Apologies for taking so long to update. True, a month isn't exactly long,but it felt longer to me. Got sick a few days after last chapter was posted, and that kind of slowed me down a little, even after I recovered.Ok. Wasted enough time with excuses. Enjoy.

Chapter 11

The Mae'vir ancestral public house was shabby, a sad reminder of former glories. Many of the trinkets and baubles, which had existed within the family for generations, had been sold hastily, in a last bid to buy more soldiers. Trey took in the dilapidated building neutrally, his eyes skimming over the randomly dumped crates (and Drow) without a comment. Still unpacking, I guess.

It wasn't hard to discover who was the authority in the room. Every Drow in the room seemed to be doing something: there were warriors in the west rooms, archers in the east rooms, and scholars pouring over books continuously to the south. All working except for one female in the middle of the room, just standing there with a rather bored expression on her face. Must be Zesyrr.

A few Drow threw him suspicious looks as he approached the female. Others simply ignored him, too engrossed in their own work. And what work was more important than saving your own life?

"What do you want?" Zesyrr said rudely, before he had even opened up his mouth. Obviously she had noticed him as soon as he stepped in, and feigned boredom. I wonder how many arrows would come my way if I said I was from Myrune? Trey wondered ruefully. 10? 15?

"Just wanted to ask a few questions," Trey replied.

"Forget it. I have no time for some greybeard human," Zesyrr said curtly, then turned her back on him.

Greybeard? Trey thought indignantly. I don't even have a beard.. "It's about your mother."

Zesyrr stiffened, then turned to him slowly, her eyes narrowed. "What about her?"

Trey was silent for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "I've noticed that House Mae'vir trains her troops separately from those of the Seer. I've also noticed that your mother is currently not seeing visitors."

Zesyrr sighed, speaking as if addressing a very small child who does not know the ways of the world yet. "She refuses to work with those Eilistraee scum more than she needs to. And she is closed to all visitors…because of me. It is the ambition of every daughter to succeed a Matron mother, whether by means fair…or foul. Do you understand now?" she said mockingly, her dark eyes fixed upon him.

Trey chose not to rise to her bait, only nodding. There was more for her to say.

"Of course, that is the reason I am locked away here," Zesyrr continued dismally. "Unless," she brightened, "you could help me?"

"Go on," Trey said, though he already knew what was coming.

"I have all the support I need to take the throne, so to speak." Zesyrr said, watching him very carefully. "All I lack is the means."

"So you wish for me to…what, kill her?" Trey asked slowly, inwardly shocked. It was hard to believe how matter of fact Zesyrr sounded plotting the upheaval of her mother.

"Yes. Just my mother and her bodyguard, Tebimar. My people will be waiting."

His heart rejected the plan on principle; the idea of killing one's mother for personal gain was filthy. But, if Myrune planned to betray them anyhow, it was likely that she would have to die anyhow. "I need to make sure of her intentions before I do anything. I'll go speak to her myself."

The young female laughed scornfully, amused at his "naiveté." "Do you doubt that my mother wouldn't turn you over in an instant if it meant a chance to regain her former glory? Do not count on her to be in your corner, or you're in for a surprise! But no matter, do what you will. Here," she twisted a small, silver ring off of her ring finger and pressed it into his palm. The ring had a small set of runes inscribed along the inside of the ring. "This will allow you entrance. The guards won't let you inside without seeing that first."

"Thank you," he said, pocketing the ring.

"Taking care of my mother will be all the thanks I need," she answered. Trey nodded noncommittally and took his leave.

The walk from the Mae'vir public house to Myrune's estate was a short one, but seemed very long in his mind. It did not take him long at all to decide that he was not going to kill Myrune and her bodyguard, even if she admitted to his face, that she would betray him. It wasn't in him to kill in cold blood. If Myrune was guilty, he would incapacitate her and take her to the Seer, perhaps she could think of something. If she was not, then…he would thank her for her time and leave as quick as he could. He remembered the Seer's advice about politics, and he wanted as little to do with it as he could.

The guards in front of Myrune's estate glared at him stonily, but made no move to stop him as he approached. He reached into his pocket, noting with some alarm that both guards had stiffened when he did, expecting an attack, and took out Zesyrr's ring. One of the guards started, obviously surprised, and snatched the ring from his palm quickly, as if afraid that it would be seen.

"That's!-" the Drow commando breathed, turning the ring over in his hand. His shocked expression quickly melted into one of suspicion, and he glanced up at Trey keenly. "Zesyrr is ready to move so soon, but.." his words trailed off. A flash of insight struck him: the Drow thought that Zesyrr had chosen Trey as her assassin, but from his looks, the odds of success must not be high. If the assassination attempt failed, then the commando would almost certainly die for allowing Trey inside. But why you? is what he wanted to say. Trey thought.

The soldier seemed to remember himself, shaking away his doubts like water off of a dog's back. "Matron Myrune is inside, on the second floor," he said, his words clipped. "Not all inside are loyal to her, but be prepared to face some resistance." He pulled a small, silver key from out of his pocket and unlocked the front door, then went back to his post. Trey entered the building, a little unnerved. The first room was a large antechamber, ornately decorated. Pictures of Drow women dotted the far walls like spots, each Drow seeming both cruel and regal at the same time. Each one, Trey guessed, had most likely assassinated their predecessor. Not at all like your typical family tree, he thought as he walked towards the double doors at the far end of the hall. More like a list of bounties.Yes, it was easy to imagine an ambitious Drow daughter killing her mother and taking her position, then hanging a picture of the deceased in their memory.

I'll never understand these people, he thought ruefully, and then the doors at the end of the hall opened. A Drow woman, wearing a short, sweeping dark-blue dress entered, an older (it was hard to tell, as Drow aged like Elves did: very slowly) male, followed by two Drow soldiers. The woman was deep in conversation with the former, while the two soldiers followed a few feet behind, scowling and trying to look useful. Trey concentrated, triggering the inner click, and suddenly the world was awash with color. The drab grays and blacks of the building seemed to darken before his eyes, fading into the background. The four Drow who had entered were now surrounded in a prism of color from head to toe. Trey was only interested in the Matron's aura, and the other Drow were forgotten in his scrutiny. Myrune's aura was a shade of dark blue, interspersed with dots of green and a pale red. A complicated character, alright. She was used to fame, fortune, and luxury; now she was forced to rely upon the dregs of her society. How had that affected her?

The matron glared at him, her aura changing to a shifting membrane of red and yellow, and he realized he had been staring. She pointedly turned her back on him, saying loudly to the male she had been talking to, "Who is that male, Tebimar? Why was he allowed in, when I explicitly told you I wanted no visitors?"

"I do not know, Matron Mother," Tebimar said coolly. "Allow me to find out." Trey didn't give him the chance. If his ploy was to happen at all, then it relied on initiative and self-confidence. Before Tebimar could turn in his direction, Trey was already there.

"Sorry for the intrusion, Myrune," Trey said, "but I come with an urgent message."

Myrune stared at him. Drow males rarely made the mistake of addressing a Matron Mother before being spoken to. The idea of a human male, with a message, speaking to her was laughable. It took her a moment to find her voice, but when she spoke, she sounded haughty as ever, "Who would send a human male to find me? What joke is this?"

"No joke at all, Myrune," Trey said coolly. His mind was working a mile a minute. He would have to talk very fast, and very big, if he was to overcome Myrune's initial distrust of him. "I have come from the Valsharess."

The statement provoked exactly the reaction he hoped for: silence.

"I know what you're thinking: why would the Valsharess use a human male? Why is a human even here?" Trey continued. "I am the one your Seer has predicted. But she made a mistake: I come as no savior, but as a destroyer."

"I don't believe you," Myrune said bluntly.

"Don't, then," Trey replied. "When this camp is destroyed, wiped out in the snap of a finger by her pet demon, I'm sure your followers will remember your response. But will they be so forgiving when they know you were offered a chance at survival?"

More silence. If Myrune truly didn't believe him, he would have been thrown out already. But belief wasn't enough. He needed to know: would she betray the Seer if given the opportunity? Or was this imitation unfair, unrealistic.

No time for that now. The charade goes on. "Your house was one of the first to fall to the Valsharess. It was foolish to resist then, but it will save you now. The Valsharess wants the Seer dead very badly. If you help her in this, and swear loyalty to her, you will be restored to your former glory, and more."

"She can…she would do this?" Myrune whispered. Trey recognized the look in her eyes. They were the eyes of a longtime loser who has finally won the Big Score; the eyes of a beggar who has gone fishing for copper and has found gold.

"Of course," Trey said. "The Valsharess has greater ambitions: she wants to rule the surface. Who will govern the Underdark in her stead? Who knows..?" Purposely letting his sentence trail off, allowing her to imagine the possibilities… Trey felt sick to his stomach. He had tricked Myrune so thoroughly that it was all to easy to imagine himself recruiting Drow for the Valsharess. He seemed to have a natural flair for it.

"What do I need to do!" Myrune demanded, her hands balling tightly into fists. "Whatever she wants, I can do!"

Trey smiled sadly. "Fooled you."

Myrune stared at him for a good three seconds. Then bewilderment shifted to rage. "You… you!" she sputtered, unable to speak.

Trey nodded slowly, as if expecting that response. Now what will she do? Attack or retreat? Have me executed, or just thrown out? Despite the proof he had just seen of her treachery, he had no plans of killing her, or capturing her. It was depressing to witness the kind of allies that the Drow partnered with; people who would sell anyone out if given the right offer. Why had the idea of loyalty died here, in one of the most dangerous places in all of Toril?

"So this was all a joke then? None of it was true at all?" Myrune asked quietly, though her effort at maintaining calm was betrayed by her shaking fists.

"I just gave you a scenario, and let your mind do the rest," Trey replied. "I am with the Seer, though I'm hardly a savior. Your daughter told me you were not to be trusted, now I can see she was right."

Myrune's eyes narrowed, as she spat her daughter's name like a curse, "Zesyrr. I should have known. And you must be here to kill me, after all." Tebimar, along with the Drow behind him, instantly moved into a protective position around her, but Trey didn't move.

"No, though she tried to hire me. I just came here for the truth. Know that if you should try to betray us near the end, I will be in a position to stop you." Trey turned his back on her to leave.

Myrune's fury boiled over at this point. There was no hope of defeating or escaping the Valsharess; her army was far too large. Her only chance of survival had relied on her betrayal, and now this human had taken it away in one fell swoop. Surely fate was not to be so cruel as to have House Mae'vir, one of the High Houses of Menzoberranzen, to meet its end clinging at the shirttail of a group of filthy outcasts?

I can't allow it, she thought furiously. There's still some hope here… but if this jaluk ruins things! So she was resolved: the monk could not be allowed to leave. She inhaled sharply, summoning the concentration to cast a spell she had not employed in some time. Fixing the destination firmly in her mind, she pointed an index finger at the receding figure of the human. A brilliant bolt of crimson light erupted from the tip of her finger, lancing across the room and seconds and striking the monk in the back. The human uttered a harsh cry of pain before vanishing, leaving behind a few specks of red dust. Soon even that was gone.

"Mistress, where did you send him?" Tebimar asked in a hushed voice.

Myrune smiled grimly. "To hell. One type, anyhow. Pray that you never meet the same fate, Tebimar. Now, come quickly. We need some story to give to the Seer about his disappearance."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The flesh golems they had met before had been ugly, but the golem looming before them was the definition of gruesome.

Alain and Valen had quickly lost sight of the fleeing flesh golem, but it had not mattered: the corridors were filled with them. Most of the groups were similar to the first in that they were involved in battle with mythril golems. Unfortunately, these new golems were no more sympathetic to them than the first, and they had ended up fighting both groups. Finally, they had caught the scarred golem. But instead of fighting, it had asked to parley. Now, they had been taken to Aghaaz, the leader of the flesh golems.

Demons themselves aren't too pretty. So it shouldn't have been such a surprise, Alain surmised, to discover that a golem made out of their skin should be much of a looker either.

Aghaaz was only a few inches taller than Valen, but he seemed to stretch much higher above them. His "skin" was pocked and discolored, seeming oddly lumpy in certain areas. His hands ended in talons made of demonbone, he guessed, and his yellow luminous eyes smoldered with some unknown light. There was an unmistakable aura about him that made the back of his neck tingle.

Alain concentrated, feeling the inner click inside his head, and flinched. Aghaaz's aura was a grayish-black, which seemed to creep and crawl, grow and shrink over him like a living cloak of insects. Goosebumps broke out over his skin, and he shivered voluntarily. He relaxed, and the aura mercifully faded from view.

What are we dealing with here? Alain wondered.

"Humans," Agaaz rumbled. "Perhaps this is an omen, the first sign that our glorious Maker has returned, brothers!" The flesh golems around them mumbled appreciatively, their hushed voices in awe. Alain gaped at Valen, dumbfounded.

"We have come to ask for your aid in a war we are waging, against the Valsharess," Valen said, taking charge of the situation. "Our forces are outnumbered, and the Valsharess seeks to--"

"Valsharess? War?" Aghaaz laughed, a booming echo quickly followed by his subordinates'. "We golems have no interest in the outside world. Perhaps, if you aid us, we could aid you..?"

All of a sudden Alain wasn't sure they wanted help so badly. Besides that, from the conversation they had overheard between the two factions earlier, it sounded like these flesh golems weren't the side to help. But Valen either missed his warning look, or chose to ignore it. Fortunately, so did Aghaaz.

"For five hundred years, we have tried to put down the heretic Ferron and his group of rebels. They refuse to acknowledge me as the Maker's anointed, and wish to escape this place and find their freedom," Aghaaz explained. "I will not allow it. As long as I hold control over their Power Source, they are bound here."

"Why not just let them go?" Valen reasoned.

"When the Maker returns and discovers that I allowed his creations to escape, I will be destroyed. As it is, if he learns of Ferron's foolishness, I may be destroyed anyway! I am his High Priest, after all," Aghaaz said smugly. "But our forces are too evenly matched, and we are at a stand-off."

"That's where we would come in?" Alain asked with some distaste.

"Bring me Ferron's head, and I will assist you in your war." Aghaaz said in a business-like tone.

"I don't understand," Valen said, shaking his head. "No mortal can live for 500 years, and even if he is alive, don't you think he would have given you some sign? I think this Ferron may be right."

"I agree," Alain said. "Why do you let your golems die, fighting for a master who may never return? Why not give Ferron his power source and let him go? You have nothing to fear."

Aghaaz did not answer right away. Instead, his golden eyes darkened, and the very air seemed to thicken. "I see now. Such blasphemy could only come from the mouths of those who have listened to Ferron's lies. You have come as spies, to steal his precious power source! Kill them!" he shouted suddenly, his wrath crashing over them. "Kill the heretics! Aghaaz and the Maker command you!"

The mob of flesh golems that surrounded them voiced a unified shout in agreement, before surging forward from all sides. A fist lashed out from behind, striking Alain in the small of the back, and he stumbled, hissing through his teeth in pain. His Ki had absorbed the brunt of the blow, but he could feel a welt beginning to form. A quick, looping uppercut came from a towering flesh golem on his right, but he sidestepped the attack and kicked out its legs from under it. The golem went down heavily; a second later, its head exploded in a shower of goo and gore as another charging golem stomped over it. Alain allowed himself a quick look at Valen, to see how he was handling himself.

Blows rained on Valen from all angles, but his armor allowed him to weather the worst of the attack. His eyes burned an unnatural red, and as Alain watched, he swung a vicious sweeping blow, dashing the heads of two golems. Valen snarled like a feral cat, and the golems around him took an uneasy step backward. When he fights, he looks completely different, Alain thought dimly, as he propelled himself towards the tiefling. He doesn't know it, either.

A golem had crept behind Valen, carrying a large, heavy crate. Alain attacked it from behind, leaping in the air and kicking at the golem's elbow. His opponent's arm snapped like a chicken bone, and the crate above it fell, pinning the squirming golem beneath it. Swiftly, Alain leapt on top of the shifting crate, gained his balance, and sprung, crashing into two more golems on Valen's right. Valen fell two more golems before the group fled, darting back into the shadows with a speed he had not suspected. The tiefling breathed heavily, wiping golem goo from his flail, before standing up. Alain scrambled to his feet from his position on top of the golems, wiping his clothes clean of any golem residue.

"Where did Aghaaz go?" Valen asked. Alain looked at him, a little unnerved, and shrugged. Valen's eyes were still showing some of that uncomfortable red glow.

"I'm not sure. After the power source, I think. He went down that way." He pointed distractedly down a corridor to their left, more concerned with scraping a piece of flesh from his boot. He looked up at Valen crossly. "You just had to get him mad, didn't you?"

Valen allowed a wry grin to appear. "I did it on purpose. I really didn't like that guy."

Alain scowled for a second longer, before breaking into a sunny grin. "Yeah, me either."

"Then let's go after--"

"Wait a minute!" Alain interrupted, grabbing Valen's shoulder. Valen glared at him, mistaking his hesitation for cowardice.

"I'm just saying. He's not going anywhere, and we need to prepare." Alain explained quickly. Valen stared at him a second longer.

"Prepare how?"

"He may be a golem, but he's a golem created from demon. That lends certain protective qualities."

"I wouldn't have guessed, being half-demon myself," Valen said sarcastically.

"Just let me—YAH!" Alain cried, driving his right foot down on the head of the flesh golem beneath the crate, which was still struggling and babbling terribly. "Let me see your flail," he finished.

Grudgingly, Valen obeyed, removing his flail from his belt and holding it out in front of him. Alain concentrated, and the flail's aura swam into focus: a kaleidoscope of colors swam over the head of the weapon. Alain took the flail head in both heads, burying his fingers into the aura of the weapon and closed his eyes. Aghaaz'a aura was a murky gray, which came from the flesh of demons. The opposite aura had to be pure, clear, a light in the darkness… He felt a flash of pain, seemingly from inside his head. At the same time, Valen inhaled a sharp gasp of pain. Alain opened his eyes.

The head of the flail was now a brilliant, shifting white light. The other colors of the weapon's aura had not dissipated, but rather, pushed to the side. As Alain looked on, he could see a hint of red and orange discoloring the white light.

"What did you do?" Valen demanded. "My fingers are tingling. It… doesn't hurt exactly…"

"I purified your weapon… I think," Alain said uncertainly. "We needed a weapon that could break up Aghaaz's demon skin, so I used your flail. That tingling you feel is probably your demon blood rejecting it."

"Why is my flail gray?" Valen wondered aloud, his eyes squinting as he looked at his weapon. Alain looked at him in shock. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You know that out of all professions, monks are the only ones trained to see auras, right? You can see them too?" Alain asked. He had heard of weapon masters developing a bond with their weapon so strong that it seemed to gain a power of its own. The flail was white, not gray, so Valen could not totally see it, but…

"I never saw anything, until now," Valen said bluntly. "Anyway, let's get moving. My hands itch from whatever you did."

"It should fade," Alain said doubtfully. "After one good swing, so make it count."

"Wonderful," Valen replied, baring his teeth. "Let's get it done then."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The beam of magic that struck Trey from behind seemed to pierce his very soul. He screamed out in pain, but that didn't seem to matter. His vision went grey, then black, and he heard a strange blowing from all around him, as if the air was rushing past him. His jaw went slack and a trickle of drool crept down his chin. The very air around his body seemed to tighten, painfully, and this time he could not muster the air to scream. Then it released and he slumped forward, crashing into the ground hard and nearly biting through his own tongue. Sight came back in one eye slowly, a curtain of red overlapping it.

He wiped the blood out of his eye, with a forearm before slowly, painfully, pushing himself up into a sitting position. Teleported, he thought dimly. Not nearly as comfortable as last time. Then, more urgently, Where am I?

For it was not at all what he expected. He expected to have awoken inside one of the deepest, dankest, darkest dungeons House Mae'vir possessed. He expected sullen-faced Drow sitting in a cell across from him and the far-off drip-drip-dripping of water from an unseen stalactite. Instead he was in a small, circular, room with nothing in it. The walls were indigo and small designs of humanoids with (squids for heads?) decorated the panels. The squid-men looked very dignified, despite their freakish appearance, and cringing at their ankles appeared to be either a gnome or a dwarf. There was a door in front of him, made of iron, and with no handle.

Squi-squeh, sqwah-sqweh, an alien voice in his mind babbled, and he grasped his forehead convulsively, doubled over in pain. He tensed, waiting for another psychic barrage, but none came.

"What was that about..?" he wondered aloud, and just as quick, bent over again, gasping for air. This time the voice "said" something like Whad-whe, dad-abo? and his brain felt like it was about to crack, to split open and let out insanity, that caged, laughing beast chained in our subconscious.

He fell forward on the cool stone, his head aching like a pulled muscle, his eyes rolling in his sockets. But just as before, the mysterious attack had ceased. Needtofocusherefocus.SohardtothinkfocusFocuh-focu!

"AAHHHHH!" he screamed, writhing on the floor in agony. His mind was being invaded, or looked through by something, and if it didn't stop, then he would be gone, floating away, long-gone. At length, he managed to pull himself into a sitting position, keeping his conscious mind devoid of any thought. There was a thumping sound in the room to his right, and raucous, yammering laughter to his left. It was then he noticed what had changed.

It was difficult to comprehend: before his mind had felt like a closed room, a contained place holding his thoughts and dreams and desires. Now, at this very moment, it was as if this the walls of this room had been knocked down and laid bare, for all eyes to see. His thoughts, his perception, previously accessed only by him, no longer had such safeguards. That explained the voice in his mind, but not why the voice should even be there.

He concentrated on his breathing, slow inhale… and exhale, and slowly but surely began to close his mind. It was difficult; the human mind was not meant for such mental exertion. He realized that the laughing in the next room was coming from a rather short Duergar, "Stubby," to his peers, Sangof to his mother. He was some 300 years old, he had lost count around 312. He had been a miner for 30 years; going up against some of the greatest predators of the Underdark, and lived to tell the tale. He was also stark raving mad. A nonsensical phrase bounced about in the ruins of his mind: Zing-Zag-Zooboofoo! How funny it sounded!

All this information flooded his mind in a flash; it was too much to take. Could he actually be reading minds?

It was during a particularly long expedition that Stubby was captured and thrown in his small room, almost a month ago. His captors had probed his mind, found nothing of interest, and simply left him there. The voices came from all around. He tried to shut them out but he didn't know how, and…and… Trey found only a gray blur here.

Who were the captors? Trey wondered. He needed to find a focus; he had a feeling that if he spent too much time scanning the remains of Stubby's mind, he might go mad himself. That lunatic phrase

(Zing-Zag-Zooboofoo!)

had begun to bore into his head.

Stubby and a companion had been a bit farther away from the rest of the group. When they didn't return, the other Duergars had simply left. The Underdark was harsh, and those who let their guard drop often met a deadly end. Illithids had come upon them. Mind flayers. Tentacle-tongue. Stubby could recall a blinding flash of light, an alien touch invading his mind… Again, Trey encountered a confusing jumble of thoughts.

He closed his mind off, blocking out Stubby's memories. As he did, the presence he had felt enter his mind began to disappear. Stubby had not learned how to guard his mind, and so he had lost it. Only discipline and mental focus had saved Trey from Stubby's fate.

Myrune must have teleported me here, he thought as he leaned against a wall. Maybe she used to do this to a servant who displeased as a form of torture. What was most distressing was the fact that though he knew he was inside an illithid city, he had no idea where that city was, or how to get back. It must be relatively close, if she used a spell instead of a portal, but he would have to return on foot.

Getting ahead of myself here. First, I've got to escape- he broke off in mid-thought. From far off, Trey could hear approaching footsteps. Stubby next door must have heard them too, because the laughing abruptly stopped before beginning again, louder and punctured by sobs.

Trey quickly got to his feet, ran to the door and began to pound on it. "Help! If anyone is out there, I don't belong here! I need to get to Lith My'athar!" he shouted, then immediately wished he had not. Judging from the pictures, these illithids were not exactly on friendly terms with humanoid races. The information he had gathered on Lith My'athar's defense would be invaluable in the right hands. Weren't there illithids in league with the Valsharess?

The footsteps slowed, then quickened towards his cell. As the footsteps grew louder, so did Stubby's laughter, and he realized that the psychic "interference" was getting louder. Could the telepathy he was experiencing be the result of so many illithids living in one place? He didn't know and didn't care. Quickly, he tried to fortify his mind, to shield his knowledge of Lith My'athar.

The footsteps stopped outside his door. He tensed, focusing his Ki. Here's your chance. Make it count, he thought. The iron door shivered on its frame, then slowly began to sink into the ground, allowing him a look outside the cell. Before he could move, the door had opened, and a tall figure stepped inside.

The illithid looked exactly as it had been depicted on the walls of the room, except for one notable exception: there was some sort of black, tribal tattoo etched around the single yellow eye in the middle of its head. Its aura was a complex overlay of blue and purple, and it wore an indigo tunic long enough to sweep the ground. Its eye scanned the room lazily, before the illithid took another step forward. Its tentacles jiggled, and Trey felt a psychic feeler brush against his mind tentatively.

Quite some resistance for a human, the illithid sent telepathically, and the psychic feeler pushed harder, scanning his mind for some weakness. Trey took a step towards the creature, preparing to attack, when the illithid's single eyeball flashed a bright green. The illithid made an odd chirruping sound as a beam of white light flared from its forehead and into his, sending him flying back into the far wall like dust in the wind. He exhaled sharply, the air escaping from his lungs like he'd been punched in the stomach. The illithid chattered and moved closer, pressing its advantage. Already Trey could feel his focus slipping…

The Overmind will be quite interested in Lith My'athar. Who would have guessed I would be so lucky? Trey thought he sounded excited. He slumped forward, feigning exhaustion, hoping feverishly that the illithid did not anticipate his plan. The illithid leaned closer, its tentacles twitching hungrily. Trey leapt up quickly, and jabbed a thumb into the creature's luminous eye.

Argggh! How dare you! the creature raged inside his mind. He inhaled, clenching his fist and allowing the Ki to gather within him, before attacking with a hard right blow to the illithid's ribcage. Illithids are quite weak physically, and this one was no exception. The creature doubled over, wheezing, but trying to aim up at Trey for another mind-blast. The monk sidestepped the mental attack and kicked out, hooking behind the illithid's shins and forcing the creature to its knees.

"Hah!" he cried, as he delivered a hard chop to the back of illithid's head. It collapsed on the ground, its neck jutting out at an odd angle. Trey quickly slipped out of the cell and slammed the door on it, locking the illithid inside. If it were still alive, he reasoned, then it wouldn't be going anywhere. The cells seemed to have some psychic damper on them, as well, because the voices had ceased when he had closed the door. He looked up and down the hall uncertainly.

Some kind of prison? he thought, running down the hall towards a far stairway. The hall was lined with similar iron doors as the one that had been in his cell, and next to each door was a sign with writing (mind-flayer-ese?) on them. There was also a small panel with a handprint next to each cell.

Luck was with him; he encountered no one else on his trek upstairs. The first floor was an empty room, with a doorway on either side. Black crates lined the corners of the room. He approached a crate apprehensively. A small button was on top of the crate, which he pressed, causing the crate to pop open noiselessly. Inside were twelve black, slightly rusty helmets.

"Why stockpile these?" he wondered aloud, picking one up out of the box. They looked no different from any other helmet he had seen; in fact, they didn't look too protective at all. Apprehensively, he put one, fearing the worst, but nothing happened. His hearing seemed slightly muted, but that was all. Better keep one on. They might be looking for me already. He closed the crate and left the room hastily, suddenly paranoid. The thought occurred to him, not for the first time: How I am I going to get out of here?

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The edges of the door of the outer hallway glowed with an otherworldly light. Alain walked towards the door slowly, followed closely by Valen. There was no question: Aghaaz had gone inside. There was no mistaking the ghostly gray footprints the golem had left behind. Alain looked at Valen who nodded impatiently. Alain nodded and opened the door.

The power source was in the middle of an altar, flanked by two golem statues. A large vial supported by a stone container was the source of the flickering light. Looming over the power source was Aghaaz, who seemed to have been waiting for them.

"So nice of you to come," Aghaaz crooned, running one claw almost lovingly over the power source container.

"You left just when the party was getting good," Alain quipped. "Too bad: this is such a nice room. I'd hate to leave your remains all over the place."

"Clever, are we?" Aghaaz growled. "Cease your empty threats, human: you haven't the power or weapon to stop me."

Not I. Alain thought, I'm just the bait.

"You're just in time to watch me smash Ferron's precious power source," Aghaaz gloated. "Once it's broken, Ferron will be forced to stay here, despite his blasphemy. Of course, I too will be bound to this place. But what does that matter? When the Maker returns, he will make everything right!" Aghaaz cried, his words becoming reverent when speaking of his beloved Alsigard.

"500 years of fighting has dulled what intelligence you have," Valen spat, swinging his flail threateningly. "What good is choice if you hand it over to someone else?"

"Enough of your double-talk," Aghaaz sneered. "If you mean to stop me, act now!"

Alain charged forward, running right up to Aghaaz. The demonflesh golem snarled and swung one huge claw down at him, but Alain had already thrown himself to the monstrosity's right, landing behind the beast. Aghaaz roared in rage, wheeling about and swiping wildly at the young monk. Alain jumped back, feeling the wind on his face from the missed blow, and sprang forward just as quickly. Summoning as much Ki as he could, he threw a perfect straight right into Aghaaz's midsection. There was no effect; his fist bounced off the golem's tough hide. Aghaaz chuckled cruelly, raising his right talon to deliver a deathblow.

Might as well be using a toothpick to kill a bear, Alain thought. "Valen?" he said aloud, as the descending talon filled his vision. "Valen!"

Valen had been creeping up from behind Aghaaz during Alain's distraction. Now he struck; a hard, double-handed overhead blow with every ounce of his power behind it. The attack would have had as much effect as Alain's, if not for the flail's aura. The purified weapon punctured Aghaaz's ribcage like battering ram; for a fleeting moment, Alain could see Valen through Aghaaz. Black ichor splattered the far wall in a bizarre portrait.

"AAAAAAAAAAGGGH!" Aghaaz bellowed, sinking to his knees. His yellow eyes flickered crazily, his hands supporting his weight as he crashed to the stone, breaking up some of the altar beneath him. For a second, its eyes locked onto Alain's, and he read nothing but sheer hatred, mixed with pain.

"I'll.." Aghaaz whispered, but Alain never heard its last words. Valen swung his flail again, a sweeping blow that dashed Aghaaz's head right off his shoulders and into the wall to their right. Its body remained on its knees for a second or two longer, before falling onto the floor, and quickly decomposing into black ooze.

Valen looked with wonder at his flail. "I can't believe that happened," he said faintly.

Alain nodded, a little irritated, "I can't believe I was five seconds from being a smear on the wall. Couldn't have waited a little longer, could you?"

Valen ignored him, continuing to stare at his flail. The white aura had faded, but the tingling in his fingers had not stopped. When he asked Alain about this, he replied, "Probably just some residual effect of the Ki. It should fade."

"Alain, is it possible… that I could use my weapon like," he pointed to the corpse of Aghaaz, with the two-foot hole punched through it, "that?"

"Anything's possible. I'll have to ask Trey," Alain said. Both warriors slowly looked at their new prize, the power source, following its shimmering light for a good minute. Finally, Alain asked, "So… who's dragging that thing back to Ferron?"

You would kind of think that being made from demons would give you a little more bang for your buck, huh? And Valen's interested in using Ki? Interesting.

Thanks for waiting so long. Read, enjoy, and if you would be so kind, review?

--Ace65