The Light Within

by Ace65

Chapter Nineteen: As Alain heads out into the dark, he begins to fear for the tiefling's psyche. How will he cope after being out in the warzone? Elsewhere, Trey and Delion hatch a plan to halt the Drow forces... Early chapters being heavily edited.

16. Brittle Bones

Update:Nice catch, Witchwolf. Rizolvir, not Imloth, should have been in this chapter. Mental mistake on my part, but it's all fixed up now. Chapter 17 under development, hopefully by next week I'll have it done.

Disclaimer: Neverwinter Nights has not and never will be mine. Trey, Alain, and Delion, Algaricciragla, however, are mine, so if you'd like to use them in one of your stories, lemme know. And by the way, any Drow I may use come from my imagination, not from a dictionary or something. So if you get pissed when you learn that there is no word for des'tai or fei… tough.

A/N: Fei is a derogatory Drow term generally aimed at those in a lower position. It's translation would be close to "boy" or "fool".)

Witchwolf: Call us even. I borrowed your format for "Temper' a' Mental" to write Mephy's conversation, so much credit there. Yeah, now that I think about, maybe giving numbers wasn't such a hot idea, but I'll deal with it. If the stalactite shower strikes your fancy, I would only count it as a compliment (though you may change your mind when you see the new plan). Lavoera is usually portrayed as the stereotypical stuck-up celestial, when her personality is more like Deekin. Danger makes her giddy. Not the first person I'd choose to watch my back in a fight, but you could do worst.

Chapter 16

"What's wrong, Jarluk? You look…nervous." Tenari said, as the sub-lieutenant stood at attention before him. The Drow had his notes clenched tightly in his hands, and there was a sheathed sword propped up in a chair next to him. There was nothing wrong with his attire, and at a glance everything seemed to be fine… but Tenari thought the subordinate looked a trifle pale. Was he really so intimidating? Not that it mattered. Love and fear are two ways to control an army, and while love is so much more poetic, fear was infinitely easier. And also, enjoyable.

"Nothing, sir. Just eager to make my report," Jarluk lied. His fears were justified, in his opinion. It's common for rumors about an unknown general to travel among camp, and Jarluk had dutifully ignored them, but it wasn't until a few days ago that he began to think there might be some truth in them.

A younger Drow had made the mistake of having a smile on his face when Tenari was passing by. Whether he was laughing at the general or not was irrelevant. Without missing out a beat- hell, without taking a breath- Jarluk had watched the commander unsheathe his sword, turn on his heel, and slice the soldier ten different ways before killing him. Eye, ear, rib, belly, knee, shoulder… all non-vital blows meant to harm than to punish, and ending with a last cross-swipe, decapitation so clean that the body was still jerking spastically even as it fell. The head, still grinning, landed with a horrible SPLAT, coming to rest at the general's feet.

Then Tenari had lifted one foot and punted the head, sending in arching into the back of a small goblin. The goblin squealed and scurried out of the way. All this Jarluk had witnessed without a word. Even in Drow culture, beheading was harsh, and saved for enemies and lesser creatures-orc, goblin and the like- not for Drow. If he was this severe with his own soldiers, then…

You're overreacting. Maybe that was a little harsh, but… But what? What would happen if Jarluk had the misfortune of delivering the bad news to him when he was in a bad mood? There was nothing special about him; a replacement wouldn't be hard to come.

"Get on with it, Jarluk," Tenari said, and the sub-lieutenant clearly heard the testy tone in the general's voice. He must have been too involved in his thoughts to have heard him the first time.

Concentrate, damnit, or it'll be easier to imagine him angry than you think.

"Sorry General. Good news: we've received a message from House Mae'vir from the rebel camp."

"House Mae'vir? They aren't destroyed yet?" Tenari scratched his chin, thinking. House Mae'vir had been one of the Valsharess' earliest conquests, back when she belonged to a house. Mae'vir had attempted to crush the ambitious female and had been squashed instead. "They've sided with those Eilistraee trash?"

"Not completely, sir. The message was a denouncement of the Seer's forces, and a formal request to join our side. Along with the note, they've enclosed valuable information on the rebel strategy with the promise of more, as long as grant them shelter. Also, they've sent a gift, as a show of their allegiance."

"Well, that's lucky," Tenari said evenly. Would the Valsharess accept such a request from one of her vanquished foes, especially one of her first? Tenari discovered he didn't care. What the Valsharess did accept was victory, and unexpected spies could only help them in achieving that.

Besides, there was always time to play with Myrune and her precious little house after the battle, if she wished.

"Draft a response to them immediately, Jarluk. Tell them we accept as long as they can do a little more than show us their plans. I need those gates open when we arrive." Tenari said, closing his eyes as he dictated. "What did she write about, anyway?"

"Well…" Jarluk glanced at his notes, where he had jotted down the main points of the Mae'vir message. "She spoke of tunnels, explosives and firecrackers."

"Jarluk," Tenari said, looking down at his desk and sighing. "What are firecrackers?"

"I… I don't know, sir."

Tenari flapped a hand at him, dismissing it. "What else?"

"Well, the leaders of their forces appear to be a seasoned soldier named Imloth, the tiefling Valen Shadowbreath, and a human monk."

Tenari inhaled sharply. "What's the monk's name?"

"Ah," Jarluk glanced at his notes again. The name of the human hadn't seemed important to him, but… "Alain Johns, sir."

Tenari leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly through his teeth. Alain… not the one Mephistopheles wanted eliminated, but the one the Valsharess was worried about. No matter. That one would be finished soon, when his soldiers came marching to their gate. Three people can't defeat a army, after all. The Valsharess could have that monk. The one he wanted was…

"What news have you heard of the bald monk, Jarluk?"

Jarluk swallowed nervously. He's getting into that mood again, just like last time… take a breath.

"Jarluk, can you hear me?" Tenari said in a sing-song tone. A dangerous, glittering smile was on his face, not quite unlike the strained grin that had been on his face before. The look that had been on his face when he had killed that recruit.

"Y-yes sir."

"Then tell me what I want to know, fei." Now his smile froze, like the desolate glimmer of an icy pond on a winter day.

"My apologies, General," Jarluk replied quickly, trying to regain his composure. The sight of Tenari caressing the sheath of his blade didn't help matters. "Our scouts have reported sightings of the bald monk, along with another lone Drow, heading towards Drearing Deep, which is where we expect our undead allies to be coming from."

"Don't state the obvious, Jarluk, I'm getting impatient," Tenari warned. Mentally though, he was miles away, calculating what this could mean. When the monk had left Zorvak'mur, the outpost had been decimated, and the illithids that had expected to arrive never came. Now, he had arrived at Drearing Deep. Would he be as lucky there?

"Er… since those sightings sir, the number of undead coming from Drearing Deep has thinned considerably, and we have still received no word from the Drow emissary that was dispatched there a few weeks ago. Our clerics believe that they are currently deceased."

"Hmm…" Once again, the question presents itself: how could one human do so much? Were all of the gods pulling for him or something? Damn it all! I should have gone after that bastard when he was leaving Zorvak'mur! The fact that the bone golems Vix'thra had promised might not show up didn't bother him. The fact that that monk was scurrying about beneath his feet, fouling things up, did. Why couldn't he just make matters easy and go back to his base, like a good human?

"Sir?" Jarluk's hesitant voice cut through his thoughts, putting an end to pondering.

"What about our other troops?"

"Well… the beholders are accounted for. Of course, the Duergar and Drow… several goblins and re-animated corpses for fodder… the arch-duke's horde: pit fiends, gelugon, succubi, several elementals, vrocks, and of course, whatever else our clerics can summon."

"Very well," Tenari sighed, massaging his forehead slowly. Already a headache was beginning to form. "You're dismissed."

"There's one more thing, sir."

"What is it, lieutenant?"

"One last bit of good news. Mae'vir sent this sword along with their message." He gestured to the sheathed blade next to him. "One of their nobles stole this sword from the camp's weaponsmith. They swear on his skill."

Tenari took the offered blade from Jarluk, and slowly unsheathed the blade, giving the blade an experimental swing. Wonderfully light it was, yet Tenari could sense its strength, like firm muscle veiled beneath a thin layer of fat. And the surface of the blade… "What kind of…?"

"It's electrified, sir," Jarluk replied, anticipating the question. It had been the first thought on his mind when he had seen the strange electric blue glimmers across the surface of the sword. "The sword itself is composed of reinforced adamantine. Myrune suggests that you use this weapon to fight the monk, though I can't imagine why."

I can, though… and that's all that matters, Tenari thought, a slow smile creeping across his face. The perfect weapon! Electrified, so that those pathetic monks can't touch me… and if they should, this blade is hard enough to resist any attempts to shatter it. This was the most useful thing that dried-up old Matron could have done for me.

"Excellent blade," Tenari said in a level tone, sheathing the weapon smoothly. "Thank you for your report, Jarluk, you may go." The sub-lieutenant turned to leave, but as he was pushing the flaps of the tent back, Tenari called him back, "Oh, and Jarluk?"

"Yes, General?"

"Don't be so tentative around me. After all, I'm not going to hurt you." Tenari smiled. It was an open and sunny smile, completely devoid of any malice, but the eyes above them were a different story. Jarluk saw no madness in them, nor anger, just a sort of watching malice. The kind of eyes that some loathsome predator might have while watching a particularly delicious kind of prey: a knowing, laughing, watchful look. It said, you know, and I know, but let's keep quiet. Just how much time do you think you have left?

Jarluk nodded quickly and left the tent much hastier than his pride should have allowed.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

It was another normal day in Lith My'athar; as normal as it can get when one could be attacked by the enemy any day now. A strange breeze was coming in from the Dark River, which rarely happened, according to Cavallas. It chilled Valen to the bone, and smelled faintly of mushrooms, but when pressed, Cavallas would say nothing more save that it was an ill omen. Well, what could you expect from a guy wearing a hood?

Valen sighed, rubbing his shoulders irritably from lack of warmth. Trey had asked him to come here early in the morning, when there were fewer watching eyes.

"What's it about, anyway?" Valen had asked the previous day.

"Don't worry," Alain said mysteriously, after looking in both directions quickly. If any spies were listening, none revealed themselves, and he went on, "but trust me, you'll want to see it."

"This better be good," Valen muttered to himself, as he hunched over, trying to protect himself against the wind. "Otherwise, I'll beat that monk so badly he'll have to ask you for fashion tips, Cavallas."

Cavallas said nothing, as usual, and Valen backed away just a step, as much as his pride would allow. He wasn't afraid of the boatman but… who knew what were under those robes?

"Hey, you made it in time!" Alain called as he jogged over to the dock. Rizolvir followed him carrying a large sack, which bulged in out in odd places. Alain looked cheerful, Rizolvir only disgruntled.

"You're the ones who are late!" Valen growled as the two walked up to him. "Do you know how cold it is here?"

"What's wrong, has the great warrior of the Abyss got frostbite?" Alain said, with a smirk. Rizolvir allowed himself a chuckle, before regaining a straight face under Valen's steady glare. "Cavallas, everyone's here."

The robed rivermaster stepped on board his ship, followed by the three men. Cavallas unhooked the ship from the dock with practiced ease, and within minutes, they were drifting peacefully down the river.

"Where are we going?" Valen asked after a few minutes had passed. Lith My'athar was already a shadow in the distance.

"Just a small uninhabited island not too far from here. We just need somewhere where we can test these out," Alain said, jerking a finger at the sack.

"What exactly are 'these?'"

"You'll find out when we get there," Alain replied. "But I think they'll make a big impact during the battle."

"By the way Valen," Rizolvir said, shifting the bag to one shoulder irritably. "Did you borrow my sword?"

"No, why?" Valen asked

"I can't find it anywhere. I set it down for a moment near my forge, then one of Matron Myrune's lackeys came in, demanding an enhancement for his axe at a reduced price. By the time I got rid of him… Oh well. I'm sure I've just misplaced it. I'll look for it when I get back."

They sailed on in silence, before finally arriving at a deserted little island. Cavallas had been correct, there was nothing dangerous living there, save for a few rats and bats, and they were nothing to fear. Valen watched as Rizolvir opened up his sack and pulled out two strange-looking objects from it. They were large gray-black spheres with pockmarks all over them, and large enough so that Valen could comfortably sit on one. In the middle of the sphere were a small knob that looked like a timer, and a tiny button, situated in between two of the pockmarks.

Alain picked the balls up, and walked out into the middle of a large plain.

"Why are you going so far out?" Valen shouted, intrigued.

"Trust me, we're going to need some distance with these," Alain called back. He set the sphere down a few feet away from each other, and pressed the button on each one. The left one clicked loudly, and large spines erupted up from the spokes instantly, like a hedgehog defending itself. The one on the right made a buzzing sound, and rounded spines burst from these spokes. The monk gave the dials a quick twist before running back to where Valen and Rizolvir are standing.

"Which one is set to go off first?" Rizolvir asked tersely, while Valen gave him a puzzled look.

"The light, so you should cover your eyes," Alain warned.

"You should also cover your ears."

"Ears? I never said anything about…"

"I made some modifications. Just cover your ears!" Rizolvir cried, before clapping his hands firmly over his ears and closing his eyes tightly.

"What in the hells are you two talking about?" Valen demanded. He hadn't been dragged out of his bed and towed to an island just to be ignored, after all.

"All will be made clear in a few seconds," Alain replied soothingly. "In the meantime, though, do as he says!"

The three looked rather foolish standing there in the middle of a plain with their eyes shut and their eyes plugged. Valen was just on the verge of opening his eyes an explosion of light coming from the spiked ball forced them shut. Even so, he could feel his eyes smarting from the pain. A high, unearthly ringing soon followed the dazzling light. It was so loud that the three could hear it echoing in their ears despite their plugs; Rizolvir especially. Long after the blast, his ears still rang painfully.

A few moments later, the right sphere detonated. With its destruction came a strange grey mist, like an artificial fog. It obscured their vision for a few minutes before dissipating harmlessly. When the fog cleared, they saw that a small crater had been created by the blast. The three were silent for a moment, lost in their own thoughts, before Alain spoke up.

"You made some changes, Rizolvir."

"Yes."

"It's…very well done," Alain complimented evenly. "Though next time, I'd wish you would tell me first. Mind explaining them to the General?"

"Of course," Rizolvir said, turning to Valen and still rubbing his ears gingerly. "Yonder spheres were created by myself, but they were Alain's idea. He calls them 'sand-mines.'"

"Sand-mines?" Valen inquired. "Why such a strange name?"

"Trey told me about them. He lived in the Anarouch, you know." Alain went on to explain how the warring tribes of the Anarouch would strategically place explosive objects below the surface of the sand, cunningly painted gold. The strong sun would reflect off of the surface of the globe, making it blend in with the rest of the sand. When they were trodden on, the mines would detonate, killing the offender and seriously wounding others.

"Trey even told me that some of the more foolish would see their shine and think them treasure. Of course, in the end they were always wrong. But these mines have some different properties, right Rizolvir?"

"Correct. The mine on the left creates enormous light and sound when destroyed. The light is divine in nature, while the sound affects all equally."

"Obviously targeted at the drow's sensitive ears and eyes, along with some of the other fiends' fear of divine magic. Am I correct?" Valen said.

"Right in one," Alain said with a grin. "Though when I asked Rizolvir to create these, I knew nothing about the sound."

"Well, you asked me about the weaknesses of a Drow," Rizolvir grumbled. "But you forget our incredible hearing, so much more superior to the pathetic ears of a human."

Alain gave the weaponsmith a companionable nudge, grinning. "Right you are, o skilled master of the forge."

"The second sphere," Rizolvir went on, "was supposed to act as the original mine that Alain described. But that little fog you saw there was my alteration. It's a form of holy water: should burn any unfortunate devil's skin off like acid. Just irritates Drow skin, sadly."

Valen nodded, thinking of the mines' application to the battlefield. "How many of these things do we have?"

Alain looked at Rizolvir. "About thirty in all, fifteen of each type. These two here were just brought as a demonstration."

"How do you intend to distribute them across the field?"

"Ah, well, that's part of the reason I've asked you to come out here," Alain said, scratching his head sheepishly. "You see, he wouldn't come any closer."

"Who wouldn't come?" Valen asked, suddenly suspicious.

"Yes, who?" Rizolvir echoed, looking at the monk severely. He doesn't know about this part either, Valen thought. What are you up to, Alain?

"It's alright, you can come out now," Alain said loudly to no one in particular. A few seconds later, there was a large THUMP from behind them. Both Valen and Rizolvir wheeled to find a strange-looking creature before them. It looked like a humanoid, but constructed out of crystal.

That's strange, it looks a little bit like Alain. No, Valen! Rizolvir thought, as he went for his sword. The construct, which Valen recognized as a battered Algaricciragla, held up his empty hands in surrender.

"I mean you no harm," the construct rumbled, and Rizolvir froze, stunned at the idea of a speaking golem. Weren't golems supposed to single-minded, focused on their purpose?

"Relax, Rizolvir, he's a friend," Alain said, stepping in front of the smith swiftly.

"You two… know this thing!" Rizolvir cried, taking a few steps back. "How!"

"I'll explain once we're back on the boat, Rizolvir," Valen cut in. He looked at the crystal golem suspiciously, one hand creeping to his flail. Had the construct reneged on their deal, and lurked in the shadows all this time plotting revenge? If so, Valen was more than ready for a rematch. "What are you doing here?"

"The human called me here. Though, if I knew I would meet such hostility…" Algaricciragla said almost reproachfully, and Valen almost laughed aloud. What kind of golem was this? Was he really serious, feeling offended after attempting to kill the two of them? Alsigard's perfect creation. Valen thought to himself. I wonder how he would sound after a month in human contact… assuming he didn't devour them all.

"Peace, Valen, Algaric's right. I did call him here." Alain said, stepping in between them. Valen could scarcely believe that he could still turn his back on that golem after what had been done to him. "He communicated with me telepathically a few days ago."

"Yes.." the construct agreed. "It is because of the bond we share. We were once one, you see. Though, in time, the bond will dissolve."

"So that's how you were able to find us then?" Valen asked, relaxing slightly. The construct nodded- a strange-looking movement on a golem- and Valen let his flail hand fall. If Alain trusted this thing, then Valen would give him a chance. "Fine. But one wrong move, and I promise you- this time, I will break your mirror."

"Mirror? Bond?" Rizolvir croaked behind him, before falling silent after a meaningful look from Valen.

"Algar here is essential to this sand mine tactic, too, you see." Alain explained. "I was puzzled for a while: how could we make the best use of the spheres? Using them as mines seemed a waste of their potential, and it would also lessen their effects. That's when it came to me."

"What came to you?" Valen asked, his eyes still on the construct, which stared back at him with his oddly similar eyes.

"Chutes."

"Chutes?"

"Chutes. I'll show you," Alain said. He pulled the last sphere from the sack and placed in front of the construct. He gave the dial a quick twist, and moved out of the way, next to Valen. "Go ahead, Algar."

The construct nodded again, steeling itself and lining up with the sphere. Then, it took two small steps forward, lifted one clawed foot high, and kicked the mine hard as he could. Valen and Rizolvir inhaled sharply, fearing that the mine would explode on impact, but there was no need to worry. The sphere shot into the dark without a single dent like some kind of lopsided bird, before exploding a good distance away from them, lighting up the darkness like a flare and sending several bats screeching from their homes. The four listened to the sound of the bats' frantic cries before Valen broke the silence.

"I think I understand now."

Alain nodded and smiled. "I thought you might catch on quick. Guess that's why you're General."

"Well, I don't get it," Rizolvir said, his fear of Algaricciragla forgotten. "What do you mean by chutes?"

"Alain wants to use the underground tunnels beneath the field as chutes. The golem will punt them down the tunnels from our side of the gate. The timer should go off by the time they come out on the other side of the field…"

"Right into your enemy, I suppose." Algaricciragla said. "Of course, after your weapons are all gone, I will dive into the plain. And feed." The construct grinned toothily, almost licking his lips at the thought. "I need to restore my mirror."

"Of course," Alain said, and Valen saw that for the first time, the monk looked almost nervous. "Now that you know our plan, we can count on you to be there, can't we? And then all debts are paid."

"Yes, all debts paid," the construct agreed. "Farewell, until the day of your battle." He turned his back on them, loping into the darkness like some kind of ancient gorilla. It was only after the echoes of Algaricciragla's heavy tread had faded into the darkness that Alain would speak.

"Sorry about that, but I'm still a little unsure of how that thing will act," Alain said, scratching the back of his head uncomfortably. Valen had to grudgingly give the boy some credit. After all, he had endured being bonded with that golem for all this time without so much as a complaint. The tiefling had had no idea that anything was wrong with him at all. The amount of preparations they had made on their return had pushed out the details of their battle in the Isle of the Maker out of his mind.

For him to take so many steps to win this battle, for a group he hardly knows… it seems amazing that I could have once believed that he would betray us. Is it wrong to mistrust the idea that he would help us, without asking for anything in reward? Then again, what would I know about trust? The Blood Wars pretty much wiped that concept out of my mind.

"Would someone just tell me what that thing was? And why you two didn't seem surprised at all?" Rizolvir demanded, a little crossly. Valen snapped out of his reverie as the three made their way back to Cavallas' raft, Alain relating the tale of their experiences with almost childish enthusiasm.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

I've got big plans.

What? You don't believe me? You say it's a little hard to take me seriously when I'm chained to the wall with about a thousand cords of magical energy? You say what could someone like me, who's fallen so far so quickly, possibly do to regain my freedom?

Many, many things. But first, let's clear up a few misconceptions, shall we?

For one thing, I let myself get captured by this silly elf bitch. These chains are for show, you know. What's really keeping me bound here is knowledge. Yes, knowledge. She learned my True Name, after all.

What? How could I let her know my True Name? How do I even know my True Name?

Heh heh. Well, I won't answer your second question. That's private, and I'll keep my secrets while I can. Before she can think to force them out of me. But I will grant the first question an answer. Yes, yes, I know I'm kind. Stop snickering!

You see, using my own unique resources, I let my True Name slip into the foul ears of the Drow's "Dread" goddess, Lloth. (Good-for-nothing spider. I don't know why anyone never swatted her cosmic ass with a scrap of parchment eons ago. But that's neither here nor there.) Lloth passed on this knowledge to one of her favored priestesses. Can you guess who it is? Yup! It was the good Matron Mother Balinyle, of House Kat'elz.

Or the 'Valsharess', as she prefers to be called.

So, of course, ol' Bally summons ME, the arch-duke of Cania himself, to become her slave (and wall ornament, as you can tell). Of course, with my backing, no pathetic Drow army had a chance of crushing her, and even the ones who came closest were incinerated in a ball of flame, courtesy of Yours Truly. 'The Great Valsharess' would be nothing without me. Not that I care, for you see, I had just accomplished step one of my plan.

Hmm? You say you want to hear how I can attribute my utter enslavement to a mere mortal as a part of a grand master plan? You say you've heard 'em all but they never get old? What the Hell, I might as well tell you… but first, quit yer laughing!

You see, though being the supreme ruler of Cania has its perks, lately, it had began to lose its appeal to me. Day in, day out, the same old grind. Wake up to the wailing of the Lost, fall asleep to the sound of ice miners at work. Not as fun as you might think. But of course, leaving is out of the question. Asmodeus, the 9th Lord of the Hells of Baator, made sure of that (though, I'll soon be taking that title away, if everything goes right.)

But, like all things in Hell, there is always a loophole. You just have to be cunning enough to find it. By the way, mind scratching my nose for me? I would, but… well. Ahhh…perfect. I promise to make your death quick and painless when I escape. But I digress.

Creatures of a fiendish nature are usually restricted from entering the Material Plane on their own, though it's not unheard of for a particularly strong few to do it anyway? What? I'm a weakling? Don't be such a child.

Anyhow…

Devils, demons, or whatever have to be summoned first. Then they are free to wreak havoc, pillage, rape, and so forth. But usually there's a time limit with such a deal, and before you know it, the poor berk's back on his way to Hell. But there is a way to get around this restriction. If one were to be bound here, not summoned but bound on Toril, then not even Elminster himself could send him back. You can't break the power of a True Name, after all.

More and more I began to think, to dream, of ruling Toril. Think about it: to take a step into the Material Plane, to crush it beneath my hoof and make it mine! It's the ultimate fantasy of any devil, and I would be the first to take that chance.

There were a few precautions, of course. I had to make sure that no one else could discover my True Name, or else it would be easy as cake to order me right back to Hell, and to never return. Of course, I can't kill Lloth (our powers kind have cancel out, even if she is a puny bug.) But I could block the sound of her voice from reaching the priestess' ears. With that done, the Drow society would fall into anarchy, and since no one else even bothers to worship that damn spider, there was no hope of my return to hell. Of course, by the time the priestesses will be able to hear their deity's voice, there won't be any left. If you catch my drift.

Days went by. The power of the matron mother grew quickly with my demonic aid, and before you know it, every blasted Dark Elf who enters this room starts quaking like a frightened child. Of course, the little Elf insisted on parading me in front of every lowly Drow female who happened to enter the room. This one time, she even made me sing…

What? You say to hurry up and get to the juicy parts? All in good time, my friend. I'm painting a picture now, so sit back and pretend to like art. But I can understand your impatience, so I'll skip ahead a bit. Now, I think I'll answer your second question. Yes yes, I remember: how could someone like me regain their freedom?

Of course, I was utterly under Balinyle's control while she knew my True Name. What was the loophole? Aha, you're catching on, my good friend. There are limits to what one can do with a True Name. You cannot order someone to kill themselves (though you can order them to die- strange but true), you cannot order them to love, or to fall out of love (sadly, even love is beyond the powers of magic) and most importantly, you cannot order someone inflict harm upon himself (Self-mutiliation is a no-no). There are other rules, of course, but I hoped you were paying attention to that last one.

Huh? How do I plan to capitalize off of those rules? Listen closely. There is an artifact called the Relic of the Reaper, which is a sign of my power and usually bestowed to my priests. It is also a part of myself. Do you get my meaning?

…

Yes. Right in one.

Anyone holding that Relic is holding a piece of myself. And of course, I knew exactly who was holding it at the moment. It was all a matter of time. When the monks came into Waterdeep, I told the Valsharess (damn, now she's got me saying it) that they were the ones who would dethrone her. Man, was that ever a critical point in the plan! I tell you, everything would have unraveled there if she had commanded me to tell the truth. But the news was shocking that I suppose it drove that question clear out of her mind.

So, of course, Balinyle orders me to kill them. And that was the moment- the greatest feeling of my life!- that was the moment when I felt those chains around my soul loosen. It felt so damn good I asked her to repeat herself, can you believe it?

Hahaha- hmm? Why didn't I just escape right there? Torch the place down and start running amok? You must not be listening very well. I couldn't do a thing yet. I was free of her commands, but I needed to become whole before I could take advantage of it. I needed the Relic.

So, I guided those monks down here. I only needed one, but there was some bond between the two of them, some sentimental crap I'm sure, and so I got two for the price of one. When Balinyle sent her assassins, I warned the monk using the relic. When Tenari, that poor misguided pawn, attempted to kill the monk, I affected his judgment. He chose the wrong monk, and fell from the Valsharess' favor and into my control.

Huh? The other monk?

I don't give a damn about that old fool. Let him run wherever he will, that wrinkled old toad, as long as he stays away from the Relic. Why does it matter if he holds the Relic? Well… that's another question I'll choose not to answer.

There's not much time left. I care not whether the monk wins or loses against the Valsharess- so long as someone hands that Relic over to me. Whether it's the human fool Alain or the elven fool Tenari makes no difference. Fools are fools. The Relic is here, and that's all that matters.

And once I've got that Relic, oh are things going to chance. I'm never going back to Cania if I can help it. But maybe those troublesome monks might enjoy the cold better than I do. What does it matter? After one thousand years, just about anyone gets used to the cold.

Hmm? What do I want to do once I escape? Nothing too big, nothing too special… I want to do what anyone in my position would want. To have fun. Eat, drink, and destroy. After all, when it comes to slave labor, devils are much more useful than humans. Stronger, faster, and they don't whine about getting "food" and "water" all day. Mostly, it's the thrill of being somewhere new, somewhere I've never seen.

I'm acting like a tourist? Don't insult me! I don't want to see the sights, I just want to blow them up.

I've got BIG plans for this ball of mud, and frankly, I can't wait to get started.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"This is it," Trey said, as he began to insert the glowing orbs into their respective slots. They had returned to the northernmost door, the home of Vix'thra (according to Delion). If they had had more time, Trey would have suggested taking a short rest before going any further. But there was simply no time. He had no idea how much time Delion had left before the spell's effect became permanent. "Are we ready?"

"Let's just get this over with," Delion answered, a little weary. He looked tired to the monk, but he had pushed gamely on. His body felt feverish, incredibly hot, and that filled Delion with dread. His ears seemed to be picking up voices from the shadows, and when he turned to look, he could swear that he saw eyes glaring back at him He didn't want to believe but, he thought that those eyes might belong to the dead. Wraiths, or spirits, whatever you want to call them. The voices of those that the vampires had "converted", their bodies still walking, but their spirits pushed out. I'm close now. Very close. On the edge of another world… It's said that a candle burns brightest right before it goes out. Delion feared that this might prove truer that he thought.

"I can't wait to get started!" Lavoera exclaimed, her green eyes glittering with excitement. Delion saw her grin, and was struck with a sudden memory: young Drow going to war for the first time had shared that same expression. I only hope she's more experienced than she seems. Otherwise, Trey really will be in danger.

The door slid open noiselessly, and the three stepped into the room. It was sweltering, and Trey could feel his pores open up immediately. Lava bubbled and flowed to either side of them, like a river of fire. A flash of white appeared in the wave of red, there and gone before he could think. Why is that there? Trey thought. What in here could possibly be powered by lava? I can't imagine any of the vampires enjoying this.

Lavoera gasped, sounding almost comical in the dark, snapping Trey out of his thoughts. There, standing before them, in front of a large gaping hole which opened into darkness, was Sodalis. But not the Sodalis they had witnessed earlier. Of his glittering eyes, only one remained, a rolling, maggot-gnawed white globe. His greasy black hair was gone, and the skin on his skull was in patches, allowing them a look of the fetid gray matter of his brain. His fine clothes were moth-eaten and barely recognizable, but the magic stave that Trey had destroyed was clutched tightly in one pale hand, fully repaired. He surveyed the three slowly, and he didn't need eyes to show his obvious scorn. When he spoke, a gray patch of flesh rolled out of his mouth like a bloody carpet. Lavoera recognized it as his tongue and shivered.

"So… you've made it this far," Sodalis said mockingly in a ragged, uneven voice quite unlike his original. "How are you feeling, my friend?" He remarked, looking at Delion. Looking into him, it felt like. "You're looking a little… pale."

"You're looking a hell of a lot worse," Delion growled. Just keeping his voice above a whisper seemed to take all of his strength. "And trust me: you will be, once we're through with your god."

Sodalis rolled his eye and winked at Trey, as if it was a joke between two pals. The monk felt revolted. "And how are you, Mr. Salesman? Enjoy fighting with an eye on your enemy and an eye on your pale friend?"

"I've got nothing to say to you," Trey said, though his voice trembled with anger. "You've hurt a friend of mine, and you plan to do much more. I'll let my fists do the talking."

"Hmm. I can't wait to see," Sodalis said, tapping his staff rhythmically against the pavement. His one good eye locked onto Lavoera, and the deva thought it registered surprise. "Well! My word, it looks as if the bird has left the coop! No worries, we'll get you back where you belong."

"I'm going to smash your bones into powder," Lavoera replied in a tight, cheerful tone, "and scatter your ashes across the magma." Her mace, its enchanted shine slightly reduced in the light of the flowing lava, bounced lightly in her palm.

"I can't wait to see you try," the vampire said in a bored tone. "But three on one hardly seems fair, doesn't it? Why don't play with a couple of my friends?" The undead priest waved his staff along with a muttered incantation, and bones, glowing with heat yet whole, flew up from the river of lava. Before their eyes, the bones rearranged themselves into two complete skeletons, though their bones seemed much thicker and larger than any other skeleton that Trey had seen. The two bone golems loomed over them, knuckles cracking threateningly.

"You should recognize them, dear," Sodalis said to Lavoera, chuckling. "Mind you don't touch them- they're hot!" The priest turned his back on them and ran into the dark hole, presumably the entrance to Vix'thra's lair. His laughter echoed harshly off of the stone, and Trey had time to think, it's a trap, before one of the skeletons took a heavy-handed swing at him.

"Trey, you take care of the vampire- you can't touch these two!" Delion cried, as he and Lavoera leapt forward to engage the steaming skeletons. His twin blades were out in a ring of steel and, as tired as he was, it was a relief to fight without worrying about protecting your mind. These skeletons might be tough, but when it came to tactics, they were fairly limited.

"Delion, I'm counting on you…" Trey said quietly, before breaking into a run and darting underneath the huge mass of bones and sprinting after the fleeing Sodalis. Looking over his shoulder, he called, "Lavoera, finish up here quickly and follow after me!" And then he was gone, a bobbing shadow in the deepening gloom of the hole.

One of the golems began to lurch after the monk with long, ungainly strides. Delion leapt after it and swung as hard as he could at the back of the skeleton's leg. Bone chips flew up into his face in a fine spray, but beyond that, Delion couldn't see that he had made any damage. At least I got his attention, he thought, leaping to his right just in time to avoid the golem's counterattack. A stone as large as his head, part of the debris the golem had created when he attacked, smacked against the ground besides him. Though that may not be a good thing. I don't know this thing's weak point… and even if I did, are my swords strong enough to destroy it? It is said that a swordsman is only as good as his weapon. Just how good was he?

He glanced over at Lavoera. The deva was only doing a little better than he was with her golem; she had managed to freeze its legs with an ice spell and was fluttering out of its reach, her mace high in hand. But the golem's flailing arms made a direct attack impossible, and the ice spell wouldn't last forever. Once the huge skeleton was free, it would simply pick up some of loose wood or stone and toss them at her until he knocked her to the ground. And try as he might, Delion didn't have the strength or the equipment to deal any lasting damage to his own golem. Its bones were simply too thick. If only Lavoera…

That's it! We need teamwork!

When the golem he was facing lifted up one massive foot, trying to crush him beneath it, Delion ran forward, through the skeleton's legs as its foot came down behind him like a guillotine. The golem trapped in the ice was oblivious to the approaching Drow, until Delion climbed atop of the ice and began hacking away at the skeleton's legs, using his blades like saws. Then the construct let out an unearthly bellow, ceasing its attempts to swipe at Lavoera and trying to shake off Delion instead. Lavoera recognized her opportunity and swooped down at the skeleton's exposed skull, her golden mace held behind her. CRACK! The plummeting deva struck the golem with the force of berserk pit fiend, shattering the skeleton's head like an egg. Black, fibrous strands burst from the wound like rushing water as the golem fell backwards with a heavy THUD, the necromantic energies which had revived it already fading. Lavoera landed next to him, a giddy smile on her face.

"You're bleeding," Delion remarked dryly, pointing to a large gash on the deva's right arm.

"Oh, am I?" Lavoera said absently, her eyes on the other bone golem. She waved a hand at him, shrugging it off. "Glad I still have some left, then. Same plan with the other one, right?"

"No time for that. You've got to help Trey," Delion stated, holding out his blades. "Just bless my weapons, and I'll take care of the last one."

"You're nearly a vampire!" Lavoera protested, and for the first time, her eyes showed worry. Not for herself, of course, but for him. What could scare a deva? "There's a reason why undead don't go into temples, you know. Do you know how much pain you'll be in just holding those swords?"

"It can't be as bad as seeing one of my friends die. I know that much. So you've got two choices," Delion said, his eyes cold as they watched the remaining golem stagger toward them. "Either bless the blades and go help Trey, or get you head smashed in like that pile of bones."

"I hope you know what you're doing," Lavoera said, biting her lip. She laid her hands on both of the Drow's blades, running her fingers up and down the metal while slowly chanting in a low voice. The swords glowed dimly as she moved her hands away. At the same time, Delion felt a queer tingling in the palms of his hands, similar to intense itching.

"This feels strange, Lavoera, but I wouldn't call it pain," Delion remarked, turning over the swords in his hands. They looked no different than before. "If I didn't know otherwise, I'd think that you didn't do anything."

"You'll change your mind soon, I think," Lavoera said, taking up her mace and heading towards the hole. "Try not to die!" she called before she was swallowed up into the darkness.

The Dark Elf didn't bother to answer; the golem was nearly upon him, and he needed all his concentration. My mouth is dry, and my palms itch, but besides that… I feel almost normal.

The golem swept one bony hand at him, trying to sweep him off of the floor like a piece of dirt. The skeleton's hand created a large groove in the stone as it came toward him, but Delion sprang backwards out of reach. He gripped the short swords tighter as he charged forward, his eyes locked on the movement of the bones, trying to anticipate where the next strike would come from.

The golem's right leg shifted slightly, and when the kick came, Delion was already out of the way. He leapt on top of the mass of bones, and holding one sword in his teeth, he began to clamber his way up the golem's body. The golem bellowed at him (which should have been impossible, as it had no lungs) and swiped at him with an arm. Now! The Drow tightened his grip on the golem's hips with one hand and swiped with his other. CRACK! The sword was the size of a splinter to the golem's eyes, but when the blade connected with its swinging arm, it split in two like a twig. The golem howled in pain as the severed half fell to the ground. A flood of the same black strands that had come from the other golem poured out from the remaining stub.

At the same time, Delion's sword arm froze up, his muscles refusing to move. The itching sensation he had felt in his arm had now turned into a painful squeezing, which began to run down his forearm. Gritting his teeth in pain, the Drow released the short sword, watching it plummet to the ground below. Thankfully, the muscles in his arm released, and he began to climb again. Now I know what Lavoera meant. The pain didn't come until I actually used the weapon. Guess I better make this one count.

It wasn't easy scrambling his way up the ribcage of a bone golem writhing in pain, but somehow he managed. The golem seemed too preoccupied with its missing arm than to bother with him, which made things a little easier. He took the other blade from his mouth, spitting out the gritty metallic taste on his tongue, tensed, and leapt inside the ribcage, towards the skeleton's spine. The short sword cut through the bone with ease, but as he fell, the same pain he had felt before seized him again. This is what the undead feel inside of a Temple? Gods!

He landed on the ground hard, the air in his lungs exiting his mouth in a sharp hiss, but even in pain, his combat reflexes didn't fail him. As the golem began to crumble, he turned his fall into a rolling tumble, moving him out of range of the falling mass of bones. His arm pulsed painfully as he came to rest close to the edge of the lava pit, and with an effort, he pried his fingers free of the sword, before collapsing on the ground, utterly exhausted. Numbly, the Drow watched as the golem began to disintegrate into loose bones and parts again.

I can't move a muscle. If anyone else comes, I'm done for. His arms felt like limp sausage, and judging by the tearing pain in his right side after every exhale, he had broken a rib during his fall. All in all, minor injuries. I just hope Trey and Lavoera are in better shape than I am.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The tunnel was very dark, but it didn't matter to him. There was the sound of Sodalis' footsteps ahead to guide him, and his Ki helped him to avoid any fallen pieces of rock on the ground. The air had changed; before it had smelled old and musty- tomb air, in other words. Now, it had began to stink. Something's rotting up ahead, or was rotting. Or I am just catching the scent of the vampire?

The tunnel ended abruptly, and Trey found himself inside of a large cavern. It was utterly unremarkable, except for four large skeletons laying in pieces on the ground. Further back in the tunnel ran a small path, leading to another area. He could only guess what else was in this cave. Sodalis was standing in the middle of the cave, presumably waiting for him. His eye was closed, and he seemed to be in prayer. As Trey approached, the one eye snapped open.

"Alas, your judgment is nigh, human. The soul of Vix'thra is alvays ready to aid his subjects!" One of the skeletons behind him rattled strangely, and now Trey noticed there was something a little off about the bones. The head's all wrong… the ribcage seems a little too large for a golem. Wait… I recognize those bones…

"The time for your conversion has passed!" Sodalis cried, and a sudden blast of cold air blew past him, and he swore he heard a voice on the wind. Simultaneously, the rattling skeleton began to glow, its bones emanating a sinister crimson aura. They rose into the air, beginning to reconstruct themselves into a solid skeleton. Dragon bones, I knew it. Just great…

"GRRRROWWWRR!" the dracolich bellowed. The odd thing was, it wasn't looking at him. It's blood red eyes were staring at Sodalis. The latter, undead or not, suddenly seemed much more nervous. The walking corpse fell to its knees, quivering like a gelatinous cube before the dracolich.

"Please, Vix'thra, don't do this! Haven't I served you faithfully until this time?" Sodalis screamed, all the while keeping his head pointed at the ground. The sight of a whimpering undead corpse screaming at the ground wasn't on his top ten list of things to hear. But Vix'thra's answer wasn't even worse, like feeling a spider crawl into your head. This is what Delion had went through?

One human, and you come crying to me, Sodalis? I am a GOD, not your personal undertaker! You've outlived your usefulness.

Sodalis blubbered nonsense, cowering on his knees, but the time for excuses had passed. Trey watched as the dracolich leapt forward and seized the vampire in one bony hand. Holding the body out in front of him, the dracolich squeezed, and there was a hideous CRACK as nearly all of the bones in Sodalis' body snapped at the same time. Then Vix'thra opened its mouth, and inhaled, seeming to drain whatever energy animated Sodalis, right out of the body. Sodalis' body drooped as a strange scarlet light left the undead and entered into Vix'thra. The dracolich tossed the lifeless body to the side like a toy. Sodalis was dead again. And Vix'thra's eyes were locked on him.

At least he did something useful. Rejoice human, and prepare to become one of the whole.

My bones, you mean. Not me. Trey thought, as the dracolich began to stomp towards him. Every step caused the ground to shake, and dust fluttered from the ceiling from the vibrations.

"How am I going to fight this thing?" he wondered aloud. His shuriken were useless against something so big. Magic was out of the question. His Ki might make a difference, but then again, it might not. His fists hadn't been useful against any other undead. And there was all those skeletons lying about. What if Vix'thra simply animated another one, after he killed the first.

"We'll fight one swing at a time," said a cheerful voice behind him, and Trey turned to see Lavoera there, bleeding but otherwise fine. Her mace was at her side, covered in an odd black film. He didn't care to ask how she had got it, but figured it involved golems.

"I don't know how much help I'll be against that thing," Trey said truthfully.

"Don't worry, I'll handle him. We've got a score to settle," Lavoera replied, and for once she looked serious. "You worry about his phylactery."

"Phylactery?" Trey asked, puzzled. Lavoera flapped her wings hard once, rising into the air effortlessly, mace in hand. She looked down at him, though Trey knew her attention was on Vix'thra.

"It's like the vampire's coffin, it's the source of his power!" she cried, her voice fainter as she rose higher. "Find that, and this thing goes down. It should be somewhere around here."

With that, the deva flew off, charging the dracolich. Vix'thra was ready though, and opened his mouth wide. A blast of black energy, dark like smoke and cold as death flew out at her, but Lavoera fluttered to the side, avoiding it. She darted in and struck hard with her mace, knocking the dracolich back a step. She flew away just in time to avoid a retaliating claw-swipe. Trey tore his eyes away from the battle and ran past them, going deeper into the cave.

The sounds of the battle faded away as he jogged along the winding path. As he neared the end of the path, he slowed down, creeping forward slowly. Whatever a phylactery was, if it was important to Vix'thra, it was apt to be guarded.

Cautiously, he peeked around the next corner and gasped in shock. In one corner of the cave was a genuine dragon's hoard, piles of gold, jewels and even a few weapons stacked up high. On the opposite side of the room was an even stranger sight. There was a small pedestal made of stone with a circular-shaped depression on top. In the depression was a perfectly round black orb. On either side of the pedestal were two bone golems, similar to the ones that he had left Delion fighting. These golems just stood there impassively, and he guessed they wouldn't activate without a good reason. There's the phylactery… and there's the guard.

As he stepped out from behind the stone wall, the phylactery glowed a dull red, which reminded him of the dracolich's eye. Is this the "all-seeing eye" of Vix'thra? The golems' heads twitched, staring at him, then they began moving towards him as one. Trey cracked the knuckles of his right hand, then his left, eyeing his opponents. Hang on a little longer Lavoera.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Vix'thra roared, sending a blast of negative energy at the flying deva, but Lavoera was already zooming in with her mace held high. Her divine mace connected with one of the dracolich's ribs, causing it to crumble like paper. But she was a second too slow, her fatigue was catching up with her. Vix'thra's claw caught her, tearing into the side of her body with the force of… well, a live dragon. Lavoera slammed into ground, breaking more than a few bones in the impact. But just as before, she rose up, the soft glimmer of healing magic temporarily illuminating the gloom.

Your spells won't last forever, bird. And when they run out, I'll put you right back in your cage.

"My name isn't bird, it's Lavoera!" the deva cried, sticking out her tongue in a childish display of defiance. But she couldn't ignore the facts: she wasn't a machine, and she couldn't heal herself indefinitely. Her eyes drifted to the shattered corpse of the 'first' Vix'thra she had destroyed. She had known that the god's spirit would jump from body to body, had known what sort of undead this was. In her tongue, it was called a paragimael; in common tongue, galimgael. Wandering spirits, with no body to call their own. Some were good, and if a nasty person ever done something nice for you, you can blame it on a galimgael. But others were malign, cruel...

That's when it struck her! It was clearly her divine duty- no, her right- to slay this paragimael here and now. Sure, she may have botched up the messenger job… but if she came back with a paragimael under her belt, she would be welcomed back with a full pardon. But Lavoera wasn't totally unrealistic.

She still had to slay it, after all. Which was harder than it looked. There wasn't too much she could do until its phylactery was destroyed. What was taking Trey so long?

Vix'thra turned quickly on the spot, sending its bony tail flying up at her. Lavoera braced herself, swinging her mace as hard as she could, while staying in the air. There was a brittle SNAP as a few of the bones at the end of Vix'thra's tail broke, but it was strictly minor damage. Lavoera flew away a few feet, landed, and put her mace away.

Time to try out this new spell, she thought, squaring up with her target. She began to chant softly, trying to keep her concentration.

Running away, bird? Realizing that you stand no chance against me?

Vix'thra began to move closer, but Lavoera ignored him, trying to compensate for his new position. An aura of holy power manifested itself around her body, making it look as if she were on fire. As she neared the end of the spell, her chanting rose into a scream: "Fae'tore onglak divae dun!"

Nothing happened for a full five seconds. Then, just as Lavoera was wondering what she had done wrong, the general area brightened. The shadows were chased off into the corners, where Lavoera could see two more dragon skeletons (wonderful) on the ground. The light seemed to be coming from above Vix'thra's head. A small glowing orb of light was forming above the dracolich, growing brighter and brighter by the second. Vix'thra looked up at the orb and seemed to blanch.

"Now let's see if I stand a chance," the deva said softly, as the orb of light plummeted downward with unnatural speed. When it touched the tip of the dracolich's skull, it erupted into a pillar of light and energy, completely engulfing Vix'thra in a storm of divine power. The dracolich responded by roaring in pain, but even that was drowned out by the spell's force. When the light finally dimmed, and the dots floating in the deva's eyes finally stopped, there was nothing left of Vix'thra but dust.

She took to the air again, looking around wildly. Where was the paragimael? Then she spotted it, hovering over a pile of bones in the corner. The paragimael in its natural state looks like little more than smoke or dust in the air. Vix'thra in particular was a kind of reddish smoke, which seemed rather menacing in appearance. She considered moving forward to take a swipe at the crimson cloud, then decided against it. The paragimael was essentially invincible in its native form, the most she could do was annoy it with her mace. It would be better to prepare for when the paragimael took its next body.

But just as she began to despair at the thought of fighting yet another dracolich, something happened. As the paragimael swooped down toward its next body, it seemed to freeze in midair, as if in shock in what it was about to do. Then, Lavoera was treated to the extremely odd sight of watching a cloud of smoke shiver. Finally, all of the color seemed to seep out of the paragimael like water out of a sponge, and the smoke disappeared. What was going on? Was this some new trick?

Shortly, she heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Trey appeared from around the next bend; he was breathing hard and his clothes were shredded. He looked around doubtfully the cave before looking at Lavoera. "You're a mess."

"Did you destroy the phylactery?" Lavoera demanded, ignoring his comment.

"Yes, though it wasn't easy. I had to destroy two golems before I could even get near it."

Lavoera collapsed on the ground wearily. "Vix'thra's dead! A paragimael can only be destroyed when it has nowhere left to go, and no phylactery to return to."

"A para-what? Never mind that Lavoera, we've got to go help Delion!" Trey cried, running past her to the previous room.