Chapter 1
Zak'nefien
"Look, Zak," a class member said to him in drow. "You have to go to the tournament. Matron Do'Urden--"
"--can stay away from me. I have no care for out Matron Mother. She calls, I come. She demands, I do. I won't do anything extra," Zak'nefien snapped.
"Just go. It's for Weapon Master. No other matron is nice enough to do this. She has only one son right now, and he is a budding wizard. Making Firstboy Nalfien Weapon Master would be a grave insult at this point."
"If Matron Do'Urden tells me that I must go, I will go. Otherwise I see no reason to go, it is not a formal request," came the reply.
"But--" he dropped it as Zak pointedly turned off and left him to his thoughts.
Zakne'fien, a commoner in House Do'Urden, rarely did as he was told, and now that his Matron Mother was putting up the position of Weapon Master, there had to be something more to it, Zak was excited about it.
But it made his thoughts spin. He was no ordinary drow. The twenty years he spent training in the Drow Academy for Fighting, and all the lies the drow storyteller told had not been erased from Zak's mind yet. He then remembered. Matron Do'Urden did not have a patron of the house. In effect... the patron would be the Weapon Master. Zak was not sure he wanted to become the Weapon Master anymore.
He walked on home. He liked the sights of the drow city, even though he knew the blood underneath every stone sculpture. If only the drow weren't evil, he thought, and sighed, giving his white hair a shake. His eyes reverted to the normal spectrum, and he looked at the actual Menzoberranzan. It was a twisted cavern, extremely large, perfect for the sneak attacks houses usually made on each other. He sighed and walked back to his room.
As he approached his dorm, he heard some scuffling behind him. Quite unlike the drow, as well. Zak'nefien tensed and acted like he didn't hear anything, but quickened his step a little. He looked around and saw nothing different in front of him, and he dared not look back. His dorm was one of the smaller ones, for just plain commoners. He walked to a secret door, and after searching the room for any unwanted company, he walked through the door and secured it with the previous trap. A delayed fireball inside the person's finger is not a fun experience. The trap had cost him a fortune, but it was well worth it. He walked down the passageway, unimpeded. He often doubled back on different routes and made noises in different chambers to keep others away from him. He had already decided to fight in the tournament, no matter what being the patron of House Do'Urden meant, and Zak was determined to win it.
He walked into the final chamber, and walked into the center of the room. He looked up and saw the image of a drider. Any other who stepped into the circle would be attacked by many driders; the previous owner told Zak that, and told Zak that if he died, Zak was to go there immediately and claim the room for his own. He, smiling ironically, looked to the image and waited for the correct image. The drider picture then became two blades and Zak knew what to do.
"Asanque rivvil," he said loudly in drow. The image of the twin blades darkened and the circle in which he was standing rose up and he watched as the ceiling came closer. The image flickered, as did the ceiling, and Zak slid through the portal. The pedestal that he had been standing on a moment ago lowered almost instantly and returned to the image it had been moments ago, the drider.
The follower cursed. Damn that drow! Had he always been that intelligent? He stalked off, sliently as only a drow could.
Zak'nefien
"Look, Zak," a class member said to him in drow. "You have to go to the tournament. Matron Do'Urden--"
"--can stay away from me. I have no care for out Matron Mother. She calls, I come. She demands, I do. I won't do anything extra," Zak'nefien snapped.
"Just go. It's for Weapon Master. No other matron is nice enough to do this. She has only one son right now, and he is a budding wizard. Making Firstboy Nalfien Weapon Master would be a grave insult at this point."
"If Matron Do'Urden tells me that I must go, I will go. Otherwise I see no reason to go, it is not a formal request," came the reply.
"But--" he dropped it as Zak pointedly turned off and left him to his thoughts.
Zakne'fien, a commoner in House Do'Urden, rarely did as he was told, and now that his Matron Mother was putting up the position of Weapon Master, there had to be something more to it, Zak was excited about it.
But it made his thoughts spin. He was no ordinary drow. The twenty years he spent training in the Drow Academy for Fighting, and all the lies the drow storyteller told had not been erased from Zak's mind yet. He then remembered. Matron Do'Urden did not have a patron of the house. In effect... the patron would be the Weapon Master. Zak was not sure he wanted to become the Weapon Master anymore.
He walked on home. He liked the sights of the drow city, even though he knew the blood underneath every stone sculpture. If only the drow weren't evil, he thought, and sighed, giving his white hair a shake. His eyes reverted to the normal spectrum, and he looked at the actual Menzoberranzan. It was a twisted cavern, extremely large, perfect for the sneak attacks houses usually made on each other. He sighed and walked back to his room.
As he approached his dorm, he heard some scuffling behind him. Quite unlike the drow, as well. Zak'nefien tensed and acted like he didn't hear anything, but quickened his step a little. He looked around and saw nothing different in front of him, and he dared not look back. His dorm was one of the smaller ones, for just plain commoners. He walked to a secret door, and after searching the room for any unwanted company, he walked through the door and secured it with the previous trap. A delayed fireball inside the person's finger is not a fun experience. The trap had cost him a fortune, but it was well worth it. He walked down the passageway, unimpeded. He often doubled back on different routes and made noises in different chambers to keep others away from him. He had already decided to fight in the tournament, no matter what being the patron of House Do'Urden meant, and Zak was determined to win it.
He walked into the final chamber, and walked into the center of the room. He looked up and saw the image of a drider. Any other who stepped into the circle would be attacked by many driders; the previous owner told Zak that, and told Zak that if he died, Zak was to go there immediately and claim the room for his own. He, smiling ironically, looked to the image and waited for the correct image. The drider picture then became two blades and Zak knew what to do.
"Asanque rivvil," he said loudly in drow. The image of the twin blades darkened and the circle in which he was standing rose up and he watched as the ceiling came closer. The image flickered, as did the ceiling, and Zak slid through the portal. The pedestal that he had been standing on a moment ago lowered almost instantly and returned to the image it had been moments ago, the drider.
The follower cursed. Damn that drow! Had he always been that intelligent? He stalked off, sliently as only a drow could.
