Chapter 1

"Masantar! Quit it!" Sab'vrae held up his arms in self-defense as his younger sister attacked him with her toy priestess whip.

"That's 'mistress' to you, male! Have you learned nothing about your place in life?" Already twisted at a young age, Masantar loved tormenting the elderboy of their house, namely, her half-brother. Unlike most elven siblings, Sab'vrae and Masantar were unusually close in age -- only a mere three years separated them. Despite this, no closeness or any sort of special bond existed between the half-siblings -- aside from the fact until Sab'vrae reached ten years of age, they found themselves tutored by the same house priestess and shared living quarters in the house chapel.

Normally the drow noble children would be taught and raised by an elder female sibling, and apart from each other. However, they were the first (and so far, only) offspring of the matron, and their house was merely medium-rank in Ched Nasad, leaving the family shorthanded for personal teachers.

Already nine years young, Sab'vrae still retained some of his child ignorance about the cruelties of drow society. Every day his sister slowly hacked away at this ignorance with her horrid pranks and blatant support of a female dominated society. Their tutor, Vicala, made no attempt to quell the Aleanani heir from tormenting the Aleanani elderboy. By all accounts, Sab'vrae suspected she encouraged it. A bitter child, the eldest noble heir in his household took to spending much time alone, studying books on magic and fighting. His favorite pastime including dueling with imaginary creatures using his wooden blades. Because his skills went officially untested by his mother, currently the young drow did not know whether he would be sent to be trained as a fighter or as a mage by a private teacher when he finally reached his tenth year.

Sab'vrae held interest in both magic and fighting, and seemed quite talented in each area. However, he found his play fighting more enjoyable, and hoped his mother would decide to make him a warrior, not a mage. Wizards, nearly always male, were a rare breed in drow society, and highly valuable to noble families -- well, as valuable as drow males managed to achieve. Knowing this, he suspected his mother preferred to groom him into a mage, but, if he showed more talent in agility and reflexes of a fighter, teaching him as warrior proved the wiser choice. Drow society demanded its people be the best at whatever they did.

The elderboy twitched, feeling the sharp sting of the leather whip on his back. He resisted the strong urge to attack his sister back, knowing well where such actions led to, even for a child. Thankfully, Masantar lost interest in tormenting her older brother for the moment. She wandered off to bother Vicala about The Spider Queen's teachings. The noble female always held a passion for Lloth's edicts, even at a very young age of six. Already she knew more than girls three times her age. This news pleased her mother greatly, knowing her daughter held a passion for her future station in life. Sab'vrae's talents too pleased Bhin'ree; her son hardly acted rebellious, like many males his age, and his skills continued to develop each day. Both children proved aspiring useful tools in the complex game drow noble families played.

Finally alone, Sab'vrae busied himself with the duties he'd been procrastinating on all day. Hopefully Vicala would be busy with Masantar and not notice the sacrificial altar still retained much blood and dirt from the last offering. Grumbling to himself, the elderboy retrieved a bucket of water and a rag before scrubbing away at the gory chantry.

"Your son's approaching his tenth year, dread mistress." Dilaere, the current patron, weapon master, and father of Masantar, reminded Matron Bhin'ree.

"I know, Dilaere," Bhin'ree sighed, "You don't need to remind me. Why do you bother, anyway? It's not like he's your spawn. No, in fact, he is the only child of your late rival."

"What rival?" Dilaere sneered, to which Bhin'ree returned with a smirk. Drow culture often erased the murdered from history, as if they never existed. Murder was a crime in most drow cities, but only if the crime left evidence. In reality, the punishment wasn't for the crime itself, only that the killer allowed themselves to get caught. Drow, in truth, secretly applauded those who literally got away with murder. Often most knew who the killer was, but with no true proof, the victim vanished from everyone's minds; at least, officially, they did.

"In any case, his future is none of your concern…" Bhin'ree pointed out to her consort, "… Unless you have alternative motives I am unaware of?"

"Merely that I have no students of merit at the moment," Dilaere admitted, bowing his head low, "I must say that I truly hope your son becomes a warrior worthy of learning my skills."

"Are you sure you won't feel threatened by Sab'vrae?" Bhin'ree asked, "After all, he may have inherited his father's abilities. Why would you want to develop the seed of your dead rival's skills?"

"What better way to get revenge than to teach a rival's child in his enemy's skills?" Dilaere stated off-handedly. Bhin'ree's white teeth contrasted with her raven skin, her mouth cracking into an approving smile.

"I will decided his fate soon enough. In fact, I expect you and Spiras to be present when the time comes." Dilaere stiffened slightly, but nodded in agreement. Spiras was Bhin'ree's younger brother, and the house mage. Often, drow killed their siblings when they usurped the title of matron from their mother. Siblings often counted as rivals more than allies. Apparently, Bhin'ree found Spiras more useful to her alive. Spiras strongly supported Nath'olin in his rivalry with Dilaere when the former weapon master still lived, and made this painfully obvious to the current patron at every opportunity. Needless to say, Dilaere trusted Spiras no more than he trusted Bhin'ree -- not at all.

Vicala discovered Sab'vrae absorbed in a book on melee combat when she finally found him.

"Sab'vrae!" She shouted to gain his attention. The young drow snapped his head up.

"Y-yes, mistress?" he asked, carefully avoiding her direct gaze.

"Matron Bhin'ree requests your presence in her throne room." His mentor declared, motioning for him to quickly follow her. Sab'vrae blinked, closing his book. The last time his mother met with him, Masantar was a newborn. Drow families, especially noble ones, hardly revolved around a nurturing environment. The Aleanani elder boy quickly followed Vicala out of the church quarters, the first time he'd done so in many years.

"Is Masantar going to be there?" Sab'vrae asked with more than a little apprehension. Vicala snorted.

"No, boy," she answered, "This meeting concerns only you, not your sister. Her future has already been decided since the day she was born: A Lloth priestess. You, however, need to be tested on your skills so the Matron can decide what to do with you." Sab'vrae nodded, though he doubted Vicala noticed.

With their brisk pace, the duo spent little time traveling and soon arrived at the throne room's doors. Boldly, Vicala stared down the male guards and pushed open the large doors, marching into her mistress' chamber.

"Matron, I present to you, Sab'vrae." The priestess bowed. Bhin'ree nodded, waving her away.

"That is all, Vicala, thank you." The matron dismissed her servant. Dilaere watched with narrowed eyes from the matron's right side. To her left stood a short, yet intimidating male. His long white locks were braided tightly behind his head, falling an inch past his buttocks. Long, flowing blue and purple robes adorned the mage's body. Sab'vrae tilted his head slightly, barely recognizing his uncle, Spiras.

"You summoned me, mo-Matron?" Sab'vrae quickly fixed the near misnomer. Bhin'ree raised a slender eyebrow approvingly. If nothing else, her son knew his station in life.

"It is almost your tenth year, Sab'vrae," she began, "And we must decide where to send you -- to Dilaere as a warrior trainee, or to Spiras as a magic student. Tell me, boy, do you have a preference?"

Sab'vrae recalled Vicala's many teachings and warnings of subtle tests given by matrons, especially to males, "Whatever the matron deems appropriate." He recited. Bhin'ree smirked, once again approving his teachings.

"I shall test you, then. Vicala tells me you could make a decent mage, but your talents seem to lean more towards a warrior's path. Let's find out for ourselves, shall we? Spiras?" Her brother stepped forward. "Go ahead."

The mage nodded, turning to his nephew, "Sab'vrae, levitate and ascend until I tell you to stop." He ordered. Sab'vrae nodded, calling his innate drow abilities. He hovered above the ground, slowly rising until he reached ten feet.

"Enough. Descend and cast a globe of darkness." Spiras said. Sab'vrae lowered himself and called forth a sphere of sheer blackness that not even infrared vision could penetrate.

"Hm. Three feet in diameter. Not bad for one his age, but I've seen much better." Spiras stated, finished with his test.

"Dilaere, your turn." Bhin'ree ordered as Spiras stepped back. Dilaere came forward, tossing a staff without warning at the child. Instinctively, Sab'vrae grabbed the staff, keeping the shaft safely away from his face.

"Excellent reflexes." The weapon master noted. "Now, try to attack me." Sab'vrae tilted his head in puzzlement. "Do as I say!" barked Dilaere. The child rushed forward, swinging the staff at the elder drow. Dilaere easily dodged the main attack, but barely avoided the second, surprise follow-up that nearly clipped his chin.

"His finesse is already finer than any of my current students." Dilaere noted to the matron, suddenly attempting to strike Sab'vrae with the flat side of his katana. The elderboy quickly blocked with his staff, "And, as already noted, his reflexes excel far beyond most his age." Bhin'ree nodded, mulling over the choice for a few moments.

"Indeed, he would make a better warrior than a mage, though I suppose his magic skills are still above average. Sab'vrae, you will begin your training as a fighter on your next birthday. The next ten years will be spent in Dilaere's care, where he will hone your abilities until you are ready to enlist in the Fighter's Academy." Sab'vrae barely surpressed his grin, bowing lowly to his mother.

"Thank you, Matron, on your wise choice." Bhin'ree shrugged, motioning for him to leave. As the child left, Dilaere turned to Spiras, smiling smugly at the mage, who only replied with a deep scowl.