When he had first seen the little drow woman walk out into the arena, Antares naturally assumed that he had this fight in the bag. But then she had changed and everything began going horribly wrong. He was used to being the strongest and most powerful around, yet here she was laughing at him like this was a game she could win at her pleasure. This was an insult more than he could stand-when he finished with the diminuitive dark elf, he would turn his club on the Thuldark woman no matter what the laird said about it.

Val sprang to the side of his overhand swing, neatly avoiding a crushed skull and instant death. Her main advantage was his lack of speed. With the power of the Abyss surging through her veins, she could move with inhuman speed and possessed an equal amount of stamina for maintaining it. So far, her contribution to the fight had been avoiding his blows and watching as he began to tire. Occasionally the flaming whip would draw lines of agony across his body where he was exposed or she'd dart close enough to rip viciously at his tendons and ligaments with his claws, inflicting crippling wounds. He was limping now and howling with impotent rage.

"Hold still, bitch!" the half giant roared, recovering quickly enough to twist at his hips in a new swing. He clipped one of her bat wings, knocking her off her feet.

A snarl of fury and pain clawed its way out of Valyne's throat. She had been barely holding herself in check. Even with a demon bound to her flesh and blood, she struggled to contain herself. But now, wounded? All she could think of was tearing his face off. She rolled up to her feet in an avoidance of the next blow and reigned in her temper. There was an audience. She couldn't go wild. What if she hurt someone she didn't mean to? She'd dropped the whip too, damn it. A good thing she could simply conjure it back to her hand.

The hunger was like a fire in her stomach, threatening to consume everything including her own sanity. She was so distracted by it and the half giant that she didn't notice the handful others approaching her from behind with weapons drawn. They were duergar soldiers, clearly dispatched because she was proving too much of a challenge for Antares.

"Val, behind you!" Cessair shouted, vaulting over the wall down into the sands. A normal person would probably quaver at the idea of leaping into an arena with a possessed woman, but the rogue had always made it her policy to trust her companions. Galen wouldn't approve, of course, but she couldn't just stand by. Granted, neither could she take on that many opponents alone.

The demon binder whirled and was on the first one of the soldiers before the crowd even had time to blink. Her claws pierced his armor like it was paper, one hand seizing his jaw while the other grabbed his shield arm. His long, drawn out scream split the air as the possessed drowess tore him literally in half. He was joined only by his entrails when she dropped him and went for the next with bloodlust burning in her eyes.

Cessair meanwhile found herself face to face with Antares, who was leering. She was clearly an opponent he could dispatch without issue. "I'll crush you in a blow, little girl," he thundered, whipping the club at her with surprising speed.

She flipped back like the acrobat she was, landing neatly on her feet with a long, sleek elven dagger in each hand. "You have to hit me first, bonehead. Let's see what you've got," she said casually, giving him a wink. The hood had fallen back to reveal her elven features, but she had bigger things to worry about. Besides, duergar wouldn't care the way the drow would.

Antares charged her despite his wounded leg, confident that she could jump around all she liked. After all, there was no way this little half elf had the superhuman speed or stamina that the drowess did. He moved with an animal cunning, slowly forcing the rogue back against a wall where she would be penned in and far less able to evade. He didn't manage to get a solid blow in on her, but he clipped her numerous times doing her serious damage: cracked ribs, a shoulder just short of being dislocated, and a lot of bruising.

Valyne was hardly having an easy go of it herself. Even fueled by demonic rage, she was still an arcanist and that meant melee combat was not her strong suit. Between hurled spells and her claws, she could give better than she got, but the axes of the duergar had left serious bleeding wounds across her limbs and torso. Nothing fatal...yet.

"Val, I need you!" Cessair shouted when her back collided with stone.

The drowess clawed the face of the duergar soldier bearing down her, finding the eye-slots of his helm with frightening ease. Then she turned and took in the scene before her. Antares was going to kill the half elf with her boxed in like that.

Good riddance. The thought was cold and rational and unbidden. She wouldn't have to guide them any more. She would be free of the nagging questions about her history. The truth of her allegiances and her motivations would remain unrevealed and she could dispose of Galen and Storunn with bloody ease now that she was on her own ground.

All it would cost her was the closest she'd come to having a friend in ten years. Someone who had taken one of her most intimate secrets, her magic and its taint in her blood, at face value. Someone who talked to her without judgment and mistrust. Someone who continued to trust her even when it was clearly not in their best interest. Like she had trusted Keldzar.

She knew what it was to be betrayed. No one deserved that, particularly not someone who had treated her with kindness.

Val howled a spell in Abyssal, feeling unholy magic surge through every fiber of her being as she hurled herself between Antares and Cessair, taking the blow that would have crushed the half elf's skull with her shoulder. She could feel the bones crunch despite the magic, white-hot agony flooding through her frame. Her right arm was as good as useless and her collarbone had splintered down into an artery. She felt a power surge out to her fingertips beyond what the balor inside her was offering. This was different. This was...her.

She threw herself up at Antares in a leap, sinking her fangs into his throat and tearing. All she could taste was blood and it felt so right. His heart, pounding fear-infused blood straight out of his body. She could taste the horror, the desperation. It made something more flare. She didn't just want to kill him. She wanted to make him suffer. The flame that wreathed her body seared his flesh until it started to crackle and char. His wailing quickly turned to miserable, choking sobs. As soon as he dropped, clutching his throat and rolling across the sand to put out the flames, she was moving again, straight towards the duergar warriors. It wouldn't matter if he put himself out. He was a dead man.

The drowess flexed her claws, smiling even as blood rolled down her chin. You should start running, mortals. Or don't. I like it when they struggle, she purred. Her voice had changed, rolling and growling with the syllables of the Abyss. It wasn't the balor speaking, it was something deep inside of her that was finally free to come to the surface for the first time. She couldn't decide if the agony in her shoulder was painful or pleasurable, only that it made her feel so perfectly alive.

Cessair gagged despite herself at the mess, the smell of charred flesh. She didn't blame the duergar soldiers at all who had been ordered into the arena when they turned and ran in an animal panic. They weren't all fast enough, however. Val conjured up the whip of flame again with her good arm and lashed out, curling it around the ankle of one of the fleeing gray dwarves. She dragged him back towards her even as he screamed, clearly intent on inflicting something equally awful on him.

"Valyne Duskryn! Stop!" Cessair shouted, closing the distance between them. She curled her arms around the demonic drowess, avoiding battered bat wings, and drawing her back. The unholy, flaming aura was burning the rogue, but not nearly as badly as it had Antares. She ignored the pain and the scorching wounds to her flesh, forcing her voice to become soothing. "They've surrendered. Stop, Valyne, stop. This isn't you. Come back. Let it go."

The words clearly touched something inside the drowess, because there was a sudden burst of unholy power and then the demonic traits faded away. The aura evaporated, the wings disappeared, and the claws and fangs started to recede. The wounded arcanist sagged back against her half elf friend as the strength bled out of her limbs. She could barely feel the pain in her shoulder...or anything, really. "Sorry," she said softly.

It reminded Cessair of what had happened in the alley. There was some part of Val that still had a soul, that wanted to be something other than a monster. They would definitely have to talk about this later. After their wounds were treated, which hopefully Durna would see to if she didn't want a knife in the throat. "Eh, no worries. You did save my bacon," Cessair said with a chuckle, moving to brace her shoulder under Val's. She took the lithe drowess's weight without complaint despite her fresh burns.

Val looked over at her and arched an elegant eyebrow despite her exhaustion and the overwhelming feeling of loss. The banter distracted her from the feelings that half of her self had been torn away. "Your pig-meat is safely stored in the packs with the other rations," she said dryly even though she was familiar with the surface idiom.

"Oh, silly me. I thought I had it in my pocket," Cessair said lightly. "Here come the healers. And looks like the laird is in an awful lot of trouble with Durna and the rest of the clan for trying and failing to throw our fight."

"I hope she tears his heart out through his throat," Val muttered, her head lolling against Cessair's. "Ugh, I can't get that nasty taste off my tongue."

"That's what you get for putting things in your mouth when you have no idea where they've been or when they last took a bath," the half elf said. The pair of them staggered into the waiting arms of the healers Durna had provided.

"Mask," Valyne breathed.

Cessair produced the slim mask from inside her small satchel and put it on the drowess since Val was helpless to do anything but cling to one of the many interlocking belts that were part of the rogue's armor. She could barely stand on her own, but refused to let go until that little security had been added. As soon as it was safely in place, Val collapsed completely.

Both of them were ushered back to the room they were sharing at Durna's for medical attention. And, the half elf decided, when Val woke up they should probably talk. Galen had told her not to trust the masked woman, but their guide had almost gotten herself killed in defense of the rogue. Val had proven she was not just a hired expert-she was a friend.

Cessair had never had many friends growing up. Being half elf and half human left her trapped between worlds, never really fitting into either. So the ones she had, she would fight tooth and nail for. There were a lot of secrets that were weighing down on Val. The rogue promised herself that whatever they were, whatever they meant, and whatever happened, she would have the arcanist's back.

Galen was puzzled by the bustle of activity when he and Storunn returned. His half sister and Valyne were nowhere to be seen, but they were greeted by a very pleased Durna wearing the large and ornate ring that signified who was laird of the Thuldark Clan. "Your companions are resting," the female duergar said pleasantly, apparently in such a good mood that she was willing to acknowledge even Storunn's existence without hostility. "You should be able to find them in Valyne's room."

The paladin nodded and started that way. He was familiar enough with the halls of Durna's home after spending the night there, though if he were to go anywhere but the rooms of his companions he would undoubtedly need help. There was a normal hum of activity through the halls of servants, merchants, and guards alike. He even spotted Thangardt Firehand in animated conversation with a duergar cleric and paused briefly to listen.

"...it was incredible, like nothing I'd ever seen. I will never again discredit the Academy of Sorcere. If the drow truly have that kind of power at their fingertips, Laird Durna made a wise alliance," the priest was saying with a hint of awe in his voice. "Unholy, of course, but still. It was obvious that she was holding back."

Thangardt chuckled. "Power like that is born, not made, Ivar. No amount of time praying or locked in a room with books could emulate it."

Galen decided that he would hear about it later, knocking on the door to Val's room. He heard his sister's barely-there footsteps and Cessair opened the door. She wasn't wearing her armor but did still have a few knives about her person just in case. "Galen, Storunn, nice to see you weren't eaten by the city," she said obligingly, moving out of the way so they could come in.

"Fantastic, the paladin is back," Val said acidly from the bed where she was propped up against the pillows, her mask securely back in place. The clerics had mended the wound as best they could but warned her that her shoulder would be incredibly tender and a mass of bruises for some time. There was nothing they could do for the exhaustion or stress of binding. At least, however briefly, her cravings for blood and mayhem had subsided to minimal levels. That didn't mean she was inclined to be charitable towards the constantly disapproving paladin.

Galen scowled. "Do you have no manners?" he snapped. "We spent a full day running your errands. The least you could do is be grateful."

"Actually, it was my errand," Cessair reminded him. She plopped down on the edge of Val's bed comfortably, as though she'd been sitting there some time. And she had-the healers had tasked her with making absolutely certain that the masked woman didn't strain herself or reopen the wounds on her legs and arms that had been bound with gauze. Most of their attention was focused on the blow to her shoulder, so the lesser wounds were left to time and nature to heal.

Val had been a surprisingly cooperative patient. The rogue was impressed-she expected a lot more of their companion's bitter temper. Instead, Val obeyed every instruction that she'd been given without a hint of grumbling...probably because she was too exhausted to put up much of a fight. It did seem like she wasn't used to other people caring for her, with the way she'd so expertly bound some of her own wounds despite the fog of fatigue. Whatever her story was, she had clearly become accustomed to having to tend her own wounds and protect herself. Cessair felt a twinge of sympathy. No matter how bad her life had gotten, Galen and Storunn had always been there for her. Not having them would make the world a dark and unfriendly place. No wonder their companion could be so bitter.

"None at all. Now, did you find anything or are you just here to spoil a perfectly good evening?" Val said, her sneer covered by the mask. It wasn't really fair to him, of course, but she'd nearly been killed and was still in large amounts of pain. She had refused any pain killers, knowing that the ache and burn of her injuries, while infuriating, was far preferable than slipping into the numbness that always followed binding.

Galen glowered. He hated the way she could give the distinct impression of looking down her nose at him even though she was shorter and lying down. "Yeah, we found maps to another passage through a settlement called Niar'hannenlyn. It used to be held by drow."

There was a sharp intake of breath from Val and she sat up properly, swinging her legs around so she could stand up despite the pleading look Cessair was giving her. There was no way for the half-elf to chastise her without explaining why, exactly, Val was injured. "What do you mean 'used to'?" she demanded, glaring at the paladin. She had fond memories of Niar'hannenlyn. It was a small town on the edge of some massive and ancient crumbling ruins, a way station for many of House Duskryn's patrols. She'd spent more than a few nights in the inn there, relaxing between stints out in the Wilds.

"The duergar we were talking to indicated that the whole town had been taken over lately along with the ruins near it by some kind of evil cult. The locals were either killed outright or taken, probably to sacrifice," Galen said grimly. The story only reinforced to him the evils of the Underdark.

Val let out a hiss of muttered curse words in drow, her hands clenching into fists. "How large of a cult?" she demanded, falling into interrogation mode. "Enough to be a threat to Menzoberranzan? Who do they follow?"

Cessair stood up and gently caught her friend's arm. "Val, I'm pretty certain a city full of armed drow has literally nothing to worry about from a little cult," she said softly.

"Wouldn't be too bad if someone attacked Menzoberranzan," Galen muttered. "It'd keep their raids away from the surface."

That was the wrong thing to say. Val rounded on him in a sudden burst of anger, slamming her fist into his breastplate to hammer home the fact that he'd crossed a line. It didn't hurt him at all, but it did startle him. "What the hell do you know, rivvil?" she hissed viciously, ignoring the agony in her shoulder from having torqued it to hit him. "Do you know how many times Menzoberranzan has been attacked? How close it's come to destruction? How many people died?" In the War of the Spider Queen, her own house had taken some of the heaviest casualties. Her mother always looked haunted when she spoke about it, as if she wished she could have protected her soldiers even from the enemy.

"It's full of evil people, Val! Why the hell do you think it keeps getting attacked?" Galen snapped, grabbing her shoulder. He was ignorant of how tender it was.

The drowess flinched despite herself, biting down hard on her lower lip to stop a whimper from escaping. "It's my home!" she snarled, ripping his hand away from her shoulder with her left one. No matter what had been done to her, she would always love Menzoberranzan and her House. They were something beautiful, precious, worthy of being cherished and defended. Her family-her mother-had poured sweat, blood, and tears into making it what it was. The legacy that went with being Siniira Duskryn's daughter was so much greater than a name.

Cessair stepped in before anyone could say another word. "Val, you're supposed to be resting," she said with a gentle authority, pushing the masked drowess back towards the bed. "We'll worry about Niar'hannenlyn in the morning. You're in no condition to go charging off to investigate anything, particularly a violent cult."

Val's gray eyes were still narrowed, but she didn't resist. She knew common sense when she heard it.

The half elf grabbed her brother by his arm and dragged him out into the hall and then down a long ways, trusting that Storunn would follow. She was grateful that the dwarf was always so quiet. Val seemed a little bit fragile right now and the words Galen was spouting weren't helping. "We need to talk," she said forcefully, purposely putting her brother with his back against the wall so he couldn't walk away from this.

"Why the hell are you taking her side? I told you not to trust her!" Galen snapped.

Cessair sighed, glancing over at Storunn. The dwarf was fingering one of the braids in his beard, a clear sign that he was listening curiously. "Val is injured, Galen," she said bluntly. "That shoulder you grabbed? That was crushed earlier today. So was her collarbone. And some of her ribs. And her arm. Because she took a blow that would have killed me, even though she didn't have to. What more do she have to do to prove herself?"

The paladin looked taken aback. He'd always considered the masked woman to be more interested in her own safety and survival than anyone else's. He clenched his jaw, considering this. "I spoke harshly," he said after a long few moments. "I didn't mean it."

"I'm not the person you pissed off," Cessair pointed out. She immediately tightened her grip on her brother's arm before he could start walking. "I'm not saying you should go apologize now, Galen. She's gonna need some time to cool down. It's been a rough day."

They all looked over when someone cleared their throat discreetly. Thangardt Firehand was standing there, his black eyes equal measure curious and cautious. "Pardon my intrusion," the duergar said smoothly. He had very good manners for one of his people, no doubt Durna's influence. "There is a visitor for Lady Valyne who demanded to see her immediately. Is your companion decent?"

"As much as she ever is," Cessair said brightly. "Who's this visitor?"

Thangardt coughed nervously as the guest in question rounded the corner. Cessair felt her blood freeze as she looked at a figure straight out of her nightmares. A high priestess of Lloth in armor bearing the symbol of her terrifying goddess, a mace at one hip and a sacrificial dagger no doubt stained with the blood of thousands on the other. Her face was beautiful, the angles of her face just a touch sharper than a surface elf. Her gray eyes were hard as she stared brutally and unforgivingly at all three, full lips curving into a smile that looked not at all friendly.

When she spoke, her tone and the words chilled the undisguised half elf to the bone. "Her sister."