Disclaimer: Menzoberranzan and other forgotten realms settings in this story do not belong to me, so don't sue.
A/N: due to a single review from SteelAndFire, I have decided to revamp and continue this story. So, for all y'all out there actually reading this, thank SAF that I'm moving on.
-LFK
Menzoberranzan, House Mizzrym…
Wrenching screams echoed throughout the massive courtyard of the Mizzrym fortress. Faerie fire flickered from the battlements of the towering walls to illuminate the troubling scene below. A thousand pairs of red, glowing eyes watched as a male screamed out his last moments in sick satisfaction.
The pained screams would have been uncommon anywhere else on Faerûn, from the port city of Waterdeep to the jewel of the north that was Silverymoon, had this not been the Underdark; had the hate-twisted figures not been the most feared denizens of the deep; had the tormentors not been Drow.
Drow. The very word brings terror to the hearts of the goodly folk of Faerûn, and worry to even those of the strongest warriors and wisest kings.
The young male, not more than a century and a half in age, fought wildly against the restraints that bound him to the rune-covered table, lustrous white hair whipping about as he squirmed from side to side to avoid his tormentors; spiders. Spiders of all sizes and species, thousands of them, scuttled and crawled across his limbs, blazing a trail of pain that twisted his gut from foot to waist. Blood trickled into the grooves of the stone table in rivulets, bright red streams that leaked from the weeping wounds and sores across his body.
"Mercy!" he threw his head back and howled as the poison lacing his veins set fire to every nerve ending in his lungs. The beautiful, sibilant language of the drow emerged harsh with anguish and pain, tattered by torture into a mockery of itself.
"You wish for mercy?" All eyes flicked to the grand balcony that overlooked the courtyard, and a hush fell over the eager crowd. Even the spiders, thousands of tiny red eyes that matched the red on their fangs, ceased their feeding frenzy at the sound of their mistress's cold voice. "You, a filthy male who would dare lay a hand on a princess of this house, would compound upon your sin by begging mercy from the Queen of Spiders? Fool!" Matron Mother Me'Zzarl of the third house of Menzoberranzan, House Mizzrym, rose from her obsidian throne and stepped forward to watch the commoner soldier squirm and squeal as thousands of tiny fangs tore his flesh.
Her retinue, four female guards and her three oldest daughters watched dispassionately as the male was slowly consumed from feet to hips. His screams had become soundless as his voice wore itself out, and now he couldn't do much more than pant and clench his teeth.
Suddenly, through the excruciating pain in his lower body and the blood pumping in his skull, the unfortunate soldier could hear music floating through the stone square accompanied by a small child's innocent laughter. The other troops, ranging from warriors to wizards, assassins to priestesses, all cocked an ear to listen to the cheerful tune coming from the huge manor house. Happiness in any form was uncommon in all drow houses, but especially so in Mizzrym.
Mother Me'Zzarl's face twisted in anger and she gestured fiercely for her eldest daughter, Berylin, to take care of the problem. Bring her to me! She signed quickly in the silent hand language of the drow. The High Priestess of Lolth bowed with a sneer and went off to carry out her duty.
Terrified kobolds, vermin servants of the Matron, skittered out of Berylin's path as she swept down the halls of the Mizzrym fortress. Carved out of a stalagmite that encompassed the interior of a cave that overlooked the Mushroom Forest of Menzoberranzan, House Mizzrym was nearly invincible from attack from any other direction but the front.
All noble drow houses, from the hundredth to House Baenre itself, were built with one thing in mind: security and might. Might was the Mizzrym focus- wizardly might.
High ramparts were the second line of defense against invaders, from which the Mizzrym sharpshooters and wizards would devastate their enemies. Ballistae with magical bolts attacked from the high towers set at intervals on the battlements to take out enemy lizard riders sprinting across the walls and ceiling, and levitating nobles floating out of the shadows. That power, levitation, was restricted to the noble members of the drow houses.
Behind the great obsidian walls was the courtyard where the Matron Mother held court to her loyal, fearful, servants, as well as made examples of the unfortunate disobedient. On the four corners of the courtyard were the guard barracks, the Lizard stables, the slave quarters, and the kennels that held the Nobles' pets.
The Mizzrym cave itself was a defense mechanism against any enemy foolish enough to attack the powerful third house. Mynocs, ever-hungry giant bats, roosted in the ceiling, awaiting their unwitting prey, while large spiders wove their webs in the shadows of the huge cave. Besides the beasts and monsters of the Underdark, the house wizards could conjure up countless more horrible things in their Matron's defense.
As Berylin neared the oaken door that led to her youngest sister's chambers, she began to hear voices coming from the room. The first voice was high pitched and childlike, and she recognized the lilting giggle as her sister's. The other voice was deeper and clearly male. That would be her older brother, Raeylon.
Raeylon Mizzrym, son of the first patron of Matron Me'Zzarl and the only male of the house to bear the family name, was the commander of Mizzrym's legions and the captain of the Matron Mother's elite group of male guards. He was also the one responsible for his youngest sister's training with weapons, a responsibility Berylin had foisted on him so she wouldn't have to do it. She had more important things to do than baby-sit a worthless little brat.
"I swear," she muttered under her breath as she rapped on the door with the butt of her whip. The snakeheads twined lovingly around her forearm and flicked their tongues in anticipation of future use. "That male will be the first one to die after I kill that arrogant bitch Matron!"