Who can say where the Mist's first came from and why they are here, I have spent a life time trying to learn them to understand them and to discover why some people are taken while other's are left free, this is the story and a rather odd story I lay no claim to being a bard as I put these words into writeing, I only claim to be the third boy of a House that was suppose to be destroyed, sometimes Lloth doesn't get her spidery legs into everything after all.
Prehaps, it would be more appropriate to say this instead, Tradeing one evil for another is something no sane person , evil or otherwise, should ever have to endure, so as you read on this story my dear friend please keep in mind it is told only as I can recall it at that all darkness doesn't actually come from within, quiet the contrary as many of my House were soon to learn.
With deepest gratitude for reading,
Vorn Rilyntlar
The Mists rolled in swirling around the House and the feet on the solider's as the battled outside of the great stone complexe, the sounds of battle being fought and the sounds of the dying could be heard all around, here and there , there was blood being shed from House Rilyntlar's guards and the invadeing forces as well, chants came from all around, prayers to Lloth being tossed like words on the wind, to a deity who had not heard the plea's or crys of her children for sometime.
House Rilyntlar the First House of Abbaruth would have no help this day from the Spider Queen, who had answered none of her children in any of the City's not just Abbaruth, and when it finally come down to it, no other House dared attack Rilyntlar, mainly because it was secured and so very well defended , but not from the inside itself, no not from the inside and Matron Umrastra had always been secure in knowing that the nobles of her family feared her, sometimes fear wasn't enough.
The swish of the long sword narrowly missed connection with the agile drow as he tumbled past the gangly looking orc slave, his silver plated short sword in hand, he flipped it over in a battle ready stance, his eyes a obsidian reflected in the dim light as he looked on the creature, it sneered at him, showing yellowed fangs that caused his face to always seem in a leer.
"Gorgok know you no warrior dark elf." it said sounding so sure of itself "You house mage, no warrior." it informed him with an arrogance born of stupidity.
"Prehaps not." came the soft rasped answer of the dark haired drow male as he flipped his bangs from his eyes and still held to the short sword, intent and not intimidated by the creature before him, he was merely a block in his path to get to his tower and would be dealt with, one of his sister's had wisely thrown up a anit magic field, the lack of ability to call on his spell had crippled him only a little, few knew what the mage of the house did in his spare time.
The silver shortsword glowed errie even in the area that lacked magic, the quick dark elf brought it in a foward thrust, and followed through with it, Gorgok tried to defend but didn't get his crudely made spear up in time, and by the time the dark elf had drawn a deep gash across the Orc's chest that bled freely,he was past the attack point and behind Gorgok as the creature brought its spear down on the spot that the elf had formally been.
"It's bad form to stab someone in the back, but in your case I am willing to make an exception." hissed the short sword wielding mage, the chuckled gurgle of orc only bringing a smile to its face as it died, a husk on the floor, the body holding not a drop of blood in it, the sword glowed a happy red-silver now as the mage moved onwards, his tower awaited him, his spellbook all the things that had made him what he was, would be destroyed if the house fell.
The glowing woman gave him pause, his breath caught in his throat as he turned, was she with the revolting slaves or against them, she could earn her freedom if she was revolting he thought and brought to mind a spell he knew he'd never use on the odd elf woman who made a path through the creature and drow that got in her way.
"Vorn." her voice cut through the dead and dying to reach his ears and his dark eyes went to her's wondering then if she would be his personal death, as a mage he knew death wore many faces, but what he saw on her face surprised him, concern and worry, she had been taken into the House awile back, his master had told him that she was not like any other elf in the Night Above, nor Below a creature summoned from the Etheral Plane and bound into the service of Matron Umrastra, she was called by all that precieved her The Matron's Light, for indeed she glowed bright enough to cause drow to squint.
He met her across the floor , she was tiny standing only four foot eleven inches but was beautiful just the same and his height as well, to say he had dreamed of the Matron's Light would only bring a blush to his face. "Alaunmyr'ss." he addressed her waiting for her to speak, he was known to be the thoughtful one he kept close his sword not put away least they too were attacked again.
"It is Matron Umrastra." she said in a tight voice speaking Undercommon. "She is dead now, killed by Istriia."she whispered as she glanced about at the carnage, takeing a safe step away from the drow mage as a slave went running by holding the head of one of the House nobles a truely grisly prize, which it would never enjoy, for with a sweeping movement his body was cleaved in half by Alaumnye'ss and her scythe.
"Then all is truely lost." spoke Vorn as he looked to his tower. "there are things I should recover, what will you do?" he inquired as he spun on his heels towards his tower not waiting for her answer as he saw explosion's going off from within in his tower, someone had gone into it without his premission.
"I'm going to kill Istriia." he heard in that voice totally devoid of emotion as she pulled the deep black velvet hood of her cloak back over her face and made her way in the direction of the Throne room, her pace steady her strides meaningful, Istriia had started worshipping another deity after Lloth had failed to answer her calls, and now the Matron's Light would either prevail or be snuffed out, he could only mentally wish her luck as he had his own troubles to deal with.
So intent were each with there own troubles that they did not notice the mists growing thicker and gaining more substance. It slowly began to absorb the bodies lying on the ground both living and dead, wounded and well.