I thought it was about time I put people out of their misery with regards to a rather major plot point... am now waiting for D&D purists to rain angry scorn down upon my head! :p

Yeah, I know, far fetched and not at all in keeping with canon D&D lore... but sod it, it makes a good story! :D

Chapter 37 – A Call to Arms

Waiting impatiently by the main gates of Lith My'athar, Commander Imloth glanced up at the glowing spire that dominated the central plaza of the city, trying to gauge what time it was and how much longer he would have to wait for his superior to arrive. Around him stood a mixed array of dark elves – mainly warriors, but with a few spellcasters, including Shadowbreath's own current comrade-in-arms, Jehk'ril Aleanath – checking various weapons and talking quietly amongst themselves, a palpable air of apprehension and excitement about them.

Although they had clashed with the Valsharess' troops before, there was something about the reports this time that bred unease amongst the assembly of seasoned warriors; hardly any of the previous patrol had returned unscathed, and with them came tales of monstrous, two-headed skeletal behemoths that spat electrical energy as if possessed by the spirits blue dragons and seemed all but impervious to their sharp, finely crafted weapons. Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Imloth folded his arms over his chest and strained his excellent vision, trying to spy the Weapon Master so that they could leave, the protracted wait and uncertainty only heightening his own levels of building anxiety.

Finally, a familiar, tall figure strode from the gloom, a heavy tangle of thick chains connected to viciously spiked balls made of a cold, black bone in one hand, and a palpably predatory air about him. Ignoring the assembled drow, Valen stalked purposefully up to his Second and nodded, indicating that he was ready.

"I have nothing new to report," Imloth saluted, deciding that it was better to get straight down to business than exchange unnecessary pleasantries. "Nathyrra took a scouting party ahead. Hopefully we should confirmation of the rumours soon."

Grunting, the tiefling nodded again. "The Seer said that reports are filtering in about a new kind of enemy?"

"Siyo," the drow commander nodded curtly. "Some kind of... undead giant."

Looking thoughtful, the Weapon Master stroked his chin for a moment. "I see. Well, we shall know more once Nathyrra returns."

"Sut'rinos Shadowbreath?" an unfamiliar voice asked; turning, Valen found a drow fighter just behind him, his eyes downcast in respect. "There is someone who wishes to speak with you..."

Glancing up, the tiefling had to hold in a look of abject surprise when he spied a large, bronze figure with an immense greatsword strapped to her back standing just outside the edge of the little gathering, staring serenely at him. Turning to Imloth, he inclined his head once, indicating that he was leaving momentarily, before making his way quickly to where Ixenthraxsis stood.

At his approach, the half dragon bowed her head.

"My Lord Weapon Master," she said softly, holding her palms out in front of her to show that bore no arms.

"Lady Ixenthraxsis," Valen replied a little gruffly, remembering his manners since she had remembered hers. "What are you doing here?"

"I come to offer you my sword arm, should you take it," she replied, her sincerity plain in her bright copper eyes. "You fought at my side; now I wish to fight at yours."

Giving the paladin a small, appraising look as he took in her thin countenance and still-ragged wings, the tiefling raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you're ready? You look like-"

"I am absolutely fine," Ixenthraxsis interrupted, spotting the look he gave her immediately. "The Seer has freed my wings from their bondage; whether they will ever be whole again, who can say - but for the meantime, I am as hale as can be expected." Her reptilian features then softened a little as she leant forwards with a conspiratorial glint in gleaming eyes. "To tell you the truth, I rather feel like a spare part; I am a creature of action – I cannot sit back and allow others to fight whilst I sit upon my tail and watch. I am sure that is a sentiment you only appreciate too well?"

Although she had phrased it as a question, the Weapon Master knew that it was a statement of fact; after giving her a long, measured look, Valen smiled grimly and nodded his head. "I can appreciate that well enough. Of course you are welcome to join us in our fight."

Smiling in return, Ixenthraxsis said nothing further as she stepped forwards to join the rest of the drow, whom, despite her unusual appearance, just gave her cool, disinterested glances before they settled back to waiting for their orders.

Ducking her head so that her words were for Valen and Valen alone, the half dragon couldn't help but quirk a scaly brow. "Welcoming lot, aren't they?"

"They're not here to welcome people," the tiefling replied quietly.

"I see one of your previous troop is here?" she commented, indicating to Jehk'ril, who now had his eyes closed, deep in casting.

Grunting, Valen said nothing.

"I do not see Lady Jenalil, though. Where is she?"

"She's not coming," the Weapon Master answered curtly, his face carefully blank.

"Oh," Ixenthraxsis replied, failing to mask her surprise. "I had been informed that she was whole and healthy again... it surprises me to find out that she chooses not to fight."

"She didn't choose," Valen answered, a little too gruffly. "I told her to stay in the city."

Straightening herself up, it was the half dragon's turn to give the Weapon Master an appraising look as he stared belligerently back at her. Rather than choosing to argue with him, she the just shrugged. "I see. I suppose that is wise; after such a traumatic experience as hers, plunging headlong into the fray in less than a day is a recipe for potential disaster."

"It is."

"After all, we do not wish to run the risk of losing her again..." Watching the tiefling carefully, Ixenthraxsis noticed his jaw tighten involuntarily at her last comment and allowed herself a thoughtful half-smile. "Your advice was well intentioned and wise: I approve."

"You approve?" Valen quipped, a little surprised at her sudden show of sanctimony whilst folding his arms over his chest, retreating to his safe haven of outright hostility. "I don't care if you approve or not, paladin; that's the way it is."

Raising both her brows at his sudden, almost violent change of demeanour, the half dragon took a step backwards from the tiefling in a show of obeisance, not willing to get into an argument with him. "Of course," she said smoothly. "I did not wish to imply otherwise."

"Good," Valen all but snapped before hefting Devil's Bane in front of himself. "Where is Nathyrra?"

Realising the question was for himself, Ixenthraxsis elected to remain silent.

o0o

It took Nathyrra a good while to return from her scouting, a fact that almost drove Valen to distraction as he felt an unfamiliar sensation of uneasiness and anxiety settle into his stomach as his attention kept inexorably flickering back to the temple and the half elf he had left within its safe walls. Upon seeing the assassin's lithe, graceful form suddenly coalesce from the shadows of the tunnel beyond the city gates with two, stealthy forms at her back, the tiefling felt his heart jolt and strode towards her.

"Nathyrra – report!"

Quirking an eyebrow at the tiefling's abruptness, the drow female began. "A sizeable force, mainly comprising of drow ground troops, a small cadre of Red Sisters and these strange, giant-like skeletal constructions; just as Diz'laeor reported. The are located west of the main cavern, and aren't doing a great deal to hide themselves at the moment; they are either testing us, or their arrogance truly does know no bounds."

"Numbers?"

"Without the constructs: about thirty. With the constructs... about forty five, give or take. As I said, sizeable."

"But nothing to indicate that this is a main strike against Lith My'athar?"

Nathyrra shook her head. "I would say this is a taunt; they're trying to draw us out, test our defences, maybe. With a battalion of our own and a few good spellcasters, we should be able to see them off."

"Or allow them to sneak in through the back door whilst we busy ourselves with idiotic constructs," Jehk'ril suddenly interjected, making the former Red Sister and the Weapon Master snap their heads around to regard him. Raising an eyebrow, the mage watched the pair of them almost haughtily.

"He does have a point," Nathyrra conceded grudgingly. "This could be a diversionary tactic to draw our main forces away and leave the city exposed."

Pursing his lips, Valen sighed heavily. "Agreed. Nathyrra; I see Szinaufein is with you. Take him and Tatholaer – inform the Seer of what you saw and then take them along the banks of the poison river and make sure that no secondary strike force has gathered further along it." As Nathyrra nodded, he turned to Imloth."We shall make our way with caution; if we are able, we shall approach them with stealth and try to flank them either side and use the element surprise to split their forces."

Inclining his head, Valen's Second in Command saluted and then went to brief the troops, whilst Jehk'ril pulled a sheaf of scrolls from a concealed pocket and an earnest looking cleric of Eilistraee made her way through the ranks, casting protective spells that would aid their ability to not only conceal themselves, but also protect their minds and bodies from harm. After this, once they were ready, they then formed themselves into loose lines and, listening intently, awaited the final word from their commander.

Striding along the ranks with an air of determination and menace, Valen informed his troops as to what they were, to the best of his knowledge, about to face, his voice low and steady. He did not shout – he did not have to, given the silence of the drow assembled in front of him – but even so, none of them doubted his authority; too many of them had rebelled against him, or had heard tale of those who had rebelled against him in the past, and as a consequence had suffered his now infamous wrath either vicariously or first hand, and no matter what terrors may lay ahead of them, the very certain terror of having to face the tiefling's near legendary temper and capability for violence if they disobeyed him far outweighed this.

Ironically, it was a mindset they understood from their days under the rule of their tyrannical Matron Mothers... but none of them dared to inform the Weapon Master of this.

Finally, they were ready to move off; following Valen's now-highly enchanted lead, they moved swiftly and silently forwards, not once breaking ranks. Melting into the gloom of the tunnel ahead, the troop became as one with its surroundings; even the tiefling, who was easily the least skilled in stealth of all of them, moved as shadow, the spells that Eilistraee had afforded him making his usually heavy tread whisper light over the dark, sparkling rocks, leaving no evidence of his passage.

Together, they marched in formation for a good while before their Commander slowed, Imloth at his elbow.

"They are somewhere near here, if the reports are to be believed," he murmured, whilst Valen nodded.

"We'll head our way to the ridge; we can use the elevation to our advantage," the Weapon Master muttered back. "Stick to the shadows, and do not attack – not even if a Red Sister comes within a bat's wing of your position - until I command it. We shall try to surround them first, bombard them with spells and then take them and hopefully route them from the area."

"Assanque, Sut'rinos," Imloth replied before leaving the tiefling's side and, after selecting half the troops, peeled off and disappeared silently between a stand of huge stalagmites.

Watching them leave between the spiked rows of rocks, Ixenthraxsis could not help be feel that they were somehow walking into the jaws of some great beast, and found herself having to suppress a shudder.

"Weapon Master... was that wise?" she whispered. "Splitting the troops like that-"

"I didn't bring you along to question my decisions, Paladin." Valen snapped back coldly. "Fighting in the Underdark is nothing like fighting on a wide, open plain; the drow rely upon stealth and gaining the upper hand through this rather than force of arms alone." He then regarded the half dragon's strange, almost washed out appearance, Eilistraee having granted her similar enchantments to his own. "Do not worry; we will be victorious." He then looked to the tunnel ahead gravely. "We have to be..."

o0o

Shifting his weight in an almost bored manner, the black-clad warrior risked all to glance around himself. They had been marching for what seemed like hours, their pace slowed to an almost unbearable level by the awkwardly graceless monstrosities that marched mindlessly alongside them.

Quite why they were marching, he wasn't quite sure; the Valsharess was rarely seen nowadays, her instructions passed on by her Red Sisters, so obsessed she was with the arch demon that she held captive in what she insisted in calling her palace. Rumour had it that she sought something that was now held in the rebel's pitiful city; something powerful that she wished to obtain at any cost... but still she dithered, delaying the order to launch a full attack upon Lith My'athar, to the general perplexity of everyone. No one dared to question her, however, because such impudence meant certain death, and so, here they were, marching towards a city they were not to sack, for a purpose the common soldiers that marched in her name didn't quite understand.

o0o

Regarding her troops laid out in front of her haughtily, Sabal offered the glittering rocks that surrounded them a self satisfied smile. Even she had to admit that they looked magnificent; ordered, well trained, and hungry – nay, starving – for battle. Lumbering at their sides were the first consignment of Bone Golems that the Valsharess had commissioned from her pact with Vix'thra the Bone Lord; immense, mindless and utterly faithful to their cause, it seemed almost a waste to simply use them for a reconnoitre mission, but her Mistress was absolute in her conviction that the Remnant resided in the rebel city of Lith My'athar.

If her Mistress' devil-granted visions were to be trusted, Sabal had been informed that it resided within a filthy rivvil – a half darthiir, no less. Smirking, the Red Sister allowed herself to spend a moment dwelling upon the plaudits and riches the Valsharess would heap upon her head if she, Sabal, brought the Vessel that contained the precious Remnant – the Wrath of Lolth, the last scion of their lost goddess, so cruelly stolen and hidden so she could not rise again – to her; at how she, Sabal, would undoubtedly sit at the right hand of a goddess new-born... not Lolth, but the Valsharess herself, born out of stolen power with the help of the enslaved Mephistopheles.

The only problem was that, for the visions that thrice-damned devil granted them, none of them actually showed the rivvil's face, making it hard to identify them. At first, they had suspected the tiefling - the one the pathetic rebels called their Errdegah-chath, the Demon Fire - but it soon became apparent that this was not the case... although his path intertwined with the Remnant, the actual surfacer who unwittingly bore their long-sought after prize was in fact half elven and female – but apart from that, they had no clue.

Clutching the ornately carven handle of her light flail, Sabal's countenance grew grim; their damned Seer would send her precious Saviour out to face them today, she was sure, and she would be ready, for this was a hunt, not a sacking...

The Valsharess wanted the Remnant alive, after all.

o0o

Finding herself too rushed to lament the fact that she had been left behind, Jen assisted the priestesses of Eilistraee as much as she could in healing the gravely injured drow that had returned from their patrol earlier. In the end, seven massively injured individuals were brought before the Seer, two of which died from their immense wounds regardless of her help; one, a female whose skull had been crushed so badly, it was a miracle she had survived this long, the other, a young male whose legs had been taken from him so viciously that had died from shock and blood loss whilst the Seer examined him. Surprisingly, the victim of the attempted evisceration had survived, though still hideously weak; it was this one that Jen had been left to tend whilst the priestesses attended the others. It seemed that not one of the patrol members had managed to escape unscathed, and it was them that the priestesses now diligently traversed between, casting blessings and handing out potions; feeling her stomach sink like a stone at the realisation that every single one had suffered some degree of injury, she found herself having to contend with the first pangs of deep fear that whatever these drow had faced, her comrades-

(Valen...)

-now had to face.

Pressing a cool cloth against the sweating, ebon face of the drow in front of her, Jen studied her clear, pretty features for a moment and felt a rough lump swell in her throat; not so much at the realisation she could very well lose someone whom she had become closer to than she ever thought possible, but more at the overwhelming sense of desperation that she felt at their current situation.

As if sensing her sudden wave of emotion, the female drow's eyes fluttered open for a moment to regard her, pain still etched within their crimson depths. Holding a weak hand up, she groped for the half elf's hand; taking it easily, Jen tried to smile as the female grimaced, showing teeth stained red with blood.

"Xal Eilistraee ialys pholor dos zuch, Jallil d'Ssussun..." she whispered weakly. Although Jen could not understand every word she spoke, upon hearing the mention of the Seer's goddess, the half elf realised this was some kind of blessing or oath; feeling hot tears prickle the backs of her eyes, she then took a deep breath to steady herself before speaking.

"What is your name? Uh, verbol kaas dossta?"

Coughing a little weakly, showering Jen in a fine mist of blood, the drow tried to smile. "Chalinthra."

"You're going to make it, Chalinthra," the half elf whispered, her tone suddenly fierce. "We're all going to make it. I don't know if you can understand me... but we are."

"Siyo. The Seer say. You... Daxunyrr. We fight."

"No... not for me. Fight for yourselves," Jen replied, shaking her head almost angrily. "Fight for what is yours!"

"Siyo," Chalinthra sighed before closing her eyes. "Siyo..."

Panicking slightly, Jen desperately pressed her fingertips against the side of the drow female's throat, searching for a pulse; finding it, as weak as it was, the half elf realised what she needed was to rest, and that their short conversation had drained Chalinthra's last reserves. Sighing, Jen gently released her hand and laid it upon the drow's chest; covering her with a nearby blanket, the half elf then stood up and glanced around herself, seeking out Qilyrr or one of the other priestesses, wondering where she could be utilised next.

"Jenalil... you are here."

Turning her head at the familiar, smooth and oddly accented voice that insinuated its way from behind her, Jen shrugged.

"Yes... where did you think I'd be?"

Smiling, Xen'shai stepped closer. "I would have thought you'd be with the intrepid troops, hunting down the strike force the Valsharess has directed at us."

Shaking her head a little angrily, the half elf tried to hold in a pout. "No. I was instructed to stay here."

"Instructed?" the Deathsinger's silvery eyebrows shot up his forehead in surprise. "By whom?" He then narrowed his eyes. "Or need I not ask..."

"It's not important," Jen replied quickly upon seeing the calculating look that crossed the bard's face. "Why aren't you with them?"

"I was not needed," Xen'shai replied, sounding a little piqued. "They took my brother, and Szinaufein trotted after Nathyrra as a small dog trots at the heels of his mistress... but for Xen'shai there is no role in these heroics, or so it seems."

Seeing his knowing look slip to one of frustration and disappointment, the half elf couldn't help but smile and lay an companionable hand upon his forearm. "You and me both..." she sighed. "Maybe they think negotiation isn't going to be a particularly useful skill in this situation."

"Implying I cannot fight?" Xen'shai bit back almost petulantly.

"No – of course not!" Jen replied indignantly. "You're a good fighter – I've seen you in action, remember."

At her turn of phrase, the Deathsinger offered her a sly smile. "That is not the only thing I am good at – if you give me a chance to show you 'in action', as it were..." He then shook his head and chuckled to show that he was joking.

Or so Jen hoped.

Quirking a decidedly sardonic eyebrow, the half elf snatched her hand back and folded her arms defensively over her chest. "Not appropriate, Xen'shai, especially given the current circumstances. I am here to help the sick, not trade airy words with you." With that, she turned heel and made to stalk away.

Catching her by her elbow, the Deathsinger inclined his head in apology as she fought the urge to jerk her arm from his grasp. "Jallil... forgive me... I overstep my boundaries with you once again. I forget; what a drow female may see as a high spirited compliment, a surfacer such as yourself sees as an uncouth attempt at flirtation... please, accept my apology. My comment was distasteful; you are correct."

Glancing towards him, Jen sighed a little as Xen'shai all but bowed to her, his brilliant green eyes downcast in obedient deference. "Stop that," she snapped, a little flustered. "Now is not the time to discuss these things. If you want to make yourself useful, then help me; if not..."

Allowing her to snatch her arm from him, the drow bard straightened up, his gaze still fixed firmly upon the floor. "Siyo, Jabbress... command, and, as always, I shall endeavour to obey."

Rolling her eyes, Jen just pushed a hand through hair that was now sticky with the blood of those she had been tending and made her way over to where one of the priestesses was handing out potions, the Deathsinger trailing behind her with a rather self-satisfied look upon his handsome features.

o0o

Clambering as quickly as they dared up the side of the steeply inclined slope that surrounded the plain the Valsharess' troops were supposedly traversing, Valen's squad tried to prepare themselves for whatever lay beyond. Although they were outnumbered – alongside Imloth's cadre, they numbered a scant thirty against their fifty or so reported foes – they felt on the whole curiously buoyed and eager to fight – a contrast to the rather more anxious mood they held during their wait before. It had been a little while since the Valsharess had tested their defences, and as they silently slithered forwards, ready to crest the ridge and peek over the open area beyond, they on the whole felt rather good to be out and defending the city, rather than cooped up within its walls, suffering the daily drudgery of basic patrols and Imloth's incessant drilling.

It was a sentiment, however, that immediately evaporated only to be replaced by an icy, all encompassing sense of fear as they all as one dared to peer over the dark columns of basalt that shielded them from view.

It wasn't the large group of drow that marched in formation below them that caused the blood to freeze in their veins, nor the trio of Red Sisters that followed almost nonchalantly behind them, but rather the skeletal behemoths that loped by their sides. In other circumstances, their shuffling, awkward gait might have been a source of amusement, but here, it simply enhanced the dead sense of witless malevolence that they veritably exuded, only confirming that they had been constructed for one reason and one reason alone: to aid in the destruction of Lith My'athar.

Ducking and sneaking to Valen's side, Ixenthraxsis hissed as she shook her magnificently horned head. "They resemble ettins... but they are not. And the evil aura that they project is nearly something solid... Weapon Master, I mean no disrespect, but to attack these forces with our scant numbers may not be the wisest of moves. I consider myself fearless in the face of even the most unimaginable evil, but even I baulk at the idea of fighting toe to toe with these monstrosities. They... they are against nature, against the natural order of all things good!"

Growling a little under his breath, the tiefling shrugged his armoured shoulders and spent a moment to re-affirm the bars upon his mental prison where his demon stirred restlessly at the promise of battle before answering.

"We cannot let them get anywhere near Lith My'athar, Ixenthraxsis... whether we survive is not the point; that the city does not fall is."

Raising her scaled brows, the half dragon regarded him carefully before speaking. "Spoken as a true paladin, Weapon Master... maybe you should consider a change of roles?"

Grinning grimly, Valen shook his head. "I afford no respect to those who would call themselves god... I have seen too many things to attribute any infallibility to them. There is but one person I will put my faith in, and one person alone: myself."

"Hmm. A lonely existence, to be sure... but your point still stands. At least you are willing to fight by their side than command them from afar. Your orders?"

Frowning, the Weapon Master watched the scene below for a long moment before ducking back and creeping towards Jehk'ril, who was crouching a little way back from the edge, the usual faint air of amusement he contrived about himself now replaced with something far colder and harder.

"Can you contact the other spellslingers?"

Wincing a little at the tiefling's uncouth turn of phrase to describe his highly skilled profession, the drow mage nodded. "Yes. To whom would you like me to speak, and what orders would you like to relay?"

"Tell them to ready their biggest, most devastating spells; something that will cut their numbers down quickly before we have to engage. Tell them to send them off the moment they see us touch the floor of the plain; we'll use the the time they use to recover their wits as an excuse to hit them hard. And tell Imloth that we will meet him down there; we have a few snipers within our ranks, and they can be used to pick off the drow... but they should avoid the constructs. I have a feeling bolts won't be so effective against them."

"All of that, within a twenty five word limit. Are you sure you don't want to add anything?" Jehk'ril asked dryly. "Anything at all?"

Noting the mage's sarcasm, Valen gave him a withering look. "You're the brains of the operation; you sort out the details. That's the message I want sent – I don't care how you achieve it, but make sure you do. Once you've done it, inform me and I'll tell you when to commence casting. Is that clear?"

"As crystal, Sut'rinos..." the drow mage sighed. "As crystal."

Nodding curtly, the Weapon Master then made his way back to the half dragon's side.

"You ready?" he asked, feeling the familiar, beguiling heat he always experienced before an impending battle swell and fill him, causing him to grin.

Drawing an impressive-looking greatsword that bore the hallmarks of a recent custom forging by Rizolvir, Lith My'athar's premier smith, from the scabbard that lay between her battered wings, Ixenthraxsis nodded grimly. "As ready as I shall ever be," she replied. "Although not as keen as you so obviously are."

Regarding her with eyes that now glittered a steely azure, Valen released a little of the choke-hold he had upon his demon; feeling it raise its head and sniff the air, the tiefling turned back to the battlefield and raised his fist; glancing around to make sure all the surrounding drow were observing him, he then let his fist fall before throwing himself forwards, cresting the ridge with a roar.

From all around him suddenly came the ear-splitting cracks of a dozen spells being released, coating the expanse before them in a blanket of light, fire and ice. Immediately, the stench of burnt flesh and hair assailed his nostrils, but rather than cause him to slow, it drove him on, his demon now revelling in the chaos his plans had brought about. Jumping down the last ten feet of the steep incline, Valen landed with a heavy thud, his massive flail leading; roaring, he then picked his first mark – a trio of singed, shocked looking drow males – and charged headlong at them as a blur of crimson and a deep metallic green.

Watching his reckless charge as yet another volley of spell-induced destruction swept across the battle field, evening the odds considerably, Ixenthraxsis shook her head in disbelief as she unfurled her ravaged wings and roared herself. Taking in a deep breath, the half dragon concentrated briefly upon the almost nauseous churning within her second, false stomach before opening her mouth wide; running forwards, she easily discovered a good set of marks still grouped closely together that had not yet entered the melee that was erupting violently all around them. Opening her mouth, she then forced herself to expel the gas that had built up within her; as soon as it reached her mouth, she instinctively flexed her jaws so that she activated the glands located either side of her tongue, causing the gas to partially condense and allowing her to half breathe, half spit a wide stream of violently corrosive acid over her currently disoriented foes.

Two of them had enough of their wits about them to dodge her incoming attack, but the others were not so lucky; screaming as their armour melted and adhered to their coal black skin before the acid ate through to the soft flesh below, they instinctively made to turn and flee from the fiend that had launched such an attack upon them. However, they soon came to their senses when they heard the booming voices of Sabal and her fellow Red Sisters, instructing them to fight or face their wrath. Deciding that the half dragon snarling in front of them was probably a better deal after all, the remaining four drow turned and advanced as one, their now melted casts giving them a gruesome, twisted aspect.

Sneering, Ixenthraxsis brought herself up to her full height and swept her huge sword down with practised ease; quickly realising that if they were hit by her powerful strokes it would soon all be over for them, the assembled drow decided that it was probably a better option to try to tire her a little before closing in; spreading out around her, the drow then attempted to engage her in a deadly dance where she was occupied upon all sides and so could not afford to focus upon one of them for too long at any given moment.

What they had not taken into consideration was the favour the half dragon's goddess afforded her, even within the dank confines of the Underdark, in times such as these.

Feeling the cold, almost clean kiss of well honed steel slash at her and bite deep, Ixenthraxsis roared anew and, much to her attackers surprise, jumped high into the air. Spreading her ragged wings, she beat them in a powerful down sweep, hoping that her atrophied flesh would afford her just a little height and therefore the time to call upon Tamara's favour; feeling her wing muscles strain agonisingly within their sockets as they protested at such abuse after being left dormant for so long, the paladin screamed, beseeching her favoured Lady to grant her the strength to punish the evil besetting her. Feeling her desperate prayer answered almost immediately, the drow below were forced to cover their eyes as the half dragon was engulfed in a brilliant white light; feeling her limbs grow nimble and strong, Ixenthraxsis landed heavily upon the cold ground, hissing and snaking her head forward as she did, before spinning agilely and sweeping her now glowing greatsword in a wide arc, slicing through the drow ranks surrounding her with ease as they desperately fought to regain their damaged eyesight, each one falling to the ground in a pool of their own blood and entrails before they succeeded.