Chapter 2: The Lolth-Touched

Chapter 3: The Lolth-Touched

Amalagh had little to do in the tiny room he had been put into, so his reminiscing helped to calm him for a while. The drow had always had a keen memory, but in the last few years he had learned to completely replay events in his mind, which allowed him study his decisions at his leisure. He realized that he had made a mistake in trusting Zabal, and that he had to be wary of putting his trust in anyone from then on. Due to his determination to avoid asking for aid from others, Amalagh's only refuge had been to fight to get what he needed to survive, so he had honed his body and mind as best as he could to that end. He had taught himself how to assess an opponent with just a quick glance, to read muscle movements and predict his foes' next moves. These things had helped him to survive until now, and he would continue to put his trust in his own abilities, not in anyone else. If there was anything the leper had taught the young drow, belief in others was not it.

Since he had murdered Zabal, Amalagh had lived in his own way. Evading the nobles who killed indiscriminately for sport and fighting the other starving rivvil who would devour his flesh for their evening meal, Amalagh had persevered.

But now it seemed that the life he had led would soon be over. The nobles had found him, and while they had not yet killed him he was certain of its inevitability. The cell that he sat in certainly did not suggest any hospitality on the part of his captors. The room was empty, completely devoid of any furnishings whatsoever.

That, however, was not what put the elf on edge. While he suspected that his death was the ultimate plan, the nobles who had captured him were seemingly intent on keeping him temporarily alive for some purpose, or they would have killed him back in the slums. He had to discover what that purpose was, but for all he knew it could be that the priestesses merely had brought him back as a slave. To the headstrong male, such an existence was worse than death.

Amalagh jolted as the sound of the door being unlocked, and he instinctually backed up even further against the wall.

Two male guards – both smaller than the young drow but sporting heavy armor and weapons – entered first, followed by the two priestesses who had captured him earlier. Despite not being mounted on the drakes, they were still quite imposing, particularly the beautiful one. While the one with the scars and the fake smile was intimidating, she did not have the cold and malicious eyes of the other one.

Baelothel was evil, yes, but also too simple-minded to be a threat. Phaere, on the other hand, she was schemer.

Those two both stepped to the side though, as a third priestess stepped in behind them. This one was older, and by the look of ardent conviction in her eyes, significantly wiser and more confident. Her skin was a healthy shade of black, her hair radiant silver. Around her neck was a silver charm on which gleamed a dark, scarlet ruby that seized the attention of all who looked at it, even diverting the eye away from the full chest upon which it hung. Numerous rings, bangles and other ornaments dangled from her curvaceous form, which was seductively wrapped in a flowing black shroud that did little to hide her beautiful body. Despite this revealing and suggestive look, an aura of magical power hummed around her, making Amalagh tremble with dread. This one was surely the matron mother.

"Bow before the matron, you insolent fool," Phaere said most indelicately to Amalagh, "or I shall have your entrails fed to the driders."

All in the room bowed with the respect that Matron Godezynge was due, including the young outcast: to refuse to kneel before a matron was to sign your own death warrant, and survival ranked highly among his priorities at the moment. The matron's gaze swept the room until it rested on Amalagh.

"Rise, child," she said. There was no gentleness in her voice, just frosty and impassive instruction. The adolescent drow complied and stood to his full height. He was at least an inch taller than the matron, but even when looking down at her he felt small and powerless. Her red eyes looked into and pierced the very depths of his soul. Nervously, he tried to look away, and his eyes caught the ruby and he was instantly enthralled by its depths.

Very good, he heard the matron say, but he had heard nothing with his ears. Her voice echoed in his very mind, and he knew at that moment there was nothing he could hide from her. Show me your secrets, young one. What do you hide in your past?

Images of his brief life flickered before Amalagh's eyes, but were soon replaced by a darkness that was pierced by a female voice, the owner of which he didn't know.

"His name will be Amalagh," the voice said as a newborn baby's cries joined in the noise, "seventeenth and last son of House…." The voice broke off as it was drowned out by the child's wails.

Then the voices stopped as quickly as they had begun.

What have you done? Godezynge demanded, her voice in Amalagh's mind rising in volume and intensity. What are you, that you could have blocked the powers of my amulet? Her tone shook Amalagh from his entrancement, and he saw her eyes wide with a mixture of curiosity and fear.

"Phaere, attend to me," Matron Godezynge ordered out loud, and the priestess swiftly stood at attention to her mother's left. The matron mother turned on her heel and slapped her daughter across the face. The sound resonated clearly across the otherwise silent room, along with Phaere's resulting gasp of surprise.

"How dare you threaten this child?!" Godezynge said in the same cold tone as before.

"Matron, I don't…"

"When I dove into his mind, I saw the symbol of the Dark Mother. He has the goddess' blessing."

"You mean he is a…"

"A Lolth-touched."

The two priestesses whispered quietly amongst themselves for a moment before rounding on Amalagh, which allowed him to shoot a glance at Baelothel. The third female eyed him with a cold and insidious stare that promised a great deal of agony regardless of the outcome of these newest events. When the highest-ranking priestesses finally turned back, Phaere still looked shocked, but Matron Godezynge wore an expression of sheer exultation as if she had just done some great service to Lolth herself.

"You said your name was Amalagh, correct?"

"Yes, matron," the youthful male replied.

"And how old are you?"

"It has been exactly five thousand four hundred and seventy-eight cycles of Narbondel since I was born."

The matron nodded in understanding, but was also considerably impressed by the answer. Llurth Dreir's clock of Narbondel, given the same name as its counterpart in the city of Menzoberranzan, used heat from the Archmage's magic to show the passage of time. One cycle was how long it took for the heat to travel up and down the rock tower that was Narbondel, about equivalent to one surface day. If this male's calculations were correct, and the divination magic from Matron Godezynge's ruby pendant showed her that they were, then he was only fifteen years old.

Therein was the confusing part. This child was too developed to be only fifteen, even for a Lolth-touched. Most drow didn't reach full physical maturity until age twenty if not later. If he was capable of more growth…

Godezynge nearly swooned at the possibilities that such a specimen could bring to her house. He could be the key to putting her into a Council seat representing one of the eight great Houses. There was only one thing she could say:

"Welcome to House Godezynge."