik'lithslaelith was too
cautious and too clever for that. When he roared over the shattered
second house of Llolethane-Mael'na'rath, it was a roar of victory. He
watched the wreckage from the shadows for a time, but his instructions
had been clear: leave nothing behind&#x2013;and then leave. He disappeared
into the forgotten tunnel and was gone.
</p>
</div>
</div>

<div id="outline-container-sec-25" class="outline-2">
<h2 id="sec-25"><span class="section-number-2">25</span> Destruction</h2>
<div class="outline-text-2" id="text-25">
<p>
The palace fell.
</p>

<p>
A lone drowess rose from the ashes at the edge of the desolation. The
acid dripped from her hands, from her hair, and fell sizzling to the
ground leaving her unharmed. Lady Lolth had long ago given her a
defense against such poison, when she carried it in her womb.
</p>

<p>
Ul'Ilindith stood alone in the rubble and followed the only other pair
of footprints leaving the shattered homestead: her son's.
</p>

<p>
Jal limped through the wreckage, dragging Tastavi's body behind
him. It had to be around here somewhere. He hefted a door-sized piece
of slate from a shimmering object sticking out from underneath it. A
drained and blistered hand held fast to a broken sword, but what
attracted Jal's eye was a thin piece of white velvet. Jal took the
mask and dropped the slate back into place, reverently.
</p>

<p>
He turned to the body and rasped, "It doesn't look like either of us
will be leading any armies today. Please forgive me." He placed the
velvet mask on Tastavi's face and began the attunement ritual. He left
the cavern once again fully drow, wearing the face of his friend, and
carrying his inheritance, a silver shield of a strange surface god,
upon his back.
</p>
</div>
</div>

<div id="outline-container-sec-26" class="outline-2">
<h2 id="sec-26"><span class="section-number-2">26</span> Dreams</h2>
<div class="outline-text-2" id="text-26">
<p>
Three Years Later&#x2026;
</p>

<p>
Jal lay on his back on a roof overlooking a bustling marketplace and
stared dreamily at the cavern ceiling. It had been years since his
flight from the shattered D'Maelnor estate, and he had managed to find
some semblance of normalcy in Llolethane, the central cavern of the
drow city of Llolethane-Mael'na'rath. He rested his head on his
shield, now mostly painted black to blend in with the shadows, and
wondered what life would be like without a thousand tons of rock above
your head. He wondered what it would be like to fly.
</p>

<p>
Below him he heard the telltale laughter of the fat merchant leader he
had followed to this inn. He picked up his bow and his shield and
stalked to the edge of the roof above a window. He carefully dipped
the inner edge of the shield below the overhang and watched the party
descending the staircase in the cool golden reflection. Then he pulled
it back up, turned with his back to the alleyway, and counted
dramatically, with a familiar half-smile.
</p>

<p>
Three.
</p>

<p>
Two.
</p>

<p>
One.
</p>

<p>
Then he flipped from the roof, dropping below the lip and firing an
arrow through the window. He landed on the cavern floor with a roll
and disappeared into the shadows&#x2013;just another renegade drow in a city
of renegades. He did not stay to confirm his success or failure, but
fled to where he could most easily disappear: the bustling
marketplace.
</p>

<p>
He strolled easily through the crowded streets. Though his appearance
was quite a bit more handsome than that he had grown up with, he could
still blend in with a crowd if he so desired. But then again, where
was the fun in that? He was dressed in fine silks and jewels, not
rags. And with a small lump beneath his throat, unquestionably
covering a house insignia, he was obviously a noble and was given a
wide birth by the lesser folk. He casually examined the merchandise of
a few carts, but exuded little outward care for the whole venture,
particularly when several guards burst from the inn and sent rogues
into back alleys to seek an assassin.
</p>

<p>
He eventually made his way into this same inn, and dodging guards
carting some new lordling's inherited possessions from an upper room,
was addressed cordially by a concierge, "Ah, welcome back Sir! It
appears that you are in luck, a room has just opened up for you."
</p>

<p>
Jal smiled to himself and turned to dismiss the man with a "Thank You."
</p>

<p>
He never finished that thought.
</p>

<p>
The man was dead.
</p>

<p>
He stood, smiling pleasantly in demure house leathers with half of his
face melted off to the bone, dripping tar-like blood upon his fine
padded vest. A spider crawled out from where his ear should have been
and snickered at him.
</p>

<p>
Jal backed away slowly aghast, but everyone else went stoically about
their business, unperturbed. The room grew dark and Jal turned to the
window. A thick spiderweb had covered it with a hand-sized spider
hurriedly wrapping a struggling shape. A tiny dragon's wing jut from
the bundle.
</p>

<p>
Jal ran.
</p>

<p>
He sprinted from the inn and disregarding caution, fled through the
black alleys and twisted honeycomb and spiderweb streets. It was like
the passages were built to be confounding, and yet somehow mercilessly
efficient. In a matter of moments he was back amid the ruins of the
old city, broken homes and discarded people. Screams from behind him
followed, the sounds of the guards seeking an assassin. But much
worse, the sounds of shattering stone and a deafening roar echoed
through the cavern.  Jal scurried through the final alleyway and dove
into his hideout in an abandoned sewer tunnel. He dropped his rich
clothes in the muck and crawled away on hands and knees.
</p>

<p>
He remembered the frantic cries of his mother being torn apart and
then her defiant laugh as the walls fell. Her last words echoed
through his mind, "the will of Tiamat!" Another vicious roar sent
ripples through the water and shivers through the very stone. He heard
the clicking of spiders in the distance, drawing nearer. Closing in.
</p>

<p>
He was being hunted. Franticly he drew the shield from his back and
over his head and grasped a small dagger in his hand. He was once
again a child, in loose-fitting kobold rags and with weapons he could
barely use. He huddled terrified in a dark corner. He closed his eyes
and begged whatever gods could hear him to escape.
</p>

<p>
A faint hiss cut through the clamor. Not a god, but a tiny snake, the
size of a little worm, crawled from the loose stones and looked up at
Jal, flicking its tongue inquisitively. The hiss grew louder, drowning
out the skittering of the approaching swarm and rumble of the
searching dragon. The serpent grew, coiling and stretching, always
watching. Jal found that he was no longer afraid, but curious. The
serpent grew to immense proportions filling the tiny sewer tunnel,
which became a great cavern, yet it still barely contained the
powerful creature.
</p>

<p>
Dendar, the Night Serpent, the Eater of the World, loomed over the
boy. She laughed with the might of thunder and the promise of
disaster. Jal found he could not move.
</p>

<p>
"Jal'Bror'Noloth, your dreamss are deliciouss."
</p>

<p>
Her huge tongue flicked in and out of her mouth, creating wind eddies
that buffeted Jal against the stone. Greasy spittle and half-devoured
bones&#x2013;remnants of nightmares long forgotten&#x2013;dripped from her
cavernous maw. Jal could not speak, not even think, as the stench of
nightmare overwhelmed him.
</p>

<p>
"Your nightmare though&#x2026; tastess unique. Because it is true. And
closer than you think. Evil godss have planss for you it seemss." The
serpent hissed.
</p>

<p>
Jal shuddered.
</p>

<p>
Dendar laughed&#x2013;a terrible rasping hiss.
</p>

<p>
"And yet&#x2026; perhapss their planss are merely dreamss. Join me, little
drow-gon and while the godss fret for your fate, we shall feassst!"
</p>

<p>
Suddenly the world returned and Jal awoke from his reverie. What a
dream! What a nightmare! The details faded, chewed away from his mind,
but the image of the serpent and her strange offer lingered.
</p>

<p>
The quiet dripping of sewer water and occasional scurrying of rodent
or insect were the only sounds to be heard besides the dull pounding
of his heart.
</p>

<p>
He sat in the muck for hours.
</p>

<p>
They were never far behind. Staying in one place for too long was
dangerous, but something held Jal in place. Could he actually escape
it all?
</p>

<p>
Soon a distant splash alerted him to company. Heavy footsteps,
confident and strong, echoed through the tunnel. Throngs of rodents
scurried away from the sound, fleeing in terror they trampled on one
another. A light breeze blew through the stinking place from the
opposite end of the tunnel and the insects stopped their chattering,
frozen and reverent. Jal couldn't think. They'd found him. They'd both
found him. It was too late.
</p>

<p>
A lightning bolt streaked through the tunnel past him and a barbaric
roar answered it.
</p>

<p>
The wind began to howl through the tunnel like a cyclone and the
sounds of crumbling rock assailed him from both sides.
</p>

<p>
Jal grimaced and hesitated. But as the twin forms came into view, he
shouted into the clamor, "ENOUGH! Dendar! We are bound, now free me
from this place!"
</p>

<p>
<i>Wissse Choissce&#x2026;</i>
</p>

<p>
Instantly a portal opened before him like a tear in reality and
brilliant light beamed through. Jal rushed into it and was transported
many miles away in an instant. A startled yell and the renewed sounds
of battle followed him through, but then there was nothing but
silence, the gentle breeze, and the burning light of the midday sun.
</p>
</div>
</div>

<div id="outline-container-sec-27" class="outline-2">
<h2 id="sec-27"><span class="section-number-2">27</span> The Surface</h2>
<div class="outline-text-2" id="text-27">
<p>
The blinding light of the Shaar's Summer Sun left Jal helpless.
</p>

<p>
He lay upon the ground thinking it maybe better he have died quickly
in the tunnels or upon his own blade. But such musings held no real
power, and with the setting of the Sun, and the rising of the lesser
evils of the moon and of the stars, he wept freely. For though he was
bound&#x2013;and nightmares would indeed become routine while in service to
their master&#x2013;for the first time in his life, he was free.
</p>
</div>
</div>

<div id="outline-container-sec-28" class="outline-2">
<h2 id="sec-28"><span class="section-number-2">28</span> Credits</h2>
<div class="outline-text-2" id="text-28">
<p>
[Thank you for Reading! I'm Andrew Murrell, an aspiring D&amp;D author and
dedicated DM. Check out my blog at <a href="http://AndrewDM.me/">http://AndrewDM.me/</a> [WIP] for
updates or if you'd like to see more stuff like this!]
</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div id="postamble" class="status">
<p class="author">Author: Andrew Murrell</p>
<p class="date">Created: 2016-08-30 Tue 23:56</p>
<p class="creator"><a href="http://www.gnu.org/software/emacs/">Emacs</a> 24.5.1 (<a href="http://orgmode.org">Org</a> mode 8.2.10)</p>
<p class="validation"><a href="http://validator.w3.org/check?uri=referer">Validate</a></p>
</div>
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