"Lloth!"
Lloth did not deign to glance at her brother when she replied, "What is it now, Arphaeus?"
"You will regret turning your back on the drow," he promised her.
Enraged, Lloth turned to him, anger blazing in her crimson eyes.
"How dare you!" she screamed. "How dare-" the words died in her throat when she saw what Arphaeus was holding in his hand. Her eyes widened, it was her heart.
"How did you come by that?" she demanded. Arphaeus noted the tremor in her voice with a satisfied smirk.
"Your loyal slaves have betrayed you, Lloth, as you have betrayed them," he said. "It was your own arrogance that led to your downfall. Convinced that no one could find the heart, convinced that no one could overthrow House Baenre without your consent…it shall be your demise, my dear sister."
"A new empire shall arise," he continued. "A new empire in the name of Arphaeus!"
Lloth snarled and lunged for him, but he stepped aside easily. She spun around just in time to see him plunge a steel blade deep into her heart.
"You are forgotten," he whispered, as he watched the Spider Queen die.

Using her powers of levitation, Triel Baenre explored the many wonders of the crystal tower. Indeed, it was a far more fitting palace than House Baenre! The ability to shift and move things about as easily as blinking pleased her greatly. She had felt desolate for the past few days; certain Lloth had abandoned her forever, and felt like nothing more than a discarded carcass for her powers. No more! Her powers had returned to her, greater than ever, surely the Matron had once more fallen into Lloth's favor!
She did not know that these powers were limited to the crystal tower, or that they came not from Lloth but rather Crenshinibon itself. She refused to admit to herself that she didn't care where the powers came from; she just knew she didn't feel lost or misguided any longer.
Lost, perhaps she was not. But she was still very much misguided.
Gromph soon joined her, as pleased as she with the progress yet for a very different reason. To Gromph, Crenshinibon's tower was just another sign that victory was near at hand. He looked up and envisioned it all crashing down on top of Triel's head. The thought brought a smile to his lips.
"It is a miraculous thing, brother," Triel remarked. "House Baenre basks in Lloth's glory once more."
"Indeed," Gromph nodded his agreement. Triel seemed satisfied with the vague answer and continued to ascend, pleased as a child who had been given a fascinating new toy to play with. Everywhere she looked she saw power and personal gain. It left Jarlaxle marveling once more at the shallowness of his fellow drow. The mercenary shook his head and leaned against the wall, perfectly content to wait at the bottom to be joined by his companions. He had held Crenshinibon in his very hands, the Crystal Shard's power had been his to construct. He had constructed whole towers on the surface! There was nothing new that Triel Baenre could show him, he had seen it all before.
Yet, he could not help but be amazed at the tower's sheer size. The ones he had constructed on the surface seemed small and humble compared to this new monstrosity. Triel had meant it when she said that she was going to construct herself a palace. The mercenary chuckled to himself. A place to worship Lloth indeed, more like a place to worship Triel!
Jarlaxle knew very well that the Spider Queen was dead. Gromph knew it, too, and did not seem overly upset. The Archmage had not been one of Lloth's most devout followers; anyone who knew him well enough could see that. Yet he played his part well, back when it saved him from the wrath of his mother, and when he still needed his sisters for protection. Back when their protection was still worth something, that is.
But now a new era was dawning, and Gromph no longer needed his sisters. He only needed Gromph. The mercenary prayed that here would not be a time when the Archmage decided he no longer needed Jarlaxle.
Triel finally finished exploring every nook and cranny there was to explore in the tower, and she and her brother slowly eased themselves back down to the ground. Jarlaxle pulled off his hat and swept a low, courtly bow. Then he brought himself back up and plopped his hat back onto his bald head before resuming his previous position.
"Greetings, Jarlaxle," Triel's voice held all the warmth of an icecube. Jarlaxle smiled.
"And a good day to you, too, Matron Mother," he replied, ignoring Gromph's expression as he rolled his eyes. "I was just admiring the … magnificence of your tower."
"It is magnificent, is it not?" Triel's smile was genuine now. Crenshinibon hung from a braided cord on her neck, and she was stroking it like a cat. "Do you not doubt that it will bring much glory Spider Queen?"
Much glory to Triel, you mean. Jarlaxle added in his thoughts, but he kept that part to himself. Instead, he swept off his hat again and gave her another low bow. "I whole-heartedly agree."
Gromph's frown had reached dangerous proportions. Jarlaxle held back a snicker. He knew his flippancy annoyed Gromph much more than it annoyed Triel, who seemed to be eating his words up.
"You do not agree with Jarlaxle?" Triel asked, addressing Gromph this time. Gromph looked at her but did not shake off his general expression.
"Naturally I agree with him," the Archmage nearly snapped. "He's right, of course. The tower is a praiseworthy thing indeed and will bring much glory to the Spider Queen." Gromph nodded curtly to his sister, then spun on his heel and turned towards the door, motioning for Jarlaxle to follow, who did so with a tip of his hat and a click of his heel to the Matron Mother. "Something has put you in a sour mood today," the mercenary leader said once he caught up with the Archmage. "And here I thought you would be pleased with the progress."
"I am pleased," the Archmage growled. Jarlaxle smiled broadly.
"If this is your pleasure, my friend, I would dearly hate to see your displeasure."
"That would be too much to ask, Jarlaxle."

"It's beautiful," Quenthel said breathlessly, truly awestruck by the sight of Crenshinibon's tower.
"Yes, it is," Triel replied, beaming.
"What does Gromph think of it?"
Triel's smile quickly turned into a scowl.
"His opinion does not matter," she snapped.
"But does he approve of-"
"I do not need his approval!" Triel screeched. Quenthel looked at her volatile sister in surprise and wisely back down.
"Of course not," she reasoned. "Forgive me, I was only curious." She glanced back to the tower. Quenthel was suddenly questioning the wisdom of her choice. The Crystal Shard seemed to have completely possessed her sister. She didn't know whether the presence of the tower in Menzoberranzan was a good thing or not.

Catti-Brie shivered in the darkness, tears welling up unbidden in her blue eyes and spilled freely over her cheeks. She tried desperately to think of Mithril Hall, of Bruenor Battlehammer, her adopted father. Of Regis, the halfling who had grown so dear to her heart. She tried to think of Wulfgar, the barbarian who she had once promised to wed. And she tried to think of Drizzt, who she loved so dearly and who she would give anything to see again.
But she could not think of any of those things, all the comforting images had been stripped away from her mind, leaving nothing but black, unoccupied spaces. The illithid had entered and tortured her mind, and then left her in the darkness with no images of home to comfort her.
She heard a door open, and she feared it was another illithid. Or was it the same one, coming back to torture her again? She whimpered and curled up again, burying her face into her chest. Something touched her arm, and she was so surprised she cried out.
"Shh, beautiful one," came a whispered voice from the darkness. Catti-Brie looked up in surprise and relief to see it was not another mind flayer horror, but rather Jarlaxle, leader of the mercenary band Bregan D'aerthe.
"Jarlaxle!" she cried, relieved, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. Jarlaxle hesitated, and cursed himself for it. Why had he volunteered for the job to come and finish off the young woman? One glance at his eyes told Catti-Brie what he meant to do.
"Oh, please, no," she sobbed. "I just want to be seein' Drizzt again, I just want to be seein' him!" she burst into a fresh gust of tears. Jarlaxle sighed.
"I am afraid we must part on bad terms," he told her. Catti-Brie sniffed and sobbed, her nose was beginning to bleed.
Jarlaxle cursed his bleeding heart and began to walk towards the door. Halfway there he met up with Yharaskrik, who stood blocking the doorway.
"Finish the job!" The evil mind flayer commanded him. Jarlaxle glared and shook his head.
"FINISH THE JOB!" The mind flayer exclaimed more intensely. "Now, or you'll regret it for the rest of your life, drow!"
Jarlaxle growled and spun around, a dagger flying from the depths of his cloak and striking the surprised Catti-Brie solidly in the back, piercing her heart and a lung.
"Curse ye drow," she moaned breathlessly. And then she died.
Jarlaxle stalked past Yharaskrik, his boots echoing loudly in the now deadly silent hall.

Drizzt heard of Catti-Brie's death long before Jarlaxle found the chance to tell him.
"It was for the best," Kimmuriel reassured him. "She was only human, after all."
Drizzt gritted his teeth but said nothing.
"I resent that," Entreri said from the corner. Kimmuriel laughed.
"You may be human on the outside, assassin, but you're just as much as a drow as I am on the inside."
That hit a sore spot, and Entreri turned his head.
Drizzt gave a frustrated cry and grabbed Charon's Claw from Entreri's belt. The assassin tried to grab his wrist, but the lightning-fast drow was much too quick. He grabbed the sword and turned its red blade on Kimmuriel, who had stopped laughing.
"Catti-Brie was not just human!" Drizzt exclaimed. Kimmuriel drew made a show of drawing Twinkle and Icingdeath from either side of his hip.
"Such fleeting lives they have," the psionic continued to tease. "I wonder how long she might have lasted had Jarlaxle not killed her. Twenty, thirty more years?"
Charon's Claw snaked forward, Kimmuriel beat it aside with the scimitars.
"Humans grow old, Do'Urden, they wither and they die." he said.
"Yes," Drizzt agreed. "As do we all, unless our lives are cut short by the blade of an enemy." He put special emphasis on that last statement as he thrust Charon's claw again. Kimmuriel managed to parry the blow, but just barely.
The psionic had apparently forgotten that Drizzt had been trained by Zak'nafein Do'Urden.
Drizzt brought Charon's Claw down in a whirl of furious cuts and twists. His feet and hands worked in perfect balance, and although Kimmuriel was a good fighter, he was no match for the ranger.
Drizzt raised the sword, leaving a perfect opening for the psionic. Kimmuriel foolishly went for it, and Charon's Claw snapped down, sending Twinkle spinning from Kimmuriel's grasp. Armed now with only one scimitar, Kimmuriel crouched low and crab-walked to the side. The red sword came down again and Kimmuriel again just barely managed a parry. Another thrust, another parry. Drizzt quickly grew bored of the game and Charon's Claw came spinning towards the psionic, cutting a graceful, deadly arc through the air. Icingdeath clattered to the ground, giving off a hollow echo. The tip of Charon's Claw was placed against Kimmuriel's throat, ready for a killing thrust.
No one had noticed that Jarlaxle had entered the room.
"Go ahead, Drizzt," Jarlaxle urged him on. "Kill him, pick up your scimitars and cut short his life. Embrace the black and white side of you that you have been holding in for so long."
Drizzt hesitated, and he didn't know why. A rush of emotions washed over him all at once. The loss of Catti-Brie, the loss of everything he had ever known, gone in a simple instant, replaced by this strange exotic world that should be so familiar to him yet it was not.
Drizzt closed his eyes, fighting with himself. Fighting the urge to plunge the sword right through Kimmuriel's throat. Fighting the urge to do as Jarlaxle said and give in to his other side - his drow side. Fighting the urge to kill.
Why didn't he? he argued with himself. Why didn't he run Kimmuriel right through, as the psionic very well deserved? Drizzt realized then that the only reason he would consider the decision was because he felt he had nothing left to lose.
Nothing, perhaps, save for the respect he held for himself.
Drizzt dropped the point of Charon's Claw so that it was no longer resting at the psionic's throat, and then he set the sword onto the ground. He picked up his scimitars and sheathed them, then he walked quietly from the room.
Kimmuriel rubbed the spot where the sword had nearly speared him, appreciating for the first time how truly beautiful breathing can be. Jarlaxle stood close by the door, a grim smile on his face.
No one was paying any attention to Entreri when he asked irritably, "May I have my sword back now?"